A body on the steps of the Azrith temple, and a corpse in the countryside. Are the seemingly unrelated deaths in actuallity, connected? Raz investigates …
Adigilis, alliances, and adversaries
Note: The pronouns di (s/he/they), dira (him/her/their/them), diras (his/her/hers/theirs), diraself (him/herself/themself) are used throughout.
The afternoon had long departed by the time di found the cart again. Di transferred the faggots, wished Har goodbye, and towed the whining cart back through the alleys of Balarish monastery to the great pyramid of Azrith.
‘The temple steps …’ Bur eased the cart to stop. ‘What do you suppose has happened?’
Raz narrowed diras eyes and tongued the air. Fresh death—a subtle taste … and something else. Something faint yet familiar. ‘Nothing good.’ Raz stepped forward and a wall of shining pauldron and breastplate stole in on wings of golden-maroon cloaks. City guard, loyal to the Imperser.
‘No ‘rakes in the temple. The High Sagarm forbids it.’
Neither guard was onrake, Raz noted. Dira adigilis concealed actual dewlaps. Dira eyes unashamedly condemning. This did not bode well. One needed no schooling in astrology and prophetic eclipses to forecast that. Simply being onrake was qualification enough.
Raz inhaled deeply. ‘With all respects,’—bold and assertive, masking inherited fear—‘High Sagarm is not well enough to be issuing decrees.’
A spear came down. Raz studied the finely honed point. It was Bur who slapped it away. Raz foresaw an imminent tussle, mayhaps an arrest. All predictions dissolved, though, to the sound of Orh Taz Mil’s crooning. For once, Raz was comforted to hear it.
‘Raz Dev Mil!’ Orh wore a golden surplice, which winked from beneath an elaborately embellished cope. ‘You there, allow passage.’
‘No onrake are—’
‘I decreed it,’ exploded Orh. ‘Sagarm exemption was implied … you literal fools. You are speaking to the Senior Cleric.’ A jewelled wave—fingers glimmering like iridescent fighting beetles—saw dira off. Orh bowed to Raz. ‘An accident. Sullied our sacred steps it has. Leave the cart. Come.’
Hessian-clad acolytes like Bur and silk-adorned lesser sagarms like Raz, separated at Orh’s command. Theatrical stage curtains revealing a corpse spread across three steps, the face shrouded beneath draped silk scarves.
Bur: ‘Who?’
Orh: ‘Liz Orh Vex. See there, the insignia of the Lawmaker? Tripped over diras gown most like.’
Tripped? Raz threw Bur a look and shared the absurdity. As a youngling, one learned to lift the hem. Especially on steps. Here lay a diraghoni long in the fang.
Raz: ‘Why the guard?’
Orh: ‘Pressure. From the Imperser. Some wriggling tongue has dira convinced the poor Vex was pushed … and by an onrake no less.’ (ruffling diras adigili) ‘A flame I was swift to douse, of course. Deploying the Imperser’s guard was a diplomatic necessity against conspiracy.’
Bur: (anxious) ‘Conspiracy? Surely not.’
Orh: ‘Worry not. Some are not so trained in the art of reasoning. Di bow to superstition and prophecy and alignments …’
Bur: (venomously) ‘And you are elevated above such prophecies?’
Orh: ‘Prophecy. Ha. A pious word for guesswork. There is wisdom in teeth. Memories … twisted by time—or so some of us believe. There are studies of logic, here in Balarish … you, Raz Dev Mil, study the stars, do you not?’
Raz: (bowing) ‘It is as you say, my cleric.’
Orh: ‘Are di nothing but bodies of rock such as Seodan?’
Raz: ‘My guild believes so, yes.’
Orh: ‘And mighty Sigik, the life giver; nothing but a conflagration? An immense ball of fire?’
Raz: ‘We have discerned as much.’
Orh: ‘Then the gods and goddesses are not to stand in an infernal row, dira blessings hindered?’
Raz: ‘The guild refers to such celestial bodies as planets … my Cleric, what is your intention?’
Orh: (studying Bur) ‘To educate. Look beyond mystique and foreboding predictions, youngling.’
Orh spun, diras cope opening up like magnificent wings and for a brief instant Raz had the impression Orh had taken feral form. Dragon, humans called dira, a distortion of the word diraghoni.
‘Such a foolish way to perish,’ said Orh, leering over the former Lawmaker like a carrion bird.
‘Why does di remain?’ asked Raz, unable to break gaze from the silk scarves draped over the head. ‘Are there not transition shrines aplenty?’
‘Sacred herb,’ said Orh, flatly. ‘The body must be cleansed and we are lacking herb.’
An internal struggle seized Raz. Master Jak’s herb … Reluctantly, Di made the offer. ‘I may have some to spare.’
‘Truly? Infused with magia? How came you by such scarce commodity?’ asked Orh.
Raz hoped confident delivery shrouded the lie. ‘A result of prudence.’ Bur seemed stung that Raz had hidden diras purchase. The inferred lack of trust tinted diras snout sapphire.
‘Then be to it!’ Orh split the tension between cleric-to-be and diras assistant. ‘Lingered long and cold.’ The cleric ruffled diras cope and jiggled diras adigili. ‘For the Lawmaker’s sake, teeth may be salvaged yet.’
In a censer plucked from beneath diras surplice, Raz pinched cautious portions of herb in. Aware of prying eyes, di did so clandestinely. With use of a clever spark maker, herb smoke soon streamed in waterfalls and Raz composed misted symbols over the body, concentrating on snout and teeth. Di observed yellow residue in the corners of the mouth and a faint scent of corruption permeating the sweet herb. Curious. Di covered the face and rose. A few more graceful arcs and the ritual was concluded.
‘Lis Orl Vex may now transition and await Klathar,’ Raz announced. It took weeks, on occasion months, for teeth to loosen ready for reaping. To Orh, Raz requested leave for duties unfulfilled and was granted a less courteous bow than before now di had served diras uses.
‘As you will.’ Unmoved by sincere grief, the acknowledgment came from Orh’s left hand whilst the right summoned acolytes to bear the Lawmaker away. ‘Oh, cleric to be …’ Raz twisted round to bow dutifully. ‘Have you more stores of herb?’
Raz tried to look through Orh. Rather that, than to the hidden herb pouch. ‘That was the last of it I’m afraid.’
After protracted consideration Orh said, ‘Pity’ and dancing jewelled fingers dismissed dira.
Ranks of braziers illuminated the High Hall of Azrith. Heated in both atmosphere and debate. With errands fulfilled, Raz led Bur ducking the silk-brocaded arch into the vast chamber where ancient sheer stone inscribed with diraghoni glyphs shouldered a vaulted ceiling. Centrally was a promenade flanked by broad columns that rose like the atavistic forest that once existed before Verenesh’s founding. Instead of glyphs, the columns displayed the glassy smooth figures of the founders of Azrith expounding dira wisdom.
Pausing for breath from the steep climb, Raz weighed the chamber. Gold, maroon, cobalt and silver surplices and flapping adigilis … cleric sagarm in full pantomime. Ignions were most conspicuous; sloping snouts stippled with gold-leaf effecting a false smile and jutting bone crests festooned with silver bells and gems. Snipey headed Lairgvrns, conscious of diras crestlessness, wore rings on dira spines and silver caps on dira beak-like snouts to conceal dira self-perceived deficiencies. Both diraghoni races unceasingly jostled to surpass one another. Sadly, Raz considered, not uncommon in the heights of Azrith, where di believed sagarm should be above such petty displays of pomposity.
Then there were the blunt-snouted onrake such as diraself. Plain-featured, stumpy spines, dewlapless chins. Only a handful were garbed as clerics. The majority wore the hessian of acolytes like Bur. The inequity was at its clearest in the High Hall. Was this really a world within which di wanted to rise? There would be no shame in remaining an acolyte. A simpler choice. Especially for an Onrake. Raz took stock of diras emerald surplice; the sign di was ascending the ranks. After ten times as much effort as an ignion or lairgvrn, di reminded diraself.
‘… not time for indecision.’ A grating voice sawed into Raz’s self-reflection. Di recognised Ash Kar Mil and traced that bellicose sound to the elevated seat of the High Sagarm where Raz hoped Orh Taz Mil sat.
‘No longer. As Ash Kar Mil says,’ came a conceited hiss.
Raz’s spines quivered. This skeletal onrake was Eev Ish Jar, assistant to Ash, as crooked in stature as in nature. Eev had knacks … appearing suddenly and disappearing twice as mysteriously despite diras lame up-and-down gait. Eev’s eyes could penetrate stone and diras tympana could snare the feeblest murmurs.
Flicking a jewelled wrist, Orh commanded silence. Upon plump cushions di threw a spurious glance of contempt at Ash, so theatrical, it astounded Raz that no one passed comment.
‘I ask for patience … from you all. Changeover of power is never rushed.’
‘Precisely. Holy High Sagarm is still with us,’ Ish Lor Mil said, presenting diraself. An upright ignion in all senses. Strong and robust with political knowledge behind calculating eyes. Ish’s crest was discreetly ornamented and diras contempt for Ash always went unconcealed. ‘Diras High Holiness has yet to begin transition …’
‘Yet,’ hissed Ash, with a derision as equally unhidden, ‘Diras High Holiness is incoherent and unable to guide Azrith. As we well know,’—a critical glance to Ish—‘no guidance from Azrith means no guidance for Verenesh … for the Imperser. No impartiality.’
‘As Ash Kar Mil says,’ said Eev.
A snort of laughter cut in abruptly. ‘As Ash Kar Mil says …’ Jak Kor Mil mocked. Master Jak’s speech was strongly accented with the Patariles isles. It soothed Raz to hear its familiarity. ‘Is this all you’re saying, Eev Liv? Well? We’re hearing cleric Ash Kar Mil fine without you.’
Shrewdly, Raz stepped in Jak’s wake and, in calculated intent, blocked Eev from view, swiping Eev’s opportunity to retort. ‘My fellow sagarms.’ Raz bowed deeply, veiling the satisfaction of diras move.
‘Ah, Raz Dev!’ Orh called out, betraying diras relief to be spared the squabbling. ‘Thanks, are in order.’ Deserting diras cushion, Orh stepped down to embrace Raz physically and with praise for the blessing of the Lawmaker on the steps.
Others matched, feigning praise while dira minds, no doubt, focussed on dira own strategies. Ish was brassier and lingered longer than Orh. No doubt demonstrating how di should really be the High Sagarm. From Ash came terse commendation and an embrace chiller than a winter basking slab.
‘You possess a rare commodity, I hear,’ Ash said, as di released Raz.
‘Words are swift,’ said Raz, stemming the blood flow to diras snout. Ash’s honeyed manner was cloying and often provoked diras unease.
‘Not swifter than the coming darkness, I fear. You know of a trader? A spot perhaps? This dreadful blight seems no hindrance to your procurement of herb.’ The slightest glint in Ash’s eyes betrayed the surreptitious glance to Eev. Raz was proud to have caught it.
‘No mystery,’ said Raz. ‘A store in Verenesh. Though, sadly,’—di performed privately rehearsed lines practised on the climb up—‘the last of a meagre supply. I have word, however, that Hev Nar Jar knows a spot.’
Ash and those around turned to Ish Lor.
‘Oh? So you say?’ said Ish, looking astonished.
Ish may have fooled some of those present and even the finest dramatists of Verenesh, but not Raz. Ish was infamous for the rigorous supervision of diras assistants.
‘Will you not say where?’ Ash regarded both, seemingly unconcerned from where the answer came.
‘I was hoping to discover this myself.’ Raz cast Ish a kind smile. ‘May I know the whereabouts of your assistant?’
‘Precisely this moment?’ Ish stuttered. ‘I know not. Most likely … the lower levels perhaps. Di has custodial duties in tooth repositories. Though I’ve not seen dira as of late.’
Listening to Ish yet observing elsewhere, Raz could not say when Eev had disappeared though was suspicious of the absence. ‘I shall pay the repositories a visit,’ said Raz, re-joining the conversation. ‘But first my news …’ Raz told of city gossip and the spread of the blight, the tension in Verenesh and finally, the hawker’s observations.
‘There is nothing revolutionary here,’ said Ash, dismissively.
‘I speak not of paintings and emblems and approaching alignments,’ said Raz. ‘The citizens … dira tympana pick up whisperings which evade ours.’
‘Pah! Low whispers.’ Ash Kar searched faces seeking support. ‘Thicker than stone. Dira minds are just as blunt. Back to the matter—’
‘Holy High Sagarm’s position will remain empty until transition is complete,’ hissed Orh, throwing diras hands up.
A performative speech on patience and cultivated behaviour followed. So well-acted, Raz found it hard to scratch the niggling concern di was witnessing history. That one day, others would look back and question diras inaction; as if truly, di were watching an age of darkness begin.
Eventually the gathered broke apart in muttered grievances and were making dira way out when an ignion in the colours of the Imperser’s court ducked the silks. ‘Oh! My sagarms …’ di spoke in poorly executed apology, ‘I am intruding. Orh Taz Mil?’
‘Council is concluded,’ said Orh. ‘Come, Lawmaker.’
The Lawmaker bowed and continued into the hall. ‘Pressing matters regarding the transi …’
Words faded as Raz, carried by the crowd, passed under the arch. Why was the Lawmaker here? Dira court was that of the Imperser, rarely did di come to Azrith. Two Lawmakers in one day—and one of dira dead?
‘Sagarm?’ Master Jak’s rasping western-isle accent edged into Raz’s mind. ‘Thinking hard? Is everything well?’
‘My apologies—’ Raz began, only to be cut off.
‘Raz Dev, please, your discretion,’ Ish interrupted, pushing in between dira. ‘Jak Kor Mil … may I have your tympanum?’
‘As you wish.’ Jak bowed to Raz diffidently.
Cleric Ish cast Raz a mistrusting glance, snout flushing sapphire embarrassment. ‘Forgive. A moment …’ Then turning again to Jak in silent plea. Raz took the hint and left.
Beside dira, Raz felt Bur bristling and fidgeting. Irritated di could not listen perhaps? Like most acolytes, Bur was eager to know everything. Yet, with Bur, was intensity. A gasping thirst to hear and be heard.
‘We are onrake … di suspect us of something,’ said Bur.
‘Mayhaps.’ Raz preserved neutrality despite having grown tired of playing nice. ‘We do seem more unpopular than usual.’
Barred at the steps, dismissive glances here and there; all innocuous to ignions and lairgvrns, yet a selective poison for onrake. And how subtle that poison. Oneself could be led to believe it nothing but imagination.
Bur: ‘When will di ever trust us?’
Raz: (sighing) ‘The evils perpetrated by Zek Tuh are a stain upon us and, I fear, will be for generations.’
Bur: ‘Saints! Can folk simply not forget?’
Silence.
Raz: ‘Forget? Forget? Genocide, dear Bur. Would your memory be so easily placated through such a short passage of time?’
Bur: ‘Thousands of years … short for us, yes. Not for non-diraghoni.’
Raz: ‘Infamy; atrocities in Zek Tuh’s name—in the name of diraghoni, memorials and accounts, the Lok Taz Mil treaty … How can The Five forget the very peace that marked the fall of the perverse Diraghoni Empire?’
Bur: ‘A treaty imprisoning diraghoni in our own land for a thousand years. Raz Dev Mil, is not our sentence served?’
Raz: ‘I sincerely doubt what Zek Tuh unleashed on the world will ever be truly forgiven.’
Bur: ‘You use your own power. I have seen.’
That stopped Raz cold. When? Di had been decreet. Lighting sconces in private … tending diras own fire only. Eev had competition in spying it seemed.
‘A little fire breathing,’—Raz smiled to hide diras surprise—‘does not break vows. Transmogrification, the feral form, abuse of magia,’—di dropped the smile—‘for dominion … unforgivable.’
The ruby flushing of Bur’s snout was as loud as the words that followed. ‘We are not Zek Tuh Mil!’ Bur mastered diras composure before continuing in a hush. ‘We are diraghoni. You and I … onrake. No diraghoni precisely alike. Not one onrake like Dira.’
‘True enough,’ said Raz. ‘Yet there are others who will always suspect us. We are forced to hold our—’
‘I am being sorry for your waiting,’ interrupted Jak.
For a moment the welling of grievances—being routinely ignored and interrupted—very nearly erupted hotter than any flame Raz could muster. Instead, in well-practised diversion, Raz directed the energy into a reverent bow.
‘Come,’ said Jak. ‘We are being needed in Holy High Sagarm’s chamber. Bur Lap Jar, please, be finding herb. Whatever you can scrounge from our sagarm kin—you must be quiet about it. I am being clear?’
When Bur had gone, Raz finally spoke the question itching diras forked tongue. ‘What troubles you, my sagarm?’
‘Dear perceptive Raz. Terrible happenings these days. Ish Lor … We clerics are being held here under the pretence of caring for Holy High Sagarm.’
‘Pretence? You believe it a deception?’ It was unusual; Jak indulging such conspiracies.
Jak leant close and whispered with judicious care. ‘I do. Yet assistants are freer in some respects.’
‘What do you wish of me?’
Master Jak bowed courteously. In a serious whisper di said, ‘Leaving the city—you and Bur Lap. Blessing the deceased.’
The request was unexpected. Raz had guessed temple work. Di raised an eye crest. ‘Who died?’
‘Died?’ Jak seemed to be stifling a cynical laugh.
‘If not died, then you mean—’
‘Ssshhh! This,’ Jak placed a hand on Raz’s shoulder and squeezed gently, ‘you are to be finding out. Discreetly. And to me, reporting your findings.’
‘And where …’
‘The outer city. Beyond the walls. Leaving at first light … you are able?’
A swift appointment. Raz was already running through what di would need. ‘As my sagarm wishes.’ A thought protruded like a splinter of glass from greased flesh. ‘You sent Bur Lap away, why?’
Jak frowned.
‘You are true, Raz Dev. This I wanted to be telling you. Bur Lap … I am not certain. You must be conducting your investigations as close as you keep your adigili. You are understanding me?’
Raz nodded. ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ di said, searching out diras herb pouch, ‘the herb you requested.’
Master Jak halted Raz’s search with a gentle hand on diras. ‘Keep it. It has already served the purpose I was intending. Now, the evening cools, we must be on our way before we are missed.’ Di started along towards the Holy High Sagarm’s chamber.
The equilateral stone architecture of Verenesh shifted in the tessellations of a reflected canal. The solid structures seemed gelatinised and permeable. In these scrying walls, interspersed with lancet arched windows and capped here and there with golden domes, Raz glimpsed the deceased Lawmaker. Transposed upon the shimmering corpse was the face of the sudden successor. Reconciliation of this alleged coincidence grazed like sandstone. And damn Zek if di wasn’t being sucked into Azrith politics. Fool. What do you expect? To be a cleric is to be involved in such affairs. Instinct warned Raz to hide, keep diras eyes down and tympana deaf. What choice have I? A master’s bidding shalt always be done.
The narrow-thronged buildings and dira ornately railed balconies eventually genuflected to the perimeter wall that was a great stone belt about the belly of Verenesh. Beneath the wall bridge and pushing through—a birth of sorts, Raz observed jocosely—as di passed into the countryside.
Har solemnly punted dira along and Bur stared out in antipathy at the smoking fields, barren and blackened. Without adigilis, farmers commanded troops of flames managing the blight flanking either side of the boat. The boater began talk on temple life. Har’s interest in such things was unquenchable it seemed. When Raz could no longer stomach temple talk, di steered the conversation to how di would make dira own way back to Azrith.
Sight of the farmstead brought Raz to offer advice. ‘Prepare yourself youngling. As a sagarm onrake, we will fascinate. Be mindful of ego.’ Ahead, the canal terminated in a broad circular winding hole. Adeptly, Har exploited the stiff breeze turning the world around dira to nestle the lone pontoon. In accustomed routine, Har vaulted on using diras quant pole and secured the flat-bottomed boat by the painter.
‘Are you certain you will not have me wait?’ Har asked.
‘Many tasks are ahead,’ Raz replied. ‘Will you not stay the night with us?’
The boater flashed an uneasy eye over the blackened land. ‘Perhaps, once …’ Har helped Bur out and, after brief complaints of blight, untied the boat and pendulumed back in. ‘In the morn, I’ll come right to this spot.’ Di shoved off and away.
‘‘Til next we meet, Har Jik,’ Raz called after and bowed. ‘May your teeth be white.’
‘And your gums healthy!’ Har returned. Already the boater’s voice was faint.
Down a dirt track that cleaved a pallid green field in two, crumbling red-mud cottages with tinder-dry thatch rose up to greet dira. A little way off, a hissed greeting brought the sagarms’ attentions to a waving figure backlit by the westering sun. The silhouette approached, resolving into an onrake in spun cotton trousers and a collarless shirt rolled up at the sleeves exposing broad scaled arms and, most noticeably, no adigili.
Bur: ‘Di is naked!’
Raz:(whisper-hissing) ‘Mind your manners, youngling.’
‘Such unwieldy fabric,’—the onrake’s voice seemed oddly stripped without the echo of Veraneshian walls—‘has no place in the fields, youngling. For my nakedness and all … I apologise. Pov Bek Nel. Senior of this farmstead.’ In a sweeping arm, Pov drew dira notice to diraghoni, mostly onrake, tilling fields. Not one wore an adigili.
‘Pov Bek Nel,’—Raz made a deep bow with steepled claws—‘forgive. The youngling has much to learn.’ A stern eye prompted an apology from Bur.
‘Please,’ said Pov, ‘beg no pardon. Especially from kin. Raise your head and shed your adigili if you wish.’
‘All this smoke,’—Bur was swift to change the subject to something less uncomfortable—‘that smell.’
‘Blight,’ Pov responded, staring over fields as if picturing how di had been. ‘Blight smoke burns dirty yellow. Has that odour …’ Di thrust a calloused hand in each of diras with plough-grasping firmness and shook. ‘Sagarms! Welcome. May I have your respects? I can’t go round calling you sagarms.’
After introductions, Raz fell straight to business. ‘Tell me … who is to be cleansed?’
‘Loz Bak Nel.’ Pov’s expression visibly slumped with each syllable. ‘Departed two days ago.’ In the lengthy silence that followed, Pov guided dira into the village proper and pointed. ‘We found Loz over there.’
Raz: ‘You burned it. Why?’
Pov: ‘Should we not? That ground … blight. Some say Loz was cursed. Folk are still superstitious in the countryside beyond the reason of Azrith.’
Raz: ‘And you do not believe in curses?’
Pov: ‘Ha. I don’t know what I believe. But I tell you one thing … it was not old age. Nor blight. Green and growing things, yes, but not us. Yet it did come to that spot. Naturally, some see connections where there are none.’
Raz: ‘And the discoverer? I should like to speak to dira.’
Pov: ‘You already are. I received complaints that the ‘gvrn was shirking. I meant to have words and, well …’
Silence.
Raz: ‘Gvrn?’
Pov: (eye crest raised) ‘You don’t approve? Again, this is not Azrith. The three respects are behind you. You’re at the farmstead now.’
Raz: ‘You misread me.’ (pause) ‘A lairgvrn is a surprise. That is all.’
Pov: (reptilian grin intensifying) ‘Indeed. A surprise to see not one, but two onrake sagarms. Come … the shrine awaits.’
To be continued …
Like that? You may enjoy reading The Sixth Dawn, a collection of cosy-dark short stories from M F Alfrey’s fantasy world of Seodan.
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M F ALFREY 