Heretic Part Two Chapter Twenty

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 20

Soft rain fell softly from the grayness overhead, but in the east the sky was clear. Sunlight rose in narrow beams from the horizon, glittering off the wet black stones of the basalt islands and the surface of the clear lake. Isaand knelt on the edge of the island, tying the last of the cloth around Hahmn’s body. His bulk had made the matter difficult. Isaand had had to use every last blanket and piece of clothing in the cave, as well as offering up a few of his spare clothes to follow cover the man.

The Aislin tribe Isaand had been raised in had refrained from burying their dead. They were a nomadic people, a practice seen as blasphemous by other tribes who were held to the singular lands of their gods. Leaving their honored dead behind in the dirt meant they would have no opportunity to visit them until they returned to those lands. And it meant they were open to vandalism from those who disapproved of their ways. Instead, the Aislin burned corpses and kept their ashes in containers that they carried with them, passed down from father and mother to daughter and son until no one who’d known the fallen still lived. At that point, they were scattered into the grass.

That wasn’t possible here. There was barely any wood on the island, and even less on the stony pillars closest by. There wasn’t even much in the way of brush, and what there was was now soaked. Isaand wasn’t sure why he cared. Hahmn had been a liar, a murderer, and an enemy. Isaand blamed the goddess Awlta most for his actions, but Hahmn had still made his choice to obey her. Even so, if he left his body behind it would be found by the lake-men when they worked up the courage to investigate the island. He could imagine what sort of dishonors would be done to the corpse of a hated heretic. The same that would happen to him if he were to die. He could at least keep that from happening.

“What do they do for funereal rites in Merasca?” Isaand asked. Ratha was standing a little ways behind him. She’d come close when he’d begun his work, and made a move to help at first, but when he hadn’t reacted she’d pulled away. She obviously wasn’t sure how he felt about her. He sympathized. She was a liar too, and an accomplice to Hahmn’s actions, at least by virtue of non-intervention. Everyone I meet turns out to be rotten, he thought. Even Ylla, the innocent little girl he’d saved from death, was unrecognizable to him now. She sat nearby on the edge of the cliff, swinging with her feet over the edge. She showed no discomfort or remorse after having plunged a spear through a man’s throat. Isaand didn’t like to look at her.

“I believe they keep graveyards. Plenty of space to use, out on the shore. But here on the lake, the dead are entrusted to Maesa. He’d understand that,” Ratha said.

“It’s the best he could hope for, I suppose,” Isaand said. He rose stiffly, his back aching and popping. He wavered on numb legs, his body shivering in the wet cold. The glorious sensation of power and vibrant health he’d felt during the fight was long gone. His injuries were mostly healed, leaving behind scrapes and bruises, but the few hours of sleep he’d gotten had left him more tired than ever. “Can you help me lift him?”

“Of course.” Ratha moved to the other side of Hahmn’s body. Her lips twisted into a familiar wry smile. It was as warm and clever as ever, but Isaand couldn’t help but read some mockery in it now. “Is this where we say how he was a good man?”

“No,” Isaand said. As a bard apprentice, he’d learned the rituals and prayers to be proscribed over the dead, dozens of them suitable for honoring whatever the gods of whatever lands the Aislin were in at the time of the funeral. None seemed appropriate now. “He wasn’t a good man. He was weak and stupid. He let a lying goddess trick him into dedicating his life to her, and when she proved herself to be evil, he was too stubborn and ignorant to admit his wrong. He cared about people, he wanted to do good, but he didn’t act on it.”

Together, they lifted Hahmn’s body and unceremoniously dumped it over the side of the cliff. Isaand watched it sink slowly, weighed down by the rocks he’d stuffed into the cloth. It sent up a puff of sand when it hit the bottom, and soon attracted the attention of a curious eel.

Isaand strode away, to the other end of the island. He found Vehx where he’d left him, lying on the edge of the godspool, sticking his nose out over it as though he could smell the divinity within. Vehx turned and twitched his ear at Isaand’s approach, tilting his head questioningly.

“You know there’s nothing left in that body, don’t you? The soul clings to the corpse for a time, attached as long as there is still some activity in the brain, but in this case-”

“His goddess claimed his as soon as he died. I know, I felt it. Funerals are for the living, not the dead. Even for people we don’t like very much. It makes us feel better about our eventuality I guess. We can hope that when we die we’ll be treated with respect,” Isaand said.

“I wonder how respectful the people will be when Ulm-etha dies,” Vehx said, staring off towards the village and its sacrificial altar. Now that Hahmn was dead, there was no one who could remove the stain he’d placed on Ulm-etha’s altar. The god was starved, and would soon vanish.

“How is it that a god can die so easily? Your kind created us, didn’t you? Why would you need sacrifices from your own offspring?” Isaand asked. Vehx stared at him, blinking, then finally answered.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t? How could you not?”

“I remind you, I am bound to obey you,” Vehx said with a bit of a snarl. “I can’t lie to you, not when you order me to answer. That’s the truth of it. I don’t know. It wasn’t always that way. Before humans existed, there was no need for the worship and sacrifices that are common now. Even as recently as The Fourth World, things were different. The Pact changed things, but only those who were present during its creation know all the details. I was a wild god, living in a place pleasantly devoid of humans, and I survived just fine on my own. When I grew hungry, I possessed a beast and hunted, not for meat, but for the experience of the hunt itself. That was enough to sustain me… but not all gods are equal.”

“I am but a player on the stage, acting out the script that has been handed to me,” Isaand said.

“What is this? Poetry?” Vehx grumbled.

“Awlta said it, when I asked why she was doing this.” Look to your own god, puppet. Does the world he created not please you? All that this existence has to offer comes at his design. Awlta had said implied that Szet was somehow responsible for her actions. Mere lies, an attempt to pass off her crimes on another, to make Isaand doubt his god? It certainly did not seem plausible. Her own cruelty was self-evident, while Szet had done nothing but good. And yet, Hahmn must have felt the same, Isaand thought. He refused to believe me, clinging to his certainty that his goddess was misunderstood. He wouldn’t look any closer, for fear of what he might learn.

“In truth, I remember little of my life before I was made Sendra,” Vehx said, oblivious to Isaand’s thoughts. “The whole period seems oddly blurry to me. I think that this mortal form is too small and weak to hold the entirety of my divine being, and so I’ve been scaled down accordingly. Well, if you have questions, you could always go for another dip.”

“No thank you. Szet saved me, but I have no way of knowing if Awlta has reclaimed the pool. I’ll be quite happy never meeting her again.”

Isaand turned away again, restless, limping back towards the others. Ratha was sitting with Ylla, talking quietly. She’d reclaimed her spear from the child, and was holding it against her hip on the other side of her body, he noticed. Ylla turned back to him, her eyes shifting from gray to blue like the lightening sky.

“Are we going to travel again, Isaand?”

“Yes. There’s no reason to stay here. The clerics will have turned everyone against us now, and we can’t do anything about Ulm-etha’s poisoning. We’ll leave today.” And where should we go?

“Do you think I could say goodbye to Taram before we go?” Ylla asked. Before he could think of what to say, a strange stillness came over her face. She looked like a mask, devoid of life, and her eyes seemed too full, as those multiple people were looking out from behind them. Then she shook her head and answered herself. “No, that wouldn’t make sense. It would be dangerous to go back there. And besides, Taram would hate us now, wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe not,” Ratha said quietly. “Most of them will blame you for Ulm-etha’s death, even with what you’ve done for them, Isaand. But someone out there, when they think back to all that’s happened these past few days, will remember that you healed Tokaa and saved his life. His children will remember that.”

Isaand looked to her hip, where a fresh bandage had been placed over her wound after he’d forced it open again with his miracle. It had healed again swiftly, without his aid, but he thought the scars looked a bit larger, uglier now. Did she still feel grateful for his help?

“Your task here is done,” Isaand told her. “Your people told you to come and observe what happened with the Lectors of the Unbound. Will you report back to them now?”

“I should. It’s a long way to Kelylla though, and I won’t move fast on this leg. It will take weeks to travel there.”

Isaand took a deep breath. “Then, if you will permit, we will accompany you there.”

“You will?” Ratha met his eyes with a guarded look. “I’m happy to hear it, but what’s changed? You seemed quite opposed last we discussed it. If you’re thinking of the Cousinhood as your enemies…”

“No. Szet teaches peace and cooperation. I won’t name a neutral party ‘enemy,’ even if their idleness amounts to an acceptance of injustice.”

“Then why come?”

“You told me that the Free have gathered knowledge about the gods. That they study them without faith and worship clouding the issue. You even said that they might be able to tell me more about my own god.”

“I did. I don’t know anything of substance myself. Szet is barely spoken of, except in ancient legends, because he’s so inactive. But I know for a fact that some of the elders have gathered a vast library of gods-lore about the Unbound. Writings that would have us labeled heretics just for possessing them. But what makes you interested now? You’ve spoken with Szet personally. I doubt anyone else can claim as much.”

“Hahmn met Awlta, and she charmed him into thinking that evil was charity and cruelty was kindness. I do not believe that Szet has lied to me, nor do I feel any shame in the tasks he’s given to me… but doubtless Hahmn felt the same way, until I arrived to confuse matters. Hahmn died a fool. I’d prefer not to do the same.”

“Then I’ll be proud to introduce you to my people,” Ratha said. She stood, helping Ylla to her feet. Behind her, the sun was fully risen now. “And Isaand, I’m truly sorry. When you first came here, I thought you were just another fanatic, like Hahmn. If I could go back, I’d tell you everything right away.”

“You’ll have time,” Isaand said. “On the way, I want you to tell me everything you know.”

End of Part Two

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