teph's land extended beyond River Tasin, the great waters. It was the District's blessing, won in war by the early Kings of the North. Goz had cherished it since he was a boy, when his father would bring him to the water and teach him to use a sword. As they passed by the river, riding on land, Goz only thought of his uncle, Dimir. He had been too distracted to notice the waters rise and wash over the wharf, even though he used to be fascinated; too fascinated by the sight.
This morning, as they rode, Esheth by his side in the carriage, he did not pay attention. Not even to the songs of the birds, or the noise of the water, or the galloping of the four horses that went before them, or to Esheth. She was lost in her own reverie.
What would he say to Dimir? After all these years. Goz imagined the drawn look on the man's face when he would lay eyes on him. His wife, Psem, as Goz remembered, is a loving woman, buried always in veil and silence, nothing like the Baron, Dimir was blatant. He had never condoled his brother, Merek or send his men in any of the wars. Goz's grandfather, when he was King had put Dimir as the only Baron over Chez, a town grandfather had captured during war.
Dimir had been content. In his words: he would not have anything to do with Yateph if Merek as much as ascend the throne- Merek was stupid, proud and did not know how to treat women. Dimir on the other hand, the younger son, had a head for royal affairs, but grandfather never trusted him enough, he was never good enough.
Goz was drawn out of his thoughts by Esheth's firm gaze. She was watching him with question.
"I said, it is beautiful- the water" she said.
She turned to the view, allowing the breeze tug at her veil. Goz watched absently. The greenery that sloped into the Tasin, the sparrows that fed at the wharf, the pebbles that followed the swept water, and Esheth's grin. It reminded him of her gentleness, her virtue. That morning, as he led her into the carriage, and she bowed silently, he had felt guilty. Not very much, but it had been there. He had despised her, only calling to her scarcely once every two weeks, but then, it had passed again.
He became distracted, as he is now, watching the water. The carriage jumped into a rugged slope and Goz shook. He had personally required the oxen for the journey. He hadn't desired to draw attention to himself and did not want anyone to percieve him as royalty, not only for the threat, but because after months of isolation, he felt he has betrayed royalty.
Esheth rubbed his hand.
"I am worried about you," she said.
Goz held his eyes on her for a moment, he smiled slightly.
"You shouldn't," he said.
"Well I am, and you wouldn't tell me what is going on, My Lord."
"I have told you, we're going to my Uncle, Dimir."
She looked at him, first sternly, then with her gentleness.
"I know," she said. "Tell me why."
"Why?"
"Why." She turned to him. "Why Chez after five months?"
Goz thoughtfor a moment. A great splashing noise came from the water and the oxen nighed.
"Because it is not Yateph."
Esheth smiled knowingly. She squeezed his hand.
"Why not Yateph? Why not here? I miss here."
"We- we're here, now."
"Now?" Esheth said. She looked in his eyes, searching for his tenderness. They hit another slope and the oxen nighed.
"But no," she said. "Not now. Now, you're running. In your mind, you're running from what you fear my Lord, you're a man built by all you've conquered. That is Yateph's King."
Was he? Goz sunk into the seat and stayed silent. Silent for the rest of the journey. Her words had sunk into him as a spear, it dug a pit in his heart and he laid in it. Wasn't he brave? Hadn't his father taught him in the way of Kings? If not any consolation, he had been his father's prized son, the man had introduced Goz to every noble of the North and beyond while he lived. But here he was, journeying to the only man he hadn't sat at a royal table with, the only man his father never spoke about. He sought wisdom and counsel, and health for his mind.
He thought back on Yateph, waiting for a King, the troops, waiting for their commander, a conqueror. But what was he? Goz imagined that his father were here, would he still touch him at the nape and call him his well beloved son? Would he let Goz sit at his side while he spoke with nobles? Maybe he wasn't Yateph's saviour after all.
But Yateph did not need a saviour, not one that came with an entourage of a thousand horses or bearing ranks of victory. They had had that in his father, Merek, yet, they sit at the mercy of Pareth and every other Kingdom that would rise against them. Goz burned. He needed an answer. Why wasn't he like his father? Why did he have to hide and run? He sunk deeper in the seat, fighting, drifting. When he peaked at Esheth from the lop of his eyes, she sat, ordinary, holding the scenery with her gaze.
By evening, they approached Tezf, a settlement, outskirt of Yateph and entered through the Central market. The stench of rotten fish welcomed them into the buzz. A rowdy number of women lined the paths with baskets of liquorice, coriander, figs, cloves, salt and leather ware. Few merchant men displayed supplies of flax, furs and wax.
Esheth and Goz watched. There was a jeering commotion at the fish stalls. Goz suddenly jerked in realization, he hadn't brought any gifts. What could he offer a Baron?
Goz ordered the horses and carriage riders to halt.
"Wait here," he said to Esheth.
He stepped out and called two of his men, delivered a bunch of silver to them to buy wine and cloth with flax. While the men were gone, Goz observed the market. A little distance from their carriage, a cluster of men were gathered about an elevated stake by a woman. It had began to get dark but her face was illuminated by the double wick lamps and candles that burned around the stake. A bowl of incense steamed by her and wafted into the surrounding.
She was pale. Pale as ivory, and a deep dark chunk of her locks fell before her face from her veil, when she raised her face, Goz could see it. A deep bruise beneath her eyes and lips, a cut on her forehead. She did not seem disturbed- infact, surprisingly, she looked...peaceful.
Goz was drawn. But more desperate. A sign hung on the stake in dirty ink, which read: Inquire for a shekel of silver.
A divineress. Goz thought. He took a step, then another, then another till he was walking to her, drawn like a spell, he did not look back. Only when he stood a few feet before her did he question his own sanity. He stopped, looked back at the carriage and made to go back, but she caught him, first with her eyes, then with the smoke of her incense. Her lips were dark as sooth. She made a swift but solemn tilt of her head. Goz recognized the charade, she did not want to look desperate and he did not need her to prove she wasn't. She did not look desperate,she looked cheap. He turned, deciding to leave, wasn't he a King after all?
"You have come to seek that which only nobles can find."
Her words were sharp and her voice, coarse like crankling wood in fire. Goz stopped. The men had quieten. Had they realized who he was? He held his back to them, debating, quizzing.
"Hey man, not into this kind of stuff or what?" One man jeered and the rest broke into drunken hysterics. Goz turned and met her eyes, they were distant, and carried no emotions. He could see more scars and bruises in the bare part of her chest. He stood and she drew him like a charm till he was a deer panting for water.
"Don't worry," another man said, "We'll give you some privacy- but Tez likes it when we're around."
"Oh man, don't say her name, Zerik hates it." One of them chided and the company broke into another feat of laughter. One after the other, they scattered into the market.
Goz waited, stiff like a stick. He only shifted when she began to speak again.
"You seek but do not find, you question but don't listen, you wait, you watch, then you say it is all a facade." She stopped, shot Goz a deep gaze as though he reminded her of something, as though she knew him. She raised the bowl of incense and whirled it.
"Why?" She continued, "only because the sign asks for a deposit of silver. What is silver." She stopped again and Goz could see a pain in her eyes. He caught her hiding it.
"What is silver?" He repeated.
She gave a faint smile.
"What is silver compared to the treasures of truth. You want to know truth. You find wisdom but your heart is darkened."
Goz tensed, a loathing filled his eyes. He held them on her and with each passing moment, it burned him to bruise. How could she? She had no idea who he was, or what he wanted. He stood firm but his heart wavered.
"Is that what you say- to everyone else?" Goz scoffed.
"You want silver? I'd give you silver. You want food or medicine..." Goz loathed his words more, he loathed the knowing, patient look she gave him, as if she was waiting, waiting to throw him off with another revelation.
"Your wife," she said firmly, not blinking. Her faint smile had disappeared and only pain remained. Goz stood still. He looked around and mellowed.
"She's with child," she said.
She teased the candles and with intent, did not look at him again. Goz shifted, questioning his instinct. Esheth would have told him, wouldn't she? She would have said something, or did she?
He moved closer.
"You do not know that," he said. When she did not answer or look at him, he repeated again and again till it became a whisper. A man finally approached him, haggard, he smelled like sour wine.
"Hey man, time's over," he said.
Goz grimaced. "Who are you?"
"She's mine. You pay for consultation, can't you read?" He said, staggering against a cart as he drew closer. Goz juggled his gaze from the woman to him. He moved to the man and spoke in low tone.
"I'll give you money, whatever you want," Goz said.
The man examined Goz. He belched and staggered back.
"You're not from here, are you? A shekel for inquiry, nothing less."
"I need her to tell me about the coming wars."
Tez looked up, abruptly. The man's eyes widened.
"The great wars," he said.
"I'll not speak on the war," Tez said immediately.
The man, as though he had been propelled forward by a force, dealt her a feverish blow to the cheek. Tez groaned.
"Shut up, you ungrateful whore. You would do as I say."
He landed her another blow, and another and another till he tossed her to the floor. The candles went off and the two lamps spilled to the floor. Quickly, the stake was lit to flames and an angry mob of men who had been watching began to approach. Goz cast one last long look at Tez, her fragile body sprawled close to the flame. She looked at him, then shut her eyes.
****
Night had fallen. The men returned with baskets of cloth, flax, fur, and good wine. They came by the border of Tezf and settled among the fallen forts to set camp for the night. The men went in search of water for the oxen and Esheth laid in one of the tents, drawn in sleep from the day's trip.
Going to aguest house would have been dangerous after what had transpired at the market. Goz and his men had had to leave the market abruptly to avoid attention. Esheth had stayed silent, thankfully, and Goz didn't speak a word. They would stay in hiding till morning, and by then, continue on their way.
Goz stayed awake, pondering on the words of the Divineress. She had cast a spell on him, he was sure, the way she spoke, the knowing look in her eyes, he couldn't tell if she had been teasing him, but she had said he sought wisdom, he did, desperately. Was wisdom not the way of the nobles? Was wisdom not a treasure to be sought.
Goz turned on his belly. What is silver compared to the treasures of truth, he thought. A longing had began to burn to his throat. He remembered the pain in her eyes, then the certainty when she had spoken of the darkness of his heart. Had his heart truly been darkened? His father had taught him that truth is the light of a Kings heart. But what was light when the heart is filled with sorrow. He turned again. Why hadn't Esheth spoken of her pregnancy, why had Tez refused to speak on the wars?
Goz shut his eyes, he must find answers, he must find Tez.