varying skill. How easy it would be for errors or miscon shy;ceptions to creep in!'
'Errors? In the Praxis?' Hederick's voice cracked. 'You dare say that?'
Tarscenian's eyelids drooped. 'I'm tired, lad. You always were one for rattling on unabated. Leave me.'
Hederick pressed on, pulse racing. 'But how could the New Gods permit errors to form in the Praxis, Tarscenian? Are you saying the gods are fallible? If the Seeker gods don't guard each word of their holy parchments, how am I, a beginner, to know if a particular phrase is correct or not? You must be wrong.'
Hederick sat bolt upright and reached for the priest's sleeve. 'Is this a trial of my faith? You're testing me, aren't you?' Hederick gazed hopefully at Tarscenian. It would be just like the priest to see how angry he could make Hederick, to measure his devotion to the Seekers. Heder shy;ick waited for Tarscenian to grin and slap him on the back.
But the priest only drained the rest of his mug.
'Tarscenian?'
'Leave me!' The priest refilled his mug, splashing mead on the rug. Tarscenian ignored the stain, although Seeker law clearly declared that one should maintain dis shy;cipline in one's surroundings as strictly as in one's thoughts and emotions.
'The Praxis advises caution in the use of spirits,' Hederick remonstrated.
'That's for those of lesser standing,' Tarscenian snapped. 'The Praxis also orders us not to wear certain types of wool in certain seasons, which strikes me as something the New Gods, if they ever existed, shouldn't be wasting their precious time worrying about.'
'If the New Gods existed-?' Hederick's heart pounded until he thought he'd expire on the spot.
Tarscenian drained the mug nonchalantly. 'Take the damned parchment and go elsewhere to study it, lad. Your yammering is giving me a headache of ogrelike pro shy;portions.' He limped to a chair and slumped into it, his back to Hederick, facing the wall.
Feeling betrayed and hurt, Hederick blindly did as ordered. He spent the rest of the day behind the paddock, huddled over the parchment. He examined each word, seeking holy guidance, wanting any error to be his, not Tarscenian's. So deeply was he absorbed in his studies, he even ignored the call to supper.
Hederick found the passage about the wearing of wool, and rejoiced that the New Gods cared about each small detail of their devotees' lives. He reviewed the parts about glorification of the body over the mind, and concluded that Frideline and Peren-and most of the occupants of Garlund-had committed far more sins than he'd previ shy;ously thought. He had great work before him.
Hederick probed the centuries-old, hand-lettered words of the Praxis until they swam before his eyes. Finally, just as the setting sun withdrew the last bit of light, he found a passage that both inspired and fright shy;ened him.
Allow not a caster of spells to live, the Praxis read. Magic corrupts and infects. Magic derives from the old, betrayer gods. Magic defiles even the most faithful, if suffered to continue. Magic, and belief in its use, is evil. Those who seek the New Gods have no need for magic.
Tarscenian had been different since Ancilla had arrived,
the boy thought as he remembered the priest's heavy drinking and irreverent words. Had Hederick's sister enchanted him from the very first? Hadn't she lured the priest, that first day, into using spellcasting, in the show of the dragon and human figurines? And didn't the witch hover like a rapacious bird within sight of Garlund even now? She'd spent ten years studying the arts of magic, ten years that should have been spent caring for him!
As though the thought came directly from Omalthea, Hederick suddenly knew where Tarscenian was spending his nights. Ancilla had tainted the priest. That meant Hed shy;erick was now the only true believer in a town of sinners. But what to do? Hederick vowed to pray until his gods sent him a sign of what course to take next.
And they did. A wondrous, holy, terrible sign.
It was past midnight in Garlund. For hours Hederick had been secreted in the grass on the prairie west of the village, praying to the New Gods and staring at the red moon until he could see it with his eyes closed.
At first he'd been conscious of every night whisper of the greenery around him. Prairie spiders, while only the size of his fist, built webs so strong and sticky that crea shy;tures as large as a dwarf had little chance of escape. Southlund ticks, while only the size of his thumb, could drain the blood from a grown deer in half a day, and they were fearfully difficult to dislodge. Earth elementals, dis shy;guised as hummocks, had been known to burst through the prairie soil and engulf whatever lay on the surface.
But some time passed, until all but one lamp in Garlund was extinguished. Hederick felt as though he were alone with the New Gods. The prairie still whispered, but no footfalls broke the night.
Then the last lamp-the one in Tarscenian's dwelling-
went out. A door creaked, and a tall figure staggered from the prayer house. Tarscenian paused and carefully sur shy;veyed the prairie in the direction of Ancilla's Copse, gazed upward briefly at the moon Lunitari, then headed north.
The boy watched him go, his heart numb with disillu shy;sionment. With the aid of magic, the witch had destroyed a devout priest in less than a week. Certainly the Seekers could not rise to any position of power in the world until they eradicated magic.
Perhaps Tarscenian's only purpose in life had been to bring Hederick to Seekerism. Now that purpose was ful shy;filled, and the Seeker gods had no more use for the priest. Perhaps he was like a dumb beast now, conscious only of hunger and thirst-and whatever base urge drove him toward the witch Ancilla in the dead of night.
Hederick marked the priest's passage across the prairie, and a voice within-straight from the pantheons, he knew-urged, Follow. There was no refusing. At times Hederick drew close to Tarscenian, but the once-alert swordsman suspected nothing. His hand never went to his blade. The tall, broad body moved like a dead man brought to life. Tarscenian's gaze had but one object now: the copse.
While they were still some distance from the trees, the inner voice advised Hederick, Pause. Keep back from the witch. She has set wards. Pray. Hederick sank to his knees.
Tarscenian went on alone.
'Omalthea,' Hederick entreated, 'send me a sign to tell me what you desire. In all of Garlund, I am the only one who is truly devout. Your priest has lost his faith. I know it is my destiny to continue without him. Please make me worthy, Divine One. Send me a sign.'
Hederick's body ached down to his soul. He clenched his hands, pressed his teary eyelids shut, and bowed his head. He begged for Omalthea's grace and wisdom.
At that moment, the boy became aware of light. 'By the New Gods!' he whispered.
This was more than mere illumination from Solinari and Lunitari: neither red nor silver-white moon was full enough to account for this growing brilliance. The lumi shy;nescence, diffuse at first, soon concentrated on a rise directly in front of him. The light became a glowing col shy;umn. Sparks of seafoam green, blue, and purple danced within. Roaring wind filled his ears. 'Omalthea, be merci shy;ful!' he shrieked.
Was this a sign from the New Gods? Or had Ancilla detected him and brought down the force of her magic?
The smell of a forge assailed him. It brought more tears to his eyes, and Hederick fancied he could taste the tang of metal, heated nearly to liquid. His hair whipped in the gale. He could not see for sobbing. He threw himself face shy;down on the grass.
The wind changed to keening-banshees? The light, the sounds, the smell engulfed him, and Hederick could not stop shaking. 'Ferae, daughter of the gods, come to my aid,' Hederick begged. 'Cadithal. Zeshun. Sauvay. Omal shy;thea, please! I desire only to serve you. Don't slay-'
Then the roaring, the keening, the cries in the wind-all stopped.
Hederick lay, muscles jerking, in a circle of brilliance, bathed in heatless fire. His heart quavered in his chest. All warmth had fled his hands and feet.
Heddderrrick.
He could not open his eyes.
Heddderrrick.
He whimpered, sure he would be struck blind or mad if he lifted his head. He prayed that this was proof that he'd been ordained to greatness. But fear so paralyzed him that he could not raise himself from the crushed grass-
