by Pedro Urvi
Not at all. Furthermore, there is a universal law, an unalterable one, which rules it: all Power has a price, a price which must be paid. In our case, the price of this Power we have been blessed with is our own existence.
And in those strange words of Adamis, Kyra found what she was after: the seed of hope. If the Gods were not all-powerful and had a weakness, there was still hope. For her and for all men. But she preferred not to go on trying to find out; the risk was too great.
To change the subject, she asked. “Are you going to buy any of those slaves?”
Adamis turned to watch them. Yes, that is precisely why I have come. There is one who interests me especially.
“Would it be one of those exotic beauties?” said Kyra, unable to restrain herself. She regretted it at once and bit her tongue.
Adamis looked at her in amusement. No, your race doesn’t interest me, at least not in that sense…
Kyra blushed until her face was like a ripe tomato. Her cheeks were burning.
I am interested in him, he said, nodding at the next one to be auctioned. An old man who seemed not to have too many mornings left to him.
“Him?”
Yes, he is a jewel, a very precious jewel. And today he will be mine.
For two whole days and nights Kyra went over every detail which the conversation with Adamis at the market-place had revealed to her. She had found out a lot. The Gods were not immortal, and their Power, although it was immense, was limited, and more importantly, that limitation might be what would allow them to be outwitted. She needed Yosane, who would know what to make out of all that information.
Ikai would be proud of me. I kept my temper under control and I got some valuable information. But at the moment I can’t think what I can do with it.
She looked out of the window through the bars and thought of Ikai. She recalled his kind face, his loving nature. He was so different from other older brothers… he did not give orders and expect to be obeyed… He had always treated her with love and respect. He loved her very much, and she knew it. He always protected her and looked after her, still more so since that fateful day when their father had been taken away. He never said a word about it, but she knew very well that she herself was the reason he had been taken. The cause of the ill-fated incident. It was a burden she would always carry in her heart, a burden the size of a mountain. Ikai had never reproached her, nor did he tell their mother. I could never wish for a better brother. She started to feel distressed, and remembered Ikai’s smile and his calmness. A cool, calculating calmness which she envied and could never attain, because her own spirit flared like lightning and she could not often manage to restrain herself. Not like her brother. She sighed and felt herself relaxing.
She was kept in that room under lock and key, so that although she had seen something of the palace she had not seen much of the Eternal City. She had counted thirty or so resident Gods: Adamis’ family, the court of the House of the First Ring. For some strange reason the Queen, a woman with eyes cold as a winter morning, wished every room to have a different herbal fragrance, and the slaves did their utmost to please her. Kyra had asked Zita and Moa for the King, Adamis’ father, but they had both shrugged. They did not even seem to have ever seen him. Was he dead?
The door opened and Rotec walked in. There was barely room for him within it.
The mental blow reached her. Come, my Lord awaits.
She did as she was told and followed the Champion. Without a word he led her outside the palace and through the streets of the city to a strange oval plaza. In the center there rose five white, immensely broad monoliths. She counted more than twenty Gods sitting on comfortably upholstered chairs. But something caught her attention about them. They were not young, like Adamis and Rotec, they were… old Gods. She stopped in her tracks and watched them curiously. She had not seen old Gods before, and the sight impressed her. Even the Queen, who must be of a certain age, did not seem to have aged more than a little, for her features were delicate and her beauty very obvious. Her hair was beginning to be silvered, but she still kept a certain freshness. The men there were very old, their golden skin spotted with ochre and their hair snowy and straight. But what caught her attention most was the state of their bodies: they were gaunt and withered.
Come on, Rotec said, they’re waiting. She was startled out of her thoughts.
She saw Adamis beside the central monolith, together with two Gods, remarkably old, who were leaning on heavily ornamented silver staffs.
Rotec bowed elaborately before the three Gods. Kyra, not really knowing what to do, remained two steps behind him with her head bowed and her eyes fixed on the white marble.
One of the old Gods raised his hand, waved his hand and left.
Kyra, come closer, came Adamis’ mental message.
When she reached him, she tried to imitate the bow Rotec had given.
The Gods smiled, and that made her a little less nervous. She noticed the older God, who wore a long white robe with the image of a tree inside a circle embroidered in silver on the chest.
This is Notaplo, one of the most prominent Erudites of the Five Rings. He belongs to the House of Eret, our own House.
She looked at his eyes, which were clear, blue and deep. There was great understanding and wisdom in his gaze. She was fascinated by how human the eyes of the Gods were. Looking into them she forgot the golden skin, the extreme slenderness, even the power which emanated from those beings.
Good morning, young slave, the Erudite said. His voice in her mind was so deep and resonant that she stepped back when she received that powerful mental message.
“Good… morning…” she said, overcoming the impression.
My good Prince tells me you are a young girl of some interest, with a lively spirit, full of decidedly awkward questions.
Kyra was aware of the heat spreading across her cheeks.
Do not be afraid. Having lived nine hundred years has this effect: one loses one’s patience easily and tends to go straight to the point of interest as fast as possible. He smiled, showing a mouth full of very dark teeth.
“Nine hundred years?”
That is correct, child. In my eyes you are no more than a baby, practically new-born. And as you can see from my gaunt appearance, I am not immortal. I will die in another hundred years or so as the last drops of my Power dry up, and with that my existence will go out forever. I believe this was one of the questions which interested you.
“Yes… well… will you really die?” Kyra asked, unable to fully accept that the Gods, those powerful beings, could die.
Notaplo nodded slowly.
We still have not reached immortality, child, although we pursue it ceaselessly. He remained thoughtful, his gaze distant.
“But then… if Notaplo is nine hundred… how old are you, Adamis?” she thought aloud.
He folded his arms. This summer I turned one hundred and eighty.
“One hundred and eighty! But how can that be? You don’t look much older than I am!”
In reality I am not. In human years I would be eighteen. Our longevity is approximately ten times your own, a little more in fact. Although it also depends on whether we make appropriate use of our Power.
She was left speechless. Adamis had already lived a hundred and eighty years, and she had only lived seventeen. She felt lost.
Notaplo returned to reality, as if stirring from a dream. From what my Prince has told me, this particular subject interested you greatly, which has made me think: why would a slave want to know these details?
Kyra looked at him, mortified. She had no idea what to say. “I was just trying to understand…”
Our society? Our Power? Curiosity is a two-sided coin, my child. It might bring you insight or terror, even lead you to unexpected death… One must be very careful with what one wishes to know, for the answers one obtains might not be the ones expected.
She lowered her head and said nothing.
This place around y
ou, the Erudite went on, is a place of gathering and study. There is one in each Ring, and in them for several millennia we have studied and documented what has become the foundation of our society. Economy, Medicine, Politics, Religion… all have been studied by the most brilliant minds among us. The Erudites you see, all of them, have devoted their lives to study, to the improvement of our society. All their discoveries, all their advances are stored and safeguarded in these five Pillars of Wisdom. He waved toward the monoliths.
She stared at them, her imagination caught. Now she understood why they were not black like the others she had seen.
Notaplo breathed deeply and exhaled, leaning on his staff. But most of all, and above all, we have devoted ourselves to one concrete subject: the search for immortality, for that is the goal we all pursue.
Kyra remained expectant, waiting for the old God to tell her more.
Now, if you want me to answer the question eating away inside you right now, you will have to do me a small favor.
“What is it?” she asked.
Notaplo took out a small dagger from his robe and handed it to her.
I need a cut on your hand.
She thought twice about this, but considered her situation and decided. With a swift slash she cut the palm of her hand. Blood began to flow.
Notaplo nodded. I see you are very determined. Place your hand on the central monolith.
She looked at Adamis, seeking confirmation. He nodded.
With her hand bleeding, she went up to the monolith and placed it on the snowy surface.
There came a powerful vibration, and she was suddenly bathed in a beam of white light which explored her from head to toe in three consecutive passes. Then the light vanished and so did the tremor. She moved back, a little stunned.
Notaplo came forward and placed his hand on the monolith. A golden circle appeared and surrounded it as he closed his eyes and concentrated. The golden circle blinked. He withdrew his hand and opened his eyes.
And then he looked at Kyra. The answer to your question is: yes, immortality is possible, and no, we have not yet discovered it. But today we are a step closer.
23
Liriana was carrying two large buckets of water, trying not to spill them as she passed through the crowd of slaves. The sound of the whips broke out in her ears, and the suddenness almost made her lose her balance. Wherever she looked she was surrounded by slaves in brown tunics and blue headscarves. They worked ceaselessly, drawing what little strength they could from their weakened bodies. She went past an Oppressor and lowered her head at once, as she had been told to do. She reached the group led by Foreman Tulmis, the one she had been assigned to.
The old slave, bald and gray–bearded, waved towards half a dozen men lying semi-conscious on the ground. “Hurry up, water-bearer!” he shouted.
Liriana hurried to them and helped them drink from the big wooden ladle she carried at her back. No matter how much water she might give them, those unfortunates would not be able to bear the terrible effort they were being forced to make. They were working on the construction of a giant structure behind the gardens of the Royal Palace of the Fifth Ring. She had arrived just three days before on the slave ship, and it already seemed like months. Her ploy for getting there had been successful. Slipping in among the slaves, passing as one of them and taking ship for the Eternal City without being discovered, had been reckless. Fortune smiles on those who dare, she said to herself, and smiled. If they had caught her trying to get in through the roof, the Executors would have killed her on the spot for being outside the Boundary. Death also smiles on those who dare, and her smile is broader and more attractive, she thought, and shook her head. Now she was inside the Eternal City, and she had to go on with her mission, which was vitally important for the Senoca people.
“If one of them dies, you’ll take his place,” Tulmis threatened her.
She glared at him defiantly.
On the day of her arrival at one of the big ports of the Fifth Ring, they had been lined up in a row. She guessed it would be the Eyes-of-the-Gods who decided her fate. But to her surprise five foremen inspected the cargo of slaves and distributed them, not without arguments. It all happened under the attentive glare of several Oppressors. Liriana had been selected by old Tulmis.
“Military, good arms and legs. You’ll be the water-bearer,” he had told her after looking at her Ring and inspecting her muscles with his dirty, wrinkled hands.
She had had to swallow her pride. She was no longer a Captain of the Regent’s Guard, she was now one more slave in the midst of a city both magnificent and dreadful. What little she was discovering of the Eternal City made her wonder, while at the same time fear ate at her stomach with teeth sharp as knives: a beautiful city on the outside, but terrible inside. On the first evening she had discovered that the slaves were led to great underground chambers next to the harbor, where they were crowded like cattle for the night. As soon as they arrived, Tulmis had taken the new ones to a corner by the fire. There he had patiently explained what to do and not to do, as well as who the Oppressors, Custodians, and particularly the Gods, were. Liriana had listened attentively and afterwards had asked among the slaves, to gather as much information as possible about this place and the Gods who lived there.
She watched as the colossal granite block, to the rhythm of a drum, moved over thick wooden tree-trunks foot by foot. Her group, more than three hundred strong men, was dragging it, pulling with braided ropes. The effort the job demanded was agonizing. The humidity was very high, so that tunics and headscarves stuck to the body. It was difficult to breathe. Doing that work in those conditions was suicide.
“Stop looking at the others and work, or I’ll have an Oppressor flay your skin off!” Tulmis said menacingly. She half-closed her eyes. She was about to reply, but thought better of it. The old man had only one thing in mind: survival. And for that he had to exploit everyone in his team, since two Oppressors were watching him closely.
He’s an intelligent old man, he’s not risking anything. Here only the strongest and cleverest survive. That much I can see. Tulmis did not offer either help or favors. That way he made sure he lived to see another day. It was his own life or that of his group, and he had a great love for his own.
Liriana went on doing her job as she watched the other groups working. The first three were busy raising the blocks and placing them on top of each other in the correct position. The last two groups dragged the heavy pieces to the site where they would be raised. There were more than a thousand slaves there, hauling with all their might, struggling not to die that day. The scene was dramatic and devastating: a scene repeated every day. And every day slaves died.
But she was there for a reason, and nothing or nobody would stop her, forced labor, Gods or Oppressors. I must carry out my mission. Gedrel needs me. She clenched her fists tight and went on with her work. If she did not give the slaves water, they would die from dehydration, or else from the effort. The oppressors’ whips lashed above the cadence of the drum and the slaves’ muffled moans, making up the most mournful of melodies. A symphony of suffering which never stopped all day, to be renewed the next.
Suddenly there came a terrifying scream. It was followed by the noise of wood cracking and the harsh grinding of granite sliding over granite. She turned towards the noise. The screams of horror now came from hundreds of throats. Wide-eyed, she saw that the wooden supports of the upper granite block, which was being raised at that moment, were breaking. The enormous block fell from a height of thirty feet. First it hit Foreman Mirtez’s group, crushing dozens of people amid screams of panic and agony. The block’s momentum carried it on towards Liriana’s group, knocking over another twenty slaves and two Oppressors as it went. The great block reached her amid panic-stricken screams. Her fellow slaves let go of the ropes and jumped out of its way. With a deafening noise the granite block hit the one they were dragging and cracked in two. One of the halves stuck on the ground.
Th
e other flew towards Tulmis. The old Foreman could not react. He simply covered his head with his arms in the face of the impact which was about to crush him. Liriana leapt towards him. The great mass of granite brushed past them as they rolled on the ground.
“You… you saved me…” the old Foreman muttered in disbelief.
Liriana stood up, shaking off the dust. Around her she noticed hundreds of gazes stabbing her like knives, reproaching her for saving the Foreman. She ignored them. Foreman or not, she would not let anyone die. She watched the scene of death and destruction caused by the accident, and her heart sank.
When night came, on the underground level, after the corpses of the dead had been loaded onto a big funerary ship, her mind went over things in silence. So many slaves died that the Enforcers kept the ship anchored some way from the port and went on filling it with embalmed corpses. Once it was full, it took them who knew where and got rid of them. Far out at sea, Liriana guessed. It was called the Ship of the Dead. Not a prayer, not even a simple goodbye to the dead, nothing. The place was devastating, and the despair of those men was absolute.
She looked up at the ceiling, What’ll have happened to Ikai? I wonder if he’s managed to get here. Yes, he most likely has. He’s intelligent, strong, he’ll make it. I wish we could have done it together, but my plan was already too risky for one person. It would have been suicide for two. I’d never forgive myself if he lost his life because of me. I hope he’s all right… She sighed. I have my mission and he has his. Our paths run parallel but are very different, like our goals. I must focus on my objective. A lot of our people depend on it, and that’s what really matters. I can’t let myself be swayed by my feelings…
“Tulmis wants to speak to you,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Liriana turned her head and saw a man walking away. At the far end, in a corner, his corner by the fire, Tulmis was watching her. He beckoned her to come close.
