Wild Magic

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“Teuzar.”

“Ass’lim, Kasso.”

“Have you done anything about our visitor?”

Anaxo Teuzar smiled tightly. “I sent a messenger to your office, Kasso. I know when I’m out of my depth.”

“Ah. I must have just missed him. Your messenger. Send your novices in, tell them to wait on the kneeling stools while I ascertain the reasons for the visitation. Evensong may be late, but they are to be ready for it nonetheless. Curiosity and rumor will bring others, have ushers ready to get them in place without fuss. I think that’s all. Let it be done.” He waved Teuzar away and went into the Forge Sanctuary.

He smelled the Prophet before he got close enough for a good look. Hasn’t changed his clothes since he left, or had a bath. Or shaved. Ah, the joys of holy dirt. Bless Chumavayal, I wasn’t called to that. Dirt and celibacy, nayo nayo.

He crossed his long slender hands below the Eye; setting them on patches of old thread that showed of his blue-black skin and emphasized the elegance of lⁱre and shape. He moved with a quiet grace around de rough, dirty hermit and stood between him and the fill.

The ecstasy on the man’s face faded with the blocking of the light; he glared up at Juvalgrim. He was almost unrecognizable, twisted, gaunt and hairy, his youh eaten up by the fervor that drove him.

Juvalgrim bowed slightly, the Eye catching the light from the wall lamps, pulsing with it as he moved. “It is time for Evensong, heshim Prophet. You may resume your meditations when our duty has been made.”

Prophet Faharmoy reached for his staff and got to his feet with a wiry nervous surge of his body. His eyes peered out through a fringe of stiff, gray-streaked hair. “Duty,” he cried, his voice hoarse and ugly. “You make a mockery of it, luxuriant whore! I am the Scourge of Chumavayal, hear his words. You who should be the heart of the people, you who should be the example, you have betrayed HIM. Where are the people, High Kasso? Where are the suppliants come to pray for release from their sins? You are the fountain from which corruption flows, High Kasso in Bairroa Pili. You have betrayed caste and upset the divine order of life. You have stepped between servant and master, you have acted for the low against the high. You have pampered the undeserving, you have coddled-no, worse-you have advocated perversion. You want CHANGE!” He spat the last word out as if it were the ultimate accusation. “Chumavayal put his hand upon me. Chumavayal said this to me,” he opened his mouth wide and boomed out the words. “HEAR ME: WHAT IS, IS RIGHT. CHANGE IS BETRAYAL. THOSE THAT TRY TO CHANGE THINGS HAVE BROUGHT UPON THEMSELVES THE DESTRUCTION OF THE LAND. THEY WILL DIE OF HUNGER AND THIRST UNLESS THEY

COME BACK TO ME-UNLESS THEY FOLLOW ME WITHOUT FALTERING OR QUESTIONING.” He cleared his throat and went on in the rasping tones of his first words, “Chumavayal came to me in desert and solitude, saying tell my servants this, my people this.”

Once again he lifted his head, roared the words in his fierce ruined voice:

“YOUR VOICE WILL BE MY VOICE, PROPHET. YOU WILL SCOURGE THE PEOPLE, TURN THEM AWAY FROM THEIR SINS, BRING THEM BACK TO ME.

YOU WILL ERASE FROM THE LAND ALL THAT IS PERVERTED, ALL THAT IS BORN MONSTROUS.

I WILL TAKE THOSE POOR CRIPPLED SOULS TO MYSELF AND HOLD THEM UNTIL THEY ARE HEALED THAT THEY MAY BE BORN ANEW.

I AM NOT A CRUEL FATHER, BUT I DO WHAT I MUST FOR THE HEALTH OF MY PEOPLE.