Brokols' "long walk with Cadriio," the evening before, had taken him to the steep north wall of the firth, where he'd met Eltrienn's brother Vessto. Vessto lived in a hut with half a dozen followers. And no furniture except a low table and some grass mats; apparently they sat on the floor to eat. Brokols had gotten the impression that none of them worked, or at least not Vessto and the two whom Eltrienn afterward told him were masters.
Vessto had led him and Eltrienn scrambling up a steep path, close-walled by bristly shrubs, to a rocky outcrop where they'd sat for what must have been close to an hour. Brokols had asked Vessto questions about Hrum and Hrummlis. Vessto had actually given answers, too, more or less, and in turn had asked him questions about Almeon and life there, his childhood and his function in Hrumma, and the Book of Forbiddances. And the ship.
While they'd walked back into town, it had occurred to Brokols to wonder how Vessto knew about the book; he was quite sure he hadn't mentioned it to him. Probably he'd mentioned it to the teacher in front of Eltrienn, and Eltrienn had said something about it to Vessto at an earlier meeting.
His meeting with Vessto Cadriio was the most successful he'd had with a clergyman of Hrummlis, despite the way the sage lived, and he'd arrived back at his apartment clearheaded, though physically tired. What he had in mind was a peaceful night's sleep, because the next day he'd begin a weeks-long trip around Hrum with Eltrienn, to become familiar with the rest of the country.
* * *
After Vessto Cadriio had bid his brother and the foreigner good evening, he'd stayed seated on the rock outcrop far into the night, meditating. It was not pure meditation. It had another objective than contemplating Hrum-In-Him, or losing himself; he was looking for something, an answer. But none came to him.
* * *
Brokols' sleep that night was a frenetic sequence of dreams, largely sexual, more or less outrageously so. Lerrlia was prominent in them, but there were also Valda, and other women recognized or seemingly new to him. In one dream, the prostitute he'd visited, back in Almeon, had found him on the roof coupling with a sea woman, a sellsu, but with legs. The prostitute had turned and fled, calling back that she was going to tell. Which, Brokols knew, meant tell Kryger. By that time the child of the waves was no longer a sellsu, but a lovely young girl, or more likely a pleasure droid, who laughed joyously with him as they walked along a beach. He'd wakened to darkness then, certain he'd been laughing aloud in his sleep.
And remarkably, throughout his dreams it seemed that what he did was not vile but quite all right, albeit amazingly virile.
When he woke up, he felt rested and alert, though the dreams stayed somewhat on his mind through breakfast. If Kryger ever found out what he'd actually done . . . but there was no reason that Kryger should ever know, and Brokols felt no anxiety over it.
* * *
Vessto Cadriio had never seen the trail to Panni Vempravvo's cave or heard anything about where it was. Nonetheless, after finishing his dawn porridge, he'd bidden his people stay, then walked the five miles alone, finding his way by knowingness.
The last half mile was away from the rough road, on a trail that angled up to a ridgeline, then along its top. From the crest, he could see across a lesser ridge to hazy-blue sea, and on the slope below the path, several men seated singly in the sun, half hidden by grass and wildflowers that were higher than his knees.
The last hundred feet of the path was downhill again. The shallow cave at its end had been modified at some past time. The wide opening had been mostly walled over with squared, dry-set stone; coarse blankets had been hung on the inside. At one end of the wall a fireplace had been built; an opening had been left at the other as a door.
Neat piles of bedstraw vine were lined along the back wall, each with a sleeping mat folded on top. A twig broom stood beside a straw broom in one rounded corner, and a disciple squatted near the wooden water cask, eating a late breakfast with his fingers from a clay bowl. His master, he said, was meditating, and went outside with Vessto to point the way.
Going to Panni, Vessto squatted down a few feet away, facing him. That he didn't assume the meditation posture marked how concerned he was with something. Panni's eyes focused and moved to him, waiting for whatever the younger man might say.
"I have come for help," Vessto said.
"The foreigner," Panni answered.
"The foreigner." Vessto told him then what he knew—had read in the man for himself and been told by others, notably Rantrelli's hired adept. "Clearly the great king, the emperor of his land, intends to conquer us, both the Djezes and Hrumma. And has great resources. And it seems to me that I should do something about this, but action of that kind is . . .." He shrugged. Such action, unless it was precisely correct, would be a resistance, which would make the difficulties more solid.
Panni's mouth curved in the slightest of smiles. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I am myself. But in this life I am being Vessto Cadriio."
"And what world do you live in?"
"My own world. Upon the creation of Hrum." This was from the children's catechism.
"Whence came the wisdoms you are said to have spoken? And the knowledge I myself have heard you voice?"
"From Hrum-In-Me."
"Yet you come to me instead of opening yourself to Hrum-In-Thee?"
"Hrum-In-Me does not answer on this matter."
"Ahh. Are you neutral on the subject?"
"No. I have been unable to be neutral on it."
"Well then—in that case, who writes your script?"
"Me. As Zan, and Naz."
The smile widened. "Would it be all right for you to simply follow it? Doing whatever seems best as you go?"
"That's what I have done. In coming to you."
Panni grinned broadly. "Very well. You may come to me whenever you wish. Perhaps sometime I will have advice to give you that you aren't already following. Meanwhile, in living a role with strong importances, strong preferences, be prepared to feel afraid and anxious and torn. And perhaps angry. Remember that these are on the surface, regardless of how deep they feel.
"And if sometime you need quiet from them and cannot find it, you may wish to meditate in the presence of Tassi Vermaatio. He is the very Is-ness of Hrum, and will undoubtedly allow it."
When Vessto had left, Panni continued briefly to sit in the sun, soaking up its warmth, regarding what the young man had said. He laughed. Things were moving about within the backstage of Hrum's world: Scripts were being altered, props shifted.
After a time he got up and, wrapped in his own world, strode to the trail. It was time to contact other people's worlds again. He could access them from his hill, but not so readily as when he was among them, nor in anything like such numbers.
I am not yet a Tassi Vermaatio, he told himself cheerfully. And did not regret it. He'd almost forgotten what regrets were.