The Visitor by Sheri S. Tepper Read Free Book Online

a force of fire when onetouched it. One could, as a matter of fact, hear and taste and smell something fiery and forceful as well.
    â€œDoes it hurt?” the Regent asked in wonder.
    â€œNo, sire,” Camwar replied. He had felt something when the Regent touched him, but it was not a sensation he could describe easily. It was rather as though he had answered a question without knowing what it had been.
    â€œWhen?” the Regent asked.
    â€œI’ve had a little itchiness there, in the forehead, for…oh, some years now. But this morning the itchiness was gone and it was there.”
    â€œWell,” said the Regent, sitting down and staring at the floor. “Well. I suppose…I suppose we must get in touch with…who is it?”
    â€œWe’re to go to the Temple, perhaps?”
    The Regent stared for a moment more, chewing his lip, then asked Camwar to be seated, sent one footman off to bring breakfast on a tray and another one off to summon the Royal Historian and several of the younger historians as well since the Royal Historian had become somewhat forgetful and vague with advanced age. These worthies assembled quickly, in various stages of bewildered disarray, and the Regent—who had completed his shave and been properly dressed in the interim—told them in a hushed voice that the sign had come.
    â€œYou must go to the Temple,” said the Royal Historian, firmly and without a moment’s pause. “That is, if you’re sure it’s the sign.”
    The Regent suggested the Historian check for himself, which that man did, returning to say yes, it was the sign. “We must go to the High Priest,” he repeated, with no wavering or doubt whatsoever in his voice.
    â€œWe have not thought about the device in hundreds of years,” said one of the younger historians. “Is it even still here?”
    â€œThe device is in the Temple,” said the Royal Historian. “You are correct that it has been there for a very long time.”
    â€œIs it really? Well, but…if no one has…oiled it orgreased it or powered it up or whatever one does in all that time…” the Regent muttered unhappily.
    The Royal Historian forgot himself so far as to pat the Regent comfortingly on the shoulder. “We need not be concerned. We were told, as everyone, everywhere was told, that when the sign came, the device would be in operating condition. We have only to bring the sign to the device. The device will function.”
    The Regent looked uncertainly at the mouse-quiet younger historians who would normally have been spouting contradictions to everything the old man said.
    â€œNow?” he asked.
    â€œNow,” assented the Royal Historian, amid the others’ continued silence.
    They went in procession to the small audience chamber, where Camwar was enjoying a freshly baked muffin spread with something delicious he had never tasted before. Nonetheless, when the Regent appeared, he rose hurriedly and bowed.
    â€œFinish your breakfast,” said the Regent. “It will take us a few moments to have the carriages brought round and the Temple staff notified.”
    The Regent went off to expedite matters, but the Royal Historian stayed behind and helped himself to one of the muffins. “Tell me about yourself,” he said gently, when Camwar had swallowed and wiped his lips.
    â€œThere’s very little to tell, sir. I was reared by my uncle, who was a cooper. I inherited his business nine years ago. I have remained a bachelor; my shop is in Vrain Street by the bridge. I’m thirty-four years old. I had intended to spend the day at the Festival, so I allowed myself a bit more sleep than usual this morning. When I got up…” he shrugged. “Well, you see it.”
    â€œYes,” mused the Historian. “Yes, I certainly do. I’d wondered about that, you know. It came without warning, did it?”
    â€œUnless the