This is the thirty-sixth 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.
Andrei's host did not so much enter Batak as penetrate far enough into its shell to detect signs of life. The outlying fields were choked with thorn bushes and spiny wild plums, but soon signs of grazing appeared. Cobbles clacked under the horses' hooves. Something scrabbled behind garden walls.
Andrei's ears had not been trained under a mountain for fifteen years, but he knew when he was being watched. He leaned forward over his horse's neck and spoke in a low voice. "Captain Zülfü, translate my message for these people and shout it: we will stop at the center of town…"
His officer tongue-clicked and kicked his horse forward, shouting in Bulgarian.
Andrei watched the back of his newly-acquired and very disloyal man. Zülfü must know that Andrei would reveal the Bessians to the people of Batak. Maybe he planned to join Nikolai's empire and enslave this town anyway. Maybe he planned to order the other men to kill everyone in earshot. Start another massacre, why not? Or it would be easier just to kill Andrei before he could say the wrong thing.
Zülfü's shouts echoed off the white-washed walls. The coating was fresh, not because the town had recovered, but because the authorities had tried to hide the stains of smoke and blood.
Before he'd joined the war, Andrei had often imagined himself in the position of the victims of this massacre. Now, he found it easier to put himself in the opposite position. He remembered what had happened in Sofia and Harmanli. The things he'd known about, and hadn't tried to stop. That hot lassitude, as if his blood had turned to honey. Weren't the Turkish villagers enemies? Wouldn't his comrades in the army hate him if he interfered and said, "stop. This is evil"?
"My Master?"
Andrei blinked around at Cenk.
"What is your plan?" asked his other officer.
Andrei shook himself. "Nothing complicated. We dismount, but we don't unsaddle the horses. Have a meal here in the town square and see who comes to us."
"Nobody." That was Kori from behind them. "The people here can do nothing but watch their own memories."
That was certainly true for him, at least. Andrei was about to say so, when someone shouted, "Vas bu nek!"
Kori, Cenk, and Zülfü's heads all snapped around, and a terrible silence rose from the ranks of soldiers behind them.
"Nek kush éna Iú," came the voice again, harsh as a crow's and bitter as cyanide. "Iú éna Béssacha."
Dementia, Andrei thought. Then, I know those words. I know who you are. You are the Good.
His legs cramped with the sudden urge to run. His horse, feeling the pressure, stopped, and the rest of his cavalcade pulled up as well. Kori, Cenk, Zülfü, and all the men who would be the army of Hades stopped to listen to the forbidden Good language filling the street.
"Béshacha! Pah! Chi an be éna bésha?"
Andrei followed the direction of the Bessians' glares to a gate in a nearby wall. This had opened to admit a tiny old woman. She wore a headscarf and baggy shalvar trousers and tottered toward them on a pair of crude canes. Bunions or corns, judging by the shape of her shoes.
Voices hissed from the garden behind her, but the old woman hobbled onward. Nobody dared venture onto the street to stop her.
"Zidzh Buísta ta nésa nimát te!" Let every Fool know your name. That sounded like a curse. "Chi darét ta yéshas katí?" The Good. Pah! How the devil are you good? How something you something here?
Andrei turned to Kori. "What was that? What did she say?"
Kori's face was pale except for her bright red cheeks. She looked like she'd been slapped. "What we deserve."
"Can you be more—"
"Stop!" Zülfü cried, not at Andrei or the old woman. Three of his men stalked forward, curved daggers rising. "Pulupé, remove your dzíra from your rúmfea," Zülfü gabbled in a confusion of Bulgarian and Bessian. "I mean Phillip, don't touch your dagger!"
Gates opened in other garden walls. Curious eyes peered from bushes. There were children here?
"My Master?"
Andrei turned at the whisper in his ear to see Cenk sliding his hand towards his pistol. Probably, probably, he was asking for permission to shoot Zülfü, and not the old woman.
"Wait, General." Andrei raised his voice. "What now, Captain?"
Zülfü didn't respond. He stood, frozen, his back to Andrei.
"Ku kláta?" The old woman looked past Zülfü, demanding something of Andrei. "Ku kláta shi ne itín?" Where…something in the past. Where were you doing something when where doing something to us?
The town had grown very quiet.
Andrei looked into those little black circles and thought of firing squads. He felt as if a hand were pressing against the inside of his face.
Doctor. Let me out.
It began as a salute, but Andrei found himself touching his hand to his forehead, palm over his face as if donning a mask. The fingertips felt very cold on his forehead and cheeks.
"General Cenk," he said. "Translate for me. Into Bulgarian."
"Yes, My — oh no!"
"Plistráss éta na Zamúlat," whispered Kori. The Wealthgiver rides upon the Earth.
Andrei urged his horse a step toward the trembling Zülfü. "Bréma!" he said. "Vas em Ádass. Tsi éna?" Hello. I am Hades. How are you?
Zülfü spun, face red. "Madí—" he made a strangled noise. "Do not speak—"
"Guné, di ié falt pal." Kori said. Mortal, already you have spoken much. She switched to Bulgarian. "Do you think Nikolai will let you live after this?"
gave the man a careless grin. "Bessikáta glóa ésta béssa. Vas dóam ta astán fála. What are you doing, Cenk? I said translate for me."
"The Good language is good," the General choked out. "I want to speak it."
The soldiers turned toward Andrei, away from the old woman and her confused-looking relations.
Andrei reviewed his meager vocabulary. What he wanted to say was: it's ridiculous for you to cling for your stupid superstitions about who speaks what language. The whole point of worshiping the Unseen is you don't work yourself up over trifles. We will all die.
"Me dóa," Andrei said, "um…zédza…." He slitted his eyes. "Cenk, what's the word for 'die?'"
His audience groaned as if with seasickness.
"Daiúm, My Master."
"Thank you. Nessúm dóa daiúm. Me éma níra. Zédza níra énza…" the next word rose like a fish to the bait, "…gúta."
"We know we shall die. We are men. All men are mortals." Cenk repeated the mangled syllogism as if pounding nails into wood. Zülfü winced with every blow. His lips were still curled in disgust, but his face had gone pale.
"Me éma béssatsa. Zédza éma."
"We are Bessians," translated Cenk. "All of us."
Andrei switched to Russian. "And now we will prove it. Swear to me that you will not kill this woman. Swear it to me and swear to your Bulgarian, Greek, and Turkish neighbors. Sacrifice your superstition and our nation will live. Cling to the old ways, and we will die."
Zülfü's face turned red again, but his mouth opened in a deep breath. His stance relaxed. He had spoken the Good language in front of Fools, and Nikolai's priests would demand his death. Fools had heard the Good language, and the priests would demand their death as well. So either Zülfü would become a mass murderer and victim of execution, or else the priests were wrong.
"I swear," said Zülfü. "Bénda vu." He worshiped the Wealthgiver. Whatever loyalty he might owe to the priests of the holy mountain, no force on Earth could compel him to do something stupid.
This would have been a very clever plan to ensure his loyalty, if only you had planned it.
The old woman cocked an eye up and squinted. "And what good does all that do me?"
Andrei caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to his men, ready to shout "Stop!" but nobody was advancing to kill the blasphemer. In fact, they were retreating. The platoon that Andrei had collected at Tsepina had shrunk. Some men had slunk behind wrecked houses or merged with the crowd of civilians, while others had vanished entirely. None would meet his eyes.
Right. Nobody needed to teach pagans to fear death. How could Andrei make them love life?
Who is 'them,' o vessel of the Unseen?
"The field is burned," said Andrei, "but rain falls on the ashes. A new crop will grow, if only you are willing to bend down and plant the seed."
"Who can bend down?" the old woman asked. "The men are dead and we die too. Not just me, the girls. The babies. Still they kill us."
"There is food," said Andrei, "in Peshtera." He realized he was still shading his eyes with his hand, and removed it. "Now, let me have a look at your feet."
Next: Chapter 1: The Grocer's Bill
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