way out …” Saltaja looked with disgust at Guitha, who was staring at the walls again. “Take that to the herb garden. Make sure you’re not observed. Say aloud, ‘Beloved Mother Xaran, your servant Saltaja sends you this.’ Then cut her throat.”
Ivory pale, Fellard stared hard at her, seeming at a loss for words.
“You will obey me!”
“My … lady …” His voice failed him. He took Guitha by the wrist and led her out.
DANTIO CELEBRE
huddled by himself next to the foremast, chin on knees, struggling against madness. Too much joy! He was crumbling under the sheer load of emotion, his and others. Holy Mayn granted Her Witnesses all knowledge, but the corban She required was that they must never use it. They must observe and never participate, excepting only that they might testify for Speakers of Demern in criminal trials. All this Dantio had sworn at his initiation. Yesterday he had broken his oath, and for that he must die.
Of the five divine senses the Goddess had given him, “sight” was the least of his problems. The fighting at Tryfors was out of his range now, and he could see nothing of importance, only a peaceful passing landscape of pasture and some orchards, fading back edgeward to the gloomy forests of the Hemlock Hills with the glint of the Ice beyond. Seaward he could see to a hazy height of land two or three menzils away. The Wrogg was already a wide river here, a braid of streams twined between shoals and bushy islands, so the crew was busy with sweeps, keeping the boat in the best current they could find. “Doldrum weather,” they called this near the Edge, and it heralded the seasonal wind reversal. Upstream traffic had tied up to wait for a change. Poppy and the other Witnesses had fled Tryfors at dawn, heading downstream, carrying word of Witness Mist’s catastrophic meddling.
When the news reached the Eldest at Bergashamm, she would anathematize him and he would die. That was the price of his victory. He had accepted it; it was a problem for another day. At the moment he was overwhelmed by the sheer concentrated emotion aboard Free Spirit. He could not ignore it, as Witnesses generally could, because he was personally involved, trapped in impossible conflicts, with fear, love, anger, and hate beating on him like hailstones. He had kicked a rock and started a landslide.
He was tormented by “feeling,” which let him sense others’ emotions. The riverfolk were arguing in their singsong Wroggian about the dangers of having so many Werists aboard. Nok was insisting he would cut loose in the night and leave the ruffians on the bank, although then he must forfeit the silver promised him and abandon all the boat’s camping equipment. Others were arguing that these warriors were deserters and would fetch a handsome bounty if delivered to the rebel recruitment post at High Timber. It was typical sailor bickering, whose like Dantio had heard uncountable times on his travels, and in the end the crew would do nothing. Meanwhile he had to endure their emotional chorus. (anger—greed—fear)
The eight maligned young men sprawled amidships on and among the baggage were emitting an emotional storm sixty times stronger than the sailors’ as they adjusted to the morning’s stunning victory and their uncertain new status. (triumph—fear—love—fear) The seven’s devotion to Orlad was intense, almost sexual, and sex baffled Dantio, an irrational hunger he would never share.
Other conflicts roiled among the passengers in the bow: Horth, Ingeld, and Guthlag all anxious to go home but fearing revenge from the Children of Hrag (heartache—dread) ; Fabia cherishing impractical dreams of strolling over the Edge to Celebre and being acclaimed ruler. (greed) And Benard, sitting there with his arm around Ingeld? Often the lovers’ emotions were a sexual firestorm that Dantio found repugnant, although he was happy to sense Benard so happy. (lust—hunger—adore) Moments later they would
Ivory pale, Fellard stared hard at her, seeming at a loss for words.
“You will obey me!”
“My … lady …” His voice failed him. He took Guitha by the wrist and led her out.
DANTIO CELEBRE
huddled by himself next to the foremast, chin on knees, struggling against madness. Too much joy! He was crumbling under the sheer load of emotion, his and others. Holy Mayn granted Her Witnesses all knowledge, but the corban She required was that they must never use it. They must observe and never participate, excepting only that they might testify for Speakers of Demern in criminal trials. All this Dantio had sworn at his initiation. Yesterday he had broken his oath, and for that he must die.
Of the five divine senses the Goddess had given him, “sight” was the least of his problems. The fighting at Tryfors was out of his range now, and he could see nothing of importance, only a peaceful passing landscape of pasture and some orchards, fading back edgeward to the gloomy forests of the Hemlock Hills with the glint of the Ice beyond. Seaward he could see to a hazy height of land two or three menzils away. The Wrogg was already a wide river here, a braid of streams twined between shoals and bushy islands, so the crew was busy with sweeps, keeping the boat in the best current they could find. “Doldrum weather,” they called this near the Edge, and it heralded the seasonal wind reversal. Upstream traffic had tied up to wait for a change. Poppy and the other Witnesses had fled Tryfors at dawn, heading downstream, carrying word of Witness Mist’s catastrophic meddling.
When the news reached the Eldest at Bergashamm, she would anathematize him and he would die. That was the price of his victory. He had accepted it; it was a problem for another day. At the moment he was overwhelmed by the sheer concentrated emotion aboard Free Spirit. He could not ignore it, as Witnesses generally could, because he was personally involved, trapped in impossible conflicts, with fear, love, anger, and hate beating on him like hailstones. He had kicked a rock and started a landslide.
He was tormented by “feeling,” which let him sense others’ emotions. The riverfolk were arguing in their singsong Wroggian about the dangers of having so many Werists aboard. Nok was insisting he would cut loose in the night and leave the ruffians on the bank, although then he must forfeit the silver promised him and abandon all the boat’s camping equipment. Others were arguing that these warriors were deserters and would fetch a handsome bounty if delivered to the rebel recruitment post at High Timber. It was typical sailor bickering, whose like Dantio had heard uncountable times on his travels, and in the end the crew would do nothing. Meanwhile he had to endure their emotional chorus. (anger—greed—fear)
The eight maligned young men sprawled amidships on and among the baggage were emitting an emotional storm sixty times stronger than the sailors’ as they adjusted to the morning’s stunning victory and their uncertain new status. (triumph—fear—love—fear) The seven’s devotion to Orlad was intense, almost sexual, and sex baffled Dantio, an irrational hunger he would never share.
Other conflicts roiled among the passengers in the bow: Horth, Ingeld, and Guthlag all anxious to go home but fearing revenge from the Children of Hrag (heartache—dread) ; Fabia cherishing impractical dreams of strolling over the Edge to Celebre and being acclaimed ruler. (greed) And Benard, sitting there with his arm around Ingeld? Often the lovers’ emotions were a sexual firestorm that Dantio found repugnant, although he was happy to sense Benard so happy. (lust—hunger—adore) Moments later they would
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