Although the day was barely into its second half, twilight cloaked the hillside above them. The sun remained a feeble, emaciated remnant of its former self, its faltering light supplemented by a few dim stars which now remained visible through the eternal night that had descended. Thrax and Shingen-Hu had eaten nothing for two days apart from a few mountain berries and water plants found by a spring. Thrax thought wistfully of the cakes and roasts that his aunt Yonel used to prepare at Dalgren’s house, in days that seemed so long ago. Almost like another world . . . Thrax shook himself back to the present and forced thoughts of other worlds from his mind.
A movement in the grass just across the track caught his eye. He looked and saw that it was a brown-striped skredgen, up on its hind legs beneath a bush, its nose twitching and its large eyes fixed on them unblinkingly. A picture came into his head of a simmering stew, maybe with pummeled kirta shoots and wild-herb flavoring.
“Master,” he whispered, drawing closer to Shingen-Hu carefully. A Master could paralyze an animal with thought while an assistant dispatched it with a rock or cudgel. “Over there across the path, below the bush. Do you see it? We could eat our fill this evening.” He waited. “Food . . . A thick stew of skredgen, seasoned with var.” Shingen-Hu’s eyes flickered. He turned his head. “There,” Thrax murmured. “Do you see? You can still do it, Master. Your powers have not deserted you.”
Shingen-Hu licked his lips hungrily and stared. The skredgen watched them, motionless. The Master’s arm rose shakily, and a finger of his bony hand pointed from the folds of tattered sleeve. The finger jabbed commandingly. The skredgen yawned and rose to its feet; then turned its back and walked away, swishing its tail contemptuously.
“Alms. . . alms for the holy who have fallen upon evil times,” Thrax called, brandishing his bowl in the square of the village they came to at the bottom of the track.
“Everyone’s fallen on evil times these days. Where have you two been?” a woman asked scornfully as she passed.
One of a group of laborers who were idling outside a tavern called out, “Oly men, are yer? Let’s see somethin’ ‘oly, then.”
“That’s what all the beggars who come through here tell us,” another said. “Take us all for fools out here, they do.”
“We’ve seen enough city thieves before. Away with the pair ‘o ye,” a third told them.
“We’re not thieves. We’re genuine,” Thrax insisted defiantly. “This is a Master. He has remained here, that countless others may arise.”
‘Im? A Master? That walkin’ bag o’ rags? Looks more ter me like the only currents ‘e’d know anythin’ abaht are the ones ‘e pours dahn ‘is throat.” The others laughed derisively.
“Here’s my staff,” the second who had spoken said, holding it up. “A good, solid wooden one. Show us the passing-through of a hand. A junior adept can do that. It should be easy enough to do in his sleep for a—” He looked slyly from side to side, inviting the others to share the joke. “—Master.” They sniggered obligingly.
“You can do it,” Thrax murmured imploringly to Shingen-Hu. “Your powers haven’t deserted you.” But Shingen-Hu just stood and stared at the staff glassily.
They were chased from the village by a jeering mob who pelted them with rocks and garbage, while hounds barked at their heels. Nieru hung very dim in the sky that night. Probably, Thrax thought, because the god was ashamed.
In the city of Orenash at the temple of Vandros, the high priest Ethendor had a vision. A spirit from Hyperia appeared to him and spoke in his mind, telling of great events that would soon come to pass. Filled with wonder at the things he learned, Ethendor hurried to inform the king.
“Our actions to placate Vandros were inspired. We have been tested and found not to be wanting. We shall be saved.”
“Tested? How have we been tested?” the king asked.
“By the gods who look down from Hyperia. We were set the task
of sending them disciples, and we have measured well. Hence we have been chosen to be the prime servants to the gods when the Great Awakening comes.”