'The Chancellor is right. The Omniscient does care for you. And we do the Omniscient's work, saving those who can be saved. Helping those who can be helped and who ask us for it.
'The Chancellor is right. We can raise wind, we can raise water and fire. But only in the Omniscient's name. Only to protect our people. You. That is the worth of us. We are here to serve you. Have we harmed a single one of you?'
Arducius turned his attention square on the Chancellor. 'It is an enduring tragedy that we want nothing more than to be welcomed into the bosom of the Order. We would happily swear loyalty to the Chancellor. She denies us that opportunity and so we are forced to work without her blessing.
'I stand before you now and tell you that you have nothing to fear from the Ascendants. If you choose not to believe us, then see us burn. But it will not stop the destiny of the Conquord. The Ascendancy is here forever. It has the support of the Advocate. And as the generations pass, more and more of your children will demonstrate similar abilities.
'Some will accompany us back to Estorr today. Others will follow. See the good in us for that is all that there is. The Chancellor is mistaken. We are not heretics. It is only she who talks of death. We prefer a discourse on life. I can think of no greater pleasure than to worship the Omniscient and I urge you all to maintain your faith and bring others to you. All we ask for is that you understand that we work within the faith of the Omniscient, never ever against Him.'
The crowd had fallen completely silent while Arducius spoke. He jumped down from the fountain and walked across the space to face the Chancellor.
'It's tired, Felice, this declamation of yours. In a decade, we have saved hundreds, liberated thousands and harmed no one. We will take those who wish to go with us back to Estorr and you will not stop us, nor will your lap dog draw his sword.'
Beside the Chancellor, Horst Vennegoor, Prime Sword of the Armour of God tensed and growled.
'Save it, Vennegoor,' said Arducius. 'When you first crossed us in Westfallen a decade ago, you were past your best. Now you're just old.'
Felice Koroyan hushed Vennegoor's retort and took a pace forward to stand toe-to-toe with Arducius.
'You have always been, and will always be, an abomination,' she said quietly. 'And one day, you or one of your bastard brothers and sisters will transgress. The ear of the Advocate will turn back to me and you will have no friends. All I have to do is wait.'
Arducius smiled and Ossacer saw the anger settle on him. 'We will never give you the satisfaction, Felice. I know why you fight us. It is because you fear one day your crimes against us will come back and bite you. It is only by the grace of the Advocate and the laws of tolerance in our Conquord that you are still alive, let alone still the Chancellor. But while the Advocate might forgive and forget, we Ascendants never will. One day, you will be gone and the Ascendancy and the Order will be as one, as the Omniscient surely intends.'
The Chancellor's face was grey and angry.
'Your words speak your guilt,' she said. 'And one day I will watch you burn.'
'Don't hold your breath,' said Arducius. He turned back to Ossacer and Harkov. 'Come on. Plenty of work to do yet.'
Chapter Three
859tb cycle of God, 1st day of Genasrise
'All right, you can come in now.'
Her son's voice swelled Mirron's heart as it had done from his first newborn cry. She turned from the window overlooking the splendour of Estorr and walked from her bedroom to the main reception room. Through the partially open doors, she could hear the shuffling of feet and a low murmur. The beautiful scents of fresh-cut flowers and greenery wafted out and water trickled in the decorative fountain.
Her son was at her side.
'Look left first. Don't look right,' said the boy, putting a hand up to her face to shield the rest of the room from her eyes. 'All right,' she said.
The fountain was there in the left-hand corner of the room. In the pool, a carved wooden boat with a cloth sail on its mast scudded around in gentle circles. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth. The sail was filled with a breeze that chased the boat, propelling it in its course.
'Oh, darling, you can do it!' she said, kneeling and pulled him into a crushing hug.
The boat slowed and stopped, his concentration on it broken. 'Oh, Mother!'
'Kessian, I am so proud of you. I knew you could do it.' 'Happy birthday, Mother.'
She kissed his cheek and let him go. 'How did you do it?' 'Well, he needed a little help but it was there all along, just like you said.'
Mirron swung round on her haunches, having to steady herself against the marble side of the fountain pool. She'd forgotten there were others in the room. Actually, it was quite crowded with friends.
But the voice belonged to a man she hadn't seen in a year. She flew to her feet and into his embrace.
'Ardu! When did you get back? Why didn't you tell me?'
'Because your son got to me first and wanted to organise this surprise,' said Arducius. His eyes swam from green to a gentle warm blue.
'And then we thought we might as well have a joint birthday party.'
Another voice. Mirron almost burst into tears. She pushed Arducius away. Standing to his left was Ossacer. All three of them came together. Applause broke out.
'Happy birthday all of us,' said Mirron.
Her words were chorused around the room. Goblets were raised in salute.
'Twenty-four now,' said Ossacer. 'Getting on ...'
'Sometimes I feel twenty years older,' said Mirron.
'Well you look ten years younger,' said Arducius.
'Liar.' She shook her head and stepped back so she could see them both, looking tired but wonderful in white togas slashed with deep Ascendancy red, Ossacer with his hair cut short and Arducius who sported long, slightly wavy dark locks these days. 'Neither of you is supposed to be here until solastro. It's been lonely without you.'
'Never miss a birthday,' said Ossacer.
Mirron smiled at him. He was studying her closely, his sightless eyes flickering up and down her body, irises a chaotic rush of colour. It was disconcerting if you weren't used to it. But Mirron, Ossacer and Arducius had been together almost every day for the first twenty years of their lives. Ossacer was examining her energy map and lifelines in the way only he could, trying to discern the emotions underpinning her words.
Mirron didn't need to look inside Ossacer to understand his mood. He was unhappy and he was anxious. It was written on his face and in the way he held himself. That little stoop and the rounding of the shoulders as if he had been given something too heavy to carry.
'Come on, Ossie, think I buy that even for one moment?'
Ossacer shrugged. 'Well, you know, we were just passing through ...'
'No one passes through here from Morasia to Westfallen,' said Mirron. 'But I couldn't be happier you're here, today of all days. See what my son can do?'
‘I saw the trails,' said Ossacer. 'Very impressive in a ten-year-old. Glad he's coming into his potential so soon. Still, I shouldn't be surprised by the talents of the offspring of Mirron and ... well, you know.'
Mirron nodded and looked round at Kessian. He was playing with his boat, sending it in a figure-of-eight with the breeze he created. Hesther Naravny, Mother of the Ascendancy, was looking over his shoulder, encouraging him. Others were watching too, along with a couple of the teenage Ascendants. The room was breaking up into small groups to talk and drink, or try snacks from the serving platters set around. Much of the Ascendancy project hierarchy was here, testament to the reverence in which Mirron was held. In which all three of the original Ascendants were held.
Kessian could feel her eyes on him and he turned round, favouring her with a huge smile. Mirron smiled back but behind her expression, she felt the pain that would never truly die. Those gorgeous blue eyes and that mass of curly blond hair. So much like Gorian.
'At least that's where the similarity ends,' whispered Ossacer into her ear.
Mirron let go a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. 'I'll never work out how you do that.'
'It's quite simple, dear Mirron. Be blind most of your life. It gives you such an uncluttered perspective on the nuances of energy.'
Even when he tried to joke, Ossacer managed to sound serious and analytical.
Mirron turned to face him. 'What is it, Ossie?'
'What do you mean?' Ossacer looked at the floor.
'Like I don't know something's amiss? You and Ardu show up here unannounced from your duties in the west. I know it's our birthday but I can't imagine the Advocate agreeing that you break off your tour for a party, can you?'
'Just enjoy it,' said Arducius. 'It's a beautiful genastro day in Estorr, the Advocate is paying for the wine and we've brought back some fantastic potential for you and Hesther to meet. And taken from beneath that lovely snarl the Chancellor has when she gets beaten.'
'She was there?'
'Like always,' said Arducius.
'And is there nothing we can do about it?' asked Mirron. Arducius shook his head. 'The Advocate won't change the law. And anyway, it isn't the Order who is at fault, it's just her and her cronies. We have to persuade people of our faith through demonstration and understanding. We need acceptance, not religious conflict.'
Mirron chewed her lip, worry nagging at her mind. 'One day you won't be able to talk your way out of it. What then? We know the Chancellor would use force, given the merest opportunity. I can't bear the thought of you two getting burned in some far-flung corner because you've spoken out of turn.'
Arducius spread his hands. 'What else can we do? This is the only way to get the message across. And look at the hundreds we've taken from self-imposed repression. People who thought they were freaks and who lived in fear of the Order can now walk in daylight with confidence.'
'That's still a naive vision, Ardu,' said Mirron. 'Maybe they can here on the Hill, but there are parts of Estorr where we still can't go without protection, and this is the capital city for God's sake. It doesn't matter what the Advocate says and what she decrees. At best, most people are wary of us. And out in the wilds most of them still hate us. The Order still represents the Advocate and we are still a splinter faith, no matter what we believe.'
'It changes nothing,' said Arducius. 'We have to spread our message. Like the Order did in centuries gone by. It has its risks but if we don't do it now, our future generations will be no further forward. What would you have us do?'
Mirron shook her head. 'Oh, I don't know. Just be careful. Don't provoke the Chancellor. And don't deny that's what you do. I've seen you at it.'
Arducius laughed and kissed her cheek. 'Come on, let's mingle. Relax for a change. You worry too much.'
'With good reason.' She accepted the goblet Arducius took from a tray for her and drank. 'And don't think I won't find out the real reason you've shown up here today.'
'I know that you will,' said Arducius and for a moment, his sparkle dimmed. 'Please, it has to be later.'
Mirron nodded and turned to her son and Hesther, trying hard not to think about it.
Roberto Del Aglios, eldest son of the Advocate, and the first Conquord Ambassador to the closed nation of Sirrane, felt energised and far younger than his forty-eight years today. Season upon season, year upon year of difficult, delicate and frustrating negotiations and at last, in his hand he held a Sirranean government signature.
It was short of full alliance but it was an agreement to closer ties, to an exchange of technologies and to a broad range of commodity quotas that would benefit territories across the Conquord. And more important than all of these, it was an agreement to share information on Tsard to the south, Omari to the west and the vast desert and plain kingdom of Garanth to the north of Sirrane. The once-blind now had eyes everywhere.
Roberto waited until they stepped outside the Sirrankjor, the seat of the government in this extraordinary country, before letting himself go and embracing Gesteris. The two men slapped each other's backs.
'This,' said Roberto, breaking away. 'Is going to make the Conquord great once more. Just think what this does for Gosland, for Dornos ...'
'It strengthens your mother's hand in every corner of the Conquord.'
Roberto looked at his companion. Senator Marcus Gesteris, hero of the Conquord. The man who held the Tsardon at bay on the Neratharnese border until Roberto himself came to relieve him in the defining battle of the 848th cycle in the war with Tsard. A great soldier and a clever diplomat. There were few that did not recognise and respect the one-eyed general with the signature scar down the right-hand side of his face. It still flared red in cold weather and the eye socket remained a constant irritation.
'I cannot thank you enough. So long away from your family.'
'It is an honour and a pleasure to serve,' said Gesteris. 'But there is more to do. Our intelligence from Tsard suggests they are arming again. It might be in response to our retaking of Atreska and the buildup of legions in the border states but I don't think so. We need Sirrane's help militarily. They have such strength should they choose to use it.'
'Interesting, isn't it?' said Roberto. 'And in Conquord history, they have never chosen to invade anywhere. No desire for expansion.'
Gesteris chuckled. 'Hard to credit when you're a Conquord citizen, eh? But think about it. How many people have we seen. How much of the country have they let us see? It could be empty. Maybe the talk of strength here is just that.'
'I very much doubt that. What is it really, do you think?'
'Well, no doubt part of it is in their psyche. They aren't a united people and that will undermine any thought of invasion. This is a country ruled by consent, not declaration. But more than that, and laugh if you want, I think they're a race of agoraphobics. Very unhappy out of the shade of trees. Take the city. No parks, no big open spaces.'
'You know, you might be right,' said Roberto. 'If it wasn't for the spires.'
'No. They're safe because they are protected. The spires are enclosed and they are blessed, so I understand.'
Roberto looked around him at the stunning and extraordinary capital city of Mytarinos, which translated roughly as 'meeting place'. It was a city of low domes and towering spires; tree-lined streets and walled woods; covered markets and secluded glades. The predominant colours were those of the forest, greens, browns and reds.
The trees, so the Sirranean saying went, were the roof of the world. And to pierce the roof was to toy with the power of the sky. Not that it meant they were scared of the heavens. The highest spires soared hundreds of feet above the tallest tree and were monuments to engineering excellence. They were places for solitude and reflection, to bask in the glories of the world above the roof, to offer respect and worship to the myriad gods the Sirraneans followed and, with typical Sirranean practicality, to monitor the weather.
Roberto hadn't considered it before. The Sirraneans were an eclectic mix, happy to live in sprawling low houses that seldom reached above two storeys but equally comfortable in their swaying spires or the upper boughs of their trees. He had never seen climbing like it. Nor camouflage. Nor the breathtaking acrobatics they undertook to get from tree to tree. Fearless. You could easily see why they had never suffered serious threat from invasion. No conventional army could hope to counter them, short of felling or burning every tree. And getting close enough to wield the axe would be a task in itself.
And yet Gesteris had nailed it. On their journey through the vast forests, studded with stunning mountain ranges, broad lakes and impenetrable valleys and gorges, the Sirraneans had been uncomfortable the few times they had been forced to cross open spaces.
'I'm right, I promise,' said Gesteris. 'Look.'
Their translator, Tarenaq, had just emerged from the building along with Huatl a senior member of her delegation. As they emerged into sunlight, they made a brief gesture, passing their hands across their eyes and over their heads.
'The Omniscient save me, I had assumed they wer
e waving away flies.'
Gesteris chuckled. 'Sometimes they probably are. I swear some of these bites will leave permanent scars.'
'Marcus, your minute observation has embarrassed me again.' 'Don't be down on yourself. It's a rare enough gesture.' 'Superstition?'
'Religion, I think,' said Gesteris. 'Tarenaq was vague in the extreme when asked.'
'You do surprise me,' said Roberto with a raising of the eyebrows.
Tarenaq and Huatl were hurrying towards them. Typical of the Sirranean build, they were tall, slender people, sinuous, with large strong hands. The Sirraneans had been an arboreal race. Bony ridges ran down the sides of their necks and continued, he had been informed, the length of their torsos and along the undersides of their arms. A membrane had once grown from the ridges, providing limited glide, balance and enormous control in the leap between branches. Some still had an elongated coccyx. A vestigial reminder of a past long forgotten, as was the faint green tint within their deep brown skin. It was a history they held dear and which still governed much of their mythology, religion and ceremony.
'You've forgotten an important clause?' ventured Roberto as the two Sirraneans neared, trotting down a short flight of stone steps. Both were clothed in tight-fitting leggings and shirts. Lightweight cloaks were about their shoulders, floating in the breeze.
Tarenaq did not smile though she was used to Roberto's sense of humour by now. Her large, brown eyes locked on him and her brow creased.
'We have informations,' she said.
Her voice was strong and guttural, like that of so many of her kind, designed to carry through the sound-sapping foliage. Roberto couldn't help but smile.
'Lucky we signed when we did, then.'
'Yes.' Still no smile.
Roberto sobered. There was deep disappointment in Tarenaq's eyes. And sadness. 'What is it?'
Tarenaq turned to Huatl and motioned him to speak. It was slow and Tarenaq had to stop often, struggling for the right Estorean words but she did her best.
A Shout for the Dead Page 3
