Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  Or more than a friend, he thought. I’m sure she was flirting with me the other day, though probably only in order to gain my help. She’s not young, but she’s still attractive despite her age. Besides, they say older women can be very “educational…”

  The news had come like a chill wind, whipping its way through corridors and halls to every corner of the Sanctuary. Servants and domestics alike had been in a fervor of excitement and terror since.

  Auraya is here! they whispered. Nekaun has brought an ex-White into the Sanctuary! The one that can fly! The one that killed Kuar!

  Kikarn had told Reivan in the morning, between a trader protesting against the limitation to his imports and a cousin of the new Dekkan High Chieftain delivering a generous donation from his family. Reivan had thought of Imenja first. Her mistress had respected the former First Voice and had grieved his death. What would she think of Kuar’s killer walking freely in the Sanctuary?

  Reivan half expected to be summoned, but no mental call came through the pendant until the evening. As she continued to work, she found herself wondering if she might encounter Auraya on her way to meet Imenja. The idea didn’t appeal to her. By the time she was free to leave she was dreading the walk up to the Upper Sanctuary. It seemed longer than usual, but all she encountered were other Servants from whom she heard tantalizing snatches of conversation.

  She found Imenja in a dark mood.

  “So you’ve heard about our special guest,” her mistress said as soon as she saw Reivan, rising to look out of the window at the lights of the city. “I suppose the news has spread through the city by now. Nekaun has decided to play host to the enemy.”

  “She’s not one of the White any more,” Reivan reminded her.

  “No. But still a Circlian priestess.”

  Moving to the other side of the window, Reivan watched Imenja’s face closely. “Does Nekaun hope to change that?”

  Imenja scowled. “I can see no other reason.”

  Reivan frowned. “How did he persuade her to…ah, the Siyee.”

  “Yes. He has promised to release one every day she remains here.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “I suppose he could have threatened to torture or kill them,” Imenja muttered. “But even he has enough sense to realize that would hardly persuade her to join us.”

  “I meant: was staying here all he asked from her?”

  Imenja’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Yes. I doubt she would have agreed to join us in exchange for their release. No, he’ll have to woo her, and she knows it. His greatest challenge. A seduction worthy of…” She paused and grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry. Those words were badly chosen.”

  Looking away, Reivan tried to push aside the tight, uncomfortable feeling that had gripped her. She had hoped Nekaun would visit her last night, now that he had returned, but her bed had remained empty.

  It’s only one night, she told herself.

  He was busy planning his seduction of Auraya, a dark voice in the back of her mind added.

  “Tonight there will be a great feast for her. We’re not invited. He doesn’t want to surround her with powerful sorcerers in case she feels threatened.”

  “I suppose you’ll get to meet her eventually.”

  Imenja nodded, then her eyes sharpened. She pointed out of the window. “There she is now.”

  Reivan turned and looked in the direction Imenja had indicated. A movement in a courtyard a few levels down caught her eye. Two people walked across the pavement and stopped in a pool of light cast by a lamp: one male in black robes, one female in the white clothes of a Circlian priestess. Underneath the strange overgarment, she was wearing a short tunic.

  And trousers, Reivan noted. How strange.

  The pair moved to the fountain. It was the one Imi, the Elai princess, had recovered in during her stay. As Auraya turned to look up at the statue Reivan had a good view of her face. She felt her heart sink.

  Even from here she is beautiful and exotic. She reluctantly made herself read the messages in Nekaun’s stance. It brought the word “seduction” back to her mind. His appearance of intense interest in Auraya might simply be an act for the White’s benefit, but it was a convincing one.

  Too convincing?

  She shook her head and turned her mind to more practical matters.

  “What will happen if he succeeds in his seduction? Will we go to war again?”

  Imenja made a low noise. “I hope not.”

  “It is possible,” Reivan said to herself. “Or he might simply be removing an advantage the White have over us.”

  “And gaining it for ourselves.” Imenja looked thoughtful.

  “Just in case the White have ideas about invading.” She paused and looked at Imenja. “Do they?”

  “I’d have thought not, if not for the Siyee attacking Klaff. It would make sense to kill off the birds if they were planning to wage war against us.” Imenja crossed her arms. “The Siyee believe their action was retribution.”

  “For what?”

  “A failed plot. Not mine.”

  Reivan smiled at the wary tone in Imenja’s voice. Obviously this plot was yet another one her mistress could not discuss. She looked down at the courtyard again. Auraya gestured toward the pool. Suddenly something jumped out of the woman’s bag and onto the pool edge.

  It was an animal of some sort, small and lithe. After drinking from the pool, it scampered around the fountain then, at a gesture from Auraya, slunk reluctantly back into her bag.

  Reivan found herself thinking of something a Servant in the monastery she had grown up in had told her once. “You can tell a lot about a person from how they treat animals, and how animals treat them.”

  Auraya and Nekaun moved out of sight. Reivan sighed. If Nekaun did manage to “seduce” Auraya would she stay here in Glymma? If so, she would not be embraced by most Pentadrians. She had, after all, struck the blow that had killed Kuar and won the war for the Circlians. She would have no friends here.

  Imenja abruptly moved away from the window. “When I do meet with her, I want you with me to help translate.”

  Reivan followed her mistress to the chairs.

  “I’ll be there. Not sure if I’m looking forward to being in her presence, but I’m sure it will be interesting.”

  Imenja’s mouth twisted into a half-smile.

  “Yes, but interesting isn’t always pleasant.”

  24

  Emerahl approached the library door slowly, concentrating her senses on what lay beyond. She sensed only a handful of minds. Some were dark with annoyance and skepticism, others curious. One was a little more familiar than the rest, and full of anticipation.

  Ray, I’m guessing.

  He had pounced on her in the market, seemingly oblivious to her embarrassment at being discovered selling cures, and invited her to meet with the Thinkers again as soon as she was able. They had arranged a time for that afternoon, and she had returned to her room to deposit her cure bag and collect the fake scrolls.

  Taking hold of the handle, she twisted it and felt the latch slide free. The door swung inward easily. She stepped into the library and closed the door behind her.

  The librarian regarded her suspiciously over the same pile of scrolls she had seen him cataloguing last time. She ignored him and walked to the end of the room. The same five men sat in the same positions.

  Almost as if I hadn’t left, she mused. Except this time they’re not ignoring me.

  Ray stood up and smiled. “Greetings. Thank you for returning. Here,” he gestured to an empty chair. “Please sit down.”

  She sat where he indicated and looked around at the faces.

  “This is Emmea Startracker, in case you didn’t catch the name last time,” Ray said to the other men. He gestured at each man in turn, beginning with the larger. “This is Barmonia Tithemaster, our leader and expert in history and old languages. This is Mikmer Lawmaker, another historian. Kereon Cupman, finder and collector of art
ifacts, and Yathyir Gold, who has a flawless memory for facts.”

  He then placed a hand on his chest. “I am Raynora Vorn and I’ve spent too much time studying dead gods and their followers.”

  She did her best to look impressed. “With such qualifications I would be surprised if none of you could help me with this scroll.” She lifted the box.

  “Well show us then,” Barmonia said, holding his hands out.

  As she gave him the box her heart began to beat faster. Though The Twins had guided her in making the scroll, they hadn’t actually seen them with their own eyes. They looked convincing enough to Emerahl, but these men were experts.

  Barmonia opened the box and gently lifted out the roll of parchment. He unrolled it slightly and a fine dust wafted off. His eyebrows rose, then his eyes moved back and forth as he scanned the glyphs.

  Abruptly he stood up and moved to a table. There he weighed down the corners of the scroll and carefully rolled it opened further. As the other men rose and walked over to watch, Emerahl followed them.

  “This means ‘priest,’” Barmonia said, pointing to a glyph. “And this ‘most favored’ or ‘special.’” He paused.

  “It says ‘…the goddess ordered her favorite priest to write her words on a scroll…,’” Emerahl told him.

  A tense silence followed, then Barmonia sighed heavily. “You can read this?”

  “Yes. I don’t understand some of it. What does ‘breath offering’ mean?”

  Barmonia smiled. “To offer your last breath to the goddess. Which is just another way to declare oneself a follower in the hope a god or goddess will take your soul when you die.”

  Emerahl nodded. “I see. I was a bit worried it meant voluntary strangulation or something similar.”

  “When it comes to history it is all too easy for the imagination of the untrained to blur the truth. Especially with young women.”

  Emerahl met his eyes and held them. The man’s face began to redden. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “We’re all very impressed, Emmea,” Ray said. “Would you read out the entire scroll for us?”

  She turned her attention back to the roll of parchment, stepping closer to Barmonia. It was supposed to be a scrap of a record of the priests of the goddess Sorli, and the information was all accurate according to The Twins. When she had read it out the men were thoughtfully silent.

  “Well then, what else can we get her to read?” Ray asked.

  Barmonia sighed. “Bring out the bones.”

  “Bones?” Emerahl asked.

  Ray smiled but did not answer. She watched as Kereon and Mikmer disappeared through a door and returned carefully carrying a long, heavy box between them. They placed it on the table and Barmonia lifted the lid.

  Emerahl did not have to fake her surprise. Within was a skeleton. That was not surprising. The Twins had told her the Thinkers believed that there was significance in “a lot of old bones.” But they didn’t understand what it was because the Thinkers didn’t.

  They must have known why the bones were special, Emerahl mused. They just left that bit for me to discover.

  The bones were covered in glyphs. As Ray picked one up and handed it to her she saw that the symbols had been carved into the surface, then painted black. She stared at them in wonder.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “Dug up in an old temple,” Kereon said lightly. “This man must have been very important.”

  She looked down into the box, read the rest of the glyphs and nodded.

  “He was. This was the last favored priest of the goddess Sorli.”

  And the glyphs confirmed the Scroll’s existence and location…but she wasn’t going to tell them the latter.

  “Read,” Barmonia said in a low voice.

  “The glyphs on the skull say: ‘I am the favored priest of the goddess Sorli.’ On the right arm it says: ‘To me are entrusted the secrets of the gods.’ Not ‘god;’ it is the plural form. On the left it says: ‘Seek the truth in the sacred chamber when the gods are most…’ Hmm, ‘occupied’ is the closest translation.” She chuckled. “A riddle. I so love it when there’s a riddle. The legs say: ‘Sorli will direct the way. A mortal may enter and take the secrets.’” She paused.

  A mortal may enter and take the secrets? Does that mean not an immortal? Where can a mortal go that an immortal can’t?

  “Is that it?” Barmonia asked.

  “No, there are glyphs on the ribs. Are they in the right order?”

  The men exchanged looks of dismay. None were experts on anatomy, she knew.

  “What do they say? Maybe we can work out their order.”

  She gave them enough words to describe the place named on the ribs, but not the directions. “If arranged like this,” she changed the positions of a few ribs, “it says ‘heart speaks more.’ I’m guessing that means there are further instructions in this ‘sacred chamber.’”

  Barmonia scowled, but she sensed that he was pleased.

  “Then we’ll just have to take you there,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and pretended dismay and suspicion.

  “Take me where?”

  “The famous city of Sorlina.”

  The platten driver and his assistant scurried about erecting the tents and setting a fire. The Dunwayans were as comfortable outdoors as in their fortresses and even the most powerful and rich clan leaders were happy to sleep in the open during long journeys. Camping areas were maintained along every road. If there was no river there was always a well. Fireplaces of various sizes could be found and piles of firewood, and in some places constructions had been built designed for exercise and the practice of fighting skills.

  Another benefit of camping was that a traveller’s identity was less likely to be noted than if he or she stayed at a fortress. Ella had found spies in the few forts they had visited in order to buy food. Though these spies hadn’t identified her, they had heard of her arrival and departure from Chon and had been told to watch for her in case she had not returned to Jarime, as I-Portak claimed.

  Danjin and Ella were sitting on wooden boxes near the fire, blankets folded several times as cushions. Gillen was still inside the platten; he had been asleep when they’d arrived and Ella had decided not to wake him. Yem was gathering together some of the cooking implements and supplies.

  Cooking was one of the warrior’s many unexpected talents, and he said the easiest dish to make while camping was called “coopa”: various ingredients cooked in spices and water to which dry bread was added to help form a sauce. The previous night he had disappeared into a forest and returned with a large bird, an arrow protruding from its chest. He’d kept the feathers and stowed them away in the platten somewhere.

  Now he was carrying a large pot, some root vegetables and a package to the newly made fire. Danjin watched as the warrior chopped ingredients and added them to the pot. From time to time he rose to collect water or leaves from plants in the camp site. The smell of the bubbling concoction became more and more appetizing. Then Yem unwrapped the parcel.

  At first Danjin caught his breath in horror. In the dark the contents looked like swollen fingers. But as Yem began to slice them Danjin realized they could not be. They were some kind of stuffed tube. Yem glanced up at Danjin and smiled.

  “They’re made of shem intestines,” Yem explained. “Washed out and stuffed with meat and spices. These are made with a very rare spice. The one the spy in Chon sells.”

  Danjin nodded and watched doubtfully as the warrior deposited the sliced tubes into the pot. The mixture was bubbling gently. A rich aroma wafted out and set Danjin’s stomach growling.

  “How long have we been here?” a muffled voice asked. All turned to see Gillen emerging from the platten. He looked at the tents, now fully erected, and his eyebrows rose. “That long? You should have woken me.”

  “You obviously needed the sleep,” Ella told him.

  The man grimaced. “Yes. Don’t tell any Dunwayans or
I’ll never be able to negotiate a deal again, but I’ve never taken a liking to sleeping on the hard ground,” he said quietly in Hanian. He walked over to the fire and drew in a deep breath. “I see we’re in for a treat tonight,” he said in Dunwayan. “Or rather, an extra-special leg of the superb culinary journey we are undertaking.”

  Yem looked up and grinned. “It would be a shame if our visitors left Dunway having only experienced sleeping on hard ground and chasing after vagrant servants.”

  Gillen blushed. Danjin chuckled as the ambassador sat down and sighed. “My secret’s out. I’m unworthy,” he mourned. Yem smiled and said nothing as he stirred the pot.

  Looking at Ella, Danjin noted the distant focus of her gaze. Her forehead was creased and her lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever—whoever—she was listening to was causing her both concern and anger.

  The servant they were following was half a day’s journey to their east, nearing the southwestern coast of Dunway. He had no idea if he was close to his destination and those that had helped him along the way were no better informed. If he reached the coast he would have to turn east or west. Or leave Dunway. Ella was less concerned about the latter than the possibility there was a Pentadrian base in Dunway.

  They were all used to her silences now. Danjin turned his attention back to the other two men, and they talked of places they’d seen and their experiences in the war. At some point Yem decided his “coopa” was ready and scooped some into bowls for them. Even the servants received some, despite the expensive meat tubes it contained.

  The spice from the meat had flavored the whole dish, giving it a heat that set Danjin’s mouth burning pleasantly. The meat itself was a little too spicy for his taste, however. And very salty.

  After they had eaten, they drank a little fwa and talked some more. Ella roused herself and joined in. Eventually the yawns of Gillen prompted her to suggest they retire to bed.

  Danjin rose to follow, but Ella placed a hand on his arm.

  “Stay a while. I need to talk to you.”

  He sat down again.

  She smiled and looked up at the sky. “Look at the stars. Are they brighter here than in Jarime?”