Past Imperative

52

"IT IS THE WAY OF THE DAUGHTERS,” DOLM ACTOR SAID sadly. “Irepit is goddess of repentance."

The three of them were sitting on the ground around an empty hearth of blackened pebbles. It was a private corner of the campground, almost surrounded by cloud blossoms. Eleal was cuddling very close to D'ward, for she did not trust the former reaper.

Yet Dolm had obviously changed. His face was haggard, and he seemed much thinner than she remembered. There were gray streaks in his hair she did not recall either. His eyes were bloodshot and underlined with darkness.

"I thought you had died,” she muttered. “The sword moved by itself. I had both hands on it and Sister Ahn had one and yet it felt as if it moved by itself."

Dolm groaned and covered his face. “It did not touch me."

"I did not feel it touch you,” she admitted.

D'ward was listening intently, but she could not tell how much he understood. They were speaking Joalian, which was what she had been teaching him, and his bright blue eyes flickered back and forth as she and Dolm spoke, but he could not be catching very much of this, surely. He was still playing his pilgrim role, being very relaxed and confident. Whenever she looked at him he smiled at her reassuringly.

"Did you not hear what she said?” Dolm asked. “She took my sin upon herself and then I saw what..."

"Saw what?"

"Saw what I had become, what I had been doing."

"You really aren't a reaper anymore?"

He shook his head, not looking at her.

She glanced at D'ward. He nodded to show he understood.

"What happened at the festival?” she asked.

Dolm straightened, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Disaster! Well, Uthiam won a rose for her solo."

"Praise to Tion!” Eleal clapped her hands.

"But she was the only one. I didn't get there in time, you see.” Dolm shook his head sorrowfully. “I had orders to go to Ruatvil."

"Orders?"

"Orders from Zath. When we arrived at Filoby, I left the group without telling anyone. Zath's orders override anything. I had been instructed to meet up with another ... with a colleague."

"That was the one the Kriiton man killed?"

He nodded, staring at the stones of the hearth. “I don't know his name. The next night I was at the Sacrarium. You know."

"But if you weren't killed,” she said, working it out, “then it must have been you who removed the bodies!"

Again he nodded. “I buried the nun—dug her grave with her sword and my bare hands. That seemed the least I could do. The others I dropped over the cliff. I looked for you, couldn't find you, and decided you had gone off somewhere with the Liberator.” He looked across at D'ward, who was frowning in exasperation.

"So then what happened?” Eleal demanded impatiently.

"I went to Suss,” Dolm said reluctantly. “I was too late. They presented the Varilian, because it's easier. K'linpor took my part and Golfren took his."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes."

How awful! A yak could act better than Golfren, fine musician though he was. “So what are they doing now?"

Dolm picked up a thin twig and poked idly at the cold ashes. “Starving."

"Starving?"

"Almost. The priests in Narsh took all their money. They don't even have enough to get out of Sussvale, Eleal. And it's all my fault!"

This did not make any sense! “But you were back. Even if they didn't compete, or win, they can stage performances, surely? They're well-known in Suss! Surely people would—"

"I can't act anymore!” Dolm shouted. He put his face down on his knees, huddled in misery. “Trong fired me yesterday."

"Can't act?"

"No. I'm terrible! I forget my lines, I fall over my feet. It's all gone."

Again Eleal glanced at D'ward. He shrugged, obviously at a loss.

"So what are they doing?"

"Trying to hire a replacement for me,” Dolm said, speaking to the ground. “As soon as he's learned his lines, they'll stage the Varilian."

Eleal sighed. This was awful! “What does Yama—"

The immediate expression of agony on Dolm's face told her she was an unkind, blundering idiot.

"Do you really think I would tell her?” he said bitterly. “Or any of them?"

How strange!—she felt sorry for him now. This was a very different Dolm.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I went on a binge, drinking.” He laughed, a very hollow sound. “It's better to be thought a lush than a mass murderer."

"Oh. I won't tell them, Dolm. I know I'm nosy, but I can keep secrets if I want to."

"I know you can, Eleal. Thank you. Thank you very much. It doesn't really matter, because they won't see me again, but I'd feel happier ... Somehow."

The evening must be cooling, for she felt little goose bumps on her skin.

"Who won the gold rose?"

He shrugged. “Some pretty boy, of course."

"You didn't hear his name?"

"No. A musician, I think ... There was some story that the judges told him to throw his lyre in the river and report to the chief priest. No one else had a look-in, they said. Why?"

"I met a boy named Gim."

"Yes, maybe that was his name, now you mention it."

"And how many miracles?"

Dolm's eyes flickered to her leg and then away again quickly. He smiled his stage smile. “One or two—the priests couldn't decide which. When the time came for the boy to call out a name, he called two names. They were sisters, identical twins, and all their lives they'd had a terrible skin disease. Even from where I was standing, they looked just horrible."

"And Tion healed them!"

"Oh yes! He laid his hands—laid your friend's hands—on their heads and they were cured."

That was beautiful! “Were they pretty? How old are they? What are their names?"

Dolm had lost interest in telling her about the festival. He was studying D'ward with a puzzled expression. “Why is the Liberator still here, in Sussland? Doesn't he know that Zath has reapers out looking for him? Doesn't he know he's in terrible danger?"

She sniggered. “He doesn't seem to know anything. He doesn't know the language, or the gods, or anything!"

Dolm's cavernous eyes widened. “The seeress described him as a baby! Why on earth is he going around dressed as a pilgrim?"

"I decided he would be safest that way, since he can't talk. And, Dolm, he's a wonderful actor! He's being making everyone think he really is a holy man!"

A pained smile twisted the actor's gaunt face. “Oh, Eleal, little idiot! Of course he can act a holy man! Don't you see what you've done?"

She bristled. “I've been ingenious and, er, resourceful under trying conditions! He's been terribly sick!” She looked to D'ward for support and he smiled encouragingly. How odd! Except for the red wound on his forehead, he looked as if he'd never been sick in his life. “And he doesn't know anything about the world at all, but I thought he ought to get to Suss and appeal to Tion, and this seemed—"

"You are a small chump!” Dolm said. “Zath has I-don't-know-how-many reapers out looking for him, and you dress him like a pilgrim? Don't you understand? He's the Liberator! Of course he could make people think he was a holy man! He is a holy man! You disguised him as what he really is, you frog-brain!"

Eleal said, “Oh! ... Oh?” Well, that might help explain a few of the surprising things that had been happening today.

"And I'm not at all sure about taking him to Tion,” Dolm said uncertainly. “Some of the passages in the Testament suggest that the Liberator ... All of Sussia's been talking about the birth of the Liberator. Well, never mind. I wish I'd thought of the pilgrim idea for myself, though. That's what I need to do! I shall don the holy pentacle and see if I can cleanse my soul.” Another painful smile flickered over his haggard features. “I wonder if he'd—"

He turned to his pack and began unlacing it. Eleal recalled how she'd rummaged through that pack less than a fortnight ago and found a reaper's gown.

Dolm pulled out a tunic and pants. He held them out to D'ward. D'ward's blue eyes lit up and he looked to Eleal for her approval.

"Just what are you suggesting, Dolm Actor?” she demanded.

"I'll trade with him. I'll have to come back with you to Suss and start at Tion's temple, of course."

Eleal shivered. The Holy Circuit of the five great temples took at least a year—a year of begging and poverty, of penance and complete silence.

"But he really can't talk! What if someone asks him questions?"

Dolm shrugged. “You're planning to rejoin the troupe and take him with you, aren't you? It's only a few hours’ walk. I'll come with you to the city. He can have my pack, too."

Eleal nodded uncertainly—she had nowhere to go except back to the troupe. D'ward grabbed the garments and jumped up. He strode off into the cloud blossoms. A moment later he came marching out again in his new clothes, grinning shyly. He and Dolm were about the same height and the garments were intended to be loose—but not so loose. If he let go of the pants, they would fall down. Chuckling, Dolm dug in his pack again and produced a length of cord.

"Better!” D'ward said, laughing. “Not women frighten. Talk now?"

"Talk now,” Eleal agreed.

He sat down and smiled at Dolm. “D'ward!” He held out a hand.

"Dolm Actor.” They shook hands. Dolm stuffed the pilgrim smock in his pack. “I tried to kill you!"

D'ward nodded. “Remember. Saw your voice under the night."

"He doesn't speak very well, does he?” Dolm said wonderingly.

"He's learning very fast!"

"Was reaper?” D'ward asked.

Dolm nodded solemnly.

"Better now?"

"Better."

"Good!” Again D'ward offered a hand to shake.

Dolm looked startled, and then accepted. He stared at D'ward afterward as if hunting something he could not identify.

"We can stay here tonight, can't we?” Eleal said. The sun must have slipped behind Susswall, for the grove was growing dark.

"I have a little food,” Dolm said. “But only one blanket."

"We should have left D'ward a holy man. He just has to look at people and they throw charity at him."

Dolm scratched his scanty hair. “Where do you want to go, sir?"

Eleal turned away to hide a smile. She did not think Dolm had even realized that he had called a boy, “sir."

D'ward took a moment to work out the question. “Olympus."

"Who's she?"

"I don't know,” Eleal sighed. “He raved about her when he was delirious."

D'ward said, “Query town. Query village."

"That's a woman's name!” she protested. “He must mean Limpus."

Edward shrugged.

"Limpusvil?” Dolm said thoughtfully. “Limpusby? I never heard of either. Your first problem will be to escape from Sussvale. Zath set watches on the nodes and you slipped by us. Now he has all the passes guarded. Only four passes.” At Edward's frown he explained more slowly, with gestures, scratching a map in the dirt.

"We need T'lin Dragontrader again!” Eleal said. Then she remembered and said, “Oh!"

Dolm's clouded face brightened momentarily. “He escaped me, if that's what you're wondering. The way he took off on that dragon, I don't suppose he stopped this side of Nosokland.” He turned again to study D'ward. “Taking him to Tion is probably the best idea, I suppose, since none of us has any money."

"Tion god?” D'ward said, frowning. “No gods!"

Dolm raised his eyebrows. “Like that, is it? The gods shall flee before him; they shall bow ... ” He pondered. “Perhaps you weren't so foolish after all, Eleal Singer—disguising him as a holy man, I mean. The reapers wouldn't be looking for him in that role. And taking him to Suss but not going to the temple may be the same sort of thing. The best place to hide a man is in a crowd of men. Unless they're keeping an eye out for you also, of course."

"What do you mean?” Eleal demanded, feeling a cold shiver.

"They know you're involved, so they may be watching the troupe, in case you try to return. They're probably hunting me, too,” he said sadly. “I don't think ex-reapers live very long."

She switched into Sussian, which D'ward would not understand. “Tion!” she said firmly. “We must go and seek the aid of our god!"

"I suppose you're right,” Dolm agreed, shooting a worried glance at the Liberator.

53

AT SUSS THE CANYON WAS MUCH WIDER THAN AT RUATvil. The land descended in steps and cliffs, a red and green landscape fretted by intricate wadis. Tion's temple stood on an isolated mesa, a sprawling palace on a giant plinth, its gilded dome blazing under the tropic sun. It was a giant's cake of white marble, decorated and ornamented in pillars and cornices of bright color, in form like nothing Edward had ever seen, although unquestionably fair. If it resembled anything on Earth, perhaps “out of the Taj Mahal by the Kremlin,” would sum it up best. Innumerable lesser buildings spread out over the steps of the valley wall, all set in gardens and park, lush vegetation contrasting with the ruddy soil. The whole complex was larger than the little walled town beyond it. Yes, it was beautiful. And so it should be, for Tion was god of art and beauty. It was vastly impressive—and so it should be, for Tion was one of the five paramount deities of the Vales.

It would be a node, of course, but it stood too far from the road for Edward to sense virtuality. Unlike Stonehenge and the Sacrarium, this node was occupied. He did not know whether the numen who dwelt there belonged to the Chamber or the Service. Eleal insisted that Tion was a benevolent god, but the teams in this game did not wear colored jerseys. Edward was not about to walk into any den until he had learned more about the lion. So far his only instructors had been a child and a confessed mass murderer.

Dolm Actor was the first adult he had been able to talk with since he arrived on Nextdoor. However willing and precocious, Eleal had a child's limitations. Dolm spoke clearly and slowly, repeating himself in ingenious variations to convey his meaning. He had a quick wit for untangling Edward's efforts to reply, the patience to correct his grammar, plus an actor's ear for pronunciation. He was a very good coach, but he explained that any wandering entertainer in the Vales must soon become a language expert. Every valley had its own dialect. The farther from home, the greater the difference.

How many valleys? How many peoples?

Dolm could not give an answer, barely even a guess. There were three main languages, Joalian, Thargian, and Niolian, and at least half a dozen variants of each. A score was the absolute minimum.

How many gods? That question produced a lecture on theology, the five great gods—Parent, Lady, Man, Maiden, Youth—and the many minor gods who were the five also. Edward recalled his father saying that people could believe anything they wanted to believe.

By the time noon rolled around and the weary travelers were approaching the turnoff to Tion's spectacular temple, he was often able to understand what was said at the first attempt. Speaking was harder, of course. Nevertheless, he had never picked up a language so quickly. There were uncanny things going on, and he was becoming more and more uneasy about them. He was a stranger here. Mr. Goodfellow ... Oh, stuff it! That way led madness. Here be dragons.

The roads were almost deserted. Yesterday's traffic had been heavy because people had been heading home from Tion's Festival, which sounded like a sort of annual Olympic Games. That train of thought shunted Edward off onto a siding. He spent several minutes asking if there was any great home for all the gods—a sacred mountain, perhaps. Neither Dolm nor Eleal could recall hearing of such a place. Every god and goddess had a temple and important deities might have outlying shrines and chapels as well, but there was no central clubhouse where they were known to assemble. If they threw parties for one another, they did so at home. Scratch that thought. “Olympus” was only a nickname.

Eleal had been feeling ignored all morning and was being obnoxious in consequence. Dolm started asking her about her arrival in Sussland and her replies confirmed Edward's suspicions that she was keeping secrets from him. Having learned of her theatrical background, he could understand her affected airs and dramatics. She claimed that she had been kidnapped by a goddess and rescued by a god. Doubting most of this, Edward still moved Eleal to the head of his list of things to investigate as soon as he had mastered the language. He would like to hear much more about the T'lin man who had brought her to Sussland and had been Creighton's friend also—and especially so when Dolm confirmed that the man had managed to escape. He was an itinerant horse trader, although Edward had seen no horses so far.

But why was the Service so much less conspicuous than the Chamber? Why were enemies so much easier to find than friends? The goddess who had imprisoned Eleal in Narsh was an obvious Horror. Her ritual prostitution sounded exactly like Herodotus's tales of the temple of Aphrodite in Babylon that always so intrigued the Greek scholars of Fifth Form. Zath was another, with his reapers. Was Tion with them or against them? Was he with the Service or against it?

Tion was too much of a risk. The T'lin man had been a friend of Creighton's and was a much safer bet. He must find T'lin. Only if that proved impossible would he risk Tion.

The entrance to the temple precincts was a resplendent arch, ornamented with much gold and many symbols of the god: roses and triangles and animals that looked like frogs. A few worshipers were coming and going, ignored by half a dozen pike-bearing guards, who caught Edward's attention more than anything else did. A squad of fifty or so was being drilled in the distance. Their armor looked like solid gold but obviously couldn't be, or the poor beggars would collapse in heaps. Why should a god need such a force? To stop tourists writing on the pillars? Or just because they looked good standing there? As far as he could judge without going close, they were all at least as tall as he was and very well turned out—the Coldstream Guards of Nextdoor. Were they only for show, or were they an elite force? Smart troops were effective troops. None showed that better than the British Army.

Dolm hesitated, but it was not the guards that deterred him. This was where his pilgrimage must begin. “I'll walk a little farther with you,” he muttered. “I think I can find the troupe for you.” It was a reasonable excuse to put off the awful moment. The three of them carried on toward the city.

Suss occupied a salient of high ground protected on three sides by cliffs. It was no more than a small town by Edward's standards, and the sight of its walls was a shock, a reminder that he was living in a primitive world. He might have to acquire a sword! He had fenced during his stay in Heidelberg, but not enough to qualify as a swordsman.

As it neared the city gates, the road crossed a series of arched bridges spanning small tributary canyons. On one of these Dolm stopped and peered over the rail. He unslung his pack.

"Yes,” he said. “Right first time. Down there. Rehearsing."

The valley below was wooded, but there was a clearing below the bridge; there two men and a woman were apparently having an argument. Other people lounged around in the shade, watching. Voices drifted up unintelligibly. The grouping was staged and unnatural.

Dolm groaned. “By the moons! They've taken on that idiot Tothroom Player!” He mumbled something about women and fighting.

Eleal was jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “Come on!” she said urgently.

"You go,” Dolm said. “I will go back now."

"Come, D'ward!” she commanded.

"You'd better not tell them who he is,” Dolm said.

That was hardly fair play! “Tell!” Edward said. He tapped his chest. “Danger to them? Tell them."

Eleal hesitated, looking from one to the other.

"Yes, perhaps you had better warn them,” Dolm said, giving Edward an odd look.

Then he sighed and went down on his knees to her. “Eleal Singer, I want you to know that I am deeply sorry for what happened. I frightened you terribly and I intended to kill you. I do not ask you to forgive me, because I can never forgive myself, but if you could give me your blessing for the future, it would make me very happy, and very grateful."

Eleal was momentarily at a loss. Then she raised her chin. “Of course I forgive you, Dolm Actor!” she proclaimed magnanimously. “I pray that Holy Tion will protect you and that you will find peace.” She hugged Dolm and kissed his cheek. Then she glanced sidelong at Edward to see if he had appreciated her performance.

"Thank you!” Dolm said, and his gratitude seemed genuine.

"Come, D'ward!” she repeated.

"You go,” Edward said. “Warn them. I am following."

She pouted at him suspiciously.

"I must change into that pilgrim robe you made, which will always remind me of you,” Dolm said. “Then I will give D'ward my pack. He will come."

Edward nodded his agreement. Reassured, Eleal went skipping off to the end of the bridge, and disappeared down a steep path.

The two men looked at each other.

"Tell me,” Edward said.

Dolm shuddered and shook his head. “Never!” He unfastened his pack and pulled out the smock with the pentacle on it. Then he stood up and looked apprehensively at Edward.

"Tell me!” Edward repeated. “Tell of Zath. I need to know."

"Need?"

"Need! Am the Liberator."

Frowning, the actor leaned his lanky frame on the rail and stared down at his former friends far below.

"I did a terrible thing,” he said quietly. “I hurt a woman, hurt her badly. I was an animal. I was drunk.” He mimed drinking and touched his groin. “Understand? Next day I learned that she was likely to die. I went to the temple of Zath and prayed that he would take my life and spare the woman—that I would die, she would not die.” He acted it out, pausing frequently to be sure that the stranger understood. “A priest said I must go to her and touch her, lay my hand on her, like this. It was dark, nighttime. Doors opened for me. Bolts slid. No one saw me. She was asleep, or unconscious. I touched her."

He shivered, staring out over the rail.

"She died at once. I felt great pleasure, a rush of joy. Perhaps you don't know yet what it is like to lie with a woman, or perhaps you do, but it was like that, only much more. Much more! I went back to the temple and was initiated. I became a reaper. At night the lust would come upon me. Not every night, but often. I would go out and walk the streets or enter into houses, and I would gather souls for Zath. They died in silence, but in fearful agony. They knew. They died terribly and I felt rapture."

He was weeping, his gaunt cheeks shining wet.

"Always I would feel that joy,” he said, his voice breaking. “Especially if they were young and strong. Many, many of them."

Blood was pretty high on the list, Creighton had said. What could be higher than human sacrifice?

"Not you doing this,” Edward said awkwardly. How could anyone console a man who bore such a burden? “The god was doing it, not you."

"But it was my crime that led me to him."

"Sister Ahn kill your, er..."

"Guilt? Sister Ahn took away my guilt?"

"Thank you. Sister Ahn took away your guilt."

"Yes. And gave me repentance instead. I was happy in my evil. Now I can never be happy again. I think I will kill myself."

"No. Sister Ahn died. You die also, her dying is no thing."

Dolm turned his head to stare at Edward with red-rimmed eyes. “She died for me!"

"You die also, then Zath wins!” How, Edward wondered, had he ever gotten himself into this? He was not qualified to be a spiritual advisor. He was a sanctimonious school prefect lecturing a mass murderer. Holy Roly would be proud of him. He barely knew enough of the language to ask for a drink of water, let alone argue ethics. But he could not stop now.

"Sister Ahn gave you back your life. You must take it. You must use it. Do good!"

"Maybe when I have been a pilgrim and made the Holy Circuit."

Edward thought about that. “No. Pilgrim is running away."

"What else can I do?” Dolm said angrily. “I can't act anymore!"

Their eyes locked.

This was Graybeard again, and the soldier at the bridge. This was Dusty Miller of the Lower Fourth, who'd broken an ankle playing rugby and been terrified to put on his studs after that. This was the First Eleven after they'd lost three in a row and were going up against the top of the league. But Edward did not have the words he had used on those occasions. All he had was baby talk. “Yes you can, Dolm. You can act. You can remember lines. You can move without tripping. Acting not changed. Nothing has changed."

He saw the resistance. He felt himself failing. He reached out and gripped Dolm's shoulders with both hands.

"You can!” he said. “I say you can!"

Dolm's eyes widened. Edward saw doubt rooting and pressed harder, using every scrap of conviction he could muster. “You can! I say you can. Trust me. I am D'ward Liberator! Trust me!"

Without warning, the actor screamed. He pushed Edward away and turned, doubling over the rail, racked by sobs. Edward staggered back, appalled at what he had done. The bridge seemed to sway under his feet. A terrible weariness came crashing down on him.

Dolm was weeping helplessly, hysterically, like a child, pounding his fists on the balustrade. He sounded as if he were choking to death.

Edward could find no more words. I had no right to torture the poor man, so! I should have left him to do what he wanted to do and suffer as he wanted to suffer.

Angrily he limped away. He did not try to take the pack, because he did not think he could lift it. He was only two days off his sickbed and he must have walked fifty miles. He was crushed by exhaustion. He had blisters all over his feet and his teeth hurt.

There were too many people. He reeled down the path on jellied legs, stumbling with weakness and hanging on to trees, and when at last he had descended to the valley floor and found the clearing, there were just too many people. A dozen or more of them were clustered around Eleal's tiny form. They were enjoying collective hysterics.

They had not known. Dolm had not been able to tell them that Eleal had escaped from Narsh, because he dared not reveal how he knew. Now, suddenly, she had come skipping out of the bushes to join them. She was the center of attention and loving it—hugging and kissing and telling her adventures all at the same time. They must know of the Testament with its mention of Eleal and the Liberator, because all Suss had been talking of it. Their god had worked a miracle for them. Their baby was back. Everyone was talking at once, men swearing oaths, women weeping. High drama!

Were actors as superstitious on Nextdoor as they were reputed to be on Earth? She was their mascot, Edward thought, watching the reunion. They must see that! Their little crippled mascot had returned to them and now their luck would change. Or would it? The Tion presence in the temple must know of him, or would surely learn shortly. Zath's reapers might be watching the troupe. The Liberator could bring only trouble to these humble players. He must leave now, at once, before they saw him. Too many people!

Perhaps Dolm would have left the backpack on the bridge. With that, and the smattering of language he had attained, Edward could survive on his own somehow—couldn't he? It was the thought of trying to climb that hill again so soon that delayed him. Then someone saw him.

Screaming with excitement, Eleal came skipping choppily over the grass to him, the whole troupe running in pursuit. Too many people. He staggered back a few paces and leaned against a tree for support.

He soon identified the leaders. The figurehead was the middle-aged giant with the silvery mane, Trong Impresario. He declaimed in a voice like distant gunfire. He rumbled platitudes and struck dramatic poses. The real power was his wife, Ambria, a woman taller than Edward, with steel in her eyes and a tongue like a lash. She was all bone and angles, and yet strangely reminiscent of the irrepressible Mrs. Bodgley of Greyfriars Abbey. The brains of the group might well be that little man with the stubbly white beard. Names, names, and more names ... Good-looking men, handsome women, all putting on airs. Handshakes and thumps on the back and effusive gratitude for restoring their darling...

And then came reaction and withdrawal as they realized that this youth meant more trouble in their lives, not less. He was involved with the gods in ways they did not understand and were not likely to approve if they did. He could not give a straight answer or frame a grammatical sentence. He would be one more mouth to feed and could give nothing in return.

Excitement faded into a murk of uneasiness. The group began to break up and drift away in twos and threes to whisper.

The big Ambria woman said something to her husband. At once he began shouting orders for the rehearsal to continue. Edward sank down on a tussock and put his head in his hands. He should curl up and have a sleep—perhaps they would just take the chance to creep away and leave him.

"Hungry? Thirsty?” asked a voice. A woman was kneeling at his side. She was offering a clay flask and a slab of bread and cheese.

She was the sort of girl that turned a boy's thoughts to desert islands built for two, and her smock would have barely made one good dish towel. Edward was not accustomed to seeing so much beautiful skin—he felt daring when he caught a glimpse of Alice's calves. He knew his face was turning redder than that wilted blossom in her hair. He nodded dumbly several times before he found his voice.

"Thank you. Yes. Um, query name."

She smiled in vision of pearls. “Uthiam. Thanks to you for bringing Eleal back to us."

"Er, Eleal me brought! I fear I bring trouble."

She laughed joyfully. “Eleal is always trouble!"

And he laughed also, and thought that maybe things might be going to turn out not quite so bad as he had feared.

Possibly the food revived him. He sat by himself, staying out of sight and mind, and he watched the troupe's activities with growing interest. Some of the younger folk were engaged in juggling and acrobatics, but they seemed more interested in exercise and enjoyment than in polishing their skills. The main event was a rehearsal of a drama, and everyone was intent on that.

Trong portrayed Grastag King, a tragic, aging figure facing a young challenger. The gallant hero, Darthon Warrior, was being played by Tothroom, replacement for the failed Dolm. The newcomer clutched a script, to which he had to make frequent reference. This might be his first attempt at the role. Even allowing for such handicaps, his performance was insipid. Grastag had stolen his wife, but Tothroom was playing the role as though he had lost a hairbrush.

At first the ornate, high-flown poetry was quite beyond Edward's comprehension. By the fifth or sixth repetition it began to fit together. Like Shakespeare's, the words had a music that soared beyond literary sense, so that meanings missed here and there were of no importance. At times Trong's delivery soared close to opera, where meaning did not matter at all, only emotion. Tothroom mumbled and stuttered and barely seemed to understand his lines himself. Over and over the two men performed the same scene until Trong would roar, “Cut!” and begin bawling instructions. Then he would take it all from the beginning again.

The problem was mostly Tothroom. He was a sallow, pinchfaced man, sadly lacking in stage presence. The plot required him to accost Grastag at his prayers. At first Grastag would respond with contempt and indignation, but then Darthon was supposed to take over the scene, to overwhelm the older man with vituperation and a catalogue of his crimes, to achieve dominance, to grind him into repentance and despair. It was not happening that way, because Tothroom was simply no match for Trong. He was a sheep trying to cow a lion. Trong was at fault also, for he did not seem able to bridle his own flamboyance. He would not lie down unless he was bludgeoned into submission.

And whenever the action was broken off, he would scream more insults than instructions. Instead of encouraging his new recruit, he was browbeating him and threatening. Some team captain he was!

Thinking of the Sixth Form's Henry V, Edward began to reflect that even he might have more dramatic talent than this inept Tothroom—and at least he would understand that Trong's ranting should be ignored. He glanced around the clearing. The melancholy expressions on all the other faces suggested that Tothroom was not going to survive the day as a member of the troupe. It was quite clear why Dolm Actor, in his guilt and anguish, had been unable to portray the arrogant swashbuckling Darthon Warrior. Given Hamlet to play in his present mood, he would have dampened every eye in Sussland.

"You foulness clad in kingly,” Darthon said mildly. “Raiment. Earth's bowels have never issued forth,” he remarked, “more loathsome leech to suck"—he fumbled with the script and then found the place—"to suck the merit. From the people and,” he continued apologetically, “warp their aspirations like, er, your own, too. Baseness?"

Trong bellowed, “Cut!” and loosed another torrent of abuse that Edward was glad not to understand.

Eleal bounced down to sit beside him. She was still flushed with excitement at being reunited with her family.

Trong, she said proudly, was her something.

"Query,” Edward sighed.

"Father of mother."

"Ah. I see the likeness."

She giggled with delight, then frowned severely. “Darthon Warrior is not good!"

"No."

"Sh! They're starting again!"

"Insolent spawn of lowborn vermin!” Trong declaimed, giving the cue.

"You foulness clad in kingly raiment!” roared a new voice from the trees. Tothroom jumped and dropped his script. “Earth's bowels,” Dolm bellowed, striding out, brandishing a stick with such menace that it seemed to reflect the sun, “have never issued forth more loathsome leech to suck the merit from the people and warp their aspirations, like your own, to baseness."

The troupe was on its feet. Tothroom's jaw hung slackly.

"Say you so?” Trong fell back a pace, hands raised to ward off this attack. “Easier ‘tis for whippersnapper to crack the air with words and slight his betters than man to balance judgment and uphold the laws with deeds."

"Uphold the laws?” Dolm stormed, advancing on him and leaving his unfortunate replacement completely out of the scene. A barrage of words exploded from the newcomer, an avalanche of scorn fell on Trong. Carillons of poetry soared far beyond Edward's comprehension, but the sense was obvious. Grastag King defied, argued, pleaded, and finally cringed, while Darthon Warrior thundered over him like a volcano.

The scene ended when Trong fled howling into the bushes. For a moment the grove was silent.

"Oh, that was much better!” Eleal remarked judiciously as the riot of welcome converged on Dolm. She turned to Edward with a puzzled frown. “He was never that good before. What did you do to him?"

"I just—"

No! No! No! Everything clicked into place and Edward could only stare at Eleal in horror.

54

NOW THERE WAS NO QUESTION OF THE TROUPE REJECTing Edward, for Dolm was restored to form and favor, and he was a strong Edward supporter. In fact no one gave a thought to the newcomer for the rest of the day except Eleal, who kept him advised of what was happening.

The incompetent Tothroom having been sent packing, performances could begin as soon as arrangements were made. The big amphitheater at the temple was still being used by the Golden Book Players, who had won that year's rose—a very inferior troupe, Eleal insisted—but the town had a smaller one just outside the walls. By nightfall, she was coaching Edward in the art of coloring placards, lettered in the strange Greek-style script. He shared his new friends’ meager meal; he slept in a borrowed blanket in the shed they had rented. It was normally used to store some sort of root crop and had a strong smell of ginger. As a dorm for fourteen people it was embarrassingly intimate, but he had been accepted as one of the band, at least for the time being.

The next day he walked the streets of Suss carrying sandwich boards. He was still shaky and footsore, but the job was within his capabilities; Dr. Gibbs had stoutly maintained that the chief benefits of a classical education were versatility and adaptability. Edward found himself in trouble only once, when a visiting merchant asked him for directions to Boogiil Wheelwright's.

Suss was tightly cramped within its walls, yet prosperous. The walls themselves suggested that artillery was still unknown in the Vales, but he noted promising signs of technology. A few people wore spectacles. Stores sold printed books and musical instruments and tailored clothes, while food stalls offered a wide variety of crops. He saw very few beggars. The sewer system was underground and drinking water was piped to communal outlets. He had seen many towns on Earth less favored. He could still hold out hopes that Nextdoor had a London or a Paris somewhere.

That evening he peeled yamlike tubers for the cooks, fetched firewood, washed clothes, and helped to lay out the evening meal. The fare was sparse, but tomorrow should bring better fortune. The day's rehearsals had gone well. Old friends in Suss had promised to attend the opening night.

That evening, sprawled on the grass outside their hut, the players for the first time had leisure to discuss their new recruit. Understandably, they wanted to know just who he was and where he had come from and what he was planning to do. He explained as well as he could that he was a visitor from a very far country and did not know why the gods had brought him to Sussland. He would eagerly help in any way he could in return for his daily bread and a roof over his head. Eleal's tale was being regarded with justifiable incredulity, but Dolm vouched for him. The discussion went on a long time as those voluble, arty people passed a rare free evening doing what they enjoyed doing most—talking.

In the end the decision was made by the formidable Ambria. Edward would not be discussed outside the group, she decreed. The name “Liberator” would not be mentioned. He would be a traveling scholar from Nosokland, which was sufficiently distant that no one would question his mangled grammar and peculiar accent. “Choose a name!” she commanded.

Edward shrugged.

"D'ward's a nice name!” Eleal said. Everyone laughed.

It was certainly not uncommon, Piol remarked, being the name of a minor Tion avatar, god of heralds and envoys.

"Then D'ward Scholar he shall be!” Ambria decreed. Talk turned to other topics.

Probably only Edward knew how she came by her infallibility, for he had been trained in leadership. He had watched her read the group's wishes and put them into words, sensing where her followers wished to go before they themselves knew. Then she had led them there. She displayed no doubts. A man could learn from her.

Thus D'ward Scholar became one of the Trong Troupe.

He, in turn, accepted them. They were a strange group, but they had many admirable qualities. They were devoted to their art, cheerfully enduring poverty and hardship for its sake. They had a strong mutual affection and they rarely bickered. They knew one another's strengths and weaknesses, and worked within them. Politics and commerce they ignored, their religion was simple, their god benevolent. A world of such people would not be a bad place.

The following morning he again walked the streets with his placards, and he chose some odd parts of the city in which to advertise drama. He had observed waterwheels outside the walls, but the factories were not mechanized. Nevertheless they were true factories, employing dozens of people, with clear divisions of labor. He discovered something that he thought was a small blast furnace, although it was not in use. He saw both coal and coke. This was a culture waiting for an industrial revolution.

In the afternoon he went with Dolm Actor to purchase firewood, which was apparently an artistic necessity. Suss was one of the better towns of the Vales, Dolm said—proud to be the home of a major god and anxious to live up to his standards. Its citizens were devoted to freedom and democracy, which often meant social chaos. New laws must be approved by an assembly of all the citizens, leading to riot, destruction of property, and even deaths, but such mishaps were regarded as the price of liberty. In their own eyes Sussians were a sturdy, self-reliant people; their neighbors thought they were crazy anarchists. Of course, Dolm explained with a chuckle, Joalvale lay over the next pass and in reality Sussia was part of Joaldom. Edward decided that further understanding must await mastery of the language.

That afternoon he joined the whole troupe in a late lunch, another skimpy repast of fruit and vegetables. The first performance of the Varilian in Suss would begin just before sundown, and everyone was in a state of nerves. Again they had gathered on the grass outside the shed. The shade was welcome, the sun ferocious. Insects buzzed around the sweaty people, biting painfully whenever they had the chance. Tempers were touchy. It was no secret that the finances were exhausted. Only a favorable reception of the play lay between the band and disaster.

Edward was just as edgy as they were. His feet and legs ached and his sore tooth was hammering a red-hot chisel into his jaw. He feared he had another attack of diarrhea pending, when he had not properly recovered from the last one. An able-bodied scrounger might be acceptable if he were willing to help, but he could not expect the troupe to care for a useless invalid. He knew that the unfamiliar diseases of this world might kill him sooner rather than later.

Conversation turned to the evening's proceedings, with Ambria distributing responsibilities.

"And what will D'ward do?” asked Klip Trumpeter, a pimply adolescent. More than anyone else, he seemed to resent the freeloader—possibly because his own value to the troupe was questionable at best.

"D'ward will help pass the hat,” Dolm said, dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “I think he will do very well at that."

"He will collect gold!” Eleal proclaimed. Everyone ignored that absurdity and went on with their various discussions.

Edward was sitting across from the charming Uthiam, not entirely by accident. She was married, but he enjoyed looking at her. “Tell me, please,” he said. “Query ... T'lin?"

She looked surprised, doing lovely things with her eyebrows. “T'lin Dragontrader? Eleal's friend?"

He had learned now that names were trades. What exactly this T'lin traded in, he was uncertain, except that it was something to ride on. He nodded.

She shrugged. “He comes and goes. A bit of a rascal, I think, but he seems fond of Eleal. If you believe her story, he helped rescue her from the temple in Suss. We run into him two or three times a year."

He got all that on the first try, except for the last bit, which he asked her to repeat. Two or three times a year? How long was a year? Could he bear to wait that long, or must he risk appealing to Tion?

Uthiam said, “Why do you want T'lin Dragontrader, or is that a rude question?"

"I think he may be able to help me."

She gave him a thousand-ship smile. “He must know the Vales as well as anyone. Stay with us and you'll meet him sooner or later."

"You're all very kind. I wish I could be more useful."

"You are useful! Have you ever done any acting?

One schoolboy production? “A little."

Heads turned.

"Would you care to say a few words?” asked Piol Poet. The little man was genuinely interested, his eyes bright. He wrote the plays; he was the scholar, a likable old gentleman.

"You would not understand them, sir."

"But we may see if you have talent!"

Only if they had very sharp eyes, Edward thought. But a good laugh would help cheer them up and could not hurt him. He finished chewing a mouthful of the carroty root with the ginger flavor. “All right.” He rose to his feet. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that what he really had in mind was a test of some of his wild-eyed theories.

Other quiet conversations ceased. More heads turned to watch him. Reviewing his very limited repertoire, he chose the Agincourt speech.

"I'll give you a speech by a warrior named ... “Henry would sound female to them. “Kingharry. His men must fight many more men.” He struggled to put his thoughts into words. “He begins with scorn for those who want to leave. He says that they can go if they want to. He has too many ... no ... he has enough men that their deaths will hurt their land if they lose, understand? And then he tells of the glory that will be theirs if they win against such great odds."

"Sounds like Kaputeez Battlemaster's speech in the Hiloma,” Trong pontificated.

Edward left the shade, out into the scorching sunlight. He detoured by a stack of properties to arm himself with a wooden sword, then took up his stance before a group of shrubs, his knees starting to quiver with stage fright. He must just hope that Shakespeare would sound as impressive to them as Piol's poetry did to him. He was going to perform in a foreign language before an audience of professionals? He was crazy! He reviewed the opening lines, wiped sweat from his forehead. Idiot show-off! Then he turned to face the watchers under the trees, the eyes, the expectant silence. He noticed the secret smiles. He took a deep breath. Mr. Butterfield, the English master, had always told him to speak to a deaf old lady in the back row. He spoke to Piol Poet, who was slightly deaf and well to the rear.

"What's he that wishes so?” he said sharply. “My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: If we are marked to die, we are enow to do our country loss."

He saw the frowns, the shock as they realized that this was a language like none they had ever heard before.

"I am not covetous for gold..."

He began to raise his voice. He had caught the poet's interest already—Piol's eyes were wide.

"We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us! This day is called the feast of Crispin..."

Dolm was smiling. Eleal was agog. Trong, old ham, was frowning. But he had them! It was working! Creighton had known.

"Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words, Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot..."

The excitement was rising. He could feel their empathy, their professional response. Not his minuscule talent, not the roll of the bard's poetry, not challenge and bluster—no, there was other magic at work here. Fallow would have laughed him to shreds had he blustered like this, but ham was what the troupe enjoyed, so he gave them ham. He postured and flailed and roared the deathless words.

The troupe was totally caught up in the bravado, and so was he. He stalked the field of Agincourt before them, a juvenile warlord reviling the potent French multitude, defying death in the name of fame. He was one with his audience. The troupe's joy flowed out to him, he ate it up and sent it back to them in glory.

He waited, puzzled that no one had picked up the cue. The greatest inspirational English ever penned faded away into the alien trees. Suddenly he was back in the dusty orchard before the ramshackle hut, and the troupe was on its feet, cheering and applauding and screaming for more.

Laughing with relief, he bowed in acknowledgment.

His gut had stopped hurting and so had his tooth. He felt tremendous.

Creighton had called it charisma.

Generals, politicians, prophets, and sometimes actors.

55

ELEAL HAD KNOWN ALL ALONG THAT D'WARD WOULD BE a wonderful actor, and she was delighted by the family's reaction to his performance. As soon as she saw Trong going off by himself, she ran over to him and said, “Grandfather?"

The big man jumped and looked at her as if he had never seen her before. Then he went down on one knee and—much to her astonishment—hugged her tightly. His beard tickled. She noticed how rough and coarse his face was, scarred by years of makeup.

"Darling Granddaughter! I missed you! It is wonderful to have you safely restored to us."

Well! He might have said so two days ago!

"I missed you, too. And one day you must tell me all about my mother."

He turned his face away, registering extreme pain. “It is a tragic tale, child."

"I expect it is, but we don't have time for it now. I have a suggestion."

"Indeed?” His astonishment seemed somewhat excessive.

"Indeed!” Eleal said. “I think D'ward would be much better as Tion in the Trastos than Golfren Piper is."

She had feared he would dismiss the idea out of hand, but the old man considered it seriously. “He has a very strange accent, Eleal."

"But Tion has very few lines to say, and I know D'ward could learn to say those clearly. Besides, would it even matter? Do you think the audience would notice? He would be so convincing!"

Trong smiled, which he rarely did. In fact she could not recall him ever actually smiling at her before. “Perhaps he would! But it would hardly be fair to Golfren."

"If he didn't mind, would you?"

"Well, I don't know. Tion is usually shown with fair hair, and D'ward is dark. And the Youth never wears more than a loincloth. D'ward may have a very hairy chest, and that would not look right."

"He can use a wig and he doesn't have any hairs on his chest.” He did have marvelous eyelashes, though.

Trong flinched. “Oh. Well, I will think about it."

"Thank you, Grandfather!” Eleal said, and kissed him. He was still kneeling, staring after her, as she skipped away.

She had thought that the priests of Ois had stolen her pack, but apparently Ambria had saved it. So she had its familiar weight on her shoulders as the troupe set out for the amphitheater. She had a proper built-up boot again, too, which made walking much easier. She sidled next to Golfren, and waited until she had him to herself.

"Golfren?"

"Eleal? Up to your tricks again?"

"Certainly not. I mean, what tricks? I just wanted to ask your opinion of something."

He smiled down at her, eyes twinkling. Golfren had nice eyes, but they were not nearly as bright a blue as D'ward's. D'ward was altogether more handsome.

"I smell trouble. Ask away."

"Don't you think it would be nice,” Eleal said carefully, “if we could give D'ward a small part in one of the plays? So as he could feel like one of the group?"

Golfren cleared his throat. “Well, that depends. What part did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I was thinking he would make a very good Tion, in the right sort of play."

"You were, were you? Well I think he might—in the right sort of play."

"I knew you would agree with me,” Eleal said.

Piol was talking with D'ward all the way, and Eleal did not get a chance to talk with him until after they had arrived at the amphitheater. She changed quickly into her herald costume. As this was not Narsh, she did not need extra clothes to keep warm. She went in search of Piol, and found him in the middle of a circle of props, spread out on the grass.

"Piol Poet?"

"Yes?” he muttered abstractly. The trouble with Piol was that he so often had his mind on other things.

"Don't you think D'ward is a wonderful actor?"

Scratching his stubbly beard, the little man said, “Mm?” and then, “Hmm? Yes, I do.” He glanced at his list and then peered all around.

"Good! Don't you think it would be advisable to give him a small part in one of the plays?"

"Mmm? But which part?"

"I think he would make a great Tion in the Trastos! Golfren thinks so too, and Trong agrees."

"Can you see Karzon's sword anywhere?"

Eleal sighed and picked up the sword, which was lying right by her feet. She poked at Piol's tummy with it. “Why not let D'ward play Tion when we do the Trastos?"

Piol spoke to his list. “What? Who? But Tion has to play his pipes!"

Sussians preferred plays that made Tion seem like the most important god in the Pentatheon, of course, but this year Piol had ignored tradition, as he so often did. He had written Tion's part for Golfren. Golfren looked splendid in a skimpy loincloth, but he couldn't act. So Tion mostly just stood by while the other gods argued. D'ward could do that just as well as Golfren, even if he didn't have golden curls!

At the end, when the doomed Trastos Tyrant fell into despair and called on Tion to help him—when the audience would be expecting Tion to make a big speech—Golfren came in and played his pipes instead. It was a big surprise. It had gone over well in Mapvale, fairly well in Lappinvale. What Narshians thought didn't matter.

"No he doesn't!” Eleal said crossly. “You just wrote it that way because you don't trust Golfren not to butcher his lines!"

"We can talk about it some other time. Take this flask over to the spring and fill it, will you? And stop threatening me with that sword!"

"No, listen!” Eleal poked him again. “Tion inspires Trastos with courage to go and fight even though he knows he's doomed. Of course you could give Tion more lines to speak instead of the silly piping, so the audience would know what it meant. A rousing speech like the one D'ward did tonight, but in Joalian, of course, and why are you laughing?"

"Me, laughing? I wasn't laughing! I was thinking about the soldier in the Varilian."

That was Golfren Piper's other role, and he was just terrible in it.

"What of it?” she demanded warily.

"We could turn him into a general."

"D'ward could do that very well, too,” she said. “But we can't change the Varilian now, in the middle of a run. And it really wouldn't be fair to steal all Golfren's parts. No, I think D'ward should play Tion in the Trastos."

"I'll think about it.” Piol knelt down to look in the makeup box. “Golfren might not mind losing his lines, but he loves to play his pipes. Fetch that water."

Fortunately Eleal had a spare string for her lute. “This is a tragedy we're talking about, not a masque! Now admit it—the only reason you have Tion play his pipes to encourage the tyrant is that Golfren can't act. Well, why not have Tion play his pipes to summon Gunuu?"

Piol finished counting greasepaint and closed the box. He reached for a pile of ... He looked up. “Who?"

"Gunuu, god of courage,” Eleal said airily. “An avatar of the Youth, of course. He's not very well known hereabouts, I admit, because his temple's down in Rinooland or somewhere, and there are some arguments about where he fits in the Pentatheon.” She had accosted a pair of priestesses in the street that morning and asked them all about courage and who was god of courage, and she must know a lot more about Gunuu at the moment than Piol Poet did.

"What sort of arguments?” Piol was interested now.

"Oh, one school of thought considers him an aspect of Astina, as she is goddess of warriors. But no one will argue that in Suss. So Tion pipes and Gunuu comes on stage and speaks! A god can summon one of his own avatars, can't he?"

Piol stared at her as if she was crazy. “I never heard ... Visek preserve me! Side by side?"

"Why not?” Eleal laid down the sword. “I think D'ward would make an ideal god of courage, don't you? He's a born actor!"

"And you're a born playwright!” The old man was staring blankly into space already. Recognizing the signs of genius at work, she crept quietly away to let him concentrate. She was glad to have that settled! Not that she'd been in any doubt how the conversation would turn out. It was written in the prophecy: D'ward shall become Tion, D'ward shall become Courage.

The amphitheater was a natural hollow on the cliff edge outside the walls. It was not as large as the one at the temple, but Eleal thought it had better acoustics, and there were two shacks in the bushes for the cast dressing rooms. The arena at the temple had only one dressing room.

Members of the troupe moved around with the money bowls as the audience trickled down the path. Later she overheard Gartol Costumer wondering how D'ward had managed to collect twice as much as he had. The play began at sunset, with Klip blowing a fanfare on his trumpet. The first act was played in twilight. The bonfires were lit during the intermission and again players went around with the bowls. This time everyone was interested to know how the play was being received, and again D'ward had collected the most.

In the second act Eleal made her entrance as the herald and said her line. She had played in Suss for the first time in her life! As she walked off into the shadows, wielding her staff so her limp would not show, someone began to clap, and then the whole audience followed, and that really did sound like the biggest applause of the evening. She had a strong suspicion that it had been D'ward who had begun that clapping, but she couldn't be sure, and of course she was too proud to ask.

At the end, as the audience trooped out under the moons, the actors offered the bowls again, and then some people did put real gold in D'ward's, exactly as Eleal Singer had predicted. He had not even had a part in the play, but he had such a nice smile!

56

THE NEXT DAY THE TROUPE MOVED TO MORE RESPECTAble quarters and the meals improved considerably.

Before that, though, Ambria announced that she was going to the temple. Her expression suggested that everyone ought to go to the temple. There were a few grumbles, but most people nodded to show they thought this was a good idea. Eleal knew that she should go, to thank Tion for returning her safely to her family, certainly D'ward should. Obviously he did not want to.

"I shall not,” he said firmly. “And I should be very grateful if you would not mention the Liberator in your prayers. Do you need someone to stay behind and look after your baggage?"

Ambria disapproved, but she could hardly force him to go to the temple against his will, and even she was not proof against his smile. Piol announced that he had some work to do, so he would stay behind also. Everyone else went.

Nothing special happened. Eleal thanked the god for rescuing her from Narsh, and from the reapers, and restoring her to her family. She did not mention D'ward, although it was very hard not to think about him while she was praying. And nothing special happened! She limped when she departed just as much as she had limped when she arrived. Perhaps she was being presumptuous in hoping that her efforts would be rewarded with a miracle—or had she not finished her task? She had not actually brought D'ward to Tion's temple.

Later the troupe moved into the Suss hostelry, which was a very good one. Piol Poet disappeared. Eleal found him in the attic, writing busily. She was confident then that he was working on a new speech for the Tragedy of Trastos. She left him alone and later, when Halma was looking for him, she said he had gone to the market.

It was wonderful to be back with her family again. They all told her how much they had missed her; she thought they appreciated her more now. Perhaps she even appreciated them more. That very afternoon, to her complete astonishment, Trong took her aside and sat her down and told her all about her mother, Itheria Impresario. It was a very sad story, and they were both weeping before it was finished.

An hour later, when Eleal was helping Ambria hang out washing, the big woman said, “Did Trong speak to you?"

Eleal nodded. She should have guessed whose idea that had been.

"Don't be too hard on him,” the big woman said gruffly, standing on tiptoe to peg things on the highest rope. “He has never forgiven himself for letting you fall out the window when he was supposed to be looking after you."

"What has that to do with my mother?"

"Well, nothing, I suppose. He shouldn't have made us keep that a secret from you. It is still very difficult for him to talk about."

"But,” Eleal said loyally, feeling her eyelids start to prickle all over again, “if it was a god who, er, I mean ... Well, if she fell in love with a god, then that really wasn't her fault, was it?"

"You mean it was the god's fault?"

Um! “Well, yes. It must have been."

"That's what Trong finds so hard to talk about. Be careful with that blouse, now!"

D'ward was becoming quite fluent in Joalian and everyone was very careful to speak clearly and correctly around him, so he would not pick up the terrible local growl. He asked Eleal to give him reading lessons, too, and of course she graciously consented to set aside some time for this. He wanted to find a copy of the Filoby Testament and practice on that, but she explained that it was written in Sussian, and would be bad for him.

"How about some of Piol's plays, then?” he asked.

"No!” she said firmly. “They're in classical Joalian. If you try speaking that in the streets people will think you are very odd."

He smiled. “That speech I recited from Kingharry was like that."

So they went with Uthiam to a secondhand bookstore. Eleal picked out a famous romance, but D'ward refused it and instead chose an exceedingly dull book about the moons and stars. Teaching him to read with that awful thing was not nearly as much fun as she had expected. He seemed amazed to learn that Trumb went through his phases in only four and a half days, making solemn-faced jokes that Trumb wasn't really a big moon, therefore, only close to the Earth. He was even surprised to learn that the fortnight came from Ysh, who took exactly fourteen days to go from eclipse to eclipse. He spent hours studying Kirb'l and became almost surly in consequence. He claimed he had not known that there were three hundred sixty-four days in a year! At times, the Liberator was definitely strange.

She was not the only one to have noted his smile. Olimmiar Dancer was making a perfect fool of herself, following him around like a lapcat and blushing every time he looked at her, until Eleal wanted to scream. The married women were almost as bad. If their husbands noticed, they did not comment. Everybody knew that D'ward was an honorable man.

Piol produced his ode to courage and Trong started rehearsing the Trastos, although the Varilian was still drawing full houses every night.

Eleal sat down with D'ward to help him learn his speech. He had trouble working out exactly what it said, of course, and then he seemed very unhappy with it.

"It's all, er—what do you call a thing that says something everybody knows already?"

Eleal wasn't sure, so they called over Golfren, who said the word was “platitude."

"This is all platitudes!” D'ward announced.

Golfren read over the speech. “Yes, it is. But isn't most poetry like that? It isn't what it says that matters, it's the way it says it."

D'ward pondered, then laughed and agreed.

He was absolutely horrified when Gartol Costumer produced his costume.

"You mean I have to go out in front of hundreds of people wearing only that? But there will be ladies present!"

"It's traditional,” the old man said, “and the ladies will love it."

D'ward looked very shocked and turned red.

He was interested in all sorts of things—politics and customs and geography and business. Especially, though, he was interested in the gods. One day Eleal actually overheard him ask Trong which were the good gods and which were the bad gods.

Trong, of course, was horrified. “The gods are good and know not evil, my son!” he said, which was a line from The Judgment of Apharos, although D'ward would not know that.

"So where does evil come from?"

"Evil comes from mortals, when they do not obey the gods."

"Then you approve of what women must do in the temple in Narsh?” D'ward sounded more puzzled than impertinent.

Trong growled, “Certainly!” and stalked away.

The very next day, D'ward took Piol Poet off to a corner of the dining area and started writing something. It so happened that Eleal was helping Uthiam hunt for an earring she had lost, and while she was looking under a nearby table she chanced to hear some of what was being said. Piol seemed to be listing all the gods and goddesses he could think of, and D'ward was writing them down. Actually, he only wrote down some of them, and later he left the list lying around where anyone could pick it up and read it. There was no pattern to the ones he'd chosen: P'ter, D'mit'ri, Ken'th, D'ward, Alis.

He'd spelled most of them wrong anyway. And his handwriting was terrible.

Another day, when they were rehearsing in the park under the bridge and D'ward was sitting with Dolm in front of some bushes, Eleal just happened to pass by on the other side of the bushes.

"I know T'lin Dragontrader,” Dolm was saying, “but only by sight. He's probably spying for someone, maybe both sides, maybe four or five sides. Most traveling merchants do. The Vales are always conspiring—Joalia, Thargia, Niolia, and all their vassal states."

"How about traveling actors?"

"Of course. When we return to Jurg in the fall, Ambria files reports with the Niolian ambassador."

Eleal had not known that! She moved to a more comfortable position, a little closer.

"Political spying?” D'ward said. “Do the gods play the same sort of game among themselves?"

"Likely they do, some of them."

"I suppose one tries everything in a few thousand years?"

Dolm chuckled. “I expect so. I was required to report to Zath if I ever learned anything that might interest him—a war brewing, or a plague, for example. I only had reason to do it once, and that was in Narsh last fortnight."

"How did you? Do you write reports to gods?"

"I had a ritual, of course."

"Explain that, please."

How typical of D'ward, not to know what a ritual was!

But Dolm did not laugh. “A ritual is a procedure decreed by a god. A priest will sacrifice a chicken in a particular way for a foretelling, another way for a blessing or a healing, right? It works because the god has arranged it so."

"So it's sort of like writing a name and address on a message? When you do certain things in a certain order, the god knows he's being called and what's expected of him?"

"I never thought of it that way, but yes, it must be."

How like D'ward to see things in a way nobody else did!

Dolm continued. “I had been given a ritual to summon the god in person. Obviously that is not something one undertakes lightly, especially when one's personal god is Zath. Parts of the ceremony had been made deliberately unpleasant, but of course that is to be expected.” He laughed nervously. “Fortunately he approved of my presumption, and I must admit that he rewarded me well."

"May I ask how?"

Dolm sighed. “With rapture, mostly. But he also cured the wound I had inflicted on myself as part of the ritual. Otherwise I would have bled to death."

D'ward asked the question that was making Eleal want to burst: “What does Zath look like?"

There was a long pause before Dolm answered. “Hard to say. He wears a reaper gown with a hood. I never saw him properly, not really."

"This was what Eleal saw?"

"She saw the ritual, at least. I'm sure she'd run away before Zath arrived, or she would not be around now. I never met anyone one quarter as snoopy as that child!"

How dare he call her a child!

D'ward had not finished with his questions. “Why did you call Zath that time?"

"Because of what happened in the temple. Trong sacrificed to Ois. The priest was extremely surprised by the portents. Minor rituals like that are normally routine, so I knew the goddess was taking a personal interest. Thinking she objected to my evening activities, I reported to my master. Zath knew what was happening, though. He said Eleal was the problem, and I could leave her to the goddess."

There was a silence, then, broken only by Trong's rantings in the distance.

Dolm chuckled. “You look worried. What else do you want to know?"

"This story about Eleal's mother."

Eleal bristled. It was not polite of them to discuss her when she wasn't there! Or not supposed to be there, at least.

"Is it a common event—a god raping a mortal?"

"Not raping!” Dolm protested. “She would have submitted very willingly. It's not exactly common. But I don't think it's truly rare, either. You know the athletes from the festival here always spent a night at Iilah's grove? There's a common belief that at least one husky young man will always have an interesting experience that night."

"It sounds like rape to me, if the victims can't resist. And when it's a god and a woman—do the women always kill themselves?"

"No. But men or women, they're never much good for anything else. They never speak of it, but how could they ever be happy again, after having known the love of a god? Excuse me. I've got to go. My cue's coming up."

D'ward just sat there then, by himself, thinking. Eleal crept away.

He was accepted as one of the troupe. Even Klip could not dislike him. If he had a fault, it was that he would persist in regarding Eleal as a mere child. For example, one afternoon when he was in the kitchen, helping Uthiam Piper make supper—he was peeling blueroots, Uthiam baking bread...

"I am worried about Eleal,” he said, and again that was very rude of him to discuss someone who was not there.

Uthiam laughed. “Why on earth are you worried about her?"

"Well, I'm grateful to her for what she did for me, of course. I should certainly have died without her help. I am very grateful to all of you, also, but I was brought here against my will. Somehow I must find a way to go home again and ... attend to certain important duties."

"We shall miss you. We enjoy your company. You more than pay your way with the collections—I wish I knew how you did that! But what has this to do with Eleal?"

"She seems to think she owns me! I can't stay with you forever, and I don't want to hurt the child's feelings."

Child? Eleal fumed.

"I am sorry for her,” D'ward continued. “She is so convinced that she will be a great actor when she grows up! Can she? With that game leg? She won't be able to compete in the Tion Festival or—"

"You needn't worry about that small hussy,” Uthiam said. “I would back her against the entire Sussian militia any day. In fact, if you were to peek around that door, there, right now, I suspect you would find a pair of very sharp ears, attached to the sides of Eleal Singer's head."

Eleal took off along the corridor as if Zath himself were after her.

Following six well-received performances of the Varilian, the Trong Troupe announced The Tragedy of Trastos. In the smallest print on the playbills, D'ward Scholar was mentioned in the role of Gunuu, god of courage. Rehearsals had not gone well. D'ward seemed very wooden and not at all the fiery young man who had played Kingharry for the troupe.

"Bigger, bigger!” Trong told him, over and over. “It's almost dark, remember! You're standing in firelight, not sunlight. Exuberate! Wave your arms! Declaim!"

But D'ward continued to play the part in the same dull way, almost as if he hoped they would cancel his appearance.

Even on the morning of the first performance, Trong was doubtful. Piol insisted it would be all right on the night, and even if it wasn't it would not spoil the show.

Eleal was sure it would be all right.

It was more than all right. It was spectacular.

Eleal had no costume to worry about in the Trastos because she sang her gods’ messenger part offstage. She did it very well, but she won no applause. Nobody was being applauded. The collection at intermission had been pitiful. In backstage whispers, the actors agreed they had never met a harder audience. The trouble might be that Trastos was a historical villain in Suss, so Sussians did not enjoy seeing him portrayed as a tragic hero. Piol had bent tradition too far.

D'ward's scene came near the end. Eleal slipped out through the bushes to sit on the edge of the crowd and watch. The doomed Trastos, having defied the gods’ command to abdicate in favor of a democracy and then challenged the rebels to send forth a champion to meet him in single combat, had now learned that this champion would be his own son, Daltos Liberator. Trong proclaimed his despair in a long soliloquy, crumbling by stages to the grass. He ended lying prone, howling out the cue: “Gods, send me courage!"

Golfren entered, wearing the golden loincloth that identified him as Tion. Even in Narsh, the audience had reacted a little to this dramatic confrontation. The Sussians sat in stony silence to hear what the god might say to rescue the evening from disaster.

"I will send you courage!” Golfren announced, and began to play. Eleal heard a few angry whispers near her. Golfren, too, sensed the crowd's displeasure, for he shortened his solo, raising the music swiftly to the rallying call that was D'ward's cue.

"I am Courage!” D'ward Scholar strode into the light of the fires, tall and lean, wearing an identical costume and holding a symbolic lantern high. How handsome he was! Surely every woman in the amphitheater must have felt her heart quicken at the sight of him! Surely every man would identify with his youthful bravado? The spectators gasped to see a god and one of his own aspects on stage together.

Piol had written better poetry, Eleal thought, but she had never heard any of it better spoken, and in a fine Joalian accent, too:

Of what may sometimes be...

And so on, in forty or fifty lines of rousing verse. It built to a satisfying climax with a local Sussian reference or two. All the time old Trong was recovering, rising with the poetry—to his knees, to one knee, until at the end he was erect and defiant, brandishing his sword at the stars and roaring out an echo of the final line, inspired to die bravely.

The audience was on its feet also. The hollow rang with cheers. D'ward had to come out again and repeat the entire thing twice. Then he and Trong had to take a special bow, while the audience screamed hysterically and threw gold coins.

Never had Eleal seen such a triumph! Later she limped around through the crowd with a bowl. Money clinked into it like rain until it became unpleasantly heavy. The others’ bowls were filling up as well. She saw smiling faces everywhere. There was a huge throng around D'ward—mostly women, she was annoyed to notice—and she hoped he was managing the conversation successfully. Probably none of it was very subtle. She could not even get close to him.

Eventually she sidled up to Trong, to hear what was being said by all the admiring citizens clustered around him. Many of them were old friends she recognized from past years, who might have a kind word to say about her own debut. One of the others was an ancient priest from the temple, conspicuous in his splendid yellow robe. He seemed to be somebody special, for everyone was deferring to him.

Then Klip came lounging by, empty-handed.

"Here!” she said, thrusting the weighty bowl at him. “Some more loot!"

Klip whistled as he took it. “You've done well, Eleal!"

The old priest turned around. “Eleal? Is your name Eleal, my daughter?"

She curtsied. “I am Eleal Singer, Your Holiness. You heard me earlier, in my role as the gods’ messenger. I have an onstage part in our other play where I—"

He must have sharp ears to have overheard Klip. He had very sharp eyes, too. His hair was silver, his shaven, wizened face had a snowy texture. “And this remarkable young actor we witnessed this evening ... D'ward?"

"D'ward ... Scholar, Your Holiness.” Staring into that needling gaze, she felt a sudden uneasiness. “He's from Rinoovale."

"Is he, indeed?” The old man glanced around at his companions. “Excuse us a moment.” He laid a spidery hand on Eleal's shoulder and urged her back a few paces, away from onlookers. He bent over, putting his face very close to hers, and he smiled in a grandfatherly sort of way. “There is an Eleal mentioned in the Filoby Testament. There is a D'ward mentioned there, too. What can you tell us about this strange coincidence, child?"