Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  “And Huan’s?”

  “Not if you do not wish it.”

  “If we were enemies, it would hardly be good for mortals.”

  “You would let her frighten you out of fulfilling your full potential?”

  She looked away. “No.”

  He held out a hand. “Will you join me, Auraya?”

  She sagged against her chains. I don’t know if I want to become a god. To be separated from the physical world. To only know it and other people through their minds…and the other immortals would be invisible to me. Would Mirar consider me his enemy? The implications piled upon one another, too many for her exhausted mind to think about.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m too tired to think about it. I need time to consider.”

  Chaia nodded. “Very well. I will tell you what you must do. You are sick, and I fear by the time I return it will be too late.”

  Auraya nodded. She closed her eyes and concentrated all her strength on listening to Chaia describe what she must do to become a god.

  44

  Mirar had pieced together the route to the underground cavern from the memories and thoughts of the Servants and domestics that guarded or attended to Auraya. There were three gates blocking the route, each guarded by two magically powerful Servants.

  As he approached the first gate, the two Servants guarding it watched him warily. Mirar smiled at them.

  “So this is where the famous Auraya is being held?” he asked casually.

  The two men exchanged glances, then one looked at Mirar and nodded.

  “Can I go in?” Mirar asked.

  “Only in the company of a Voice,” the other said.

  Mirar looked beyond the gate, then shrugged. “Maybe another time, then.” Turning away, he walked back up the corridor.

  He had expected nothing different. The Voices must have a reason to keep her alive, so they wouldn’t want him killing her. Yet.

  The Voices would hear of his visit to the gates. That was deliberate, too. He wanted them to know he was thinking about Auraya, and that she might feature in any deal he made with them.

  Turning a corner, he stopped and blinked in surprise. Nekaun was strolling toward him.

  News certainly travels fast in the Sanctuary. He must have concealed people watching all the corridors approaching the underground area.

  “First Voice Nekaun,” Mirar said. “What a coincidence. I was just wondering who I should ask to take me to see Auraya.”

  Nekaun’s eyebrows rose. “You would like to speak to her?”

  Mirar grimaced. “No. I just want to see her. Our conversations were amusing when she was free, but now I fear there’d be no fun in crossing mental swords with her.”

  Stepping past him, Nekaun looked back. “Come on then. Let’s enjoy the view instead.”

  The two guards did not appear surprised when Mirar and Nekaun appeared. They held the gate open in readiness. Beyond, the walls were unplastered stone. Dust covered all surfaces.

  “I get the feeling this place hasn’t been used in a long time.”

  Nekaun smiled. “No. This is the old Shrine.”

  “Shrine?”

  “This hill has been a sacred place for thousands of years. The Sanctuary was built over the ruins of an ancient place of worship: the Shrine of Iedda.”

  “Iedda? One of the dead gods?” Mirar asked in surprise. “I’d have thought your gods would choose a new site. Somewhere that wasn’t associated with old gods.”

  “Why? The evil of the old gods died when they did.”

  Mirar looked up at the ceiling and nodded. “I suppose building over the Shrine is like replacing the old ways. If it still existed, even in ruins, memories would last longer.”

  “It still exists,” Nekaun assured him. “Come in here.

  They passed through another gate. The corridor descended further, then turned abruptly. Two Servants stood before the third gate. Beyond was a large hall. The first thing that attracted Mirar’s attention was an enormous, oversized throne.

  Then he saw the figure chained to the throne. Naked, streaked with grime, and thinner than he remembered, Auraya sagged against the base. He could see her brow was shiny with sweat, and he could hear the faint sound of labored breathing.

  She did not appear to be awake.

  “What’s keeping her there?” he forced himself to ask.

  “She is in a void. Do you know what a void is?”

  Mirar nodded. “I’ve encountered them before.” He could not tear his eyes from Auraya, though he knew Nekaun was watching him closely.

  “You pity her,” the Pentadrian leader said.

  Mirar sighed and nodded. “I pity anyone the gods—the Circle—use and manipulate. I can’t help wondering what she might have become, if she hadn’t been raised by their priests and taught to hate. It is an unfortunate habit of mine to pity my enemy.”

  “Do you think you could undo the damage?”

  “No.” Mirar shook his head. “She would never give me the chance. At the first opportunity, she would kill me.”

  Nekaun made a satisfied sound. “She won’t get that opportunity. But, of course, if the White are victorious it won’t be Auraya you have to fear.”

  Mirar turned to meet Nekaun’s gaze. “I can’t fight for you,” he told the First Voice frankly. “Nor can my people. It would break a thousand-year-old law.” He looked down. “But I can use my powers in defense. I can protect you, your fellow Voices or your army. I have only one small favor to ask in return.”

  Nekaun’s eyes narrowed. “And that is?”

  Mirar turned to look at Auraya. “I want to be the one who tells Auraya that the White have been defeated.”

  The corners of Nekaun’s mouth twitched upward. “Ah.”

  When he said nothing more, Mirar turned to regard him.

  “Will you accept my offer, and terms?” Mirar paused and frowned. “I guess you must consult the others.”

  The First Voice glanced at Auraya, then shook his head. “No need. We have discussed all options and possibilities. This one is acceptable.”

  He held out his hand, palm upward and fingers splayed. Mirar paused, then did the same. Nekaun grasped his hand.

  “A deal, then.”

  Mirar nodded. “A deal.”

  Letting go of Mirar’s hand, Nekaun turned away and started back along the corridor. Mirar looked at Auraya one last time, then followed.

  “I should also add that, in my expert opinion, your prisoner looks to have a fever,” he said quietly. “And I don’t much like the sound of her breathing. I’d rather she was alive and well enough to comprehend the news that her world has ended, when the time comes.”

  Nekaun glanced at him and nodded. “It would be a shame if she missed the end of the story. I will get some of my healers to look her over.”

  Mirar nodded. “If you need Dreamweaver advice, I’m sure one of my people would agree to help.”

  “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, if my Servants find it beyond their abilities.”

  There was something about Chaia’s offer that didn’t make sense, but Auraya couldn’t gather the strength to think about it closely enough.

  So much for taking time to consider. Why am I bothering anyway? I might not like the idea of having no physical body, of having to perceive the world through mortals, but that’s got to be better than being dead.

  Especially if Mirar was right, and the gods had been lying about taking people’s souls. But Chaia had denied that, hadn’t he? He had said something about the souls of the dead not being able to interact with the world of the living. A god could, so wasn’t that the better choice?

  She thought about that for a while, but her mind wandered. Then suddenly a shock of cold jolted her awake. Water. She began shivering again. A domestic moved close and lifted a bowl of slush to her mouth. She took a sip then began coughing and couldn’t stop…

  Something slapped against her face. She realized she had fainted. She s
truggled to wake up. I must eat. Open my eyes…

  The face before her was unfamiliar. A man. Frowning. There were others. Why are they here? Then she saw Nekaun standing at the edge of the dais and suddenly she was more alert than she had been in days.

  From the minds of the Servants around her she read that they had been ordered to heal her. She read their assessment of her state: her lungs were clogged with infection, her body was dehydrated and weakened by lack of good food. She also read their distaste at having to treat her. They’d rather let her die.

  The cures they rubbed her chest and arms with smelled painfully familiar. At least they were using the right ones. They produced a large shirt. One of the Servants approached Nekaun, who dropped a small object into the man’s hand. The Servant returned and moved to Auraya’s left arm. She felt her heart skip as she felt the chain loosen—Nekaun had given the man the key to the locks. She stared at it and could see nothing else. This one small object kept her immobile. Such a simple thing. Anyone could use it. No magic involved…

  Then her arm fell to her side and pain ripped through her shoulder, and she forgot all else.

  The Servants massaged her arm and shoulder until the pain eased, then dropped the shirt over her head and pushed her arm through the sleeve. Her arm was stretched out to be chained again, then they released her right arm and manipulated her into that side of the shirt. The cloth was rough and didn’t warm her hands or feet, but she could still relieve herself without soiling her “clothes.”

  The Servant returned the key to Nekaun, then helped the others give her more water and feed her plain bread. When they were done she leaned back against the throne, exhausted but free of hunger and thirst for the first time in weeks. Through half-closed eyes she watched Nekaun and the Servants leave.

  Let me out of the void, she thought at them. All I need to get well again is magic. She closed her eyes. Or to become a god.

  Then she frowned. How can I become a god if I’m in a void? Gods are beings of magic. They can’t exist in a void. As soon as I become a god I’ll cease to exist.

  She shook her head. Chaia must intend to free her first. But that wasn’t what he’d said. He’d said she could do it herself, while he was away.

  Suddenly she felt a chill rush over her, colder than the water that had set her shivering before.

  Unless this is a trick.

  Was Chaia trying to get rid of her?

  But he loves me.

  There was no way she could become a god and survive.

  A soft chirrup brought her attention to the throne seat. Mischief was staring toward the entrance.

  “Bad man,” he said quietly.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Gone now.”

  Slowly possibilities entered her mind. If she truly had the ability to become a god he might be trying to prevent it by encouraging her to make the change in the one place where doing so would kill her, rather than risking that it would happen somewhere else.

  If he wanted her dead, then something had happened to change his mind about her. Huan claimed she was dangerous. Had something happened to convince Chaia?

  Suddenly she remembered Mirar telling her that the other Wilds had important secrets. Ones he did not trust her to know. She thought of his question: “Is there a god you’d like to kill?” She had assumed he was being flippant, but what if he hadn’t been? What if the Wilds could kill a god?

  Then he is the threat, not me. Chaia should know that I’d never…But then again, I would if it was a choice between me dying or Huan…

  She grimaced. Obviously he didn’t feel the same. Or he just couldn’t trust her not to kill the rest of the gods. He couldn’t see into her mind any more, and she had become, as he’d said, more powerful than an immortal.

  He didn’t trust her. He had tried to kill her. For a long time she stared at nothing, feeling only a terrible loss and betrayal. She was too tired for anger, too tired to make up excuses. All she had energy left for was acceptance. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the last shred of her loyalty to the gods slip away.

  45

  :Danjin.

  The voice was dreamy and sad. Danjin slowly became aware that he was no longer asleep, yet not fully awake either.

  :Daaaaanjinnnnn.

  He knew the voice. As recognition came, he felt a mild surprise.

  :Auraya?

  :Yes, it’s me. How are you?

  :Asleep.

  :Not quite. We’re dream-linking again.

  :Are we? He felt alarm and his thoughts sharpened. Where are you?

  :Still locked up. I feel better. I was sick. I think I nearly died. Obviously that’s not part of Nekaun’s plans. He had them bring me clothes and better food.

  Clothes? Danjin felt a pang of horror and concern as he realized what that meant.

  :I bet you didn’t expect to march into another war again so soon, she said.

  A tingle of warning ran down his spine. How did she know about the war? Had the Voices told her? Of course they had.

  :No, he said warily.

  :I’ve been watching the army, she told him. Watching you all marching across the desert. Watching the Pentadrians preparing to meet you. I wish I had something I could tell you.

  :Tell me…?

  :A secret about the Pentadrians. Something vital to help you win the battle. But the White’s spies and advisers already know everything.

  :How did you…?

  :Mind-skimming, Danjin. There’s nothing much else for me to do—except talk to Mischief, and you know what a great conversationalist he is. I wish I could talk to you more often. We all know the Voices will kill me before they set off to meet the White. It would be nice to have someone to talk to during my last days who didn’t constantly demand scratches or shower me with bits of whatever he’s managed to catch and eat.

  Danjin felt as if he were choking. How could she speak so casually of her death? Maybe that was because she was making it all up?

  No, he thought. There’s something else. She’s making light of it, but really she’s desperate. He felt a wave of grief and pity. She’s alone. She knows she’s doomed. How can the amazing woman I knew end like this? I suppose the only alternative is to die in some spectacular magical battle.

  :Danjin?

  :I’m here.

  :In case you think this is a dream, I’ll tell you this. There’s a messenger from the Sennon emperor about to enter the camp.

  And then the sense of her presence vanished. Danjin opened his eyes, sat up and looked around. Grabbing his blanket to protect himself from the chill night air of the desert, he rose and left his tent.

  The thought that Auraya was watching them was both disturbing and reassuring. He had to know if it were true, and the best way to do that was to go to the White’s tent and see if a messenger from the emperor arrived.

  Under the light of the moon the tents of the Circlian camp looked like a great ghost army of myth. They spread in all directions, lit by lamps from within or fires from without. The army was no larger than the one that had met and defeated the Pentadrians a few years before—in fact it was smaller—but from where he stood it appeared to have no end.

  The stretch of desert the army had settled onto for the night was relatively flat. With no features like rivers or hills to consider, the tents, supply carts and platten had been set down in a circular pattern: a wheel in which the White and leaders of their allies gathered at the hub and the gaps between the armies of each land formed spokes. Danjin didn’t know if there was any tactical advantage in this. Perhaps only in that many would feel reassured by such a powerful use of the symbol of the gods.

  Reaching the war-council tent, he asked the guard to request permission to enter.

  Do we need reassuring? Danjin asked himself. We won last time. But having gods on one’s side does not make victory sure. The Pentadrians are proof of that. The Pentadrians know us better now. They won’t make the same mistakes.

  “Here’s my ev
er-doubtful Danjin,” a familiar voice said from inside.

  The flap of the tent opened and Ella beckoned him in. He saw that Juran and Dyara were standing beside a table covered in a map Danjin recognized from the last war. Mairae and Rian were absent.

  The Circlian leader met Danjin’s eyes and nodded. Danjin made the sign of the circle.

  “Now, Danjin. Why can’t you stop worrying?” Ella asked.

  “Somebody has to,” he replied. “Consider me your personal worrier.”

  Her eyebrows rose and she glanced at Juran, who returned her look with a half-smile.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Danjin asked.

  Ella laughed. “No. Juran was saying something similar just a moment ago. He says you are my conscience and common sense.”

  “Am I?” Danjin looked at Juran. He couldn’t help wondering if that meant Juran thought Ella had too little conscience and common sense.

  Juran chuckled. “You do not blindly trust that events will turn out as the gods would have them,” he said. “Ella cannot comprehend anything but victory.”

  “Why send us to Southern Ithania if they can’t ensure victory?” she asked.

  “There is always the risk of failure,” Juran replied. “Even if it is a small one.”

  “Why do we bring an army with us if the gods’ power, channelled through the White, is all that is needed?” Danjin asked.

  Ella shook her head. “We all know the army is only needed in order to control the land one takes. The real fight is magical. Magic is the province of the gods, so victory is sure.”

  “Unless the Pentadrian gods are stronger,” Juran pointed out.

  “If that were so, the Circle would not send us to war.”

  Juran smiled and waved a hand in her direction. “Enough of that. Danjin came here to discuss other matters.” Danjin felt his heart skip as the Circlian leader looked at him earnestly. “I see you have spoken to Auraya again.”

  Danjin nodded, then related what he could remember. When he had finished, the White silently exchanged glances, communicating in their unique way.