I admit that I have, from time to time, speculated on why she had arranged her home like that, but I kept coming up against the same question: Were I somehow to achieve her age, how would I want to surround myself? And to this question I could not know the answer, which would always end the speculation, leaving me only observations.
And that about concludes what I know about the home of Sethra Lavode—not much, considering how often I’ve been there. I’ve heard a great deal more, of course, running from the probable to the preposterous: labyrinths deep within the mountain where she conducts monstrous experiments; high towers in the very peak where she communes with the dead; hidden passageways to the Halls of Judgment; concealed rooms full of treasure; and so on. But I don’t know anything about these (except I can pretty well deny the passageway to the Halls of Judgment: if that really exists, she owes me an apology for sending me the hard way). Little is known, more is suspected, and much is guessed at.
And there you have Sethra Lavode as well, which ought to prove the point about reversing the subject and the auxiliary verb.
I didn’t see Sethra at once, so I turned around, and there she was: tall, pale, undead; she had forgotten more of sorcery, even the forbidden sorcery of the ancient world, than anyone else would ever learn. She was a vampire, but it didn’t seem to bother her much; and to those who told stories of her it was almost superfluous, like hearing that the guy who is going to cut your heart out plans to kick you in the shin when he’s done. Her origin was in prehistory, and some had come to believe that she was the living personification of the world itself, that it would end when she ended. I doubted this myself: I mislike the idea of a living personification being undead.
Her features were those of a Dragonlord, except that, if one looked for it (as I did), one could see hints of the Dzurlord in the shape of her ears and her eyes. She dressed in black, black, black—the only hints of color upon her today were a red stone about her neck, a yellow stone on a ring on her right hand, and the blue hilt of Iceflame at her hip. She wore enigma as if it had been created for her alone.
Teldra bowed to her very deeply—more deeply than I had ever seen her bow before. Sethra acknowledged it as if it were her due. I nodded, Sethra nodded back.
“Sethra Lavode,” I said. “It has been some time.” Now, there was an ambiguous remark for her to play with if she cared to.
She didn’t. She held out her arm, and Loiosh flew to her, allowed his chin to be scratched, and then, just to show his high regard for her, he bent his head to allow her to scratch the scales that concealed his ears: a special mark of honor, because jhereg are very protective of their ears. I don’t know if Sethra appreciated the honor. While she paid attention to Loiosh, I pulled the box from my pouch, opened it, and put the cord back around my neck. I felt better right away.
“Welcome to my home,” said the Dark Lady of Dzur Mountain. “Please come with me.”
“Always a pleasure,” I said, and we followed her up to the sitting room, where she asked if we cared for wine.
“Klava,” I said. “I was promised klava.”
Sethra smiled. “And you?” she asked Teldra. “The same?”
“If you please.”
Tukko emerged, shuffling, blinking, and twitching.
“Klava,” said Sethra Lavode.
Tukko did an imitation of a snake testing the air, gave a twitch that might have been a nod, and shuffled out again.
I watched him leave by a far door. “Just how old is he?” I asked.
“Younger than I am,” said Sethra.
I nodded. “I just asked to give you another chance to be enigmatic.”
“I know.” She studied me. “You are looking well, Vlad.”
“The outdoor life agrees with me,” I said.
She went through the motions of smiling, and said, “And you, Lady Teldra. It is good of you to come, and I thank you for bringing our wandering Easterner with you.”
“It was only my duty, Lady,” said Teldra. “I must, in turn, thank you for your help, and your hospitality.”
The mention of hospitality was Tukko’s cue to emerge with a tray bearing two mugs of klava, a jar of honey, and a pot of thick cream. Teldra received hers with a smile of thanks; she took her klava as it came. I fiddled with mine until it looked right. It tasted right, too. I had missed it even more than I thought I had.
“The simple pleasures of civilization,” I said. “I haven’t tasted klava since Northport.”
Sethra didn’t bat an eye at the mention of Northport, even though—never mind. She said, “Perhaps we should turn our attention to business. Or would you rather wait until you’ve finished your drinks?”
“No, no,” I said. “Drinking klava while talking business brings back all sorts of pleasant memories of happier days when I could sit around with like-minded fellows, contemplate my various affairs, and decide whose leg should be broken that morning.”
Neither of them gave me the satisfaction of reacting, but Loiosh said, “You’re so sentimental, Boss, that I almost can’t stand it,” and flew back to my shoulder, evening up the weight. Rocza, by the way, had not moved the entire time. Presently, Tukko returned, this time with a tray full of some kind of raw dead thing, and set it down on the stone table in front of me. Loiosh and Rocza flew down and began nibbling. Neither Sethra nor Teldra jumped when they flew down. This is significant because pretty much anyone will be startled by a winged thing suddenly flying right in front of him.
I noticed for the first time that Tukko’s hands always seemed to shake, but when he was carrying a tray, the tray never shook. I wondered if his various ills were an act, and, if so, why?
“I thank you on behalf of my familiar,” I said.
“You and they are most welcome,” said Sethra.
I sipped more klava. Damn, but I had missed that stuff.
“Morrolan and Aliera are both alive,” said Sethra abruptly. “Or, at least, they were alive yesterday. They have, therefore, achieved a state where we cannot communicate with them. That means they are either surrounded by gold Phoenix Stone, or they have left the confines of our world. And, until we know otherwise, we must assume they are being held against their will, and that must involve someone with a great deal of power—perhaps even a god, though I consider that unlikely. No, I fear what we are facing is rather more powerful than a god.”
“Good,” I said. “I wouldn’t want it to be too easy.”
“No, Vlad. Wrong response. You should say, ‘How can I help?’”
I snorted. “If I say that, you’re liable to tell me.”
“There’s that danger,” she admitted.
“What do you think happened?”
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t lie to me, Sethra.”
“Vlad!” said Sethra and Teldra together, in entirely different tones.
“Oh, stop it. Sethra, my whole lifetime has been less than the flap of a wing to you, but to me, I’ve known you for a long time. You wouldn’t have sent for me without knowing something, or at least having a strong suspicion.”
“Vlad—”
“No, Sethra. Don’t even. Morrolan used to pull that stuff on me. Go, do this, but I’m not going to tell you any of the reasons behind it. My bosses in the Jhereg were experts at it: Kill this guy, you don’t need to know what he did. I’m done with that sort of rubbish. Where are Morrolan and Aliera, why are they missing, and what is all the other stuff you aren’t telling me?”
Lady Teldra opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “No,” I said. “I won’t go into it like this. I want to know.”
“Do you, then?” said Sethra, almost whispering. There was something in her voice I had never heard before: something chilling, and powerful, and very dark. I was in the presence of the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain, and I was daring to question her. For one of the few times since I’d known her, I felt the power of legend bearing down on me; I sat there, silent, and took it; I could say nothing, but I d
idn’t crumble, either. She said, “Do you really want to know, Vladimir Taltos, Easterner, Jhereg, and renegade?”
“Yes,” I said, though it took considerable effort; and even more effort to keep my voice level.
“And if I don’t tell you, what then? You’ll leave Morrolan e’Drien and Aliera e’Kieron to their fate? Is that what you’re telling me?”
I looked into her eyes, which I discovered I had been avoiding. They were black and went on far past forever; the focus on me was terrible. I controlled my breathing as if I were fencing, or reaching the climax of a spell. “Are you going to make this a test of wills, Sethra? Is that it? You will threaten to leave them to their fate if I won’t help, or I must threaten if you won’t answer my questions? Is that how you want to play this game?”
“I don’t want to make it a game, Vladimir Taltos.”
Looking into her eyes, I saw again Aliera’s face as I returned to life after the Sword and the Dagger of the Jhereg had taken me down; and I saw Morrolan in his Great Hall defending me from the Sorceress in Green, and, I recalled faces, incidents, and conversations that I didn’t want to remember. Then I cursed. “All right,” I said. “If you push it, you’ll win. You’re right. I owe them both too much. If one of us needs to back down, I will—I’ll go run your Verra-be-damned errand for you, like a two-orb street Orca hired to bust heads. But—”
“Then I’ll answer your questions,” said Sethra, and I shut my mouth before I made things worse. “I’ll answer you,” said Sethra, “because you’re right, you deserve to know. But I will speak of matters I have no wish to reveal so, damn you, be grateful.”
“I’ll be grateful,” I said.
Teldra stood abruptly. “I shall be in the library,” she said, “in case you—”
“Please,” said Sethra. “I wish you to stay.”
“I ... very well,” said Lady Teldra, and sat down again.
Tukko emerged, and I realized that my klava had gotten cold. He replaced it, freshened Teldra’s, and left.
“Where should I begin?” she mused. I held my tongue in check and waited.
“Perhaps,” she said, “I should ask: Who are the gods? No, I’ve already taken a false step. That is not the question: Ask, rather, What are the gods? What freaks of chance, what hidden talents, what cataclysmic events combined to produce those whom your people worship, and mine strive to emulate? What are they, why are they, what do they do? Is their power acquired only because there are those who worship them? Is their power, in fact, imaginary? There are no simple answers to the question you have asked, because everything is tied to everything else.”
I drank klava, and listened.
“Part of the answer to the question I have posed is this: The gods are beings who are able to manifest in at least two places at once, and yet who are not subject to the forcible control of any other being; this latter marking the difference between a god and a demon.” That much, actually, I knew already, but I let her continue. “An interesting ability, and one that implies many others. The Jenoine, for all their talents and skills, cannot be in two places at once. Many of the gods, of course, can be in many, many places at once. I don’t understand entirely how it works; I am neither god nor demon.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a demon,” I said. “Unless a certain Jhereg who goes by that name means it more literally than I think he does.”
“You have,” said Sethra. “The Necromancer.”
I stared. “She’s a demon?”
“Yes. But I suggest you don’t try to control her; she is liable to take it wrong.”
“I’ll take that advice to heart.”
She nodded and continued. “As I say, this one skill implies many others. How did they acquire this skill? Some of the younger ones have been taught by some of the older ones; I was once offered godhood. But this still begs the question: Whence came the oldest of the gods, and how did they acquire their abilities?
“We must go back a long way, Vlad. A long way even to me. Before the Empire, and even before the thirty-one tribes that became the Empire.”
“Wait. Thirty-one?”
“Yes.”
“Uh ... why thirty-one? I mean, is the number significant of anything?”
“Not as far as I know. It’s just the number of tribes there happened to be then. And please don’t interrupt; this is difficult enough.”
“I’ll try.”
She nodded. “Your people came first, my good Easterner. I imagine that doesn’t startle you, perhaps you guessed it, or were told something of the kind by Aliera, who indulges in much enlightened speculation. Well, I tell you now what is no guess: Your people predate mine. How they came here, I do not know, but I know they arrived, they were not produced by Nature, as were the dragon, the dzur, the jhereg, and the Serioli. Yet even these were changed by—but no, all things in their proper time.
“Your people were here, though in what state I cannot say, and the animals, and were found here by others, by those we call the Jenoine. I don’t know what they call themselves, and I don’t know where they’re from, except that it isn’t here. They came here, as your people came here, only later.”
Yes, I had known some of this before, too.
“There is so much we don’t know, Vlad; that we can’t know. I have said nothing of what I saw, what I later learned, what I have since deduced, because of all that I don’t know. Were those who came here representative of all Jenoine? Were their actions typical? What were their motives when they arrived, and how did these motives change? Is the word ‘motive,’ as we understand it, even meaningful when discussing them?”
That was a rhetorical question if I’d ever heard one, so I didn’t answer it.
“You have met Verra, her you call the Demon Goddess. That name—but never mind that now. She is of yet another species, and was brought to this world as a servant of the Jenoine. She was there when they began their experiments with the plants and the trees, and then with the animals, and then with the people who came to be called Easterners: changing some of them a little, some of them a great deal, some of them not at all. Improving, in certain cases, upon them: extending their lifespans and the abilities of their minds, and making into them the people who came to be called Human. Yes, Vlad, our beings and even our languages come from your people, and you can take whatever pride in that you care to. Aliera, of course, refuses to believe it, but it is true.”
I had a pleasant moment imagining taunting Aliera about that, but Sethra was still speaking.
“From what Verra has said, I would guess that they were, in their own minds, benevolent; but one must sift her words to discover this, for she hates them. She was their servant, and they were not kind to her. For that matter, she was not kind to them, either. Of this, I know only what hints she has dropped, and a few words from Barlen, her consort, but it is clear that it was Verra, and a few others, who sabotaged their work, who created the Great Sea of Amorphia, who unleashed upon the world that which we call sorcery, who themselves became the first of those we know as gods, and who destroyed all of the Jenoine who then lived on this world.
“I have lived through Adron’s Disaster, in which those same powers were unleashed a second time upon the world, and the Lesser Sea was created. The Great Sea, in area, is seven times that of the Lesser Sea; I cannot, in my own mind, imagine the cataclysm of the moment when it came into being, that instant when for the first time the Unknowable took form.”
This was something I didn’t care to imagine.
“But,” continued Sethra before I had to mentally go there, “the Unknowable is, by definition, formlessness: the totality of content, with nonexistence of form. What happens when the Unknowable takes form? One answer is, it ceases to be unknowable. As soon as there was a Sea of Amorphia, there had, sooner or later, to be a Goddess named Verra to codify and define the Elder Sorcery that could manipulate it; and a Serioli named Clylng Fr’ngtha that made the Elder Sorcery tangible by embodying it in objects
blurring the distinction between animate and inanimate; and a Human”—she meant a Dragaeran—“named Zerika to craft an Orb that would make this power subject to any mind that could discipline itself to learn the patterns and codes by which the Orb translated the raw power of amorphia into the fingers that shape reality. Now the Unknowable is knowable again, and it is a power such as exists, so far as I know and so far as the Necromancer has been able to discover, nowhere else in the universe—in any universe, for there is more than one, as the Necromancer has demonstrated.”
I had some trouble with this, but just sort of mentally stored it away for future consideration, and kept listening.
“So in our world, thanks to the gods, there exists this power, and, somewhere, are the Jenoine, filled with lust for the power, and hatred for those who destroyed their brethren—or so I believe we might think of their feelings and not be too far from the truth.
“Who is it, Vlad, who might protect us from this jealous and angry species, who see us all as the rebellious objects of science—as test subjects placed in a maze who not only escaped it, but killed the observers and now in their arrogance operate the maze as they please and will not let those who built it so much as observe? Who might protect us from the Jenoine?”
I guessed what the answer was going to be, and I was right, but I didn’t interrupt.