For a time Nat Parson stood transfixed. The dawn had turned out to be a disappointment. No sun shone; the day’s promise was lost under a pall of cloud, and suddenly Nat Parson was bursting for a piss, but to relieve himself in the nearby bushes now felt somehow indecent with this interloper in his mind.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” he said at last.
Perhaps, said the Examiner, but I’m still here.
“Well, go away then,” said Nat. “Go join the Nameless, or the Hordes of Hel, or wherever you’re supposed to go when you die.”
You think I haven’t tried? said the Examiner.
“It’s not my fault you got stuck.”
Oh, isn’t it? said the Examiner. Who got in my way when I spoke the Word? Who stole power from my final casting? And who’s been using the Book of Words without control, without any kind of authority-not to speak of fasting, meditation, or indeed any of the Advanced or even the Intermediary States of Bliss-ever since?
“Oh,” said the parson. “That.”
There was rather a long silence.
“I meant well,” he said at last.
No, you didn’t, said the Examiner. You meant to seize power.
“Then why didn’t you stop me?”
Ah, said the Examiner.
There was another silence.
“Well?” said Nat.
Well, as an Examiner, I had certain duties, certain restrictions-protocols to be observed, fasting, preparation-and now… It paused, and Nat felt its laughter inside his head. Do I really need to explain, Parson? You’ve tasted it-you know how it feels…
“So all that stuff-about using the Word without authority-all that was just to make me feel inferior, was it?”
Well, let’s face it, you are only a parson, and-
“Only a parson! I’ll have you know-”
My good fellow, I-
“And
And at that he turned, unbuttoned, aimed for the bushes, and watered them, luxuriantly and at length, as Examiner 4421974 spluttered and protested in his mind and Skadi, in wolf form, caught the scent of their prey and began to run, heedless of the little drama being enacted on the road behind her, toward the Horse’s Eye.
The posse on the hilltop saw them coming. A small posse-a group of four, posted there by Nat with orders to report any unusual activity to or from the Horse’s Eye. There had been none-much to their relief-save a few scuttling things at around midnight that might have been rats (but were probably goblins).
Now the men were dozing under the wheel of one of the silent machines while Adam Scattergood, who had bravely volunteered for the safest duty, sat cross- legged on a stone, eating a smoked sausage and watching the road.
He jumped from his perch at once when he saw Nat.
“Mr. Parson! Over here!”
As he’d intended, his cry alerted the sleeping men. (His uncle had promised him a shilling if he would stay awake.)
Dorian Scattergood opened one eye. At his side Jed Smith and Audun Briggs were already stirring. By the time the parson reached the foot of the Hill, all three looked as if they had been alert for hours.
It was then that they saw the white wolf. She had run ahead of the parson, breasting the Hill on the blind side, and so was upon them before they knew what was happening. A white snow wolf, brindled with gray, her dark muzzle folded in a velvet snarl displaying teeth as sharp and white as a row of icicles.
They panicked. Wolves were rare in the Strond Valley, and it was the first time any of them but Dorian had seen one so close. That experience saved his life; instinctively he faced it, spreading his arms with a loud cry, and Skadi veered away, catching the scent of an easier prey, leaped at Audun, who had gone for his pack (a knife dangled uselessly from his belt), and took out his throat as neatly as a boy bobs an apple.
It had been a trying night for the Huntress. The frustration of her plans, the weakness of her companion, the escape of her quarry, and the cumulative effect of having spent so much time in animal skin-all these things conspired to strengthen her wolf’s instincts, to urge her to hunt, to bite, to seek relief in blood.
Besides, she was hungry. She shook her quarry energetically, though by then Audun was almost certainly dead, and having sniffed delicately at the blood, she began to feed.
The other three stared in disbelief. Jed Smith, sagging with shock, went for the crossbow at his side. Dorian began to back away, very carefully, down the far hillside, without taking his eyes for one moment from the feeding wolf. (This too was to save his life.)
Adam, no hero, was violently sick.
And it was at this point that Nat reached them.
“Mr. Parson,” said Jed in a low voice.
Nat ignored him. He stood in a trance, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the opening in the Hill. The feeding wolf looked up for a second, bared her teeth, and returned to her kill. The parson seemed hardly to notice.
Adam Scattergood, who had never been given to fanciful thoughts, found himself thinking,
In fact, Nat had never felt so much alive. The sudden discovery in his mind of Examiner 4421974 had unexpectedly put things into perspective for him. He was not mad, as he’d feared. The voice was real. His initial terror and outrage at his mind’s invasion had settled; now he realized that there was nothing to be afraid of. His was the power. He was in control. And wasn’t it fine-wasn’t it right-to wield such power over the fellow who had snubbed him?
Your wolf is eating that man. I thought you should know.
Nat glanced at Skadi. Her muzzle, ruff, and forelegs were illuminated with blood. “Leave her,” he said. “She has to eat.”
Jed Smith, his crossbow raised, overheard and stared in horror. Since the roundhouse he’d been glad to give Skadi a wide berth, but tales of her powers had been whispered afar, and he was in no doubt that this was the same demon woman who had killed the Examiner and taken hold of the parson’s mind.
“Mr. Parson?” he said.
Eyes that seemed unnaturally bright fixed Jed in their gaze.
Jed swallowed. Turning, he saw that Dorian had fled; only he and Adam remained on the Hill. “She’ll need some clothes,” the parson said. “The other man’s are bloody.”
Jed Smith shook his head. His hand was trembling so much that the crossbow was a blur. “Don’t let her kill me,” he said. “I won’t say a word.”
Interesting, thought Nat Parson. He’d always thought Jed a lumpen fellow, good for hitting things and not much else. But here he was, showing signs of real intelligence. Of course, it was obvious: Nat could not expect even the most fervent of his flock to acquiesce to the murder of a villager. Without witnesses it would be clear that Audun had fallen victim to a prowling wolf. But if Jed talked…
Nat pondered with some surprise how easy it was to kill a man. Perhaps it was Ethel’s death that had hardened him to the fact, perhaps the Examiner’s experience in the field. A week ago Nat Parson would no more have contemplated murder than he would have held mass stark naked, but now he did, and realized with astonishment that he didn’t much care.
Good, said the Examiner. It takes courage to do what needs to be done.
“Then there is-” Nat broke off, consciously turning over the words in his mind. Then there is no sin attached to such an act?
Of course not, came the immediate reply.
We think alike, said Nat in surprise.
Perhaps that is why our minds meshed as they did.
For a moment Nat was lost in thought. Was that the reason for what had happened? A meeting of like minds at a crucial moment, both striving for the same goal?
He smiled at Jed. “Very well,” he said. “But I’ll need your clothes. Come quickly, man. I don’t have all day.”
“Promise?” said Jed, who was still shaking so violently that he could hardly untie his bootlaces. “Promise you won’t let her kill me?”
“I promise,” said Nat, still smiling at Jed, who, reassured, began once more to unlace his boots.
It was almost the truth, after all, he told himself as he spoke the relevant canticle and Jed Smith fell heavily to the ground. Besides-he staggered a little as the aftershock of the Word slammed through the Hill-why should Seer-folk have all the fun? 339
Book Seven. Netherworld
