Though she was, of course, not privy to the meetings or decisions of the Heritage Council, Neeka could see nothing of a practical, political nature that was accomplished by ee Klirohnohmeea. It seemed little more than one of those secret fraternal organizations with which noble Ehleen society abounded in the north, in Kehnooryos Mahkedohnya, save only for the religious aspect which the northerners lacked and which, she shrewdly guessed, was a part of this group’s format only because it was forbidden by law.
True, at almost every meeting of the full membership, certain hotheads loudly prated daydreams of armed uprisings against the hated Confederation, but a dream that sort of talk assuredly was, for very few of the members had had any sort of war training, and if the Heritage had any popular support in Esmithpolisport, Neeka was never able to discern it. A conversation one day with Komees Pehtros confirmed her suspicions.
“Engaging together in an illegal act tends to bind the membership more tightly together, Neeka. But were it entirely up to me, I’d do away with anything pertaining to the Old Faith, for I was a young ensign in the Nineteenth Infantry Regiment during the Great Rebellion and I personally witnessed the perverse extremes to which religious fanaticism can go. Faced with such, I can see why High Lord Milo had no choice but to proscribe the Ehleen Church and all its clergy. Indeed, child, I would have done the same in his place. Crucifixion, burning, even impalement was really too good for many of the black-robed animals.”
“Even Koominon?” asked Neeka.
He shook his head. “Father Ahreestos, who calls himself Koominon, is truly a devout, good and humble man. That he, who never subscribed to the perversities which condemned his faith, was tarred with the same brushstroke is a tragedy. That he insisted on remaining in direst peril here is even more of a tragedy, for he could go far, could contribute much, were he to enship for a place wherein the Faith still is legal— Kehnooryos Mahkedohnya or Greeah Ehlahs. Here, he is living on borrowed time and, soon or late, will suffer a long, agonizing, messy death. And ee Klirohnohmeea will be in a large part responsible, for did he not have a congregation, he might depart for more salubrious climes.”
“Then… then you must tell Master Lokos this,” insisted Neeka. “Tell him quickly, for he is Koominon’s friend. He will persuade him to leave.”
Again the komees shook his head. “No, Neeka, Lokos will not. Lokos is a good man, a kind man, and completely lucid in most matters, but in affairs of ee Klirohnohmeea, he is a deranged fanatic.” Seeing her horrified expression at hearing her master so maligned, he added, “Oh, it’s not entirely his fault, Neeka. The tortures and mutilation to which he was subjected for his very small and inconsequential role in the Great Rebellion, and the sufferings and privations of his long imprisonment, addled him a bit, as they would have addled any man.”
“Mutilation?” Neeka queried, puzzledly, for Lokos had a normal complement of fingers, toes, and ears; his face was scarred and his scalp, but so were those of most adult males, and she had naturally assumed that those scars and a limp noticeable in damp weather resulted from youthful warring or dueling.
The komees’s lips firmed into a grim line. “Have you never wondered why a man who loves children and young people as much as Lokos never sired any of his own, Neeka? The reason is that he cannot. After they had flogged him until the white bone shone through the bloody tatters of flesh from his neck to his buttocks, they gelded him. That he survived such treatment at all is a miracle.”
Wholly dedicated to never again being dependent upon anyone for her sustenance, Neeka applied every bit of her not inconsiderable intellect and her youthful vigor to her new craft. Within only three years’ time, Master Lokos confessed in mingled pride and consternation that she had absorbed as much as or more than any other apprentice had done in twice the time. Thereafter, Neeka did much of the workaday compounding and distilling, leaving the master free to attend customers, instruct other apprentices and do the research and experiments which were his passion.
When she had read every book in his library written in either of the two languages she had mastered—Ehleeneekos and the various regional dialects of Mehrikan—Lokos taught her to read the flowing, cursive script called Ahrapsahbos, in which most modern medical texts were written by the justly famous Zahrtohgahn physicians.
Therefore, Neeka knew immediately just what the prism dangling from those black fingers was and just what it was for. Summoning the last ounce of will, she. fought back up, back out of the beautiful, sleepy world into which the scintillating prism and the soft, soothing words of the skilled man had drawn her.
“Sahlahmoo ahlaik,” said Neeka, when she was certain she had regained her self-control. “Ahlahn wah sahlahn” When he made no reply to the greeting, she added, “Fehemtinee?”
Master Fahreed consciously lowered his eyebrows, unconsciously raised in surprise at hearing the Zahrtohgahn language spoken by this strange, sinister woman. Not many unbelievers expended the effort to learn the difficult, guttural tongue, which was why Zahrtohgahn physicians must, in addition to being accomplished mindspeakers, learn so many languages and dialects, since the Great Council of Masters might send a given physician and his apprentice to any one of a far-flung range of posts.
Big, white teeth glittered as he smiled. “Ywah, fehemt.” Then he switched to fluent Ehleeneekos. “But if we wish to continue to understand each other, it were perhaps better we speak this tongue or Mehrikan, for,” he smiled again, “noble as is your effort, your accent is atrocious.”
Neeka shrugged and leaned back against the table. That is apt surprising to me, master. I have spoken your language but little, and that was years ago with one who possibly did not speak it well himself; but I have no difficulty in the reading or the writing of it”
She waved at the prism. “A Mookahdir, is it not? I have, of course, read the treatises of the Illustrious Master Wahdjeed al-Ahkisahee on the production and use of the Mookahdir, but this is the first one I have ever actually seen. You were attempting to send me a-journeying, were you not? May I ask why?”
Fahreed spoke bluntly, as was his wont. “I am sworn to exert my efforts toward the preservation of health and life. I was but attempting to make your death unnecessary.” He sighed. “It is certainly but the Will of Ahlah, that I should fail.”
“My death? What do you mean?” Neeka demanded a little louder than she meant to, feeling a cold prickling coursing the length of her spine.
“The rightful lord of this place, Sir Tim, feels you to be responsible for the senseless poisoning of his friend, Rai, the sergeant He is a man of action, not subtlety, and he would likely have run his broadsword through your body by now, had I not promised to neutralize the threat you present to him and to his lawful accession by other, less sanguineous, means. But now…” He sighed once more and drew from within his robes a small dagger with a thin, tapering, four* inch, double-edged blade of light-blue Zahrtohgahn steel.
Neeka saw certain death in the black man’s quick, sure movements, and she felt apprehension but, oddly, no fear. She thought briefly of those instruments on the table behind her that might be utilized as a weapon, then mentally dismissed them all, for the physician was a tall man and no doubt strong and agile. The rigorous pre-apprentice training administered in the Emirate of Zahrtohgah eliminated those applicants weak or clumsy of body or slow of wit
In a friendly, conversational tone, she asked, “I thought you were sworn to preserve life and health, master? How can you justify my murder with that oath?” While speaking, Neeka realized that it was not a sham; she truly did feel a friendliness, almost a kinship, for the knife-armed man before her. That was why she did not scream or mindcall for help, for such would not save her life and might easily cost his as well. With real shock, she admitted to herself that die or no, she did not want to cost this man his life. She was tired of killing simply to stay alive; a quick, clean death seemed a pleasant prospect to her after these years of being forced to pervert and prostitute her craft and her person in virtual slavery to the cursed ee Klirohnohmeea.
Master Fahreed paused in his slow approach and frowned “I consider this an execution, woman, not a murder, for if you are of the guild I suspect you have violated oaths no less worthy or binding than mine own. Where do you prefer the knife—heart, throat, or brain? Fear not, there will be but a single, brief pain, if you cooperate with me.”