Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) Read online

  He was ready to swear himself to the Purifiers.

  After conducting Nirel safely to her home, he’d returned to the city. He’d expected the wizards to be ensconced in the Matriarch’s palace by then, enjoying the luxuries she’d surely heap on them. But rumors ran wild of how the man and boy and their animals had stopped in the Beggars’ Quarter and offered their power to those in need.

  He couldn’t stay away. It was exactly what he’d expect real wizards, wizards truly blessed with the Mother’s power, to do. How many hours had he spent in the Beggars’ Quarter, helping in what small ways he could, seething with frustration over what he should have been able to do, but couldn’t? How many times had he begged the Mother to grant him a tiny portion of her power, just enough to save a dying child or ease a man’s pain or soothe a woman’s grief? His fellow acolytes had either mocked him mercilessly or considered him near sainthood for his devotion to the poor, but none of them knew the real reason for it.

  It was anger. Anger at the Matriarch for allowing her subjects to suffer. Anger at his father and the other Keepers for ignoring the problem. And most of all, anger at the Mother, who had the power to end her children’s suffering and had taken it away from them.

  He could quote the sacred scriptures that gave the orthodox explanation for her actions. He had read everything the holy Yashonna had written on the subject, every account of what the prophet Guron had said. And it wasn’t enough. No matter what abuses of the Mother’s power the ancient wizards had perpetrated, they couldn’t have caused worse misery than what he saw in the Beggars’ Quarter daily.

  Then, a few months ago, the first travelers from Tevenar had arrived with news of present-day wizards wielding the Mother’s power just as the ancients had. His first, instinctive reaction had been wild, elated hope. Finally his prayers had been answered, and the Mother’s power would sweep Ramunna, wiping away the sickness and pain and death he hated.

  But close on its heels came horror. If the travelers’ tales were true, for a thousand years the Mother had favored a few of her children while she abandoned the rest.

  He couldn’t serve such a deity. He wouldn’t. Even though he’d wanted to follow his father as a Keeper his whole life, he’d prepared to resign his position as acolyte. He’d find some physician to apprentice with. Their pills and potions weren’t very effective, but they were better than nothing. Better than begging at the feet of a cruel, capricious being who doled out life and death on a casual whim.

  But still, a part of him had wondered, had longed. What if the Mother had a good reason for what she’d done? What if now was the time for her favoritism to end and her power to return to Ravanetha? What if she was looking for servants eager to pour out her power on those who needed it most? Maybe she would read his heart and see how deeply he desired to work her will.

  That part of him had leapt to life as he lurked at the edge of the crowd and watched golden light pour from the wizards’ hands exactly the way he’d always imagined. People lying on the verge of death had stood up and walked away well. Pale cheeks had flushed with health. Hollow, empty eyes had burned with hope. With his whole being Vigorre had wanted it to be real.

  He’d ruthlessly driven the longing from his heart.

  It was all a lie. Nirel had told him the truth. She’d grown up in Tevenar, under the wizards’ rule. Most of the people there believed the charade. But Nirel, with her father and the rest of Ozor’s band, had fallen afoul of the wizards’ wrath, and on one horrible night they’d witnessed the reality behind the benign mask.

  Vigorre shuddered, remembering Nirel’s trembling body and breaking voice as she’d told him what she’d seen. Slaves kneeling before their red-eyed demon masters. Chants of homage raised to their unholy lord. A man devoured alive in gruesome sacrifice to the power that opposed everything the Mother stood for.

  He’d wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and kiss away her terror. The more time they spent together, the closer he grew to her, the stronger that desire became. If only his love had the power to banish those hideous memories! But part of what he admired so much about her was the courage with which she faced them, the strength it had taken to share them, even though that meant reliving the horror. He treasured the trust that had let her be honest with him. He would strive to be worthy of it.

  It had been hard to reconcile her story with what he’d seen yesterday in the square. The demons’ imitation of the Mother’s power had been so convincing he surely would have been fooled if he hadn’t been warned. But gradually the truth had become clear.

  It was all a show to win the people’s devotion, and it had worked beautifully. By the end of the afternoon every resident of the Beggars’ Quarter would have gladly signed over their soul to the demons in return for a taste of their power.

  What he’d witnessed had been the first battle in a war of conquest, and Ramunna had surrendered without a fight. Only the Purifiers were prepared to resist the demons’ invasion. Vigorre’s night of soul-searching had shown him that he had no choice but to set aside whatever differences he had with the sect and commit himself wholeheartedly to their cause.

  The door swung open. Yoran Lirolla regarded him with a warm smile. “Vigorre! How good to see you. I didn’t expect you so soon. But come in, and welcome. I always have time to discuss the Mother’s business with a fellow Keeper.”

  Vigorre strode through the door in response to Yoran’s gesture. “Thank you, Keeper Yoran.”

  The temple was the first in Ramunna that had converted to the Purifiers’ doctrines. All the rich decorations had been stripped away, save for a single depiction of the Mother’s cupped hands over the dais. Dark wooden chairs stood in stark rows in the plain white space. Outside, the dome’s gilding had been removed, the gold going to finance the Purifiers’ various concerns. Vigorre would have preferred it if a greater percentage had gone to the handful of mercy houses the Purifiers operated, but at least some had. That was more than could be said of his father’s temple. Its dome shone so brightly sailors could see it from twenty miles out on a sunny day.

  Yoran led him across the temple and through a door into a small, neat office. He seated himself behind a desk and gestured for Vigorre to take a seat in one of the chairs facing it. “You’re ready to learn more about Purifier doctrine, Keeper Vigorre? I’m happy to answer any questions you may have.”

  “More than that.” Vigorre leaned forward and clasped his hands in his lap. “I’m ready to take the Purifier vows.”

  Yoran blinked at him. “I must admit I’m surprised. Yesterday I got the impression you still had doubts about which path the Mother was calling you to follow.”

  “I did. But no more.” Vigorre twisted his hands together, staring at them. He couldn’t give Yoran the full reason for his change of heart. He’d promised Nirel to tell no one but his father about the secret she’d shared with him. But he could convey the essential truth. “I watched the wizards from Tevenar in the Beggars’ Quarter yesterday afternoon. I saw them healing people.”

  Yoran regarded him shrewdly. “I would have thought that might have swayed you away from us, not toward us.”

  Vigorre balled his hands into fists and met Yoran’s eyes. “Their power is not from the Mother,” he said flatly. “I could tell. It’s too… perfect. Too showy. Too much exactly what the people of Ramunna want. It’s designed to buy their hearts, their souls. Not to truly serve them.”

  A small smile curved Yoran’s lips as he settled back in his chair. “You’re very perceptive, my son.”

  Vigorre ignored the patronizing tone of Yoran’s voice. “I know the Purifiers have secret writings that warn of false wizards. I know you have a plan to stop them. I want to help.”

  Yoran’s gaze sharpened and his brows drew together. “Those writings aren’t common knowledge.”

  “My father told me about them.”

  “Of course.” The lines on Yoran’s forehead smoothed out. “As First Keeper, Emirre would naturally i
nform himself of the beliefs of all under his jurisdiction. I can’t tell you much until you’ve taken the vows. But—you’re not wrong. The wizards from Tevenar are a menace, and the Purifiers are prepared to deal with them. We’ve already taken the first steps.”

  Vigorre breathed out hard and slumped back in his chair. “Thank the Mother.”

  Yoran studied him. “We do, however, need all the help we can get. The false wizards will be a formidable foe. You could prove a great asset to our cause. Particularly if you can persuade your father to cooperate with us.”

  Vigorre nodded. As a newly ordained Keeper he had little to offer the Purifiers in his own right. But this was hardly the first time he’d been asked to use his influence with his father. He’d always refused before, but this time he could agree with a clear conscience. “Father knows the Tevenaran wizards aren’t what they pretend to be. Even if he continues to resist the rest of the Purifier reforms, he’ll be your ally in this, if I ask him.”

  Thoughtfully, Yoran nodded. “Very well. When shall we schedule your vow ceremony?”

  Vigorre leaned forward. “Can we do it now?”

  Yoran looked taken aback. He gave a little laugh. “You really are eager.” But then his eyes took on a calculating look. “In fact, I think we can. All that’s really necessary are two witnesses; everything else is just trappings. And there’s something I want your father to see. Having you fully committed to our cause will simplify things greatly.” He nodded and rose. “Come with me.”

  Vigorre followed Yoran as he strode from the office. At Yoran’s direction he knelt on the steps of the dais while Yoran bustled about summoning two Purifier Keepers from their tasks in other parts of the temple. A great sense of peace settled over his heart. He was doing the right thing. The Mother was pleased. He would help protect her children from the forces of evil that sought to enslave them. And perhaps he’d find that the Purifiers weren’t as mistaken about the rest of their beliefs as he used to assume.

  So when Keeper Yoran stood before him, the two witnesses on either side, and spoke the words of the vow, Vigorre repeated them with conviction. “I, Vigorre Rothen, do solemnly swear to follow the path of pure worship of the Mother. I renounce the pursuit of personal wealth, acclaim, or power, and dedicate all that I am and have to the Mother’s service. I swear to hold in strict confidence any secrets entrusted to me by the Mother’s servants. I swear to obey the commands of those the Mother has appointed to authority over me. I reject all temptations of false power, all deceits of false doctrine, all comforts of false hope, for myself and for those I serve. All these things I swear in the Mother’s holy name, from now until she calls me to her side.”

  Yoran put both hands on Vigorre’s head. The two witnesses put their hands on Vigorre’s shoulders. All of them bowed their heads for a long moment. Vigorre closed his eyes and silently affirmed his vow. I swear it, Mother.

  Yoran removed his hands, followed by the others. Vigorre looked up to see him smiling. “It is done,” he said. He drew Vigorre to his feet. “Welcome to the Purifiers, Keeper Vigorre.”

  “Thank you,” Vigorre said. “May I see the secret writings now? I want to know the truth.”

  Yoran eyed him. “Normally an initiate would receive other instruction first, but I think in your case we’ll make an exception. You’ll need to understand what I’m going to show you and your father tonight.” He dismissed the other Keepers with a wave and led Vigorre back to his office.

  As Yoran opened the door, Vigorre heard a faint noise, a series of dull thumps punctuated by a high pitched cry. It seemed to come from far beneath the stone floor. He froze. “What’s that?”

  Yoran glanced over his shoulder, toward the back of the dais. He shook his head with grim satisfaction. “You’ll see soon enough. For now, rest assured that we’ve won our first victory against the Lord of Demons.”

  Vigorre drew in his breath. “Lord of Demons?”

  Yoran ushered him back to the chair in front of his desk. “I’ll let the holy Yashonna explain it to you.” He took a ring of keys from inside his robe, unlocked a drawer on the right side of his desk, and did something Vigorre couldn’t see. Then he drew out a flat box engraved with an image of the Mother’s hands and used a second, smaller key to unlock it. He opened the box, took out a slim volume, and handed it to Vigorre. “It’s not long. I’ll wait while you read it.”

  Vigorre opened the leather cover of the book. The title was inscribed in a neat hand on the first page, written in the same ancient Marvannan as the holy Yashonna’s other writings. Learning to read the scriptures in their original language was part of an acolyte’s education. Vigorre mentally translated the words to Ramunnan as he read. Concerning Demons in the Form of Animals and the Likeness of the Mother’s Power They Wield. Written by Yashonna Erlorre in the first year of the Oligarchy of Tharanirre Fovarre and Kevonna Arthen.

  He blinked and looked up at Yoran, incredulous. Yoran inclined his head. “Yes, these are the earliest known writings of Yashonna. They predate the rest of the canon by approximately five years.”

  Before the death of Tharanirre’s second husband and her marriage to Yashonna, which had made him Oligarch. Yashonna had been little older than Vigorre was now. Not long after the Mother had first spoken to his father, the prophet Guron, on the day she took her power away from the ancient wizards.

  Vigorre’s hand shook as he turned the first page. Yashonna’s accounts of the Mother’s revelations to Guron were the most sacred texts of the Temple. To be holding an even earlier document from Yashonna’s pen was profoundly thrilling. Surely he was about to read words dictated by the Mother herself.

  The account was short, as Yoran had said, only a dozen pages. Yashonna described his capture by a group of renegade former wizards who, in their desperation to regain their lost powers, had enslaved themselves to demons. The creatures looked like ordinary animals except for their blazing red eyes. One had taken the shape of an enormous rat, another a fierce cat, yet another a sinister snake. They and their human slaves had imprisoned him in bonds of power that shone gold in clever mockery of the Mother’s power. A vicious hound had guarded him, and a black carrion bird had kept watch from above. Vigorre’s pulse quickened as he read the dramatic description of how Yashonna, during a momentary lapse of his captor’s vigilance, had felled his guard with a blow to the head and escaped. He had fled to the Oligarchs for protection and written this account immediately after reaching the safety of their palace.

  The most important part came at the end. Vigorre swallowed as he read Yashonna’s verdict. I am convinced these creatures serve the one the Dualist heretics name the Lord of Justice, who should more rightly be called the Lord of Demons. He sent them into the world to deceive those of us the Mother once trusted with her gifts and to entrap us with the temptation of a return of our power. The temptation is sweet, as all evil temptations seem at first, for we well remember the great blessings the Mother’s power gave. But the Mother removed her power from the world because we turned it to evil. So also will this counterfeit of her power turn those who accept it to evil. Beware, wizard, lest you fall into temptation! For if, in the noble desire to heal and help and show truth as the Mother commands, you willingly accept servitude to one of these animals, the Lord of Demons will own your soul for all eternity.

  Vigorre stared at the final words. Nirel couldn’t have known the content of this account, or even of its existence, yet her description of what she’d seen bore out its truth. Here was proof of her assertion that the wizards of Tevenar lied when they claimed their power came from the Mother. Tevenar was ruled by demons.

  And now they had come to Ramunna.

  Yoran reached for the book. Vigorre surrendered it numbly and watched as Yoran returned it to its hiding place. The Purifier regarded him with compassion. “Horrifying, isn’t it?”

  Vigorre nodded convulsively. “Yes. Though no more than I expected.”

  One corner of Yoran’s mouth lifted. “What you m
ust always remember, son, is that no matter how strong the demons are, the Mother is stronger. As long as we remain true to her, we cannot fail. She will guide us to victory.”

  His words soothed the turmoil in Vigorre’s heart. Of course she would. He inclined his head. “I’ll remember, Keeper Yoran.”

  “Good.” Yoran leaned forward, all brisk business. “Now to the matter of your service. Did anyone observe you coming here this morning?”

  Vigorre blinked “My family knows I came, and I guess perhaps someone who knows me might have seen me on the street. I didn’t try to hide. Why?”

  Yoran sat back and steepled his fingers. “I want you to tell anyone who asks that you met with me, had your questions answered, and decided that the Purifier way was not for you. Only ourselves and the witnesses know of your vows, and they will remain silent at my command. You may inform your father of the truth, but no one else. I want you to continue serving as a junior Keeper in his temple, just as you planned.”

  Vigorre opened his mouth to argue, but his vow, with its promise of obedience, was fresh in his mind, so he caught himself and inclined his head. “Yes, Keeper Yoran. Am I permitted to ask why?”

  “It sometimes serves the Mother to keep the identities of those who embrace our doctrine private. You won’t be the only one of our Keepers who continues to wear embroidered robes. In your case, there’s an important task I want you to perform which would be impossible if your true commitment were made public. Your devotion to the people of the Beggars’ Quarter is well known. No one will be surprised if you seek out those who have begun to minister to them and offer your aid.”

  Cold shot down Vigorre’s spine and pooled in his gut. “The false wizards? You want me to help them?”

  “I want you to befriend them and win their trust. It shouldn’t be hard; just present yourself as the eager, idealistic young Keeper you are. They have to maintain the illusion that they wish to help the people of Ramunna, so they’ll welcome you.” Yoran smiled encouragingly. “You can even do some good for the folk of the Quarter in the process. The demons’ power is evil, but the healing it performs is real. I expect they intend to expend only the minimum effort needed to win the people to their side, but with you watching they’ll be forced to do far more in order to maintain their disguise.”