Hederick nodded eagerly, grateful for the words of praise and the attention he received from Tarscenian. The boy, who had seldom known kindness before the arrival of the Seeker priest, had become the man's near-constant attendant, caring for his quarters and assisting him at the services the villagers willingly attended.

The priest had transformed the dilapidated prayer house into a home. A braided rug concealed the dirt floor, and long, flat cushions lay on the pair of benches. A tile-topped table held the tray and bread. A brazier heated the room, for the temperature grew brisk at night, although the days were still stifling. Tarscenian led daily worship just outside the prayer house, much as Con had years ago, but Tarscenian's performances lacked Con's wrath and threats of doom, holding instead the promise of full bel shy;lies and better times.

If Tarscenian were the messenger of gods, he was the most genial messenger the village had seen. Certainly, he lectured on sin and redemption, but he also instructed the villagers on how to brew ale and urged them to drink it with each meal. It was a gift from the New Gods to aid the digestion, he said. He sang songs until the shutters rat shy;tled. And he drew children to him with the enthusiasm of his embraces and the freedom with which he dispensed sweets from the deep pockets of his brown robe.

In addition, he ordered one of the villagers, Jeniv Synd, to make Hederick some new leggings and a loose over-shirt with decorations of embroidery and shiny stones, endearing himself even further to the impressionable boy.

And Tarscenian performed miracles daily-innocent-looking tricks that ended in a scarlet explosion or in a rab shy;bit appearing in his cupped hands. He told villagers these miracles were signs that the Seeker gods approved of the Garlunders.

One way to impress the Seeker gods, Tarscenian reminded everyone, was to be generous with the reli shy;gion's holy men and women. As gifts began to pile up in file prayer house, Hederick grew worried. He had nothing to give of his own but his new clothes.

Tarscenian ordered feasts held regularly to fete the New Gods. For the first time, the people of the village began to lose their gaunt appearance. Yet not all the villagers, it seemed, were happy. Those who had been favorites of Venessi would grumble whenever Tarscenian was out of earshot.

"It's not right," Jeniv Synd told her friend, Kel'ta, as they watched Tarscenian lead evening services one night. Hederick, leaning against the side of his mother's house, out of sight of the two women, caught the words.

Kel'ta nodded at Jeniv. "Lady Venessi kneels in prayer from dawn to dusk. She never wavers in her faith. She is a true holy woman."

"This Tarscenian says she is a fake, but he suffers her to remain in Garlund," Jeniv muttered. "Were she seer of a false god, wouldn't he expel her? Her holiness rebukes his tricks and lies."

Hederick started to speak out in indignation, then thought better of it. There were other ways to deal with those who spoke against Tarscenian and the New Gods. That night at midnight, when even Venessi had left off praying and retired, he sneaked out of the village and, by the light of the moons, dug in the prairie soil. Even after ten years, Hederick could remember Ancilla's voice as she held a bulb before his face and warned, "Never, never eat this, Hederick. It looks like an onion, but it is poison. It's the macaba bulb. Don't even touch it!" Her injunction had lingered all these years. Now Hederick had need of this poison bulb.

He made little sound as he crept into the Synd house, keeping to the deepest shadows. He went to the pantry and selected a jar of spice-a common one, but not too common. There was no hurry. It would be eaten eventu shy;ally. It would be easier to maintain an air of innocence if Hederick did not know exactly when death would strike.

The next day, Tarscenian ordered two huge wagons built. Four men headed west a week later to sell the best of Garlund's wares in Caergoth. "The harvest is fast upon us," the priest said over the protests of Venessi's dwin shy;dling band of supporters. "We'll refill the storehouses. Garlund needs money, and it is time that the village gave to the Seeker church. I ordered the men to present half the proceeds to the church in Caergoth."

The dust from the pair of wagons had no sooner settled on the horizon than a scream came from the central vil shy;lage. Jeniv's friend, Kel'ta, stood in the doorway of the Synd house and bellowed until her face was ruddy. "Jeniv is dead!"

Jeniv's husband, Santrev, pushed past Kel'ta and rushed to his wife's side. Jeniv's body was contorted, her face twisted beneath tangled blond hair. The skin about her mouth was discolored, as though flames had touched her lips. Venessi shoved past them all, fell to her knees, and began to pray to Tiolanthe. Half the crowd joined her; the other half gawked and exclaimed.

Tarscenian touched Kel'ta's shoulder. "What hap shy;pened?" he asked.

"I don't know," she wailed, and pulled away. "We spent the morning at my house, gardening. Then Jeniv went home to prepare lunch. I came to borrow eggs and found her like this." Kel'ta broke into fresh tears.

Tarscenian cleared everyone away but Venessi, Santrev Synd, and Hederick. He intoned the Seekers' Prayer of the Passing Spirit. "Great Omalthea, accept the commitment of this guiltless soul. Gather her to your breast and com shy;fort her. Jeniv Synd is free of the pain of this world. Com shy;fort her loved ones, and help us remember that we, too, await this fate. Gather this soul and make ready for all others to follow. For there ever will be more."

Hederick sat frozen as he contemplated Tarscenian's words. What could the prayer be but a secret command to him to do more?

The Seeker priest must be aware of the sacrifice Heder shy;ick had made-knew he had taken the life of one of the enemies of the New Gods-and clearly approved! What could the last lines of his prayer be but an order to con shy;tinue to silence those who would oppose the priest?

"I hear," Hederick whispered. "I shall prevail."

Tarscenian looked penetratingly at him but said noth shy;ing.

Santrev Synd died in twisted agony that very night. The villagers gathered in the central square as Tarscenian laid a torch to the double funeral pyre the next afternoon. At the same time, Hederick made his way surreptitiously into the Synd home, retrieved the spice containing the poison, and moved it to the pantry of Jeniv's friend Kel'ta, next door. Then he went back and tipped over the remem shy;brance lamp that burned upon the Synds' kitchen table.

"Fire purifies," Hederick whispered, watching the growing flames as though hypnotized. "So says the Praxis." Smoke from the new blaze rose into the skies to mingle with that of the pyre, so no one noticed the flames for some time.

No one saw or suspected Hederick. "Thus the New Gods protect their own," he told himself righteously.

After the funeral, life continued almost as it had since Tarscenian's arrival. The priest-when he wasn't eating and drinking or leading worship sessions-told stories and sang loud songs about redemption and glory and freedom from sin. He continued to lead Hederick in study several hours a day, praising the boy for his diligence and encouraging him in his labors.

A week after the Synd funeral, he and Hederick sat alone on the thick rug of the prayer house. Tarscenian regarded the boy with thoughtful gray eyes. "Have you considered taking priestly orders, son?"

For the past weeks, the boy had thought of little else. The magnificent Tarscenian was only ten years older than Hederick. He'd been a wandering priest since he was fif shy;teen, and Hederick was nearly thirteen.

The priest offered a piece of bread to the boy, a dollop of butter plopping onto the braided rug. "It's a good life. There are no ties but those to your gods. You wander freely, bringing words of joy to people who need them. The people feed and house you. There's much to recom shy;mend this life."