Climbing to the upper deck he activated the ship’s power and headed the Serpent for the coast.
Yasha lay back on the bed, the whore’s head resting on his shoulder, her thigh across his legs. The hut was warm, and lit by a single flickering lantern. It was pleasant here, and he felt at peace.
From beyond the huts he could hear the faint music created by the flute of Questor Anu, the Holy One. It was lilting and strangely beautiful, bringing to all who heard it a sense of peace and calm.
According to Yasha’s calculations they were almost halfway through the twenty-day night. He had worked twelve shifts in the constant darkness and eaten twelve meals. He smiled. And he had rutted with eight whores.
“Why do you smile, my big man?” she asked him. “Did I please you?”
“You always please me,” he said, twisting his head to kiss her brow.
“You are the only one who kisses me,” she told him. The music of the flute drifted into the distance. He has moved behind the structure, thought Yasha. So far the work was still behind schedule, but they had raised six courses of stone in a series of gradually decreasing squares. What was baffling to Yasha was why the interior had so many channels and tunnels built into the design. It was not as if anyone was going to live inside the pyramid. As if reading his thoughts the woman raised herself up on her elbow.
“What is it for?” she asked him.
“What is what for?”
“This … big building?”
“It is for the Avatars,” he said. “Every thirty years or so they seem to want to create some lasting monument. My father worked on the pyramid we are tearing down. There’s no sense to it. Some of the lads were excited about the prospect of seeing what was inside it. There wasn’t anything. No gold, no treasure, no bodies. Nothing. Just empty. Crazy, isn’t it?”
He sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. Reaching for the wine jug he lifted it to his lips, drank deeply, then wiped the moisture from his thick, dark beard. The flute sounded closer again.
“It must be for something,” said the woman. “Why else would the Holy One himself be here?”
This was a question that haunted Yasha. He did not object to the vanities of the Avatar, nor even care much that they ruled the five cities. Someone had to rule, and as long as Yasha had employment and wages enough to buy food and whores he was content. But his curiosity was aroused by the Holy One and his magic. When he played the flute heavy rocks became light, perhaps a twentieth of their weight, and four men could maneuver huge blocks into place. For the first few days this had caused much excitement and unease in the workers. Now they were used to it. Yasha heaved himself upright and pulled on his leggings and shirt.
“What was it like being a king?” she asked him. He laughed aloud.
“I wasn’t a king,” he said. “It was merely an amusing interlude to mark the first course being completed.”
“But you were carried on the shoulders of the men and you wore a laurel crown. And even the Holy One bowed as you passed him. Did it feel very fine?” Yasha thought about the question as he pulled on his heavy shoes.
“It felt good,” he admitted. “But not half as good as a roll with you.”
“Do you mean that? Do you really?”
“Of course.”
“Will you come back after your next shift?”
“How could any man stay away from you … dearheart?” he concluded, having forgotten her name.
Leaning over, he kissed her once more then, leaving the clay payment tablet on the small table beside the bed, he stepped out into the night and strolled across to the infant pyramid. Questor Anu was striding along the top of the sixth course still playing his flute. Yasha watched him for a while and, when the Holy One had ceased playing, he waved to him. Anu waved back, then climbed down to stand alongside the huge foreman.
“We are doing well,” said Anu. “But we need to work faster yet.”
“It will come, Questor. Already the skills of the workers are increasing.”
Anu smiled and turned away.
“Tell me, Lord, why do you play music for the blocks when they are already in place?” he asked. Anu paused, then swung back to face the Vagar. In the bright constant moonlight his blue hair shone like polished silver.
“The stone remembers my tunes,” he said seriously. Then he laughed at the look of confusion on Yasha’s face. “Each block is created by the bonding of millions of fragments, and each fragment also contains millions of particles. Possibly each particle is also a composite of many smaller pieces. The Music goes into the stone, absorbed into each fragment, each particle. And the song goes on—perhaps forever—within the structure.”
“I can’t hear it,” said Yasha.
“And yet the Music is all around us. The universe is a song, Yasha. We are part of it. Have you ever wondered why Man is so drawn to music? Why we gather wherever it is played. Why we dance to it, adjusting our bodies to the rhythms?”
“Because it feels good,” said the Vagar.
“Yes, it feels good. It feels natural, for that is what it is. Those moments when music touches our souls remind us that we are part of the Great Song. All of us—Avatar, Vagar, tribesman, nomad. And every tree and plant, and bird and animal. We are all essential to the harmony of the Music.”
“Maybe so, Holy One, but it seems to me that the Avatars have been granted all the best tunes.” He regretted his words instantly, for they came dangerously close to dissension. But Anu merely nodded.
“You are quite right, Yasha. But nothing is forever, whatever my brothers prefer to believe. This structure we are creating together is not for the Avatar alone. It is for the world. For you, and your children, and the children of your children.”
“I do not have any children, Holy One.”
Anu laid his slender hand on Yasha’s shoulder. “You have seventeen children,” he said. “And you sired another this evening. You really should make an effort to keep in touch with your women.”
Yasha chuckled. “The women I sleep with have many partners, Holy One. Hard to say who fathered which child. And I like it that way. Have you ever been married?”
“No, I cannot say the idea ever appealed to me.”
“Me neither. Maybe when I get old and I want a little more warmth in my bed.”
“I have been old,” said Anu. “There is some joy, but no warmth to be found.”
With that he bade his foreman good night and walked slowly away to his tent.
Chapter Seventeen
Sofarita sat quietly in an anteroom outside the Council Chamber, her eyes closed, her face serene. Two Avatar guards stood close by. One was thinking of the new horse he had acquired, and whether it would be as fast as its sire. He was also considering whether or not to have it gelded. The other guard was thinking of Sofarita, and how good it would be to bed her. Their thoughts were intrusive and Sofarita tried to push them away.
The simplest method was to float free of her body and close her spirit ears to their considerations. This she did, and was immediately rewarded with a sense of peace. Now they were merely anonymous soldiers.
It had been a long and interesting day. First Questor Ro had taken her to his house. Sofarita had never been inside so spectacular a home, with its bright rooms, exquisite furniture, its wonderfully woven rugs, and its garden filled with flowering trees and shrubs. Here she had eaten a mouth-watering meal and had been waited upon by servants. The plate upon which her meal was served was blue and white, glazed to a brilliant shine, and her wine was deep and red and rich beyond anything she had tasted before. During the afternoon Questor Ro sent for a gown-maker. He had arrived with a score of dresses and ankle-length gowns in materials so soft and intoxicating that the woman Sofarita had once been could easily have believed she had died and been brought home to live with the gods. But she was not that woman any longer, and the luxury and splendor of Avatar life seemed now to be ephemeral and insubstantial. Water drunk from a golden goblet
was still water, and the same, free, sunlight glittered from glass and diamond alike. Wealth merely symbolized might, and Sofarita needed no symbols. Day by day her intellect was growing. And with it her power.
Dressed, as now, in a flowing gown of shimmering white satin, she had met with the Questor General. He was, it seemed to Sofarita, an intelligent man, cultured and sensitive.
She had taken him on the same flight as Questor Ro. He had observed the thirty golden ships and had estimated their arrival at Egaru within twenty-four hours.
He had questioned her at length about her powers, and asked her if she had ever come into contact with a healing crystal. Sofarita was not skilled at lying, but equally she knew that Viruk had broken the law by healing her cancer. “Yes,” she said, finally. “I was dying and an Avatar healed me. I will say no more.”
Rael nodded, as if understanding her reticence. His thoughts were easy to read, but of little interest to Sofarita. He was still thinking strongly of the golden ships and how to deal with them. But one striking thought came through, tinged with dread.
Crystal-joined.
Sofarita picked up an image of a young girl, slowly turning to glass, dying in cold and brittle agony. She felt Rael’s pain and drew back from him, allowing him privacy in his remembered grief.
Coming back to the present she wondered how the debate was proceeding within the chamber, and drifted through the wall to hover above the long table. The Questor General was sitting at the head of the table, a slim man with close-cropped blue hair and keen, discerning eyes. He and the other twenty people present were listening to a hugely fat man. He was adorned with gold, rings on every chubby finger and a massive gold torque upon his swollen neck. Sofarita scanned the councillors. Questor Ro looked angry, his face pale. Beside him sat a slim hawk-faced man fighting to keep a smile from his features. As the fat man continued to speak Ro suddenly stormed to his feet, pointing and shouting. Sofarita, her spirit ears closed, wondered what the row was about.
Tentatively she allowed sound to penetrate. “… insane! Have you completely lost your wits, Caprishan?”
“Not I, but you,” replied the fat man. “Whatever were you thinking of, Ro? The Vagars exist as our servants. That is what the Source intended. To allow one to live who has demonstrated such power is to undermine everything we stand for. It sends a message to all Vagars that they can aspire to be our equals. And that, my friends,” he said, turning his gaze from Ro, “would be the beginning of the end for us. I recommend that the woman be put to death forthwith!”
As he sat down the Questor General signalled for Ro to speak. The little man tugged on his blue forked beard. “These are desperate times, my friends,” he began, still struggling to control his temper. “I have seen the enemy and he is powerful. Very powerful. Thirty ships are on their way here and others have already landed in the far south. Through Sofarita’s power we can observe them, listen to their plans perhaps, and outwit them. Without her we are blind to their ambitions. To talk of continuing Vagar subjugation at such a time is to miss the point entirely. When an avalanche threatens a house one does not wonder whether people will be available to clean the windows.”
The hawk-faced man raised his hand. “We recognize our cousin Niclin,” said the Questor General. Ro sat down.
“There is a major flaw in Questor Ro’s reasoning,” he said. “We do not know whether the newcomers represent an avalanche or a blessing. They are Avatars, like us. We could be at the dawn of a new age of greatness. Until they arrive, and state their intentions, we cannot judge them. What we do know is that they possessed a power source that enabled them to escape the cataclysm in their own world. Together our combined knowledge could create awesome possibilities for the future. But that is surely a secondary question.
“Here and now we are discussing the implications for our culture of a young Vagar woman possessed of powers we ourselves no longer enjoy. Caprishan is quite correct to point out the psychological effect that such a woman would have on the Vagars we rule.
“What future would we have if this woman did—in the unlikely event of a war against the newcomers—help us to victory? The Avatars would have been rescued by a member of an inferior species. Why then should they accept our domination? I agree with Caprishan. The woman should be crystal-drawn.”
Once more Ro leapt to his feet. “Questor General, I appeal to you! You have seen her power and the might of the enemy. This is a military matter and should not be decided by vote.”
Rael sat back and was silent for a moment. Then he too rose. “We rule,” he said, “through a mixture of fear and awe and selfishness. The Vagars know that we have mighty weapons and are almost immortal. They know also that to live in the five cities, under our control, means good food, high wages, and a standard of life unknown in the outer lands. Each of these three—fear, awe and self-interest—is vital to the other. But by far the most important are the first two. The moment the Vagars cease to fear the Avatar they will rise against us and we will be swamped. If they see that one of their own has power in excess of ours they will no longer hold us in such awe. Then they will question why they should fear us.
“I accept what Questor Ro puts forward. The woman would be a powerful weapon for us. But I must agree with Councillors Caprishan and Niclin that, in our own best interests, she should be crystal-drawn forthwith.”
A cold anger settled on Sofarita. Returning to her body she opened her eyes. Her hands were trembling with suppressed fury. She felt the eyes of the guards upon her. Sofarita looked up. “I am leaving,” she said.
Rising smoothly she walked towards the door. One of the guards stepped into her path. It was the man who had pictured her naked and dreamed of bedding her. His hand closed on her arm. He screamed as his fingers wrenched back and snapped. Falling back from her he scrabbled for the knife in the bronze sheath at his side. Both his legs gave way, the bones of his thighs cracking and splitting. Sofarita walked on. The second guard ran at her. She swung and raised her hand. He stopped two feet short, as if slamming into a wall. “Not one of you Blue-hairs will ever touch me again,” she told him. He struggled to move forward.
At that moment the Council Chamber doors swung open and the Questor General ran out, closely followed by Ro and several other councillors. Sofarita stood her ground.
“You are fools,” she said. “I offered you my aid, and you sought to kill me. As Ro said you now face the greatest danger of your lives. The newcomers—the Almecs—will behave just as you do. Think of it, you stupid men! One came to you who had power. Did you greet me with open arms and ask for friendship? No. You decided to destroy me. The Almecs will be exactly the same. You will say to them, ‘But we have power just like you.’ And they will see that it is true. And they will set out to destroy you. They will say, ‘Yes, they have power, but they are not Almecs.’ ” Sofarita looked into the eyes of the Questor General. “You know that I speak the truth. I read it in your thoughts. And you!” she said, stabbing a finger towards Niclin. “You sought to have me killed merely to annoy Questor Ro. You are doubly an idiot. Know this, I could kill you all. But I shall not. The Almecs will do that.” She swung again to Rael. “You spoke of awe and fear. I do not hold you in awe, and you should learn to fear me!”
The guard with the broken bones cried out. His legs were twisted grotesquely and one thigh bone had pierced the flesh. Blood had stained his leggings and was flowing to the lush green rug beneath him. Sofarita turned her back upon the silent councillors and strode out of the hall.
Rael was the first to react. Crossing the anteroom floor he ran up a flight of stairs and along a wide gallery. At the far end he threw open the door and emerged onto the parapet above the roof. An Avatar archer stood guard there. “Give me your bow!” ordered Rael, snatching the weapon from the surprised man.
Focusing his concentration, Rael linked to the weapon. Strings of flickering light appeared and he moved to the edge of the parapet. The woman in the white gown emerged onto the wide av
enue below, a slender tiny figure. Extending the bow arm, he took aim.
“Don’t do it, Rael!” shouted Questor Ro, emerging on the rooftop.
Momentarily Rael froze, but then took aim again. At that moment the woman slipped into the crowd beyond and was lost to his sight.
The Questor General swung towards Ro. “Do you have any understanding of what she represents?” he said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice.
“A chance of survival,” snapped Ro. “She is right, and you know it. The Almecs will not want peace. They are coming for conquest. You don’t send thirty warships in order to establish ambassadors.”
“I am not talking about the Almecs, Ro. Can you not see what she is? What she is becoming?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“She is crystal-joined, Ro.”
The words hung in the air. Ro blinked. “That is not possible. The odds—”
“One in a hundred million,” interrupted Rael. “I know the odds. Her power will grow daily, because she is drawing it from every crystal in the city. Now do you understand?”
“You could be wrong, Rael,” said Ro.
“I pray that I am.”
Agents were sent throughout the city seeking sign of Sofarita, and well-known informers were told that a huge reward was on offer to anyone who could discover her whereabouts. The councillors, together with armed guards to prevent attacks by Pajists, returned to their fortified homes. Rael and Ro stayed at the council building.
A fierce storm lashed at the city throughout most of the night, lightning blazing above the Luan estuary. The shutters rattled against the window frames in the high room above the Council Chamber as Rael paced back and forth. Ro had never seen the Questor General this unsettled.
“I made a mistake,” said Rael at last. “I hope it will not prove fatal.” Ro said nothing. He was thinking of the dark-haired Vagar woman, and struggling to understand his volatile emotions. He did not disagree with Rael concerning the need for fear among the subject races—indeed he had spent the greater part of his life extolling the virtues of such a policy. But this time … All he could see was the way she tilted her head when she spoke, and how the tawny flecks of her eyes caught the light.
Echoes of the Great Song Page 20
