Silence of the Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  Perhaps he is the heir, thought Kepi, fresh out of the priory. He certainly looks troubled.

  Adin walked to the edge of the bridge, and he and Kepi stood facing each other, one at either end. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know you, but I’ve heard what happened at Caer Rifka. The whole empire knows about the people’s revolt. Seems your husband wasn’t any more popular than my father. Both are dead, and patrimony is the rule of Feren. I’m the only living son of either man. This is not treachery. You meet with one of equal standing. I come to you as heir, but I’ll be king soon enough.”

  “The kite chooses the king,” said Kepi. “It’s our custom. And the kite has settled the matter, so put off your claims and limp back to your master in Solus. Tell him that Feren needs no king—it has a Kitelord.”

  “I’ll find my kite,” said Adin.

  Kepi shook her head. “There is only one kite.”

  “Then I challenge you,” he said, “to a contest of arms. Here and now, I question the legitimacy of your rule. Llyr will settle this issue, and the kite will come to the victor,” he said. Kepi gave no response, so he spoke again, sweetening the deal. “If you are victorious, I will leave the forest and put off my claims, and if you decline I will take my throne by force.”

  Kepi bristled at the insult and the brashness of the one who’d given it. She was already queen. She hardly needed to prove herself.

  Ferris was yelling something. She heard his disembodied voice, but she could not quite make out the words. She was instead studying the boy, his thinness and the way he limped. It wouldn’t be much of a contest.

  “You want a fight?” she asked. Kepi took a step forward, advancing on the would-be king.

  She was nearly at the center of the bridge when Ferris cried out in what must have been an even louder voice, because this time she heard it clearly. “Get your queenly ass back to our side of the rift. If this fool wants a fight, I’ll give him one,” said Ferris, and even as he spoke his soldiers booed at the sight of Barrin’s son. The old king truly was unpopular.

  Kepi ignored Ferris, but she did enjoy the ruckus his soldiers made, the jeering and hissing. Some soldier tossed a stone at Adin, and it nearly struck him on the head. He winced, withdrawing slightly as he bit down hard on his lip, clearly unnerved. The boy must have come here expecting the queen and her men to cower at the might of Mered’s army, but he’d found only mockery.

  “I accept your offer to duel,” said Kepi, advancing, crossing to the far side of the bridge, stepping off, and following Adin as he retreated toward his tent. She was already pondering the contest and how she ought to engage the boy when a group of red soldiers drew heavy iron blades and advanced upon her position. Adin quickly retreated, hiding behind Quintus and the soldiers.

  “What’s this?” she asked, but Kepi knew the answer. This was treachery, plain and simple. As if to illustrate the point, the boy stumbled over his own feet, let loose a terrible cry, and fell flat on his ass. Adin Fahran was in no condition to fight; he could hardly even walk.

  Behind Kepi, wheels roared to life. She turned in time to see the bridge raise itself from the ground and retract, moving swiftly back to the Feren side of the rift. One of Ferris’s men leapt at the thing, trying to grab at the trestles. He caught the last plank, but only one hand gripped the wood. His fingers parted and he plummeted into the rift, disappearing from sight as the device completed its machinations, withdrawing completely, the gears still whizzing as they spun to a halt.

  “Trapped,” she muttered as she whirled around, looking for Adin. If she could capture the boy, he might serve as a hostage, but soldiers stood between Kepi and the fallen heir of Feren. In fact, there were more of them coming out of the forest, men in red-painted mail. Hundreds appeared, maybe more. They came from every direction, or so it seemed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Adin. She could not see his face. She saw only a line of shields, but he sounded honest enough. “It was the only way,” he went on, “the quickest way to end all this … You see, I don’t want to go to war with my own people. I am the heir and I survived the priory. I only came to take what is mine. Mered gave me that opportunity. If you surrender, I’ll set you free. You can even go back to Harwen, unharmed. Just go,” said Adin. There was honesty in his voice, but his actions told a different story.

  “I don’t treat with liars,” said Kepi. “And screw patrimony. Forget your claim to the throne. I am Kitelord and I rule Feren. Crawl back to Solus, boy. My men laugh at you, they howl at your lies,” she said, and indeed the Ferens were howling at the boy, at his deception, at his fearfulness. They’d seen him fall.

  Ferris’s archers lined up alongside the rift, bows drawn, fingers trembling with anticipation. He called to Kepi, something about ducking, she thought. Perhaps the red soldiers were in range of his arrows, but Kepi did not think she would need his help.

  She gave Adin a sad little smile, a look of pity really. Then she took one step backward, then another and another until she’d reached the rift’s edge.

  “What are you doing?” Adin asked. He was still sitting in the dirt, but a pair of soldiers helped him up to his feet. “Surrender,” he said, mustering as much dignity as any man could summon after falling flat on his ass in front of a crowd. “You’re surrounded,” he continued, acting as if he were in charge. “There’s no sense in fighting … or in anything else.” His eyes darted toward the rift.

  “I know,” said Kepi quietly, curtly. She edged closer to the valley’s edge, sending grains of sand skittering over the brink.

  “What’s this?” the boy asked again, still confused. Maybe he had hoped she would surrender.

  “You want the Feren throne?” Kepi asked.

  Adin said nothing.

  “Fair enough,” she replied. “Let me offer you an illustration. Watch how the Kitelord of Feren rules. Follow me if you can,” she said before leaping blindly into the rift.

  29

  The Harkan kingsguard feasted on suckling pig and gulped amber from the keg, gorging themselves on the spoils of the Night Market. They’d been at it all night. Ren had joined them, but only briefly. He’d taken a slap or two on the back, but he could not bear the men’s praise. It felt hollow. They were trapped so deep beneath the earth he feared they’d never find a way out. Frustrated, lost, and unsettled, he slipped from the crowd. Ren was filled up with every sort of anxiety, uncertain of where they’d find their next meal or if this one would be their last. Out of sheer desperation, he set about looking for other ways to exit the temple, pacing the ramps, exploring Ott’s passage. He found little more than a drainpipe. It was made from red clay and too small for any soldier to pass through, but Ren guessed he might fit within the slender tube. He crouched low and peered at the darkness within, observing the way the pipe curled upward, following the contour of the well.

  “It might lead to the surface. I think it’s a drain of some sort,” said Ren.

  “A drain?” asked Kollen. He’d followed Ren up and down the ramp, gulping amber as he went. “What use are those? It hasn’t rained in decades.” He took a long draft.

  “It did once, and this place is old,” said Ren.

  “That wasn’t my point. What if it’s a sewer? I’d hate to be caught—”

  “As would I,” said Ren, “but we need a way out of here.”

  “Don’t you mean another way out of here?” Kollen tossed his empty cup to the floor of the ramp. “We had a perfectly fine one until you shouted your name to the whole damned city. Mered’s men are no doubt tearing through the ashes, trying to find where you went.”

  “They won’t find us,” Ren said.

  “They will.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m trying to find us a second way out, another exit.” Ren thrust his head into the pipe. “I’m climbing, so you might as well join me.”

  “Me?” Kollen asked, suddenly trying to look busy, his head swinging back and forth as if he were searching for some other task that might occupy his
time.

  “Yes, you,” said Ren.

  “I’ll come. I’m smaller than you bastards,” Tye said. She must have come to see what the boys were doing. “I’ll go first,” she said, and with characteristic charm she stuck out her tongue and dove into the pipe. “It’s not so bad.” Her words echoed faintly from the shaft.

  “You first,” said Kollen, his gaze falling with disdain on Ren. “It’s your dumb idea.”

  It was his idea, so Ren followed Tye into the tube. It was relatively smooth inside and sloped upward at a fairly steep angle, but it was narrow enough that he could wedge his legs against the curving walls and use them for leverage as he climbed.

  It wasn’t long before the two boys caught up to Tye.

  “I wish I’d stayed to eat a bit more,” she said.

  “You?” asked Ren, “you swallowed half a ham. It’s a wonder the soldiers had anything to chew on.”

  “Funny, I think I saw you do the same, though neither of us ate more than him,” she said, nodding at Kollen.

  “What, me? Fuck, I was the one who grabbed the leg. Why shouldn’t I be the one to eat it? Don’t go lecturing me. We left enough for those lazy bastards. We were the ones who risked our asses, so why shouldn’t we be the ones to reap the reward?”

  “Not the charitable type are you, Kollen?” Ren asked, a faint smile crossing his dirt-stained lips.

  “Charity’s for fools.”

  Ren only nodded. He’d made a habit of ignoring most of what the older boy said. He went back to climbing, but when he went a little farther and his hand hit the pipe, it came up black. From somewhere behind him, Kollen cursed.

  “It is a damned sewer pipe. I told you we’d be ankles deep in shit before this ended,” Kollen whimpered. There was anger in his voice, but it was also tinged with resignation. He’d known what he was getting into. For his part, Ren still wasn’t listening to Kollen; he’d already guessed at the tube’s purpose and was now studying its shape, peering through the occasional crack in the clay. “We’re circling the well, that’s why the passage is always curling.”

  “The Well of Horu—isn’t this thing at the center of the city, the site of some festival?” asked Kollen. “Don’t you think there’ll be soldiers up there? Ready to lop off our heads as they poke from the drain? Maybe we’ll find your brother with a dozen sentries?”

  “Still going on about that?” asked Ren. He saw no need to defend Ott. He saved their lives and that ought to have been the end of it. Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to think Ott was a spy or some scout for the First Ray.

  “He’s had plenty of time to betray us,” said Ren. “If the yellow cloaks were going to storm the temple, they’d have done it. And if you doubt me, go ahead and stick your head out when we reach the top. You’ll be the first to know if the guards are waiting for us.”

  “Splendid. The heir of Harkana has once more found his sense of humor. Too bad you’re laughing at our deaths. I’m serious about this one.”

  “Oh, we are too,” said Tye. “We’ll make certain your body is sent home to Rachis.”

  Kollen didn’t laugh, but Ren did. Covered in a dust made of something that had likely come out the backside of a horse, he did his best to chuckle at the boy’s fear, and just to spite the two of them, Kollen did take the lead, passing Ren and Tye, climbing higher up the pipe. Still, there was no end in sight and they began to tire.

  “Feels like we’ve been at this for hours, two or three,” said Tye.

  “Maybe longer,” Ren complained, “but I think we’re close.” The inevitable light at the end of the tunnel had at last shone itself in the form of dim stripes, glowing faintly on the side of the pipe. There was a grille somewhere up above them and the distant sounds of the city followed: vendors crying out their lots, beggars thumping their cups, someone singing for a crescent, a soldier shouting at some cutpurse.

  Kollen halted, his upturned finger indicating the grille. He raised the metal up and set it quietly aside. It took two hands to lift the thing and both trembled as he clutched the grate, but he managed to move it aside without making the slightest noise. He only grunted when the task was done. He thrust his head from the hole and Ren was glad to see it return fully intact.

  “It’s nearly dark outside,” said Kollen.

  “What do we do?” asked Tye.

  “We wait,” said Ren.

  “Until it’s dark,” Kollen agreed. It was the sensible thing to do, so they retreated from the opening and fed upon what food they had left in their pockets. In the meantime, night descended upon the city, the darkness drawn like a veil across the streets.

  They waited while the last of the soothsayers cried out their prophesies and the fortune-tellers made one last bid for a patron. The buskers ceased their songs and the sellers of trinkets packed up their wares. The three ransoms listened until the plaza was at last quiet and the darkness had safely enveloped their narrow exit, then they gathered their things and made their way back to the opening.

  “Let’s go have a look around,” Ren said as he put his hands on the grate.

  Kollen grinned, but Tye bit her lip, clearly nervous despite her earlier show of enthusiasm.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Kollen. “Lost your nerve?”

  In fact, it did look as though she had lost it. Tye sat there, wedged in the tunnel, feet and hands pressed to the pipe so she wouldn’t tumble backward down the passage.

  Meanwhile, Ren and Kollen lifted themselves through the narrow opening.

  “For once, being half-starved has come in handy,” said Kollen. “I don’t think we’d have fit through that pipe otherwise. You coming?” He was looking at Tye. “Or shall I toss the grille back into place?”

  “Oh hell,” Tye said as she lifted herself from the pipe. “With my luck, someone’ll decide to have themselves a good piss in this hole if I wait here for the two of you.”

  “Good, I was about to have one myself, so you might want to get out of there,” said Kollen. Ren, in a decidedly kinder gesture, offered Tye a hand. A moment later the trio stood upon the streets of Solus, but they were still hidden from view. A kind of platform surrounded the well. From beneath it, Ren saw a great dome resting crooked on its tracks. It appeared to have fallen off the rails. He guessed they wouldn’t be closing the Mundus anytime soon, which was good for all of them. If the great dome were set in place, it might cover the pipe. We truly are the dead, thought Ren. When they close this thing, we’ll be trapped.

  Through the planks, Ren glimpsed a white wall. There was a fire in the distance, an orange light flickering amid a great heap of broken stone. “C’mon, Tye, Kollen,” said Ren. “Let’s have a look around. There’re people out there. I see beggars. I’m certain we can blend in with the rest of them.” Ren slipped out from behind the platform, crouching and trying to look sickly. It took little effort.

  He glanced back at the dome. He guessed it would not be difficult to find the Mundus. It was the tallest thing in sight. In all likelihood, they’d be able to see it from almost anywhere they went. As they wandered through the evening crowds, they saw it from every corner, and they also spied the provisions they so desperately needed. Unfortunately, the ransoms had no swords.

  “I don’t think we’ll be swiping anything from these people,” said Ren. Men with axes or clubs stood at every stall, and the red soldiers were out in great numbers, patrolling the streets. Probably looking for me, thought Ren.

  “There,” Kollen said, pointing to a white edifice. Even in the half-light it glistened ever so slightly, and it bore a pair of doors carved from pale-white marble.

  “The temple?” asked Tye.

  “Exactly,” said Kollen. “Plenty of food, offerings to the gods, that sort of stuff, and priests don’t carry weapons—right?”

  “They don’t,” said Ren. “That’s what they taught us anyway. I’ve never actually set foot in a temple, but there’s something oddly familiar about this one, those stepped walls.”

  �
�Sort of looks like the temple in the Night Market, the one we roasted,” said Kollen.

  It does, thought Ren. In fact, it looks like the missing top of that pyramid, the part that that went straight through the roof.

  The outer doors of the temple stood open, so they passed through the pylon and into the columned hall, moving slowly, carefully, picking their way through the inner chambers, moving onward toward the sanctuary, pretending they were beggars or pilgrims come to kneel before the statues. At the golden doors, Ren entered with Kollen, Tye following reluctantly behind them.

  Inside, Ren at once shielded his eyes. Every surface was polished to a mirror sheen and the light was near blinding. It was dark outside, but it felt like high noon in the temple.

  “What is this?” asked Ren.

  “Maybe that fire we set has made its way to the surface,” said Kollen.

  “No, look there, you idiots,” said Tye, a hint of smugness in her tone. She pointed to a dozen braziers, each one tall and wide and brimming with flame.

  “Forget the flames,” said Kollen, “look here!” He pointed to a plinth where twelve golden statues sat upon a stand of marble and beneath them ripe pomegranates, rich brown dates, and olives lay in great heaps. They were wilted from the day’s heat, but still good, still edible.

  At the sight of all that rich fruit, Tye lost her fear, and perhaps her dignity too. She dashed forward, feet shuffling on the polished stones, eager to pick at the gods’ offering. Kollen went after her, making his way to the great marble plinth, where he stuffed olives into his mouth with one hand while the other shoved clumps of nut-brown dates into his pockets.