Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  The rooms were small and the walls bare stone. Furniture was simple and heavy, yet the rugs on the floors and walls were colorful and finely made, if a bit crude in design. Most depicted famous battles and Dunwayan leaders and warriors, always watched over by the god Lore.

  I-Portak, the Dunwayan ruler, was neither hereditary king or elected counsellor. Danjin had never met anyone who knew all the complexities of the Dunwayan method of selecting their ruler. It seemed that anyone could declare themselves ruler, but holding the position depended on the agreement of important warrior clans. The claimant could be challenged by a warrior willing to fight for the position, yet if the challenger won and the warrior clans didn’t approve of him, he could not keep the position.

  Despite this, when the last ruler had died the process of selecting a replacement had been free of challenge or argument. I-Orm’s son had taken his father’s place without a murmur of dissent from his people. At least, Danjin hadn’t heard of any. The Dunwayans were not ones to complain loudly. When the likely response to rebellion was a challenge to the death, one tended to keep one’s opinions to oneself unless sure of winning.

  “The light is dimming,” Ella said. He turned to see her sigh and reluctantly put her spindle aside. “Another day gone and still no progress. How long do you think it will take before they let me do my job?”

  “Subtract their respect for the gods and the White from the depth of their pride, add their eagerness for us to leave, and take some lingering resentment for the White’s attempt to dissolve the sorcerer Scalar over a decade ago, and you’ll have the moment they offer their reluctant cooperation.”

  Ella chuckled ruefully. “You told me they were a straightforward and economical people.”

  “Compared to other Northern Ithanian peoples, they are. You have to let the clans try to find the culprits for you. It’s a matter of honor.” Danjin moved away from the window. The air was quickly growing chilly. The Dunwayans believed heating and window coverings made one weak, that sickness was caused by too little action, food, sex, or either sleeping too much or too little.

  Hmm. Maybe we can use that to our advantage, he thought. We could say Ella doesn’t want to remain cooped up and inactive too long lest she fall sick. But they might decide the solution to that is to send her out to one of the female warrior clans for a few bouts of fighting practice. I doubt she’d appreciate that.

  “Well, at least I’m getting something done,” Ella murmured, looking at the basket beside her. Most of the fleece was gone, and the thread she had produced had been twisted together into yarn and wound into neat balls. Danjin had found the deft movements of her spinning and twirling a little hypnotic to watch. He had no idea what she would do with it next.

  During the day they were mostly left to themselves, but every night they visited local clan leaders or dignitaries of other countries. Ella took the opportunity to read the minds of everyone she encountered, including the servants.

  “They’re more like slaves than servants,” she had told Danjin. “All they get for their work is food and a roof over their heads. They can’t marry and raise a family without their master’s approval, and their children work from the moment they can be put to use. Nobody taught me about this when I learned about Dunway as a priestess.”

  He had to agree about the servants’ lives, but reminded her that the Dunwayans had lived this way since the god Lore had adopted them as his own people. “And how servants live is hardly a subject likely to capture the attention of a class of young initiates,” he had added.

  She had shaken her head at that. “Injustice always captures the attention of the young,” she said. “But as we get older we discover how difficult it is to change the world, and we learn to turn our eyes away from what we can’t fix until we no longer see injustice at all.”

  “Not all of us,” he told her. “Some of us still look for ways to make improvements.”

  Ella rose and moved to the window. “The man we’ll be seeing tonight is well known for his cruelty toward his servants.”

  She stared out silently, her eyebrows knitted together. He suspected she was scanning the minds of those below and said nothing, not wanting to distract her.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Gillen Shieldarm, Ambassador of Hania, has come to fetch Ellareen of the White and Danjin Spear, Adviser to Ellareen of the White, and take them to the house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” a voice bellowed.

  Danjin smiled and walked to the door. The habit of yelling such a greeting from behind a door was Dunwayan, but the greeting had been spoken in Hanian. He opened the door to find Gillen grinning widely.

  “You can just knock,” Danjin said. “We won’t think less of you.”

  “Ah, but that wouldn’t be as amusing,” the ambassador replied. He looked over Danjin’s shoulder. “Good evening, Ellareen of the White.”

  “Good evening, Fa-Shieldarm,” she replied. “We have been waiting for you.”

  He gestured to the corridor behind him. “I would be most honored to guide you to the abode of our guest.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stepped past Danjin. Closing the door, Danjin followed as she and Gillen started down the corridor.

  Soon they had left the wing and emerged into the chill evening air. Each section of the city was separated by a well-guarded gate. Each time they reached one of these Gillen produced an amulet which the guards examined before they ordered muscular servants to haul open the gates. After passing through three gates, they arrived at a stone house distinguished from its neighbors by a large shield carved into the door, painted in bright colors.

  “The house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” Gillen told them. He knocked, then bellowed their names and purpose.

  The door creaked open. A servant bowed then silently gestured into the room. Ella stepped inside, followed by Danjin and Gillen.

  They entered a large hall furnished with a huge wooden table already crowded with men, women and children. If it were not for their smiles and laughter, the tattooed faces might have made it a ghoulish scene. The patterns accentuated their expressions, so that a frown looked like a scowl, and a smile a grin.

  Danjin recognized a few of the people and guessed that most present were of Gim’s clan. The servant hurried away to speak to a large Dunwayan man at the head of the table. This was Gim, a proud and arrogant man even by Dunwayan standards.

  The man stood and beckoned to them with expansive gestures.

  “Ellareen of the White. Welcome to my home. Come join me.”

  Gim waved at the people sitting around him. At once they shuffled along the bench seats to make room. Ella sat down with dignity and accepted a goblet of fwa, the local liquor. Danjin squeezed in beside her.

  Danjin sipped his own drink only enough to, hopefully, satisfy his host. He listened as Ella and Gim talked, recalling details about the clan that he had learned before and after they had arrived in Chon. He also kept his eyes on the other people at the table, aware that he was an extra pair of eyes to Ella.

  At some signal from Gim, servants began to bring plates of food out to the table. Gim sliced a haunch off a roasted yern with a knife shaped like a miniature sword, and then the other guests began to help themselves and chatter. An argument broke out between two boys, one of whom had taken an entire girri for himself. When the boys began to shove each other one of the men got up, hauled them both out of a door and told a servant not to let them in until they’d fought it out. Returning to the table, he took the girri for himself.

  Danjin then felt Ella’s elbow press against his arm. He realized he’d lost track of her conversation with Gim.

  “…know the Pentadrian way of life appeals to many of your people,” she said.

  Gim’s eyebrows rose. “What is so appealing about the way they live?”

  “Only criminals are enslaved there.”

  The clan leader frowned at her. She shrugged.

 
; “That is how they see it.”

  “Are you saying we may have spies among our servants?”

  “Probably.”

  He glared at the servants in the room. “I shall question them all.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “That would disrupt your household unnecessarily. A clever spy deflects attention from himself to others when he knows there’s a hunt on, and you could end up executing innocent and useful people. Better to set a trap.”

  Gim grunted his reluctant agreement. “What do you suggest?”

  “Obviously we can’t discuss the details here,” she said, smiling. “Someone who knows your household well would be better able to suggest an effective trap than I. You must have a few servants that you trust?”

  The clan leader scowled, then changed the subject. As the night grew older, Danjin was sure he detected a change in Ella. She seemed more genuinely cheerful than she usually was during these dinners.

  :I am, her familiar voice said in his mind. I’d never give Gim the satisfaction of knowing this, but his habit of treating his servants badly has worked in our favor. There are plenty of Pentadrian sympathizers here, and more than one of them has decided it’s time to make his escape. Tomorrow we shall see who aids them.

  Progress at last, he thought. No wonder she looks happier.

  Gim belched loudly, then called for more fwa.

  :Yes. And I have to admit, I’m finding Gim more entertaining than I thought. He’s every bit the clichéd warrior brute Dunwayans are made out to be. Eating with his hands, talking with his mouth full, making crude jokes and drinking too much. What next?

  He’ll probably call in the dancing girls, or some wench to fondle.

  :I don’t think even he would…oh.

  Danjin smiled as two men walked into the room playing pipes and drums, followed by four Dunwayan women wearing a lot of jewellery, but not much more.

  At least that answers one question that’s been on my mind, Danjin thought wryly. Their tattoos really do go all the way down.

  This time Ella’s elbow somehow managed to reach his ribs, and with considerably more force than before.

  17

  The rosy light of dawn tinted the sky beyond Reivan’s window when she woke. She felt a mingled relief and disappointment. Relief that she hadn’t slept late again, but disappointment that she didn’t have cause to.

  Rising, she went to the basin of water and washed herself down. The moisture on her skin was pleasantly cool, but dried quickly. Soon she would be sweating in the heat of another midsummer day, but at least she would stink of fresh sweat rather than stale. She wished she could say the same of the merchants and courtiers that she had to deal with.

  Dressing in her robe, she left her rooms and started for her office, pausing only to tell a domestic to have food brought to her. Several Servants were about. They nodded respectfully at Reivan as she passed.

  Suddenly her sandal loosened and nearly tripped her. She stopped and steadied herself with one hand on a wall while she inspected it. A strap had come apart from the sole.

  “…why he chose her. She’s not beautiful, or even pretty,” a voice said.

  Realizing that the voice belonged to one of two female Servants she had just passed, she paused to listen.

  “She’s supposed to be smart. Former Thinker, they say. Maybe they play mind games while they’re…you know.”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Reivan found herself smiling. So the other Servants had heard about Nekaun’s nocturnal visits to her rooms. Were these two jealous?

  “From what I hear, his attention is hard to keep. He gets bored easily.”

  “She’s wise to keep it quiet, then. It’ll be humiliating enough when he moves on. Wouldn’t want the whole Sanctuary to know, if I were her.”

  “The whole Sanctuary does know.”

  Reivan felt her stomach sink. She drew off the sandal and took a few steps, no longer wanting to eavesdrop. But with only one sandal, walking was awkward and ungainly. She stopped to take off the other.

  “…rather have him for a little while than never,” one of the Servants said.

  “Me, too.”

  That ought to have cheered her, but it didn’t. Her stomach sank further. He’s been visiting me for months now, she thought. If he was only doing it for entertainment, surely he would have grown bored after a few nights? I’m not exactly a goddess of the bedroom.

  Days. Weeks. Months. Years. What did it matter? He was immortal, powerful and beautiful. She knew she could not expect to hold his attention forever, yet she could not imagine life being any different than how it was now. Sometimes she struggled to comprehend how she had existed before.

  I’ve never been this happy. Or this anxious. I must be in love.

  With sandals in one hand, she continued on. When the next domestic appeared she stopped him, gave him the sandals and told him to arrange for someone to bring her a new pair. He made the sign of the star and hurried away.

  Though she tried to turn her thoughts to the work ahead, the words of the Servants kept creeping into her mind.

  “He gets bored easily.”

  Maybe Nekaun was growing bored with her. He hadn’t visited last night and the previous evening his visit had been brief.

  Too brief, she thought. He seemed distracted, as if his mind was elsewhere and only his body was present.

  “Companion Reivan.”

  She stopped and turned, surprised to see Imenja striding toward her.

  “Second Voice,” she replied, making the sign of the star.

  Imenja smiled. “Come with me. I want to ask you something.

  They were only a short distance from Reivan’s office, yet Imenja walked to a stairwell and began to climb. Reivan followed, conscious that her feet were still bare.

  They climbed up into one of the towers in the lower levels of the Sanctuary. The stairs led through a hole in the floor of the topmost room. Open arches gave a view all around.

  Imenja moved to the side facing the city.

  “We shouldn’t be overheard here,” she murmured. She turned to face Reivan. “Nekaun left early this morning.”

  “Left?” Reivan repeated. “To go where?”

  “I don’t know,” Imenja replied. “Nobody does. I was hoping you would.”

  Reivan shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since the night before last.”

  The Second Voice smiled and turned to regard the view.

  “Well then. He’s gone and left us all wondering.”

  “The other Voices?”

  Imenja shook her head. “They’re just as perplexed as I am.”

  Reivan looked away. “He was a bit distracted the night before last.” As she said it, she felt her face warming. “He didn’t tell me he was planning to leave.” She felt a stab of hurt. Surely he could have confided in her. Didn’t he know he could trust her?

  But he couldn’t tell her anything he didn’t want the other Voices to read from her mind.

  Imenja sighed. “I guess we’ll find out what this is about when he’s ready to tell us.” She shrugged and moved away from the arches. “I have to go, but I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  “Yes.” Reivan managed a smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too many matters to bother you with.”

  Imenja’s nose wrinkled. “I think that’s what annoys me most. He’s off having some adventure while we’re stuck here doing the boring work.” She started to descend the stairs.

  When she had gone, Reivan looked out over the city.

  So he’s left, she thought. He could have left me a message. Even a cryptic one. Just…something.

  And nobody knows how long he’ll be gone. She felt a pang of longing and fear. That’s just what having a Voice as a lover entails, she told herself. There’ll always be secrets and mysteries. Unexplained disappearances.

  Distracted lovemaking.

  She sighed and turned away from the view. Nothing but the return of Nekaun was going
to make her feel better, so she may as well lose herself in work.

  Spice Merchant Chem, also known as Servant Chemalya, counted up the tally on his clay tablet and marked in the total. Sitting back in his chair, he smiled. Business was good. Dunwayans had taken to the hotter spices of his homeland like all competitive, pain-loving warriors should. His spiced version of the local brew, fwa, had brought him profits far higher than his expectations. Every day the door of his shop squeaked continually with clan servants come to buy more wares.

  It had taken a while for the Dunwayans to take to the spices. Chemalya had made no secret of the fact they were from Southern Ithania. That made them “Pentadrian” goods, which gave them the taint of the enemy. It was said Dunwayan warriors loved their god, Lore, more than their own fathers. This was not surprising, since the god had apparently arranged for every aspect of Dunwayan life to favor them. They would not touch anything associated with the enemy.

  At least, they didn’t at first. Then the allure of exotic goods with dangerous associations brought the first customers. The heat of the spices took those first young Dunwayans by surprise. Soon they were daring their friends to try it. When one spiked a mug of fwa with the spice, they discovered that the two substances complemented each other perfectly.

  So Chemalya began selling pre-spiced fwa. It gained popularity so quickly he began to run out of spice. He ordered more and raised his prices. When two servants had bid on the last jar of his first shipment, the loser had looked so dismayed at his defeat Chemalya had offered the man a consolatory drink. Soon he was regaled with tales of the brutal treatment of servants.

  Listening patiently, he realized his secret task was going to be easier than he had first thought. His future converts were all around him, and their masters had prepared them for their new faith better than any Pentadrian could have.