Deadhouse Landing

Knowing his duty, Tayschrenn mechanically took the hand, as fever-hot as a burning ember, all bones and snake-dry parchment skin, and muttered a quick, ‘May D’rek embrace you.’ He then stepped over the devotee and continued on his way.

‘Sometimes I wonder on the motives of these petitioners,’ Koarsden mused as they walked the rising street.

‘He is winning great merit for his descendants.’

‘True. But some, I suspect, come hoping to be cured.’

Tayschrenn knew of the debates surrounding this uncomfortable heresy within the cult. That there were those who were passed over by D’rek. In the end, among the highest rank of the priesthood, the Convene of All Temples, it was decided that the motives and mind of a god lie beyond mere mortal understanding. Such survivors were thus not officially condemned as heretics or apostates, but explained as cases of merit accrued by some ancestor, or as intervention by close relations already in the embrace of the Great Worm – most usually a dead child or parent of the afflicted.

Belatedly, he realized he was once more indulging in the vice Koarsden and others most often accused him of – over-analysing. He cleared his throat. ‘Why bother to drag oneself here, then? D’rek’s influence coils the world. One can just as easily reach the Worm from anywhere, can’t one?’

Koarsden lifted one of his shaved brows, watching him sidelong. ‘Careful, Tay. You may be the Demidrek’s favourite, but your habit of posing uncomfortable questions has not gone unnoticed.’

Tayschrenn merely shrugged beneath his black robes. ‘Facts cannot be wished away.’

After a time, Koarsden answered drily, ‘Unfortunately, they can.’ They continued in silence, then his friend shot an arm upwards. ‘Saw one.’

Tayschrenn raised his gaze, blinking at the tall spires jutting above. ‘Just a reflection of the sunlight on the mirror mosaic there.’

‘No, no. It moved. They’re up there, I tell you. Getting bolder too.’

‘The habits of the island’s spiders are no matter to us.’

Koarsden tilted his long, hound-like head. ‘Well, some commoners say it is a sign of D’rek’s displeasure.’

‘Displeasure? Displeasure with whom?’

‘Well … with us, of course.’ And he offered his ever-ready smile.

Tayschrenn waved a hand. ‘The superstitions of the ignorant are no concern of mine.’

Koarsden did not answer, but his lips pursed in censure of Tayschrenn’s dismissiveness. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Tay … there may come a time when even you will need to pay attention to the concerns of those around you.’

‘I do not see why,’ he answered, only half listening. He was, in truth, now scanning the towers for any further signs of Kartool’s infamous poisonous spiders. After a long silence he glanced to his companion and noticed his bunched brows and sour expression. He asked, prompting, ‘You said…?’

‘Nothing,’ Koarsden sighed.

The way ahead was now jammed by a large party crossing the street. The crowd was festive, cheering and laughing, holding long banners aloft; children among them waved twisting black and red paper worms. Koarsden took his arm to stop him. ‘The executions are on. We should stop in.’

Tayschrenn groaned and pulled onward. ‘D’rek spare me.’

Koarsden would not release his arm. ‘No, no. It would be good for you to show yourself. The Demidrek’s right hand visiting the pits. Can’t have your critics painting you as soft on enforcement of the Worm’s will.’

He relented, allowing Koarsden to drag him along. Critics? Why ever would I have critics?

The execution pits occupied a central position in the city of Kartool. They were just that, pits, roughly circular, of greater and lesser size and capacity. Any visitor ignorant of the city’s traditions could easily fall into even the smallest, as, indeed, some unfortunates had. These were no more than mere cylindrical depressions in the stone, as deep as a man and no wider than a man’s shoulders, in which the guilty were chained upright to await D’rek’s punishment. Said punishment arrived over time as more and more flesh-eating insects fell or were drawn into the pit, to feast upon the transgressor. Or not. For in such diverse fates was the will of D’rek revealed.

The largest execution pit was a circular depression a good four chains across. Tall stone walls surrounded it, together with steep amphitheatre seating rising behind. This was the Civic Pit, and here the two priests found gathered many of Kartool’s citizens, gossiping and passing the time by betting on how long each of the condemned – man, woman or child – would last.

Tayschrenn and Koarsden climbed the rising cobbled walk. They were among the crowd, but not crowded, as their robes announced their calling and they were scrupulously avoided, lest offence be given.