Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER SIX

The funeral ceremony for Iraj's victims was depressingly easy to arrange. The village was still draped in black from mourning Tio. The wailing women's cheeks were well oiled for tears. This time, however, there were no swaggering louts shouting vows of revenge.

If Tio's death had shocked the villagers, the toll they now faced was beyond shrieks and tears and shouts. Besides the three murdered sentries Leiria had found, there were six others who had been surprised and killed by Iraj and his companions.

When the dawn came and the bodies were discovered there had been so much blood they couldn't keep the children from seeing it. After Safar pronounced the funeral prayer and the boats were fired and launched, many of the young people became hysterical with grief. They clutched each other and wept, shouting the names of their dead friends. It was a scene that would haunt many a dream for years to come.

As soon as he could Safar retreated into the little temple. But there was no peace to be found in the dusty silence of his inner chambers. Solitude makes misery larger, not smaller, Safar thought. And when you are truly alone there's no one to curse but yourself. He was exhausted from his encounter with Iraj, so tired his limbs were ungainly weights and the air itself seemed formed of the thickest clay, resisting his every motion. It was as if he had been stripped of all spirit and will, leaving him so weak that if Iraj had suddenly appeared Safar would have surrendered gladly.

It made him ill prepared when his father entered the chamber, shamefaced and shuffling.

"You are my son," he said, avoiding Safar's eyes. "But it is my duty to speak to you not as a father, but as a member of the Council of Elders. Forgive me, Safar, for what I am about to say. It's their words, not mine, that I must speak. And you should know it is only out of courtesy that the Council is allowing me to carry them to you so the insult might be lessened."

Safar nodded. "That was good of them," he said. If there was sarcasm in his manner, it was unintended.

His father stiffened. "Safar Timura, son of Khadji and Myrna Timura, it is the wish of the Council of Elders that you report immediately to the Meeting Lodge. There you will wait while the Council considers the recent tragic events and the part you played in them. You have the right to address the Council before their final decision is made. However, you may not be present while that decision is being discussed. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Safar said.

Khadji's formal pose collapsed into that of a worried and awkward father.

"You know I'll speak up for you at the meeting, son," he said.

"Of course you will," Safar said, feeling like a child pretending to be an adult so he could reassure his parent.

Khadji added to the awkward moment by suddenly leaning forward as if to embrace him, then pulling back at the last instant, embarrassed.

"Your mother and sisters send their love," he said. Then, lower, "To which I add mine."

"Thank you father," Safar said, realizing the reply was weak, but under the circumstances it was the safest one he could manage.

He saved his father and himself further embarrassment by becoming occupied with a misplaced sash.

While his eyes were lowered he heard his father let loose a long sigh of frustration.

It was a sigh best ignored, so Safar drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. "Tell the Council," he said, quite formal, "that I will be honored to attend them. And will abide by whatever wise action they deem necessary."

Khadji's eyes welled with tears. He stepped back, fighting for control. Unlike Safar, he was not a self-assessing man, so he didn't understand the difficulty he had with his son. A man of strong beliefs, rights and wrongs, blacks and whites, he assumed it was some glaring fault in the clay he was made of and berated himself for his failings. Safar had inherited many of his father's flaws. On sleepless nights, when good deeds are cracked in guilt's jaws to find the sinful center, he'd added greatly to that score.

Still, he was a wizard with an instinct for striking for the truth and sometimes he was even lucky enough to find it. So where his father turned away, Safar looked deeper. Over time he'd come to understand that Khadji suffered from the ancient curse of all master potters. Under a potter's hands clay is a spirit demanding form and life. It also wants to be useful. It requires a purpose. What's more it insists that purpose and beauty be combined. To achieve this unity-which all potters desire above all else-perspective must be maintained at any cost. A potter loves the clay as deeply as any being can love. Yet he can never declare it. He must not let the barest hint of it come through. Above all things a master potter must keep his distance or he will lose his vision, hence control. Or else what he loves will become an ugly thing that bursts in the kiln at the first firing.

Unfortunately, Safar thought, understanding has less value than a beggar's bowl when it stands alone, leaving him with nothing to offer when he looked across the chasm between himself and his father.

So he said, "How is little Palimak?"

His father laughed, more in relief than anything else.

"He thinks it was all a great adventure," he said. "He's even forgotten he was asleep the whole time."

Khadji shook his head in grandfatherly amusement. "When I saw him last he was sitting in your mother's lap trying to make up a poem about the great boy hero, Palimak Timura, who drove away a hungry pack of wolves."

His father laughed again and Safar laughed with him. Then before the humor could lapse into an uncomfortable silence he used the skills he'd learned as a man of the royal court to send his father away feeling as comfortable as he could under the circumstances.

It didn't make Safar feel any better. However he looked at it, the Grand Wazier and Chief Wizard of all of Esmir had just dismissed-however politely-his own father from his presence.

Safar stood outside the meeting lodge while the Elders debated his fate. The village was silent, doors barred, windows shuttered. Even the dogs had been taken in and the only sound-other than the buzz of discussion going on inside the lodge-was the harsh sawpit song of a young cicada in lust.

At first he paced, then he realized the whole village watched through those closed shutters, and he stood as still as he could, trying his best to strike a noble pose. It made him feel clownish, like a young acolyte waiting to be punished for some bit of mischief. So he fussed with that pose, shifting from noble to manly unconcern and all the other contortions people go through when they know they're being watched but must pretend otherwise. In his days as a circus magician, Methydia, who had turned witchery into a crowd pleasing art, said the greatest trick when squaring off before an audience was to find something natural to do with your hands. It was a lesson he'd thought he'd learned, but as he waited for the elders'

decision his schooling hid giggling in a corner while he shuffled his hands this way and that, feeling foolish, but not knowing what to do about it.

Leiria came hurrying down the lane, clutching a large jug in one arm. When she saw him she grinned and hoisted the jug onto her head. She walked toward him, exaggerating the swing of her hips so even in a soldier's costume of metal and leather she looked like a fetching village lass coming up from the well who'd rather tarry with the lads than go home to her mother. When she reached him she maintained the pose, swinging the jug down and coming up on her toes to offer it to him.

"I hope everybody is watching," she whispered.

"Wish granted, madam," Safar said. "No magic required."

He drank the cold well water as if it were the finest wine, surprised at how thirsty he was. When he lowered the jug Leiria stepped away, relaxing into her normal flat footed stance-right hand resting on the hilt of her sheathed sword.

"They could never figure out if I was a soldier or a slut," she said. "If anyone ever had the nerve to ask, I might have been more tempted to stay here."

"How would you have answered?"

"Simple. I'd have said, 'If truth be known, sir,' assuming it was a sir who asked, 'If truth be known, sir, I was once captain of the Imperial guard. But I was also once the king's whore. So I can claim both titles, sir. I stand before you, soldier and slut together. Lips and sword, sir. Lips and sword.'"

Safar laughed. "That speech sounds like it's had a bit of practice."

"I used it on my last master," Leiria said. "But I told him only one was for hire. I could tell he'd be trouble if I didn't put him straight at the beginning, so I made him guess which was which. Lips or sword? He could see right off the penalty'd be severe if he guessed wrong, so he took the safe road and hired my sword. And that was that!"

A loud voice from the meeting lodge interrupted them. They turned to listen in, but although they could tell it was Safar's father speaking, they couldn't make out the words. Then the voice stopped and the buzz continued.

Leiria was disgusted. "This is stupid."

"I'm not that sure it is," Safar replied. He was so tired almost anything seemed to make sense. "I told them exactly what'd happened. Iraj came here looking for me. And for Palimak. From their point of view the boy and I are responsible for the deaths of many fellow Kyranians."

"So what are they going to do about it?" Leiria asked. "Exile the two of you? Cast you out? As if that's going to solve anything."

"Maybe it will," Safar said wearily. "If we leave, maybe Iraj will let them be."

Leiria sneered. "That's ridiculous!" she said. "Iraj would never be satisfied so easily. He'd want to lay waste to the village as well." She snorted. "Typical leadership! Doesn't matter if you're talking about the leaders of the grandest city or smallest hamlet. They're all the same. I came to the conclusion long ago that to be a leader you must first drink the Wine of Stupidity. Followed by a hefty slug of the Brandy of Forgetfulness. And then a nice tot of Trivial Answers To Questions No One Asked for a nightcap."

She jabbed a finger at the lodge. "They know Iraj. He lived here when he was a boy. They sheltered him when he needed them most. It was Kyrania who brought Iraj here, not Safar Timura. You were only a boy, what did you have to say about it?" Another finger jab at the lodge. "I'd wager anything that your precious Council of Elders held a vote on whether Iraj was to be invited. Any trouble they have with him now comes from that decision.

"So who is to blame? The former members of the Council of Elders? Or Safar Timura, a young lad in a village so small you and Iraj were bound to meet?"

Safar made a wry grin. "You have a way of putting things in such simple terms," he said.

Leiria smacked her sword hilt. "Not so simple that they aren't true," she said. "Any ordinary person could see it. Those silly old men are in there trying to decide who to blame. Which will end up being you and Palimak. No doubt about that! Meanwhile, they're ignoring the real problem. Which is that Iraj will return-and in full force.

"Hells, the only reason they're meeting for so long is that they're faced with harming one of their own.

Palimak will be easy for them. Half demon, half human. Bad luck all around and who else could be to blame? What they'll probably do is ignore you entirely and banish Palimak."

"But anyone who knows me would understand what that'd mean," Safar said, bewildered. "Which is that I'd have to leave as well. Adopted or not, half-breed or quarter breed, I'm responsible for the child."

Leiria rose up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss. "Of course you feel that way," she said. "That's why I fell in love with you. I didn't need the presence of Palimak to know that's how you would act if some sort of thing like that ever occurred. That's why I came back.

"Unless you missed it, Safar Timura, I have returned! Which in my mind-being the only mind I possess-is a damned remarkable thing and you are one hells of a lucky fellow!"

She raised her head and looked Safar straight in the eyes, catching them and holding them so there would be no misunderstanding. "But it's not for love," she said. "At least not that kind of love. I'm not only over that, but I've gone on."

Safar nodded. He had an odd feeling of sudden relief … and regret. "No need to be upset," he said, rather lamely. "I'm not expecting anything, or asking anything of you."

Leiria slapped her sword, angry. "Dammit, Safar Timura, that's not what I mean at all! I'm your friend.

Ask me anything. That's what I want … maybe all that I ever really wanted. But ask me, dammit! Ask!

Or go to the hells along with the whole damned world you're worried about!"

Safar didn't know what to say. He tried to make a weak joke out of the situation. "You never give me a chance to thank you," he said. "You keep saving my life before I can even shout for help."

Leiria nodded toward the lodge. The meeting had ended and his father was standing in the doorway beckoning him. "They're ready for you," she said. "The question is, are you ready for them?"

Safar's mind suddenly cleared. Resolve returned. Which had been Leiria's intent from the beginning.

"I'm ready," he said. "Now I know what to do."

Safar didn't wait for the Elders to settle into various poses of wisdom. He struck first. "I know you've already made your decision," he said, "but I also understand I have the right to speak before the ruling is announced."

A swift glance around the silent room showed him he was right. Except for his father, they all avoided his eyes. "All of us are not in agreement," his father said hotly, glaring at the other Elders. "So yes, son, a speech in your own defense would be most appreciated."

"But a vote has been taken, has it not?" Safar asked.

"Yes it has, Lord Timura," said Foron, the chief elder. The look on his face was that of someone who had tasted something unpleasant, but was required by circumstance to take another bite. "A vote has been taken. Your father was in the minority."

"Then I have absolutely no intention of defending myself," Safar said.

"Please, son," his father protested.

Safar raised a hand, begging his silence. "But I do insist on my right to speak."

"This is most unusual," Masura grumbled. "Not in the rules at all."

There were loud exclamations of agreement and disagreement. The Elders' debate still had them stirred up. Foron thumped the ceremonial pot in front of him. It made a booming sound like a large drum.

Everyone obediently stopped. Safar noted with minor interest the speaker's pot had been made by a Timura long ago.

"Seems simple enough to me," Foron said. "In Kyrania all citizens can say what they want, when they want. Lord Timura is a citizen of Kyrania. Let him talk."

Masura tried to protest. "But this is a formal meeting of-"

"Oh, be silent!" Foron said. "We're not judges in some king's royal court. This is a village, not a city.

Everyone knows Safar. Hells, most of us are even third and fourth cousins to him. Let him talk."

There was instant silence. Even those opposed to Safar were chastened. Masura opened his mouth to protest, caught the heavy scent of disapproval, and stopped.

Safar said, "No matter what your decision-be it in my favor, or not-I will leave Kyrania tomorrow!"

Khadji cursed and there were sounds of shock all around, even from the majority who had called for Safar's banishment. How could a Kyranian willingly leave his home? This was the blessed land. The Valley of the Clouds where Kyranians had lived for as many generations as there were stars in the sky.

Where the Goddess Felakia reigned, rewarding them with her bounty because they were her chosen people. The people of the High Caravans.

Safar raised a hand for silence. "My decision," he said, "has nothing to do with these proceedings. Or any of the tragic events that have occurred. In fact, when we last met I was going to announce my departure.

But it didn't seem the right time, what with all the panic over Tio. I was, however, going to ask permission to leave Palimak with you." He nodded at his father. "Under my parent's care, of course. The journey I have in mind is rather dangerous for a child."

The journey he was referring to was his half-formed, and therefore unspoken, plans to somehow make his way to Syrapis and investigate the vision in the demon wizard's tomb.

Masura snickered. "You must think we're fools," he said. "First, to believe that you'd already intended to leave us. Secondly, that we'd harbor that devil's-"

"Be careful, Masura!" the headmaster broke in, eyeing Khadji, who was about to come across the room after Masura to make him eat the insult. "This is no time for loose talk!" Foron turned to Safar. "Most of us like the lad, Lord Timura," he said. "At the time we would've granted your wishes." He shrugged, "But things have changed since then."

"What cowardly words!" Khadji broke in. "Say it plain, Foron. You voted with the majority-which consists of everyone but me!" He turned to Safar. "These cunning devils voted to exile Palimak," he said.

"But not you. They figured if they banished him, you'd have no choice except to go with him."

Safar buried a smile. How right Leiria had been. Only now did he fully appreciated her subtle efforts to arm him against the elders, and to shoulder duty's burden and march on. A duty Safar was just beginning to make out. Dim as the outlines were, the undertaking would be enormous. If not impossible.

He had to go carefully, or he would stumbled at the first step. "Never mind them, father," he said. "It doesn't matter anymore. Because when I leave I'm taking Palimak with me."

There were murmurs of relief among the Elders. The issue was being settled for them. Possibly they could even forgo the announcement of the ban, which would be been controversial in the extreme. The Timura clan was as popular as it was influential.

It was the perfect time for Safar to play the next piece in a game whose rules he was making up as he went along. "I have only one request to make of the Council," he said.

Foron smiled broadly. With the pressure off he was eager to please. "Ask anything you like, Lord Timura," he said. "How can we help your journey? Is it supplies you need? Animals to carry them? Tell us exactly what you want from us and it will be provided."

"I want you to come with me," Safar answered, flat.

There was stunned amazement, which shattered as everyone shouted at once, some saying Safar must be insane, others that maybe he'd been misunderstood and should be given the chance to explain. Safar waited the small tempest out, noting the majority against him was hardly solid. Even though in effect they'd voted to banish him, Masura's trick of putting the vote against Palimak had only gone so far. Lord Timura had spoken. Mysterious as his intentions might be, they were used to listening to him with enormous respect.

At the proper moment Safar raised a hand and got silence. "Here's how I see it," he said. "I'm sure most of you think if Palimak and I leave, Iraj will ignore Kyrania and follow us."

Most of the men nodded agreement; that was the general feeling. "I mean no disrespect," Safar said, "but if you all think that, then you'd better spend a bit more time examining your logic. Because there is no way under the Demon Moon that haunts us all that Iraj will be satisfied with just my blood and Palimak's."

The Elders stirred as this truth sank in. "You all know as well as I," Safar continued, "that anyone who helped Iraj at any time will suffer for it. This is his nature. Kyrania once sheltered him from powerful enemies. Believe me, he'll destroy Kyrania for knowing he was once so weak that he needed our help."

"But he was just a boy," Foron wailed, the wail giving away the fact that Safar's logic had already smashed his own. "There's nothing for him to be ashamed of. We never harmed him."

"Neither did Tio," Khadji growled, "and look what happened to him!"

Cold dread filled the room and the men shivered at the memory of Tio's ravaged corpse.

Safar said, "There only one course. And that's to flee!"

"But where should we flee to, my son?" Safar's father asked, anguished.

Safar bowed his head. "There is a place I know," he said. "A place where we may all be safe. For awhile, at least."

Masura snorted again. "Bah! Why are we wasting our time with this? Read the child Palimak off the village rolls! Banish him! None of you but I had the nerve to make it Safar Timura we're tossing out. But we all agree it'll have the same purpose. Boot out the boy and Safar will follow. Then life can get back to being normal. No more damn demons stalking our hills, no more wolves killing our children, no more anything but sow our crops, tend our goats and face each season with as much cheer as the gods will allow. This is how we've always done things. I see no reason to change. And I sure as hells am not going to listen to foolish talk about leaving the place of my fathers."

A long silence followed this outburst. However, as embarrassed as everyone was by Masura's rude behavior, Safar could sense that most of the men agreed.

Before anyone could speak there came a familiar sound-caravan bells! Everyone stirred. Could this be?

It had been ages since a caravan had visited Kyrania.

A boy burst through the door, shouting, "Caravan! Caravan!"