39. The Chamber of Faith (Tadevi)¶
For once, Tadevi had time to relax and do what he did best. The novitiate was an excellent subject—young enough that her body bounced back quickly from even the most strenuous of the Ecstasies, but mature enough to appreciate what he was doing to her. Or, rather, doing with her. He liked to think the process was collaborative. Only true believers could become Orumir, so it was fortunate that Adranaya was the scion of such a devout family.
The daylight streaming into the Chamber of Faith would have seemed odd to a newcomer. The room was in the basement of the House of Breezes, insulated from temperature fluctuations and distractions, with a side benefit of preventing sound from escaping to the street. The light was piped in from the roof via witchglass cables, an idea Jovadão had borrowed from the sobração.
Tadevi had begun the session with The Inward Itch as a sort of warm up, then proceeded through the more prosaic sensations—The Feathers of Falire, The Rippling Wood, things people usually thought of—to get them out of the way. Soon he’d be free to move on to more esoteric techniques like The Restless Eye.
Adranaya Healed so well that, in a physical sense, one wouldn’t have known she had been worked on. Tadevi prided himself on limiting permanent damage to the flesh, relying on thorns to amplify sensation instead. Pain was easy; even a hack like Yobaza could manage that. The artistry was in creating novel combinations: the agony of being flayed combined with a rich longing for home, or a deep sickening of the stomach combined with a detached, floating eroticism. Innovation was what led to true learning, and he owed it to his profession to learn as much as he could.
By this point, most people would have already broken, but the novitiate had exhibited some very interesting responses to painful stimuli, giving him a chance to explore some exciting new territory. He had only seen similar pain tolerances in spies who were trained to endure such an ordeal. Which was, of course, the point—if she were a real spy, it could take a great deal for her to break.
Personally, Tadevi doubted Adranaya was a spy, but it didn’t really matter. As his illustrious sister had explained it, the girl’s dalliance with separatists was irrelevant. The real point was that the Parsevgi family—a wealthy and influential clan—was a political stumbling block, often slowing down progress toward unification. A treasonous daughter would destroy their credibility in the Assembly, which the Parsevgi clan could not allow. Inducting her into the Orumir instead was a way to buy their loyalty.
But politics was for politicians. Tadevi was an artist. For him, the Healing itself was what mattered. Healing alone was capable of mining the depths of the soul, finding the truth of a person. He liked to think that he knew his subjects, truly knew them, in a way that no one else ever would.
He frowned as a knock at the door broke his concentration. Dalanat was a bit early.
“Wait here,” he said to Adranaya. The girl didn’t acknowledge the joke. Of course, she couldn’t really move or speak, so he excused the slight.
Tadevi had chosen to forego assistance for this session, and had to answer the door himself. Dalanat stood with her hands behind her back, flanked by two Sihiri and a scribe. “Brother,” said the Vorkyrda.
Tadevi raised an eyebrow. “Dalanat. Here to make your contribution? I wasn’t expecting you quite yet.”
The Vorkyrda smiled. “I wanted to have a bit of a chat first.” She beckoned her attendants and they wheeled the warming apparatus into the room along with a cushioned chair.
Tadevi reined in his impatience. “A chat? About what?”
“This conversion. The situation is delicate.”
“Yes, you told me,” Tadevi said. “Politics, punishing the Parsevgi clan’s intransigence, etcetera.”
Dalanat scowled. “This isn’t about settling a score. We’re sending a message. Separatist attacks are increasing, as you may have noticed. And not just in Thelenza. Remember that uprising in Baranaath we had to put down? That wasn’t an isolated incident. Our spies in Dzhar are seeing an increase in attacks as well, both in their Cantereian territories and within Dzhar itself.
“And now there are voices in the Assembly calling for reform, the Parsevgi being the loudest. We can’t have division in our own ranks. The Assembly needs to be reminded of our arrangement: we give them wealth and power, and in exchange they agree not to stir the soup. The Parsevgi have violated this agreement, and we can’t allow it to spread. You understand why?”
Tadevi sighed inwardly. He really didn’t have time for yet another exam. “Sure. They want Cantereians to have citizenship, which would drain our wealth.”
“Sarmalan-born Cantereians, yes. A ludicrous notion that’s been gaining in popularity.”
“So you framed their daughter for stealing some Anashic scroll? A bit roundabout, isn’t it?”
Dalanat shook her head. “No, she did that herself. If she had been just another novitiate, we would have simply flogged and expelled her, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.”
Tadevi shrugged. “Fascinating. But none of that changes what I’m doing, does it?”
Dalanat frowned. “Not in character, but perhaps in focus. This isn’t a normal conversion. We have no room for error. She must remain in good health long enough for my plan to play out, or our leverage becomes worthless. We can’t have her burn out early.” The Vorkyrda paused. “Also, she’s of a noble bloodline. And after she’s served as an Oruma, she might serve as a vessel of a different kind.”
So that was why Dalanat was so interested in this girl. She hadn’t pressured him to produce an heir in a while, but the knowledge of his duty was always present. Tadevi tried to remain professional while he worked, banishing his more prurient thoughts, but he had to admit that the novitiate’s reactions had intrigued him. He imagined he wouldn’t have any trouble depositing an investment, so to speak.
“That’s why I wanted to chat,” Dalanat continued. “We have to make sure we’re being careful.”
Tadevi bristled, his patience at its end. “I’m always careful, Dalanat. In order to innovate, though, one has to take certain risks. You’d know that if you ever got your hands dirty down here.”
The Vorkyrda glanced at the Sihiri, who remained as expressionless as always. But her voice softened. “I’m not questioning your skill, Tadevi. I appreciate what you do, truly. You’re the best Healer in generations. I just wanted to emphasize that this isn’t the time for experimentation or pushing limits. This one has to last a few years.”
Tadevi tried to remind himself of the pressure his sister endured, the immense responsibility. “Understood,” he said, then turned and led the way toward the circle, the attendants wheeling the blood-warmer along behind them. “Seems like it’s more than just the politics that has you worried, though. Have you sensed some weakness in the Orumir?”
“Not as such, but the structure is fragile. Damage a few and the rest will begin feeding on themselves and collapse. When I head into the field, they’ll need to remain strong in my absence. There can be no flaws in their devotion. Any new Oruma must be devoid of doubt, and Adranaya was brought in under duress.”
“The Orumir are overwhelmed by rapture at all times. They have no opportunity for doubt. Why does it matter what they believe?”
Dalanat reached out and pensively traced a thumbnail up the sole of the girl’s foot, making her shudder like a plucked harp string. “There are currently eight dozen Orumir in the Hall of Vapors. Each of those must be fed, bathed, and medicated every day. When one wears out, it must be replaced. I know inventory and accounting bore you, but this is the foundation of our rule.” Tadevi suppressed a titanic urge to roll his eyes.
“It’s my will that drives them, not their own, and because of that, they’re dreadfully inefficient. The more they’re forced to comply, the more my attention must be diverted to them. We can only recruit so many true believers. The rest must be compelled, their desires replaced with mine.” She tapped the girl’s thigh pensively. “They must to be made to want this. A difficult feat, even for you.”
“So why don’t we just get rid of the bad ones and start from scratch?” Tadevi asked.
Dalanat sighed. “I keep telling you, we don’t know how. The Anashim who built the damn thing are all dead, thanks to the shortsightedness of our grandparents, and anyone who could have replaced them were wiped out in the Conflagration. We can only maintain the Gyre. When our uncle realized that was the case, he gave up on expanding the empire. I haven’t, though.”
“We could figure out how to create a new Gyre,” Tadevi argued. “You’re as talented as any Anashi. I think you’re just afraid to try.”
“I’m not,” Dalanat snapped. “Why do you think I want Anash?” Beneath the Vorkyrda’s hand, the novitiate twitched. Dalanat pursed her lips and glanced at her assistants, who stood rigidly at attention. “I’m not having this argument again, Tadevi. Just make sure there’s no defiance left in this one. And stick to what works, no experiments.” She sat down next to the warming apparatus and pushed up her sleeve. “I’ve fasted for a full day, including wine. I’d rather not have to do this twice. You know how I like a sip with dinner to help me relax.”
“As you command, sister.” Frustrating as it was, Tadevi knew Dalanat was right. There would be plenty of opportunity for experimentation with other Orumir. He uncoiled the tube and checked the temperature of the apparatus, keeping his face carefully neutral. After all, obedience was a small price to pay for getting to do what he loved.
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