Part 33 (2/2)
”A good girl, is it? Then how do you explain this?”
There was a mark on the girl's palm-a stellate smudge of rosy gold. The mother blanched. ”Oh, sir! I know naught of that!”
”Or this?” A second Feich had appeared from the shop with what appeared to be a hand-bound booklet.
”I-I-I don't know what-” the woman gabbled, and the younger Feich kinsman flung the little book open and read in a loud voice. ”'As a mother defends her only child from harm, let s.h.i.+elding thoughts for all be in your heart, and all-embracing love for the whole universe. Let your love be given without reserve, untouched by enmity, arousing no hatred.'”
”It . . . it's just Scripture, sir.” The girl finally spoke on her own behalf. ”It's a book of Scripture given me by a friend.”
”A Taminist friend, I don't doubt,” said the elder Feich.
”No, sir!” the Backstere wailed. ”Please, sir, my daughter!”
She held her arms out for the girl, but the Dearg pulled her away.
”Give me the book,” said the brown-beard.
His kinsman tossed the little volume to him. He turned it over in his hands.
”'Book of the New Covenant,'” he read. ”I never heard of such Scripture as this. Whose this Osraed Wyth who signs his name to it?”
Ladhar quivered. Books. Dear G.o.d, they were already disseminating books, making converts, winning souls.
The Feich guardsman opened the little book and squinted at the page before him.
”Gibberish. You're condemned by nonsense.” He read another pa.s.sage in a sing-song voice calculated to show the gathering crowd how inane was the maundering of Taminists. ”'Do you not see that the Spirit causes night to follow day and day to follow night? And that this same Spirit holds the Sun and moon and seasons and all His creation to Laws which flow toward a set goal? And that this same Spirit is aware of all your doings? The promise and Covenant of the Spirit is truth, and whatever else you adore is only His creation. Let not the things you adore deceive you about the Spirit.'”
He clapped the book shut and glared at his little audience.
”Taminist ravings! Of course the Spirit causes day and night. Of course He orders the seasons. Any child knows that, but you lap it up like it was news! You stand condemned by your own demon scripture, girl, for you are deceived about the Spirit. Deceived by Taminy-a-Cuinn. Do you deny that you are a follower of this woman?”
Whatever the girl said was completely lost in the renewed wailings of her mother, who pled her case with clasped hands and bended knees. ”Oh, please, sir! You're wrong! I know you must be wrong. It's Scripture, sir! It is! Given us by Osraed. My girl is a good girl! Not p.r.o.ne to wickedness at all, sir!”
The elder Feich, enjoying his role as inquisitor, smiled.
”Well, mam, I reckon we'll learn how good your daughter is soon enough. If she's very good, she might not have to die. She might only have to lose that wicked hand.”
He grasped the girl's wrist again and extended her arm. The book dropped, unheeded, to the cobbles as he drew his short sword.
The crowd roiled noisily as the Feich rested the sharpened edge of the gleaming blade on the girl's wrist.
”Your call, mam. Let's see how well you s.h.i.+eld your child from harm. She dies a Taminist with both hands or she lives to prove her virtue with one.”
Ladhar's legs tightened on the barrel of his horse, prodding the animal to carry him forward through the knot of onlookers. Sweat beaded his brow though the air was cold enough to cloud with his breath. He broke into the inner circle of watchers and let down his hood.
”Is there a problem, friend Feich?”
The elder kinsman blinked up at him, nonplussed. ”No, Abbod. Merely following the Regent's order to ferret out these Taminist Wicke.”
”Did you intend to execute this one in the street without trial?”
”No, sir. Only trying to determine guilt or innocence.”
”Ah. Surely a job for a tribunal.”
”She's guilty!” cried someone in the gathering.
”She's not!” The Backstere now took the opportunity to throw her ample self before Ladhar's horse. ”Lord Osraed, I beg you! My daughter is no Wicke!”
”Aye,” snarled the Feich, ”and I'm no Feich either, I suppose. We found Taminist writings.”
”They're Scripture!” keened the woman.
Ladhar held out his hand. ”Give me the book.”
After a moment of hesitation, the younger of the Feich obeyed. Ladhar lifted the leather cover. It was a crude binding, but adequate to hold the pages. They were linen, and the first, embossed with the Sign of the Meri, was signed by Osraed Wyth, dated not a month past at Hrofceaster.
”You see, Osraed?” the Feich gloated.
Ladhar flicked a razor glance at him. ”Where did you get this?” he asked the quaking girl.
”From a young Osraed. I knew him to be Osraed from the bright kiss on his brow. Like-like your own, sir, but golden.”
”I see. He told you this book was Scripture.”
”Aye sir. The Book of the New Covenant. New, since the Meri has changed Aspect. It is Scripture, sir, isn't it?”
The Feich uttered a grating laugh. ”Pretending ignorance won't save you-”
”Yes. It is Scripture.”
Around Ladhar, the street and its denizens, the air and its steaming chill, stilled as if time had ground to a halt.
The Feich gaped at him. ”What did you say, lord Abbod?”
”I said, it is Scripture. Compiled by our newest Osraed.”
”But the girl's a Taminist! She's got the mark of the Wicke in her palm!”
”Does she, indeed? Let me see it.”
Ladhar's eyes fixed on the girl's hand as the men tumbled her roughly forward. The Feich brute stepped forward to pry back her fingers, exposing her palm. After a moment, Ladhar moved his eyes to that worthy's face.
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