An Echo Speaks
Wealthgiver 10
This is the TENTH chapter of Wealthgiver, an alternate history serial romance about nationalism and cave-Thracians. For the back-of-the-book description and an index of chapters, click here. For the beginning, click here. For the previous chapter, click here.
Everyone knew when Elder Brother Nikolai fled the cell of the novitiate, breath rapid and teeth chattering. Everyone knew why.
The Sacred Depths had first been natural caves, then mines for gold. In the chaos of the first Descent, the mines had become a refuge, then a prison, then a temple. Corridors and cells were cut to house the sibyls and their attendants, as well as shafts for light and air. When darkness came into fashion, most of the light-wells had been shuttered. Now, the shafts behind the walls carried air, and air carried secrets.
A novitiate priestess with scarlet fever had been quarantined in a cell just under Andrei's. Her name was Vlada, and she was thirteen years old.
"What happened?" Kori asked. "What did they say?"
"Mostly they just conjugated verbs," the girl told Kori.
"Oh no."
"And they talked about you a lot. My Maiden, what's 'Platonic'?"
Kori took a seat at the little girl's bedside.
"Little Echo," she said, "your curiosity has returned. You must be feeling better."
"I'm still cold."
The girl's forehead was damp and hot. "I'll give you some water," Kori said. "And comb that hair. Was it Elder Brother Nikolai who used that word? 'Platonic' means the ideal of something. The perfect form."
"The Maiden and the Wealthgiver have a 'perfect relationship'?"
Kori's fingers combed through Vlada's hair, finding tangles and teasing them apart. "That depends on what the Elder Brother meant by 'perfect.' The new novitiate might disagree."
At first, Kori had thought the high priest was simply pretending to go along with her schemes, waiting for his chance to get rid of Andrei Trifonovich. The most expedient route would be to allow the outsider to take part in the Un-Descent, then kill him when he made an inevitable mistake. As Kori questioned Vlada, though, it became clear to her that Nikolai took his role of teacher seriously. He seemed to really mean to teach Andrei the Good language. Why? What for?
"You're sighing again."
Kori twitched her mind back into her body. "Sometimes grownups sigh, Vlada."
"You say that as if I'm a child, and I'm not."
"Calm, little sister." When Kori could find no tangles with her hands, she gave a click to locate the tortoiseshell comb on the table. The comb, running through Vlada's hair, found more tangles. She started at the tips and worked her way up again.
"Ow! I'm gentler with you."
"Maybe I don't cry out as much as you do. Maybe you're very rough and you don't know it. What else did he say?"
"Who? The Fool?"
"Not a Fool," said Kori. "He's a novitiate to the Good. His name is, well—"
"He said his name! I just…" Vlada hesitated. "I don't want to say it."
"Little Echo doesn't want to repeat?" Kori smiled and waited. Vlada's hair flowed like warm water.
"He said 'I am the Unseen.'"
Kori kept combing. "That must have given Nikolai quite a shock."
"Did you," asked the sick girl, "bring him for me?"
No, thought Kori, for me.
"You still live, Little Echo." Kori told the girl. "The Host of Many will welcome you in his own time."
"I mean, did you bring him for me because he is a doctor?"
"Oh." Kori paused, momentarily stricken by guilt. She hadn't even considered using Andrei in that way. "His profession is useful, but that is Apollonian thinking," she said, mostly to herself.
"Ugh," said Vlada. "I know about that."
"Logic has its place, but logic is only the knife. It is the hand that drives the knife to cut, and the intentions of the mind."
"My Maiden, I know."
Kori passed the girl's hair from one hand to the other, thinking. She had one man who might heal or rule and another who might teach or kill him. She had a sick little girl, a nation to build, and a Mountain full of echoing voices.
Kori clicked and found Vlada's right hand. Gently, she held it while her nail traced the shape of a letter over the hot skin. It was Λ, the first letter in the Good word for "game."
Vlada found the back of her hand and traced Ν, the first letter of "yes."
In abbreviated form, Kori wrote: I will find the doctor.
Vlada's hand vanished while she used it to stifle a cough. Kori held her hands still, so the little girl could find them again.
Once she had, Vlada wrote, Ρ?
Love?
Kori took her hands away. "Tell me something, Vlada. What happened after the doctor named himself? Elder Brother left?"
"Yes. His teeth sounded scared."
"I understand." Kori stood. "All done. May Heaven not blind and Madness never touch you, Little Echo."
The high priest would be confused and upset. He would seek clarity and reassurance, but since he could never lower himself to ask for them, he would retreat into solitude and a place of safety. Kori would find him in the library.
"Are you going to talk to the doctor?" Vlada called after her. "Will he come cure me?"
Kori stopped, her fingertips on the door latch. "Trust the signs."
***
Slippers clicking, Nikolai fled through the corridors. What had that been? A god pouring from the mouth of his vessel. Anyone listening to their conversation would think so, yes. And someone had been listening, hadn't they? In the Sacred Depths, someone was always listening.
Nikolai had adapted well to life under the Mountain. His ears could paint the walls with echoes. His fingertips could read the peaks and valleys of Good writing. He no longer awoke at night clawing at the walls, mouth stuffed with smothering black. He loved and worshiped his Maiden, and so he survived.
Would Andrei become the same in time? What would he become? What?
Wind brushed Nikolai's face and he flinched back. What was that? A puff of air from a ventilation duct? A stray bat?
Nikolai walked faster, bent over, grasping his elbows. He had adapted well to the Sacred Depths, but he still didn't like bats. Their guano, which had to be cleared from the air ducts, the bones of their corpses, crunching unexpectedly under one's slippers. The papery noises of their flight. Their chittering, just at the edge of hearing.
Do you think yourself important, Kolya?
You were not sent here to enjoy yourself, young master Gurskalin.
We're just waiting for our chance to abandon you.
He imagined them like that, sometimes. Lodged in his hair, their folded wings parting to reveal flat, questing little faces.
She will replace you.
Nikolai shook his head. "Madness," he cursed. "This is madness."
The Maiden would never replace Nikolai. His brother priests would not abandon him. No one had a better command of the language and lore of the Good. No one else feared the gods so much as he.
A puff of air, as if from a laughing mouth. Nikolai stopped, tapped his foot, sounding the walls around him. The empty corridor stretched ahead and behind.
No, they would not abandon him. Nikolai had deciphered texts un-read for a thousand years and brought back the original words and spirit of the worship of the Shrouded One. He had redesigned the airflow system of the Holy Mountain, brought in the fans and water pumps. Who but Nikolai was responsible for the Good's high standards of health and hygiene? No plague would again strike down the priests and priestesses, not because of some doctor.
It's not enough.
Nikolai batted at the air. It pressed in on him from the walls on either side.
Then, ahead! The darkness ahead, wherein lay the glorious future of the Good nation. The truth of Hades would burst from the Holy Mountain in an explosion of fire and smoke. Nikolai would stride across the crumbling continent and sweep up the remains of the Fool nations into his army. His Host of Many.
Nikolai chuckled at his pun, and felt better.
He put a hand to the wall and brushed his fingers over the way-signs carved into it. Ah. So his feet had brought him to the library. Good. He would study here, then meditate, then find the brothers and give them his orders.
The creak of the door revealed the broad, manifold volume of the chamber. Stand-desks and lecterns littered the floor around them, and a labyrinth of stone bookcases curled off into the soundless unknown. From the carved niches whispered the echoes thrown by paper and parchment, leather and cloth, their surfaces marked with beads of wax or knots of thread. More robust were the sounds reflected by the wood, clay, stone, and metal tablets.
Nikolai had barely had time to seat himself in the library's sunken lounging pit before the door scraped open again. The timbre of the ringing tacks in the soles of their slippers identified Brothers Murad and Bogdan. A homely clinking announced plates and cups. A clatter as Brother Murad set down his tray, and Nikolai caught the scent of yogurt and dried apples, pale moss and valerian tea.
In the Depths, where an ear pressed every wall, Nikolai's brothers had heard his fateful conversation with the prisoner Andrei. They came to him, and they brought breakfast.
Nikolai did not know how to thank them, so he remained silent.
Brother Bogdan groaned into his seat. "Oh, my back. Oof. It has been long since the Mountain had a doctor," he said.
"Don't be fooled by the Fool," snapped Nikolai. "He only used his profession to bargain for his life." He reached for a slice of dried apple and knocked his fingers against the teapot. "Earth protect me! A doctor! Just what I would expect of an Apollonian Fool."
Brother Murad spun the tray around until the bowl of fruit was under Nikolai's hand. "I thought you said he was a drunk. That would be Dionysian."
"I know what it would be. Are Fools constrained in their foolishness? He can well be both." Nikolai chewed savagely.
"He passed your test," said Murad.
Nikolai swallowed. "I would not say 'test.' Nor would I say 'passed.'" He sounded weak. He sat back, stopping himself from reaching for more food. "In any case, this test was not the last."
"And if he passes that one, and the one after that?" pressed the priest.
"Then we rejoice, Brother, for the truth of the Unseen pours from his mouth. We rejoice and we obey, for the prisoner will be our Master." Nikolai let his voice swell to fill the library. "He will stand behind the Holy Mountain as we pour blood and smoke down upon our enemies!"
"Tea?" asked Brother Murad.
"Thank you." Nikolai put out his hand, and with a tongue-click, his brother priest found it. Warm ceramic pressed against his palm, and Nikolai felt his face muscles relax. "We have already drawn up our battle plans and distributed them to our agents," he said. "Send word now to them to begin final preparations."
"What if our novitiate is not a god, but only a hero?" asked Bogdan.
"What? What hero?"
The two others were silent. Was this a test? What hero or demigod could the doctor—of course. "His resonance is not with Asclepius," said Nikolai. "Whatever he—"
His ears pricked. Nikolai's brothers were rising to their feet, which could only mean they had heard someone approaching in the corridor.
Nikolai rose as well, and so was ready to greet Kori when she scraped the door open.
"My Maiden bears the dark torch of insight," he said, hearing the voice at his ear: she's been spying on you too.
"So," said Kori, "Nikolai. Are you looking for an excuse to find Andrei unworthy and kill him?"
Nikolai made an effort to keep his voice even as he said, "My Maiden, I believe fervently that my novitiate may become a fit vessel for the Unseen One. This is the glimmer toward which I reach."
"And if your reaching loses us our doctor?"
"There are many false echoes in this imperfect world. We must not allow ourselves to be distracted by them," Nikolai bowed, "My Maiden."
"Anybody would be distracted by what you heard, Elder Brother," said Bogdan, serenely admitting to eavesdropping.
Sweet, metallic jinglings as the Maiden lowered herself into the pit across from Nikolai. "The novitiate named himself in the Good Language, Nikolai. How much clearer can a voice be?"
"Tea, for the Hungry One," said Murad.
"Thank you."
A teacup clinked. Murad brought a cup for the Maiden as well. Had they all planned this together?
Nikolai seated himself again, groping for clarity as well as his teacup. "My brothers, My Maiden, do not allow yourselves become frightened over nothing."
"There is no shame in fear," said Bogdan. "Fear is often the most reasonable response to the Earth's gifts."
"A vessel of Asclepius would be no bad thing to have in the mountain," said Kori.
Nikolai twitched and clicked his tongue, probing her expression. "But, you said you wanted the Wealthgiver!" He cleared his throat. "My Maiden."
"I only conduct what is given to me by the Mistress of the Mountain."
And was there not also a Master of the Mountain? Was it his voice in the mouth of the prisoner? Was it her voice in Kori's? What was the real message here? Which of those echoes rebounded off of truth, and which from wishes and delusions? His hand shook as he pressed the rim of his teacup to his lip. Empty.
"Confusion," muttered Nikolai. "Chaos. Madness. There is more here, brothers, than we know. Currents run deeper than we guess. Currents cold, but unclean."
Bogdan sighed and Murad said, "More tea, Elder Brother?"
"Not now! I remind you all of the oracle." Nikolai recited it to them again, but was met with no audible response. He resisted the urge to tongue-click and get a sounding of their expressions. That would look weak.
"There is our sign," Nikolai pushed. "A verse directly from the curved lips of our goddess. Our prisoner spoke the words himself. He resonates with the Unseen, the Master who stands behind the Mistress. Or else he is nothing."
"My question," said Murad, "is how our prisoner could know the Good name of the Unseen One. None of us spoke it in his presence."
"Grandfather Radoslav," said Brother Bogdan. "You know his mind is not good."
"So then you think it was the Free God who spoke through him?" asked Nikolai. "Our greatest enemy on the very slopes of our Mountain so soon before the Un-Descent?"
Murad made a sound in his throat. Nikolai was about to tell him that his personal feelings were inconsequential next to the machinations of the gods, but Kori interrupted him.
"I have just been to see little Vlada."
Nikolai squinted. "Who?"
"One of the novitiate priestesses," said Bogdan. "The one with a fever."
"Oh, yes," said Nikolai, although he still didn't remember. "Is she properly quarantined?"
"I worry for her," said the Maiden, avoiding his question. "And I would like our new doctor to examine her."
Nikolai did not bother to ask "what new doctor?" He knew they had all heard Andrei begging for his life. "If he is the Unseen One, then infirmary is no place for him. And the time before the Un-Descent is short enough. I have much to teach him."
Murad's sleeves rustled. "But, Elder Brother, it seems he needs no instruction in Good. Our guest need do nothing but wait for the Un-Descent."
"No," said both Nikolai and Kori together. They paused in confusion.
"It would make more sense if the doctor were our Asclepius," said Brother Murad.
"Sense!" Nikolai spat. He couldn't believe the man's foolishness. "May light not dazzle you! These are the Sacred Depths, little brother, not the outside world. Here, of all the places on Earth, we do not strategize! We do not deceive each other. We act in perfect trust, for it is only in that state of trust that we can hear the breath of the gods."
Silence from his brothers. Were they listening? They must be!
"Either this man is a narcissus," said the Maiden, "or he is a viper."
"But is not venom also the first ingredient to medicine?" asked Bogdan.
Murad clicked agreement. "All I suggest is that we grab him by his jaws, squeeze out what he's got, and put him back in his cage with a nice juicy mouse."
Bogdan chuckled. "I bow to the master poisoner's expertise."
Nikolai waved his hands. "Don't you see? The narcissus is itself a sign, a symbol, that of which nations are built. It is too early to recruit staff for the Sacred Depths; what we now seek is to raise our people up. We need a leader, we need our god! It is he who must stand at the peak of our mountain, he who must stride across the Fool-stolen lands, spreading the cleansing fire before him!"
"More tea?" asked Murad.
"If there's any left."
"Please, Elder Brother," said the Maiden, as Nikolai drank, "what is your decision?"
"I have already told the brothers to activate our agents," he said.
"I mean about the girl. Vlada. May the doctor examine her?"
Brother Bogdan grumbled. "A man in the women's quarters…"
"I've had her moved to the infirmary," said Kori.
Nikolai heard Brother Bogdan's breathing grow shallow. The old man remembered the plague, when the infirmary had last been full. The chamber was practically abandoned these days, like the Mountain itself.
"The Master of the House of the Dead," mused the old man. "Perhaps he does belong in such a place."
"Perhaps," said Kori. "Who can say?"
"I," said Nikolai, "will be the judge of that." An idea had come to him. A test. "Yes. Yes, escort Andrei Trifonovich to the infirmary, by all means. There, we will discover whether this man resonates with the god, or with nothing at all."
"Brother Nikolai," began Murad, but Kori stood.
"I will go to the Narcissus Pool," she said. "I will meditate again and I will prophesy. Clearly, we do not yet know what the gods want of us."
Nikolai stood to wish his Maiden farewell, then sat again to finish the tea. He dismissed his brothers and sat in the dark, thinking. Murad did not approve of the test he planned, and nor did the Maiden. He was certain, though, that if she was granted one, her prophesy would support the wisdom of Nikolai's plan.
If she does not lie, came the bat-whisper.
Nikolai swatted at the air over his right ear. There was nothing there.
"Earth, protect me from Madness," said Nikolai. If he began to distrust the Maiden's prophesies, he would be utterly lost.
Next: Chapter 11: The Infirmary