The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “That’s just human nature.”

  “Maybe. But the Lady endorses it, encourages us to follow that instinct, and provides a strong justification to develop it. Her Mothers have spent two thousand years preaching it. You can’t tell me anything would endure that long if it wasn’t accepted as a fundamental truth. We know the Skylords are out there waiting to guide us to the Heart, and as I showed everyone, we have souls that desperately need that guidance.”

  “What in the Lady’s name does this have to do with Marcol?” Macsen demanded.

  “I have the strength to influence the city, and I have the certainty how that strength should be used. Suppose I’m not the only one to have that strength. Suppose I’m simply the first. Suppose this is the time when Querencia has reached the level of decency and fulfillment it takes to summon the Skylords back.”

  Kanseen stared at him, making no attempt to cover her astonishment. “Marcol? Marcol is like you?”

  “He’s got a damned powerful psychic ability,” Edeard said. “What if that’s part of reaching the fulfillment the Lady talks of? What if there are others starting to emerge, if all the kids start to show this potential?”

  “Lady help us,” she grunted. “Marcol?”

  “Stop saying his name like it’s a curse,” Edeard said crossly. “He’s just a kid like any other. What he becomes depends a great deal on his environment. He didn’t have the best start with those parents; well, now I’m trying to help him become something better. The very last thing we need is division among those of us with stronger than average psychic powers; it’s bad enough the Grand Families distort the balance in their favor. We have to show Marcol and all the others like him who come along that real fulfillment is found through a strong society which cares for individuals, where people try and help each other as well as themselves.”

  “And that’s going to bring the Skylords back?” Macsen asked incredulously.

  “Tell me what else will,” Edeard countered. “I’m happy to try something else. You saw Boyd and Chae leave; they’re out there somewhere trying to reach Odin’s Sea. You know that part of the Lady’s teachings is real.”

  Macsen ran his hand through his hair. “I know,” he admitted. “But … Marcol!”

  “And others,” Edeard said.

  “Have you sensed others?” Kanseen asked. “People with stronger powers?”

  “Not yet. But this city encourages people to hide their abilities, and use them to their own advantage.”

  “You just said we were becoming more enlightened,” Macsen said.

  “ ‘Becoming’ is right,” Edeard said. “There’s a long way to go yet.”

  Edeard had never seen the Malfit Hall so full. Every inch of floor space was taken up by big tables where clerks, divided up into districts, counted mountainous piles of ballot papers. More clerks and constables were still delivering sealed boxes, opening them up to avalanche yet more paper onto the tables.

  Mayor Owain stood at the top of the stairs, surrounded by his staff and supporters, chatting away as if nothing of consequence were happening. Farther along the gallery Finitan was clustered with his own circle of advisers, also making light of the count below. Occasionally, he and Owain would exchange a few pleasant words.

  The expectant Representative candidates were less lighthearted about the wait. They all hovered around their own counting tables, jostling with their opponents whenever an unclear ballot paper was held up for questioning. Accusations and insults were frequently shouted at the adjudicator clerks.

  For once, few people paid any attention to the Waterwalker as he walked in with Macsen and Kanseen. As they crossed the vast ebony floor, he knew Owain’s gaze was following him, yet the Mayor’s composure remained. The ceiling above them shone a rich dawn light across all the frantic activity.

  “We’ll go and check on our district,” Kanseen said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Watching them stride over to the Sampalok counting tables, Edeard felt a surge of admiration for his friends. There weren’t many people one could thrust into such a position and expect them to hold fast, but Kanseen and Macsen had done it. Dressed in their fur-lined robes, hoods hanging over their shoulders, they really did look like they’d been born to the role. Maybe it’s not just psychic strength that’s an indicator of the Lady’s teachings.

  He started to walk up the stairs. Owain and Finitan watched him approach.

  As a city constable I should be impartial, he told himself. Greet both of them and then go back down to the Jeavons tables. After all, if Owain wins, I’ll have to work with him.

  Owain’s face produced a neutral smile of welcome as Edeard reached the top of the stairs.

  Politician!

  Edeard inclined his head. “Mayor Owain,” he said politely, and walked over to Finitan.

  Honious take him; he was going to kill innocent people to keep his position. I would never be able to work with someone like that; he represents everything that’s wrong with Makkathran.

  There was a brief unguarded flash of gratitude amid Finitan’s thoughts as Edeard shook the Grand Master’s hand. “Do you know how the count’s going, sir?”

  “I have a small lead,” Finitan replied. “Not as much as we were hoping, but it remains constant.”

  A half hour of labored chat and forced humor later, they all watched as the clerk Master supervising the Ysidro district vote walked to the stairs and stood on the bottom step.

  “Ysidro always makes a show of being first to complete their count,” Topar told him. “It’s a small district, but they have a wide mix of people; it’s a good indicator.”

  The Master cleared his throat. “It is given this day that Alanso is duly elected as the people of Ysidro’s Representative to Council. And further that mayoral candidate Finitan collected fifty-seven percent of the vote.”

  There was some scattered applause, and the rest of the hall went back to the count.

  “Alanso is one of ours,” Topar said. “Thank you, Lady.”

  Owain graciously congratulated his rival on the vote, to which an equally gracious Finitan replied that the night was young.

  Fiacre and Lillylight finished their count next, both returning Owain stalwarts as their Representatives, though the mayoral vote was split nearly fifty-fifty. Jeavons, Silvarum, and Haxpen returned Finitan’s supporters (Balogg among them) and gave him a large proportion of the vote. Nighthouse and Bellis elected Owain supporters, but Myco, Vaji, Cobara, and Tosella put Finitan supporters forward to the Council. They also increased Finitan’s overall vote to sixty percent. When the results came in from Abad, Igadi, Padua, and Fiacre, Owain had only one more Representative, and Finitan’s vote had increased to sixty-eight percent. Zelda produced Owain’s last Representative; Pholas Park and Lisieux Park were solid Finitan districts.

  “We’ve got it,” Topar hissed elatedly as Finitan’s vote rose to seventy-one percent.

  “Oh, Lady,” Finitan muttered. He seemed dazed, but nothing could remove the smile from his face.

  Ilongo, Neph, and Drupe declared, putting Finitan’s percentage up another point. That just left the Sampalok vote. It wouldn’t affect the result now, but it mattered. Edeard stared down at the eight tables where the ballots were being counted, willing them to finish. Kanseen and Macsen were still walking between the clerks, backing up the adjudicators. There had been more disputes on those eight tables than in the rest of Malfit Hall put together. The Grand Master of the Guild of Clerks himself had been over a dozen times during the night to make his final judgment on smudged crosses. Finally, the clerk Master assigned to supervise the Sampalok count stood at the foot of the stairs and announced: “It is given this day that Gregorie is duly elected as the people of Sampalok’s Representative to Council.”

  “He’s ours,” Topar whispered incredulously.

  “And that mayoral candidate Finitan collected fifty-one percent of the vote,” the clerk Master concluded.

  Thousands of people were waiting in Golde
n Park despite the chilly late-night air. There was a lot of movement after Sampalok declared. Dejected Owain supporters headed home, shaking their heads in dismay and muttering dark disapproval. Finitan supporters surged forward right up to the Outer Circle Canal. A line of fit young constables had to struggle to keep some of the overeager ones from falling into the water.

  Finitan emerged onto the balcony overlooking Golden Park, and the cheering reached deafening levels. He began his thank-you speech. Not all the faithful listened. Bottles were being passed around. Groups of strolling musicians were playing, urging people to dance. The party in Golden Park would last until dawn.

  Edeard was one of those who didn’t bother listening to the speech. He made his way back to the Culverit mansion, where an overjoyed Kristabel was waiting, and they celebrated in their own fashion.

  Kristabel made Edeard wait. He couldn’t believe it. Tradition was one thing, but he stood at the front of the Lady’s church all by himself with the farsight of the city focused on him as minute after painful lonely minute dragged on. Tradition said the groom wasn’t allowed to use his own farsight to check and see if the bride was on her way, so he just stood there and endured.

  The smell of pollen—sweet when he and Dinlay had walked into the church—was now overpowering, threatening to make his eyes water. It seemed as if half the Iguru plain had been stripped of foliage to decorate the huge church. The band from the Musicians Guild played on and on, repeating the same tune, which had become more like a funeral dirge. As the same terrible notes began once more, he gritted his teeth, wishing he’d pleaded a lot harder with Dybal to play for him, but Dybal was only going to sing at the reception gala that night. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. In front of him the thirty-foot-high snow-marble statue of the Lady gazed down benignly, her arms uplifted to summon the Skylords to Querencia. The sculptor had captured a most enigmatic expression; it was almost as if she were giving her congregation a judgmental glance. Certainly, anyone standing right at the front of the pews— curiously, on the exact spot where he had to wait—was singled out for her disapproval. He considered that she must have known that one day Edeard would be married in her church, that her timesense had warned her of the sacrilege. Why else single him out to glare at?

  Another lost minute. His mind began to conjure up all sorts of horrors that could have beset Kristabel. He knew she’d set off from the Culverit mansion; tradition at least allowed him that much. The same tradition stated that the bride was allowed to change her mind only between her home and the church. But Kristabel wouldn’t do that to him. So she could have been assassinated or kidnapped, or the gondola had capsized. Because Kristabel wouldn’t abandon him.

  So where in Honious is she?

  Edeard started to cheat, using the city’s senses to examine the church. Not farsight, so no breach of tradition. Damn, I even think like a lawyer now. Just about every Grand Family in Makkathran was represented. Notable exceptions were Mistress Florrel, who had announced a headache an hour before the service was due to begin and given her apologies for nonattendance. The Gilmorns were also absent, as were the Norrets, who counted Lieutenant Eustace among their number. Captain Larose, however, was there and looked most amused by the Waterwalker’s discomfort. Grand Master Owain was in the pews reserved for guild dignitaries. Losing the election didn’t seem to have affected him at all; he retained his slightly cool persona throughout every encounter. Macsen and Kanseen were almost invisible amid the District Masters, their colorful robes blending in flawlessly. Kanseen wasn’t showing yet, though of late she’d started making some very barbed comments about which would arrive first, the mansion or the baby. The section reserved for the groom’s family was unusually small; Kristabel had appropriated several of his pews for her own family and friends. But Edeard thought he was well supported with a dozen constables and Bijulee and Dybal and Setersis and Isoix and Topar and others he’d met during his time in the city, headed up by Mayor Finitan himself. His one true regret was Salrana, who had sent a polite note of regret, claiming her duties wouldn’t allow her to attend. She was the closest thing he had to family, but since the day of banishment they’d been completely estranged. Every attempt he’d made to be reconciled with her had been rebuffed. He knew she was still at the church in Ysidro, devoutly fulfilling her duties. The few times he’d farsighted her, he’d been saddened by the way the joy seemed to have gone from her life. She’d aged inexplicably, becoming withdrawn and somber. This was a cooler, more resolute Salrana.

  He regretted his snatched glimpses and quickly desisted. To his dismay he had to admit that she had changed as he had. The Salrana and Edeard who had lived in Ashwell were gone forever.

  The sound of cheering seeped into the church, and Edeard’s heart started to beat faster. Their marriage wasn’t an official holiday, though there’d been a big crowd outside the church when he and Dinlay had arrived.

  Finally! The band curtailed their wretched tune. He heard the rustle of cloth as the novice choir rose to their feet. Then the light changed perceptibly as the big doors swung open. Dinlay stepped up beside him, smiling widely. “Too late to back out now,” he murmured to Edeard.

  Any scathing reply was lost as the organist began the wedding march. Edeard had never heard the giant keyboards being played before, and the sound was overwhelming. Then the novices began their accompanying melody. He was impossibly terrified and elated at the same time.

  Julan appeared beside him, his pride shining with the power of a dawn sun. And she was there at his side. Edeard nearly let out a whimper of relief. Mirnatha giggled at his expression; the little girl was wearing a pink and white dress that transformed her into some enchantingly sweet fairy creature, an image spoiled only when she grinned her devilish grin.

  Kristabel’s wedding gown was a gold-cream drosilk creation with royal-blue trimming that twinkled with emerald gemflowers; its train seemed to stretch back halfway down the aisle. He saw her head turn inside the veil, her eyes shining through the lace. Then the Pythia was standing in front of them, her smile gentle and commanding. The organist ended his thunderous anthem.

  “Welcome to you all on this happiest of days,” the Pythia said to the congregation.

  Julan and Kristabel lifted the veil from her face. Her hair flowed out like ripples of gold silk. Edeard couldn’t believe anyone so perfect was facing him at his own wedding ceremony. This surely must be some dazed fantasy from his last night in Ashwell, a moment of blissful delusion after the bullets struck and before death.

  Kristabel took both of his hands in hers and squeezed reassuringly. “Been waiting long?” she teased.

  “My whole life,” he told her truthfully.

  They honeymooned at the Culverit family’s muroak lodge on the coast, spending half a month there by themselves, twenty days of delight.

  A lot more staffers accompanied them this time, providing them with excellent meals and unobtrusive service. The end of summer was approaching, but it was still hot. Humid air above the cove barely moved the whole time they were there. As before, they took lazy walks along the coast, swam in warm water, and sunned themselves on the beach until both of them had tanned a deep honey-brown. Edeard tried his hand at fishing but lacked the patience. Both of them learned to sail in a small yacht that was a wedding gift from Charyau. They even managed a couple of trips to nearby fishing villages in thankfully calm waters.

  “I think it will be some time before we venture that circumnavigation I mentioned,” Edeard admitted the evening after their first big voyage two miles along the shore.

  On the other side of the table, Kristabel laughed in agreement, backdropped by a golden blaze of the setting sun. Both of them were determined from the outset to have the time for themselves. They avoided talking about city life and its politics. Too much of the last four months had been spent establishing Finitan as the Mayor, persuading the old guard to adopt his consolidation policies, strengthening the judiciary, and reinforcing the determinati
on and effectiveness of the constables. It seemed to be working. Everyone reported good business. With the shadow of fear and uncertainty lifted, people were spending with confidence again.

  Finitan’s first few months were already judged a success—in Makkathran, at least. Out in the provinces, things were not so agreeable. The news Topar had brought back at the start of the year was becoming common knowledge. Even his ominous predictions now seemed optimistic. Bandits long confined to the westernmost provinces were making steady inroads to the east. Rulan province faced a huge ongoing exodus as raids became a weekly occurrence. Then Worfolk province reported caravans being ambushed on previously safe highways. The numerous mountains of the interior were ideal refuges for the roaming bands who struck at villages and towns. After a raid they would ride into the tricky inhospitable terrain and vanish from the sheriffs and militiamen sent to hunt them.

  What worried Edeard most was the long distance at which these episodes occurred. Makkathran did not get to hear of a bandit incident until months after it actually happened. They had no idea what was currently going on beyond the Iguru plain, how close the raiders were venturing to the city.

  A mere two months after the election, the first refugees from the Ulfsen Mountains had trickled into Makkathran, whispering about strange, powerful guns, guns that could defeat an entire cavalry platoon. Official casualties began to rise among the militia regiments Owain had dispatched to help the governors. People started to notice the number of lavish memorial services that Grand Families threw for the officers. Nobody blamed Finitan, but he was starting to face questions about what he intended to do about the worsening circumstances out beyond the Iguru plain.

  All that Edeard had put behind him in favor of sunny days lounging on the sands drinking cool wine and equally hot nights making love to Kristabel. Then the day came when the staff and ge-monkeys packed the huge pile of bags and crates, and they began the carriage journey home. He fell silent as they trundled along the broad coastal road, contemplating what news he would be accosted with as soon as they reached the city once again.