The Warrior Within by Angus McIntyre

Author:Angus McIntyre
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Muljaddy was waiting for him two floors above.

The room was like the one they had passed through before, an empty space with walls of bare Builder metal, but screens of woven silk in whites and golds had been used to create a room within a room. The tiles of the floor were hidden by thick rugs. In the center of the screened area, the Muljaddy sat on a throne-like chair, haloed by tiny lights that pulsed and sparkled as if alive. As Karsman hesitated, they looked up, lifting chubby hands to push back the white hood that covered their hairless head.

“Approach,” the Muljaddy said. Their voice was high and fluting, with odd resonances and undertones. Karsman knew the voice well. He had heard it many times, chanting responses or preaching sermons in the Temple, but to have the Muljaddy address him directly, speaking to him personally, was new and strange.

He walked slowly forward, stopping at the edge of the rugs. The Muljaddy nodded slowly, as if approving his decision not to come any nearer.

“You may go,” the Muljaddy said, and Karsman heard the muffled click of Curinn’s boots on the metal tile as he withdrew.

The Muljaddy and Karsman studied each other in silence. The Muljaddy was huge and soft, the beautiful sexless face as serene and impassive as the face of a statue. Their golden skin was flawless and the robes that swaddled them were spotlessly white. Despite their inhuman perfection, Karsman saw at once the resemblance between this Muljaddy and the others that he had seen and served in the capital. The family features were distinctive.

“Karsman,” the Muljaddy said in that high, melodious voice.

“You called me, Muljaddy,” said Karsman.

“I did, I did. Karsman, do you serve me?”

“Of course, Muljaddy.”

He said it without thinking and then wondered if it was true. Everyone in the community served the Muljaddy, by necessity, from birth until death. But it was one thing to serve the Muljaddy as a laborer, or by participating in acts of worship where the Muljaddy and their siblings were sometimes difficult to differentiate from the gods. Karsman sensed the Muljaddy had something else in mind.

“I have always been curious about you, Karsman,” the Muljaddy said. Their large brown eyes met and held his. “I always recognized that you were . . . different from the others.”

Karsman said nothing. There was a trap in the Muljaddy’s words, but he had no idea yet where it lay. He waited for the Muljaddy to continue.

“Why did you run away?”

“Muljaddy?”

“You were my aunt’s servant,” they said. “Then you left her. You traveled the Road, and you came here, and settled down. Why?”

Karsman stared at the Muljaddy, his mouth open. “You knew?” he said. “You knew all along?”

The Muljaddy shook their head. They smiled almost wistfully. “They do not tell me everything,” they said. “I was never very important.” They paused for a moment. “Until now.”

Karsman had the same feeling that he felt sometimes at the top of the tallest buildings, a feeling of a gulf yawning under his feet, of a force dragging him out into the void.

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