This is the 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.
"What did he say?" asked the Maiden.
Nikolai could not speak. The darkness pressed in from all directions, like water. Like soil. Even as his sickle pinned the defiler to the wall, Nikolai himself stood immobilized in the grip of his outrage.
I'll take you. He wouldn't translate such filth into the Good Language. What was the meaning of this? What did it portend?
"Elder Brother!"
Nikolai's ears twitched. The vessel of his goddess was breathing heavily. More frightened, no doubt, than she had ever been.
She had reason to fear. This Fool had smeared his dirty hands all over her. Nikolai licked his lips and tried to stop his trembling.
"He s-said. He s-s—" Nikolai cleared his throat. "Brothers! Help me. Turn him around, face to the wall, and bind his wrists behind his back." Only then, while robes rustled and slippers tapped to mask the fear in Nikolai's voice, could he translate for the Maiden. "He said, 'So shall I welcome you all.'"
The word he used was the same as that which the Maiden had used at the scopes. A prophecy might be "welcomed" by a priest, or a gift by a maiden, a guest by a host.
"Host of Many."
Who had said that? In the dark, Nikolai couldn't tell. Had he spoken it? Or Kori? One of the brothers? Had they all spoken at once the epithet of the Unseen One? Or had the walls whispered? An echo, a shadow with no one to cast it.
Nikolai's hands shook as he hung his sickle back at his hip.
"Earth, protect me," he whispered, but found to his horror that three fingers of his right hand had pinched together and risen to his right shoulder, as if to begin the sign of the cross.
Nikolai flicked his hand as if a cockroach crawled upon it. This was what came of bringing outsiders into the Sacred Depths. What could Kori be thinking? No, Nikolai corrected himself, brushing his hands down his robes. The Maiden had received a prophecy. She had been pointed toward an opportunity. Like so many of the gods' gifts, this one only looked like a cruel joke.
Faith. Nikolai must grope for it. Either believe that the Fool deserved to die as all custom and law dictated, or believe the voice of his Maiden.
"Earth protect me," he said again, this time with thumb, pointer, and middle finger properly splayed. "May Heaven not blind and Madness never touch me."
The prayer brought clarity at last. Nikolai was no drunken Christian or lunatic Muslim. He was bound to not just one god. Nikolai had many objects of worship.
He straightened and clicked his tongue. "My Maiden," he said, "what did he do to you?"
"I'm well." She stood a little away from the men and the prisoner, head turned toward him. "He didn't hurt me."
Something in her voice yanked on Nikolai like pliers on a bad tooth. "Hurt you?" he snapped. "Earth protect us, he could have killed you right there. Those dirty hands around the throat of the Torch-Bearer? The Fruit-Bringer's heart beating against his chest like a dove in a cage?"
"Nikolai, ask him why he came here."
The other priests clicked disapprovingly. More orders from the Maiden. And Nikolai needed none! He rounded on the Russian. "Fool," he demanded in his prisoner's language, "why did you violate the purity of these our Sacred Depths?"
"Ask yourself. You're the one who dragged me down here." A voice rose from the bound man on the floor, deep and cold as buried obsidian.
"Y-you," Nikolai shook off his sudden sense of dread. "Who sent you?"
"I sent myself."
"What brought you here?"
"My feet."
Murmurs from the brothers. Nikolai raised his voice. "Who led you to this, our Holy Mountain?"
"The voice in my own head," scoffed the stranger. "Listen to me, you people, this is all accidental. I deserted the army and found myself in your cave."
"That is my question. Who sent you with the army? The Trubetskoies? The Belosselsky-Belozerskies? Or did my family use their own name?"
"What are you talking about? I don't even know your name."
"No change in the breathing, Elder Brother," said Brother Bogdan. "The beating of his heart signifies that he speaks the truth as he knows it."
Everyone knew Nikolai's ears were not sharp enough to hear such signs.
"How can it be true?" Nikolai raged. "How can a Russian come up here? Now of all times! He all but tumbled headfirst into our main entrance. It cannot be mere accident!"
"I agree," said Kori. "It is no accident."
Into the silence that followed, the stranger spoke. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen and lady. You may call me 'Your Well Born, Baron Voropayevski.'"
Nikolai wiped the sweat from his face. "The titles of Fools mean nothing to us. I myself was once addressed as 'Your Serenity.' Not any more, thank the Wealthgiver. Thank his bride. Now, the Earth protects me."
"Then I suppose I can't expect you to call me Captain or Doctor, either." The ropes around his wrists creaked as the prisoner tested them. "Since our relationship is still rather cool, you may call me Andrei Trifonovich."
Nikolai drew back. Trifonovich! In Russia, Saint Tryphon of Campsada was the patron of gardeners and keepers of birds, but here on the Balkans he was venerated by wine makers. A more terrible omen could scarcely be imagined.
"No answer?" said Andrei Trifonovich. "I supposed you would tell me you're the Minister of Health and Admiral of the Tsar's Subterranean Fleet."
"I am prince Nikolai Igorevich Gurskalin," said Nikolai, then realized what a prat it made him sound. "That is, such was once my title. I have a new name now, a Good name."
"Oh. Good. I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, Your Serenity."
"Well?" asked the Maiden. "What is he saying? Who is he?"
"He is a physician in the Russian army." Old Brother Bogdan had stayed inside during the prisoner's capture and out of the way during his attempted escape. Now, he clicked slowly closer, translating. "His name is Andrei Trifonovich Voropayevski."
Of course Nikolai wasn't the only one here who spoke Russian. He must master himself!
"Andrei," said Kori.
"Yes?" answered the prisoner, and Nikolai gritted his teeth until sparks flashed before his eyes.
"She will replace you."
No mistaking it for an echo, now. The voice spoke in his ear, as if a whispering bat clung to his hair.
There must be some mistake. Some other interpretation of the signs. Master at hand. Foreign feet. I'll take you. Give him her!
Rage clotted in Nikolai's throat. He was robbed of speech, unable to direct the priests to kill this interloper. Instead, it was the voice of the Maiden that filled the silence.
"Take him to my chambers."
"Your chambers?" Nikolai whirled toward her voice, horrified. "My Maiden, no! There's no telling what the drunken Fool might do!"
"We have bound him securely," said Brother Murad, unhelpfully.
Brother Bogdan spoke. "Guests are not received alone by prophetesses, My Maiden. The council must be convened."
"I do not recall the prophesy mentioning a council meeting."
"'May he give him her,'" quoted Brother Bogdan.
Nikolai's toes curled as if over a brink. The gods stood at his back, pushing.
Kori added her own weight. "I wasn't thinking of seeing this man alone in my bedchamber, of course."
Yes, because it was the other way around, wasn't it? The Host of Many sprang out of a crack in the Earth to carry off the Maiden. This situation was utterly, completely different.
Nikolai brushed his free hand over the back of his head, where a wind tickled as of bat wings. "The gods' warning is clear, and so is our custom. But before I kill him, I would interrogate this Fool."
"Nikolai, he is not a lost census-taker for you to cut into pieces. He is—"
"No," mouthed Nikolai. If anyone heard his lips move, they didn't say so.
"—something greater."
"No." Nikolai put his hands over his face, not to shut out the light, but to protect himself from this cloud of fluttering chaos. Hands at his back and a pit at his feet. Red rivers and armies. How could he kill this man?
"Gold and debt", the prophecy said, and "welcome," which in the Good language could equally mean "accept," or "take."
Yes.
"Elder Brother?" asked the Maiden. "What's wrong?"
Brother Murad dusted off his hands. "Time for some tea, I'd say. After that we can reconvene and decide what to do with our, ah, guest."
"No," Nikolai lifted his face. "Not our guest. Our Host."
Last year at thanksgiving, my young cousins were shirking helping with dishes. I admonished them - this isn’t your welcomesgiving.