by Martha Wells
There was a hesitation, long enough for Rian to wish he hadn't asked the question and Rastim to fidget nervously. Then it said, No.
Why is that not reassuring? Rian said carefully, "Now, when you have to wait and think about it, that worries me."
Rian felt it drift closer, knew it was examining him thoughtfully, and resisted the sudden urge to throw himself off the platform. I’m everything, it said. If evil is part of everything, I’m evil too. Like that answer better?
It was gone, winked out like a candle.
Rian let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
Rastim sighed and stared at him accusingly. "If it comes back, do you think you can manage not to cross-question it?"
"If it comes back, I think what I do is going to be the least of our problems," Rian told him.
Chapter Seventeen
Maskelle was a little out of breath by the time she drew near the strange building. She had stayed close to the shadows at the edges of the avenue, but there didn't seem to be any circumspect way to approach the temple or palace or whatever the place was. Just walk up to the front gate, Maskelle thought ruefully, it's always worked before. She could hear what sounded like wind howling wildly in the distance, strongly reminiscent of the air spirit creatures who had attacked them. It's probably full of the things.
She paused behind a pillar at the edge of the avenue, near enough to see just inside the doorway. It looked like a large hallway, lit by bowl-shaped lamps set into the walls, going back toward a more brightly lit area.
"I told you whatever happened to stay in the Marai."
Maskelle flung herself back against the pillar, swinging her staff at the figure that had suddenly appeared beside her. The staff passed right through it.
She looked carefully at its face and realized it was her first husband, Ilian, dead years ago from foolishly trusting her. She took a calming breath, and said to the Adversary, "You told me a lot of things, and I'd be a damned fool to listen to you."
Ilian had only been in his second decade when he died. His face was handsome, free of the lines that trouble and character usually wrote, and his build was stocky and well muscled. He was dressed in a red funeral robe. She would have known that this was not him, even if the staff hadn't passed through him, because this creature had a determined expression and the temerity to argue with her. It said, "You have to listen to me, I'm the Adversary."
Maskelle sagged back against the pillar. I trusted it, all this time, even after the false vision, I trusted it and thought the fault was in me. She wasn't sure she could understand the enormity of what was happening. "Are you sure you're the Adversary?" she asked hopelessly. "You're not Gisar's demon, or an illusion, or one of these creatures in disguise?"
Its face was blank for a moment, then it shrugged and ran a hand through its hair in an achingly familiar gesture. Her memory of Ilian wasn't that accurate; this thing could take his form so completely only because it had been with her at the time, had known Ilian as well as she had. It said, "I could pretend to be, if that would help."
Maskelle covered her eyes for a moment. Oh, Ancestors. For years I thought it was me that was mad. "No, no, that's all right."
It watched her with Ilian's worried expression, his concern in its eyes. "It knows you, the thing that's waiting in there."
"From Marada, or from you?" She asked wearily.
"Both."
How can I do this when the Adversary is against me? Maskelle thought in despair, then told herself angrily, It was always against you, you were always alone. Suddenly she heard voices, human voices calling out in Kushorit. She pushed away from the pillar, looking toward the building. Seven men ran out of the great archway. Bearing down on them from behind was a whirl of light and dust: one of the wind creatures.
Maskelle ran forward, reaching for power from the Marai. The link was tenuous, the pathway that had connected the temple with this location torn asunder by the second Wheel. The creature reached the last man in the running group, tearing at him, sending him falling and flailing on the hard pavement.
It’s going to get all of them, she thought desperately, feeling it push aside her strike at it. Then she felt the Adversary meld with her, felt it take her feeble attempt to disperse the thing and...She was raw power, raw will. It showed her how to look into the heart of the creature, to see past the screen of dust and wind and power into the living soul beneath. There was fear in that soul, more fear than anger and bloodlust. Desperation, a fierce desire to live. This is one of them, she thought, startled. The thing that was Marada, the one that had taken over Mirak. This was its true being. No, the Adversary told her, it was like you, it had a form. They built this city, lived here in contentment when this world was new. But they took their search for power too far, and the world started to die. Then the Adversary reached in to that fearful, desperate heart, and snuffed it out.
She blinked, lowered her staff as the whirlwind dispersed and dust rained down on her, all that was left of the dead creature. The Adversary was no longer standing next to her, though she knew it hadn't gone far.
The first of the fleeing men reached her. He was a young man, a temple servant, she saw as he stumbled to a halt. "Revered!" Breathing hard, he tried to explain, "We were tricked, it was a man sent by Mirak—"
"We know," Maskelle said. Two of the others helped the wounded man to his feet and they all gathered around her in a panting, anxious group. Even in the dim light she could tell they looked glad to see her. Rian and Rastim were both missing, she had seen that as soon as the men had reached the avenue. "Where are the others?"
The man looked around, as if noticing for the first time that the two men were missing. He pointed back to the temple. "They must be still inside."
Of course. The Adversary had said what was waiting there knew her. "Run back to the Marai, run fast. You have to be there by sunset." She nodded to the injured man. "Carry him."
The men stared at her. The first one protested, "But—"
"Go. The Adversary demands it. If you don't hurry, he'll appear and tell you so himself."
That did it. A few of them exchanged startled looks, then they gathered up their wounded companion and ran. Maskelle gave them time to reach the end of the avenue and get out of sight, then she started toward the temple again.
She felt a coldness pass over her skin as she crossed under the arch into the building, as if she had moved through some kind of boundary. The place smelled of dust and age and emptiness, like the rest of the city, but the air trapped here was dead and the scents were stronger. The lamps were high in the mottled stone walls, made of bowls of smooth pottery with the flicker of flame in their centers. What did they burn? There was no wood, no oil. It had to be power. Their power is different, she reminded herself. She had already seen enough evidence of that. Even the dark powers she had fought were all part of the Infinite, and used spirits and the force of water and earth, the forest, the mountains. What passed for power in this bare dying place would be like nothing she had encountered before.
She stopped abruptly, turning that thought over. That's what they use. Death. The dead boy they had used against her outside Duvalpore, that had been the first clue. They had forced the village shamaness to use the old spirit magic, the death magic, against Maskelle. They didn't use the Infinite. They moved through it, but perhaps they didn't truly see it or understand it. They used the force released by the death of their world and themselves to make their power.
I see, the Adversary said in her thoughts, an air of approval in the words. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Stop saying "we," she told it angrily, continuing down the hall. It was only parroting phrases back at her again, with no notion of what they meant. You're on the other side, remember? There was another arch at the end, brightly lit. There were small branching corridors between here and there, but they were all dark and she passed them by. The sound of howling wind grew a little louder with each step.
She realized
the Adversary was walking beside her again, and this time its form was Rian's. She said, "Don't take that form. I don't want to be confused about who to save and what to leave behind."
It shifted back to Ilian, apparently without taking offense. It said, I convinced them to keep your friends as hostages against you and not kill them. Wasn't that good of me?
"Oh, that's going to help a great deal." Before she could say more, she reached the end of the hallway and saw what lay beyond. It was a huge round chamber, perhaps taking up most of the space left in the great building. Hundreds of the lamps dotted the walls all the way up to the top of the dome. Most of the vast space was concealed by a great cloud of mist and air, drifting in a circular pattern. The damp breeze of it touched her face, almost gently, despite the howl and moan of what should be a powerful wind. The floor beneath the cloud was torn up and the ground below that dug out to form a shallow pit. Broken paving blocks, fragments of carving that must have decorated the walls once, bits of broken lamps, raw stone from the foundation were all jumbled into a spiral pattern as far as she could see through the mist. It was as if the wind had tried to draw every loose fragment in the city to this spot, and the constant motion had worn down the ground. This is where it made the creatures it sent against us last night, she thought. The creatures the Adversary had destroyed with an annoyed thought. Are you more powerful now that you're mad? she asked it.
Not powerful enough.
"You still speak in riddles," she said aloud.
You assume you’re the only one who can hear me.
Maskelle knew she wasn't alone here. After the Adversary had shown her the trick of it, she could feel the minds of the beings who inhabited this place, all of them bundled together, the beings who had built this city and lived and refused to die here. They were combining what was left of their power and their resources. Huddling together for warmth? You have both one opponent and many, the Adversary had said. When they were like this, they were one.
She could feel their awareness roaming the dead city, touching the Marai again and being repelled by the barrier. They didn't know she was here yet. "Where is the second Wheel?" she asked softly, sure she already knew the answer.
In the center, the Adversary said.
Yes, I thought so. Maskelle looked into the cloud, then closed her eyes briefly, weary beyond measure.
I needed this. I had to get here, it said, somewhat reproachfully.
"You've said that before."
Then Maskelle felt the creatures' perception growing, felt them sense her presence and turn their attention toward her.
A voice, human enough to be understood, spoke out of the cloud. "You've brought her. You've decided to help us after all."
You taught me so much, the Adversary answered them, sounding sympathetic. You taught me how to lie. I needed to know that. For that, I’ll make your end quick.
They didn't reply. They’re stunned to silence, Maskelle thought. She started to laugh. "Your ally," she said to them. "Are you happy with it? Is this triumph everything you imagined?"
"Do not mock us." It didn't sound angry, as Mirak had at the end. Perhaps it wasn't human enough in this form.
"But it's so easy. The Adversary says you've destroyed at least two other worlds, using their own powers against them. It's your turn now. Try to accept it with a modicum of grace."
There was a pause, then it said, "The Adversary needs our help. It wants more power; it wants to destroy the other spirits and rule as your only god."
"Is that what it told you? It doesn't want more power. It doesn't need more power. The Ancestors can't do anything with it, or they would have done it before now. It wants to kill. It used to want justice, but now it just wants to kill." She laughed again, a bitter sound that startled even her. "It doesn't want your help; it wants to destroy you and it was willing to destroy us to do it."
The wind was rising, pulling at her braids. You’re making them angry, the Adversary told her. Its pleasure echoed through the thought.
The wind hit her and she staggered and went to her knees, trying to brace herself with her staff and grabbing for purchase among the rough stones. For an instant she felt the Adversary within her and thought it meant to help her, but it did nothing. Struggling to stay upright, she managed to plant her staff and pull herself up, but the sharp edges of the rocks cut her hand and the blood made her hold slip. Her staff snapped in two suddenly and she fell backward into the cloud.
She tumbled over the rocks, the breath knocked out of her. The minds of the creatures tore at her as she fell past them, angry, desperate, terrified. Then she landed on flat stone.
She heard a startled shout. A familiar shout.
Suddenly Rian and Rastim were standing over her. Rian took her arm and pulled her to her feet. As soon as he touched her, she knew it was really him. She leaned against him, relieved, and he supported her with an arm around her waist. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Where's here?" Maskelle said, baffled, looking around. She rubbed at her eyes, wondering if she had struck her head.
"I was hoping you knew," Rastim said nervously.
They appeared to be outside under a blue sky, standing on a stone platform perhaps thirty feet off the ground. Around them was the city when it was young. The sky was clear, the stone a lighter color, the buildings untouched by time. There were people moving among the buildings, at least she thought they were people. They were about the right size, but there was a distortion of the sight whenever you looked at them, so their forms were blurred.
"This is what their world used to be. They keep it preserved, inside themselves," Maskelle said slowly. Even with everything that had happened, it gave her cold prickles all over her skin. This was a dead memory, held in stasis until it had lost its reality.
"Why can't we see what they look like?" Rian asked her.
"Maybe they can't remember anymore. Maybe they don't want to remember." She shook herself slightly and looked around again, biting her lip thoughtfully. "We need to find the Wheel."
"You mean it's here?" Rian looked around, startled. "In this room?"
She nodded. "It has to be. Mirak was one of them. They built the second Wheel in his quarters on the palace grounds."
"We know about Mirak." Rian sounded annoyed.
"We found out the hard way," Rastim added. "But the Adversary said to stay here."
Rian threw him an impatient look. "Yes, that's the last thing it said before it couldn't decide if it was evil or not."
"That was because you talked to it." Rastim glared back at him. "I didn't think you should—"
Maskelle stared, then thumped Rian in the chest. "What about the Adversary?"
"It was here," Rian explained. "It acted a little funny."
Rastim snorted. "That's putting it mildly."
"That doesn't surprise me." Maskelle stepped away from him, keeping one hand on his arm but testing her balance. "This place is in the same spot where the Palace would be if it was still here, so the Wheel is here too. This illusion or memory is just keeping us from seeing it." Maskelle concentrated on what she had seen of the chamber, trying to make the veil lift. Fixing your mind on the reality was the simplest way to break an illusion, and the only way open to her now, cut off as she was from the temples. But this was no ordinary illusion.
Rian watched her uneasily. "When the Adversary was here, I had the feeling... We were bait in a trap. Was that what happened?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I'm just not sure if the trap was for me or—" She gestured at the blurred forms of the beings in the city. "Them."
"Isn't the Adversary on our side?" Rastim asked, nervously rubbing his hands off on his dusty shirt.
"It's on its own side now." Maskelle closed her eyes, pushing at the illusion around them. Nothing happened and she swore. She stepped further away from Rian and paced a few steps, thinking it over. "When you were thrown in here, did you see anything of what this place looked like before this appeared?" she asked
them.
Rian shook his head. "I was out."
"It was..." Rastim hesitated. "There was a heavy mist, bluish-white." He looked at the ground and scuffed at one of the paving blocks with a boot. "And all this was jumbled up rocks. Then this place just gradually began to appear." He shivered.
Maskelle frowned. "That's what I saw. There has to be something else. If the Wheel is here, it has to be on a flat surface, like a platform or a dais."
"Does it matter if it's square or round?" Rian asked.
"No, as long as it's flat."
"If it was in Mirak's chambers..."
"Oh, wait." She looked around again. "The surface under their Wheel should be the same as it was in our world."
"So somewhere in here there's a surface that looks like the floor in Mirak's quarters." Rian looked around at the illusion, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Maskelle closed her eyes. "It's been years. It was lacquered wood, large panels."
"What color?" Rian asked at the same time Rastim said, "Any carving?"
"Light yellow, carved with flowers. I think."
"What kind of flowers?" Rastim persisted.
"Just flowers." Maskelle glared. "Give me a moment, will you?" She tried to fix the image in her mind, but it had been too long. She had never been Mirak's friend and had only been to the extensive quarters he kept in the west building of the Celestial Home during the banquets he gave for the major festivals.
I remember, the Adversary whispered in her head.
Of course it could remember. It walked in and out of her memory at will. As if I could trust you, she told it bitterly.
The image that appeared before her eyes was of a light yellow lacquered wood floor, with colored inlay forming tiny round flowers on the edge of each square panel.
Why? Maskelle demanded angrily. Why trap me down here and then help me? She realized it was idiocy, asking reasons of a mad creature.
