Wild Magic

WILD MAGIC 329
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On the roof of a warehouse beside the Iron Bridge, seated in a massive chair that conscripted Naostam porters had hauled up three flights of stairs, protected from the sun by a slatted awning, surrounded by his guard hosts, with the Mannaso Prime Fuaz Yoyote sweating anxiously beside him, Famtoche Banddah sipped at a glass of iced vinyol and watched with annoyed impatience the slow unfolding of ceremony below him.

Sivvy and Houen stood by the low parapet, leashes on their necks, their hands bound behind them.

“What’s taking so long? You, Worm.” A wave of his hand brought Fuaz Yoyote to his side. “Diyo, Worm, I’m talking to you. Why don’t they just get on with it?”

“Heshim Amrap.” The thin man with the coppery skin of a Biashar and the spiky stubble of a Cheoshim rounded his shoulders and bobbed his narrow head in bows that seemed to have no end to them. “The Calling must be done without flaw or the all-powerful all-knowing Great One will not answer.”

“And?”

“The High Kasso is doing what is required and more,”-Yoyote said grudgingly; the sweat on his lined face was not from the sun but from fear. His fate and Juvalgrim’s were knotted for the moment and he could do nothing but support the man he loathed.

“I judge by the results, Worm, not the elegance of the attempt. Now get away from me. You stink.”

The kassoa choir repeated the godname over and over in their deepest voices, melding together in a solid sound that shook the bones and made breathing harder.

Juvalgrim’s rich baritone rang out, filling the space between earth and heaven.

Come O Lord of the Morning Giver of Plenty

Come to us O Father of Iron Joy of the Faithful

Bliss of the Lawkeeper…