This is the twenty-seventh 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.
In the darkness of the Holy Depths, safe and hidden within the breathing Earth, a fingertip hissed over words stabbed into paper.
"On the bridge over the Wide River, we received a prophesy."
Nikolai stopped. Drew his finger leftward. A prophesy. On a bridge? Under the open sky? Impossible. A lie. Or madness. And it went on.
"It was just after sunset on a cloudy day. The air was thick with fog and smoke. There was no Moon. It is not the place of a humble field agent to speculate on spiritual matters, but I do not speculate. Today, on the road to Tatar Pazardjik, I witnessed a miracle. Upon the Earth, I saw the Unseen."
Nikolai's belly twinged. Cenk was making excuses. No, worse than that, he was attempting to believe. No matter how thick the fog, the voices of the Chthonic gods could never be heard above the Earth. To claim otherwise was to sink to the level of the Christian villagers who believed in miracle cures because they wanted to be free of their fear of disease. Or the old priests of Hades whom Nikolai had met in his first year in the Depths, who thought water could flow uphill. No matter how convenient the lie, truth was truth.
"Our Master and Mistress argued over the direction to go. I stood ready to guard Our Mistress and my mission. Then she was made to sing."
Convenient indeed. "Argued over which direction to go?" There was only one direction to go, which was to Tatar Pazardjik, there to proclaim the rise of the Hadean Empire and rise up to slaughter the Foolish. Was it possible that the Wealthgiver had withdrawn his influence from Andrei? Would that explain a false prophesy? No, because it had been Kori who had spoken it.
That is, the Maiden. The Mistress. The goddess who dwelt under the Earth and had never spoken above it.
Nikolai's finger pressed so hard he could no longer feel the letters Cenk had punched with his pen-knife into the paper.
He sat back, breathed into the darkness, and forced his hand back to touch the terrible lie.
"Here follows a transcription of the prophesy as I heard it from the lips of the Mistress. I pass it to you, and await your new orders."
New orders? There would be no new orders. The Hadean Empire would rise or the Good would go extinct. But even as Nikolai dismissed the field agent's request, his fingertip passed over the prophesy.
“Blood and iron ring her skirts / slippers smudged with mortal dirt.”
Briefly, Nikolai entertained the hope that Kori had merely not prophesied at all, that she had only repeated the oracle of night when Andrei came to the Depths. But he continued to read.
"She paid her price / killed priests and kings. To draw the greed of greater things."
For a moment, finger hanging over the paper, Nikolai's heart rang. What if he were wrong? What if a new opportunity lay before him, held up by the gods. What if this prophesy were true?
But it could not be.
"Before he dies, a Good man lives / heavy are the gifts god gives."
There it was. Kori's command. This was. It was.
Impossible.
A prophesy delivered on the surface of the Earth? Under the sky? At the very moment when these words would save the life of the man the prophetess happened to love? A prophetess become a queen. Ruling at the side of the man who had raped her. No. No. No, no, no!
Nikolai pounded his forearms on the table. Echoes smashed against the walls of his room, tracing the faces that watched there. The carved surfaces shimmered with a high, whining keen, as of a sick dog.
He stopped himself. The others would hear. They would—what would they do?
Nikolai squeezed tears out of his eyes. His hands scrabbled for the letter. The others. His brothers. They would rage, too. They must.
There was nothing Nikolai wanted more than to destroy this letter. Rip apart the Maiden's corruption as he had lacked to strength to rip out the throat of her foul Fool lover.
But no. Nikolai needed. He needed! He needed this evidence.
Yes.
He passed a long, shuddering exhalation.
It was better this way. Nikolai gritted his teeth and pressed his palm over the slotted paper. This was testimony. This was the shout loud enough to pierce the Depths! It would show them all!
He flung back his chair and wrenched open his door. The Holy Mountain had no prophetess. They had a fallen sister to hold and protect, just the same as all the sisters and daughters of the Good must be held and protected. Just as all their vile, lusting enemies must be pierced, burned, torn apart screaming.
"Brothers!" exalted Nikolai. Where was the speaking tube? He whirled around and stumbled back into his room. His flailing arm jolted off the brass trumpet on his wall, but he felt nothing. His bones were as iron. "Brothers, let us meet again in the Council Chamber. We must issue new commands."
***
Kori awoke with Andrei pressed against her back. All of him, warm and very solid.
"Oh no," she said into her pillow. "Let me sleep."
He only mumbled hungrily into her hair and pressed harder.
Kori rolled over so she could get her hands between them. "I can speak French and strategize while half asleep. You can at least control yourself." She shoved at him gently, enjoying the way the solid mass of him failed to move.
"Mmm." Andrei nuzzled at her collarbone. "I love you."
"Aha. There's your French. And your strategy, husband. No, come back up here."
Morning sunlight shone through the holes in the shutters on the room's narrow end. Birds sang frantically outside.
There was just so much. Not only light, but smell, sensation and sound. The Dark under the Earth surrounded like a deep pool, but here the Light rushed on and on.
Kori reached for Andrei and grabbed his shoulders, pulling his face up to hang over hers. She watched him watching her, gasping as if under a waterfall.
The birdsong, the light, her eyes reflected in his. Kori turned her head and stuffed a corner of her blanket into her mouth, so she could muffle her scream.
Andrei chuckled in a very self-satisfied way, and she smacked him on the hip.
"No noise," she mouthed, then gasped again as he withdrew.
"I love you." He didn't say it loudly, but he wasn't being quiet either.
"I think," she said, "everyone already knows that."
Another smug sound from her man. "What now?"
Kori closed her eyes. "Don't ask such questions in the light. The answers will only overwhelm you." She instructed herself as much as Andrei.
Kori wanted to, but could not, forget their conversation the night before. Behind the dazzle of her senses, the truth coiled, hissing with malice. Andrei was a deserter. Worse, he had good reason to desert.
That was fear she felt. It echoed between them, whispering, But what if…? But will you…?
Kori could not muster the courage to open her eyes and see his expression, but her tongue clicked. Echoes showed the two of them, Master and Mistress, each with face turned towards the other, seeking reassurance.
"I meant," said Andrei, "coffee first, or breakfast?" He rose with a thump and a rustle. "After that, laundry, after laundry, call upon the Good of the town and tell them."
Tell them what, he wanted her to ask, but Kori kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to discuss politics or clothing. She wanted to lie in the warm sunlight and think of nothing while Andrei brought her things. Prove his devotion. That he would stay.
He inhaled as if seeking courage. "Because I think I experienced a prophesy last night."
Kori's fingers clenched on the blankets. Her first thought was, No! Prophesies are mine! Her second was, That is childish greed, as well as fear, again. What was it that spoke to him. What did it say? And did it rhyme?
"It's all very well for you to smile," he said. "I'm sure you receive prophesies with your breakfast every morning. But for me, it was a," his voice turned deeper, more serious, "an ominous experience."
Kori frowned, but before she could remind him that the Good would be listening, she felt his weight pulling the blankets tight over her hips. The warmth of his body shone on her face and shoulders as Andrei knelt over her.
His hand found hers. "If nt prfsy," he wrote, "m going crzy. Voice."
Kori let out her breath. The least he could do was give her coffee first. But she took up his hand and wrote back.
"Wht voc?" No, he didn't know enough to answer that question. "Where?"
"N basemnt." Andrei put his hand over his face. "Msk f Plt tlkd t m."
Kori's eyelids clenched as she decoded that scrawl, then popped open. "The Mask of Pluto talked to me."
Yes, it would, wouldn't it? It would call him "Doctor."
Kori clasped Andrei's shaking hands in hers. "The mask," she said aloud, "is the truest face."
Andrei shuddered.
"Wht dd it say?"
Kori asked the question with finger-spelling, but Andrei spoke out loud. "Death as a king, as a god, as Kori's man. It's only a matter of time."
So, it didn't rhyme. But the sentiment was very familiar.
"Wht ds t mean?"
There was no reason to keep this silent. Quite the opposite. "Interpretation is the priests' job, not mine," said Kori, remembering the feeling of the gods' hands on her shoulder. "But if I had to guess, I would say we have received, if not a blessing, then an encouraging shove."
"That is what it feels like."
But he still hadn't sworn he would stay. Kori kept her eyes closed against distraction, and delved for what was most important here. "A matter of time," she repeated. Time. What time? Ah.
"We have until November," she said, "to obtain an international treaty that recognizes our borders."
"What…happens in November?"
Kori found his hand and wrote on it: "9 months."
Andrei did not take the hint to stay silent. "Huh?!" he gasped. "Kori, you can't know. It's too soon for you to—how are you feeling?"
"Don't be an idiot." Of course there was no sign yet, but to assume she wasn't pregnant would be foolish.
"But—mph!" said Andrei.
With one hand, Kori stopped him from talking. With the other, she wrote, "To protct me, u mst protect Good. Only way."
He snatched at the hand she'd pressed over his mouth, but once he had it, he didn't seem to know what to write.
"Need Mntn," she told him. "Need sfty. Home." He tried to pull away but she held on. Her eyes were still closed, and Kori could feel the right path like a hot spring feeding into a cold pool. A king, a god, a man. For nine months or one or another fifty years.
Kori did not ask the question. There was no question. There was only a bargain: stay and die or run away and die anyway. In the end, the Host of Many welcomed all.
The muscles in Andrei's cheek bunched upward. The teeth behind parted. The brows drew down, but the corners of the eyes crinkled.
Frustration and bewilderment and joy, that was. Kori let her own relief show in her sigh.
"Of course I'll stay." said Andrei, redundant as any outsider Fool. Of course his loyalty was written all over his face. "I'll protect you, but—mph! Grr!"
Kori's belly warmed with the way he pressed his face into her palm. He took her hand in his.
"But," he wrote carefully. "Revolution = War = Death."
Kori opened her eyes, and smiled. "Have you ever seen a miracle, Doctor?"
He drew back. "Don't call me that."
"Have you seen a miracle?" Kori insisted.
"What does that—no. A few times I thought," he waved his hand. "But that was just me being inexperienced. Kori, this war—"
"So your predictions are wrong sometimes."
He gave her an annoyed look and scratched at his beard. "Yes. Sometimes I must revise my expectations yet further downward."
"Don't pity yourself," said Kori. "Despite what the stories say, the Wealthy One is not moved by pathos."
Andrei shook his head. "I'm sorry. If the only way to keep you safe is build up a kingdom around you, I'll do it."
Kori sat up and leaned against him. "I'm sorry too. I tried to force you to stay."
"Like you do with the priests, yes." She recognized the anger in his voice, and sounded the depths beneath it. "I won't make you do that to me."
With a grunt, Andrei pushed himself upright. "Come on. Let's see what we can do about breakfast. Then all the rest." He gave a little chuckle. "Bessia and Death."
Kori made a face as if a fly had landed on her cheek. "What are you saying? Don't speak that word. Where did you hear it?"
She held her hand up, but instead of writing on it, Andrei took it and pulled her upright.
"Bessia and Death." Again, blasphemously, he embedded the Good word in a French sentence. "Greatness or Oblivion. That was what I heard last night. When your god encourages, he doesn't stint."
"Don't—" Kori began, but someone was already knocking at the door.
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Next Chapter 28: Suffering Fools