The Paths of the Dead Read online

  "Greetings, kinsman," he said. "Please be welcome at Whitecrest. Your family, if I heard correctly, comes from Split Canyon? I, myself, am from Castle Rock in the Sorannah, near the headwaters of the Yendi River."

  "Ah, indeed? You must then be of the family of Shallowbanks."

  "Shallowbanks, yes, and then Deguin."

  "Ah, well, you perceive my father counts the Deguin clan among his cousins, and one of my mother's great uncles married a Sendu, who, as I am certain you are aware, are offsprings of the Shallowbanks."

  "Yes, that is true. And you may also note that the Countess Whitecrest, who is my wife and who you will, no doubt, have the honor to meet in a short time, takes her given name, Daro, from a lesser daughter of a cousin of the Amzel clan, who are, if I am not in error, close relations to you, the first lord of Split Canyon having been a brother to the first Lady Amzel, they both being offspring of the Duchess of Fourpeaks."

  "Why yes, that is true."

  "Then, in consideration of how closely we are related, you are doubly welcome, and I hope you will enjoy your visit. Apropos—"

  "Yes, kinsman?"

  "Tell me, if you will, to what I owe the pleasure and honor of your visit."

  Tevna raised his glass (which had arrived during the courtesies, but we chose to refrain from mentioning this fact because we did not wish to delay the reader's discovery of the information revealed in the conversation occurring at that time) and said, "I shall be glad to tell you the reason for my visit, but I must warn you first that my arrival is not occasioned by anything of a glad or frolicsome nature."

  "It is, then, serious business?"

  "I regret to say that it is."

  "Well, so much the more, then, is my desire to make you comfortable, and thus relieve, in any way I can, the unpleasantness that must attend to serious matters."

  "Believe me, the desire is appreciated."

  "Tell me, then, what brings you to Whitecrest?"

  "The Plague," said Tevna.

  Khaavren carefully set his wine glass down on the table near his right elbow. From this same table he drew a linen napkin, which he used to wipe his lips, after which he set the napkin down again and repeated, "The Plague."

  Tevna nodded solemnly.

  "You perceive," said Khaavren, "that when we speak of the Plague, there is no question of joking."

  "I am glad that you understand that."

  "I more than understand it, I have seen it: the swollen tongues, the listlessness in the eyes, the constant perspiration; the redness of the skin. I have seen it, for who could live in a large city in these times and not have seen it? Yet I had hoped it had passed its way forty years ago and would not trouble us again."

  "It may be that it will not, and yet—"

  "Well? And yet?"

  "There have been signs."

  "What signs?"

  "The very ones you have described so well, only—"

  "Yes?"

  "Only they have not yet come to pass."

  "You must explain," said Khaavren, "how it is that you have seen signs which have not yet occurred; you perceive that I find this unusual. In fact, more than unusual: strange."

  "I can answer that in the simplest way, my dear kinsman."

  "Well?"

  "Here is the answer: I am prescient."

  "How, prescient?"

  "Exactly."

  "Then, you can see the future?"

  "At times."

  "At what times?"

  "On some of the occasions when I perform my trade. On this occasion, I saw a vision of a place in Adrilankha, where a man had died showing certain symptoms of the Plague."

  "You see these visions when you practice your trade? That is, on the occasions when you act as a pyrologist?"

  "You have understood me exactly."

  "It may seem so, good Tevna, only—"

  "Yes?"

  "Only I have never until today had the honor to hear the word 'pyrologist,' so in consequence—"

  "Yes? In consequence?"

  "In consequence, I have no idea what it means."

  "How, you don't know what 'pyrologist' means?"

  "I have not the least idea in the world, I assure you."

  "And so you don't know what a pyrologist does?"

  "I am as ignorant as an Easterner."

  "Well, but would you like me to tell you?"

  "I would like nothing better."

  "Shall I do so now?"

  "Why, I believe that it is an hour since I asked for anything else."

  "Here is the answer then: A pyrologist is one who burns the bodies of the dead."

  "You burn the bodies of the dead?"

  Tevna bowed his assent.

  "But, forgive me, kinsman, why would one do that?"

  "It has been found that the Plague will often travel from the dead body of one who fell victim to it to the living bodies of those around him. However, if the body is quickly burned, along with clothing, bedclothes, and any artifacts that were in close proximity—"

  "Yes, if this is done?"

  "Then the body can no longer spread the Plague. And, moreover—"

  "Yes?"

  "Sometimes I see visions in the flames."

  "Are they true visions?"

  Tevna did not answer this question at once; instead he stared at the floor, but it seemed to Khaavren that, instead of looking at the floor, he was seeing something far away. At last he looked up and said, "Sometimes they are misleading. But I once chose to believe the visions were not true."

  "And?"

  "And I did not go to the fishing village to which my vision had appointed me. There is no longer a village there; every merchant, peasant, midwife, and child died of the Plague."

  Khaavren studied his guest for some few moments; then he said simply, "I was responsible for the safety of the last Emperor, he who was assassinated while I guarded him."

  "Ah," said Tevna. "Then you understand."

  "I believe that I do," said Khaavren.

  "And you must, then, understand as well why, ever since that day—"

  "Yes, ever since that day?"

  "Ever since that day I have redoubled my efforts to be where I could be of use; to perform the task appointed for me, and to do everything within my power to prevent this from happening again. It is, you perceive, an atonement of sorts. No doubt you feel something similar."

  "I might, only—"

  "Yes?"

  "There is no other Emperor."

  "Ah. I had not thought of that circumstance."

  "You perceive, it adds a certain difficulty."

  "Well, yes," said the pyrologist.

  Khaavren then cleared his throat and said, "But come, kinsman, you must have some reason for having come here; tell me what it is."

  "But, your pardon, I believe I have done so."

  "Not at all."

  "Not at all?"

  "Indeed not."

  "And yet—"

  "You have explained why you are in Adrilankha, but not why you have come, in particular, to Whitecrest Manor."

  "Oh, as to that—"

  "Well?"

  "I can explain instantly."

  "Well, if you do so, I will be grateful."

  "Here it is, then."

  "I am listening."

  "I must have certain permissions of the Count in order to perform my function, as well as certain funds to carry out my work, and, in addition, not to be indelicate, the fee I require to maintain my existence."

  "Ah! Well, now I understand."

  "And then?"

  "I will send for my lady wife, who is Countess of Whitecrest, and she will, I am certain, arrange all the details to your satisfaction."

  As good as his word, Khaavren had Daro sent for, and she, now being disposed, soon arrived on the terrace, whereupon Khaavren kissed her hand and made the introductions proper among distant relations, in which he revealed to her the various levels of kinship among the three of them, after which he explained
Tevna's mission. Upon Daro's learning this, her face became grave, and she said, "Well, certainly I will do whatever I can; I have seen what the Plague can do."

  "Believe me, Countess," said Tevna, "I am grateful, and those whose lives you may save will be even more grateful." He drew from within his blouse several scrolls bound with blue silk ribbon. Then, after calling for and being supplied with quill, ink, blotter, and sand, undid the ribbon and selected some of the documents, and quickly wrote on them with a practiced hand, after which he presented them to Daro for her signature.

  She studied these documents for some few moments. Tevna cleared his throat and said, "In effect, Countess, this gives to me some of your legal powers for the next month—in particular those powers regarding disposition of bodies. In addition, it says that you will pay fees and expenses, should my function be required."

  She nodded, read the papers again, and then signed her name, after which she affixed her seal and lineage block; then she solemnly returned them to Tevna.

  "And so," she said, "you will now go out into the city, and, with these papers giving you the right, claim the bodies of the dead from their loved ones, and burn them."

  "I will look at these bodies, and determine if there is danger; only if there is will I commit the dead to the flame that cleans."

  "Very well," she said. "I understand. It is sad, but necessary."

  "That is exactly right," said Tevna. "To preserve the living, we use flame to purify the dead."

  "And," said Daro, "it is right that we do so."

  Tevna nodded, and said, "I should set about my task at once."

  "On the contrary," said Daro, "I believe you ought to stay."

  "How, you think so?"

  "Yes, I am convinced of it."

  "And yet—"

  "Well?"

  "In my work, well, minutes can, you perceive, make all the difference."

  "Then perhaps you could return this evening."

  "I should be glad to, Countess."

  "We expect you, then, to dine with."

  "I will be honored."

  With this, the pyrologist took his leave.

  Tevna, for his part, went out to the city, where he was pleased to discover that what he had seen as an of outbreak of the Plague was, in point of fact, nothing more than the death of a man who, due to intemperate consumption of wine, combined with an argument with a neighbor about who ought to be responsible for certain leaves that had blown from her tree to his yard, had died of apoplexy, with a bright red hue on his features. If Tevna's vision was influenced, more or less indirectly, by witchcraft, and by a certain Yendi of our acquaintance, well, he never learned of it. He returned to Whitecrest Manor with good news, some hours later.

  From this, the reader may infer that, in fact, Tevna came to Adrilankha and left without performing his function—that is, without kindling a flame. We should say that this is true only if the reader were to make the mistake of thinking only in the most literal terms—a practice perhaps proper when reading law, but always suspect when reading history, and no less than foolish when reading romance. In point of fact, he did perform his function, though not in the manner that, before arriving in Adrilankha, he would have anticipated performing it.

  The cook had prepared dinner for three, and in honor of the occasion, had procured three fat hens, which she prepared in a sauce of wine and white mushrooms, accompanied by certain vegetables quickly fried and seasoned with chives and other herbs. In short, it was a far better meal than Tevna had enjoyed in some few years, and he was not stinting in his praise of the food and the hospitality. When at last it was over, the three of them made their way into the parlor, where Cook served them candied cherries and an orange liqueur.

  "My dear husband," remarked Daro as they sat, "do you not perceive a bit of a chill in the room?"

  "In truth I do, my good wife," said Khaavren. "And that is not surprising, for you perceive there is an open window looking out on the ocean, and, as it is now quite dark, well, the night breeze from the sea is nearly always a chilly one, albeit one with a pleasant and refreshing smell, of which I have grown quite fond over the years."

  "Well, but as we have a guest, we must not allow him to catch a chill."

  "That is true, and yet you see we have logs laid for a fire; it requires but a moment's work to start the fire, and we shall then be warm."

  "Then let us start it—ah, but wait. Perhaps our guest would care to do the honor of starting the fire?"

  Tevna bowed. "I should be very happy to, Countess. Indeed, I should say that nothing could please me more than to visit this lovely city and to find no need to start any fire save this one."

  The conversation during dinner had avoided any references to Tevna's work, but Tevna now having introduced the subject, Khaavren said, "Permit me, my dear kinsman, to say how happy we are to learn that, at least for this time, we have escaped a reappearance of the Plague."

  Tevna quickly and efficiently ignited the fire, and with a few practiced breaths, made sure it was burning satisfactorily; after which he returned to his chair, brushed off his hands, and nodded to Khaavren. "It is a strange occupation I have, because I am never so happy as when I learn that I needn't practice it."

  "Well, I understand that," said Khaavren. "Indeed, when I was Captain of His Majesty's Guard, I was happiest when a watch would pass without the need for me to do anything at all."

  At this, Daro smiled gently. "I think, my lord husband, that what you have said is not entirely accurate."

  "You think it is not, my lady wife?"

  "That is my opinion."

  "Well, let us see, then. Why do you think so?"

  "Because I have had the honor to see you at such times, and I have also seen you when you were in great danger, and in the midst of adventure."

  "Well, and then?"

  "It seemed to me that you were happiest when in danger."

  "Cha! You think so?"

  "I more than think so, my lord, I am convinced of it."

  "And yet, it seems to me that I have no memory of being happy at such times."

  "You do not? Think back to when the Reavers landed upon our shore, and you were everywhere at once, preparing the defenses, placing reserves, arranging signals."

  "Well, I remember."

  "I remember as well, my lord husband. I remember how the light seemed to shine from your face at such times, as if you were fully alive, and living each moment."

  "Well, that is true."

  "And then?"

  "There may be something in what you say."

  Daro smiled.

  "But," added Khaavren, "it matters little now, wouldn't you say?"

  "You think it matters little?" said the Countess.

  "You disagree?"

  "I nearly think I do."

  "Well, and how does it matter?"

  "In this way: I believe there are serious matters afoot."

  "Serious matters?"

  "Well, was not our son sent for?"

  "That is undeniable."

  "Well, I believe it is a portent."

  "It is possible you are right."

  "I am convinced of it."

  "And then?"

  "If there are serious matters afoot, then you must be involved in them."

  Khaavren shook his head. "No, my dear Countess, I am afraid that my time for being involved in serious matters is long past."

  "Ah, you think so!"

  "I am certain of it."

  Daro didn't answer him; she knew that further argument from her would do no good. Therefore, she did the one thing she could do: she gave an eloquent look to Tevna, the pyrologist. Tevna, for his part, saw at once that he was being looked at, and, moreover, understood that this glance was significant.

  To Tevna's credit, this glance, along with the conversation of the previous night, were sufficient for him to understand, at once, what was being asked of him.

  "Well now," said Tevna, turning his eyes from the Countess and looking
, not at the Count, but rather at the fire. He then seemed to address the fire, rather than Khaavren, as he said, "I hate to dispute with you, my dear kinsman, but I am not entirely certain that what you have said is correct."

  "How, you think I have erred in some way?"

  Tevna now looked away from the fire, as if he had seen what it had to show him, and turned to the Count, saying, "That is, there may be matters that you have not yet considered."

  "Well, that is possible, because one cannot consider everything; the mind is unable to grasp everything."

  "That is certainly true," said Tevna. "And so you will listen to what I have to say?"

  "Of a certainty I will, for two reasons: In the first place, because what you say makes sense; and, in the second, because you are both a guest and a kinsman, and therefore I owe you the courtesy of listening to you in any case."

  "Well, then, here is what I have to say."

  "I assure you, you have my entire attention."

  Tevna started to speak, then hesitated.

  "Come, kinsman," said Khaavren. "Say what you wish."

  "Well, but I'm afraid I may be overstepping the bounds of courtesy."

  Khaavren shrugged. "Nevertheless, I wish to hear it."

  "Very well, then: I tell you that you are in pain."

  "In pain?"

  "Yes, my dear host. Your soul has been hurt from what you perceive as a failure, and this causes you discomfort. I know this pain, because it is a twin of my own."

  "I beg your pardon, but, even if what you say is true—and I don't deny it—I fail to see how this relates to our conversation."

  "You do not?"

  "Not in the least, I assure you."

  "Well, I will explain it."

  "Very well, I will continue to listen while you do so."

  "Here it is, then: There is one thing that pain, whether of the body or the soul, always does."

  "And that is?"

  "It draws the sufferer's attention inward."

  "You think so?"

  "Believe me, Count; in my work, I have seen many people in pain, and the one thing they have in common is that it is very difficult for them to consider what is going on around them, because pain in the body or suffering in the soul invariably pulls the mind to itself; it is when we are not in pain that we are able to see clearly outside of ourselves."