Chapter 11

The next days were filled with whirlwind jaunts of activity followed by stretches of boredom, but also spiked with waking dreams of dread and gore. The hours dragged. Revolutions had never been spontaneous events despite what the historians record. Strategies had to be devised and the city needed to be mapped as a battleground. Layers of contingencies and a quartermaster’s full complement of supplies had to be drawn. Rumors had to be planted, and feints and false leads had to be given heft. A revolution from the shadows was an unwieldy, precarious process of patchwork pieces instead of whole cloth.

Exhaustion did not help. Whenever Borner laid his head down, on a bed or even on a table, the visions of Andamathea would swim into his consciousness. Hacked corpses hung from tops of walls or out the frames of gapped-toothed windows. Their faces were a rictus of pain and terror. He pictured old men who had crawled through the dirt with their last efforts. Men, women, children - the images haunted him, draining his will power. Then came the images of pregnant women with their bellies gutted. Kanner found him collapsed on the floor, dazed and crying in terror.

Borner prayed it was survivor’s guilt raising its ugly head but understanding intellectually did nothing to salve the emotional toll. He hoped it was only guilt and not a new, ever more vivid call of the Void. He no longer put merit in the efficacy of prayer, neither putting himself in a trance of calm nor appealing to a higher power. The old patterns failed - rites, mantras, and forms - no longer eased the panic or abated the lingering anxiety.

He felt trapped in a burrow into which he had crawled for safety. Borner could not explain his distress to any of his new friends. How could he describe his torments and his memories of events he had never seen with his own eyes? They were already questioning his stability and explanations would only confirm their suspicions. Try as he might to suppress his imagination, the waking and sleeping nightmares haunted him, snatching away his usual focus.

The Void remained too, calling his name with sadness, reminding him there were no good reasons for his suffering. Borner kept repeating to himself it was a lie, that he alone remained to mourn Andamathea. A jagged chunk of rock rested where his stomach and guts had been, immune to arguments, pleas and prayers.

In the meantime, Timmaus banned him from returning to the Avenue of the Gods; the streets had become dangerous, and Borner was too valuable. Men brazenly holding bared weapons were walking down the avenues. Women and children were not allowed to walk the streets in daylight without an escort and they were not seen on the streets at night. Guildsmen walked with bodyguards and the aristocracy locked themselves in their manses, those that remained in the city. Borner had opened his mouth to protest his ban and shut it again without saying a word.

One item brought a momentary smile to Borner’s face. A new rumor had lit within the taverns and pubs of a mad man with a magic staff predicting a nightmarish fall of the city. He had been so caught up in his own worldly drama that he had missed the consequences of his actions: the good, the bad, the obvious and the unpredictable. He twirled his juntu staff in his left hand with momentary glee.

He was frightened of his own craving for control that seemed to emerge with the growing myth of the prophet. Instead of having a pulpit and a sanctuary full of followers, he had an entire city, maybe even a kingdom, listening for his words. The truth of the matter was he could not foresee consequences of his words. Borner was not an oracle, he was a charlatan. The juntu staff rested on the ground as gut-wrenching fear washed through him. He questioned again whether he was a fool playing a dangerous game with people’s lives. He heard the Void breathing heavily at his shoulder, asking him if he wanted the true answer.

Andela was a constant thought. The only dream that gave him pleasure was the replaying of her kisses on his lips. Andela was the face that came to the fore when he sought to focus his thoughts and redouble his efforts. Tucked away and hidden, the best he could do was send her brief missives couched in careful language that he hoped she would be able to read between the lines.

When Timmaus finally announced that the Guild was on a war footing, Borner breathed the first sigh of relief he could remember in weeks and weeks. He could finally act. He bade Timmaus sit down in a chair without a drink in his hand.

“It is time,” Borner said, “to resurrect the true heir to the throne. It is time to replace the brother with his sister, Salomet.”

“Hand back the blind thief his eye and walk me down a shadow path!” Timmaus cursed, unable to sit down despite his drained face. “Where is she?”

“Safely in the shadow of Holy-Stone,” Borner answered with an evil look of jubilation. “You wanted the false hope of the gems of Holy-Stone when the true grail was waiting in its place. The power to control the immediate future is in our grasp.”

“We need to retrieve her,” Timmaus said. “How long will it take to bring her back?”

“With horses, ten days to two weeks,” Borner said. “She charged me with finding her escape; I must go, despite your reservations. The roads are good, but the ferry could be a bottleneck and a threat. Do you have a map?”

Timmaus gave him a look of annoyance as he pulled out a sheaf of maps. Leaning over the desk, they poured over the map of The Middle Kingdom’s lands. Borner traced his route across the river and north-east from there. Then the map ended in a blank space titled the King’s Domain.

“We may assume that these lands have been in the hand of the crown since the days of Nivanir-Epicus,” Borner said. “His descendants have no clue in whose shadow they dwell. I don’t think there is any reason to enlighten them, either.”

“Neither do I. We have two tasks,” Timmaus said. “You will retrieve our challenger to the throne while I begin the campaign against the foreign mercenaries in Gemma who are not in my employ. At the very least, they owe me a tithe for their presence in my domain. Considering their desire to dispense with me, we shall have to dispose of them and take the tithe in swords, boots and whatever coin is on the bodies; it should suffice. By the time you return Urutu will not be able to walk the town in less than squad size. Maybe I will gift you a fore altar as a Welcome Home present.”

“I’m not particularly fond of polluted presents,” Borner said as he stood up. “I ride.”

“You will have to crawl and skulk first,” Timmaus said. “Gemma is an old, old city and the ways in and out of her porous walls are just as ancient. Horses will be waiting on the other side. You will travel with five men and two women who have relevant experience. Dal is the leader. In all matters, follow her lead, please.”

Borner clambered into his travel clothes and cloak again, thankful they had been cleaned and stitched where necessary. His journey knife had been sharpened and his juntu staff reshod with a dull-looking metal he was assured would not rust. Kanner came by and gave him a Sojourner’s blessing for the road for which Borner was grateful.