Echoes of the Great Song

by David Gemmell

  “What can I do? The yearning is tearing at me.”

  “We will be there soon. You need to be strong.”

  “And what happens when—and if—I drain Almeia’s power? What will become of me then?”

  “Anu’s pyramid will be complete. That will feed you.”

  She laughed at him, the sound bitter and derisive. “Anu’s pyramid will kill me!” she shouted. “It will rip my soul from me.” As soon as she had spoken the words she blanched. “No!” she whispered. “What have I done?”

  Ro stood by silently, staring at her stricken face.

  “I have doomed them all,” she whispered. “Almeia was here. She heard me! Oh sweet Heaven!”

  “She knows what?” asked Ro.

  “Anu’s pyramid is not intended to feed the crystals but to drain them utterly. He is building a weapon against Almeia. This journey was merely a distraction, to keep her energies focused on me.” Suddenly she cried out, as another spasm of pain tore into her. “I cannot … survive … without feeding, Ro!”

  Tenderly he took her hand. “Sit with me on the floor. Link with me as I move through the Six Rituals. We will find calm. We will win, Sofarita. Let your pain and your need flow into me and we will fight it together.”

  “It will destroy you,” she whispered.

  “We will see,” he said.

  They sat together on the rug, hand in hand.

  The Great Hall of the Questors was rarely used, save for ceremonial functions or the funeral orations—thankfully rare—of those Avatars who died after centuries of service. Situated beneath the Great Library the vast circular hall had high arched windows and banks of seats around the walls. It had been built to stage plays for guests of the ambassador to the Avatar Prime and could accommodate 800 people.

  Now it was scarcely half-full as all of the surviving Avatars and their families gathered to listen to the words of the Questor General. Rael stood in the center of the hall, gazing at the people as they took up their seats. Rarely were all of the Avatars gathered together, and only at times like this did it come home to him how few they were. Six of the women held newborn babes. A mere six. Elsewhere the younger children were playing in the high gallery watched over by two of the mothers.

  When at last all were gathered—save the twenty men sailing with the Serpent—Rael called for silence. Then he told them all of the offer made by Cas-Coatl. Unity with the Almecs. A new life with a brother race. He made it clear to them that he believed the assurances given by the Almec. Then he fell silent for a moment.

  “I shall speak again at the close of the debate,” he said. “But now I shall take questions.”

  “What changed their minds, Rael?” asked Niclin.

  “I believe the most significant factor is the work of Anu. The Crystal Queen learned of his talents and knows that by absorbing his wisdom and his knowledge she can assure herself of life eternal.”

  “What was it that stopped you agreeing at once?” asked Caprishan.

  “As I said, I shall speak later.”

  High at the back of the hall Mirani raised her hand.

  “I recognize the Lady Mirani,” said Rael.

  “What are the Almecs’ intentions toward the peoples of the twin cities? It is my understanding that these killers leave only destruction in their wake.”

  “They intend to kill all of the Vagars,” said Rael, his voice even. “Cas-Coatl maintains that the Crystal Queen needs this sustenance until such time as Anu’s pyramid begins to generate power.”

  “So they are offering us our lives in return for utter betrayal?”

  “Indeed they are,” said Rael. Mirani met his gaze, and fell silent.

  “Has Anu been apprised of the situation?” asked another man, sitting close to the front.

  “We have no way to contact him,” said Rael.

  The blue-bearded Goray raised his hand. Rael gestured for him to speak. “As you know,” he began, “I am one of the oldest here. I have seen many wars and a host of battles. My question is this: do you, Questor General, believe this war can be won?”

  “I believe it can be won,” said Rael.

  “Then I have a second question. What becomes of us if we do win? Where do we go?”

  “I cannot say, Goray. For I do not know. Are there any other questions?”

  Niclin rose. “Can we win back power once Anu’s work is completed?”

  “I do not believe that we can,” admitted Rael. “Our days of pre-eminence here are over. Worse still, I do not believe the Vagars will allow us to merely go on as immortals in their midst. There will be those who seek revenge against us for what they perceive as past wrongs. There will be others who envy our immortality. No. If we do win this war we must make our home elsewhere.”

  “Unless we join with the Almecs,” said Caprishan.

  “Indeed so,” agreed Rael.

  No one spoke, and Rael waited for several heartbeats. “Now,” he said, “it is time to debate the question facing us. As is our custom I shall ask two of our number to address us, one in favor of joining with the Almecs, one against. I will ask Questor Caprishan to put forward reasons in favor of accepting Cas-Coatl’s offer.”

  Caprishan stood, walked out to the center of the floor and turned to face his fellow Avatars.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that there is little need to debate this issue. We are no longer fighting for our homes and our land, for we have no land and our homes and possessions will be forfeit should we succeed against the Almecs.

  “But let us put aside thoughts of the war and the loved ones we have lost since it began. Let us look instead at our first thoughts concerning the Almecs. Since we first learned of them we knew they were Avatars like ourselves. We hoped that they would accept us as brothers and join with us in maintaining control of this savage world. That was our hope then. Why should that be changed? What prospects have we if the war goes on? To become an exiled people—if indeed the Vagars do not seek to murder us when the war is won? To sail the seas and set up dirt camps on some foreign shore? To grub in the earth like farmers? How many of us know how to plant crops and gather them? How many can raise cattle, and butcher them? Does anyone here know how to build a house, or weave a cloth, or make a chair?

  “We are gods, my friends. Gods do not have to concern themselves with such grubby detail. We have servants to minister to us and serfs to farm the land.

  “So, the Almecs need to kill a few Vagars. Why should that concern us? Their lives are measured in a few heartbeats. Ours are almost eternal.

  “The simple truth is that if we defeat the Almecs we defeat ourselves. Therefore we should join with them.”

  He was widely applauded as he strode to his seat. Rael moved back to the center. “I ask Viruk to speak in rebuttal,” he said.

  Viruk, sitting two rows back, looked startled. He rose and walked down the steps to where Rael waited. “But I agree with Caprishan,” he whispered. “Why choose me?”

  “Because you are a gardener,” said Rael, moving away.

  Viruk stood in the center of the hall looking at the silent Avatars in the bank of seats before him. He had sat listening to Caprishan and had agreed with every word. Debating the issue seemed pointless. And yet Rael had asked him to speak in rebuttal. The Questor General had chosen him. Viruk felt honored, for Rael was the one man he respected above all others. In many ways he loved him as he had never loved his own father. And it was important to Viruk that he did not let him down.

  They were waiting for him to speak and he had no idea what he was going to say. Rael’s words meant nothing to him. What did gardening have to do with an Almec—Avatar alliance?

  “I think our cousin is a little tongue-tied,” said Caprishan. Nervous laughter rippled out. Viruk gave a wide smile. And in that moment he knew what Rael required of him.

  “I was thinking of my garden,” he said. “Of all the plants and shrubs and insects and worms. Did you know that the humble worm is vital, for its tunnels allow
air to penetrate and feed the earth? The flying insects which plague us in the city during the heat of summer pollinate the plants, allowing them to seed and enchant future generations. Everything in my garden speaks of harmony and of continued life and growth. Each has its purpose in the great scheme. But I am a ruthless gardener. Those plants which fail to flower are ripped out with the weeds. Thus my garden thrives.

  “Every plant has its role to play, a scent to draw butterflies and aid pollination, a wide leaf to gather moisture and provide shade for the earth. And when their leaves and petals wither, they go down to the earth to feed the ground for future generations of blooms.”

  His voice rang out. “This land, this planet, is a garden. We are like plants upon it. But what kind of plants are we? Two thousand years ago an Avatar developed a script through which people could communicate without speech. Fifteen hundred years ago another Avatar discovered the link between certain crystals and sunlight. Twelve hundred years ago three mathematicians, seeking the secrets of the stars, discovered the Great Song. Its music helped build the wonders of the lost continent. We were valued plants in the garden then, my friends. We taught the world to write and farmers how to feed the land and grow better crops. We conquered disease and finally death itself. We were like fruit trees growing from naked rock. We fed the world with our knowledge.” He paused, and scanned his audience.

  “But that was then. What are we now, we innovators, we inventors, we Questors? For what do we quest? What do we offer this garden? We stand facing annihilation, and the only argument that my cousin Caprishan can offer for joining with the enemy is that we are now so useless that we cannot possibly survive alone. We, who gave the world its civilization, cannot make a chair. We, who clothed the tribes with knowledge, cannot weave a cloth. What then is our purpose in this garden land? We are no longer fruit, nor even flowers. We are straw, long dead and dried out.

  “And make no mistake, Avatars. The Almecs are the same. They do not give to the world. They take. They do not feed, they hunger. Yes, they are like us, and like us the Gardener will weed them, casting them out.

  “And I have an answer to Caprishan’s questions. Yes, I can grow crops, and yes, I can raise and butcher cattle. And I have made chairs and tables and even a bed to sleep upon. No, I cannot weave cloth. But if I need to I will learn.

  “I put it to this gathering that we reject the Almecs’ offer.”

  The audience sat in stunned silence as he returned to his seat.

  Rael returned to his place in the center. “My thanks to my esteemed cousins. It is left now for me to speak as the Questor General. We have, through these past decades, managed to convince ourselves that the Vagars are sub-humans and natural slaves for us. We have seen ourselves as benevolent parents, overseeing a land peopled by unruly children. The first point, as I have come to realize during these past days, is a fallacy. The second is a conceit. But it is that second point on which I would like to dwell. If we are, indeed, benevolent parents, then do we allow our children to be slaughtered? I think not.

  “Despite their knowledge and their advanced civilization the Almecs have descended into evil. They do not see themselves in this light, I am sure. But that is what they are, nonetheless. To join with them would be to embrace that evil, to accept its validity in our lives. I cannot in all conscience consider such an action. It is my intention to fight them, and to defeat them. If this gathering votes to join with the Almecs I shall renounce my Avatar heritage, surrender my crystals and fight alongside the Vagars.” He fell silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. “This gathering is suspended for three hours to allow you all to discuss the matter among yourselves. We will assemble again at midnight and a vote will be taken.

  “In the meantime would those among you who remain soldiers of the empire walk with me to the Museum armory.”

  One hundred and twelve Avatars rose from their seats. Mirani moved to stand beside him. Taking his arm she said, “I am so proud of you, Rael. I have never loved you more than I do at this moment.”

  Leaning down he kissed her. “As long as you are beside me I fear nothing,” he said.

  “Then that is where I will always be,” she promised.

  The armory was a dank cold place, windowless and deserted. Dust-laden cobwebs hung on the arches and upon the suits of armor flanking the grey walls. Dust was also heavy in the air as Rael led his soldiers down into the depths of the building. Lanterns had been lit in the stairwells and in the armory itself, and the silver armor on display glittered in the dull red light.

  “These battle suits were once worn by the royal guards of the Avatar Prime,” said the Questor General. “They were crafted two thousand years ago and last used in the Crystal Wars.” Viruk strode to the nearest suit of armor. It had been set upon a wooden frame, the silver-winged helm perched on the top. Lifting the helm clear he brushed away the webs and examined it. It was lighter than he expected and crafted from a metal unknown to him. It had a curved visor that slid down to shield a warrior’s face and a long, curved neck guard at the base. The breastplate was created using bands of silver over a leather undershirt, and thigh guards and greaves were fashioned over leather leggings.

  “They are too bulky for the men to wear,” Viruk said.

  “I was not intending them for use in defense,” Rael told him. The Questor General climbed to a table and turned back towards the gathered men. “The Almecs’ superiority rests in their thunder clubs and the tubes which unleash the fireballs. We know that they are powered by black dust. Great amounts of it. If we can destroy that power source then the Vagars will merely be facing eight thousand warriors with swords.”

  “Merely?” put in Viruk. “And you say the Vagars will be facing. What is it you are suggesting, cousin?”

  “I intend to repeat the strategy used by Banel in the last battle of the Crystal Wars.” A murmur started up among the soldiers. “Do not speak of it aloud,” he warned them. “We cannot know whether the Crystal Queen is observing us.”

  Goray stepped forward. “You say you intend to repeat the strategy, Rael. But what if our people vote to join the Almecs?”

  “Do you think they will?” countered Rael. Goray was silent.

  “Of course they will,” said Viruk. “You think the fatted calf would vote for slaughter?”

  “I am hoping that my people will act with honor,” said the Questor General.

  Viruk laughed. “I love you, cousin,” he said, “but you have become a romantic. Fear not, I will follow you on Banel’s path.”

  “And I,” said Goray.

  No one else spoke. Rael looked at his soldiers’ faces in the lantern light and realized that Viruk had accurately gauged the feeling of the Avatars. None of them was willing to continue the battle. Fat Caprishan stood silently at the back. “I will not need the armor,” he said.

  “None of the suits would fit you, you fat bastard,” said Viruk.

  At that moment the sound of thunder echoed high above them, followed by a series of explosions that caused huge cracks to appear in the ceiling of the armory.

  “Sweet Heaven, we are under attack!” shouted Goray.

  “Stand fast!” bellowed Rael. “We are under the building here. Nothing can reach us!”

  Scores of explosions sounded, one after the other, as if the world were ending above them in fire and death.

  After what seemed an age the noise subsided.

  Rael led his men up the stairs. They were blocked by fallen masonry. Working steadily the Avatars dragged clear the stones. Above them they could see moonlight. Rael was the first to push himself out into the ruins of what had once been the Great Library. The statue of the Avatar Prime had fallen, the head smashed into a dozen pieces. Fires were burning all around and bodies were scattered among the broken rocks.

  Vagar troops appeared, led by Mejana and Pendar. Rael walked out to meet them.

  “It was so sudden,” said Mejana. “The Almecs began to move their fire tubes about two hours ago.
They concentrated them then began loosing their fireballs. We thought they were attacking the walls, but every missile was aimed at the Library. There was nothing we could do.”

  “Did anyone get out?” he asked her.

  “Three children were carried clear. One died, the others are only shocked.” Rael said no more, but ran into the ruins with the other Avatars, and began tearing at the fallen rocks.

  As the night wore on more and more bodies were pulled from the wreckage. By dawn the scale of the massacre became known. Two hundred and seventeen Avatars had died, or were still missing. Only four of the women and two of the children had escaped.

  Rael found Mirani just before dawn. She had tried to shield two children from falling masonry. Their bodies were beneath hers, her arms around them. Avatars and Vagars worked together to clear away the stones. Rael lifted her body clear and sat back on the rubble, cradling her to him. He did not speak, and his soul was too heavy for weeping. He just held her close and rocked to and fro.

  Some distance away, exhausted, Mejana sat and watched his silent grief.

  Two stretcher bearers stood by nervously, afraid to approach Rael. Mejana walked across to the Questor General. “It is time to let her go,” she said. Rael looked up at her. He did not speak. Then he kissed Mirani one last time and carried her to the stretcher.

  With the rising of the morning sun Rael gathered his last soldiers, and together—all save Caprishan—they returned to the armory and clothed themselves in the silver armor of the Crystal Wars.

  For Ro it was a different kind of pain. There was no longing involved in it, no yearning to draw the life from others. For him it was the pain of despair, of bereavement and loss, allied to an aching of the limbs that made him feel his muscles were slowly tearing themselves apart.

  He sat cross-legged upon the rug holding onto Sofarita’s hands. His fingers were numb now, his thoughts almost desolate. Tears fell from his eyes and he would have welcomed death like an old friend. She sensed his increasing despair and allowed the pain to flow back inside her. Ro sighed with the release from agony.