Fey 02 - Changeling Read online

  He had a feeling she would need one.

  TEN

  Titus stood on the road outside of Jahn. Half a dozen Danites and a dozen Auds stood with him, although he had told Elder Eirman that only a handful of men would do. But Elder Eirman had had an edict from the Rocaan to meet the King's body with the highest contingent possible, and to bring it to the Tabernacle unmolested. Titus had wanted to argue even that order, for the true procedure would be to take the King's body to the ceremonial burial grounds on the hill north of the palace and prepare a casket of proper size. But the Rocaan wanted the King in the Tabernacle, and the Blessing to take place in the Sanctuary, and then have a processional to the grave site for the Burial Service.

  Titus thought it all blasphemy.

  The church taught that the Services were designed by the first Rocaan with the Roca's wishes in mind. Even though the Roca had been a man, he had been Beloved of God. He sat on God's Hand, and had God's Ear. His wishes were the closest man had to God on the Isle. Titus believed that this made them sacred. The new Rocaan, the former Elder Matthias, believed that this made the Services of mortal design and subject to the whim of the Rocaan. No Rocaan had thought so before, but no Rocaan had claimed the kind of scholarship Matthias had.

  Scholarship, Titus was beginning to believe, was the root of all the evil within the church.

  But he had no say over this. He was a lowly Danite, appointed to his post after the death of the 50th Rocaan, to which he was a witness. That day still haunted his dreams — the Fey creature attacked the Rocaan and then seemed to change into the Rocaan. When the Fey/Rocaan got hit with holy water, he had melted, leaving the small kirk near Daisy Stream filled with blood and bones and water. Later, the Elders had said the Fey were trying to learn the secret to holy water from the Rocaan. According to tradition, only the Rocaan was to know the secret, although at the time, Elder Matthias had known it too.

  The Fey had failed in their attempt to take over the Tabernacle and learn the secret of holy water — which they called poison — but they had succeeded in destroying the richness and the unity of Rocaanism. On his most pessimistic days, Titus believed Rocaanism changed forever.

  A breeze blew from the south. The road was empty, blocked below by his fellow Danites. No travelers could enter Jahn from the southern roadway today. No one could have the opportunity to tamper with the King's body.

  The Auds were milling around Titus. Although some of those Auds had once been his colleagues, and a few of them were older than he was, he felt as if he had years on them. The 50th Rocaan had died when Titus was fourteen, and the experience had added ten years on his life. Even though he was only nineteen now, he felt as if he had seen the entire world.

  The road was flat and wide here, reflecting all the traffic that came into Jahn from this direction. Before the Invasion, people came up from the south every summer and fall to sell goods, to shop in the city, and to attend at least one Sacramental service in the Tabernacle. Such travel had stopped after the Invasion, and Titus found that he still missed it. He always had a chance to see his family in the summer, and he hadn't seen them since the Rocaan died.

  He had lost everything then. Now all he had was the religion itself, and even that was changing. The 51st Rocaan seemed to have no understanding of the important things in Rocaanism. He lacked the gentleness that his predecessor had, gentleness that made its way to all the lower echelons of the religion. Instead, the 51st Rocaan was concerned with small tricks of language and loopholes in the canon, ways to give himself power, ways to lord himself over the King.

  Putting King Alexander's body in the Tabernacle was just one way of doing this. Titus suspected things would get worse now. King Nicholas would probably be no match for the 51st Rocaan.

  Power. Amazing that it all boiled down to power. To Titus, Rocaanism was about faith, not power. Titus had survived the Invasion. He had survived being in the Fey's lair, and he had survived the ghastly attack on the 50th Rocaan. Titus knew the Holy One was watching over him. He knew that he had God's Eye.

  The 51st Rocaan sometimes acted as if God did not exist.

  Simon, one of the other Danites, walked over to Titus. Simon was almost twice Titus's age. He had been a Danite for a decade, and would probably remain one for the rest of his life. He was slender and short, his black robe always impeccably groomed, his feet encased in expensive sandals. Most Danites went barefoot to imitate the Roca's experience in his youth. It was an unspoken idea that only the non-believers wore shoes.

  Like Titus, Simon was a second son. Only he had never understood the traditions of the church. He had seen it only as a font for his ambitions. He had snapped at Titus when he learned that Titus headed the burial detail for the King. For some reason, Simon had thought it would go to him.

  "Are you sure we're on the right road?" Simon asked.

  His voice was thin and raspy, a disadvantage when he performed Sacrament at kirks outside of Jahn. One of the Officiates, the men who actually administrated the Tabernacle and the kirks, had told Titus that Simon's voice and ambition were the main reasons he would never go higher in Rocaanism.

  "This is where the Elder told us to go," Titus said. He struggled to keep his voice calm. He too had been wondering if he got the location right. Somehow he had expected the funeral procession to be waiting for them. But traveling across the Isle took time, particularly in the spring when the parties could run into all sorts of unexpected occurrences.

  "Perhaps you misheard him," Simon said.

  "Leave the boy alone," said Gregor. He was an elderly Danite and should, by rights, have been the real leader of the burial detail. But Danites past a certain age served only as assistants and traveling clerics. They were considered to have no ambition and no beliefs, both of which were important in the Tabernacle. "Your carping will make no difference. You'll need to accept that he is a favorite of Matthias."

  "The Rocaan." Simon corrected Gregor in a sullen tone.

  "Yes," Gregor said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "The Rocaan."

  Titus understood that smile. Gregor had once been one of The Rocaan's instructors, decades ago. Now the Rocaan had risen to the position of God's Beloved, leaving Gregor far behind. "I am not a favorite," Titus said. "Elder Eirman told me to come here."

  "At Matthias's instruction," Gregor said.

  "The boy is a believer." Simon said the words as if being a believer were a sin.

  Gregor looked down at Simon's clad feet. Of all the Danites on burial detail, he was the only one wearing sandals. "Matthias has a fondness for believers," Gregor said. "He always has."

  Titus frowned. He thought back to the changes in the Tabernacle since the death of the 50th Rocaan. One of them was that believers often held positions of importance. Titus had always thought that because the believers struggled to fill positions vacated by the scholars, hoping to protect the Tabernacle. He had never thought that believers held those positions because the Rocaan wanted them to.

  "He's doing this wrong," Titus said. He flushed as he spoke. He knew it wasn't wise to speak against the Rocaan, but he couldn't hold it in any longer. "We should be taking the body to the palace burial grounds."

  "Believers," Simon muttered and walked away. He stood by some Auds, far enough away to be out of the conversation, but close enough to hear every word.

  "What makes you so certain?" Gregor asked. His voice, unlike Simon's, was deep and resonant. He would have made a great Elder, standing before the congregations every morning and midnight, speaking the words of the Roca.

  Titus glanced at Gregor. The older man was watching the road, his time-worn features calm. He seemed more intent on the emptiness before him than on Titus's answer.

  "It's ceremony," Titus said. "Ceremony developed by the first Rocaan based on the Roca's wishes."

  "Based on what the first Rocaan thought the Roca's wishes were. Remember that Matthias is a scholar, one of our best. He may have uncovered information that showed
him that the first Rocaan did not follow the Roca's wishes."

  Titus shook his head. "The first Rocaan knew the Roca. He would have known what the Roca wanted."

  "The way you know what the 51st Rocaan wants?"

  Titus stiffened. He hated lessons taught in this manner. "I don't know him."

  "You know him better than you know the Roca," Gregor said. "The Roca is a figure of myth to you. You see Matthias daily."

  "But I never speak to him."

  "It's not your job to speak to him, or to guess at his motives. If he wants the body taken to the Tabernacle, he has a good reason."

  "Other than ambition?" Titus's flush grew. He couldn't keep quiet about this. The Rocaan's actions had been bothering him for months now.

  "Ambition?" Gregor chuckled. "Matthias was never ambitious. Only bored. Besides, what kind of ambition could he have? He's Rocaan. One cannot go higher in the Tabernacle."

  "What about King?"

  The nearby Auds gasped. Simon glanced in Titus's direction, then quickly looked away. Gregor turned away from the road. Age had blunted his features, made his blue eyes watery, his nose flat. He was the only one who did not seem upset by Titus's comment.

  "Young Nicholas is our King now."

  "I know," Titus said, "but —"

  "No," Gregor said, his voice firm. "You don't know. It all seems so simple to someone of your age. A man wants to move on. He wants power. He wants to control the world around him. Once he becomes powerful, he will want more power."

  Simon stopped pretending to ignore them. He came closer. The Auds had turned in their direction as well. The breeze seemed cooler. Titus resisted the urge to wrap his arms around his waist.

  "Matthias turned down the position of Rocaan," Gregor said. "He turned it down many times, claiming that a scholar had no place in the job. The 50th Rocaan said that Matthias was Anointed. Matthias is the one who discovered the powers of holy water. Matthias has discovered secrets behind the beliefs that no one in all the centuries could discover. The 50th Rocaan knew this. He appointed Matthias Rocaan twice, first by giving him the secret to holy water early and second by putting him in power before the meeting with the Fey. When you question the 51st Rocaan's motives, you question the wisdom of the 50th Rocaan for appointing him to the post."

  The breeze grew strong. Dust kicked up on the road, making tiny swirling eddies around Titus's bare feet. The flush in his cheeks felt permanent despite the growing cold. "I didn't know that," he said finally.

  Gregor put a hand on his arm. "We all question our leaders, especially after we realize they're as human as the rest of us. The 50th Rocaan had been in power so long he seemed the embodiment of the Tabernacle. But when he became Rocaan, two Elders left the church. Were they right to do so? God knows. But we never will."

  Titus swallowed. His mouth was dry. He understood the lecture. Never question, always listen, believe that God knows best. But it seemed to him that the 51st Rocaan was walking the wrong path. Wouldn't God be speaking to Titus then?

  "So we shouldn't question the Rocaan?" Titus asked.

  "Never behind his back," Gregor said. "Only to his face, and then only when you are alone. Belief is more than believing in God and the Roca, Titus. It also requires faith in God's anointed."

  Titus nodded. Even his ears felt hot. He wanted this conversation to end. Quickly. Simon was grinning at him. Simon, who would never make this mistake. Simon was too ambitious.

  A thought that Titus shouldn't have. His mother had always said a man should have charity in his thoughts. He had lacked that, even with Simon.

  As quickly as it arose, the wind died back. Over the rise, horses appeared. Seven horses with six riders. The center horse, a black stallion, carried a large wooden box on its back. Most of the riders were guards, but Titus recognized one of them as Monte, head of the King's guards. A Danite rode a good distance behind them. He must have been a roving Danite, because Titus did not know him.

  A thread of nervousness ran through Titus's stomach. Perhaps Gregor had a point. Titus shouldn't question. To have a body on a horse was considered bad luck as well, but the Words Written and Unwritten stressed that a body must be in the ground within the week of its death. Either the King would have had to be buried in the Marshes, or he would have to come Jahn by horseback. Both traditions could not have been observed in this case.

  With a movement of his arm, Titus gathered his Auds. He had chosen them all for their youth and strength. The Danites were Elder Eirman's choice. Simon would sprinkle the casket with sacred herbs, Gregor would make the chant, and Titus would say the Blessing upon arrival in the Tabernacle. The Officiates were supposed to have blocked the road all the way to the Tabernacle so that the King's body would have privacy in its passage. Titus hoped so. He did not believe that the Isle needed any more misfortune.

  The riders pulled up a few feet from the Auds. Monte dismounted. His clothes were mud-covered, and he had deep lines in his face. His skin was sallow and sunken against his bones. His hair fell lank and listless over his brow. He nodded to Gregor who turned to Titus in a silent correction. Monte nodded again. Titus returned the nod.

  "Thank you, Sir," Titus said. "We shall take over from here."

  "Any troubles on the ride back?" Simon asked, and Titus bit back a retort. Elder Eirman had stressed that the Danites not ask about the trip.

  "None." Monte sounded tired. "The news hadn't spread yet. We met a crier on the road yesterday. He was the first."

  "We have no way to express our sorrow," Simon said.

  Gregor put a hand on his arm. "Forgive him, sir. He took the death even harder than the rest of us."

  Monte's smile was wan. "I'm sure," he said, sounding completely unconvinced.

  Titus clapped his hands for the Auds. They swarmed the horse, untying the ropes and tugging at the coffin. He approached it too. The horses around them snorted and stirred. They didn't like being so close to the dead.

  The coffin was hastily built from inferior wood. A slight odor of decay rose from it. Titus shuddered. This was as close as he would get to King Alexander. The man was the same age as Titus's father, old, but too young to die. The criers hadn't explained the cause of death, but the rumor in the Tabernacle was that the King was assassinated by an Islander in the Marsh.

  One of the Auds braced the coffin while the rest gripped its sides. As the ropes fell free, the horse backed away, nearly tripping one of the Auds. They grunted as the full weight landed in their arms. Then, in unison, they lifted the coffin to shoulder height. While they took a moment to brace it, Titus searched for Simon.

  He had removed the pouch from his pocket, and was preparing himself for the solemn journey through Jahn. Gregor was standing beside Monte, as if providing silent comfort. Titus cleared his own throat. He had been in many processions, but never one as important as this. As a young Aud, he had braced coffins on his shoulders, and as a Danite, he had presided over many limestone funerals — so called because the deceased were so poor, they were unable to have a coffin. They would be wrapped in shrouds, placed in pits, and covered with limestone until the pit was full. Only then would it be covered with protective earth.

  Titus hated those funerals. The smell was always ripe, and the Blessing was often lost in the wails of the family.

  He wondered if anyone would wail for Alexander. Somehow, he doubted it.

  The Auds were looking at him expectantly. Gregor had moved to his place behind the coffin. Simon was beside it, his pouch ready. They were all waiting for Titus.

  He took his place in front of the coffin. With another nod to Monte, Titus began the ceremonial walk to the Tabernacle, moving slowly enough for the Auds to keep pace with him.

  As they took their first few steps, the breeze carried the sharp scent of the burial herbs Simon was tossing on the coffin. The scent always overpowered the scent of death.

  Gregor chanted just loud enough that any bypassers would hear the story of Alexander's life, and the hope for Ale
xander's future in the Arms of God.

  And Titus, who would say the Blessing when the body was placed in the Sanctuary, prayed that God would forgive him for listening to the scholar blasphemer, the newest Rocaan, Matthias.

  ELEVEN

  She ran through the streets, her paws coated in springtime mud. Solanda would have loved to stop on nearby steps to clean herself, but she didn't dare. Not in the city. The lovely Islander King had made that impossible years before. Cats were suspect. Orange tabbies even more so. They were to be slaughtered on sight.

  Part of that was her fault. She had two forms: feline and Fey. During Fey's first year in Jahn, she had spied in her cat form, and had been seen. She had even transformed in front of one Islander, an elderly woman whose child Solanda stole. When the news of an evil Fey cat spread through the Isle, the King had ordered all cats killed. If it weren't for the Islanders' love for the animals, Solanda wouldn't be alive to spy for the bastard.