Voice of the Gods

  “…do we believe? Her or them?” a voice said. Lu recognized it as Mez, the smith.

  “She knows the truth. She’s got powers. She can read minds,” another replied. Pol, a farmer.

  “She could be lying.”

  “Why would she?”

  “Because she don’t like outsiders interfering and making low people stronger. She got a deal with I-Portak to keep him and his warriors in charge.”

  “The gods chose her,” Pol said. “I still follow the Circle.”

  “This’d never have happened if we’d had our own priest,” a different voice lamented. Roi, the baker’s wife.

  A short silence followed. Ger stopped coughing.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said hoarsely. “Nobody cares about us. Not the newcomers or the warriors or the White. If the newcomers cared about us they would have gone home, not got us all in trouble.”

  “We were trying to make things better,” a different voice interjected. Lu recognized Noenei’s voice. Lu had admired the woman’s dignity and tranquil bearing. Now, on the road to Chon and judgment, such qualities didn’t matter.

  “You shouldn’t have brought the servants here,” Roi said. “That got their attention.”

  “We…we just wanted to help them.”

  “Well, you didn’t. Look at us now. All of us are going to die because you didn’t know when to stop.”

  Another silence followed.

  “Why couldn’t you have put aside your gods for ours?” someone further away asked angrily. “Not one of you became a Circlian, but lots of us became Pentadrians. Seems to me if you wanted to be Dunwayan like you said, you would have.”

  The answer came from another newcomer too far away for Lu to hear.

  “Your gods aren’t helping you now, are they?” a woman said bitterly. “They’re not helping us, either. I wish you had never come here!”

  Others voiced their agreement. Ger’s coughing grew louder. More accusations rang out. Suddenly lots of people were shouting. The air vibrated with pent-up anger and fear. Someone leapt up and Lu flinched as she saw them deal out a savage kick, though she could not see the victim. There was a cry of pain and several of protest, then people all over the field were scrambling to their feet—some to strike at the newcomers, some to get away.

  Lu grabbed Ti as she rose and turned to Dor, but he was gone. She searched for him, heart racing with terror.

  “STOP!”

  A light flashed so bright Lu found she could not see properly. Ti began to wail.

  “THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTING!”

  The voice was the White’s. Vision was slowly coming back. Lu blinked hard and held Ti close as she searched for her husband. Warriors marched across the field, snapping out orders.

  “Pentadrians to the left, Circlians to the right,” one was saying.

  They’re separating us, she realized. Where’s…?

  Out of the crowd came Dor, his face dark with suppressed anger. She hurried to him and saw his expression soften. As his arm came around her shoulder she sighed with relief. Then she noticed the blood on his knuckles. She looked at him questioningly.

  He smiled grimly. “A lucky hit,” he said. “After that I couldn’t get close. Nobody could. Most of them are sorcerers.”

  “Sorcerers?” she repeated.

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I think the White must be right. Ordinary people might have a few Gifts, but nothing like these. We’ve been tricked, Lu.”

  Lu looked down at Ti, her little face screwed up as she cried with all her being, then over at the crowd of newcomers—no, Pentadrians—now settling down on the other side of the field. She felt something she had never felt before.

  Hate.

  34

  Wrists were unbound. A water skin was handed over, and a parcel of food. Sreil turned to look at Auraya. His concern for her, and for the priest left alone below, was so strong she felt battered by it. She held his eyes and watched his thoughts shift to those who had gone before him, and home. He nodded once, then turned and leapt off the building.

  She watched him fly away, relief washing over her. He still had to survive the long journey home, but the chances she could face Speaker Sirri again without terrible guilt and grief were better. She did not know how she would, if Sirri’s son did not make it home.

  One Siyee left to free, she thought, conscious of the man at her side. If Nekaun is going to move against me he will do it soon.

  “What are you going to show me today?” she asked, turning to regard him.

  His shoulders lifted. “Nothing. I have shown you everything within reach of the city. Today…I thought we might relax and talk.”

  Auraya smiled wryly. She could never allow herself to relax when talking to him. He led her down into the building and through corridors. Parts of the Sanctuary were familiar to her now. She rarely lost her sense of direction. As Nekaun took her a few levels higher than she had ventured before, she found her curiosity growing.

  Reaching the end of a corridor, Nekaun led her through a set of double doors and led her into a large, airy room. Domestics waited.

  “These are my private rooms,” he told her. A few words in Avvenan sent the domestics hurrying away. Nekaun opened a pair of wooden doors, revealing a balcony.

  “Come outside,” he said. “It is a pleasant place to sit and talk, especially on a day like this when cool breezes ease the summer heat. I have ordered drinks and food.”

  Auraya followed him out. Elaborately woven reed chairs filled the space. A blown glass jug stood on a table next to two intricately decorated goblets. Nekaun poured water into the goblets and handed one to Auraya.

  Sitting down, she sipped it cautiously. Nekaun settled into a chair facing hers.

  Turaan sat further away. The Companion barely spoke these days and most of the time she forgot he was there. Whereas Nekaun used to speak in his own language and allow Turaan to translate, he spoke Hanian now. Yet the Companion remained. Nekaun still needed to consult Turaan on the less common words he did not know yet.

  Auraya always waited until Hanian was spoken, despite knowing that her mind-reading abilities had been discovered. So long as the Voices pretended the fact was a secret, so would she.

  “So what do you think of my home now you have seen more of it?” Nekaun asked.

  “The Sanctuary is pleasant,” she replied.

  He smiled. “And the city?”

  “Prosperous. Ordered. I wish Jarime had been planned with as much foresight.”

  “One doesn’t plan unless one needs to. Hania is not as dry as Avven. What of my people? How do you regard them now?”

  “As I always have,” she told him. “People are much the same everywhere. They love and hate. They follow good traditions and bad. They work, eat, sleep, raise families and grieve the dead.”

  Nekaun’s eyebrows rose. “Yet you do not regard them in the same way you regard the Siyee?”

  “The Siyee don’t hate me. Your people do.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded. “But you did not know this until you came here.”

  “No, but I reasoned that they would. I would have been deluded if I’d thought I’d be welcome. Your people have much to hate me for.”

  His eyes brightened. “You could redress that,” he said softly. “If you stayed here. You have an opportunity to gain their favor.”

  “And earn the hatred of my people?” she asked.

  “Ah, but would you? If you brought about a lasting peace between our people you may be loved by all. It might not be easy at first, but if you succeeded…”

  Auraya looked away, through the railing of the balcony to the city below. His vision was a powerful one. A tempting one. As a White, she had been known for her ability to unite people. Her naïve suggestions had brought about the freeing of her village from the Dunwayans who had taken it hostage. Her insight into the Dreamweavers had allowed her to achieve an alliance with the Somreyans, and to encourage tolerance and cooperation between the cult and Circli
ans. Her empathy and love for the Siyee had united the sky people with the Circlians. Making peace between the Circlians and Pentadrians almost seemed the next logical step.

  But she was no longer a White. More importantly, she no longer had their complete trust. A negotiator needed the trust of all parties he or she dealt with.

  Then there were the gods. She could never succeed at making peace between Circlians and Pentadrians with Huan working against her. She could never succeed unless the gods wanted peace. All of the gods.

  Until the Circle decide to accept their Pentadrian counterparts there can be no peace.

  A chill ran through her as she realized the truth of that. Peace was not in her hands, nor in the hands of any mortal or immortal. Mortals were helpless so long as the gods fought each other.

  And so long as the gods used mortals as their tools and weapons. Why do they have to involve us? she thought, feeling anger stirring. Why can’t they settle their differences and leave us be? They lose followers in wars. Surely it would be better to make peace with each other?

  From what she had overheard of Huan, she doubted the goddess could ever rise above petty hate and pride to negotiate with the Pentadrian gods. And what she had overheard of the gods’ conversations told her their own alliance wasn’t as solid as they liked mortals to believe.

  Nekaun shifted in his seat, drawing her attention back to him. She felt an unexpected sympathy. He could not see that his ambition was impossible.

  “I wish it were possible,” she told him. “But I cannot be the peacemaker. Not unless all the gods wish it.”

  “My gods may wish it. Do yours?”

  She grimaced. “I don’t know.”

  He looked into the room. She saw that domestics had arrived with platters of food. They brought them outside and set them on low tables. Nekaun took a handful of nuts and chewed as he waited for them to leave.

  “Is there anything I can offer you to persuade you to stay?” he asked when they had.

  Auraya hesitated to answer. Once she let him know there was nothing to keep her here he would have no reason to keep his promise to let the Siyee go. No reason but the vow he’d made.

  “Perhaps just a little longer,” he said. “A few months?”

  She shook her head. “If you do achieve the peace you seek I would consider visiting Glymma again.”

  He smiled. “There is something I could offer you, though it is too small a thing to offer in exchange for anything but a delay in your leaving.”

  Turaan’s mind was suddenly alive with expectation and a name. Auraya managed to stop herself smiling.

  “Oh?”

  “Mirar.” Nekaun waved a hand. “His death could be arranged. It could even be arranged that you kill him yourself, if you wish.”

  Auraya allowed herself a brief chuckle. “Forgive me, but for a moment there I had to wonder if you were interested in converting to the Circlian religion.”

  He looked bemused. “Why?”

  “This would please my gods greatly.”

  “I see. And you remaining here would not.”

  She shrugged. “Until they indicate otherwise, I have to assume so.”

  He nodded. “Then all I can hope for is that they will indicate otherwise.” Taking another handful of nuts, he ate silently. Auraya took the opportunity to cautiously sample the dried fruit.

  A door closed within the room. Nekaun looked up and frowned. A Servant stepped onto the balcony, radiating anxiety. He said something quickly. Reading the meaning from his mind, Auraya went cold.

  Nekaun turned to regard her. “I’m afraid the last Siyee has fallen ill. It is doubtful that he will be able to fly tomorrow morning.”

  She rose. “Take me to him.”

  He nodded and stood up. “Of course. We’ll go there directly.”

  Morning had confirmed what the night had hinted at: Avven was a near desert. Sunrise had painted the eroded landscape beautiful shades, but once the sun rose higher it leached everything of color. The air was dry and full of dust. Vegetation either huddled about the occasional water source or spread thinly across the rocky land, stunted and tough.

  Sorlina’s one road led out of the city into a deep ravine, following the thin river that had once supplied the city. Emerahl had kept the arem walking at a steady pace all night. By morning the ravine and river were far behind and the road wound between fantastically eroded rock formations.

  Ahead she had sensed a spark of triumph and gleefulness. Sometimes it drew away, sometimes she felt she was coming closer to it. Ray was pushing the arem hard, then stopping to rest when it tired. He wasn’t foolish enough to kill his mount. Not only would pursuers catch him easily, but walking in this hot dry land would be unpleasant and possibly fatal.

  Emerahl had grabbed her water skin as she had slipped away from the Thinkers’ camp, but it held only enough to last her a day in this heat. She would have to hope there were sources of water along the road. If arem were common along this route there must be a well for them. But she wasn’t sure if the road was still used by travellers. She had seen none passing through the city to the lowlands, and the city itself would only attract the occasional curious traveller.

  Ray would not have come this way if he didn’t think he could make it to Glymma, she told herself. He’s a greedy traitor, but he’s not stupid.

  The long ride through the night had tired Ray and his emotions were not as loud to her senses as they had been. The footprints of his arem in the dusty road were easier to follow, however. She was tired and fighting off sleep was more difficult when she could sense the arem’s weariness. She wanted to tell The Twins what had happened but she could not trust herself to wake up after a dream-link.

  I wonder if I could doze while riding. I could give it a try. I’ll know that I’ve failed when I hit the ground…no, I must keep awake in case the tracks…

  She pulled the arem to a halt. The road surface ahead was smooth. No tracks.

  Turning in her saddle she looked back. Not far behind she could see tracks leading off the road. She turned the arem and sent it back to that point. The tracks led away toward a rock outcrop.

  Searching with her mind, she sensed a vague relief. The faintness of what she could detect suggested the source was sleeping. She smiled.

  Dismounting was painful. She smothered a groan and massaged her legs and rear, then stretched carefully. Pouring a little water into a bowl she wedged it between a few rocks and left it for the arem.

  Stepping off the road, she walked slowly toward the rocks, trying to keep the crunch of her footsteps on the stony ground as quiet as possible. The outcrop was the size of a large house. She picked her way around into its shadow, then stopped and smiled.

  Ray was lying on a blanket. His arem stood with its head hanging, its lead tied to Ray’s wrist. It still carried packs and saddle.

  A precaution, she thought. In case he has to leave in a hurry. Poor thing. All that treasure must be heavy.

  She drew magic, created a basic protective shield and walked toward them. The arem took a few steps away, its lead jerking Ray’s wrist. Emerahl smiled as Ray grimaced and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Being woken was not pleasant when one was that tired.

  “Greetings, Raynora,” she said, stopping a few steps away.

  He blinked at her, then crossed his legs and sighed. His dismay was palpable. She sensed frustration too. He knew she was a sorceress, and that he could do nothing to stop her.

  “Emmea. I should have guessed. Barmonia was so eager to get rid of you. Are you here to kill me or drag me back?”

  “Neither. Bar didn’t send me,” she told him. “He ordered me to stay put then sent Mikmer and Kereon after you. They fell for your trick, of course. Hurried after your decoy arem.”

  His smile was strained. “But you didn’t.”

  “Of course not.” She shrugged. “I know where you’re heading and I know why. I’ve known about your mission all along.”

  “How? I didn’t know I’
d accept it until last night.”

  She just smiled.

  He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell the others?”

  “Do you think they would have believed me?”

  Ray shook his head. “No. If you knew my mission, why didn’t you stop me destroying the Scroll?” His eyes widened. “You wanted it destroyed, just like the Servants did!”

  She chuckled. “No. I didn’t care about the Scroll itself. Ugly thing, really. Not worth the gold it’s made of. I would never have got it out of the country. No, I wanted what it led to.” She nodded to the pack.

  He followed her gaze, then a smile spread across his face. “Ah.”

  “Yes. Exotic. Old. Relatively pretty.” She walked over to the arem and stroked its nose. “And now I don’t have to share any of it.”

  “But—”

  “But what? You have a reward to claim?” She moved to the packs and opened the bulky, heavy-looking one. Gold, silver and gemstones formed a tangle of chains and trinkets inside. Reaching in, she raked through, half-heartedly looking for something extraordinary, but unsure what it might be. Something containing a—

  Diamond! The gem was impressively large and held in an odd silver setting. Plucking it out, she examined it closely. There were glyphs all over the setting. Looking at the gem itself, she felt her heart skip a beat as she saw tiny markings inside it.

  This is it! she thought. I know it!

  Pulling the chain free, she looped it over her neck. Ray was sitting with his head in his hands. As she went to close the pack she caught a glint of green: an enormous emerald on a thick gold chain. She freed it. Closing the pack, she lifted it from the arem and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Ray.”

  He looked up at her.

  “Catch.”

  She tossed the emerald to him. It landed neatly in his palm. “What’s this for?” he asked.

  “Something to remember me by.”