Silence of the Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  Again, he peered at her with those dark eyes, the veil somehow making his gaze all the more intense. Merit was abruptly aware of the precariousness of her position, of the balcony and the edge upon which she stood. A little shove, a misstep, and she would tumble to her death. Mered was an elderly man, but he was tall and seemingly strong and she was still weak from the beating she’d taken.

  “Do you know why this particular balcony has no rails, why it is an open platform?”

  “I couldn’t guess.”

  “The Soleri called it the Avenue of Parting, the Ledge of Winds. This slender platform was the first leg of a journey that led to eternity. When it was time for one of the Soleri to die, they simply stepped off the balcony and their bodies would turn to stars, erupting in a great conflagration. What do you think would happen if you were to fall from it?”

  “I imagine my end would be a bit less dramatic,” she said. “But who knows, perhaps we should give it a try. I have little and less to lose these days.”

  “Perhaps we will. Tell me what that message carried and I’ll think of some other fate for you.”

  “I’ve said—”

  “There’s no message. Yes, you lie, but not nearly as well as you think,” he said, moving uncomfortably close to Merit, pressing against her, moving her toward the platform’s edge.

  “It would be a pity if your father’s last words were lost. I’d like to know them. Perhaps you can search your memories and find that message for me.” He gave her a hard shove, one that might have sent her toppling over the edge, but he caught her with the other hand and walked her back a step.

  Her breath caught.

  “As you’ve no doubt seen, there is a great feast in Solus, the Opening of the Mundus. It ends tonight. It is tradition, during such feasts, to make an offering at the conclusion of the festival. I intend to carry out that tradition. In fact, I plan to make a great sacrifice, one more generous than any in recent history.”

  Merit said nothing.

  “Do you know how the flamines of Horu prepare their benefactions? Do you know anything of the cult?”

  “I’ve seen the robes, the veils, the markings on their arms.”

  “Yes,” said Mered. “Those red lines carry a bit of symbolism. They remind us of the constant need for sacrifice, that the god must be fed.” He lifted the sleeve of his robe to reveal a series of scars that marred the skin of his arm. “The benefactions are cut from head to toe and bled out. It’s a terribly slow way to go, a thousand little cuts etched across your skin. It can take hours to exhaust the blood, maybe longer. I’ve seen strong men bleed for a day before passing. Think on it, and perhaps you will recall some bit of that message. Give me a reason to keep you in my house, alive and unscathed. A woman of your beauty could marry well in Solus, and there are many suitors in the house of Saad. Think on it. Make yourself useful—everything must have a use. Find one, or I’ll let the flamines do it for you.”

  18

  Sarra stood before the white walls of the Cloud Garden.

  My daughter is a prisoner in this house. That was one of the many rumors. Some said Merit Hark-Wadi was a hostage. Others suggested she was only a guest, but most held that she was in fact a tribute of some kind.

  My daughter is a prisoner in the house of Saad.

  Mered had invented a new empire and crowned himself the emperor of it, or something like one. Naming himself the First Among Equals was a bold and unprecedented move, and she’d done little to stop him from claiming the title—not yet. That wasn’t her way. Sarra had questions that needed answering. So she’d bided her time, but when rumors of Merit’s captivity arrived on the same morning as an invitation from Mered, she was forced to make her way to the great house.

  My daughter stands behind this wall.

  Hence, she had come alone as Mered requested. Ott stayed safely behind, cloistered away in the Empyreal Domain, or so she guessed. She had not seen her son since the day she met him at the Hall of Ministers. Ott had yet to emerge from the archives of the Soleri, but he’d sent messengers. He had requested more acolytes and more coin, more resources to aid in his research, and she’d given them to him. She was more than pleased to see him tucked away in the domain, safe, and outside the reach of Mered. If only she could say the same for her daughter.

  Sarra went alone to the house of Saad. She had come dressed as if she were still the most important person in the empire, as if Sarra and the role she played still mattered in this new world of self-declared rulers and men who made themselves emperors of a sort. She wore the golden robe of the Ray. It shimmered like firelight, but it was as stiff as a board and as heavy as a suit of armor, impossible to move about in. It was no wonder it took four servants to place her in it.

  Small worries, thought Sarra as she passed beneath the ornate bronze arch, walked through the columned hall, and entered House Saad. As she made her way through the processional, those who took note of her arrival bowed slightly and exchanged brief, awkward pleasantries. They honor me, she thought, but they are uncertain of how to address me. Who am I, and what’s my place in the city hierarchy? Surely those were the questions on their minds.

  Mered had made a great confusion out of the empire. Still, the people paid tribute to Sarra. Women in scarves of shimmering muslin bowed and spread their hands. The wellborn were all masters of obeisance. It was second nature to them. Some bent so quickly they did not even interrupt their conversation. Whether they bowed briefly or lingered in the act, not one of them ignored Sarra. She was, after all, the woman who had survived the riots on the last day of the year, the one who had stood in the presence of Mithra’s light and survived. Some called her Sarra Twice Blessed, and she quite liked the name.

  A man approached. He wore a robe that was the color of madder, the neckline edged with gold. His demeanor was outwardly calm, but he sweated profusely beneath his robe. She considered putting the man at ease, but that would only lessen the power of her position, so she said nothing while he bowed and greeted her as Ray.

  “I am Bicheres,” he said when he’d finished his genuflections, “and I will be your abettor for the evening.” He bowed once more and indicated a gravel path. She walked ahead of him, the stones grating beneath her sandals as her thoughts lingered on his title, abettor. She hadn’t heard the term before, and wasn’t certain she liked it.

  “This is the house of Saad,” said Bicheres, in what was an utterly unnecessary introduction. He led her past a pair of doors and a tall stair, then out through a series of waiting rooms, the sounds of laughter echoing in the distance. In fact, a great many voices reverberated throughout the passage, growing louder and more raucous as they went. Bicheres seemed largely immune to the racket. Calmly, he pointed out the various statues and monuments, describing this god or that emperor, taking his time, walking slowly as he led her into a great rotunda. “This is the Chamber of Dancing Waters,” Bicheres said, his voice raised in an obvious attempt to capture her attention, but she hardly needed the prodding.

  “So this is the infamous hall.” Sarra had heard innumerable stories about the decadence that went on here, about the feasts, and the orgies too. Each was said to be more elaborate than the last.

  “May I ask,” Bicheres said most respectfully, “if you have seen it before, the renowned garden, the famed rotunda?”

  She shook her head. “They say the Soleri built it.”

  “It’s true,” he replied, barely able to control his enthusiasm. “This was the greatest house of the Soleri, the home of the gods! See the rotunda?” he asked, raising his chin just a hair, his eyes glancing upward. He wanted to remain respectful of the Ray. She saw it in the nervous twitching of his fingers and in the way he dipped his head whenever he spoke, but it was all for show. The man had the airs of an imperial servant. He might be afraid, perhaps even a bit intimidated by the Ray, but he could not hide his pompous nature, his pride. Clearly, it was bred into the man. He believed his master to be the city’s first citizen, the most imp
ortant man in Solus, and, by extension, the most important man in the empire.

  “I see it,” she said, glancing at the dome and feigning indifference. And she truly was feigning it. The great rotunda, the largest she had ever seen, was slowly, almost impossibly rotating about its axis. Somehow, in defiance of all logic, that massive dome, as big as the sky itself, was turning in a circle, spinning like some overgrown bowl set on edge and given a good twist. And as it revolved, a babbling sound issued from the dome’s many-layered walls.

  “See the channels?” Bicheres said, pointing to a particular set of fissures that spiraled down the intricately layered dome.

  “They’re filled with water,” Sarra noted. “That’s what drives the thing?”

  “Most true!” he boasted. “The ancient builders were clever, more so than our people, surely. Take your time and wander the grounds. There is a place for you here among the Dancing Fountains or the Rockery,” Bicheres said, pointing to a circle of stools, then a low sort of throne. “And there, in the Garden of Delights.” He gestured toward a warren of muslin-shrouded chambers where shadows painted tantalizing images of men and women moving about in ecstasy.

  Abettor, the word came to her again as he gestured to the garden. You are not simply my guide, she thought, giving him the once-over, looking him up and down. Perhaps you are less of a host and more of a distraction.

  “I can take you there if you would like?” he offered, an eyebrow arched in speculation.

  “If I would like?” she asked, plainly. “I am the eye of the immortal. Do you think Tolemy wishes to see how the wellborn of Solus fuck? What positions they prefer, and all that?”

  “It is my duty…” he said, voice faltering as he crossed his hands, wringing them ever so slightly.

  Sarra set her jaw. “No doubt, but I have my own set of duties tonight, and all of them require me to be upright and fully clothed.”

  Though I would not mind shedding this dreadful robe, she thought. It’s no wonder Arko never wore the thing.

  Bicheres regained his composure and said, “I’m here to serve you.”

  “And I am here to address an urgent matter. Fetch me some wine, something dark and red. Strong, too, if you have it.” There were some things she could not indulge in, but a drink was allowed. One or two might be necessary for her to stomach the coming ceremony. A sacrifice would end the night. In the past, it had always been an animal of some sort, but the rumors all said it would be human.

  My daughter is a prisoner in this house, and tonight someone will die.

  Mered had all but implied the identity of that sacrifice, but he had not come out and said it, not directly. Sarra had nevertheless guessed it was her daughter’s head that would be on the chopping block or whatever implement they chose.

  Where are you, Merit? She searched the room but saw no one who looked like her daughter. She did spy Mered. He was seated on a low stool, not far from Madu of House Entefe. It appeared as if the two were engaged in conversation, but they weren’t speaking. A servant ferried messages between them, whispering in their ears then waiting for a reply.

  “There are lip readers in the gatherings of the great houses, in all of Solus, to be honest. My master guards his words,” said Bicheres.

  “But the veil?” she asked.

  “It is a part of his livery, as Father of the Horu cult.”

  “And it also covers his mouth, so why bother with all the whispering? It seems like a lot of work and no benefit.” Sarra guessed this was all just a show, that there were no lip readers. Half the wellborn in Solus could barely read a scroll. Reading lips seemed improbable, almost fantastic.

  “Do you suppose I could speak to the man?” she asked. Sarra had come here to confront Mered, but she also needed an excuse to rid herself of this abettor. She’d fucked kings; the servant did little to excite the new Ray.

  “I can arrange for it, though it may take some time—” He came up short. Then he corrected himself. “I am sorry, surely you, our greatest light, will not be made to wait.”

  He left, and Sarra was glad for it. All around her, men and women sat in many-colored robes, some of them indulging in the sort of activity she had hoped the wellborn would limit to the privacy of the pleasure gardens. It gave her pause, made her think. Beyond these walls, where the amaranth was scarce, there was famine. Barca made havoc in the south, working his way toward Solus, and the Harkans fought for their lives in the Hollows. Yet these people feasted and fucked as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Sarra shook her head at it. She wanted no part of this feast or this house, so she ignored her appointed place and instead chose to roam the chamber, circling the place where Mered sat.

  Madu departed, and a flamine of the Horu cult replaced him in the seat opposite Mered. He certainly has insinuated himself into that cult, she thought. It appeared as if many in his inner circle wore the black wraps. Bicheres approached Mered but was waved away.

  At the far side of the hall, a procession had begun.

  The sacrifices, thought Sarra.

  There were two boys, a girl, and a woman of middle age, all of them stripped naked, bodies slathered in a thick red pigment, and each wore an outlandish crown of some sort. The boys bore a golden disk atop their heads, and the woman wore thorns. When the girl came into view Sarra’s heart skipped a beat. She was tall and beautiful—young, but still a woman. She wore a crown of horns, and she was about the right age. Merit. Sarra’s stomach churned at the sight of her daughter, at her nakedness and the way her body was crudely smeared in paint.

  Is this truly my daughter? She hated herself for not knowing the answer, not completely, for not having seen the girl in a decade. She hated that this sad excuse for a funeral was their reunion.

  Sarra tried to catch Merit’s eye, but she would not look at Sarra, not directly.

  “To Horu,” Mered announced, his voice rattling in her ear. “I offer not one but four benefactions. I ask that He might speed our victories. War is at hand. So we spill blood here, as a tribute to Him, so our soldiers need not spill it on the battlefield.” He gestured toward the center of the chamber. A man dressed in the habit of a haruspex—oxblood leather, face masked—stood before a great table. Knives of various lengths and configurations covered the blackened surface of the wood.

  Sarra edged toward the procession, her eyes on the horns. She no longer dared to look at the girl. As Ray, the mouth of Tolemy, she could show no preference toward the Harkan. It would be blasphemy. Yet she moved closer to Merit, her heart a hammer in her chest, the golden robe crushing her beneath its weight. Merit was older, her breasts fuller, but she hadn’t changed, not that much. Merit. Sarra recalled every letter she’d sent, every attempt she’d made to reconcile their grievance. She’d done everything short of revealing Ott’s secret to try to win back her daughter’s affections.

  A strangled cry jolted Sarra from her thoughts. Wine dripped from the face of the middle-aged woman, mixing with the smudges of red paint that covered her chest, carving tiny rivulets in the pigment as the alcohol dribbled down her naked body. A man in white muslin raised a second cup. To the appreciative shouts of the crowd, he splashed more wine onto the naked woman. Not to be outdone, a noblewoman spat on a crying boy, which seemed particularly cruel. The wealthy and well-to-do patrons hurled clusters of olive pits or half-chewed dates at the benefactions; others tossed cups of amber. A drop of red graced Sarra’s robe, but she did not retreat or recoil in any way. In fact, she moved closer to the circle of would-be sacrifices. Two of them were ransoms. Wat’s men in the city guard had told her all about them. The girl was Merit. And the fourth benefaction was a stranger, but Sarra guessed she was wellborn. Mered was up to something terribly dangerous. These so-called benefactions were the sons and daughters of kings and noblemen, and Mered planned to spill their blood. It was a bold stroke. Mered and his faction of wealthy and well-bred patricians had made themselves the rulers of the empire and they were daring any who lived in it to challenge them, Sarr
a included.

  The parade of benefactions continued its slow and desperate circle around the haruspex. No music played. There was no dirge ugly enough to accompany this scene. The only sounds were the laughter and shouts of the crowd. The older woman, the one whom Sarra could not identify, shambled past Sarra, her gray hair stained red with wine, body shaking. One of the boys was Carr Bergen—if Wat’s sources were correct—and he came next, face dripping with spittle, hair sodden with perspiration. Sarra looked away in time to catch the start of Mered’s speech.

  “The son of Arko hides like a coward in the caverns below our holy city. He was invited to the feast, but I fear he got lost on the way to my house.” Mered gave a laugh, and the people snickered, the drunkards overdoing it just a bit. “We will sacrifice him in the tunnels.” Mered grinned a terrible-looking little grin. “It’ll be done in no time at all. That is my promise. Death in the sewers. A fitting end for the bastard.” Mered cleared his throat, a look of distaste passing across his face. “As I’ve said, the Harkan is absent, but we found a suitable replacement. In fact, we came across four of them, one from each of our lower kingdoms.” Mered raised a hand to the benefactions. “I give you the highborn sons and daughters of lower kingdoms: Feren, Rachis, the Wyrre, and Harkana. These offerings are symbols of our new order. As the First Among Equals, I propose an empire without kingdoms—an empire of one people, the people of Solus. To this end, we take four lives. Carr Bergen, heir of Rachis; Curst Falkirk, son of House Falkirk of Feren; Aeslin Mor, royal daughter of the Wyrre; and Merit Hark-Wadi, queen regent of Harkana prior to the true king’s return.”