The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha)

by Steven Brust

  She made this observation as she walked, attempting to remember what she ought to look for next, and was suddenly struck by the realization that, try as she might, she could not recall what she ought to be looking for. This thought brought her a certain amount of trepidation, that might have continued for some time had she not at just that moment emerged into a clearing which was dominated by a massive stone archway, on top of which was a gargantuan carving of a phoenix, rising as if about to take flight; and beneath the archway figures moved, some of them in purple robes, some naked, others dressed more normally, all of which she recognized from story, myth, and legend, as well as the words of the Book of the Phoenix, as marking the entrance to the Halls of Judgment.

  Then she did stop, and turned around, making a glance at her path, which appeared to be nothing more than a simple trail through a typical jungle.

  “Well,” she remarked, “all in all, that wasn’t so bad.”

  She turned and, passing through the archway, entered the dominion of the gods.

  Chapter the Thirty-Fourth

  How Zerika Spoke to the Gods

  About Certain Issues of Grave

  Concern to Each of Them

  Upon passing into the domain of the gods, Zerika became convinced for all time that she was, in fact, alive; for there was no other way to account for the pounding of her heart. And yet, afterward, she was never able to say precisely where she went; as she had had to pay close attention to everything around her in order to reach that point, now, feeling that she was in a place of comparative safety, she was able to continue without close observation, and so, not noticing at the time, she was, consequently, never able to recall it. We should add that this is an unfortunate event for latter historians, always curious about details of that strange and mystical place, but was unimportant to Zerika herself.

  And so she passed on, passing by sights and sounds—and perhaps personalities—about which history must remain curious, eventually reaching a place which the reader will recognize from the last time we were here: the Halls of Judgment, the abode of the gods. She was, to be sure, still in a confused state of mind, unable to carefully note what she saw, and her memories were never completely clear. But she made her way around turnings in a path she followed with only the dimmest of awareness, through pavilions she could never recall, over bridges that bridged she knew not what, and at last through a very high archway, and then into the center of the large circular area that we are convinced the reader will recall. We should add that she was never aware of entering the circle itself; to her, it seemed that she stepped through the archway, and was suddenly surrounded by those she knew to be the gods. And, in that instant, where she had been walking as if half-awake, exhausted from her ordeal in traversing the Paths, now she was fully alert again—indeed, she felt her heart hammering in her breast, and was aware of the sharp taste of the air, of the faint, sweet smell of lilac overlaying a tang as of the sea.

  She turned in a slow circle, trying to grasp, as well as she could, where she was, and what, and whom she was confronting. It must be admitted by us—because Zerika, herself, has insisted it is true—that the image of her as confident, as full of conviction, and as ready to face her ordeal is utterly untrue. Indeed, she has said on more than one occasion that being there she felt overtaken by a fate over which she had no control, that she was alone as she had never been alone, and that she was more surrounded by a hostile environment, and less able to confront it, than she had been while negotiating the Paths. She has spoken of a numbness in her feet, and of the effort it took to keep her terror and sense of hopelessness off her countenance, and of believing that she was utterly powerless in the hands of a fate that seemed determined to crush her.

  If this is true—and we will not do ourselves the honor of doubting Her Majesty’s own words—then permit us to suggest that it is to her greater honor that she comported herself as she did; in other words, that she willingly defied what she saw as her fate, and did the very thing that in our opinion defines a hero: She struggled against the greatest of all obstacles, her own doubts, and did, quite simply, what she needed to do.

  So then, as we have said, she looked around carefully, seeing what she could (and, indeed, comprehending what she could) of the Lords of Judgment, until, at last, her eyes came to rest on one she recognized from certain icons and engravings as being Verra, who has been known—or, at any rate, reputed—to concern herself with the Empire; and to her Zerika made something like an obeisance. As she did so, by the peculiarities of that place, she found herself, at least in appearance, standing directly before her.

  The goddess looked at the Phoenix, and permitted her face to relax into something like a smile as she said, “We have been expecting you, little one.”

  Zerika, still at a loss for words, could only bow her head.

  “We know why you have come, little Phoenix,” said the goddess, “yet we nevertheless require you to state your mission plainly, and in words that will leave no room for confusion.”

  “Very well,” said Zerika, managing at length to find her voice. “If that is your command, well, then that is what I will do.” She was, we should say, a little startled to hear how calm her voice sounded, and how clear, when in fact she was more deeply and thoroughly terrified than she had ever imagined she could be.

  Verra nodded to indicate that this, indeed, was her command.

  Zerika took a deep breath in an effort to steady herself. She hesitated, ran her tongue around her lips, swallowed, took another breath, and opened her mouth. From somewhere—for it was no plan of hers—the words came from her mouth: “Well then, what I wish is easily enough stated. I wish for the Orb to be given to me, and that I may be granted passage from this place, that I may bring the Orb back to the Empire.”

  “What Empire?” came a sudden voice from somewhere behind her.

  She turned, and at first she was unable to identify the speaker, but then it seemed that she was looking directly into a great fire; a fire that burned with nothing to consume, that left no ash, and that had no shape, form, or direction. She did not know how she had suddenly come so close to this entity (nor, indeed, why she felt no heat radiating from it, much less why she wasn’t burned alive) without any sensation of motion; but she attempted to answer the question without permitting this peculiarity to fluster her any more than she was already flustered by the circumstances of her interrogation.

  She said, “The Empire that once existed, and shall exist again when I return from this place with the Orb.”

  “Then you believe,” said the being, and only then did the Phoenix realize that it was not exactly “speaking” as the term is usually used, and that Verra had not been either, “that only the Orb is required for the Empire to exist again?”

  Zerika bowed. “That is precisely my contention.”

  We should add that Zerika, before making this statement, had considered what form of address to use to the god or goddess (who, as the reader no doubt has realized, is Ordwynac), but, having been unable to determine a suitable form, had settled on none at all.

  “It requires no armies? No navy? No intelligence? No taxes? No communication among its branches and to its far-flung duchies and principalities? No arrangements for transportation? No intendants? No judiciary? No Council of Princes? None of these things are necessary, but only the Orb?”

  Zerika bowed her head as he spoke, as if each scornful phrase were a lash. When he finished, she remained there with her eyes down. But if her spirit were crushed, at least momentarily, her mind continued to work. After a moment, she raised her eyes and said, “Yes, that is what I believe. All of those other things will come with time, and effort—or, in the worst case, can be done without. Only two things are necessary.”

  “Two things?” said Ordwynac. “Come, then, tell us clearly what these two things are.”

  “The first,” said Zerika, now speaking with no hesitation, “is the Orb.”

  “Very well,” said Ordwynac. “W
e understand that the Orb is required. But what is the second, out of all those items I did you the honor to list?”

  “The second,” said Zerika, “is my will.”

  A moment of silence greeted this remark by the young Phoenix, and it seemed to Zerika that she had startled them. At last, Ordwynac said, “Your will? You believe that all that is needed is the Orb and—your will?”

  “Yes, that is what I believe,” said Zerika.

  “And,” said another of the gods, this one somewhere to her right, “what of those who attempt to build their own Empire? What of the impoverishment, the lack of transportation? The plagues? The incursions by barbarians, from the Islanders, and from the East?”

  She turned and found that she was facing a goddess who looked, in some ways, not unlike Verra, though with a more pale complexion and features not quite so sharp—and more than facing this goddess, she seemed, indeed, to be standing directly before her. She found this, we should add, more than a little disconcerting, particularly as she realized that this would re-occur each time one of her questioners did her the honor of addressing her. This realization caused her some disturbance, and thus, in turn, some hesitation. However, it must be allowed that she was permitted time to recover her faculties; that is to say, the gods once again waited patiently while she organized her thoughts.

  Gods, as is well known, are nothing if not patient, unless provoked.

  This time she was given was, we must add, what is called a “two-edged sword,” meaning that it had elements that were both good and bad. That is, she not only had time to prepare an answer, but, in addition, time to reflect upon just how frightened she was. This was, in the opinion of the author, perhaps the most difficult moment of the ordeal that began at the top of Deathgate Falls, because at this moment her nerve very nearly failed her. It came thundering upon her consciousness that she was, indeed, surrounded by the Lords of Judgment, and that one wrong word could mean the end of all she had worked for, all Sethra Lavode had trained her for, all that, insofar as she understood the workings of Fortune and Fate—the two siblings who continually vie with each other for control of Destiny, and against which and for which each human consciousness must struggle or to which each must surrender—she had been born for. Her fear of failure rendered her incapable of speech, incapable of thought, and for a moment she stood, as helpless as Reega before the onslaught at the gates of Thuvin.

  She had been extensively prepared for the ordeal of walking the Paths of the Dead; and, indeed, had this preparation been any less rigorous, she might well have perished there, or become lost. But how can one prepare to meet the Lords of Judgment? What could Sethra Lavode have told her to make this ordeal easier? What preparation would have helped her to bear up under the weight of the combined scrutiny of the Guardians of the World? The author would never suggest that there are not matters—many of them—where success is determined by skill, by practice, by training; yet it cannot be denied that, from time to time, there arises a situation where success or failure is determined by one’s character—either something that cannot be learned, or, perhaps, something that is learned unintentionally during the process of undergoing all of one’s life experiences. Zerika was in just such a situation, and as she understood it, nothing less than the fate of the Empire now rested upon what sort of inner strength she had.

  And it was at just this moment that, not only was she able to call upon those strengths of character that lay latent within her, but moreover, that her strength was forged. That is, not only was the question answered of whether there would be an empire, but the question of what sort of Empress Zerika would make was, at that instant, decided.

  Some questions, as is well known, cannot be answered by any historian, be he of a scientific or mystical bent. We cannot know precisely the chain of events that led to the creation of the Great Sea of Amorphia; we cannot know how the Serioli stumbled upon the process that led them to create the first Morganti weapons; and we cannot know from where, ultimately, Zerika found the strength to confront the goddess before her, and through this goddess, all of the Lords of Judgment. But, perhaps, when all is over, it doesn’t matter whence came this strength, only that it was there, and that Zerika found it; for she lifted her head (which she had allowed to drop down as she shook and trembled) and said, “All of these matters will be attended to, by the Empire.”

  “By the Empire?” said Ordwynac again, and, as Zerika turned her head, she found that she was directly in his fiery presence once more. “My little pet, you cannot both create the Empire, and use the Empire to defend it, all at the same time.”

  Zerika looked into the heart of the flame and said, “That is precisely what I am going to do, however.”

  “How?” said another of the gods, and she was now in a new direction, and looking at one she recognized from his green, scaly skin as Barlen.

  Zerika spoke to him, the words now coming more easily. “The Orb will help. And I have the assistance of Sethra Lavode, which counts for something, I believe. And there are still many who wish for nothing so much as to bring the Empire back. With the Orb, I will summon to me the forces necessary, and do what I must do.”

  “And have you,” said Ordwynac, causing Zerika to stand before him once more, “what it takes to do these things?”

  “Yes,” said the Phoenix, looking directly into the flames.

  “Why should I believe that?”

  Zerika felt her eyes narrow slightly, and a certain annoyance begin to grow within her. “Why should you doubt me? And, moreover, of what use is the Orb to you, here?”

  “That is not your concern, my dear,” said Verra.

  Zerika looked at the goddess—whom she was now facing—and refrained from arguing, because it seemed to her that Verra was kindly disposed to her, or, at any rate, to her mission, and she saw nothing to be gained in such an argument. Instead she said, “Very well, then, it is not my concern. And yet—?”

  “Well?” said the goddess, not unkindly.

  “I am the Heir. By rights, it is mine, and I can do what is needed. If it has no purpose here, then, well, why not permit me to take it where it belongs?”

  “It is not so simple, little Phoenix,” said one of the gods, and Zerika found that she was now facing the one we know as Moranthë. Zerika looked at the goddess—similar in some ways to Verra, yet different—and waited. The goddess said, “We have one valuable thing that you do not, little Phoenix: we have time.”

  “I am not certain that is true,” said another.

  “Whereas,” said yet a third, “I am convinced it is entirely incorrect. While we have time, we also know others who have time.”

  “Yes,” came from another. “If we delay, they will not. And what then?”

  “Nevertheless,” said Ordwynac. “If she is not able to do what she must do, then by putting this artifact in her hands, we are not only leaving their world defenseless, but ourselves, as well.”

  “Why do you believe,” said Verra, “that she will not be able to do what she must?”

  “Why do you believe she will?” replied Ordwynac.

  Zerika found herself again facing Verra, who looked at her closely, as if, indeed, attempting to see through her. The Demon Goddess then spoke, saying, “She has said she will.”

  “Then,” said Ordwynac, “you will place the fate of the world, and our own fate, on what this human chooses to say of herself?”

  “Well, my dear Phoenix,” said Verra, addressing Zerika again. “Tell us, if you will, why we should believe you can do what you say.”

  “Because,” Zerika replied with no trace of hesitation, the words spilling forth before she had time to consider them, “I am far too frightened at this moment to prevaricate.”

  There were various sounds from around her, and it came to Zerika that the gods were laughing. She felt her face become red, but held her ground and continued to meet Verra’s eyes. After a moment, Vera nodded slightly, still smiling a little, and said, “I, for one, believe you.�
�� Zerika had the feeling that this remark was directed less to her than to the other gods. She remained still, and waited.

  “That is all very well,” said someone who had not yet spoken. Zerika abruptly found herself listening to a feminine voice and facing what at first she thought was nothing at all until she became aware that there was, perhaps, a certain vague discoloration before her; as if something were almost but not quite there. As she was attempting to decide if something were wrong with her eyes, or if there was, indeed, a goddess before her, she heard the voice again. “But I should very much like to know if you have a plan for how to face these difficulties. That is, a specific plan.”

  “I do not,” said Zerika at once. “I have no plan. I do, however, have resources that I believe will be adequate to the task, and I will, in the first place, marshal these resources. Then I will determine what sort of problems confront the Empire, and I will attack each in its proper place.”

  “That is not a bad answer, little one,” said the goddess whom, by the now, the reader has identified as Nyssa.

  “Yes,” said Ordwynac. “She is, without question, good with answers.”

  Zerika looked up at this god, feeling her eyes narrow, and she said, “Words represent thoughts, and I am sharing my thoughts, because they are all I have to hand at present. Give me something stronger than words to wield, and I will gladly do so.”

  “Indeed?” said Ordwynac. “Little human, do you think to threaten me?”

  “Not at all,” said Zerika coolly.

  “That is good. I am glad to see that at least you do not think to match your strength and resources against the Guardians of the World.”

  “I certainly do not,” said Zerika, and added, “not unless I must.”

  This remark was greeted by unanimous silence among the gods—a silence that lasted for what seemed to Zerika to be some few minutes. Then, once more, there was the sound of laughter—this time a veritable cacophony of all different sounds of mirth. Zerika maintained her poise like an Issola and waited until the laughter had died away. When, at last, it had, Verra raised her head to address all of the Lords of Judgment. “Are there any other questions from any of you?”