Just another day in You-Know-Where (Scarlett_156's blog)

excerpt from JTPYO - King of the Land of the Dead [3] a devil's work ("it isn't him") extrapolation

2026-10-18T23:42:31.796-06:00

As you can see I've been working on this for some time. Also - I know - it has upset a lot of people, though I'm not sure why: It's just a simple fantasy/adventure tale.

- - - - -

13 February 2024 / 11 July 2024 / 4 October 2024 / 4 October 2025 / 18 July 2026 / 18 October 2026

JTPYO – King of the Land of the Dead [3] / a devil's work (excerpt: it isn't him!)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Which is me.

OUR STORY THUS FAR: Naxosos, having left the Children of God in the fishing burg of Aslel-Aheya, and Szera Zeracx, who he met upon the island of Waresh-Ghlia, have just disembarked from the Szera's ship Phoashaem to seek a place of refuge on the Szera's land in the nation of Pavrain. Upon trying to enter the Szera Zeracx's lands via a difficult passage, Naxosos* and Zeracx are ambushed by a company of six armed men – the Szera Zeracx manages to overcome all these but is mortally wounded in the process. Naxosos restores him to life; both are very weakened, however, and are unable to flee a pack of wolves drawn by the sounds of conflict and the odor of fresh carrion. Szera Zeracx takes refuge against the far wall of a defile spanned by a fallen tree, and Naxosos assumes a defensive position, with his sling, on the bridge between the Szera and the clearing where the dead bodies are strewn. The wolves arrive and have their way with the men killed by Szera Zeracx and, apart from some growling and nasty looks, leave the two living men alone. The wolves finally depart the scene. Naxosos and the Szera Zeracx barely have time to catch their breaths before something else arrives, the anticipation of which causes the Szera to display panic and terror. Not having a clue what this might be, Naxosos readies himself for the worst. After a short wait, a creature with a supernatural appearance makes the scene; the Szera clearly is in terror of it. For his part, Naxosos – who has seen the sorcerer Joliel assume an animal form a couple of times – recognizes it. Though he's not as afraid of it as the Szera is, he is very reluctant to fight it.

The "Redoubt" as the Szerai clan call it, states that it will have to leave the Szera's land, its home for an unimaginably long time, because it can hear a hunt coming after it; it supposed that the Szera was dying and has come to offer him something called a "bargain" – in this it has made a mistake. The Szera promptly refuses this bargain: After checking to see if Naxosos is interested – Naxosos is quite confused in all this and doesn't really know why Szera Zeracx is so afraid or what the "bargain" is, though he refuses – the Redoubt takes its leave in a great big hurry.

Within another couple of minutes Szera Zeracx and Naxosos can hear the hunt on its way, moving toward them. A number of people, all members of the Szerai and including three of Szera Zeracx's children, swiftly arrive and there's a great deal of emotion when they find their Lord to be alive and moreover in his usual state of mind. A litter is brought. The bodies of the six dead men – all pretty messed up by the wolves feasting on them – are carried by members of the company to lie close to the bridge, and the Szera's daughter identifies one of the men as someone who brought a letter, supposedly from Szera Zeracx to his wife Bihalli, with the news that he was making his way toward the estate. This man looks a lot like Naxosos, as it turns out; the clan steward, a gruff graybeard named Creneghi, speculates about the nature of this invasion onto the holding.

Szera Zeracx is transported to "Big Lodge," a large dwelling housing a number of people; Naxosos, however, disappears from the escort. Creneghi advises two of the House Guard to run back down the shore of "the Graena," an enormous lake on the Szerekia, to search for Naxosos. The two young men, Faiszeh and Orocki, finally locate Naxosos, who they find bathing in the Graena. Gathering him up, they escort him toward Big Lodge, where there's an obvious party going on with more than a hundred clan members and their servants. Faiszeh and Orocki offer to let Naxosos sleep at the guardhouse, which is up the hill a distance from Big Lodge.

*NOTE: Naxosos is called by everyone "Torivo," which is one of his fugitive names.

😜

The Szera Zeracx: I am seeing.

Creneghi, Steward of House Szera and all its estates: No, you're dreaming. Go back to sleep.

TSZ: My wife the Lady Bihalli approaches. I have to meet her on the road.

Creneghi: *waits for a few seconds* *groans* What shall we do next, Lord?

- - - - -

Their current path ended at Big Lodge in the hollow below, where now a great number of people, perhaps more than two hundred, with lamps and torches assembled around a long, low dwelling. Many sang, danced in slow circles, clapped their hands, and beat upon cymbals and drums.

"I smell food," Torivo said; he had stopped once more to look at the scene below. When Faiszeh caught up to him, he said further, "Anyway, I was going to say, I can probably heal the lady from her injury. Let's speak on that no more for now. Yes, the Szera will be upset, but then he will be happy and he will know our God." (To this Faiszeh thought it best to make no remark.)

Instead, after a couple of moments he said: "We don't have to cut through them to get to the guardsmen's fire-circle."

When Torivo hesitated, he added quickly, "But we can certainly go and see the Szera if you wish; they have installed him in the house, he will be surrounded by many, but if you wish to see him I can get you through the mob."

"If there will be food ready for us at your tent," Torivo said, "we should just go there without passing through. So, lead on. Don't get too far ahead of me; as you can see, I'm quite tired. Like the Szera, if I but sit in one place for more than a few minutes, I will fall asleep."

"Whatever you wish, Lord. To take the alternate path to the guardhouse, we will backtrack along this road and there is a turning that leads uphill."

"Lead on."

"Do you trust me? The trail is quite faint. It will take us another ten minutes or so and then we'll see the fire-circle – women might be there, just saying."

"Do I trust you?" the other declared in a somewhat mocking tone. "I am capable of healing a man of death. Let me ask you again: Do you believe me to be defenseless? If so, you deserve to find the truth of the matter." After a pause: "And I learned not to fear women a long time ago. But thanks for mentioning it."

Faiszeh thought: He dreads being attacked, whether he is armed or not – because he doesn't want to kill. Then: This one's fear is not of his own death: He marches to the gallows with a smile on his face and a whistle on his lips! But he fears killing like some men fear leprosy, or ghosts, or rabid dogs. Faiszeh – who killed something almost every day, and had killed men a few times – found he was rather awed by this consideration.

With what he hoped was heartfelt sincerity: "You saved our Lord the Szera Zeracx. You stopped further attacks against our hold and our families. You gave us the opportunity to identify and know our enemies and possible new friends. My Lord Torivo has no cause to fear any sort of attack on this land. Indeed, my fellows and I will defend you to our very deaths."

"That is well," Torivo commented shortly. "Let us go on, therefore."

Faiszeh gestured back down the path: "This, therefore, is the way!" and, with a song in his heart, he proceeded. Torivo followed.

***

Naxosos then inquired of the three guardsmen of House Szera with whom he sat drinking (all the others were unconscious, including Faiszeh, who lay slumbering at his feet; a few of the house women were wakeful, but not stirring): "What would have happened after that, do you think?"

Giant, blonde-haired, red-bearded Jakizh answered readily with a laugh (though he was nodding drunk and every few moments would go cross-eyed, then shake his head and chuckle as though at his own ineptitude), "Oh, haha, there's no 'would have happened' about it!" He nudged Aghiteh, who sat slumped, forehead on knees, close by; the other awakened a little (not much) and grunted in laughter.

"Right, man?" Jakizh prompted.

(That the Guard were impressed with his handling of the house's court-speech was of great reassurance to Naxosos.)

Aghiteh (not quite so big – probably an archer – raven-haired, with pale-olive eyes and skin to match) then roused a bit and sat up, and drank water from his flagon.

One of the women at the other side of the main fireplace arose and, walking all the way around, came to refill his and Jakizh's flagons – Naxosos could observe that the lady, streaks of white in her frowsy dark-brown locks, plainly-attired like all the other Szerai, was fearful yet terribly mindful of him. (She was no simpleton, nor slave, or a servant: She kept company with these because they were involved in everything that went on; they were part of the land and protectors of the holding, and so was she; that the guardsmen took as little notice of her as they did the hour, or the ever-burning fires, or the continually-available cooked food and beverages, was an indicator of the esteem in which she was held. Her sharp eyes had been fixed on him for the last couple of hours. She likely knows more about me now in some ways than Mother, he ruefully considered. Delicious, comforting food had been given him by this lady and her company, morsels of fowl stewed in herbs, served on flatbread: He wanted to sleep after eating, too, but instead sipped mahkrah and remained awake and twitching.)

Glancing past the woman he discerned the early, faint, green-blue dawn-light at the lodge door. Certainly this won't last much longer.

The woman returned to her station, where the burned-down fire's wavering light concealed her features, but not her steady gaze. A girl of maybe fifteen, in brown homespun (he was now dressed in this same comfortable, warm wool, for which, like the food, he was most grateful) pretended to doze next to her.

Give them another day or so – you'll have to avoid them.

Aghiteh said, first shaking his head – miming being drunker than he was to amuse his fellows, though it was scarcely necessary as he was profoundly intoxicated: "Yeah: No 'would have happened' – he would've, they would've killed him!" and both men guffawed.

At the sound Q'zer (another of these Pavrani with limbs so massive it was shocking to view up close; hair and beard and eyes ink-black, and skin only a couple of shades lighter) now shook himself into consciousness, yawning with all his teeth on display like some fearsome beast. Naxosos heard him mumble in drunk suspicion "Who is that guy?" Then, quickly recalling, he shook his head and agreed: "Yeah, he would be really dead now, on his way toward his pyre!" Q'zer chucked deep in his chest, as though he relished whatever scene was playing itself out in his head.

Jakizh then said with theatrical amiability, "Yeah: They would have killed him!"

"Oh," Naxosos said, drinking – the water was cold and fresh, and he observed the others eagerly drank it – "So, then…he would have been dead, but they still would have had to kill him?" (They brought more than a dozen men, Naxosos thought a bit nervously, and the Szera's heirs, including a daughter who carried with her grave-unguents and cerements…the Undead are usually not that doughty, nor able to use a weapon...)

Now Faiszeh, who had with his enormous arms embraced Naxosos's feet and ankles before passing out, began to stir. (And Naxosos, who had chosen to keep his boots on even though they were soaked through, noticed that at least where this one had been hanging onto him – and snoring on him – his boots were almost dry and his feet relatively warm. That, he considered, was good: At least the blood is mostly washed out…)

"You guys!" Faiszeh muttered in a loud, aggrieved tone; Naxosos felt this one's grip tighten about his lower legs until finally he realized what he was about and let go. Faiszeh then said as he struggled to sit up: "We're not supposed to talk about that stuff!" Crosslegged on the floor, he shook his head and scoured his face with the heels of his hands. "Oh gods, my head!"

Naxosos could scarcely believe that any of these young men (Faiszeh was but twenty-six, and had told him they were all around the same age: "Over twenty but under twenty-eight; after twenty-eight, you go into the militia, or work on an estate!") were currently still conscious, let alone seeming to rouse, after consuming as much wine and mead as they had. (This clan's mead was some of the best he had ever tasted, and quite strong – which made him think of Thais and how pleased she would be at receiving a few jars of it, and in turn made him realize that he missed her terribly, and Nirith, and everyone. Fortunately, these men were so drunk and sleepy, and so unfamiliar with him, they couldn’t possibly have noticed his spasm of rue – so he hoped.)

The Guard had been expecting their Lord the Szera Zeracx to arrive almost any day, but the dismaying knowledge that an enemy had gained the holding when the House's men were away made everyone feel as though he must atone for his negligence (Naxosos had figured out). That the elthir-evo had made an appearance seemed also to have stirred up a general uneasy guilt. They had been on alert for many days without any clear idea of what needed to be done, for the letter had advised them to await the Szera's arrival without any sign of anxiety or impatience, and that he wished for no one to know of his presence, at least initially – and it was in the Szera's usual style and code.

All of the Guard knew of the elthir-evo, the Redoubt, but as Faiszeh had said, they weren't supposed to discuss it among themselves or with anyone else, not even close kindred; only a select group had left the holding when the hounds had started belling and screeling, and thrashing to be let out of their pens, this after everyone had tensely listened to the wolves' entire convocation at the Monument Gate without moving a muscle (Naxosos had learned).

(Also he had found it to be true that no one – not a one of the Guard or anyone they knew – had ever seen the elthir: They only knew that it existed from tales and images; some of them had encountered signs of its hunting. A great deal, however, was known about the results of an encounter with the creature and what happened to a person who had accepted its "bargain." It was in fact common knowledge, as one of the Szera's close relatives had been "changed at the bargain" had continued to live upon the hold for some years before he had disappeared – all but the youngest of the house guard had encountered him at one time or another.)

Squabbling wolves meant little to the hounds or the Guard, as long as the sounds weren't coming from the Szerekia – the Guard had heard the racket, of course, but after the appearance of the strange man with a letter from Szera Zeracx that bade them to stay put, it had been thought best to await further developments.

Objectively speaking, Naxosos considered, it had been a clever notion: Someone had intercepted the letter (likely killing the bearer Szera Zeracx had hired) and managed to change or make a revised copy of it that the Szera's wife, perhaps intimidated by the presence of a stranger on the plantation with only an aged man and some hounds to guard her and two daughters, had accepted as genuine. He hoped he would get a chance to view the original or the copy, or both, and to find out what had happened to the messenger, whose absence would have been noticed when he didn't report back to his dispatcher.

Maybe the Szera's wife would provide some more ideas regarding the matter – especially if he were to be able to heal her of her fractured hip! She might become a lifelong friend or even a Child of God! (Even without mahkrah, Naxosos thought, it would have been easy to stay awake for hours after receiving this information: luckily, however, he did have some mahkrah in his flask.)

Tolalo was more practiced at healing fractures. (Here I am thinking about Tolalo again, he guiltily considered.)

Bihalli was her name, he reminded himself, and the Szera had been away from the holding for over two years and she was thirteen years his senior and his first wife; Yaiszer and Chazim were the Szera's oldest children and his heirs, and she was his half-sister of the same father. She had been married before.

That Bihalli and the Szera Zeracx, and perhaps a number of others, might be converted, and baptized – or, in the Szera's case, re-baptized – was an enervating idea.

The house guard, he reasoned, must have known other things about his accompanying the Szera, and something about his being a fugitive; they knew Szera Zeracx worked for Panavastis as an assassin, about which – as with the elthir-evo – all had been sternly admonished not to give out any word, except that they could tell certain others they knew about it.

And then there was the thing about someone being lucky enough to find six geeneys, all decent fighters and marksmen if Naxosos was any judge of such things, with fluent Pavrani (including idiomatic clan-specific court-speech), one of whom – by report – looked almost just like him (Naxosos of Viragos, sovereign of the Children of God, Regent of Arigne, and King of the fishers), willing to traipse from the main highway into and through the Szerekia (the northernmost quarter of which, he had learned, was a stone-cluttered wold, very open, with visibility for miles on a good day) and, assuming they were not captured or killed, to hide out until a certain messenger arrived – from the main highway – thence to intercept his message and put him out of play, then to fabricate a new letter or change the original and deliver it to the lady Bihalli when they knew she and her daughters were undefended at a part of the holding far from any rescue.

(How had they known all the spare men would be called away? Naxosos found himself mulling: He had surmised from the dogs' behavior that they were, despite a mean and menacing presentation, well-trained and -treated – the hounds Szera Zeracx had addressed by name had to be at least a few years old – and, most especially, well-acquainted with the entire land and its routines. How had they allowed the false messenger to get so far into the holding? It must be that there was some token that a messenger bore, or something in the way he behaved upon the property, that signaled to the sentinel dogs to refrain from attacking or harassing him: it could not be his odor; perhaps the dogs recognized a token he bore. Think: It could not be the same person every time; it would necessarily often be someone who was a stranger. There had to have been something that kept the hounds from mauling or at least chasing him. Think: Are the animals used to the comings and goings of certain people upon their lands, so that they know not to give chase? Of course, dogs in the city or in the fishers' warrens were often unruly and might attack even someone offering kindness to them, but these dogs were of a different sort; they were part of the gang; they knew the minds of their masters.)

And what had been the group, the select group that loosed the hounds this night, and run after them while the rest had been directed to stay –?

The answer: Those who knew how to read and write had gone.

These three young men, for example (Jakizh, Aghiteh, and Q'zer) had remained at the guardhouse, and Faiszeh had gone – because he was literate, and they were not. (They hadn't meant to reveal this information to him, and Faiszeh had scolded them roundly for it once he realized what they'd done – just before he had passed out with his great arms clasped about Naxosos's feet.)

"Are we under attack?" Faiszeh jokingly inquired, drawing a chuckle from the other three guardsmen.

Poor Faiszeh was clearly the worse for drink; his hangover was starting.

"You should have taken some mahkrah when it was offered, Faiszeh," Naxosos laughed; the other's response was an agonized moan.

"Do you want some now?" Naxosos persisted.

"Honestly, I want to go back to sleep."

Naxosos handed him the flask anyway.

It was amusing to realize that Faiszeh and Orocki had been among those chosen to accompany members of the Szera's family and others of the household on what had been supposed to be a dreadful mission…because they could read and write. Amusing and astounding.

Now that he knew Faiszeh a little, it was easy to tell he was educated and Naxosos could, when he thought about it, remember that Orocki talked about letters with code in them, though the idea of the fellow being able to do this was a bit of a surprise. (Like the other members of the house guard and their hangers-on – except for Naxosos and present company, and the women tending the fires – Orocki currently snored loudly on one of the pallets set close to the lodge's walls: his squire, a youth of about fourteen, lay nearby dozing upon a blanket placed over a couple of bales of straw, an assortment of weapons and armor arranged about him. As Faiszeh had stated, many pallets were empty, as half the Guard were away.)

Now he observed activity beginning at main fire circle, where a handful of women and girls sat or reclined, or had until this instant: All the women, varied in age but looking so much alike that they could have come from the same family, began to awaken and shift around; in less than a minute they arose as a group and, with only scant, softly-uttered speech, some hair-fixing and muffled yawning – and side-glances in his direction – filed out the door, their silhouettes more distinct against the slowly-brightening sky. One aged female, her hair entirely silver and her face like a walnut with hollows and ridges, remained, nodding as she sat cross-legged on a mat beside a carefully-cut and -stacked pile of kindling.)

The cocks will crow any moment! It was always nice to know he'd once again outpaced his drinking companions, even if at a cost – and that he could fall asleep now, since Faiszeh was awake and could watch over him.

"Oh, shit…" Faiszeh mumbled; he struggled for a few seconds to rise onto his knees, then with a bit more struggle climbed into his former seat upon a low bench at Naxosos's side, where he rather comically laid his great head with its glossy (though begging for a comb and some oil) dark-chestnut locks upon Naxosos's shoulder, and covered his face (his beard was a pronounced and interesting mix of dark-brown, auburn, and red-blonde hues) with both hands, and gracelessly, noisily yawned, provoking snickering and chuckles from his friends.

Again Naxosos marveled at how clean-smelling and -appearing these rural Pavrani were, for they lived in lake-fisher, dirt-floor habitations at close quarters with all kinds of animals – including dogs – insects whirring in and out of unscreened windows and doors, with ever-present stagnant or billowing smoke, and the pungent odors of animal hides being stretched and tanned, their mouths always open and their bottoms hanging out, these country Pavrani, all the time. (Of course, he reminded himself, they were close to the headwater of a great spring and they had kept this land for several hundred years: The Szerai quite obviously took clean, ever-flowing water for granted: He found upon second and third thoughts, however, that instead of inspiring envy, the idea elicited a keen pity: How lonely they will be, he thought, upon the salt! – He was surprised at himself: Pity, he found, however, would not entirely leave the stage.)

Faiszeh was not quite as tall as Szera Zeracx, but probably outweighed the Szera by a hundred pounds – he was a bit less frightening than Orocki, who was not only taller than the Szera, but broader in the shoulders than Faiszeh. Naxosos didn't want the familiarity between the two of them, however, to increase past friendly arm-punches and jokes (though he considered that a kiss might be quite a small price to pay for the information Faiszeh probably had – if only the fellow were to be satisfied with that! but he wouldn't, of course).

He was loath to become confrontational over the issue: At about the third hour past midnight, three-quarters of an hour after Naxosos had brought the Szera Zeracx back from the Land of the Dead, he'd been presented to the guardsmen and their collective by Faiszeh. The company had already been briefed on him by Orocki; however, he could tell that some of them doubted that he was in fact not the geeney message-carrier who had appeared on the estate, surprising the Szera's women when they were all but alone: He recalled now that Faiszeh had gotten a little belligerent with a couple of the Guard who, suspecting a charade, joke, or sorcery, wouldn't put down their lances and continued to glare and mutter.

"Sit up, Faiszeh…ooof! There's a fellow!" Naxosos chuckled as he roused the other, who was starting to fall asleep again; Faiszeh again rubbed his eyes and yawned hugely, this time not bothering to cover his face, then managed to sit straight on his bench with only a slight push from Naxosos.

"Where's the water?" he growled, with another shake of his head. Since the woman had not refilled Faiszeh's flagon – lying on its side under the bench – Naxosos handed him the one he was drinking from. Faiszeh yawned again.

(In addition to being cleaner than one would expect, these Pavranis' teeth were also to his observation more whole, and whiter, to a surprising degree.)

He was at the point of speaking, when almost as one the house guard reposed about the dwelling began to stir. There was no alarm – Naxosos had sensed, when the women went out, that the barnyard fowls would soon begin to crow and cackle, and, not long after, the other birds to sing, and it was likely thus with these men; also to the variety of youths who, Naxosos imagined, were guardsmen-in-training: Squires and armor-bearers. Now that all were yawning and sitting up, or standing, Naxosos could see there were approximately six youths scattered about the lodge, and four guardsmen who had until now been sleeping.

Faiszeh set his flagon down and stood. The other three, Q'zer, Jakizh, and Aghiteh, were standing too, rubbing their faces and shaking their heads; Aghiteh in particular was quite unsteady on his feet. Please don't fall…

Heard was the clank of gear being picked up: The men and youths were, to appearances, arming themselves. A youth ran up, carrying some weapons and an assortment of belts and lashings, wordlessly offering them to the guardsmen.

"What…what's going on, here?" Naxosos inquired, quite astonished and perhaps somewhat alarmed that some of these men were able to get out of bed given the quantities of wine, mead, and ale they had consumed: Once the house guard had found out that the Szera was still alive and expected to live – and not "changed" – they had begun, boisterously and uninhibitedly, to celebrate. When Faiszeh had shown up with Naxosos, some of the Guard were already into their third celebratory drink.

"He's been awake all night, and was in the fight with our lord the Szera," Jakizh said, meaning Naxosos. "He should stay." Then, rather unaccountably, he laughed.

"What's going on?" Naxosos repeated, feeling a little chill play along his spine.

Faiszeh was still yawning, but said now, "No, you have to stay with me, Torivo." Then, gruffly, without making eye contact, "No arguments!"

Naxosos, his heart turning to lead, replied "Well, then: All right…"

Hoping he would not be handed some weapon he didn't know how to use, Naxosos stood up, feeling his knees complain that they wanted to rest and his feet that they could not possibly go on.

"You're pretty drunk," Q'zer observed in the same snickering tone as his fellow.

"Leave him alone!" Faiszeh grumped.

At this moment, a cockerel began to crow, in a weak and cackling way at first, but in a few seconds (as Naxosos observed the guardsmen equipping themselves with weapons while the others, already strapped, began to file out the door), it raspingly corrected itself, and then within another second or two uttered a shrilly trumpeting scream, followed by a series of lesser screams.

"Just stay with me," Faiszeh – seeming quite distant and unlike his former, overly-friendly self – said, and started for the door. Suddenly he turned, looking at Naxosos. "You have some more of that, eh, you call it mahkrah?"

"Ah, yes. But what are we –"

Without a word or another glance Faiszeh turned, and followed the other guardsmen and youths outside.

God protect me! Naxosos thought, as – dressed in a shepherd's brown woolen tunic and dark-brown woolen cape, knees and feet loudly protesting – he went out after the other, into the dawning day.

***

Kompleus Creneghi, with two of the guardsmen who had helped transport the Szera to Big Lodge, ascended now to the guardhouse via the main path, usually about a ten-minute climb; likely it would take longer this morning due to the lingering mist and murk. The sky began to lighten as they progressed. The two men of the detail had had a couple of hours of sleep each, but Creneghi had not slept a wink.

He could tell the Guard had vacated their lodge when the roosters began to crow with little other sound to accompany them. "Let's stop for a moment," he said to the two who accompanied him, Iridanio and Poritans. Listening, he discerned the nearly-inaudible noises of barefoot women, about ten of them, making trips to the spring and well with their buckets: They were usually quiet at this; one had to listen carefully to hear them.

"Where do you think they are?" Creneghi inquired now of the two.

Before either could reply, there came a distant, many-voiced shout from a group of men further up the hillside: "HOI!" Then, again, in quick succession: "Hoi! Hoi!" and then (upon conscientious listening) laughter, whistles, and catcalls. There was a little bit of an echo; certainly they were not trying for concealment.

This was expected: The Guard were overjoyed to know that their lord the Szera Zeracx was, in spite of all portents and fears, still alive; they had doubtless celebrated. (They're likely dreadfully hung over, too, he reflected – having not had much opportunity to think about anyone except the Szera and his family in the last couple of hours.)

Creneghi glanced from one to the other of the two men, each of whom remained impassive and avoided looking at him. "Where are they, do you think?" he reiterated; before his words were all the way out, Iridanio briskly answered: "They're at East Swale, sir. It's another stadium up –"

"Yes," Creneghi said and started walking again, the detail quickly following. It had been some while since he had visited the Great Yard, as he and his fellows had called it thirty years back.

East Swale, as the Guard now named it, was a boggy space a mile-and-a-half long and a quarter-mile wide, where the Grandmother Spring branched, channeling between two tall rock ridges, eventually to filter down into the main waterway again. Late in the season it was a good place to hunt.

They crossed the guardhouse yard; the women and girls going to and fro with their water-buckets murmured salutations to them, but didn't stop their work or do anything more than whisper, glancing up, "Blessed morning, my Lords!" as they walked around them: Each of the Szerai knew that Kompleus Creneghi stood on little ceremony, and liked most of all to see everyone cheerfully at his or her tasks.

It was a bit of a climb. The trail was easily followed, but the way was steep; if one didn't place his foot carefully, he risked a graceless slip – and the murk didn't start to let go until there was appreciable light in the sky.

By then, there had been several rounds of "Hoi! Hoi!" Creneghi and his detail were almost to the edge of the east-facing scarp, where numerous conifers stood out blackly against the incipient dawn.

A chant began; before they were quite to the ridge, Creneghi motioned for the detail to halt and listen. The company in the field below was preparing for another round. The light was rising with the morning mist and breezes, and the calls of the lake- and forest-animals, and the oily smoke smell from last night's torch-procession, and the chatter of the men and youths in the swale below were all, and each, distinct.

The loam under their feet gave off humid warmth while chill descended from the pine trees and cold air above. (Let's hope it helps their hangovers, Creneghi reflected.)

Motioning to the two men that they should wait, Creneghi continued up the slope until he stood at the spine projecting chest-high, slanting down steeply into the glen, a rock wall that ran from north to south for hundreds of yards – and looked into the East Swale.

An able mountaineer could simply walk (the boys would run in great leaps) down the slope into the Swale below; a guy with faulty knees, however, and wishing not to break his head, would take the path that led down from the ridge into the Swale's northernmost outlet. (The men of the Guard, of course, and the boys, swarmed up and down the cliff-side in their hide boots, goat-like, as had Creneghi in his youth.)

"HOI!" the guardsmen all cried again; now he was leaning forward in order to see down the escarpment.

The view was impressive – a few hundred feet down-slope (for the most part bare, light-colored stone full of upward-tending creases and cracks) a margin of vine-laden, overgrown vegetation presented a daunting obstacle at the base of the scarp.

Beyond the treed margin lay a broad glen with great, flossy tufts of bruntori grass all over it, here and there a clump of bog-brush growing around a tree; Creneghi could not see any water, standing or otherwise, today. The Swale was usually more or less dried-out by this time of year: Broad and flat, it was a fine area for training horses.

Or men: A large company, ten of the house guard and more than ten youths and young men of the clan, had gathered at the head of the Swale; Creneghi saw they were practicing spears, with a great deal more competitiveness and zeal than one might expect, given that they had probably been drinking heavily up until a couple of hours ago.

They even, he saw, had the running target set up, a straw-stuffed deer hide affixed to a long (very long) cable pulley: With two or three youths working the pulley, the butt would approach or flee from a spearman at a good clip, often swinging wildly back and forth. It was, until you got the hang of it, a real devil to hit with a spear or a javelin.

The distance from the near end of the pulley to the far – a hummock of stunted olive trees – was a little over a hundred yards.

Before he started down, Kompleus Creneghi (Steward and Master of the Guard to House Szera) watched to see who would next step to the mark. The men and youths, he saw, swarmed about the various racks that held contestants' arms – of course each of the Guard and each squire had brought his along and kept them at his side for the morning's exercise, so…

The next man to throw would be someone who hadn't brought his own spear.

And within another second or two, he found he was right: The man, shorter in stature than the guardsmen (even some of the youths were taller), selected what turned out to be a lance with a truncated handle and long, slightly curved, single-edged blade, similar to the one a shepherd might employ against a large animal that threatened him.

Indeed, he was dressed in a shepherd's habit to complete the picture: A tunic of light brown-dyed wool that hung a little past his knees and dark-brown, hooded cloak.

The man turned to view the course, and Creneghi saw that yes, it was him, the stranger Torivo, he had first seen only a few hours ago, in the dead of night, when he had gone out with the landsmen and the dogs, expecting to find the Szera Zeracx deceased or perhaps worse. Torivo with his black hair and beard, and speech of a geeney, though he looked like a runty version of a Pavrani; Torivo, to whom the Szera had given the password of a clan member; Torivo who had brought the Szera back from death with a word; Torivo, who had seen and spoken with the Redoubt as though it was his familiar. ("You can smell it on him," Orocki had commented as they were carrying the Szera up from the monument – that one was easily spotted in the milieu below, due to his large size and light coloring. He and Faiszeh – frowsy auburn hair and arms like tree trunks – were staying close to the stranger, as instructed.)

"There's more to that fellow than meets the eye." It was Poritans, who had climbed up to see what he was looking at.

(Faiszeh couldn't very well leave him, Creneghi thought in amusement, nor could the two of them remain at the lodge!)

Iridanio showed up a second later. "We should make haste," he said.

"I want to see him throw," Creneghi said.

The stranger Torivo now removed his cloak, hanging it upon the weapons-rack, and stepped to the mark; he must have asked for the target to be drawn away from him; the pulley, worked by a pair of boys, ran shudderingly at first; with increasing rapidity, the deer-hide target began to "flee" from the spearman. The gathering receded; someone started to call out "Hoi! Hoi!" and the other guardsmen began to chant.

Creneghi could tell the fellow was already popular; and, though it was generally doubted that he would be able to hit the target, everyone wished him well. Woe betide them, he thought sternly, if they are betting on this! He resolved to talk again to all the Guard about betting at his first opportunity.

Torivo spent a second-and-a-half studying the target as it dipped into the glen, the boys pulling for all they were worth.

It's already too far away for a guy that short to hit…

But the stranger turned out to be altogether surprising: Before two seconds had gone, the man sprinted after the target, holding the spear in one hand above his head – already Creneghi could tell he knew what he was about, though he still doubted the stranger would be able to hit the butt, which was picking up speed.

Now the chant of "Hoi! Hoi!" was less polite, and more excited.

In another second, Kompleus Creneghi found he was wrong about Torivo, and was delighted to see the stranger (the Szera's new boyfriend, who just happened to be a holy man and the sought-after fugitive King of Arigne) pursue the target at a lightfooted run for about thirty yards; with a little jump – in the manner of a Kheorani foot-soldier, though many Pavrani spearmen also found great success with this style – pedaling the air a time or two with his boot-clad feet, Torivo flung the lance with what seemed all his might, his heels neatly hitting the ground a half-second later; upon landing, he staggered only a little.

The lance struck the wildly-swinging, quickly-fleeing target in a killing shot between ribs and backbone: Due to how much the stranger had closed with it before taking his shot, the throw was of little note, but…

He's using magic, Creneghi thought.

This didn't damage his increasing respect for the stranger, though it made an icy tingle crawl up his spine. I hope those guys didn't rough him up any…

"Sorcery," Poritans observed.

The men of the house guard, and their attendants, had suddenly grown quiet and still. The boys working the pulley also ceased their activity, and the target, stubby lance-haft sticking out of its abdomen, swung another listless time or two, sagged, and gave up the ghost. The gaggle of competitors and squires drew back.

"Let's get down there – go ahead of me and tell them I'm on the way, will you?"

"You got it, Boss," Iridanio said, and disappeared between one breath and the next, Poritans right behind him; both of these went back to the trail; the sky was much lighter now and it was easy to see.

Creneghi watched another few seconds – Torivo, having regained his balance after throwing and landing, turned and regarded the assembly with what seemed mild surprise. He knows what he's doing! Kompleus Creneghi thought with accelerating panic and thus hurried to the glen below.

In less than five minutes he was entering East Swale at its northernmost portal; a babble of voices that had become much more audible when finally he rounded the escarpment suddenly ceased. All the men and youths formed into two ranks; the stranger Torivo stood between Faiszeh and Orocki, appearing somewhat absurd between the huge youngsters – both of whom were now giving him fearful glances.

The men and youths now began asynchronously to mutter, "Blessed morning, Lord!"

Faiszeh stepped forward now, and cried out smartly, "Blessed morning, Master Creneghi!"

He's ridiculously hungover, Creneghi thought before he said: "I'm surprised the lot of you came up this morning." Gesturing towards the stranger, he added, "And you brought this fellow – you don't know him at all; obviously the Szera likes him, but what if he got hurt?"

Torivo now started to speak, but Creneghi interrupted: "I saw you throw." Hoping like hell the other didn't notice his fear, he said with his most cantankerous squint: "You're using magic; of course, we already know this about you, as it's evident you healed the Szera Zeracx from a grievous injury. But I must ask you, in all courteousness and with good intent, not to do these things within our hold, or upon our land."

"I was about to tell him that, Sir," Faiszeh volunteered, "when you showed up."

"I'm sorry," Torivo said, with a very small bow (that Creneghi found himself returning before he knew what he was about). "I'm sorry, Sir."

"We usually require that sorcerers and soothsayers stay in separate quarters while on the Szerekia – but we usually do not allow them here," Kompleus Creneghi went on. "I'm just being honest; stay with Faiszeh and Orocki and all will be well; follow their advice. Refrain from demonstrations of your art and do not speak to any women unless you are given leave."

"I understand, Master Creneghi," Torivo said pleasantly enough, with another little bow.

"While you are here, maybe we'll all get a chance to go hunting," Creneghi then remarked.

"He doesn't hunt!" Faiszeh blurted.

"Oh?" Creneghi inquired now of Torivo, who stood regarding him with impressive calm, breathing a little, still, from his efforts with the lance.

He likes me. That was good; that was something.

"Yes," the stranger replied with a grin. "Yes, Sir. I will go with the hunt, but I don't hunt."

(If he was who the Szera had said he was, this fellow was a King, predicted by prophecy to rule over the nation of Arigne. Hmph, Creneghi thought.)

"Hm. Well, anyway," Creneghi went on, "I wonder why the Guard would go out on a morning like this, with our Lord having just returned home, and not in a fresh or lively condition…? And all of you, not just a few?"

"Master Creneghi," Torivo said, "I reassured them, actually, that we had a good amount of time, since Szera Zeracx would likely sleep all day today and probably at least part of tomorrow, and –"

Fortune favors us. "Actually," Kompleus Creneghi responded, "that is why I'm here." Raising his voice: "Everyone needs to return to the lodge and prepare for a little walk; the Szera awakened a short time ago and said that he would go to New Keep, and that the Lady Bihalli and Lady Ehmarel were in transit from there, coming here – we didn't know how he knew this, he explained that he just knew, and he was in a great hurry to be on the road to meet them."

Now the silence was profound. Creneghi went on: "The Szera is too weak to sit a horse so they are going to carry him."

"That's quite concerning," the stranger Torivo interjected. "He lost a great amount of blood. If they are coming here, why instead couldn't he be talked into –"

Interrupting the man yet again, Creneghi said, "He knows she is in pain – no, Faiszeh, I didn't tell him that; he just knows. While I was trying to explain things as best I might, the runner that we had sent to New Keep showed up – this was just before cock-crow."

"That boy is fleet," Poritans remarked, and Iridanio joked, "And tireless!" and a few of the men chuckled.

"Indeed he is," Creneghi answered with a little laugh. "I gave him a five-tragaetti piece." He continued, addressing the assembly. "The Szera said that Bihalli and the guardsmen who are with her, and our clansmen at the New Keep, had received the news that our Lord had been attacked when trying to enter the Szerekia at the southern gate, the Monument, and that they were coming; but he said, the messenger, that he had found the lodge already preparing to go out, for the Lady had awakened from her rest and said the household needed to be away. Also their hounds had started baying and showing disturbance. And the Lady – the Szera had said and then the, ah, the messenger said – she ordered the Guard to bear her here, to Old Keep, the messenger related, ah…" (Creneghi hated himself for faltering, but the night had been long; his fear for the Szera, himself, and the rest of the clan had left a mark upon him, and he was old: mustering wakefulness, he shook his head and spoke on.) "All right: The Szera awakened when it seemed he was deeply unconscious; I was watching when it happened. Everyone by then in the locale knew that our Lord was still alive and expected to live, though his injuries had been grievous. Before anything else he asked about this one –" Creneghi gestured toward the stranger – "and where he was and I assured him, I assured our Lord the Szera Zeracx, that Torivo was under the care of the house guard. The Szera then surprised everyone by trying to rise from his bed; he seemed most anxious, and stated that he knew his wife and daughter were coming from the New Keep to see about him, and that he needed to meet them; he told me to assemble the Guard and follow him, for he meant to be away immediately."

A murmur arose at this; Creneghi waited for a few seconds – noting that the stranger Torivo remained, on the whole, undisturbed. He knows the Szera will live. Then, further: He has an ambition; he has been dwelling on it over the last couple of hours.

"Many men one would suppose dead or dying, were they to be as reduced and ashen as our Lord was the last time I spoke with him," Kompleus Creneghi said. "I am greatly worried; also, I know that our Lady has been stricken with unrelenting pain and disability. I didn't – perhaps I failed to – tell the Szera. I must say I don't know what the future will bring." He turned then to the stranger Torivo. "I know you are exhausted, Lord Torivo – I'm not sure what to say, but you must come with us. The Szera demands it. By the time we get to the Keep, he will have left on the way to meet the Lady Bihalli. We may have to hurry to catch up."

"It's all right, Master Creneghi," Torivo said. Then, after a short pause: "I have some mahkrah in my flask, still."

"That is well, and you should save some for me." Yes, he likes me. This idea brought a great deal of relief.

"Will you ride a horse," he asked then, "so that you may at least have some rest?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" the stranger exclaimed in his penetrating, youthful voice, and some of the Guard chuckled. Creneghi could see that many of the men were fretting to be away: they didn't want for their Lord to get too far ahead of them.

Faiszeh, however, clearly could think of nothing else except for this errant King and how cute and cuddly he looked, although (Creneghi glanced again to make sure) Faiszeh was, and the rest of the company, now in somewhat of a quandary because of how well the fellow could throw.

(9 May 2024 1234h / 11 July 2024 / 4 October 2024 / 4 October 2025 / 18 October 2026)

THIS IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL

for permission, contact the author at kristiwilson156 @ gmail

Another poem called "Nap Time"

2026-07-14T09:32:11.905-06:00

I just started writing this - today is the New Moon.

This is, I admit, sort of not as vague as it should be.

Nap Time (a New moon in Cancer ♋ Poem)

The blackened moor I wandered

Seeking a fabled monument

Raised in ancient times to learning, love, adventure, passion,

And legend. After a fashion,

I found what seemed to be it:

A hollow dome with little there

But a covering of burnt bushes, like crisp and crinkly hair.

My disappointed way meandered to a city square

I found textiles for sale, silken-furred like felines

One can't stop petting: Purple and gold, scarlet and peacock blue

They were, and of fascinating design, it's true,

But stoically unimpressed was I:

No matter how ornate the rug, I thought, that is how you lie.

Some day a girl will beckon you

Her lips ruby-hued, her hair of gold

Profile declaiming an ancient bloodline

Without a word she'll lead and you will follow

Across the moor and market, into a silent hollow

Somber, respectful, knowing your dislike, she will not flirt

But lovingly lead you into darkness, blankness, and the dirt.

Poems by me from 2009 or so

2026-07-11T19:20:58.992-06:00

I was looking for something "about clouds." These are old poems and they aren't like the best thing I ever wrote but they're all right.

* * *

(Three poems on the subject of Day and Night, the scribbler being somewhat biased in favor of the latter)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day and Night #1

"Promise of a new day"…? What's that mean, anyway?

I guess… that there'll be news, always lots of it…?

And hmmm… oh yeah: Weather: Mild or harsh, I (almost) always love it;

And that at some point I'll take some time to watch the sparrows play

And spend some equally useless hours

Observing clouds, gray or gold,

Blue, lavender, orange, pillowy in warm air, thin and wispy in cold,

Marching ponderously eastward in dazzling towers

So white they almost pain the eye.

Aye, now I consider, good simple Day doth its promises spin in great profusion!

With rasp of insect song and seethe and surge of motion, disturbed by light into confusion

Which at last drains meekly from the sky.

Day's promise is at last broken.

The accounting never comes out flush.

The day-lover sighs as Day gets the bum's rush,

And thinks bitter words he leaves unspoken.

Night promises not a thing,

But only holds out its riches to our astonished sight.

We grasp and coo like babies, some of us; some reel back in fright,

At lustrous Night glistening.

(13 December 2008)

Day and Night #2

Day's last hurrah is loud, gold, and bold;

Slanting rays touch the crystal goblet and the wine

And dance in gleaming swirls upon the ceiling.

The village bell for twilight tolls

To impel us toward our leaving.

But stay at least until the wine is gone.

The darkness still is just a rumor

On the dust-hazed tawny fields below

And the deep-breasted river with its glad sparkling rills.

Stand with me as Day's curtain's drawn

And Night spreads her wings upon the jagged hills.

(27 July 2009)

Day and Night #3

Moon in Capricorn (waxing)

Leaping up the sky

Shafts of argent quickening

Star-dazzled hoofbeats.

(3 August 2009)

Excerpt from "JTPYO / King of the Land of the Dead [3] - a devil's work (the streghi)"

2026-05-29T15:37:00.187-06:00

I'm getting frustrated trying to display a PDF on here - that used to work all right, but I can't get it to go anymore! *curses*

But I haven't forgotten about my readers, so here's "the streghi" which has been published on here before, but I've added quite a bit to it.

Interestingly, I was just reading the part in the bible about how King Saul's men, denied food as they pursued and then attacked the Philistines, fell upon and butchered animals after they had prevailed in battle, eating the raw flesh "with the blood." Samuel (acting on Yah's behalf) condemned Saul.

The episode isn't finished yet - after the final scene here, the narrative cleverly flips back to the part where Naxosos hears the cart (containing the streghi) approaching the dock.

I had been going to offer the last 88 pages of "JTPYO / King of the Waste [3] - the trap (excerpts "The Dragon's Egg," "Cuetio," "The Children's Gifts," and "Welcome To A Life Of Worry And Strife) in a PDF but again this site doesn't seem to be helpful. ("The streghi" is already 26,000+ words long: and "The trap" excerpts are like 55,000+ words long.)

* * *

So, this is what I have written of "the streghi." Enjoy!

THIS IS ALL COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL - PLEASE DO NOT REPRINT OR USE IT WITHOUT PUBLISHER'S PERMISSION (that's me!)

19 February 2025 / 17 March 2025 / 4 April 2025

JTPYO – King of the Land of the Dead [3] / a devil's work (excerpt: the streghi)

from the main outline: JTPYO - King of the Land of the Dead

3. a devil's work
Naxosos attempts to break away from the Children of God but ultimately finds separation impossible.

OUR STORY THUS FAR: Naxosos has tried to separate himself from the tribe and has now returned. The Pavrani refugees that were part of the reason he left the Children of God in the fishing burg Aslel-Aheyah are now numerous and he and the other Children of God are helping them to travel northwards, into unsettled lands.

The tribe is about to decamp, only days from leaving the province of Jaraniesca to return south into Kheoran-Arigne, when the sorcerer Joliel presents Naxosos (sovereign of the Children of God) with an interesting proposition.

…Early this morning ooh

When you knocked upon my door.

And I said, "Hello Satan,

I believe it's time to go".

~~ Delta blues guitarist/singer Robert Johnson

"Both the drivers lashed them," Nirith explained, "but the oxen refused to go near the trace! It seemed they would overpower the drivers and run away dragging their yokes, and the trace, and all the harness, and maybe a couple of men, and so they let them go, the ox-drivers and their team, and they got some soldiers from the garrison to pull the cart!"

"Sire? The archmage will speak with you." It was Andiamo saying this – perhaps he had repeated it a few times – and Naxosos was warm and sheltered in bed, in the Goddess-on-Earth's tent.

Thais sat up. "How did you get in here?" She didn't sound quite herself, but she'd had a trying day and told him, before they'd fallen to sleep, that she meant to rest for a good many hours and that nothing short of an armed attack against the camp would be sufficient to rouse her.

Naxosos at first turned away and pulled the coverlet up, but knew it was no use. "Andiamo," he said, sitting up. "Why didn't you get one of the girls to let us know you were outside?"

He noticed the silence then, and the dark. No lamps were set. No one spoke or stirred, inside or immediately outside the tent.

A girl stood behind Bashdi Andiamo: A glance told Naxosos she was half-conscious, on her feet but wavering; the rest was hard to see because of the dark. No one else was up, or so it seemed: not just the Goddess's tent, but the camp without was eerily still.

That the tent was dark and quiet was in itself irregular, but not unheard-of; there was however an alarming lack of any activity or sound just outside.

"Oh, for pity's sake," Naxosos griped, though he was at the same time inordinately excited. (Will he really?!)

"Andiamo," Thais demanded again, "who let you in here?"

"I'm sorry, Goddess," the youth replied. Before he could say anything else, Thais spoke sharply to the girl: "Pranett! What is wrong with you? Are you drunk?!"

In fact, was Naxosos's thought, she deserves praise for being as alert as she is, and, as he pulled his breeches on, he said to Thais, "She's enchanted, my dear." (If we're lucky, it's only an enchantment…) "Joliel wants to see me about something, don't fault them. You know him."

His belt and scrip were close to hand, and his boots. (What happened to my shirt?)

"Andiamo," Thais said, "where is your brother? Where is Kozvit?"

"He's in Lumdi's tent, Goddess." Andiamo then seemed to shake himself and in a mildly apologetic tone said, "I'm all right, we're all right, Goddess. The sorcerer, ah, the archmage, ah, cast a, a shade of silence, but I'm unaffected. He said you wouldn't be." (This last sounded a bit vague, perhaps purposefully so.)

He chose the right moment, didn't he? People were resting up for the migration, which would begin any day now. Late-coming refugees had all been given money, food, and clothing, made to promise they would refrain from any bad behavior or lawbreaking that might cause trouble for the Children of God, reminded to study their catechism, and turned back into the town, where they would winter-lodge with fishers.

He hadn't seen it for himself, but had no reason to disbelieve reports that the road was deserted.

"Perhaps he lied," Naxosos remarked to Bashdi Andiamo as he continued to grope around for his shirt, finally finding it, though another span of moments elapsed before he managed to turn the garment right-side-out (it had sleeves down past the wrist, useful in the sometimes chilly weather, but a nuisance to get straight) and pull it on. (The Goddess-on-Earth sitting arms and legs crossed, covers gathered about her, and the other girl both seemed to drift in and out, paying scant attention to what was going on.)

At Naxosos's remark Andiamo chuckled; Naxosos then said (in as offhanded a tone as he could manage): "Do you by chance know of the Szera's location?" and the youth answered readily "No, Sire! He doesn't, you know, stay in one tent long. He's probably in the camp, though. He may be near the north gate."

"Oh, gods…" Thais said in a faint, despairing wail. "Oh, why can't he stop?" (She was talking about Joliel; Naxosos had not been aware of the sorcerer being within a mile of the camp in days. They were preparing for the move-out: everything had been in chaos.)

"Andiamo," he said as he laced his boots. (I've got to get out of here before there's an alarm!)

"Yes, Sire?"

"Where is Lumdi?!" Thais cried hoarsely.

Yes, something's wrong; she is enchanted or… Then, with anger: That devil! What justifies this?! (It had to be something of note and not just a stunt: The sorcerer had already shown his dedication to keeping Naxosos alive despite their argument: That either of them would be killed was, then, or had to be of very low probability. And: One thing their visit to the Emperor's palace had impressed upon him was that Joliel was not, in spite of rumors, offering him for sale. Not yet, anyway.)

The tribe, augmented by a good many Pavrani refugees, would depart this highland refuge within the next handful of days: Some would take a meandering and slow way north, but most would go south, following Naxosos and his immediate cohort.

Naxosos stood and, now that all he had to do was put on his cloak and secure his weapon, got a look at the young woman Pranett: Blinking stuporously, dark hair tumbled, with only her shimmy on (and it wasn't the warmest night), and weaving as though at the point of collapse, she was. Thais was not much better off.

For the southward-bound, the agreed-upon device was that they would wait until the light snows to begin the migration: The herdsmen would take animals down in groups as though driving them to lower pastures or to market, but most of these would stay on the road. Departing Children of God would travel out using the animals as cover, and in small companies continue on the coast road, most of them. Some might take ship if they could afford it, but in any case the idea was that muster would be somewhere in the south of Pavrain, near the bank of the first great tributary, Uflio-Sina-et.

"There needs to be a light going in here!" Naxosos blustered. "Where then are the other girls? I do not hear or see anyone!"

The total of numbers going south was over five thousand: many were unbaptized but all had expressed at least a token of desire to become so. (Korsis Zarodi had observed summarily a couple of days prior, "So, see? It's not a pilgrimage: It's an army! We're an invading force!" and Naemas had said, "And once we teach them all to dance and sing, it'll be an invading, moneymaking force!")

Andiamo responded to Naxosos's question:"There was no one here; Pranett and I had to awaken her, uh, the Goddess."

"Fucking Joliel!" he muttered.

Some of the Children of God and refugees would drift into the town, or to outlying farms, and remain as the weather deteriorated.

The townspeople were for the most part cooperative, including many Celans who didn't see a lot of point to the war in Satria and who had – gradually and without fanfare – turned against the Empire, with a majority of these sympathetic to the Children of God. (Money increased the available amount and genuineness of sympathy, of course; that the Children of God always carried plenty of cash and were well able to pay for everything without excess haggling helped ensure that they were usually greeted with smiles.)

The farmers didn't need any encouragement: In fact, news of the move-out had been kept from them to allay their complaints over losing able hands and skilled crafters, clerics, and healers. (And the friendly, young, often loose, females among the Children of God were always a popular item.)

It was in any case a fatiguing, watchful, anxious time, although Naxosos recalled now that this evening's dinner and afterwards had been extraordinarily pleasant.

Dinner. There was a sort of blank there, he realized now, and yet a few details seemed etched into his memory as though they were the most wonderful and somehow significant and important things he had ever witnessed or known. It had been a great meal…but he couldn't for the life of him recall why it had seemed so wonderful and imbued with glamour.

Imbued with glamour.

Hm…

Andiamo, meanwhile, answered Thais and said, "Lumdi is well and thriving, Goddess: please believe me, no one is in any danger and they are well, they are sound asleep, Rhatial is sleeping, my brother sleeps peacefully at their tent door with his spear beside him, I saw them all with my own eyes not more than a couple of minutes ago!"

"Andi: Do you know where the Second is?" Naxosos then asked the youth, who replied, "I do not: The last week or so she hasn't been in the expected place – sorry, Sire."

"Oh, that's all right, I was just wondering." He doesn't know where some of them are, hm. While it wasn't Bashdi Andiamo's responsibility to note the locations of anyone except the Possessed, it was unusual for him to not know all the gossip by the close of the day.

He's enchanted, too.

Rubbing his sleep-numbed face, he thought: If any of this was Joliel's doing, the sorcerer broke at least one of his oaths to the Goddess-on-Earth. And where the deuce had Nirith been all this time, anyway?

It's not going to be just a little run and back and it has to be me.

Now he was wide awake.

Thais, still sitting with the coverlet clasped around her, gave no indication she had heard their exchange, or heeded Andiamo's response to her question. In fact, the Goddess-on-Earth gazed blankly into an unseen distance, much like a person desperately trying to recall some vital bit of information: He felt pity for her and the girl Pranett, and resentment toward Joliel. He doesn't have to do this.

Resentment was good, though: It lessened his yearning and the bothersome wanting-to-know.

(Where is Nirith?)

"Is everyone in the camp drugged, or enchanted, or whatever it is?" he inquired of Andiamo. In his mind, meanwhile, the tedious litany began anew: All I asked him to do was pray with me…

"No, Sire."

Looking all around now, and listening: Silence extended into the greater encampment.

Why…why am I not more alarmed?

The warriors, he perceived, were all awake and stirring – for which he thanked God. None was near, however: Hm, they are in their place down the road…

It was surpassingly odd and there were sure to be further surprises.

Joliel could walk in silence and invisibility if he wished, and had a facility for drugging people, though this was officially forbidden to him. He seldom tried any of his tricks on Thais's warriors, but he would, oaths be damned: Naxosos had seen that he would drug almost anyone, if it suited his purpose.

Considering these things made his hackles rise.

"They're not doped, they're just not seeing or hearing him and whoever else is in the shade," Andiamo said now, having perceived the direction of his thought. (The boy is a wonder.) Then: "At least no one is doped that I know of!" Smilingly: "They're sleeping in the shade!"

In camp-talk, that meant people slept under a warding of silence, naturally sleeping, but very deeply, because the ward blocked the outside noise and kept others from having to hear one's noise. Naxosos doubted this was entirely the case, of course, for a shade of silence was not supposed to put people to sleep, but only enhance sleep or assist with privacy. Andi was probably drugged or enchanted, or both.)

Naxosos remembered, finally, that he had thought during dinner that something was a little off.

"Is it a, is it possessed?" He asked the youth, and said also to the girl Pranett, "Young lady, please seat yourself on the couch next to our mistress, if you will," and she did so, though her aspect remained scattered and she seemed almost not to hear him. Now if she collapses, she won't be hurt…

"No," Andiamo said. "There's no one possessed anywhere within miles, nor an Undead. He said –" Here was hesitation.

"Thais?" Naxosos said and she answered, her tone continuing to be distracted: "Yes, darling?"

Andiamo said, "He said he wants for you to see something. He says meet him outside the tents at the south, the Cloud Doorway."

"Thais," Naxosos said, "just lie down and you, Pranett, you will sit and watch over her, since we don't know where the Second is, and I will have Andiamo here guard the tent, and you get some rest, darling, do you hear me? It's nothing, I'm sure – you know as well as I that any enchantment he might work against either of us is annulled at any threat of harm to your person, or mine!" With a short laugh: "Maybe he just wants for me to sing for him!" I'm babbling.

"Oh, Naxo!" Thais mourned, rocking back and forth: "Don't go!"

"If nothing else, I have to see why there isn't at least one warrior here." They're waiting on me…waiting for something to happen.

He went on, saying to the Goddess-on-Earth: "It'll get worse if I don't, you know it will, and you have no business going anywhere at the moment – you know you are not yourself, let this young lady watch over you, and Andiamo guard the tent. I won't be long: you don't have to worry about me wanting to spend more time with him than necessary!" It'll be more than seeing.

Then: If there's something he needs or wants from me, why get so bent about me just saying that I want him to pray? He could have pretended and got whatever he wanted after that!

Unbidden, there came memories both remote and recent, of converts to be baptized telling the priest that they had prayed when they hadn't (then Naimejo's voice starting in at a low, intimidating grumble with his infamous lecture about how lies are like cracks in a foundation).

Was the sorcerer so fearful of his gods that he dared not feign worship of another for even a couple of minutes? It was a most disquieting notion.

"Thais, you're not lying down!" Sitting beside her, he kissed her shoulder. "I'll at least find one of the fighters and make sure the camp is safe before I come back here." (She made no response and indeed, seemed not to have noticed the gesture.)

He'd had opportunities, since returning to the Children of God, to discuss the thing encountered at Shoela-hari in the dream-world, a creature – or a region – of extraordinarily strange and frightening energy that Szera Zeracx had jocularly referred to as "the festering boil on the world's behind" and claimed some familiarity with, though they had not yet had further speech about it. He had spoken of it with some of the priests, and, memorably, a few adventurers and treasure-hunters: Those unaware of his intention to seek the throne of Arigne advised him to avoid Shoela-hari: One said, "It's Corruption's Breath, every man who's thought to plunder a grave in Kheoran over the last thousand years has known it! And its hive is the Place of Lions!" – and the tribe's priests had blanched, though none would argue against his plan.

Thais wouldn't follow, he knew – not any time soon, anyway – and so he rose again and got his cloak fastened. He thought of asking the girl Pranett to set a lamp but then observed she had already fallen to sleep sprawled across the corner of the bed, snoring faintly. Motioning to Andiamo, he said, "There's a shawl at the end of the couch, there – why don't you cover her with it?" This the other quickly did, and Naxosos added in a jocular tone, "That's enough! She doesn't need any more tucking!" and the youth laughed. (Throughout, the Goddess-on-Earth sat crosslegged, clasping at her bedding, with her bare back and arms, and her pale hair shining in the dark. Her face was uncharacteristically blank and her expression absent – she stared into the air before her as though trying hard to remember something, her lips moving slightly. There had better be a justification for this, or he's in trouble…)

Tolalo (he recalled now) had begun to nod and say "Mm-hm, mm-hm," before Naxosos had got a few sentences into his recounting of the dream and the entity; he called what Naxosos had seen "a doorway" and had added "– Although it's alive – yes, alive – in a manner I would have a hard time describing." As with Szera Zeracx, they had not yet had an opportunity to discuss it further: Talk about dreaming, visions, or supernatural encounters at dinner or meeting was forbidden here in the great camp, for there were too many new people and many unbaptized.

"Andi, have you your weapon?" Naxosos asked the youth, who grunted in the affirmative. They left the tent.

A suspended lantern glowed in the misty, cool air just outside. There were benches and a little awning for whoever was on duty, and some game-pieces lay on a table, but no one was there – he saw no one asleep, either. It was as though the usual crowd, present day and night wherever the Goddess-on-Earth set her tent, had vanished. One torch was set, that just barely burning.

And there was no one around. Turning all about, he saw a flicker of fires under trees to the north and heard animal noises, although these were more muted than usual. Someone was up, but this part of the camp was deathly quiet.

These discoveries left him annoyed, though not terribly surprised: The Goddess's complex was always, in theory, the safest part of the encampment.

Naxosos went on, leaving Andiamo at the tent door.

The complex in this camp had been up for a time so the undergrowth was all flattened, with boughs and lathes and planks set to keep people's feet out of the mud (the time of storms was coming and it rained almost every day; in the last week, the shepherds had reported snow). The cluster of tents was separated from the rest of the camp by a head-high barrier of brush and deadfall.

Regardless, there was supposed to be a watch over the main tent at all hours.

How did he get them to leave their posts like that?

Walking on, he saw a few more torches but again there was no guard, or anyone. (Why does he DO these things?)

Once outside the Goddess's complex, he began to jog. The misty air was pleasant. He stayed off the boards, to one side of the path, so as not to make any noise.

The camp's south entrance – the Cloud Doorway it was called – was a careful run of five minutes. The night was dark but it was easy to keep to the path, as the tents were almost all of light-colored material. He made toward this gate, marveling at how absolutely deserted the scene continued to be.

In truth he was wearied by routine and having to display largesse towards the quarrelsome, disruptive Pavrani refugees (who were at least for the moment, however, being wonderfully peaceful, praise God, as they were resting up for the migration) and at some point in the next few days he and his cohort were going to leave this fair, friendly place with a very hard road and an even harder goal ahead of them. It was not often he was able to go about the encampment (or anywhere) without people trailing in his wake, or waiting somewhere up the road in ambush.

Here and there a torch burned, he saw, or a campfire smoldered, but – at least on the way out – no one was on watch. Anywhere. He would have to say something when this was over to make sure it didn't happen again.

The expectation that he would at any moment see someone, or be hailed, was unpleasant, but the unfolding spectacle of a deserted camp was even more distressing.

Three "roads" – well-established foot-trails – intersected just south of the camp's guarded perimeter: One went down, down, down into the forested sink, where most of the families were camped, the other crossing the height, the "King's Rest," where his tent and the tents of his cohort, the Goddess's complex and the priests' tents all were: If one continued on this trail it turned, eventually, into a long, rocky highway heading north into the distant mountains and further, if explorers' maps were to be believed, and the tales of wandering priests.

The third road snaked around and around a number of hillsides, and up and down through pastures and bogs and stands of many different kinds of trees, into the town of Jaraniesca.

This intersection lay just beyond the Cloud Doorway, manned and guarded at all hours – or it was supposed to be.

"See something"…! I wager we shall.

A few of the tents he passed glowed, showing wakeful occupants; here and there were heard voices, but for the most part an unsettling somnolence lay over the camp. The sounds of animals were lessened also: The "shade of silence" would account for that part of it, but not for people being absent from their posts.

It was that kind of night: Cool and invigorating, with just enough light to see the ground and rocks, when, pleasantly tired from a day's efforts, one argues and jokes with friends over a good dinner and, after a drink or two of wine, retires before lights-out, snuggling into one's blankets to whisper and kiss and maybe a few other things with a favorite person, finally to fall into one's dreams like a heavy stone tumbling slowly, slowly from a height to plunge into a deep…dark…soundless…pool.

With a shock that slowed his steps: I'm enchanted, too!

Or drugged – yes, some of the sparkling nature of the evening's dinner and company now seemed to have been a little too sparkling and none of the warriors had been present, he remembered, and he now remembered that it had seemed a little off to him, that not a one of them had been there, but the crystalline mountain air and the pure, deep-blue onset of twilight, and the hushed sounds of the camp getting ready for the night, were stuck in his mind as though there had been some extraordinary happening attached to it all, but there hadn't.

Not yet, anyway.

Joliel was definitely breaking an oath, several oaths. (Why…?!)

Something Andiamo had said now returned: He, Bashdi Andiamo, admitted he didn't know where Nirith was. Naxosos realized then he had not seen the woman for at least a day, probably two days or more, now that he thought about it. Naemas had not remarked on this – Korsis had said nothing, nor had Szera Zeracx, or Thais, or anyone else at all. (Most of the women were over wanting to be around the Szera all the time, thankfully, and had gone back to their usual routines.)

There was the Cloud Doorway and true to his expectation there was no guard upon it, though it was supposed to be watched by at least four armed men at every hour of the day.

The Doorway, so-called, was really more of an idea of a door, as the camp had no tower, wall, or gate here, but merely some ruts to mark where heavily-laden carts or sleds had gone and a few torches set during the dark hours to help the camp guards identify those who approached. There were pickets to tether animals and a couple of watering-troughs. There were tables and benches. There was a cess-trench.

Generally the area was well-lit and populated but again there was no one. Some of the torches had gone out in the mist that was increasing to drizzle; wisps of smoke hung white in the air. Again, it was as though everyone had disappeared. Sound was absent except for a few insects dolorously chirping.

I will NOT call out! If he's not here, I'll simply…

As soon as this thought passed his mind, he spied the other in the middle limb of the crossing, the path that went into Jaraniesca town, where the path, broader and more rutted, was shadowed in tall pines. Just a few days ago the area had spilled over with Pavrani fleeing the Celan emperor's tax and war.

The watery luminance shifted about like patterned gauze in a breeze.

Amidst these wan, slowly-dancing shafts of light and shadow the sorcerer's solid-black raiment stood out and his white face like a strange apparition, with its weedy black beard, heavy black brows, and black button eyes also was easy to see. (The scene was unnaturally quiet and dreamlike. He thought of Thais's cry: Oh, why can't he stop? and the hair on his neck rose yet again. "See something…")

"Where are the guards who are supposed to be here, Joliel?" he demanded. (Of course, because absolutely no one else was present, he had to drive down an impulse to run up to the other and treat him in a most friendly way. And perhaps a little later ask him many, many questions.) "Almost the whole camp is missing! Did you –"

"They're all right," the other answered. "I told the boy, I told Andi what to say to Thais when she starts coming around – that should be in about half an hour. She'll take care of any problems." With a little laugh: "The fighters are on the alert tonight. You'll see why, whether you come with me or not. That's why you want to come."

"A, a half – a half hour!?" Naxosos fumed. "So, we're actually going to go somewhere? That figures! There'll be people looking for me before we get back! Why –"

"Oh, stop. You're not listening! Andi knows what to say when she wakes up. She won't raise an alarm."

"You're supposed to serve her, Joliel!"

"She is not needed here! Andi will settle her. Not everyone in the camp is affected." With a snort: "You're the only one who can put that many people to sleep at once!"

He is…he's making an effort to be sincere! Perhaps even…sober.

Naxosos waited for the other to say something, anything, else, but Joliel remained silent. "You sent for me," he said finally. "Thais and her attendant seem enchanted and there's a notable absence of activity. I saw no one through the camp – I just walked right out and no one accosted me. No guard is set; Nirith is nowhere to be seen and Andi doesn't know where she is. You said you wanted to see me, to show me something. I hope what we're going to see justifies what you did, or you may have to face an inquest." Joliel started to speak, but Naxosos interrupted: "I told you after Bourskina that I won't be tricked by you anymore! I have the authority to punish you and since you've decided to turn on me for no real discernable reason, I don't have as much of a problem with that as I used to!" Especially after we went to see the Emperor, he thought, though he dared not say it.

The other answered, ignoring Naxosos's threat, "Yes, I feel you must see this. It will be to your great benefit, and mine, although I will not mislead you: Some may die."

He still sees in me a pirate, Naxosos thought with sadness and amusement. "I'm not that keen on risking my life, if that's your angle." Then: "We're not just going to look at something, are we?"

The sorcerer moved closer by a few steps. The wind stirred now and they were showered with cold droplets from the trees above. "We'll go into Jaraniesca town. We'll pass the warriors on the road – I don't want them involved in this. It's a wager that they're aware of this thing but they should not interfere unless you draw their attention."

"Mm-hm." (Not "we" – "you.")

"As you're already aware, there are no refugees on the road, so we don't have to worry about that."

"Yes." (Now it's "we" again.)

"If we run it's an hour or less. The path might get slick if it rains but I won't let you fall. What do you say?" There was scorn in the archmage's voice and a smile; of course he could cover the miles between the camp and the town, running, in the less time than it would a man on a fresh horse to cover the same distance – or in even less time than that, were he to travel between worlds.

"Do I have any choice?" Naxosos said with a weak laugh.

"Hm," the other replied; then, astoundingly, took some moments to think it over. "Hm…I would say…I would say, yes, you do have a choice. I'm not going to force you: I can't. But if you refuse you will find, to your eventual chagrin, your choice was a poor one." After another moment: "It will reinforce my suspicion that you are an even bigger fool than we had imagined."

"What is clear is that this will benefit you to the degree that you will bother to be nice to me, give me information, and bargain with me. But it's not clear how any of this will benefit me. I am leaving camp with only you for an escort. Surely, we know the way into town and it is an easy run. But what will we find? Are we indeed risking our lives? Can't you describe what –"

Joliel interrupted: "You will be in little to no danger but human lives may be lost, I'm not going to lie. Your presence may ensure that as few humans die as possible."

Ah!

Joliel had known of Naxosos's encounter with the elthir-evo, so-called, without Naxosos having to tell him of it: Of course, there had been only a fragment of conversation before they had fallen out, finally and, it seemed, forever, after Naxosos had asked the other to pray with him upon the height of Jehnehannu.

Again the wind gusted, bringing more spray from the boughs overhead.

"If it's such a big deal, why can't I know what it is? Why just hints and so on? It seems you really need me for something. So why can't you tell me what our mission is, therefore?"

The sorcerer hesitated many seconds before replying. "If I tell you what it is that you will see, you won't go," he said, finally. "But you should. And, as I said: You'll regret it if you don't."

Naxosos knew he was going to go with Joliel this time and believed, further, it was a matter of some importance to the tribe at large, and he was moreover so intrigued that he would hardly be able to force himself not to go, but he lingered anyway, pretending to think it over, and then remembered his device of keeping the image of mending fishing nets foremost in his mind: After Travowil, he had started using this to keep the other out of his thoughts.

"I could use a run," he said, "now that you mention it. But I promised Thais that I won't go into town." Mending fishing nets for hours in the sun, with the cries of seabirds overhead. Mending nets. The voices of women gossiping and singing as they mend fishing nets. Mending nets. Mending nets. (At this, he was amused to see Joliel grimace, though the other continued soberly enough in his speech.)

"In fact," the sorcerer Joliel said, "the place in question is not inside the town wall. But if we go around the houses instead of through them, it may well be sunrise until we return; it will add an hour." To Naxosos's unspoken question: "The time is now an hour until midnight. I propose that we run down to the town, pass through it to the wharf district –"

"I'll have to show my face at the gate and I may be seen along the way. Aren't there wanted posters for me in the town? Someone may know about the phony sulindars, Joliel! Have you even considered that?!"

This drew a snicker from the other, who then said, "I was thinking of casting this same shade to get us through town, but…now that you mention it…"

"Why will we go through the wharf district? I will not assist you in any type of robbery or game!"

"Shut up, fool! It's not that. You'll see. Listen!"

"Speak clearly, then!"

"I don't want to waste my energies just to keep us hidden as we pass through city blocks; I may need to cast a shade to get us back here. And…" Here was a significant silence and when the sorcerer continued speaking, his words were measured: "And I may have to do other things. I may not be able to do all the things I need to do without…"

Without my help.

When Joliel spoke again it was with an air of resolution: "So, you're right: We'll keep to the outskirts of town." After a lengthy pause, while he stared at Naxosos: "Are you ready? Do you have your scrip? A weapon?"

"In fact, I have everything I need, including my fake identity papers!"

"Very well, let's –"

"Joliel."

"Yes?"

"Why not get one of the warriors to assist you? Ah, us. To assist us. It seems one of them would –"

"This is something I'll need to explain later, although once you see, no explanation will be needed. We must run in silence. I won't let you fall but still you should take care! You know the Celans employ magicians, too – yes?"

With a shiver: "Oh, I remember!"

"They're nothing, really, to worry about, unless we start to attract attention."

After another moment of consideration: "This isn't just so we can be intimate, is it? Because…"

It was not so dark that he didn't observe that the other almost snarled at him, then seemed to correct himself and continued calmly enough: "Not today! My goals are as stated and none of this involves intimacy. Some other time, maybe!" With a rude laugh: "I told you I wasn't done fucking you yet. Hold your peace."

"I was simply asking!"

The other waved his hand. "There is no fault."

He's definitely not just showing off, Naxosos considered. He needs me for something that he can't or won't do with anyone else. Then: Nothing "really" to worry about – what a scoundrel!

The voice came, unbidden: You know how to kill it.

Yes, I do.

After a silence: "Can you tell me where Nirith is? Is she involved in this?"

"You may not see her, but yes: She is involved." Here the sorcerer grinned boldly with all his teeth.

"Let's not waste time, then," Naxosos (sovereign of the Children of God) said to Joliel (archmage of the Children of God) at the crossroad outside the great encampment in Jaraniesca province, a far corner in the north and west of Cela.

With an unreadable smile, the other turned and proceeded down the limb of the trail that tended south, toward the town; he walked quickly for about twenty yards and turned again to look back at Naxosos, who began to trot after him.

With magic Sight he could see well enough. The sorcerer picked up his pace; Naxosos was aware that he would have to follow quickly.

When we get a chance to talk, I'm going to have to make him understand somehow that he needs to stop bothering the women.

He ran, following the robed figure sailing over the uneven path ahead like the inky shadow of a great bird.

The night was fine and he had new boots on.

***

Town-light had grown marked and Joliel halted their progress and, motioning to Naxosos, turned onto a side-trail that ascended through tall spindly pines and tangles of bushes to a crag of pale-gray stone, bare except for patches of moss, weathered to roundness.

Jutting over a deep, broad river valley, excepting the stupendous view, the prominence served no useful purpose except as a place, if one stayed among the trees and scrub, to get out of the wind, or to shit: To go anywhere except back the way one came on this path would result in a nasty and possibly fatal plunge.

"We're about two miles from the shore," the archmage whispered – somewhat unnecessarily, as Naxosos knew this part of the trip well.

At this vantage there was only a glimpse of the far Channel; an intervening ridge concealed the harbor from view. Open water was a faint, metallic line to the south, seen between shoulders and peaks when clouds allowed.

With his white hand Joliel pointed, saying, "There is the Temple of Vranaps," and Naxosos saw the building complex across the valley through maybe a quarter of a mile of vaporous air, lit by guttering torches, wedged into the side of a hill dense with trees. It was much harder to see during the daytime.

The sky was heavy with purple-black, slowly-moving clouds like clusters of ripe ja-hali fruit, a yellowish sickle moon dropping beneath them, about to disappear behind the western hilltops. A few barely-twinkling stars were visible. Columns of mist inched in courtly procession along the river far below. Usually the river was easy to see from this spot, even at night, but tonight only little bits of it were showing.

"Why do we stop?" Naxosos inquired. (Most of their road was downhill and they had been running in cool vapor alternating with drizzle – it had been as refreshing, almost, as a bath and oil and he was scarcely breathing.) "I doubt if that poor old temple is what you wanted us to see!"

"Shh!" the sorcerer griped. "Don't talk! Listen and feel! Give it a good couple of minutes."

The spoor of the Goddess's six fighters and their horses was all over the area; as Naxosos stood sniffing and listening, however, he detected a suggestion that at least one of the fighters had recently come through and might be somewhere on the road ahead.

"Merelioides is near. Is it him?"

"Yes," Joliel responded in an uncharacteristically prompt manner. "I thought he might try to prevent us from doing this."

After a moment of shock: "If you want to fight Red, you're going to have to do that yourself, Joliel! If that's the plan I'm going to turn around right now and –"

"Quiet!"

Lowering his voice: "I am not going to argue a case for you to disobey the Goddess! Never! I would –"

"The towheads will know – there's no way they can't," the other drawled. "Thais will know, that's why I – ah, never mind. It's not a concern. Merelioides isn't going to try to stop me, he knows better: He may try to stop you, though. But –"

"And like I said, I will not fight with him or interfere with his work in the least way! I'm not crazy! Joliel, I –"

Turning to him with a frightful intensity, the other snarled: "Listen!"

Naxosos quieted, held his cloak tightly bunched about his neck and shoulders – as it flapped – and stood listening.

They had started turning northbound refugees back a few days ago and now the roads were all but deserted of traffic. Holds in the valley were viewable by their smoldering fires and tree-cleared fields, but these were distant; the valley residents did not place much value on roads going up and down, as the shepherds and herdsman would always make a better way than one devised on their behalf, and a different way every season, whether it was better or not.

Sounds of nighttime birds and insects were abundant now that the road was empty of refugees, but, listening hard, he heard, finally, what the sorcerer wanted for him to hear.

A memory rushed in: Chaeneth, in his dream, recounting the destruction of Vlaitor Rostini's home including its great library and unkempt, venerable, beloved olive-trees, and his stores of food, and how poor Vlaitor had wept and stormed and screamed at the loss of his home and the kidnapping of his slave-women.

This sound was subterranean, far-off, but harsh and penetrating, full of loss and despair and bitter ire, each cry dying away into guttural sobs of complete hopelessness: A man-sound, from a throat capable of many and varied utterances, though it could not be from a normal man: It was too loud and prolonged, too relentless. (A normal man, regardless of his dedication or how high he was, would've screamed his lungs ragged by now! he thought. At that moment, as he listened he then heard whatever it was take a breath, then with renewed energy hurl its anguish into the night and earth, and both trembled with it.)

Yet to regular hearing the howls were faintly if at all audible: Whatever was making this noise was likely underground.

A traveler, hearing unenhanced, might get a feeling of strangeness along this leg of the road, especially if he had detoured: Upon a close listen, he might hear it. His riding-animal would perhaps show uneasiness. He would wonder – but then simply hasten onward, taking little note of the sound, if he did hear it, except to listen for a minute in an attempt to determine which side of the river gorge it was on, and whether it was drawing any closer.

A possessed man might make sounds like this, but…

As Naxosos took an instant to consider whether Andiamo might have somehow been tricked or coerced into lying to him, Joliel said immediately, "No, it's not a Possessed." With a broad grin he said, "This is an indication that Nirith has done her work. She has done this of her own free will. She will gain in power and knowledge thereby." With a slight sarcastic bow: "As will our beneficent King Naxosos. Will he follow?" Before Naxosos could speak, he said, "I think that may be why Merelioides waits for us somewhere between here and the town wall. To interfere with our plan may not be his intent."

("Our plan"…!)

"Are we to encounter this, the, whatever it is, then? I'm thinking this is something do do with your people. But – all right, when I saw the elthir-evo, its speech was pleasant and easy. I cannot imagine it making a noise like that. It was very sly and slick." Like you.

"Yes," Joliel agreed, "that's how they are."

He commented further: "And you – if it was something like you, it would not waste its breath crying. It would have escaped and killed everyone in the temple, and been out by now!" Here they both laughed briefly, which made Naxosos's heart leap a little bit.

But then the other spoke, resuming a businesslike tone: "It's only a little like me. If you decide to continue, you'll see. Do you want to follow? I cannot force you to go on, nor may I trick you."

"I –"

"You won't change into something like me – the Szera lies to you! It will not change you appreciably, although Thais will know, I'm sure. Nirith and Merelioides will know, certainly. Lumdi will know. The news will probably get out sooner or later, but that won't matter – it will be long over by then."

After a lengthy silence: "I suppose I am intrigued enough to keep going and I know that you are not trying to get me killed; however –"

"No, I'm definitely not," the other said.

"However, whatever this thing is, it's pretty upset."

Joliel interrupted to say, "I will tell you this: The creature, we call it streghi, used to be a man a long time ago, perhaps a very long time ago. It is a man who was untimely changed in 'the bargain,' as the elthir calls it: He had, maybe, sought the elthir – some people do – in a quest for prolonged life and, to his everlasting misfortune, he found it. And you also know about that. He could have been a prisoner changed by a captive elthir or another streghi, or he could have been lying injured on a battlefield – there were streghi used in wars but long ago. Any road, it's illegal throughout the Empire to trade in these creatures, or to hunt them except for any reason than to kill them, and yet that is what the Governor – Ploighan, you have been told of him –"

"Yes." (By the sound, not only was the creature madly howling and screaming, it was battering and shaking something like a door, or a –)

"Ploighan bought the streghi from someone and it's being kept in the Temple Vranaps."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." (It was in a heavy container of some sort, that tottered from the creature's efforts to free itself.)

"I became aware of it shortly after we all arrived here. I have never been here before but the place has a reputation. The thing was to be transferred to a new owner, in Viragos probably, in Kheoran certainly, but this was delayed as Ploighan was afraid to attract attention. Because we were here! Now the weather is getting bad for sailing. He has to get rid of the creature soon or he will have to watch over it during the storms and cold."

He's lying but he's not trying to trick me. "If he's doing something illegal, why doesn't someone, a local person, just tell on him? Then they'll get another governor and –"

"Oh, you're a fool!" the sorcerer griped. "Ploighan is corrupt and that's why he puts up with the Children of God being here in the first place! If he's replaced with someone honest –"

"I get what you're saying. All right: Never mind."

"Listen," Joliel said, his tone bordering on urgency, "Nirith compromised one of the magicians who is supposed to keep a watch over the streghi and administer drugs if needed. It's been kept drugged and under magical compulsion so as not to cause a disturbance for close to a year now; Nirith made sure a few times over the last few days, and particularly within the last few hours, that the streghi would not get its scheduled dose of sedative. She knew they were getting ready to crate it for transport and she convinced it, the creature, to pretend to be drugged until after it was secured into the crate, and then to start pitching a fit."

I suppose I shouldn't laugh, Naxosos considered, although he wanted to.

"So that's what we're listening to," Joliel said. "It's in the crate and it's going to make as much noise, and try to get out, as much as it can. It's not in very good condition; they have not fed it for months."

"It sounds pretty lively to me."

"Nirith has made friends with it and she fed it."

"I see."

"The idea was that, once crated, the creature would begin to scream and yell, like it's currently doing, and to try to get out; they will not be able to take it to the wharf and it will cause them great frustration. Nirith will then approach them – and one of them knowing he's in a world of trouble if someone finds he shirked his duty, so he's not going to say anything about knowing her – and she will claim to have an enchantment to pacify it until it is securely on the boat."

"That girl!" Naxosos laughed. "I was wondering what she was up to!"

"She's taking a terrible risk, but she said to me about a week ago, when the council decided we would begin the move-out; she said, 'I must free him, I will never forgive myself if I let this happen!'"

"But won't someone know who she is? I'm sure at least a few people in the town are familiar with the Second: not just her reputation, but her face and figure, her style of dress, the beads in her hair, and so on!"

"Nirith is skilled at changing her appearance; you know that, you have seen it. Anyway: She assures me the streghi is quite committed to escaping captivity – and it likes her, and it will cooperate with her: Come what may, it will not kill her. Saying also, however, be certain that if it were to escape without any knowledge of assistance being nearby, it would most likely – most certainly – go berserk and start killing its tormentors instead of trying to get away, and whoever might try to help it might be killed, and then the streghi would itself be killed." With a sigh: "So that is why we are here: If not for that item, we could easily effect the streghi's release from a safe distance; Nirith would probably just do that, would have done it herself without delay, once she'd made certain of at least one of its keepers."

"I understand." I don't understand.

"I would rather gain the streghi's goodwill, if you see what I mean – even if it simply gets loose and manages to get away from the soldiers and magicians guarding it, it may get as far as the camp and it would cause a problem, because it is starving and we have a number of small children now, do we not? And sheep and cattle. So I want to, as you would say, befriend it, as Nirith has done."

One thing is certain: He's NOT eager to fight it, whatever it is. This idea Naxosos found to be quite stunning in its implications.

"You and Nirith will befriend it. Good plan, I suppose. Again, I have to ask: What do you need me for? Am I to offer it a place to sleep? A cart-ride to the next town?"

The other looked at him for such a long time, gusts stirring his robe and hair, that Naxosos in a pique considered telling him just to go on alone.

Finally Joliel said, "So, listen, here is the entire thing: Assuming we arrive before the cart does, we'll hide somewhere near the loading dock. Without a doubt there will be an armed detail with the streghi so we will have to stay in cover. They were waiting for dark to put him on the ship but now he's causing a delay. If this works like it's supposed to, Nirith will offer her solution and the crate with its contents will be on the pier some time just past midnight. We will try to arrive and find a place of concealment before they get there and, as I'm sure you realize, we must remain under a ward of silence and shutter any sorcery, including Sight and Hearing."

"And…?" He's never talked this fast for this long that I can remember. That the other seemed to be trying to sell or convince him of something was both strangely exhilarating and dire.

"The streghi will pretend to be immobilized from Nirith's enchantment. When the ship starts to approach, it will suddenly spring to life and start trying to break out of the crate again, and causing a fuss. This will be a severe impediment to the entire operation and the safety in particular of Ploighan Groettna, who could be – will most likely be – caught conducting an illegal operation with a capital result possible; he will lose a few of his employees, maybe, and the streghi may come after him and make him suffer before it kills him. The ship will probably start to head back out to sea rather than risk the streghi getting on board – they would not be part of the caper if they were not experienced. Yes, you'll see them leave the harbor at an amazing speed, I would wager – they will use the oars. Anyway, with this going on, Nirith and I will enact a spell of torsion to help the streghi break free from the crate, and –"

"And what will I do?"

"You will allow it to drink from you." Quickly, Joliel added, "Ah, using the chalice, of course! The one I always use! You're a king and not just any king, but a king of the line of Arigne! A rarity over ages of time! After being with the Szera, and conversing with the Redoubt, you doubtless understand that part!"

At first Naxosos was stunned speechless and could do nothing but open his mouth, then close it again. Finally he said, angrily, "What about you? Isn't your blood any good?"

"Yes, I was planning on helping; Nirith has allowed it to drink. If one's blood is given without coercion or trickery, there is a lifelong, infrangible attachment. The streghi can be a most valuable ally – and you are very inept, you see: You really need all the help you can get!"

Naxosos started to speak but again the sorcerer interrupted: "That is how I became Garisha-vidov's master! You've met him! Is he not marvelous?!"

After a moment, when Naxosos didn't say anything, Joliel giggled and said, "The expression on your face! 'Well, I'm not going to get a kiss from him tonight, am I?' – that is what it's saying! You are indeed a very stupid person, Naxo! And so blind!" Leaning in closely, the other poked him in the chest with a spidery white finger. "You'll consider this better, and remember it longer, than any kiss, I'll wager! And you will say so before the sun comes up!"

Sourly: "I'm not in a betting mood right now." After a pause: "And the night isn't getting any younger. Let's go."

With a childlike gasp of delight: "Are you serious?"

"Let's just go!" Naxosos turned and took a step, but the other grasped his arm. He's lying about something, but he's not trying to trick me. Not completely.

"Truly, I didn't expect you would do this! Nirith told me that she was almost sure you would refuse!"

"Let go of me!"

"I will kiss you, if you like!"

Shaking Joliel's hand away, Naxosos growled "Some other time! Let's go!"

This he will do, and ask me to do, but he will not pray with me – or even pretend to simply to gain my greater affection!

And: What is he afraid of? What in the name of everything holy does HE fear?!

And: If he has broken oaths to the Goddess, he's not afraid even of her…

And so they left the prominence and threaded their way carefully back through trees and bushes until they were on the path again, and continued on toward Jaraniesca Town.

As they ran, Naxosos spent some time in wondering whether Joliel would ever reveal this thing that made him fear – for, he recalled, the other had not feared even to die merely so that Naxosos would have a chance to say goodbye to the maiden Raikha who he had loved (let's face it, he was crazy about her, too) and who had died untimely. Clearly, death was a trifle to the archmage: for Naxosos, the experience had temporarily robbed him of all courage, manliness, and reserve, and, for a short time, his senses.

I did die, though.

That you did.

And here I am.

Here you are.

On the other side of the valley, Vranaps's torches were easy enough to see against the white stone dome and pillars, though low enough to the ground that, if not for its lighting, might have been the lid to a cistern or well – flickered dully in the deepening gloom, set against a steep hillside shaggy and black with many trees.

Soon the sky would be almost completely dark, as the moon was setting.

And who was there when you returned to life, to make sure you really had returned?

Nirith, the Second.

Now that Naxosos had heard the streghi's furious, hopeless cries, he could not stop hearing them.

Don't be afraid. I'm coming.

***

Before they had got to the first turning of their road, the streghi's lament seemed to stop. The sorcerer now ran at Naxosos's elbow, for the way had indeed grown slick with drizzly rain and the moon had set: a dull yellow glow was left, silhouetting the westernmost hills. The Temple of Vranaps was behind them and the town of Jaraniesca lay large, bright with lantern-light and smoky with torches, directly ahead.

They were required to run without magic Sight or Hearing, so the going was a bit slower, for Naxosos anyway.

They had passed a couple of small crofts lying close to the trail: one was seen to have a lantern shining from its open door. "Keep going," the sorcerer had hissed. Naxosos had run on, skin crawling, trying not to make any sort of sound.

The spoor of the fighter Merelioides (but not of his horse) was present all along their way, but he didn't see this one anywhere; he couldn't ask Joliel about it as they were keeping silence.

Naxosos was not sure what he would do if Red asked him to return to the camp: In mild desperation, he reviewed his last dozen or so interactions with the giant: This was anything but heartening as thereby it became all too plain that he owed Thais's brother a good many favors.

But…I'm the King!

At that instant the sorcerer plucked at his arm and made a gesture for them to stop. The road was quite broad here, with some ruts, obviously heavily traveled, and currently muddy enough that a carriage might become stuck; they had been running on the margin for half a mile.

No lighting or watch was set: he'd been informed of a tacit agreement between the landholders in the area, on both sides of the river in fact, and the Celan governorship, that if they felt the roads needed to be patrolled, the landholders would supply the men. Probably why they chose this spot for us to camp, he reflected.

For some weeks now the Six had been watching over the paths on this side of the river, and the landowners and shepherds had shown their gratitude, in fact, by bringing the camp food and other supplies, and had even brought students to study with the priests to the point that a large tent for classes with an attendant smaller enclosure for sleeping had been pitched. (And in their turn, the richer students brought silver and gold, and the poor ones more food, tenting, building supplies, and sumptuously woven-and-dyed cloth, for which the district was famous.)

During their time here Naxosos had been as far as the town wall, currently less than a mile from where they stood. This part of the district was scattered with fisher dwellings, the low, long buildings lightless, dead silent, abandoned in appearance, the closest one about fifty yards from the road. There was the odor of tenancy by fisher-folk (charcoal and smoke, shit-pits and dog-pens, fish guts and vegetable rot, and that smell of nets soaked in brine, slime, and blood, hanging to dry on a line) but no one was about, and no nets seen hanging, likely because fishing was good despite impending turbulent weather: Everyone was at the shore.

Naxosos took this as an indicator of luck, in terms of what the sorcerer planned.

But seeing all the structures downhill and ahead of them, a house-full settlement with a lighted gate, a wall, and guard-towers made his knees trembly in a way running six miles in the dark had not. It was still and quiet now, but within an hour or it would begin to stir: Bells would be rung and horns sounded, vendors would yell, animals would bellow; shops and kitchens would stoke their fires.

They are our friends!

Not all of them. Be glad you stood by your promise.

"Breathe!" the other hissed into his ear. "Catch your breath now!"

Naxosos took this advice and waited for Joliel to say something else, which he did after a few moments. The road and few trees around them were still, still and silent, though there was a constant rustle of rain that wasn't heavy enough to make its own sound except as it collected, dripping off the rocks and branches. The fisher-lodges lay in a haphazard jumble on mostly open, grassy hillside: It was from here a good long walk to the shore, but it afforded an excellent, uncluttered view of the harbor and Channel beyond; the river below – Kazikah, it was called by the locals, though on most maps it went by its Celan name, Aghlam-an – teemed with fish at almost every time of the year.

Joliel said, "Merelioides is here, he is watching us to see which turning of the road we will take. Don't look around! Don't talk! Listen!"

Miserably, Naxosos nodded. How will I ever be able to run back to my bed after this? Damn this asshole, this "druid" or whatever it is called! "Better than a kiss" – watching your just punishment will be better than anything!

The sorcerer went on: "We need to hustle if we are to arrive at the pier before the streghi and its guard! They're on the road now! We must run quickly and quietly – without any magic at all, without any sound! until we arrive, and we must conceal ourselves so that we have a good view of the proceedings! Nod to show me you understand!"

Naxosos nodded.

"I know the area so I can probably find us a good spot to hide when we get there, but if there's any sort of disturbance –"

Naxosos began to remonstrate, but the other squeezed his arm so tightly that all he could do was gasp.

"No! You will not pant, wheeze, cough, sneeze, groan, or say a fucking thing!"

A nod.

"If Merelioides appears, don't take any notice of him – I doubt he's going to talk to us, I think he intends to trail along behind; he is waiting for you, or me, or both of us, to do something wrong."

Naxosos sighed, and nodded.

"If Merelioides is with us, we don't need to worry that much, but of course you should be ready to defend yourself."

A nod.

"That is an excellent sign, but it also signals we'll probably face a foe!"

A nod. (Naxosos had to struggled not to laugh, for upon saying these words the sorcerer had glanced shiftily around and grimaced most comically. Yes: He's afraid of something.)

"That goes for Nirith – if you recognize her by any token, do not show it in any way, unless you have the all-clear or I tell you to!"

A nod.

Now the sorcerer leaned in close and his grip on Naxosos's arm tightened painfully. "Ploighan engages in illegal activity, and he will doubtless go down for it, one way or another! Nod to show you understand!"

A nod.

"However, it doesn't matter how much of a criminal he is, because any of the local constabulary will kill us on sight, regardless! The streghi is currently Ploighan's property, the ship is contracted to him, the men guarding the streghi are hired by him, and we are stealing from them! Also, we will damage their cage. The pier may also take damage. That's all the sheriff and his deputies are going to care about, and they will shoot at us!"

Now Naxosos did speak up. "You assured me we would be relatively safe."

"I did not! I said I would look out for you! And you came this far voluntarily, I would even say eagerly! As though we were just going to a tavern or something! Don't front with me, Naxosos! And when you saw the town walls you were scared! You are afraid of the town, just like you always are! I took this into consideration at the last instant. That's why we are going around Jaraniesca instead of through it! But we have to make haste."

Naxosos began to speak, but the sorcerer pinched him and went on, hurriedly. "If you were going but to drive a cart to market on a nice day with an armed escort, and everyone in the town was breathless to see you with the ships all blowing their horns in the harbor, I would still remind you that you could get killed! Because that's how stupid you are, Naxo!"

"I understand what you're saying, Joliel. Let's go on."

There was a sense of wafting, a breeze and a scent, and a shadow, and Joliel released his arm so rapidly it was a shock (with an immediate stinging, needle-like return of sensation), and the warrior Merelioides was there, blocking out what light there was; Red was cloaked and he didn't rattle, but from his contours the giant was hauling quite a bit of gear including a shield. Joliel began to speak, but Merelioides grabbed his arm – in much the same manner as the sorcerer had been been gripping Naxosos's arm only a second before – and motioned.

Suddenly tractable and without another glance or word, Joliel sighed and made a little jump, animal-like, onto the warrior's back and settled himself like a cape of black rags upon his shoulders.

Merelioides then turned an inscrutable look upon Naxosos, who couldn't think of anything to say. Finally the other said, in a normal speaking tone: "There is no danger if he goes back to the encampment – these lodges are empty and the road is empty and will be so until daybreak; he has plenty of time and knows the way."

"I –" Naxosos began but the other then said brusquely, "Follow, or don't!" whereupon he turned and strode with great speed down toward the crossroad and the town.

There WILL be danger. There will.

Yes, I know. Then, soberly: Red wants for me to go but he can't order it, nor can he order me to secrecy.

After a few seconds, Naxosos followed at a quick jog.

The warriors could walk faster than many people could run, and silently, if they wanted to: in spite of his size and the heaviness of his equipage, the giant man was nearly lost to hearing after he had gone only a few yards, and then at twenty yards – just a few strides for him – he was almost lost to sight as well, for he blended remarkably with the landscape. A man sitting up at night might see him passing, but at second glance (What the devil WAS that?!) he would already be dozens of yards along.

The fighters, he knew, disliked going into a settlement as much or perhaps even more than he did, but they were always ready for anything and could accomplish almost anything, despite their limitations.

However: Joliel was probably breaking an oath, and if he lived, he would be punished. Red was helping; Nirith also, if the sorcerer was to be believed. Why were they risking so much? Why had they drugged or enchanted the Goddess-on-Earth and part of the camp, if she wouldn't particularly mind?

He remembered the streghi's cries. Soon they would begin again – if they didn't hurry, they wouldn't be able to help Nirith, who was there by herself.

He ran.

***

The detour, through a mile or so of fishing- and trade-district west of the town wall, was perhaps as nerve-wracking as going through the town would have been – Naxosos found himself thinking repeatedly during the three-mile trek to the shore where, turning west, they would travel a bit further to an isolated, seemingly deserted block of wharves and warehouses.

At least he hadn't had to stop and talk to anyone – not yet, anyway.

It would be a long road back, however, after they had accomplished this thing. Sunrise would be impending, if not actually occurring. The camp would probably be in an uproar. There would be people out looking for him, even into the town. That wouldn't be good. And, of course, the townspeople would see them.

If they got a chance to return. He didn't even want to think, not yet anyway, about what might happen if their business took longer than an hour.

If it worked out the way Joliel wanted for it to – he considered, remembering the last time – he might be rendered useless for anything for some hours, maybe more than a day.

At least Red was there, although this consideration was fuel for a fresh spate of worries regarding whether he had been brought merely in case someone should take a serious wound and need healing.

It was, realistically speaking, much too late to go back. If he knew anyone's heart, he knew Nirith's – she could not leave any creature in distress and could feel a wrong from leagues away (even as she performed the sacrifice, or took game, laughing as she splashed the blood around).

And God's will, of course, would in any case remain operative.

The shore district was not devoid of life: Every other doorway or window on the unevenly-cobbled, wet, street was lighted, and here and there were sounds – muffled sounds – of people sitting up drinking, talking, dicing. Even though the weather was not terrible he saw no one sitting at the stoop, however.

The houses were set on great wood pillars with plank walls and thatched roofs and screenless windows, their heavy shutters fixed back; a few were of stone and a some of mortared blocks. No building was close to the water's edge and there were numerous walkways and cart-paths, some elaborately leveled and paved, that led from Jaraniesca's low cliffs to the edge of the bay.

Tonight the thoroughfares were blessedly without traffic; Naxosos was glad of this, but it made him wonder: Perhaps local citizenry – certainly not of the stripe who would quail at a little weather – were collectively able to sense the ill and, collectively, had decided that this was a night to be under a roof, in the company of others.

The run was mostly downhill and not tiring and the air cool, though the reek of smoke and various odors intensified through the houses, pens, and shops.

He managed to keep the warrior in view: Merelioides, the archmage perched upon his shoulder throughout, didn't keep to a straight path, but stayed where the road was most uneven and shadows deepest, making much better time than even a mounted rider would have.

The giant paused every so often to glance back and make sure of Naxosos before hurrying on. It was a trick to stay up with him without breaking into a dead run that, given the many puddles, would likely have alerted someone.

As they neared the shore, dogs emerged from beneath porches and out of dark alleyways to challenge them, some dashing into the road, barking and whining; the animals' threats seemed curiously half-hearted, however, and they were one and all uninterested in pursuit.

And here I run straight toward what not even a pack of dogs will approach!

Of course, the sorcerer was with them: Every animal avoided Joliel. Even friendly, tame animals among the herd would balk and hiss at the sight of him; the camel Derecho, familiar with the sorcerer over long years, still would bare its teeth; the war-horses would tolerate him being near – a little – but if they were at liberty to do as they pleased, they stayed away from him.

In any case, they were not pursued and there was no outcry; Naxosos ran, however, with every nerve jangling, hood held close about his face, expecting at each second to be hailed – or, even worse, for the streghi to begin its howling and crate-rattling again, at much closer quarters.

They had gone beyond the tenanted dwellings, now among warehouses. Darkness made it hard to keep Red in sight.

A woman stepped out from between two of the buildings and spoke his name in a low voice: So great was his shock, he stumbled and nearly fell.

He thought it at first to be Joliel disguised, then realized it was Nirith, substantially changed in appearance, and more: even her smell was different.

"Naxosos!" she repeated. "Sshh! Listen!"

"Where is Red?!"

"No, they're all right! Let them go on. Listen!"

Once he got a closer look at her, Naxosos was amazed: They were in the profound shadow of a gigantic, clearly empty stores-house; there was almost no light in the sky, and her form was cloaked, with only her face and hands visible, but before him stood a weathered, bent fisher woman with straight, gray-streaked black hair. Her features were small and so nondescript, with a pale oval for a face, lashless black eyes quite close together, hardly any eyebrows, smudge of a nose, and thin line for a mouth, that Naxosos marveled at the sight and wondered how he had managed to recognize her.

"Thank you, Lord, for helping us!" Nirith said. With a giggle: "I lost money to the archmage tonight! He said he knew you would come! I thought you wouldn't dare leave the camp, finding so many people missing!"

("So many people missing"…?)

The Second was now easily identifiable due to the customarily jolly, almost careless manner in which she confronted perilous situations, including extreme danger. All at once, he felt much more sure of himself and willing to go on. That Nirith would go out of her way, even at risk to her life, to help a luck-forsaken creature as this streghi was…well, of course: What else would she have done?

He wanted to ask her what had happened to Thais, and whether whatever it had been, a drug or a spell, had been similarly administered to him, but decided to leave the topic for another time.

"I should have stayed, in fact," he replied evenly, having regained some composure. "I'm regretting that more every second, my dear: believe me!"

"You can go back," she said now, lowering her voice; then preemptively: "No! Even now, if you turn and run for all you're worth, you'll make it back to the fisher-lodges before you grow tired!"

At this Naxosos had to laugh.

"But I think you should stay in this spot until Rel- until Joliel, or Merelioides, gives the all-clear!" she went on.

"I can't see the pier! Isn't it still like a stadium off?"

"You shouldn't risk letting the streghi see you until you know it will not try to attack."

"Attack?!" Naxosos sputtered.

"Lower your voice!" the Second hissed.

"Joliel told me that if it gets loose it will kill everyone in sight!"

"Let me give you the information you need and stop interrupting, my dearest Lord!"

"Hurry, if you will."

"The streghi – his name is Yrinyi, and he is quite old, but he is very strong – means to break out of the crate one way or the other, with or without our help. We will be able to fend him off if he comes after us, and probably kill him, but we won't have to…ah, at least I won't have to, ah…fight him."

"I understand, my dear girl," Naxosos replied with a short laugh. "Do by all means continue!"

"But we do not want for anyone to have to fight and we do not expect it; we are simply planning for the worst. If there are dead bodies that will cause problems with the village, of course."

"Right."

"That is why Red is coming along, I think, in case there's a mess that needs cleaning."

At this, Naxosos chuckled.

"He, the streghi, is most likely to go after those who imprisoned and mistreated him – and I have made sure to a great degree that he will not injure me or any of my company. But he's not in a great state of mind – he has been driven to the brink of insanity."

"Yes, I heard his cries. Believe me, Nirith, I am going to do whatever I can to help – no worries there. This is a little out of my range of experience, though, I'll admit." (The more they talked, the better he felt. Too bad, he thought, they couldn't just abandon the project and make a leisurely time of it getting back to the camp!)

"Oh, Naxosos, you are so much braver than you will ever believe! And you have more experience than you think! But let me finish telling you: The streghi appreciates us and so far, so good, but there's a slight chance – there will be ten or more armed men on the scene, not including Red. In any case, we would rather him not see you right away. We would rather that no one see you!"

"I get it."

"They have not fed him."

"That is what Joliel told me."

"Even a rat or bird, he was not allowed to have!" Then, with a little wail: "The way he has been treated! But anyway. If we don't help him, or kill him, we risk having him in the camp – Joliel probably explained that. I have already let him drink and so he is much stronger than they think he is, but I wanted Joliel to help us so I asked him, for as you know –"

Repressing a shudder of revulsion, Naxosos answered for her: "We're moving out."

"Don't worry!" Nirith answered brightly, "it won't be today!"

"How can Thais not know about this?"

"She does know! But not the entire thing!"

With a sigh: "Oh, goodness. So this governor, Governor –"

"Ploighan Groettna," she said.

"He's been sort of waiting for the refugees to clear out, then."

"Yes! But listen!"

He nodded for her to go on.

"Yes, he saw the road was clearing – and the storms are coming. He wanted to get rid of the streghi back in the summer, but there was too much traffic in the bay! Oh, but listen now, Lord: I was part of the company with the crate and I went ahead of them – a few minutes ago – to make sure the dock was clear and the ship awaited our arrival." This was followed by an impertinent smile.

Smiling back: "Of course you did!"

Staring intently, she declared then: "Oh, Naxosos, you are a great Lord!"

"I don't know about that, but it's nice to hear."

"So they are waiting for me," she went on, "to return and say that there is no one around, so they can port the container the rest of the way to the dock. There are five men dragging it on a cart, and five men watching! They could not get a team of oxen to go near it! I saw them try, and the animals started making noise before they were within fifty yards! It was funny! And they have crossbows."

"Those are slow," Naxosos, proud to have knowledge of something martial, commented.

"They are," the Second agreed; continuing, she said "And there are five magicians, three of whom are under the age of thirty and not very experienced! Now, we have to make sure there are no lawmen around, because –"

"Yes, I know that part. I'm actually more worried about them getting into our operation than the, than Yrinyi getting loose." (Her aspect, manner, and odors were so changed that even now that he was certain he knew her, he was still not certain exactly how he knew her.)

"Yes! But here is an important thing: Yrinyi means to escape, and if he gets out of the container on board the ship, he will be able to swim all the way back here – no matter how many leagues – and he will find his captors and kill them all, and the Governor, and as you know there are many Children of God who will be on the road then and there will be some of us in the town. He, the streghi, likely will not touch a one of these, but it will cause a persecution! And it could be weeks from now! And think: What if he were to escape once he gets to Kheoran? For that is where they mean to send him!"

"Ah!" Naxosos exclaimed, and pulled at his beard. (It wasn't purely the injustice of it all, then – it represented a possible long-term threat to the tribe.)

The woman nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Now you see!"

"Now you listen, Nirith: I appreciate your advice but to tell you the truth, I would rather try to keep up with Red. I will not feel the least bit secure standing in this gloomy, stinky, mouse-ridden place waiting to see what will happen!"

"I was afraid you would say that!"

"Ha! And yet however afraid you may be, my dear, believe that I'm at least ten times more afraid than you!" In spite of her appearance, he was inordinately compelled to chuck her under her chin, although he didn't.

"Listen, Naxo, this is very important: When you hear the streghi start to make noise – you have heard it, yes?"

"Yes."

"When he starts to make noise, things will go very quickly after that; you will have to be ready for Joliel to summon you; it seems the villagers will not want to come see what's going on, no matter how much noise there is, but one never knows."

"I understand." I'm going to kill him.

"I have to go!" she said.

"I would kiss you if I wasn't sure it would cause some sort of upset to our plans."

With a giggle: "Oh, Naxosos! But you're right. Anyway, wouldn't you rather kiss me when I look like myself again?"

"You are still you, no matter how you look, and I would kiss you, why not? I suppose you should go. I will creep closer until I can just see the pier, and I'll run if things get crazy."

"Don't take it lightly, Naxosos! Things could go very, very wrong! The Celan magicians are not play-actors, they are not little boys, although one of their apprentices is quite new to the job! Thank our God, who makes a way for us!"

"Indeed; praise God!"

She stared at him a moment longer, then without word or sound, vanished. (She was almost as good at that as Joliel.)

It hadn't been more than a week ago, Naxosos now considered and now remembered quite well, that Tolalo had asked him to sit for a discussion of the weaknesses of Celan sorcerers and descriptions of some of their usual tricks.

He now, finally, remembered to shutter all mind-speech and dampen his thoughts; he wasn't even mending nets anymore, but just proceeding in a direction without a single idea, nor any desire whatsoever, in his mind.

For a long count of thirty he waited, and continued on, slowly this time, and meanderingly, with a somewhat staggering gait, like a drunk who, having lost his way, now risks getting caught by the tide.

***

The first thing he could see from between the rows of long, empty stores-barns – besides more stores-barns, there must have been fifty of them in the immediate area, all built up on terraces that rose to the shore and all to appearances empty – was, to the south, a long smear of ash-colored water, Jaraniesca Bay under a sullen sky. Naxosos stopped while he was still in cover and tried to get a better look at the scene.

About a quarter of a mile out bobbed a lightless slave-galley at half-anchor and up-oars, sails down and no flag set. As Joliel had described, they were prepared for flight.

There were no other boats anywhere within a mile of this part of the shore but only a handful of pale dots, ship-lights back to the east, in the direction of the town, and no craft underway that he could discern.

The bay at this hour was, like the streets, virtually empty of traffic – and one did receive an impression that it wasn't usually this way. Peering as far into the west as he could manage with normal sight, he could just see the lighthouses at the port's far end.

Puffs of mist rode languorously upon the nighttime air; these seemed to be increasing. Daybreak might bring a troublesome fog. He traveled on, dwarfed by the giant, echoing, empty-eyed buildings assembled on each side.

Warehouses with nothing in them, no boats, no sign of anyone around. A large ship with no stripe or flag. No watch set. No lights in the dead of night. With annoyance: Typical Celan jiggery-pokery! With even more annoyance: Stop thinking!

Trying not to look at or pay attention to or listen to any particular thing, Naxosos bid random, directionless thoughts to pass through his mind: He couldn't zig and zag so much as to attract notice (no one will believe I'm out at this hour picking up shells) nor walk in a purposeful line, nor have an intention…

This was, on the other hand, something he had learned from teachers and spent time practicing. Hours of practice. Wandering through the orchards of Sha-halom; not off the path, necessarily, but having lost track of purpose or intention: Vapor drifting.

In another fifty yards he would be out of the warehouses. The beach was littered with large obstacles, but in spite of this he would be more exposed.

The Great City of Men Viragos was full of Celans and their presence was quite strong, although their rule was not as complete as they wished. He had as a citizen there known of their potential for brutality but had never, until his last few years with his people, witnessed it: Even their galley-slaves that he had seen at the docks in his youth seemed well-kept and more or less pleased with their lot in life. (Chaeneth and Vlaitor's two other slave-women had recounted being raised in the Celan pens, where they had always been treated with great gentleness and yet firmness, having never been chastised except for scoldings – though they had seen others beaten, who had broken crockery or rules.)

The image of Chaeneth was too much, causing emotions.

It was easier to see out into the bay now – he wasn't out of the deep shadows just yet – and let the grayness, the silence, the water's weak sloshing subdue him and the nothingness absorb his perceptions.

He had seen the Celan governor over Viragos province a number of times – Darschas Hraeno, a little, fast-moving, fast-talking, brown-skinned man who had taken a Kheorani surname, and looked and behaved more like a wine-seller than a government official – but always at a distance.

If Nirith was their advance scout, there would be no problems. Merelioides was here, and Joliel.

Then, in a burst of despair: It's too late to go back, anyway! She knows! She was just trying to excuse my weakness…as usual…

Other Celans he would see on the street or at the docks. Their guardsmen would every so often patrol the Aringene quarter, though it seemed only a token, to remind everyone of their presence – his mother had said it was so they could collect bribe-money. They had to his eye always seemed to have an easy command over themselves and their surroundings, though they were scarcely popular. (He found that he somewhat liked the sight of them, in fact, now that he had seen more of them, as most were no taller than he, or only a bit taller. He had seen very few Celans tall enough to look Thais in the eye.)

After the last building, a slender spit of scrubby land jutted westerly, running at first parallel to, then descending onto the beach; Naxosos took this way down to the shore. That he might be seen by anyone with a sharp eye, even in this oppressive dark, he tried not to think about.

Someone was walking beside him. He knew not to turn his head, and he just kept going because it was the angel.

I'm really in trouble, aren't I?

Yes, you are. But you won't have to leave your friends today.

A dark, small person, barely to his shoulder. The sorcerer Joliel was only a bit taller. He, the angel, was clothed in a fisher's hood and cape and ragged tunic, breeches in tatters to the thigh, and barefoot.

(Don't look at him. Don't think about him.) Almost staggering – like maybe he, a drunk fisherman, knew the risk of cutting through this area on the rising tide, and was trying to hurry, but also knowing he's too drunk to walk quickly in a straight line, and (as always) eager to avoid anyone's attention – Naxosos made his way along.

There had been a fellow in the neighborhood in Viragos: Without notice, crier, or sign, he made little pretense at being anything but a Celan tax-assessor, magistrate, or something like it. The man's office – that kept a lamp burning morning, noon, and night – was within view of the larger kitchen window of their apartment. He had seen the guy a number of times, who had the appearance and manner of a middle-aged, weather-beaten, shaved-headed, scarred Celan veteran who still wore his colors but not his gear. As with all other suspected Celan tax-assessors, people tended to act like he wasn't there and he passed everywhere unremarked and alone. Naxosos had felt the man's eye upon him once or twice before he had left Viragos but had thought nothing about it; that he was a tax-man explained everything. At the time.

The last time he had seen the angel had been when he had decided to leave the Children of God in Aslel Aheyah, he reflected: It had turned the pages in the guild-clerk's map-book to show him Waresh-Ghlia, and whispered to him.

Strange that he would remember the Celan now; the first time he had seen him up close, he recalled, had been the first time he had tried to go to general prayers at the Temple – in which attempt his mother and her friends in town had been successful with their influence among the other ladies of the quarter, for the Gorardeno Nathaniel's visits to the home were so infrequent as to have aroused comment about whether Naxosos was really one of the Gorardeno's children. (His mother had explained to him with a lot of repetition and in great detail, before he had gone to the Temple, what he was supposed to say if anyone were to ask; it had all been quite dizzying at the time and very confusing, since Naxosos had been to general prayers at the local chapel at least once a week, when he was at home, for years without anyone remarking on it. That he had known of. Except for trips to see family or hang out with Nathaniel on one or another of his ships, or the one, two, or sometimes three weeks a year he spent at Sha-halom, until recently all he had known was that he had always lived in the building at the cliff's edge.)

Now the weed-grown spit declined toward the beach. Against the pale sand and water he would be a moving target.

The closer he walked to the water's edge, the less able he was to see the slave-ship. There was a soupy feeling to the sand and when he looked out into the water, it had the appearance of a low hill, with the ship barely seen just beyond its crest: The tide would advance. (How does he see it if he's in the buildings?)

He had never been familiar with any Celan, however, until having met Korsis Zarodi. ("Darschi," Korsis had said of Viragos's Governor Darschas, who he apparently knew and had roomed and partied with a couple of times in Cela, "is a great guy! He loves money! You can always trust a guy who loves money that much!")

Now he knew Korsis's father and older brother – they were honest, well-spoken men, but like all the other Celans with whom he had become familiar over the last few years, they were at the same time unpleasantly sophisticated and sly, and ruthlessly competitive to a degree that puzzled Naxosos, whenever he chanced to think on it.

He had probably, he now believed, been kept apart from the local politics of his home town, and from politics in general, because it would have attracted too much attention. As usual, the idea made him angry at first, though sadness and rue, as always, followed close behind.

You're thinking aloud!

With quiet and disconnected thoughts, therefore, he advanced until the listless, iron-colored wavelets and lighter-gray open water beyond were close at his left hand. The angel was at his right.

I can be seen! He felt that Joliel, at least, was seeing him, and probably Red, too. That was nothing, however, and he was mending nets…

Not being able to use magic Sight required him to advance most slowly. There weren't just a lot of large rocks everywhere, there were a great many smaller ones, too, that could be nearly buried in sand and still turn one's ankle.

The night and surroundings were very dark; however, the water was a disconcerting, uniform pale gray that, by its contrast, improved visibility.

Without thinking (too much) he continued forward, holding his cloak carefully about him to keep it from flapping. The many large boulders were excellent cover.

In another twenty paces he wasn't between buildings and was able to view, downhill and about fifty yards west of him, a long piece of shore. This went on for perhaps a mile, then plunged into the inky shadow of the ridge to the west and was lost.

The pier, black, solid, fashioned of big square blocks set on stone piles, rose a few feet above the rocky beach and extended into the bay a few dozen yards.

The tide was out; Naxosos could see that at a very high tide, this structure might not be visible above the swell and might in fact pose a hazard to any craft trying to land unaware.

There were other reasons fishers would avoid this otherwise likely stretch of beach, such as the many great rocks – and some gigantic chunks of masonry, he now noticed – strewn about that, now that he had a view of them, looked like they may deliberately have been placed to prevent landings.

He was certain that Joliel and Red must be somewhere near: now that he knew Nirith was present, he was that much more certain that so far nothing had gone wrong.

Wet gusts blew through – the rain had let up, but everything was very drippy. The long, hollow buildings seemed about to collapse in upon themselves from damp, disuse, decay. The smell was bad, although he could, when the wind gusted, get the faintest whiff of the sorcerer Joliel somewhere ahead; he could not smell Red at all, but that was expected.

Silvery-gray mist came creeping from the Kazikah's broad and lazy delta: This lay on the other side of the ridge, but there was plenty of mist that had spent much of the evening making its way slowly down from the height, now to spread by degrees over the beach and water.

Would they be done with tonight's business and on their way back to the camp before the sun started to come up? Nirith had said it would be quick.

He heard the cart, and felt the soggy earth grumbling at the approach of something heavy, long minutes before he spotted it.

***

The tent-roof was starting to pale with dawn-light before anyone came looking for the Tagros Naimejo. This was inordinately vexing, as Naimejo had been lying awake, conscious and fuming, but unable to move, for over an hour. Someone had done his work well, doubtless the sorcerer, whose lust to get at the streghi trapped in the Vranaps Temple was a burn mark on the Fabric of Everything – impossible to wash out, patch, weave over or dye through, its odor always present.

Judging from his unmistakable spoor, Reltras had been close to the camp for days and days now; the priests had a week ago given the word that neither that one nor the Second were to get anywhere near the King until the main cohort were well along with the move-out, and perhaps not even then.

In spite of the evidence of his hanging around, since he had made the Prediction upon the Jehnehannu, Reltras had not made even a suggestion of an appearance: Naimejo had not seen him a single time, and neither had anyone else, at least by report.

(If he discovered you were trying to catch him at something, your subsequent attempts to keep from being set up would occupy almost every waking moment from then on out, indefinitely; Naimejo tried, therefore, to keep the sorcerer out of his thoughts as much as possible, and to care about what he was up to as little as possible.)

Naimejo had been present when Tolalo (acting as Hierarch for the Children of God) politely yet firmly had advised the Second that she would not be admitted to the camp proper until after the tribe's exit from these lands: The woman had received this news without any comment but a saucy moue and giggle, as though immediately discounting, then disregarding what she'd been told; Tolalo, he recalled, had laughed, too. To the relief of all she didn't ask for a reason and then simply turned, sauntered off, and disappeared. Her tent remained in its usual place, but her presence was not detected after that day. Thais had not been pleased, but like her Second had said nothing.

(If Naxosos had marked any of this, he had not by word, glance, or facial expression given it away: To all appearances the King was gladsome and gratified that so many Pavrani noble clans were ready to ally with his cause and to join his incipient nation, even to the point that they would confess their sins and accept baptism, and agree to leave their ancestral homes for the chance at new life in a new kingdom upon wild, but very fair and fertile northern lands; indeed, King Naxosos seemed not to have a single care in the world, though Naimejo was aware, as were most of the rest of the Children of God, that he was heartsick that the sorcerer no longer kept company with him, and moreover sometimes he fretted and wept aloud over it like a lovestruck virgin – which to all appearances embarrassed him not a bit, though others were not so lucky.)

Any road, despite every and all precaution, they had as it turned out been looking in the wrong direction. Every single one of them.

Naimejo found he could clench his jaw, now. Some movement was returning, praise God.

A portion of comfort lay in the knowledge that the sorcerer would likely face a punishment, if he had drugged the camp.

Someone approached with slow steps through saturated overgrowth. "Naimejo? Are you wakeful?" It was the old man.

Maybe I can make a noise if I get a deep enough breath… was his desperate thought.

Tolalo heard the attempted inspiration and, pulling back the tent-door, wailed in mild despair "Oh, gods!" (Naimejo couldn't see his expression, but only a head-shaped patch of darkness against the gray light that, despite its faintness, almost dazzled.)

Tolalo had, it seemed, expected that he might be paralyzed: Within a few minutes Naimejo – limbs leaden but at least they worked – was sitting up, sipping an infusion from a tiny, quite familiar bottle the old man kept with his few possessions.

He was within another minute or two able to see with clarity, and within another minute, to speak, although his speech was, in his own opinion, that of a half-frozen drunkard pulled from icy water right before he went under.

"Did it…happen…to…you…?" Naimejo was finally able to mumble.

With a chuckle: "No; well, yes, but differently: I strayed. I wandered."

Handing the flask back, he said: "Help me get up."

Tolalo urged: "Drink a little more."

"No…I have to pee. Help me up."

"Ah, you really are on the mend. Praise God."

"Praise God."

The morning air was very wet; branches were dripping but there was no actual rain. "Misting heavily" was how Naimejo termed the phenomenon – his father would say this sometimes when they walked the family orchard and vineyards in early morning, when he was a child, before he had gone to the Temple. (Long before Naemas's appearance, he now remembered; then, after another moment of reflection: Naxosos was only a baby when I went to the Temple!)

But Tolalo had been his friend and teacher even then. The Old Man.

"Misting heavily." If it occurred at all in Kheoran-Arigne, it would be during the season of growth and rains: Here it was most mornings. He was grateful and glad they would be on the road, heading south, by the time of frosts here.

"Where is Naxosos? Do you know where he is now?"

"I think he is some way off, in fact, toward the town. It seems he's well, but I can't really tell anything from here. There's a lot going on."

Daytime creatures had started their vocalizations. It was an unpleasant time of day for perambulation, however, as the vegetation growing rank along the ground was always soaked in dew, even if there had been no rain, and clung to one's feet. And it was cold.

Naimejo would, weather and opportunity permitting, camp by himself beside the priests' complex, so he could be alone with his prayers. His bivouac, tiny and low-slung, often was a trick to exit with any grace.

This Tolalo knew, and assisted with a hand under his elbow (and patience, as standing on wobbly legs took an additional few minutes).

He had been afraid that he wouldn't, when it came right down to it, be able to piss, but fortunately Tolalo had brought the correct antidote to whatever he'd been doped with.

Perceiving his surge of ire at the sorcerer's meddling, the old man said, "Eh! For now, just forget it! Later!"

He knew this was the correct advice, but as usual it was hard to accept.

"Believe me," the other went on, a smile in his voice, "the least amount of harm has been done in this circumstance!" (Even now that it was fairly certain no one could overhear them, they avoided direct reference to the streghi.) "Of this I am sure." He's not sure.

Doing up his breeches, Naimejo replied "So, you're only checking on me and everything's well?" (It was a joke, of course: It was easy to tell Naxosos was still outside the camp somewhere, his exact location unknown. The other, it appeared, was not certain of his judgments.)

"As I said, he may be some miles out." After a pause: "Shall I fetch out your cloak, old fellow?"

When Naimejo, who at the moment could not stop yawning, nodded, Tolalo then returned with a well-worn joke of his own: "In an hour you'll be sending for a cart!"

After rummaging in the tent a moment the old man emerged with a heavy cloak, dark-brown oiled sailcloth over fleece. "Enjoy the chill while you can," he advised, as Naimejo gratefully shrugged the garment over his shoulders, gathered it around his neck. God is good.

Tolalo continued: "We're going to be back where it's hot even at the solstice within a couple of weeks."

"That might be a little optimistic, don't you think?"

The other was silent for some seconds while Naimejo, clutching at his cloak, struggled not to shiver, blinking, yawning, and eyes watering like hell. The air lightened by degrees and with the light, the birdsong increased: Within another half-hour, assuming the rain and mist dissipated, the day-noises would be overwhelming. He could see the trunks of trees now, and the differing hues of the plants surrounding the tent; he could see Tolalo's sandaled feet (though he didn't dare look up yet – the sky's minimal light was still too much).

At last Tolalo spoke: "Our divination has shown that we will be entertaining the Satrians when our Lord's child is born, far to the south of here. The girl is in her six month of pregnancy now. Within two weeks, assuming that we leave within the next few days, we will be at the Tributaries – the seasonal winds will favor our travel into the east, but it will be cold and rugged going –"

"He'll never see that girl again, except in his dreams," Naimejo interrupted dismissively. It angered him when people would discuss wives, girlfriends, and children, for he had not seen his wife and children – who had survived the destruction of all the structures and ships at Bourskina, and the slaughter of almost half its villagers – in years now. They were still alive – that he knew – but he had little chance of seeing them again any time soon, and even though Matilli knew how to write, and moreover write in code, she dared not send a letter from their current location, which was one of concealment.

So he would, they would all, have to wait – waiting would not be improved by thinking of King Naxosos and his impermissible trysting.

"The child and the girl are more important than you know – but we'll discuss it later. How are you feeling? Are you up to seeking Naxosos out? Your brother wants to go; I met him, he was heading in this direction. I told him to go back."

"Naemas needs to stay with the camp." To keep the Second and the sorcerer from getting in. "Where are they? Are they all drugged, too?"

"Some are mustered to defend the Children of God; ah, the Szera seems to know about the streghi – I can read his thoughts. He advises that if anyone goes to seek the King, it should be a couple of priests, in case…and then he just gives me a look, right?"

In case he was scored or bitten, Naimejo thought dourly. "Are you coming along, then?"

"The Goddess bids me stay; she was drugged. It's plain to see she doesn't know where either the King or the sorcerer are at this moment; she feels inadequate to guard the people by herself."

"'The Goddess,'" Naimejo snorted.

"All right, sorry," Tolalo said, making a weary face. "Can you go alone? I don't think there's any danger, and no one is ill or injured – many are however frightened past their wits – but we need to know everyone's location or direction of flight, especially that of the creature. I don't feel it's within the Vranaps anymore."

At the point of requesting assistance, Naimejo took a moment for consideration. They know he won't hurt me; he wouldn’t dare!

Then: …Would he?

Hubbub erupted from the direction of the main encampment. Tolalo said, lowering his voice: "There are people missing from their tents, who found themselves somehow in other parts of the camp." Naimejo observed with amusement that the old priest's heavy gray eyebrows twisted together, and went up and down a couple of times, before he said finally, "That is what happened to me, in fact! I awakened outside the scholars' enclosure; everyone within was sound asleep, as though drugged – and I suppose they were – and I was sitting outside, my staff beside me –" (here he gestured with his staff, as though Naimejo might not have noticed it otherwise) "wrapped in a blanket! That was almost soaked through with dew!"

"I suppose we all need to get used to sleeping in the open again, don't we? For the road ahead."

"I had no idea how it happened, either!" Tolalo went on. "I distinctly remember going to the Complex after dinner, and talking with Father Jaursho, although I can't remember the topic of conversation now, when I think about it; and I wasn't drunk!"

This drew a chuckle from Naimejo.

"I cannot – no, listen! I cannot remember a word of the conversation I had with Father Jaursho to save my life!"

"Try not to worry," Naimejo responded, his mind racing. If he went to search for Naxosos along the road, he considered, he might chance to meet the sorcerer: If that one had been involved in a rescue of the streghi, he might be substantially weakened, and…

"I'll go," he finished. He tried a couple of experimental steps: it was not impossible, though his feet felt like he had cushions attached to his soles. It would be slow at first.

"I'll walk with you to the Cloud Doorway, how does that sound? And if you feel faint, I'll go find someone to accompany you. I heard Sabelko talking to an angel just before the sun started to come up, and –"

"No…why don't you go back now and do whatever you have to do, watch over the, the woman – the women – or whatever it was you were going to do." Naimejo felt, suddenly, that he knew Naxosos's location and moreover that he definitely didn't want anyone tagging along.

The other seemed to divine his thought and with cheerful resignation declared: "Very well, I see some resolve in you. I'm glad I came looking for you when I did, as –"

"Any later and you'd have found me laying in a puddle of piss!" Naimejo exclaimed and they shared a laugh. "I'd still be fumbling around trying to find some clean clothes!"

"I'm glad I came looking for you," Tolalo repeated. "I wanted to stop Naemas from heading out to try to find our Lord."

With the same degree of scorn as when the other had referred to "the Goddess," Naimejo again huffed, "'Our Lord!' He's a snot-nosed…kid…" After some effort, he took another step. This one was easier. His legs were heavy, but that wasn't such an inconvenience, for the ways were bound to be slick: slow, steady progress was indicated. He hadn't had a run for some days, and he needed to get in shape for the road, anyway.

Tolalo ignored the jibe. "Go with God, Naimejo," he said, immediately turning back toward the priests' complex, struggling uphill through the dew-heavy overgrowth, leaning upon his staff. He didn't look back.

"Go with God," Naimejo replied and turning began along the rush-strewn path to the camp's southernmost access. (Trying as he went to listen for Sabelko, reported by Tolalo to be in conversation with an angel; he heard only a babble of voices, however, as people who'd been asleep, whether they were drugged or not, started to awaken – neither did he perceive any sign that an angel was around.)

Once he got moving the infusion he'd been given awakened his muscles and his senses. God is always and in every way good.

Here on the west-facing slope of the gorge, the sun's rays would not strike the ground for a handful of hours.

He knew where he would find Naxosos; Tolalo was right, he was unhurt…but this was strange, much more so than his sneaking out of the camp in the middle of the night (for which he was moderately famed).

Something had changed. No one was hurt, but something was different to the point that it was going to shock.

Of course he wouldn't be anywhere near the town; he's got to be at the overlook.

The trail seemed deserted – of course, the warriors would be somewhere between the camp and the town.

Certain of the priests had already discussed what to do if "anything happened" with the streghi. Naimejo had come up with his own plan, as it was opined – with which he mostly agreed – that in spite of every precaution, it was possible (or probable) Naxosos would become involved.

Secretly, therefore, he had devised a plan: As of this morning, however, it lay foiled by the sorcerer. (He'll be punished…He'll be punished…)

A stadium down the road, he heard a signal from the camp: Three short bleats from a shepherd's horn, repeated three times: The able-bodied men of the camp, and the archers, were all to assemble in the common area. It wasn't an alarm, but could easily turn into one.

This prompted him to start trotting. He knew where Naxosos was; he would get there before anyone else, and it was important. (And they wouldn't be sending Naemas after him.)

The first few steps running were not easy; in fact, the effort made his sight gray and forced him to walk; his hands and feet remained far away.

Blessedly, the road – expected, though still strange to see – was not just free of traffic, but devoid of it. There were plenty of remnants of its late occupation by Pavrani refugees in evidence, although an effort had been made to freshen things up, and remove or hide the scraps, shards, shit-pits, and other signs of passage of a horde.

Naimejo persisted and soon was making decent time down the rocky, slippery path into Jaraniesca Town.

The sunrise began to announce itself at his left shoulder, strong beams of silvery white piercing and driving back vaporous air. The dripping sounds began to die out, and the songs and calls of an awakening land increased.

From somewhere up the hill to the east could be heard a shepherd and his cloven-hooved assemblage – not trying to be quiet, but it was not on the other hand loud: The herders of Jaraniesca Province kept a distance from and tried to escape the notice of the Celan occupiers, who always (at the very least) wanted to take their animals to feed and clothe their army.

He'd made a little more than a mile when first he smelled, then rounded a bend and saw his brother lounging against a cairn-like jumble of boulders upon the roadside. Even though almost a stadium separated them, there was no way it would not be Naemas. He was not trying to hide.

The other spied him right away too, greeting him with a cheery wave. (Damn it!)

Naemas stood and, brushing his clothing off a bit and shaking the dew from his cloak, came trotting lightfootedly up the pathway, continuing to wave as though anxious that he might be missed.

Naimejo noticed immediately that it seemed the other wished to intercept him before he got to that part of the road. Damn it!

He decided to stop and rest, as running some distance after having been drugged had tired him.

It was their usual way not to call out, but Naemas rather annoyingly gave the hand sign for "keep silence" when he was a couple of dozen yards away.

He considers me a fond fool, doesn't he?! Let him!

When finally they were flush, Naemas passed him and went on, pointing to indicate that Naimejo should follow. Sighing in annoyance, Naimejo decided to follow his brother back up the road.

Once they had made half a stadium or so (All my progress LOST!), Naemas stopped, making the signal that they could talk now.

"Did you find Naxosos?" was the first thing Naimejo said to his brother.

Glancing toward the west, he observed that although the ridge on the other side of the Kazikah would not actually be struck by the sun's rays for another couple of hours, the peaks and rocks were starting to reflect back the sky's light. Blue-white columns of mist floated lazily up out of the river gorge.

"Tolalo told me not to go look for him, so I decided to go see if I could find out what happened to Joliel." The other's nostrils widened and his face colored as though in anger or indignation. Peering more closely (Damn it! My vision isn't back all the way!), Naimejo thought he did appear genuinely upset.

"Tolalo told me that he had told you to stay at the camp."

"Well," Naemas said, the sound of a shrug in his voice, "I may have heard him wrong, I guess."

"How did you get here before me?"

With a laugh: "I know all the ways!"

"Hrmph! All right, then: Do you know where Naxosos is?"

"I don't, but he's probably at the river overlook, down the road."

Grumpily: "Yeah. That's what I was thinking. Tolalo says it seems like he's unhurt, and –"

Naemas blurted out now: "I found Joliel. And Nirith. They –"

Quickly, Naimejo cut him off. "No details, if you will, brother. Please, not now." (Any road, given Naemas's anger, what else could it be?)

Naimejo tried to feel sympathy; it was not easy, but after a few seconds, finally, a small measure was uncovered. In whatever way and for whatever reason, the woman – despite also belonging to Naxosos as a part of his household and having had a child with Naxosos – was Naemas's wife: He had traveled in her company since his age of nine years. (And their mother and father had said not an ill word about it, or their older brothers: in and of itself surpassingly strange.)

And Naemas was jealous over Nirith, and envious of Joliel for a number of other reasons; things had grown more and more disturbed (hadn't they?) these last four years since he and Tolalo and Naxosos had set out for the Home of the Elite in Satria.

"I'm going to kill him." Naimejo gazed deeply now at his brother – younger than he by ten years, the youngest kid in the family and, in their mother's eyes at least, completely without any sort of fault or flaw – he saw that Naemas was smiling. "I'm going to kill him," the other repeated in a carefree tone.

"Not if I get to him first," Naimejo joked (admitting privately, however, that there had indeed been an expectation of meeting the sorcerer who, after work involving a streghi, might be in a state of reduced energy).

He added: "You won't attack him, Naemas. You know it'll be your death. You're not going to attack him, are you?"

"Not today, brother. I'm just telling you I'm going to kill him.. Someday. He thinks he knows me but he doesn't."

(Naimejo would not tell Naemas about his and Tolalo's divinations yet. But someday!)

"Naemas…" Make it sincere. Sincere and succinct. The other seemed to await his speech; that was good.

"Naemas…you did well obeying Tolalo today, if you didn't in fact obey him to the letter. But regarding your pain: You hurt only yourself. You know the nature of the woman, and her affliction, and you know the animal Reltras quite well, don't you?"

"That's why I'm going to –"

"Right. But most of all, you are my beloved brother and Naxosos is our beloved King, and our leader. He is Chosen of all the angels and our Almighty Father. We – the priests – feel it's best therefore to let Naxo choose as he sees fit, with the least possible interference. You must know Tolalo and I feel we were a bit remiss in neglecting certain parts of his instruction, and –"

"He didn't know about the creature over there at that, the Vranaps, did he?" Naemas interrupted.

Naimejo was a little surprised at this. "Did you know about it?" Did everyone in the camp know about it…?

"He doesn't know about what they do," Naemas said, leaning into his face a bit. "Does he?"

"It seems he does not. However –"

Naemas interrupted: "And he doesn't really know what a streghi is, or the elthir-evo, the b'vaiach. He doesn't know. No one ever bothered to instruct him, and it wasn't –"

Naimejo tried to stop him, waving his hand and saying, "I never knew one of those things to come into the city, or anywhere near it, not in the last hundred years! He –"

"It wasn't until he came into the desert and joined the Children of God that it became an issue, and even then no one tried to tell him what was going on! He just thought Joliel was some weird-looking guy, obvious sorcerer, from up north, right? One sees people like that all the time in Viragos! I could tell from Day One he had no idea what he really was!"

Sighing, Naimejo put his hands beneath his cloak – he was getting chilled standing here, and supposed that whatever he had been drugged with was still working its way out of his system. "We need to discuss this later." (Of course, there would be no "later" – one predictable thing about Naemas that if he declared something when he was in a passion, he would never mention whatever it was again, and might even deny it entirely if pressed.)

"I just wanted to tell you that I found Joliel and Nirith and they are up there at the –"

"I know – again, let's not go over the details because I might just go up there and kill them both, all right?" (An overgrowth of tall and medium-sized coniferous trees stood a short walk up the slope, where there was an outlet for a little stream; he knew it to be quite a pretty place: Likely where the shepherd was headed with his flock and wouldn't that fellow be surprised if he and his animals were to stumble upon the sorcerer and the Second unwholesomely and without shame dallying there…?)

I DO feel sorry for him, now! Naimejo thought, as he hastened to drive the images from his mind.

"You're praying, aren't you?" the other inquired after a few seconds, then, ironically: "Good old Mujo!"

"Yes, I'm praying. Tolalo tried to reassure me that no one had been hurt. Now I wonder."

"Joliel and Nirith seem hale," Naemas remarked, again with bitterness in his tone.

"I don't give a shit about either of them, I'm talking about –"

Naemas's demeanor softened a bit. "I don't think he's hurt, either. Just so you'll know."

Naimejo was of course aware that his brother had no perceptible aptitude for any kind or sorcery, mind-reading, or foretelling.

Interrupting his thought, Naemas spoke further: "But there's something scary – something weird happened. I'm scared."

A chill running up his spine Naimejo decided to leave this topic alone. "Why do you not think he's hurt, then?"

Leaning close as though sharing a confidence, Naemas said in a hiss, "If Naxo was hurt, Joliel would have come straight to the camp to find me and tell me!"

With a haughty sniff: "All right. Tell me you're going back now, to the tents – not later, but now. I want to hear you say it."

"I'm on my way, then. To the tents!" Turning quickly, pushing his cloak over his shoulders, Naemas started up the path. He didn't look back."Go with God, brother!"

"Go with God," Naimejo muttered with some irritation, though he repented of this almost instantly, especially when he turned to his road and realized that he would now have to pass the boulders. (The boulders, site of Naemas's lounging, had been placed, in fact, to protect a conduit fashioned to carry the stream – site of the sorcerer's romping – that passed under the roadway.)

After some thought, Naimejo began to trot – slowly at first – down the road that led southward into Jaraniesca Town. He didn't try to be silent, but after a few steps (making sure that his weakened legs wouldn't collapse), he started to sing "Rejoice at the break of day," a Temple hymn, at the top of his lungs.

"Spirits of cold darkness recede: Evil tide that sucks out my breath, roll away before the face of the sun!"

At the place of the boulders, he heard nothing but his own voice, birdsong and the soughing of pine trees catching the early-morning gusts, and a whisper of water passing beneath the road and, singing determinedly, he proceeded on toward the overlook – still more than a mile off, but he was fit for it now. Soon he would have to bunch his cloak around his shoulders: he would be sweating as the air heated up.

(He did catch Reltras's spoor at just that place, however, and also that of the perfumed oil with which the Second routinely doused herself: Naemas had not misled him, at least.)

Lustily singing, he traveled on, making good time because it was mostly downhill.

The sky had turned pale gray-blue and the mists hovered at the edge of dispersion when the prominence came into view.

Yes, he's here.

And by himself, too: A rare thing, to find the King unaccompanied; Naimejo found himself in consideration of a notion: That the sorcerer had remained close to their King until his unscheduled decampment in Aslel Aheyah: Day and night, for four years. His mind, he could see now, had avoided it.

Taking the spur that, leaving the roadway, wound through thick-growing bushes, then up the slope with its stands of coniferous trees and ended at the prominence jutting over the Kazikah's gorge, he was able to perceive that Naxosos knew of his approach and happily awaited him.

"Naxo!" he called (not loudly, for he couldn't be sure the sorcerer was not trailing in his wake).

There was more murk than light, and the wet grass and undergrowth clung to his boots. The damp clogged his breathing and trepidation strangled his will. "Naxo! It's Naimejo!"

He was about to call again when he heard and saw movement: Where the trees ended in a bare rock spur overhanging the river gorge (where Night still battled burgeoning Day) could be seen an odd, floating radiance that he believed at first to be an elevated lantern.

Then, in stunned surprise: He's shining…! (Naimejo was not altogether unacquainted with the phenomenon – it had happened twice to him, in fact – but he had never expected to see it happen to anyone else, and certainly not Naxosos, the Gorardeno's stepson.)

From the stand of trees could be seen a bluish-grayish luminescence upon the air, containing the features of a man (bearded, cloaked, with a mop of curly hair, in the usual garb of their tribe: muslin tunic over breeches with a belt and scrip, booted to the knees in hide), etched upon it, but in reverse lighting – light for dark and dark for light, mutable shades of gray-blue in between. (His surroundings had appeared thus, Naimejo recalled now, when he had been in the transcendent state.)

Glancing about, he observed the shimmer of manifestation outlining the leaves of the surrounding bushes, and the rocks.

Through dew-soaked, tangled bracken, trembling and queasy, cold and sweating at once, he stumbled toward the apparition, terror a clutch of fire-lizards¹ hatching in his belly.

Yes; it was him; it was Naxo – the Viragan, he had heard some of the Brothers call him when he had first gone to the Temple.

He was shining.

"It's all right, Naimejo," Naxosos said. "But keep a distance; maybe stop there." Despite that it had a faintly echoing quality, Naxosos's manner of speech and tone were recognizable: It could be no one else.

Naimejo would have had to stop in a moment, anyway: His knees were growing perilously shaky.

"Great Lord!" he managed, at last, faintly to rattle, upon viewing Naxosos transfigured.

He stumbled forward to fall onto his knees on the pocked, pebble-strewn clifftop: Fear all but mastered him then: he couldn't stay up, and he sprawled forward and lay prone, only just managing not to whimper.

"It's all right, Naimejo," the other repeated. "Don't feel bad. You've done nothing wrong."

"I'm simply afraid!" Naimejo managed to groan, his face pressed to the wet, cold ground. I've been vain, stupid, and so wrong about him! And he knows it! God forgive me!

"And I am simply ecstatic," Naxosos said, an easy smile in his voice. Then: "You must get up, I can't abide to see you groveling."

Weakened by fear – a large portion of which, he now understood, was of Naxosos being able to see him, really see him, in all his cowardice, his weakness, and his pompous, overbearing nature – Naimejo struggled to rise, whereupon he witnessed again Naxosos transfigured, hovering a few feet above the ground and more distant than was reasonable, for if he was really as far away as he seemed, he would be over the gorge. He seemed then to approach via a long hallway, the unusual reverse-lighting effect decreasing bit by bit, until finally his friend (Longtime friend! stalwart, beloved friend! and King! our sovereign!) stood before him, his expected coloring and contours restored; a little bedraggled, moreover, wetted down by the mist.

He smelled sea water – in whatever part of the adventure, it seemed Naxosos had gotten drenched. (Which could explain the lack of perceptible blood-spoor.)

"Yeah," Naxosos agreed soberly with his thought. "I could use a bath and a change of clothing, that's for sure."

"I just, I just wanted to ascertain that you are unharmed." Whether you were bitten.

Again the other divined his thought. With a grin, gesturing for him to follow, Naxosos turned and proceeded on to the furthest outcropping, the overlook.

Obediently, heart racing and limbs failing, eyes downcast, Naimejo trailed after. (God's will be done!)

So far did Naxosos ramble out onto the promontory, Naimejo feared he might do something outrageous, like attempt to take flight. Upon the point of calling out, he bit back his words when the other stopped at the very edge of the precipice and stood, seeming to relish the morning air.

It's just him. He would never hurt me…

Before speaking Naimejo took a couple of deep breaths: the river gorge in the early morning, its rainy mist and breezes ascending through pine and laurel trees, was a tonic: that much was certain; Paranis the boat-master had a lung condition that plagued him whenever he was any distance from open water and was therefore was often missing from morning prayers in the camp, invariably to be found as close to the Kazikah's gorge as he could reasonably get, savoring the air.

Calm and measured, like –

"Like Tolalo," Naxosos finished for him. Turning, he said: "This has happened to you, has it not?"

"Guilty as charged," Naimejo said, hoping that his face bore a smile and not a grimace of fear. He said then, quickly, before Naxosos could again interrupt him: "I was preparing myself to intercept you before you flew off into the ravine, because – yes – that's what I felt like the first time it happened to me." Finally, with a weary sigh: "I had been counseled never to attempt levitation or flight, however, so here I am."

"Do you think you could have flown?"

"Perhaps." The easy familiarity was to a degree calming; however, they were side by side now, and the drop from the overlook – its bare rocks shining with the mist and dew – ensured that the Tagros Naimejo's terror didn't drizzle entirely away.

Naxosos went on: "Everyone has read accounts of this happening – to various saints and so on. Since I never saw anyone do it, I never thought about it much. But now I know it has happened to you." Then, quizzically: "Why, in all the conversations we've had, have you never spoken to me of this? Why has Tolalo not spoken of it?"

For this, at least, Naimejo had an answer at the ready: "You never took orders, Naxo. You never took the Oath of Preservation."

Except for smelling strongly of seawater and being depleted of energy, King Naxosos seemed not just hale, but joyously so. ("In the best shape of my life!" another man would say – though no Brother of Sha-halom would ever make this statement; and, Naimejo reminded himself, Naxosos was their brother; though he was not a priest, he was Hara-ehn, a doctor – a professor.)

"Naimejo," Naxosos said, "I want for you to know, and for you to share this with Tolalo, that I'm not resentful or upset in the least that I was never told about the b'vaiach, or the streghi, or Celan magicians, or the Undead, or the voste forest-folk, or any of those things. You sorrow that you neglected some parts of my instruction, but do not. There is no blame." As he said these things, Naxosos continued to gaze tranquilly into the river gorge, taking deep breaths and smiling like a man who had just found out all his debts had been forgiven.

He WAS thinking about flying,

Naimejo considered all these things, and a sudden, nerve-tingling horror – mostly at the thought of possible consequences if he should return to the encampment with the news that King Naxosos had fallen to his death – made his bowels clench painfully, and the back of his neck go cold.

"And," Naxosos said further before Naimejo could speak, "in particular I am glad that you didn't tell me about the streghi, and that I never knew of such a thing until yesterday."

"Ah…why?" Naimejo finally managed to say.

Now the other grinned into his face. "Because I never would have done what I did, if I had known, the streghi, and the Celan magician; if I had known about them."

"You…are unharmed."

"Yes, by the grace of God, I'm well. And, well, you witnessed my, I guess you would call it my transfiguration."

"Yes."

"Yes, you did – and it has happened to you. I want for us to get together and talk about these things."

With a sense of irony, remembering all the times he and Tolalo had tried without success to engage their sovereign into discussion of important issues, Naimejo overbore his pride, saying mildly: "When we are on the road, that is a good time. Tolalo is eager to talk to you also."

"Yes."

Then, feeling his resolve about to crack:"Why do you – all right, you smell like you went overboard into the net on a trawler. Why is that? You look like that's what happened, too – except you still have your things with you, your scrip and so on, and your cloak." Speaking thus was making him feel better, so he continued.

"Did you run…all right, did you, did you run from the camp into the town, or to Temple Vranaps? Or what? At what point did you get soaked?"

Naxosos laughed. They stood at the edge of a river gorge, so it echoed.

The Tagros Naimejo knew and was assured of his own attractiveness to women: In fact, he found himself frequently angered by women (and sometimes men) making passes at and mooning after him, and pretending to be interested in his knowledge, when it was obvious they weren't in the least.

It was something he remembered his own father and Tolalo – who had been his teacher and friend nearly his whole life – giving him advice about, which had helped a great deal. (His mother had when he was little been silly about his hair; he remembered her oiling and braiding his hair, giving him treats from the kitchen so that he would sit still, until Father had told her to stop; she had been the first, certainly not the last, woman to rhapsodize over his features.)

But my flame is pale, and weak, and flickering out, compared to his.

Again the other picked up his thought and answered it: "I realize that I'm going to die in the next year or so, this apart from Joliel's prediction, which at the time I discounted, as it seemed to have arisen from a moment's spitefulness; I knew he was angry at me." Once more Naxosos laughed, and the sound of it echoed through the great vale of the Kazikah.

Naimejo marveled at him, though he this time he tried to muffle his impressions by concentrating on the sounds of nature. "We all know the story," he muttered. The birds. The winds…

He was about to speak again when Naxosos interrupted with a command: "No! Listen!" (A trifle absurdly, he then put a hand to his ear as though concerned that Naimejo may not have understood.)

Naimejo listened. After a moment or two, Naxosos comically mimicked his open-mouthed gape of amazement, then chortled – a wholesome, careless, childlike sound – yet again.

"You hear it, then!"

"Ah, yes," Naimejo replied. "Yes. I hear."

Across the ravine – a good quarter-mile of mist and air – Temple Vranaps, its torches out, lay mostly obscured to regular sight by the thick-grown trees.

The cries and keening of the streghi were absent and the entire site (usually only busy at night, but during the day, when it was almost completely hidden from view, still had its distinctive sounds) was in fact as still as a mausoleum.

"You knew about it; you could hear it," Naxosos remarked, glancing sidewise at him.

"Yes – only in the last couple of days has it been audible to normal hearing." We knew the sorcerer to be at work, somehow.

"Yes."

"Is this why we are here? I mean, in Jaraniesca Province?"

Naimejo hesitated before answering. "Everything happens for a reason," he said finally. "There is no purpose in me except to follow you and try to keep you from killing yourself." This at least is true. "I can't speak for any of our other friends or hangers-on, only for myself. I don't know what the others are here for; I can only guess." This is mostly true…

"Part of the reason I value you, in fact," Naxosos remarked, "is that you are vain." Before Naimejo could even begin to register his indignation and shock, the other went on: "I'm not sure why, but your vanity makes me trust you. In this you are somewhat like me, but your vanity is more profound – it gives you power. You are a true sorcerer. Tolalo is a more a priest, a Brother of El-thoni. He can't abide hurt, deception, stealth, and killing; I learned most of what I know from him."

Taking a long breath, Naimejo turned and looked out over the river gorge. (Thinking: Tolalo knows more about hurt, deception, stealth, and killing than you will ever believe!)

The solstice, though weeks away, was approaching: the sun was later in the day to make its appearance over the eastern ridge-tops. The air rising from the gorge was a bit cold. He realized the knees of his breeches and shirt-tail were wet and a bit soiled, as he'd been lying face-down on the ground. Now he saw a bit of blood on the knee of his breeches. Oh, wonderful!

"My vanity arises in a welter of ignorance," Naxosos continued, with a little laugh. "I'm vain only because I don't understand what's really going on at any given moment, although I pretend that I do."

At this Naimejo chuckled, thinking about the vices he knew Naxosos had, that they had yet to discuss at confession; this was one of the biggest flaws the other had admitted to date. But now he knows everything, doesn't he?

The annoyance Naxosos's remark had provoked was (almost) gone, so now he could look at the other, whose aspect was untroubled.

Again Naxosos responded to his thinking: "Oh, I'm plenty tired!" with another laugh: "I'm afraid to go to sleep! I just, you know: The change. I saw things."

Naimejo nodded, and was about to speak when Naxosos said further (and now a small frown did cross his features, and anxiety colored his tone): "This has happened to you; tell me, did you meet and converse with your ancestors, when it, when you changed?"

Now he had to try not to smile: Of course what most occupied Naxosos's thought at this instant would be questions.

I have always been able to handle him, Naimejo considered. Almighty Father, keep him safe. Keep us all safe. Let us live to be old men whose tales of daring are considered fanciful by those around us!

At least one very important question, however, was answered. The rest would be easy.

"Give me some answers, if you will," Naimejo (whose composure had begun to return in leaps and bounds) responded briskly. "And then I'll answer your questions. We can talk until it seems safe for you to fall asleep. How does that sound?" Hale and hearty. Hale and hearty.

"That might be a pretty good deal. We should walk and talk, though! At some point I will start to tire; if we wait too long, the sorcerer will think to come looking for me."

Nose wrinkling in an uncultured snarl, Naimejo replied, "Were you aware that he's – the, Reltras – is by the waterway up the hill – the one with the boulders – entertaining one of your wives?" I'm damned if I call him "Joliel"…!

Naxosos surprised him very much when he said now, once again laughing, "What a dear she is! Don't worry, she was doing what I wanted – I didn't tell her to fuck him, but I figured that would be the way she would take. Those two have a child, you know that, right?"

"Yes – but you must answer my questions first. Are you ready?" I have to remember to shield my thoughts from him, from this point forward.

Smiling, with a gesture: "You are fresher than I – you go first. But when the road widens out, we will run or walk together so that we can talk, per your insistence."

"There will be Children of God in the road and pastures, looking for us!" Looking for you.

"If anyone needs me for anything, I'm sure Tolalo will tell him where we are! You said he knew there was nothing greatly amiss, didn't you?" Then, without waiting for an answer: "So we're covered!"

Again Naxosos gestured grandly at the path back into the bushes and trees, and thereby to the high road, as though escorting a valued guest into the main hold of his keep. Naimejo had to smile.

He had regained control, not just of himself but over the other. "Naxosos."

"We're wasting time, but what?"

"The sorcerer has been here over and over; this I can intuit. However, you have, have not visited this place, more than a few times in the weeks we have been encamped. Did you truly not know anything about the streghi until yesterday? For that is what it seems like –"

Cutting his speech off with a wave: "Believe me: My mind was on our task and nothing else. That is, the task of, responsibly and with as little fanfare as possible, exchanging counterfeit sulindars for real money!"

Naimejo had to laugh, even as he reflected that he had been one of the main advocates for getting the move-out under way: The issue of the sulindars had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks now.

"See?" Naxosos crowed. "That's all you've been thinking about, too!" (Of course it was a joke, but it was good to have the subject brought out into the open.)

Before Naimejo could speak again – his heart overflowing with relief and gladness – Naxosos declared imperatively: "Let's go!" and once more motioned for him to take the lead. They started back toward the main road at the steady jog of seasoned foot travelers, who will keep a (reasonably) brisk pace on an uphill course, to make time before the heat of the day has risen.

Before they were quite to the road, Naimejo heard the other call out: "Naimejo, have you by chance seen, or do you otherwise know the whereabouts of the warrior, of Red? Merelioides?"

"This morning I have seen you," Naimejo replied, "and I saw my brother, and I heard a shepherd with his sheep somewhere up near the ridge, and I spoke with Tolalo upon awakening – he had to bring an antidote to the substance I was drugged with, and –"

Here the trail became steep for the last few dozen yards before it connected with the main thoroughfare; Naimejo had to stop talking and lift the hem of his robe as he struggled up the incline; in so doing, he noticed that he had cuts on his knees, from having fallen onto the rocks – he couldn't feel them at all.

"So, you were drugged?" There was a hint of a laugh in Naxosos's tone.

Attaining the roadway, the two halted. Naimejo was still puffing a little (and wondering how he would manage the couple of miles, mostly uphill, back to the camp), when Naxosos spoke again, saying in what seemed an attempt at reassurance: "I'm pretty sure he drugged me, too."

"That fucking dog! He's –"

Naxosos waved his hand. "Oh, he'll pay, don't worry." Then, quickly: "Naimejo, listen: There's no blame on the sorcerer, either – at least, he hasn't sinned against me."

Naimejo's angry shout boomed up and down the rocky mountainside. "WHAT –?!" Before he could launch into a tirade, Naxosos said, "He's upset because he realized a long time ago that if we return to Kheoran-Arigne, and especially if we go anywhere near Shoela-hari, it's likely to be the last trip I'll ever make before I go into my grave. I know – I know! – that he made his prediction in an effort to save my life. He was trying to scare me." Then, with a little laugh: "You should see how red your face is right now!"

Naimejo reminded himself of the vow to keep his thoughts – and expressions of emotion – private from others from now on, then felt his outrage dissipate like the mist-clouds rising from the river, now vanishing as the air continued to warm. It's no big deal. The fault is mine for not teaching him.

Naxosos said then, with a particularly intent gaze, "The same goes for Joliel as for the streghi: That is, that I am glad no one warned me. I can see why it benefited me – but was a sacrifice for you, and for Tolalo." After another moment, smiling once again, he added "But can you see? Can you see, even though we struggle against and fight it, even kill it, and scatter its disunited parts, that the thing will ever re-coalesce?"

He knows.

"Yes," Naxosos replied to his thought. "Now I know – the creature that we encountered, it told me some things." He grinned, and his large gray eyes went wide; added to his bedragglement, this gave him the appearance of a crazy man.

"I might have to stop and rest on the way back to camp," Naimejo said finally.

"Do you know where Red is, by any chance?" Naxosos inquired yet again, and the Tagros Naimejo, Celebrant of El-thoni, felt a chill race up and down his spine, even as the morning breeze dried the sweat on his chest and arms. (But it was Naxosos, his longtime friend; his stalwart friend.)

Who was the King of Arigne.

Maliel was his close kin; that was how he was able to transfer the spirit without degradation to it.

"If it's the last thing you ever do, Mujo," Naxosos remarked dryly after a couple of moments, "you will try to figure things out."

"Lord," Naimejo answered with a slight bow, ignoring the jest, "I have not seen him a few days now: that is the truth!"

Naxosos could not have failed to notice this deference, but replied only with an insouciant chortle "I believe you!" With yet another histrionic gesture up the road (rocky and muddy, but devoid of traffic, at least) he said, "We don't have to run! Someone will come looking for us soon enough; maybe they'll bring a cart!"

They started walking. "If you don't know where Red is," Naxosos persisted, "what about the other warriors? Do you –"

"I have not seen any of them; I don't usually look for them, if you must know," was Naimejo's somewhat testy answer.

"What about –"

"I'm asking the questions – if you recall."

"Sorry."

They walked on for some way, and then Naimejo said, "I feel that I can run."

"That's not a question!" Naxosos began to trot along; Naimejo tried to keep up.

Naimejo decided to begin with the thing he was most likely to be asked first by anyone in the camp: "Where is the creature right now? Do you know?"

"I don't know his exact location," was the blithe reply, "but I know his direction of travel – as you and the other clerics call it – and what his general plan is."

He wasn't contaminated by it; he gained its trust…or cooperation.

"You ask about the warrior, Red as you call him."

"I thought you might have –"

"Was he part of the project?"

"Well…"

"All right. Let's start at the beginning. You were drugged, and then you weren't, and you rose from your bed and went on an adventure. About what time was that?"

With a smile and a laugh, Naxosos began his accounting of the last six hours, and the two continued up the road.

***

Upon the tree-clad mountainside of the Kazikah River's gorge, some miles from its outlet into the Channel, Merelioides (scion of Coaechenath and Bere-Imlabralaoe) witnessed the streghi – called Yrinyi (his longer name connected him to a noble house that had existed in Kheoran a thousand years prior) – pursue, capture, kill, hang, and begin to clean a yearling hart before walking back into the clearing to begin the cooking-fire.

The night's work had left him hungry – and he knew the streghi had not had any meat for an entire season.

The streghi had been turned, there was no longer any doubt: Merelioides didn't have to watch as the other cut the hart into pieces and prepared it for roasting.

Yrin (son of Rafamaz, son of Antemephe-alim) had been turned into a man – a visually unappealing, seemingly deformed man, but he was indeed a man. The streghi was changed.

Merelioides had never heard of such, or learned of it, or been told of it, but the evidence was right in front of his eyes.

The streghi – no longer to be called such – finally entered the clearing; the cooking-fire and spit awaited the haunch and piece of neck he carried.

Yrin's nostrils went wide at the fire's scent. "Master," the poor creature uttered with its unwieldy, heavy, hairy jaw. (Its Tramrini was passable – it had been prepared for its scheduled trip into Kheoran-Arigne and was conversant with humans.)

Merelioides observed blood on the tunic it wore, that they'd managed to remove from one of the cart-draggers before the tide had rushed in. The porter had died of a broken neck and the blood was the hart's – and only a few smears, as would result from careful butchering of game.

"Yes?"

"Master, may this one have some water to wash the blood from his clothing?"

"I have a spare shirt and cloak in my kit," Merelioides replied, feeling pleased and satisfied. "He is welcome to these, and some water also; however, he must wait. Give me the meat and I will put it on the fire."

As the streghi – no longer such, but a man – handed the pieces over, it said, struggling with human speech as it would, doubtless, for the rest of its life: "Praise God and serve him, Merelioides."

Red (he had started thinking of himself thus within the last few years, though he had said nothing to anyone about it) said, answering carefully: "He is welcome." (Still he would not say "praise God," though his sister had been cross with him a time or two over this.)

Yrin saw this in him, his reluctance, and smiled understandingly. Though there was little way he could not be ravening at this moment – and Merelioides had witnessed that he had consumed neither blood nor meat from his kill, or from anything killed in the last few hours of work – the streghi would clean himself off, dress, and wait until his portion was served.

Thais would be ecstatic over this, was his thought. (He had not started thinking of her by this name, her slave-name as she called it, until the last couple of years, and it still made him feel a bit guilty.)

Even though his feat had not equaled the Naxosos King's, Merelioides felt he had played no less an important role.

***

(19 February 2025 / 17 March 2025 / 4 April 2025 / 29 May 2026)

1"Fire lizards" (iakhani /im) are large, desert-dwelling reptiles. Unlike the other large desert lizards, the fufrit, iakhani do not live in warrens, use weapons and tools, or walk and run on two legs: They are mostly solitary, large and thick-bodied, and relatively slow-moving, relying on their great strength, particularly in their bite, to capture and kill their prey. The fire-lizards are fond of corpses; upon finding a corpse, a female fire-lizard will consume part of it, then lay a clutch of eggs in its torso, to provide food for her young after they hatch. The iakhani are not as clever and quick as the fufrit, but are perhaps more dreaded, as the fufrit seldom mess with humans.

THIS IS ALL COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL - PLEASE DO NOT REPRINT OR USE IT WITHOUT PUBLISHER'S PERMISSION (that's me!)

Notes from JTPYO - King of the Waste [5] / demonstration (NOTES - not excerpt)

2026-03-01T12:15:00.001-07:00

"BREAD" means that I made some bread.

8 8 8

02 27 2026 ♀ 12:40:35 PM other theatrics pg 51 rather die myself pg 52 05:54:41 PM take your fine new dagger ("stab me" – Joliel pinned to a stump) / pg 54 people start running for the tents / who's to blame for the weather effects? / priests are betting and Naxosos is pissed off pg 55

02 28 2026 ♄ USA and Israel attack Iran regime and ayatollah is supposedly killed / KDEM they'll blame their own mothers pg 55 (maybe Tolalo says "Of course we would!" under his breath / the dagger fell out / then he stabs himself pg 56 Naxosos causes the dagger to "back out" of the wound (as with Szera Zeracx) / even though Korsis is only just dead the rain is washing his blood into the ground / BREAD / 03:50:40 PM / pg 59 of 64 the aftermath / again the issue of Joliel's robe and that it doesn't match with later parts of the story / pg 62 of 64 the lightning did your bidding / when I started "just rereading" and not editing I had to turn off "edit mode" – which really freaked me out the first time I discovered that feature – however now I don't have to remind myself not to do edits. I should do that with every chapter from now on / why is the gaming wrong Another boy said in the tone of a quotation: "He changes the direction of the wind and molds the very thoughts of men to his design." / all right, on pg 62 Naxosos demonstrates that he didn't learn much at Sha-halom – fix it (although he may have been kept from this knowledge as well, since he changes the odds) / pg 63 we know what called you to the priesthood / the priests let him in the service tent complex so he can see Ember / pg 64 starving or diseased (the end)

small excerpt from JTPYO - King of the Waste [4] / the blow (what in the world?)

2026-02-21T14:23:00.000-07:00

2026 02 21 🪐

Well, again there's a delay in publishing the part of #3 "the trap" that I wanted to put in a PDF viewer. Mostly because I'm lazy; the first couple of times I tried it, it didn't work.

I was just working on this part, it's from the above-referenced chapter of JTPYO King of the Waste, called "the blow." This part has been changed little from the original, although it will be edited before final publishing. It's copyrighted, too.

* * *

14 November 2017 / 18 February 2023 / 26 August 2025

JTPYO – King of the Waste [4] / the blow

Copyright © 2018 through 2026 by Kristi A. Wilson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Which is me.

OUR STORY THUS FAR: There was a sandstorm and many Children of God in the assembly took shelter with Naxosos and his cohort in the "main dining tent." The storm increased to the point that the Goddess-on-Earth, the sorcerer Joliel, and the two priests Naimejo and Tolalo, have to invoke magic to keep the tent from being completely blown down. (Note: Everyone present is fairly drunk, as the severity of the storm won't allow anyone to sleep.) During dinner, the sorcerer mocks Naxosos, which in turn causes Naemas and Korsis to mock him back and things just sort of fall apart after that, including the tent, which nearly blows down, trapping most of the tribe - and the warriors' horses - underneath it. Fortunately that doesn't happen, but the large tent's main support is broken in half, which is very strange. Some other things happen including Naemas getting angry at Joliel for accusing his brother of starting the storm, and cold-cocking him - an angelic visit, desecration of the priests' complex (the Children of God's traveling temple), and Naxosos exiling Joliel from the tribe - for a couple of days, and against popular opinion. Naemas has a bizarre kind of fit but he finally snaps out of it when Naxosos forgives Nirith for lying to him and the Goddess. A miracle then occurs.

* * *

"What in the world?" Naxosos said, letting go of Thais's hand and wading into the pool to gaze down at the fragments, ignoring the water that threatened to soak his boots. He saw fine roots spreading from each piece of the fractured mast, little twigs growing with tiny leaves opening on them as he looked (and his own face gazing rather stupidly down, its hair a mess, its beard untrimmed, its mouth open).

The singing suddenly stopped. The Goddess-on-Earth called loudly, "Move the tents, move the casks and blankets, the water may not stop. Everyone help."

Now Naxosos saw Naemas's face reflected next to his. "We're gonna be floating away in a second."

"Naemas."

"Hm?"

"Why did you never strike Joliel before? You're always so angry about his constant innuendos and smirking about the women, but you never do anything."

Naemas laughed. "Oh, but I did do something."

"What about when he returns? What shall I do? What will we do? You have to tell me, obviously I'm ignorant on countless fronts."

"The water's coming in my boots, let's get to dry land before the ground turns to quicksand below us."

As they sloshed back to what had been the doorstep of the dining hall tent and was now a shore where water lapped, Naemas said, "He'll consider the score settled unless you do something else. If you show your teeth at him, he'll come at you again, though, harder. As you can see, he's easily offended. He does own a crap-ton of property in Cela and elsewhere. I suppose I thought you already knew."

"I've been curious about him for so long, but now I realize I'm quite loath, for some reason, to ask."

With a laugh: "He has so many places he can hide. I would say let's take his advice and go to Cela, but we would have to stay indoors the entire time we lived there. Who cares how nice the house is, or how many houses? If I can't go outside and do what I want I don't want to live there."

After a moment of consideration, Naxosos said, slowly, "Tolalo told me long ago that were I to live in Cela, even close to it, I would end up being kept in someone's menagerie. I had been asking Mother about it, you see. He was trying to scare me."

"Did it work?"

"Uhm, I'm not sure."

Some young women, all of them naked, congregated in the water around Nirith, screaming and splashing. "Naemas, Naemas, come bathe with us!" one called and they all laughed.

Naxosos said, "And we're not supposed to look at them."

"Sometimes you're supposed to and sometimes you're not supposed to," Naemas said, shrugging.

"And he has his own coinage? Joliel."

"Haha, yep. I have some in my scrip, it has a little animal like a salamander on it."

"The wonders of this day," Naxosos said, stroking his tangled beard.

"Indeed," Naemas said. Glancing sidewise at him: "I could probably use a shave, too."

"Now that I see myself in daylight, I note my clothes are much more full of sand than I realized. Every crease in my skin is full of sand."

Naemas gestured toward the water. "If this lasts, everyone can have a bath and a drink."

Naxosos looked around, marveling. People were now having to scramble to move the dining hall tent complex and all the junk it had contained out of the water's way. The canopy that had been set up for Tolalo was being broken down and moved. Things were proceeding much more slowly, however, with half the tribe, and all the animals, now sporting about in the pool, which continued to grow.

"I want to sleep more than anything else." Now Tolalo, three priests in tow, came hurrying toward them. "They want to know what the angel said to me, I suppose. Did it say something to you?"

"I heard singing, nothing else."

(21 February 2026)

Outline for JTPYO first published in 2017

2025-10-25T18:18:00.002-06:00

This is the outline with what has been worked on and published:

https://scarlett156.blogspot.com/2025/05/outlinenames-of-parts-jtpyo-fyi.html

This is changed only by a couple of words from first published here by me October 2017. In case you want a reference. I'm working on a part of "the living dead" (JTPYO - King of the Land of the Dead [2]) right now. I recall that on gab ai just after I posted this in my blog some people kinda went nuts. Heh. Good times. You're probably sick of my disclaimer by now but in case you don't know what I'm talking about, look at older posts. Have fun and stay safe out there. Haha, forget I said that.

--- Synopsis and overview of JTPYO all four novels ---

There are four parts to the saga: King of the Waste, King of the Fishers, King of the Heights, and King of the Land of the Dead. Briefly, it concerns a few years in the life of a citified young man, Gorardeno Naxosos of Viragos, who through no crime or wrongdoing (except perhaps vice, laziness, and licentiousness) has become a fugitive from various governmental and religious authoritarian entities and must live by his wits among an assembly of wandering mendicants, fakirs, roustabouts, gamblers, prostitutes, monks, escaped slaves, herders, and bums who call themselves "the Children of God." Naxosos's best friend, Tagros Naemas, has been associated with the Children of God since age nine and urges that they join this collective, and so that is where Naxosos eventually ends up, with his teacher Maynaliel Tolalo, an elderly priest who has also been named fugitive from the law, and his friend Tagros Naimejo, also a priest and Naemas's older brother.

After a few months of adjustment to life among the Children of God, this tribe numbering approximately one hundred, with cattle, keeping to the wastes and trackless lands, Naxosos finally assumes a place of respect and honor, mostly due to his dauntlessness, sagacity, cunning, and inborn capacity for wizardry. He also has a quite pleasant, easygoing nature. (Most of the time.)

Naxosos's position in life is a peculiar one, his having been born into a line of humanity predicted by religious writings to somehow rule over the earth at some point, although this line has all but been eradicated at the time our story begins, in part due to this prophecy, and in turn is part of the reason Naxosos and his kinsman, a sheepherder who like himself must constantly flee pursuit, Saridizi Maliel, are so sought-after. In addition, one or the other or both of them is by birth the ruler of a kingdom called Arigne, which has all but been absorbed by first one, then another, and then yet another kingdom, until there is little left of it – though the political influence this kingdom wields, by virtue of its wealth and placement of individuals in various important houses, is disproportionately large.

After spending a time on the waste, Naxosos and the Children of God begin to experience misfortune due to his being hunted by more and more people for an increasing variety of reasons. Naxosos attempts to separate from the tribe at one point but finds that even in the loneliest place he can manage to get to and stay for a time, he is known and intrigue springs up around him. Since it seems there's little way he can escape what appears to be destiny, he rejoins the Children of God.

Ultimately, Naxosos and a part of his cohort form a plan to subvert the rule of the corrupt Steward of Arigne, Aritritas. It is seen that one of Naxosos's closest companions, a pagan wizard they call Joliel, wishes strongly to use Naxosos and the influence of his stepfather, a wealthy merchant – and their other close companion, Korsis Zarodi, whose family is also wealthy and influential at the hub of the settled world which is the empire of Cela – to overthrow that empire. To this end Joliel has manipulated people and circumstances adroitly.

The subversion of Aritritas is successful, though it brings a swift doom of one type or another for almost every single one of the protagonists; this isn't gone into in detail. Naxosos is captured and, after an ordeal, is executed in spite of a last-ditch attempt to save him staged by a couple of his friends who have managed not to get caught themselves. He is shown, as the Children of God attempt to raise his lifeless body, in the Land of the Dead, holding a conversation with a "jinn" or demon, and then encounters one of his friends who was slain only a short time after he was – and that's the end.

- - - - - - - -

BUT WAIT! There's more!

Original outline of all four novels JTPYO from 2017

+++Towards the downfall of the impostor. 20 September - 22 October 2017

Note: The characters in JTPYO are all speaking the same language except where noted, but none of them is a native speaker of that language, so some of them have accents and some seem to be speaking more grammatically/formally. The main character speaks more idiomatically to his friends and more formally to others. Sometimes the main character and his teacher speak their native language with one another.

The following contains naughty words and situations. If naughty words and situations offend you, better not read this!

Also, it is all copyrighted.+++

+++[The following] was written between November 2017 and June 2018.

Brief, sketchy explanation:

This series of stories is something I just messed around with for a long time in the 1990s. I never wanted to publish it and never talked to anyone about publishing it. A couple of people I was friends (?) with in the past apparently have copies of one version of it, or an outline for it, or something. By like 1999 I had written hundreds of pages, but again, it was just a fun project I never took very seriously and had no intention of publishing, haha.
Why did I make new parts for it and put them in my blog? Why, #JTPYO, of course! :P
If you enjoy these stories or get something out of them, I appreciate that. If you don't like them, however, don't read them. lol
I never collaborated on this with anyone and all of these characters are fictional creations, although you may not find them too very original, lol+++

* * *

Prologue (never published)

[0] The Children of God have been at a canyon domain to attend a rite of enormous power conducted by the Goddess-on-Earth, Thais, and Nirith, her second, resulting in an unanticipated manifestation of a mighty demon, the Prince of the Air. The Prince of the Air addresses Naxosos and attempts to frighten and demoralize him. After months of living with the Children of God, Naxosos has become infatuated with Thais and at the canyons becomes her consort; all begin to address him as their king. Now the main part of the tribe has returned to the wasteland.

the king of the waste

1. transgression
Naxosos strays into the wrong part of the desert encampment at the wrong time with subsequent consequences. Once his companions stop laughing at his self-pity, they urge him to develop a better relationship with the six warriors who guard the tribe. Some truths, both pleasant and unpleasant, about life with the Children of God are revealed and explored. The writer assumes the reader doesn't already know the four main characters so briefly delineates the behavior typical for each.

2. contest
Naxosos and Naemas challenge the Goddess-on-Earth's warriors to a javelin-throwing competition and use magic against them, which nearly causes an uncomfortable scene to erupt. Naemas wins the contest (and a great deal of money for at least one who gambled on him) by doublecrossing Naxosos with assistance from the archmage Joliel.

3. the trap
The tribe cannot move out of hiding due to the presence of a hostile clan of desert-dwellers, the Jaraturi, and is running out of water. The six warriors, attempting to fetch water from an area some miles away, are trapped in a narrow canyon. After divining their location, the Goddess-on-Earth sets out with her Second to rescue them and calls Naxosos and the two priests Tolalo and Naimejo to aid. Korsis and Naemas accompany the party. The sorcerer Joliel makes several kills. At the scene of conflict, Naxosos performs wizardry to save the fighters, after which he is greatly weakened and has to be carried to safety, later awakening in a hot place surrounded by drunken fornicators. To reward Naemas for saving Naxosos, the Goddess-on-Earth offers him a boon, and he asks that everyone in their party live long enough to see the arrival of the new kingdom. Finally returning to the tribe – whole and intact, and having made it to safety – Naxosos is honored and presented with a number of fine things.

4. the blow
A sandstorm has arisen and members of the tribe take refuge in the dining hall tent, where Naxosos, Naemas, Korsis, Joliel, Tolalo, Naimejo, Thais, Nirith, the six warriors, and Naxosos's mother Ember and his little brother Naemejo, called by all M'jo, have been at dinner. Naxosos is still weakened from the encounter with the Jaraturi. Everyone behaves intemperately and speaks even more so. Taking offense at Joliel's criticisms of Naxosos, Korsis and Naemas cause the sorcerer to become outraged at their taunts. The storm grows violent and part of the dining hall tent collapses, though no one is hurt. When finally the blow ends, they emerge to find the oasis completely covered with an enormous mountain of sand. Joliel, still angry about being mocked, implies that he, Nirith, Thais, and Korsis had plotted to kill Naxosos and have Korsis impersonate him, and moreover that Naimejo – also a wizard – caused the freakish storm with his jealous anger. Naemas strikes Joliel, who gets even by assaulting Nirith in the priest's tent during the appearance of a strange being called alternately messenger or angel. The messenger seems to give Naxosos words of encouragement, informing him that he is "one of us," and telling him that it will leave him with a sign. This turns out to be the appearance of water at the base of the dune created by the sandstorm, and a tree that grows rapidly into a sapling before everyone's eyes. Naxosos sends Joliel away after he attacks Nirith; upon taking his exit, Joliel spitefully informs Naxosos that he is one of the "least necessary things in the new kingdom."

5. demonstration
After the sandstorm, the Children of God will relocate via a strenuous journey to a village in the high mountains where they maintain a friable welcome in order to make repairs to their damaged property. Deciding to take the messenger's advice, Naxosos asks the priests for a task to perform and is put in charge of cattle. Joliel decides to make Korsis eat his rash words spoken at dinner. Naemas becomes a management problem, apparently upon receipt of bad news. Korsis gives Naxosos a gift, something catches on fire, and the next morning Naxosos is waylaid and given serious advice (which he makes an attempt to remember, but ultimately can't) by Thais en route to a demonstration during which Joliel performs surprising feats of sorcery, a thunderstorm arises, and Naxosos ends up performing a work of magic as well, though in a way that is not entirely foreseen by anyone. Joliel suggests to Naxosos that the priests are against them. Korsis forgives Naxosos for saving his life.

This is the end of "the king of the waste."

- - - - - - - - -

king of the fishers

1. the one awaited
After the violent storm and the appearance of the messenger in King of the Waste/the blow, the Children of God will ascend to the mountains and take temporary refuge in a village on the site of an ancient complex of mines, called Fehischian-Or. (The area they're occupying in "the demonstration" is the first stage of that trek.) Since they will no longer be isolated in the waste, the tribe stops to wash tents and clothing at a waterfall; also, the priests will store their accounts of the meeting with the messenger in an astonishing cavern near the peak of the mountain, a library full of scrolls and tablets. Naxosos is recognized as someone important by yet another supernatural entity, yet this significant event is eclipsed almost entirely by the pandemonium that erupts upon Naxosos announcing to Naemas, then to their other friends, that he intends to ask the Goddess-on-Earth to marry him.

2. dream
Naxosos is mildly embarrassed to learn that "throwing the knife" didn't mean what he thought it did, but nevertheless manages to hang a few of his detractors out to dry. He and his cohort, with the warrior Merelioides to guard them, and including Naimejo, set out for a fishing village called Bortskina on a vaguely-described mission that arouses his misgivings to a great degree. Naxosos is warned by the fighter Zyanonchoulain that the sorcerer Joliel will attempt to influence him via dreams.

3. the dogs
The group, bruised but intact, arrives in Bortskina where the fisher people, upon receipt of the news about the messenger, the miracle at the oasis, and the announcement of the guardian of the scrolls, decide to acknowledge Naxosos as the avatar of the great god of tides, earthquakes, and storms, Sorah-nen. Naxosos and his retinue are feasted and he is presented with a rather disconcerting, and yet ultimately most agreeable, gift. An encounter with enemies, the Muratrayi, and their attendant enormous, fierce dogs along the road to Bortskina is recounted from a variety of points of view. Naxosos gains three young followers: Raikha the Orighoi, a fugitive girl from an aristocratic Celan family, and her two friends, orphaned fisher brothers named Kozvit and Andiamo, whom Raikha terms her retainers. Naxosos, Korsis, and Naemas impress the fishers mightily when they perform "the boar hunt" dance. The group discusses whether they might have to leave Bortskina earlier than planned due to indicators of potential trouble.

4. the avatar of Sorah-nen
Naxosos and his cohort, plus their three new companions, and minus the warrior Merelioides, are forced to make a rapid and quite perilous exit by sea from Bortskina when Celan bounty hunters come seeking them. They manage to escape the village to a relatively safe, inaccessible cove, though in the process their boat is destroyed, they lose almost all their gear – and, to add to their troubles, they are separated from the warrior Merelioides. After an anxious interval, they finally rejoin the warrior and regain the highway, though now it is clear they're being relentlessly hunted by multiple well-armed and -informed entities. Making their way at long last to the mountain pass village of Slaliros, where they are supposed to rendezvous with the Children of God, they are finally met with an encouraging sign.

5. the wild bees
Naxosos enjoys an idyll with Nirith, the Goddess-on-Earth's Second, though Raikha's subsequent jealous pique is not as enjoyable. Naxosos and his cohort finally rejoin the Children of God as the tribe begins the last leg of its journey to the village of Fehischian-Or. Their situation has grown a great deal more complicated and uncomfortable. Now there is discussion of the tribe splitting into several smaller groups as bounty hunters, military, and law men now are seeking Naxosos and his friends throughout three kingdoms. Some members do leave, mostly to return to the home canyons in the south. The main part of the tribe is reduced now to about seventy members: Eighteen men and youths who are priests or acolytes of the Aringni temple, twenty-five women and girls of varying ages including the Goddess-on-Earth, her Second, and Naxosos's mother Gorardeno Ember, and the rest men and boys in a wide variety of ages and stations in life, including Naxosos, his companions, and the six warriors. Amidst all of this, however, Naxosos has difficulty becoming discouraged, as he knows that in a few months he may become a father for the first time.

This is the end of "the king of the fishers."

- - - - - - -

King of the heights

1. the adulterous ones
After nearly two months of travel through mountains, the tribe arrives in Fehischian-Or. Naxosos has avoided discovery and capture on the road by assuming the role of a scribe and this is the role he assumes in the company of the Goddess-on-Earth, though the two of them plan to marry now that they have gained the semi-safety of the village situated in a high, remote area. He sees the young woman Meriezirim Honey for the first time and Naemas admits to involvement with her. Naxosos intuits that Honey, the much-younger wife of an elderly but very active village hetman, may be demon-possessed when he first sees her and the sorcerer Joliel assures him this is true. Joliel warns Naxosos to avoid the woman and indeed to avoid going inside the town walls at all if he wishes to stay out of trouble; Naxosos has little trouble remembering this advice.

2. the slip
A retinue including Naxosos and his cortege splits away from the main tribe to seek winter pasture for the cattle. At first the task is pastoral and almost transcendentally agreeable, but then Raikha, the Orighoi, falls and is killed, her corpse lost even to recovery. Naxosos and several others are nearly undone by grief and confusion. The sorcerer Joliel offers to take Naxosos to the Land of the Dead to say farewell to Raikha and predicts that he and Naxosos are destined to visit that land together again in the future.

3. wedding
Thais and Naxosos marry; Naxosos discovers finally thereby why is it never beneficial for the Goddess-on-Earth to become distraught.

4. letters
The wife of a rich villager, Meriezirim Honey, comes to the encampment of the Children of God to seek the services of "a scribe." It is clear she knows who Naxosos is and her constant arch references, sometimes uttered in crazy-sounding voices, create a state of general anxiety. Naemas confesses to Naxosos that Honey is extorting him into further meetings with her, that she does indeed know who Naxosos is and that she is pressuring him to flee with her to another city so they can marry. Naemas and Naxosos come to hard words over the issue, and Naxosos considers dismissing Naemas from his service. Now the weather is getting bad, however, so no one can easily or safely leave the area. Nirith almost miscarries. Other citizens of the village and surrounding province seek out Naxosos for his writing skill and he learns a great deal from them, and they from him.

5. the stones themselves
Naemas is nearly caught with Meriezirim Honey, whose husband is one of the village magnates. There is an uproar and Naemas barely gets away. Naxosos has to confront the village elders as they drag Honey from her home and bring her to the square to hear her confession and stone her to death (and her correspondent, if he can be found). To save Naemas from capture Naxosos reveals his own identity as Gorardeno Naxosos, wily fugitive sorcerer – and sorcery really is his only listed crime, though accusations always run rank everywhere he shows up – wanted in three kingdoms, with a high price on his head.
Naxosos confesses (falsely but convincingly) to a dalliance with Honey, though essentially he is frightened and repelled by her and nothing could be further from the truth. He manages to save Honey's life, although he's not really trying to, and escape with his own life via some fast talking, but the Children of God are exiled from Fehischian-Or, a warrant is taken out for Naemas's arrest and a party of armed men sent to find him, and Honey is also exiled from the village. (The elders have no wish to fight the warriors of Thais or contend with their own temple over the arrest or detainment of the supposed Shinsha-ava, so the tribe is allowed to leave.)
The Children of God are forced to take the Meriezirim Honey with them, though absolutely no one wants her along as it is clear, even to the men who appreciate her sexual profligacy and attractiveness, that she is a liability.
As well, it becomes more and more obvious as they flee that Honey is possessed. Korsis reveals to Naxosos that this is the reason Thais had been reluctant to come to Fehischian-Or in the first place, in spite of the tribe's dire need to hole up somewhere for a while after the blow: That Naemas was mixed up with Honey already and everyone knew, and moreover the woman is obsessed with the legend of the Shinsha-ava, promiscuous, untrustworthy, and unstable and the entire situation seemed a recipe for disaster, but Fehischian-Or was the closest place with people and houses where they would not be run off or attacked, and this had forced their hand.
Several days into their desperate flight through snow-covered mountains Naxosos discovers that Honey had caused Raikha's death, creating an effect of someone calling for help and tricking the girl into falling into a mining pit, this with the assistance of a demon. In a fury, he almost kills the woman (which Joliel and a number of others, among them several of the priests, urge him to do), but finds himself unable and ultimately ends up exorcising her of multiple demons.
He finds he hates her, but still Naxosos cannot bring himself to kill Honey and feels superstitiously that if they were to manage to abandon her somewhere, she would nonetheless be able to overtake them again. Thais feels they may be able to heal her completely and that Honey may in time become useful to the tribe; she and Naxosos fall out to a degree over this question, as Naxosos doubts Honey is completely free of demonic infestation or that she would ever be useful under even the best of circumstances. Nirith confesses to Naxosos that she sees Honey as a threat and tells him the woman has begun learning about poisons from Joliel.
The weather worsens and the tribe is snowed in on the heights. Nirith remains on the verge of miscarrying her infant and there is doubt whether it is still alive.
Naxosos turns twenty-nine years of age in the midst of a howling storm, his mind rife with suspicion and worry. He communicates via dreaming with his cousin Maliel, also a fugitive from the Steward of Aringni, Aritritas. Maliel urges Naxosos to meet with him at a particular place.

This is the end of "the king of the heights."

- - - - - - - -

king of the land of the dead

1. a bitter draught
Naxosos goes to an encounter with his fugitive cousin Saridizi Maliel. An unpalatable solution to Meriezirim Honey is found, and ultimately a most unstable one. Naxosos and his cohort are forced to flee for their lives as Maliel is arrested and imprisoned by Aritritas, steward of Arigne under Cela. Angels appear and birds speak. Naxosos puts away his spear.

2. the living dead
The Children of God are hunted and seldom can stay in any one place more than a few days before having to leave again. To his and others' great unease, Naxosos finds has become magnetic to all sorts of creatures, some human and some not, and there are many unusual and often distressing encounters. The tribe must be creative in eluding pursuit.

3. a devil's work
Naxosos attempts to break away from the Children of God but ultimately finds separation impossible.

4. the poison tree
Naxosos is arrested and imprisoned in the capitol city of Etrisiastoila and sentenced to be executed. Naemas and Joliel have a meeting that ends up being fatal for one. Joliel drops a big, fat dime on the Arigni temple.

5. the jinn
In the midst of a violent storm and flooding the Children of God, with assistance from several well-heeled parties, manage to spirit Naxosos away from the gallows and substitute the body of a man killed in a bar fight for his. Meriezirim Honey resurfaces at the worst possible time and in the worst possible way. Attempts are made to raise Naxosos and escape the city of Etrisiastoila. Naxosos has a meeting in the Land of the Dead.

This is the end of "the king of the Land of the Dead."

I hope y'all are doing well. (Why do I keep saying stuff like that????)

2025-10-25 ♄ 06:17:54 PM

I'm publishing this again - from May 2022 - unusual dream including gangsters, miniature zoo animals, and a famous entertainer

2025-07-12T09:57:00.000-06:00

This has been in my blog before but I thought it would be a good idea to repost it. From May 2022 - the "seinfeld" bullshit that me and Mr K have been having to suffer with started in about 2018 or so. It's still going on, so maybe there is some element in the dream that it was predictive, sadly enough.

-------

Unusual Dream Featuring A Famous Entertainer And A Bunch Of Other People Who Are Probably Famous, Too, Although I Didn't Recognize Them

Disclaimer: This is a memory about a real dream that I really had, presented for your entertainment and possible amusement. Maybe I'm hoping someone can offer an interpretation – wait a minute. That's a bad idea. Never mind. Forget I said that.

I don't think the dream was predictive, though I frequently have dreams that predict future events. For example, I had the following dream two or perhaps three days before the shooting at the DC sports field where GOP congressmen were practicing for a softball game: I was riding with a guy who died some years ago – he was an acquaintance in the local band scene who died of an overdose – and we passed a local sports field where two guys I have some extensive past with and an unknown female were playing baseball. I recognized the two guys instantly, but the strange part is that they were wearing RED BASEBALL CAPS. The dream was so unusual that I told Mr K (not the one on this forum) about it. Then, just a couple of days later there was the shooting. I asked Mr K if he remembered me telling him about the dream and he said he had just been thinking of it. He was just as weirded out about it as I was.

That's how predictive dreams are, a lot of the time: You can't figure out what the dream is predicting until after it happens. Often I can figure out during the dream that it's predicting something but can't figure out what.

– * * * –

Anyway, in this "famous entertainer" dream – I think it was about six months ago – there were lots of people and almost all the action took place in a building that was incredibly vast and also sort of falling apart. It reminded me of a school or some other public building that was in sore need of repair. Everything was quite real-life with smells and sounds and sensations. It didn't take me long to know that I was dreaming.

Usually when I realize I'm dreaming I start trying to wake up – almost always. I'm not sure why I'm so avoidant but this likely has something to do with whatever I experience after I realize that I'm dreaming, which is usually unpleasant.

I was in this gigantic place…

So I was in this gigantic place. It was daytime – per checking the windows – but there was an enormous nightclub type room in the very center of this sprawling building where it was like midnight and a show was going on. At various junctures during the dream I would look into this club place and there was always someone on stage and a bunch of glitterati types – guys in monkey suits, gals in sequined evening gowns – at tables watching.

When the dream started out I was in a place like backstage and there was a whole battalion of people there. I got the feeling it was like a Mob hangout. There were some very hard-looking guys in nice suits who started looking me up and down; meanwhile a guy like Tony Bennett (he looked almost exactly like him, from what I glimpsed, in fact) sang this "Come Fly With Me" type song. The scene was very lively and gay, with everyone smiling and downing expensive-looking drinks, but the place smelled bad and there were these Tony and Guido-looking guys. I realized I was dreaming and started looking for a way out.

I smell food…

I wandered around the backstage area and heard the sounds of a cafeteria, with clanging/clattering dishes and cooks yelling out orders, and I could smell food.

Throughout, the place was dirty like it had been sitting empty for a time and no one had bothered to clean before letting an army of people in.

So I went in the cafeteria – that's what it was – and it was also full of people, though these were not wearing formal or party attire and it was more just folks wearing jeans and tee shirts. I recall that it was mostly men. The place was busy as heck and daylight was shining in the smeared, steamy windows but I couldn't see much besides that it was day.

Looking around, I spotted an exit sign over a security door and headed for that. I actually had my hand on the door and could see what looked like grass and trees outside, but then someone called out my name and like an idiot I turned around to see who it was.

Never look back

There were a couple of guys standing right behind me and one of them looked so familiar it was startling, but to this day I can't remember where I ever saw him. I figure it was a picture that I had seen on the interweb or something because it was no one I had ever met. There was a big guy and then a smaller guy and for some reason I thought they were in video production. The big guy seemed to know who I was and said, "Hey, Kristi, they have beer here. Come get a sandwich and some beer with us." He pointed toward a gaggle of other guys – almost all looking like they were under age 30 – that were sitting at a table. Again, a couple of them looked familiar, though it was no one I had ever met.

The big guy who first accosted me was probably in his early 20s and he was quite heavy, wearing black cargo shorts and a black tee shirt. He was sort of olive-skinned and had a rather large mop of curly black hair. He was babyfaced and looked like he had barely started shaving, and wore little oval-shaped, wire-framed glasses. He was disturbingly familiar, but where had I seen him before? The other guy who was with him had a sort of nerdy appearance too and was wearing khaki pants and a Hawaii-type shirt. He also wore glasses, aviator-style wire frames. He had longish sandy-colored hair. I recall he had some freckles, too. Both of them smiled a lot.

So I went with them to their table, thinking that I would try the exit a little later.

During all this I could still hear the nightclub act going on with people clapping after the song was over and the singer launching into another song.

Wonder bar

When I sat at the table I could clearly view the remainder of the room and was surprised to see a really huge old-timey bar with like a thousand bottles of booze. Unlike about everything else in the building, the bar was ornate and expensive-looking, polished to a gloss, its glowing wood carved into intricate shapes like vines, flowers, berries, and birds. It had a gigantic mirror over it, reflecting the bottles of liquor in a myriad of different colors: Bright orange, sapphire, amber, poison-green (I was like, "Oh wow, maybe one of these guys will buy me an absinthe if I act nice and polite to them.")

It was truly gorgeous and like a museum exhibit. There was a door that by its appearance and the sounds emanating from it, led into the club.

These guys got me a cup of beer – it was warmish but tasted okay – and they had a half-eaten pizza that I had a couple of bites of. These guys seemed like a company of video producers and I think a couple of them were actors. There were about eight guys in all sitting in this one group. They seemed to be trying to be nice to me, like we all knew each other, but I had no idea who they were except that a few of them looked familiar.

Where's the can?

I started wanting to get out of there and thought of using the excuse that I had to use the bathroom, but to get to the bathrooms I would have to go back into the main part of the building and I didn't want to lose the exit. So I sat there sort of wondering what to do when the big guy who had first spoken to me said in a whisper, "Hey, look!" and pointed toward the big, shiny bar.

I looked over and there was the famous entertainer Jerry Seinfeld (comedian and TV actor) entering from the nightclub. He didn't look like he looks today but like he did in the Seinfeld TV show except that he was wearing a tux. At first I thought he was one of the performers or maybe a guest at this strange place but then noticed that his tux collar was open and there was a white bar towel over his arm, and he was carrying a little drink tray, like he was a waiter.

May I take your order?

He looked over at our group and sort of nodded like he was saying "hi" and I noticed a couple of the guys sort of waved at him. He appeared rather anxious, almost scared. I felt kind of sorry for him, or as much as I am able to feel sympathy for any play-actor, which admittedly isn't much. I started thinking, "Haha, I wonder if he's looking for the exit, too." Then the bartender accosted him and he (J Seinfeld) started ordering drinks. So, he WAS a waiter there or at least playing one.

The big kid started to say something to me, but I cut him off and said, "Is that door unlocked? Can I get out?" and pointed at the exit. He got this worried look and said, "Oh, I don't think that's safe, you'd better stay with us, we know this place from top to bottom." And then I finished my beer – by that time J Seinfeld had got his drink order and, casting a last unreadable look at our group, hustled out into the nightclub – and stood up. I think I had a purse with me and I was wearing a minidress and sandals like a gal on vacation.

I wanted to ask the big kid what was going on, but I was getting that "I really need to get outside" feeling. I saw that a couple of the guys with him had video equipment stashed under their seats and I felt that the absolute LAST thing I wanted on the whole face of the earth was to go roaming around this crazy building with them.

So I just said, "I'll be right back!" and practically ran toward the exit sign. The door turned out to be unlocked and as I pushed out through it I heard a couple of people exclaim anxiously and the big kid and his friends saying, "Kristi! Wait!!" The door was hard to push because there was a great deal of vegetation blocking it.

Freedom…

I ignored them and dashed outside. I immediately saw that this building was part of a complex and we were WAY, WAY out in the boonies somewhere. The sensation of hot, hot sun blazing down on me was very distinct. I was in an area of mowed grass – it was Bermuda grass, or looked like it, and it made my feet feel itchy.

I looked back at the building and saw that it would be unlikely that I could return that way because there was no handle. There were bushes and high grass growing around the door and along the walls of the building, but – as I turned about to get a look at my surroundings – the building and its attached buildings were in the midst of an extensive mowed area cut squarely into a place that looked like South American rain forest. The whole area was bigger than a couple of football fields. The trees surrounding it towered more than a hundred feet tall. I couldn't really see the boundary but it seemed there was a tall chainlink fence enclosing the field.

I decided to walk around and see if I could find a road or path or something, although I wasn't crazy about the idea of trying to find my way through that jungle. I figured I would probably wake up by then but I dreaded the idea of what it would be that would finally wake me up, because I was already pretty scared.

I started to walk around the building and it was truly gigantic. Part of it was an old brick building but it had a bunch of different things built onto it like storage sheds, additional rooms, and so on – including a little bell tower on one part. There was no one else around but I could at times hear sound coming from the inside of the building. It was all shoddy and dilapidated-looking, with weeds growing tall next to the foundations.

The cars

Rounding the building, I finally saw an enormous area full of parked cars. Most of the cars were costly-looking, sitting there shining in the baking sun. There must have been over two thousand cars. I could hear people talking in a hangar-type building off to the side of the parking area and figured it was security.

A dirt road led away from the parking area, so I started to follow it. I regretted having sandals on and thought if the path got too wild and woolly I would surely have to turn back. I walked casually and swung my purse like I was just out getting some fresh air.

I followed the road for a short distance and then saw – yes – that there was a gate on it with barbed-wire chainlink about twenty feet high. There was a structure like a guard tower. It was all quite serious-looking.

I was like, "Okay, I'll just stroll on back," so that's what I did. I wondered a lot where I was. It seemed like a real, physical place and not just something that popped out of my dreaming consciousness.

The animals

So I walked and was nearly back to the main building when I heard a little noise behind me and turned around to see a small pack of menagerie animals trailing me. It was a very bizarre sight as all these animals were miniature in appearance. There was a giraffe that was only a bit taller than me, and a hippopotamus about the size of a St Bernard dog. There were a couple of small horses and a little bull, a couple of goats, and – I think – an orangutan. The orangutan was about the size it should be, but all the other critters were very small. A couple of them were wearing collars. The hippo wore a little pink ribbon around its neck. Very bizarre.

These animals were friendly and tame so I spent a couple of minutes talking to them and petting them. Then someone called out and I saw a black guy in a security uniform approaching. He seemed upset and asked me why I was outside "the complex." I answered that I had lost my way and asked him if he could help me get back. The guy was really uptight like he expected trouble and quickly led me around the building to a broad stair going up to several pairs of double glass doors. I could see a lot of people inside. With a tense little smile he opened a door for me and waved me in. I thought of asking him where I was but he took off before I could do anything.

Out of the frying pan…

Inside the entry there was a small mob of people, all of whom turned and stared at me. The noise from the nightclub was loud and echo-y – there was a band playing a show tune and the audience was singing along.

I was rather depressed that I had not been able to get out and sort of fearful about what would happen next (and my feet were itching to beat the band after walking in sandals in that grass), but at that point I woke up.

This dream did not seem to predict anything. I have not seen any of the people I interacted with since, including in pictures, etc., except, you know, the occasional GIF with J Seinfeld in it or something similar.

-----------

My interpretation: No matter who else is there, the drinks always catch my attention above all else. Also: Small tame animals are fun to hang out with. Also: I'm as antisocial in the dream world as I am in the real world.

The Goose Girl and its place in JTPYO

2025-07-02T10:05:00.002-06:00

Greetings, party people. There seems to be a great deal of misunderstanding about the following item that is part of "JTPYO" - specifically, it's part of JTPYO 4, King of the Land of the Dead, the chapter named "the poison tree."

Strangely, no one has contacted me for help to try to figure things out - and that's okay! But just in case someone would like to understand more, I offer the following from my own point of view - and since I wrote it, that should be worth something, right?

I shouldn't have to say this, but:

PLEASE NOTE THIS IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL

Enjoy!

-----------------

A parable is a story that illustrates a philosophical maxim.

Naruthi is a character that appears frequently in Naxosos's lessons. He's actually just a version of Naxosos that's a little more of a boor and a knave, and a little more thick-headed, than Naxosos himself. Naruthi appears in a number of Naxosos's lessons, but not every single one. Naxosos's parables are usually a hit, as the audience knows him well enough to know he's spoofing himself (and occasionally his friends, wives, and adversaries) to get a point across.

The parable "The Goose Girl" appears in the segment "the vineyard laborers" after Naxosos meets and heals a young girl named Marihea from paralysis. He is about to meet with the leaders of the clan Gohaiash and try to persuade them to back his claim to the throne of Arigne. There is a large gang of people awaiting his arrival in the village and combined with his own followers – who trail several leagues behind him on the road – it's a huge passel.

Inspired by the simple faith of Marihea's family – they're Satrians – he relates this parable to the huge crowd. (And a whole bunch of things happen after that – Naxosos and his gang are basically kept awake all night by the hysteria accompanying their arrival and the subsequent arrival of the rest of his entourage, several thousand people and a number of animals, carts, wagons, and so on a few hours later.)

The basic, and very simple, premise of "the goose girl" is that God's word will always take root in a person's heart whether they have ever been told anything about God, or made to believe in him, or not.

Rose is a girl in a very small and somewhat impoverished town; no one in the town ever speaks of God and most have no idea in their heads about God at all. Rose herself has "never heard of or known about God."

-----------

(The Goose Girl)

There was a girl named Rose and her parents lived by the sea on Benetetria in Pavrain. The town in which they lived was poor, though some of the houses were sturdy and fine; also, it was very isolated. The bay and waters beyond it had been fished-out for years, but the area was of interest to the military and so people continued to live and trade there.

This girl Rose kept a flock of geese, which had been something she'd been taught to do by her uncle, her mother's brother, who was now gone. Her uncle had informed her that she should never let any harm come to the geese and that she should only harvest their eggs at her family's need, and that if any of the geese were to be killed, it would only be at her father's order. Rose understood these things and obeyed. She was a great caretaker of her flock of geese and over the years it took for her to attain twelve years of age, there were many fat goslings who were sold to market or to the local militiamen or townspeople to profit her family, and eggs to feed her family when the winter winds buffeted the shores and food was scarce, with a fat goose, or several of them, to eat at solstice-time.

Now this little village town did not know God, nor of him. Some of the militiamen knew of him from their travels, but they were never in the mood to tell anyone about him. There were references to him upon some very old markers in the town cemetery, but the graves were almost never visited and when they were, no one paid attention to the markers.

Naruthi happened to be passing through the town at one point, as he had some shady business to attend to with the garrisoned men. He noticed the place was rather dull and lifeless, but people, most of them dispirited and uncommunicative, continued to live there – of course, Naruthi knew that even if all the townspeople died or moved away, the garrison and its soldiers would still be resident, so there was the explanation.

However, Naruthi happened to notice upon his perambulation through the town the goose-girl Rose. Because of his facility for perception, he noticed also that the goose-girl Rose was innocently dedicated to her flock of geese – and that she and her family were perhaps not thriving, but at least maintaining, in a place otherwise barren of any sign of success.

So, because that is what Naruthi does, he determined that he would upset Rose's world and cause disruption in the town, and then proceed to his shady dealings with the soldiers in the garrison.

Rose was driving her geese down to the shore to graze, then, as she did on most calm mornings, when she saw a handsome man giving her the eye. She was used to this, as she was a comely young girl but not a wealthy one, so she simply gazed back, and held up the flail she used to direct her geese as a subtle threat.

Naruthi said: "Nay, young lady, I wish only to take a moment of your time to tell you about God."

This stirred something in Rose's memory, though she knew not what. She answered, "Stranger, if you wish for only a moment of my time, you may have it, as long as you stay where you are and make no sudden moves."

Naruthi then informed Rose of the existence of God and taught her to say "praise God." Once he was sure she had accepted his message, he traveled on to the garrison and Rose never saw him again. She thought of Naruthi a great deal after that, but of God even more often, and was greatly disturbed thereby.

Upon successive days, it seemed that a great clamor had begun upon the island Benetetria, or at least upon its shores, for Rose heard the local residents talking about it. Then one day, when Rose released her flock of geese from their enclosure upon her parents' manor, she noticed people she didn't recognize in the streets, and that moreover the streets were full of carts and people carrying their belongings; she had a difficult time driving her flock down to the shore.

When Rose and her geese did get to their grazing-ground, she climbed a promontory and looked toward the town, and though she didn't see much, she heard an uproar. She wondered if this had something to do with the God that the handsome man had told her about – it did seem likely.

Being mindful of her uncle's advice, Rose decided not to take her geese back to her parents' manor until she knew that everything was all right in the town – this was not too much of a problem for her, as there were many grazing-places for her birds, and she was more than able to care for herself away from home and hearth – following her uncle's advice had made her very self-sufficient.

For a few days Rose and her flock stayed by the waterside, even though it was rainy and cold. There were plenty of charaberries left on the bushes on the saltwater flats, so the geese were quite content. Rose made a little fire that kept the hollow where she slept warm enough, and though she was sometimes hungry and uncomfortable, she did well. When the noise from the town started to abate, she said to herself, she would return. She worried about her mother and father, but there seemed to be little to do about it, so she continued to follow her uncle's advice. She cared for the geese and kept them from harm.

But things got worse. The noise from the town increased and now there was smoke from houses burning. Rose took her geese further out onto the salt flat; they were not as content here, but they followed her because she was their caretaker. The geese clustered around Rose when she slept and kept her warm; she dared not build even the smallest fire for fear of being noticed. She wondered if this trouble was because of the God she had been told of; also she wondered if the man who had told her about this God was the agent of all the ill she was experiencing.

One night there were sounds of conflict and flashes out on the water, and Rose became terrified. Now she collected her geese – they were also frightened – and retreated to a cove on a low jetty that she knew of, surrounded on every side except for the sea by salt marsh and, as far as Rose knew, only she was able to reach it. It was a very unhappy place and the geese also didn't like it, though one could live there for days as there was an abundance of sand crabs. Rose knew how to collect dew and rain for drinking water and so would be able to survive there for a time.

When morning came, Rose saw men in longboats out on the water. They could see her and her geese, but they could not reach them because of the shallows and the marsh. The men even shot arrows, but these were not able to reach Rose or her geese – and they couldn't retrieve their arrows – and finally they became frustrated and rowed away, shouting threats and curses. Rose was afraid and cried, and spent a very miserable day and night wondering if the men would find a way over the marsh and capture her.

Another handful of days passed. Things started to quiet down after a couple of days, and by the fourth day everything seemed almost back to normal – the sounds of conflict went away and the air cleared, and one morning Rose, now very worn and tired and hungry, woke to the sounds of birdsong, and realized that she had not heard this sound for many days, but now it had returned.

During her time of hiding, Rose had come to the conclusion that Naruthi, the handsome gentleman who had told her about God, had been the agent of all the upheaval, but in a strange way that didn't have anything to do with her – she began to feel that Naruthi had told her about God to protect her in some way, for she doubted greatly, given the fires that had burned for days, that there was much of the village left.

She listened to the birds singing and felt the clean air on her face and, even though no one had ever taught her how to address God, she felt gladness and gave thanks to God in the same manner she would have thanked someone giving her a present for her birthday. This made her long to see her parents and her home, so she resolved to leave the salt marsh and return to her village.

Rose told the geese that she would give them a chance to take their freedom, as she was going to go and try to find out whether her parents had survived, which would involve risk, and her uncle had told her never to let any harm come to the geese. She then removed the bands from their wings so that they could take flight. She petted them and said goodbye to them, and left them stretching their wings – it seemed they were thanking God, too – at the cove, and made her way out of the marsh.

Once Rose had a view of the town, she hid for some time in a covert, watching. She saw some men under guard being led through the streets with ropes around their necks and their hands tied; they were led by the local militiamen, and one or two of these prisoners wore the same uniform as the men who had shot arrows at her.

Rose still hesitated, as she had heard that even one's own soldiers may behave very badly after they have been in a fight.

Then a strange thing happened, for Rose heard a sound overhead and looked up to see her geese flying over her; upon seeing where she was, they circled, then landed in the covert and gathered around her. Rose sensed that the geese wanted to stay with her and were anxious to see their pens and food again, though if she drove them into the town it was doubtful that any of them would live much longer than it took for hungry survivors of the conflict to spot them.

But she couldn't persuade the geese to leave her and they all clustered around her until she decided that she would go to her parents' house to see how they had fared. Then all of her geese began waddling on their usual route toward Rose's house, and she followed them, wondering if she would see Naruthi again.

Rose and her flock managed to get back to the manor and, wonder of wonders, she found her mother and father there, whole and alive. Their house had taken fire but rain had put the fire out quickly, and they had been able to hide at a neighbor's farm for the worst part of the conflict. When they had come back, they had found that the local militia had vanquished the attackers and that further, the attackers had been driven from Benetetria. The manor house was somewhat damaged, but they had already hired workers to make repairs. Upon learning these things, Rose urged her parents to express their gratitude toward God, which they did, though they had never heard of him in their lives.

Everyone in the village, as it turned out, had been anxious about Rose, but her father had said to those who asked about her that he knew that she would always follow her uncle's advice, and that she was a very self-sufficient girl, and that they could and should expect her back. They were all surprised, however, that she had returned with her flock of geese intact and in a company all around her, having lost none, and that none of them had a band on its wing anymore. This was regarded as a marvel. Rose encouraged them to express gratitude toward God and, even though some of them considered it ridiculous and offensive, most of them did just on the off chance that there might be something to it.

The townspeople were hungry and so Rose and her mother and father made very good trades with them; after this, a number of townspeople started their own flocks from those animals they had purchased from Rose and not eaten straightaway. Rose ended up with only six geese left to begin a new flock, but her family now had enough money to make repairs upon their property, and Rose's father also made sure he added a substantial amount to his daughter's dowry. (After that, the young fellows in the district began to be very polite toward Rose, and to tip their hats when they chanced to see her driving her geese to the shore.)

Some years later Naruthi happened to be passing through the area on no particular business and noted that Rose was now a very successful lady married to an important man, living on an estate that was luxurious and productive, in spite of how isolated the village was. Intrigued, he wandered through the town, listening and watching and taking note of whatever he saw or heard.

The next thing Naruthi observed, then, was that the locals, though they were not ostentatiously rich or even comfortable-appearing, did not appear poor or downtrodden, either. People bustled about their business and when they would encounter one another, each would not just pass a greeting, but comment on something about the day or the other's attire, or about how peaceful everything was, or make some other observation that was friendly and positive-sounding, and then say – almost as though they were quoting a verse from an obscure text in a language unknown to them – "Praise God!" after which both parties would give a little laugh and look toward the sky, and then go on about their business.

"Drat that girl!" Naruthi exclaimed when he realized what was going on, and then traveled on down the road without taking a room, even though the next village was quite a distance.

If you have two ears, then hear.

###

THIS IS ALL COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL.

outline/names of parts JTPYO - FYI

2025-05-18T15:16:00.001-06:00

This is all the parts/outline of JTPYO (outline as of 2017) and the parts I have written out and published in this blog and nowhere else:

JTPYO books and chapters:

king of the waste

transgression (whole thing)

contest (whole thing)

the trap (currently being edited 05 18 2025)

the blow (whole thing still to be edited)

demonstration (see above)

king of the fishers

the one awaited (whole thing still to be edited)

dream (whole thing still to be edited)

the dogs (partial including a lyric)

the avatar of sorah-nen (fragment only)

the wild bees (only mentioned in outline)

king of the heights

the adulterous ones (mentioned in outline - the basic story of this is in "it isn't him" by the way)

the slip (mentioned in outline; also mentioned in published excerpt "it isn't him")

wedding (only mentioned in outline; see above)

letters (fragment only; see above)

the stones themselves (only mentioned in outline; mentioned in "it isn't him")

king of the land of the dead

a bitter draught (still being written; a large part is published)

the living dead (partial)

a devil's work (substantial parts; last excerpt published is "it isn't him")

the poison tree (some parts; last excerpt published is "Conetheg-i-i'el")

the jinn (only mentioned in outline)

TRUMP VICTORY

2024-11-20T09:04:00.002-07:00

I got what I wanted. Have a nice day, y'all! #America

My disclaimer

2024-03-18T20:40:00.000-06:00

DISCLAIMER

All of this is copyrighted material and that means you're going to ask me if you can reprint or use any of it. To date, no one has – and no one has my permission to use it, therefore.

WARNING: Please don't read if you're offended by:

• Naughty language, blasphemy, sacrilege, etc.

• Insensitive and uninhibited references to disabilities and/or differences

• Recreational drug use and alcohol abuse

• Paganism and unconventional beliefs/practices

• Homosexuality

• References to the supernatural

• People praying and saying "praise God" and so on

• References to slavery and slavery-related subjects

• Expressions of misogyny, "homophobia," and so forth

Also, do not read any of this stuff – any of "JTPYO" – to children or allow them to read it. It's not for kids. Come on, you know that! If you've let your children read this at any point in the past, you're already having problems. (Actually, no one should read it, but that's another topic for another day.)

Anyway, yeah: Back to teh children. Tell the other parents before it's too late. Form a support group; you could call it "nax-alt" or something like that, i.e., a wholesome alternative for kids (and retarded adults) who have become a nuisance because they're constantly trying to act out scenes from my stories.

If you have made use of any of my writing – especially including past chapters, etc., from "JTPYO" that have been published in this blog – you should let me know ASAP by contacting me by email: rscribes@gmail.com. I'm not necessarily indemnifying you, but we should talk.

I deleted all my posts because most of them are really old

2020-02-16T03:32:00.004-07:00

None of the posts from earlier in this blog have survived. This is the only one left.