'Lord Tern, Lord Tern . . .'
Quinton swallowed. The skin of his face felt hot and dry, and he decided he had seen as much of
CLARION
this ceremony as he wanted. He lifted the gun and carefully eased the nozzle out between the rods of the grillwork. His thumb moved to the firing stud. But once again he hesitated, telling himself that the boy stood too close and might be hit by the beads. Another part of him admitted that he was only making excuses. He was an expert with the scatter gun; he could easily hit Brill without endangering the boy. The truth was, Quinton had killed only on two other occasions, and both times he had done so in defense of his life. He didn't relish the thought of shooting High Elder Brill from a hiding place.
High Elder Brill is sick, he reminded himself. He is infecting the entire planet of Clarion with his sickness.
'Lord Tern, Lord Tern,
Lord Tern, Lord Tern':'
The chant was building in intensity. High Elder Brill's hands wove a pattern in the air above the dish of the chauka. Quinton's thumb exerted pressure on the gun's firing stud—then his eyes jerked back to the chauka. The large dish had begun to change. He strained to see. Something was taking shape in the center of the dish, but he couldn't quite fix his eye on it. The image was slippery, like a reflection in a rippling pond.
'Hear our prayer, oh holy king,
Lord Tern the Almighty.
Smite those who would forsake thee!'
After the last rousing chant, Brill and the rest of the elders fell silent. All their attention went to the chauka. The swirling haze in the shallow dish began to take form and substance.
Quinton stared, gripped by a sudden, overWilliam Greenleaf whelming sense of dread. Then the object in the dish snapped into focus. A small sound escaped Quinton. He dropped the gun and put his hand to his mouth, turning it so the flesh of the palm was pressed between his teeth. He bit down until the blood ran. When that wasn't enough to stifle the terror that crawled through him, he opened his mouth and screamed.
Chapter One
'IS THAT HOW IT STARTED, GRANDFATHER?' The old man stirred in his chair and looked down at the girl, who sat cross-legged on a heavy rug at his feet. She seemed disappointed.
'What about the player's magic and Jacque the Fearless, who struck down the evil ones with fire from his hands?' She was a twelve-year-old with short dark hair and a pixie face and the watchful, gleaming eyes of her mother. Her name was Danita.
'The story began when Cleve Quinton was killed in the sacred chamber,' the old man answered.
'Borland Avery came to Clarion a few months later. But there's something you have to remember.' He paused, wanting her to understand this above all.
'Dorland Avery was a player but he was human. So was Jacque Hakim. That's what made them special. Gods can do anything. Humans have to work harder to accomplish miracles.'
Dorland Avery stood motionless in the center of the stage with his feet slightly apart and his arms stretched out toward the audience. He was a strik9
William Greenleaf
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ing figure in his player's garb: loose-fitting white jumpsuit with black accents on sleeves and pant legs, wide black belt, a white headband with a silver medallion. Colors flashed around him and reflected off the curtained backdrop, changing rapidly through red, green, blue and orange with the beat of the music. He was deep in the player's trance. In the glass-enclosed control booth above the stage, Paul Jurick took his eyes away from Dorland and looked out over the audience. Nearly twenty thousand tonight, another full house. It was too dark to see their faces, but he knew from the absolute stillness that they were caught up in Dorland's performance.
'Take a look,' said Jeffrey Hanes from the chair beside him. Hanes had been scanning the darkened auditorium with night goggles. Now his attention was on something in the balcony, far out behind the booth. He handed the goggles to Paul. 'Upper level, fifth row on the left. A man with a beard.' Paul swiveled his chair around to take a look. The goggles gave a clear image but filtered out colors to leave everything in shades of gray. He counted the balcony
