"May the Wealthgiver guide you or not, as he wills." The smile had grown. "Now. Attend. Indésa na Bessikése glóe!"

  Andrei's neck prickled. The smell of the old man. The hissing gibberish he'd spoken. ádass ni vu it.

  Nikolai tapped Andrei on the forehead with a fingernail. "Attend, I said."

  "Uh?"

  "Bessikáta glóa! Repeat it!"

  Andrei considered making a break for it. He could push this misplaced princeling aside and run down the corridor, but no. They would only re-capture Andrei and punish him with even more language lessons.

  "Bessikáta glóa!"

  "Bessikáta glóa?" Andrei said.

  Robes rustled. "That was not bad," Nikolai admitted. "I expected you to have more trouble with the pronunciation."

  "I picked up some Romanian and Greek on the march down here," said Andrei. "And this Bess—"

  "Sht!"

  Nikolai smacked Andrei on the mouth.

  "Ow! Why did you do that?" Andrei rubbed his face. "How did you do that? You can't see my face."

  "In tamssése, vu brémat tsiss put. That is, 'In the dark, it is clear what pules.'" Nikolai's voice was smug. "As to why: it is permitted for initiates to speak and be spoken to in their Fool languages when that of the Good is still unknown to them. However, a Good word may never be embedded in a Fool sentence."

  "That's ridiculous," said Andrei. "How am I supposed to learn this language of yours if neither of us can utter a sentence such as 'the Thracian word for darkness is tarabara or whatever."

  "Good. The Good word." A foot-tap on the floor. "An Bessíke, aió ésta 'támssa.' Repeat that."

  "In Bessíke, aió ésta 'támssa.' What does that mean?"

  "In Good, it is 'dark.'"

  "Oh, like temnota," said Andrei.

  "Yes. The Russian for 'dark' is kin of the Good word." For the first time, Nikolai's voice took on an emotion other than sullen rage or sneering arrogance. He sounded eager. "Good is part of the great family of languages that includes Russian, as well as Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit. In many ways, in fact, it is a bridge between these ancient languages and the modern Slavonic."

  "Uh, oh?"

  "Let me think. What's an example that would make sense to you?"

  Andrei had the impression that Nikolai was waving his hands.

  "Take for instance the Good word for 'land.'" In Russian, that was zemlya. "The Reaper of Grain uses the name Kori Chthamali amongst Fools. Chthamali is Greek. The Latin cognate: humilitas. Do you see the resemblances?"

  Nikolai continued without waiting for Andrei to say "no." "La Bessíkit ié nim ésta Sa?ra Zeméla. Do you hear? Sa?ra Zeméla. That is her true name."

  Zeméla did sound a bit like zemlya, but Andrei was still inclined to think that Nikolai just one of those over-studious boys whose mind had cracked under the weight of old books.

  "Does humilitas mean 'land' in Latin, then?" he asked.

  "Well," said Nikolai. "No. But! Greek preserves da for 'earth' in such constructions as the Doric Dā Mā?tēr. Demeter. Mother Earth, you see?"

  "Da doesn't sound like any of those other words."

  More hand-waving. "The sounds have shifted!"

  "And wasn't the Greek word for Earth gi?"

  "Shut up! You're just like the rest of them! Bessikáta fála ésta 'Da.' Da, déla mi Don't you see? Da, déla mi! Da! Think of the don in 'Macedonia,' the dun in 'London!'"

  Ah. So it was insanity. "I might study better after breakfast," Andrei suggested.

  Nikolai clicked his tongue. "You have no need to practice eating. Now begins your practice of language."

  "We haven't begun that yet?"

  "Sht! We begin, as I say, with the conjugation of the verb 'to be.' Vas em Bátsa órpei. Vas em kaft. Repeat that. Yes. Now. Vas em nir. Repeat that. Ti ié tse nir. Repeat that.

  "But what does any of that mean?" asked Andrei.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Nikolai tapped the floor. "It means 'I am a man.' 'You are a man, too.' The cognates should be obvious."

  Rather than ask "what the devil is a cognate," Andrei said. "This would be easier with a slate and chalk. And a candle to see them by."

  "Light dazzles. The eyes distract. No light may enter the cells or corridors of the Sacred Depths. And the Good language has been taught this way for over a thousand years, novitiate. Now." Another tap. "Repeat after me. Vas em nir. Ti ié nir. Sara?ta ésta sa?ra."

  Meaning 'I am a man, you are a man,' and what? Sa?ra? Andrei remembered Kori's cave-name. "Does Kori's name literally mean 'maiden?'"

  "Of course."

  "Does she plan to change her name once she marries?" Andrei wasn't sure whether he was digging for information now or just trying to get out of more conjugation exercises.

  "She will not marry," said Nikolai, "any more than will I. I must be pure to hear the voice of the Maiden, and she must be pure to hear the voice of the goddess Persephone, also called Maiden."

  "But Persephone, I mean, didn't Pluto…?"

  "Carry her off? Yes. He sent a hatchling viper to bite her and bring her to his realm, but she transformed it into a yellow narcissus."

  That wasn't the myth as far as Andrei knew it, but who was he to argue with a madman? Nikolai got upset enough over sound shifts in Greek. "That's a good trick," he said.

  "Ta knéssa a?partka u a?prake," pronounced Nikolai. "This is an aphorism: 'to know a narcissus from a viper.' It means that one must understand the difference between a danger and an opportunity."

  "I see. Or rather, I hear and understand. What happened after she got carried off?"

  Nikolai sniffed. "After their marriage, she became the Mistress of the underworld, but she was still the Maiden. Her relationship with the master was what one might call 'Platonic.'"

  That definitely wasn't how Andrei remembered the myth. He wondered how the other priests interpreted it. And what about Kori? Andrei wondered how much of his current predicament had been caused by the loneliness of a young woman.

  "But Mademoiselle Chthamali has a mother, presumably," he said.

  "Some prophetesses do become mothers," admitted Nikolai. "In these degenerate times, the previous Maiden may change her name and resign from the duties of prophetess when her daughter comes of age. But in the past, things were purer. My research indicates that the original Maidens were elected, not born, and remained chaste their whole lives."

  No need to ask why they did away with that tradition.

  "Soon…" Nikolai's voice trailed off. "But we have wandered from the lesson. Novitiate, attend!"

  Click went his slipper against the floor and Andrei's spine stiffened. Terrible memories of his Latin tutor surfaced.

  "Say, 'I am a man' in Good!"

  "Vas em nir!" Andrei surprised himself. The words came as if spoken by someone else.

  "Néi."

  "No?"

  "No. It means 'yes.'"

  "What?"

  "'You are a man.' 'She is a woman.'"

  This time, Andrei thought more, and so did less well. "Um, ti…nir?"

  "Ti ié nir. Aió ésta zóna. Repeat that."

  Andrei repeated. You are a man, she is a…woman, he assumed.

  "Say, 'You are a priest.' 'She is a prophetess.'"

  "I don't know those words."

  "Then attend more closely. Vas em kaft. Aió ésta semía."

  "Vas em…" Andrei shook his head. "I mean, Ti—"

  A slap on his cheek. "No embedding!"

  Andrei tried his best to sigh in Good. "Ti ié kaft."

  "'Iú éna,' neláhe. Remember that I am your teacher. Iú éna."

  That must be the plural "you are," appropriate for a student addressing a teacher. "Iú éna kaft," said Andrei. "Aió ésta s…suh?"

  "Aió ésta semía." A smile crept into the priest's voice. "Semía dzam—It means 'she who is compelled to song.' From the ancient—" He cleared his throat. "ímata ié fála ésta 'saggeiménia.'"

  "Oh." Andrei had no idea what he was talking about.

  Nikolai sighed in Good. "Repeat your lesson, novitiate. Iú éna…?"

  "Iú éna kaft. Aió ésta semía. Vas em…How do you say 'I am a doctor?'"

  "You are no longer a doctor, Andrei Trifonovich. You are a vessel for the Unseen, or you join his household."

  As a corpse, Andrei understood. He had forgotten that he was not 10 years old and speaking to his Latin tutor. He was a prisoner and his tutor was a mad priest, working for a lovelorn prophetess. Where were these broken characters coming from? Who sent them to Andrei and why?

  Why indeed, Doctor.

  To heal them? Andrei could saw open a skull if he had to, but then what? Andrei could do nothing with this a diseased mind, but grab hold of it and put it to use. He had to, if he wanted to ever see daylight again.

  Andrei rubbed his face, spots dancing in front of his eyes, and tried to think. How could he escape? By playing along? Play Hades for this ritual, always one misconjugated verb away from execution?

  No, his previous plan was still the best. Make himself useful.

  Andrei leaned forward, smiling. "Hey, Nikolai Igorevich."

  "Have you not been listening to anything I've said? The verb 'to have'—"

  "What's your god's name?" asked Andrei. "In Good, I mean."

  "Na Bessikése," said Nikolai. "In the Good Language, the god has many epithets. ái vu kálit Plistra?ss tse Deséstass na Plest, Tabra?ss Stopa?n na Tama?t na Nístet."

  Andrei was certain he recognized words in that stream of nonsense, but he didn't hear the one the old man had used. "ádass ni vu it," Andrei recited.

  A click. Those were Nikolai's teeth when he snapped his mouth shut.

  "What is it?" asked Andrei as the silence stretched. "I thought you would correct me."

  "What did you say? How did you know that name?"

  Andrei didn't answer. "What does it mean? Teacher, instruct me."

  Nikolai drew in a breath and let it out. "It means 'We see the Unseen.' Literally, 'the Unseen One sees himself by us.' Third person reflexive, which I believe replaced the older mediopassive…" His voice sharpened. "Who taught you how to say that? Was it the shepherds? Someone in Russia?"

  "Who do you think?" said Andrei, his mouth buying time while his brain thought, the old man must have been repeating that to himself, trying to remind himself. Not to forget that Death had appeared to him, when he slipped, and I caught him.

  Nikolai breathed deeply. "You are playing a game more dangerous than you can possibly imagine, Andrei Trifonovich. Tsi ié ti?"

  Andrei didn't understand the individual words of the question, but he didn't let get in the way of answering. Like stringing beads on a necklace, Andrei clicked the sentence together. "Vas em ádass."

  Silence swelled huge between them. Then, a muffled chatter that might have been Nikolai's teeth.

  "Enough," said the priest. the echoes of his voice changed as he stood. "This lesson is over. Repeat it to yourself. I shall test you. You will be tested!"

  The door screeched over the stone floor, the brass lock clanked, and Prince Nikolai Igorevich, high priest of the cave-Thracians, fled in a flap of robes.

  Andrei stared after him, eyes uselessly wide. "What about breakfast?"

  There was no answer, except, perhaps, in Andrei's mind.

  Good work, Doctor. You have certainly seized that narcissus. Or is it a viper?