It would be a node, of course, but it stood too far from the road for Edward to sense virtuality. Unlike Stonehenge and the Sacrarium, this node was occupied. He did not know whether the numen who dwelt there belonged to the Chamber or the Service. Eleal insisted that Tion was a benevolent god, but the teams in this game did not wear colored jerseys. Edward was not about to walk into any den until he had learned more about the lion. So far his only instructors had been a child and a confessed mass murderer.
Dolm Actor was the first adult he had been able to talk with since he arrived on Nextdoor. However willing and precocious, Eleal had a child's limitations. Dolm spoke clearly and slowly, repeating himself in ingenious variations to convey his meaning. He had a quick wit for untangling Edward's efforts to reply, the patience to correct his grammar, plus an actor's ear for pronunciation. He was a very good coach, but he explained that any wandering entertainer in the Vales must soon become a language expert. Every valley had its own dialect. The farther from home, the greater the difference.
How many valleys? How many peoples?
Dolm could not give an answer, barely even a guess. There were three main languages, Joalian, Thargian, and Niolian, and at least half a dozen variants of each. A score was the absolute minimum.
How many gods? That question produced a lecture on theology, the five great gods—Parent, Lady, Man, Maiden, Youth—and the many minor gods who were the five also. Edward recalled his father saying that people could believe anything they wanted to believe.
By the time noon rolled around and the weary travelers were approaching the turnoff to Tion's spectacular temple, he was often able to understand what was said at the first attempt. Speaking was harder, of course. Nevertheless, he had never picked up a language so quickly. There were uncanny things going on, and he was becoming more and more uneasy about them. He was a stranger here. Mr. Goodfellow ... Oh, stuff it! That way led madness. Here be dragons.
The roads were almost deserted. Yesterday's traffic had been heavy because people had been heading home from Tion's Festival, which sounded like a sort of annual Olympic Games. That train of thought shunted Edward off onto a siding. He spent several minutes asking if there was any great home for all the gods—a sacred mountain, perhaps. Neither Dolm nor Eleal could recall hearing of such a place. Every god and goddess had a temple and important deities might have outlying shrines and chapels as well, but there was no central clubhouse where they were known to assemble. If they threw parties for one another, they did so at home. Scratch that thought. “Olympus” was only a nickname.
Eleal had been feeling ignored all morning and was being obnoxious in consequence. Dolm started asking her about her arrival in Sussland and her replies confirmed Edward's suspicions that she was keeping secrets from him. Having learned of her theatrical background, he could understand her affected airs and dramatics. She claimed that she had been kidnapped by a goddess and rescued by a god. Doubting most of this, Edward still moved Eleal to the head of his list of things to investigate as soon as he had mastered the language. He would like to hear much more about the T'lin man who had brought her to Sussland and had been Creighton's friend also—and especially so when Dolm confirmed that the man had managed to escape. He was an itinerant horse trader, although Edward had seen no horses so far.
But why was the Service so much less conspicuous than the Chamber? Why were enemies so much easier to find than friends? The goddess who had imprisoned Eleal in Narsh was an obvious Horror. Her ritual prostitution sounded exactly like Herodotus's tales of the temple of Aphrodite in Babylon that always so intrigued the Greek scholars of Fifth Form. Zath was another, with his reapers. Was Tion with them or against them? Was he with the Service or against it?
Tion was too much of a risk. The T'lin man had been a friend of Creighton's and was a much safer bet. He must find T'lin. Only if that proved impossible would he risk Tion.
The entrance to the temple precincts was a resplendent arch, ornamented with much gold and many symbols of the god: roses and triangles and animals that looked like frogs. A few worshipers were coming and going, ignored by half a dozen pike-bearing guards, who caught Edward's attention more than anything else did. A squad of fifty or so was being drilled in the distance. Their armor looked like solid gold but obviously couldn't be, or the poor beggars would collapse in heaps. Why should a god need such a force? To stop tourists writing on the pillars? Or just because they looked good standing there? As far as he could judge without going close, they were all at least as tall as he was and very well turned out—the Coldstream Guards of Nextdoor. Were they only for show, or were they an elite force? Smart troops were effective troops. None showed that better than the British Army.
Dolm hesitated, but it was not the guards that deterred him. This was where his pilgrimage must begin. “I'll walk a little farther with you,” he muttered. “I think I can find the troupe for you.” It was a reasonable excuse to put off the awful moment. The three of them carried on toward the city.
Suss occupied a salient of high ground protected on three sides by cliffs. It was no more than a small town by Edward's standards, and the sight of its walls was a shock, a reminder that he was living in a primitive world. He might have to acquire a sword! He had fenced during his stay in Heidelberg, but not enough to qualify as a swordsman.
As it neared the city gates, the road crossed a series of arched bridges spanning small tributary canyons. On one of these Dolm stopped and peered over the rail. He unslung his pack.
"Yes,” he said. “Right first time. Down there. Rehearsing."
The valley below was wooded, but there was a clearing below the bridge; there two men and a woman were apparently having an argument. Other people lounged around in the shade, watching. Voices drifted up unintelligibly. The grouping was staged and unnatural.
Dolm groaned. “By the moons! They've taken on that idiot Tothroom Player!” He mumbled something about women and fighting.
Eleal was jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “Come on!” she said urgently.
"You go,” Dolm said. “I will go back now."
"Come, D'ward!” she commanded.
"You'd better not tell them who he is,” Dolm said.
That was hardly fair play! “Tell!” Edward said. He tapped his chest. “Danger to them? Tell them."
Eleal hesitated, looking from one to the other.
"Yes, perhaps you had better warn them,” Dolm said, giving Edward an odd look.
Then he sighed and went down on his knees to her. “Eleal Singer, I want you to know that I am deeply sorry for what happened. I frightened you terribly and I intended to kill you. I do not ask you to forgive me, because I can never forgive myself, but if you could give me your blessing for the future, it would make me very happy, and very grateful."
Eleal was momentarily at a loss. Then she raised her chin. “Of course I forgive you, Dolm Actor!” she proclaimed magnanimously. “I pray that Holy Tion will protect you and that you will find peace.” She hugged Dolm and kissed his cheek. Then she glanced sidelong at Edward to see if he had appreciated her performance.