“Still, I will, I believe, pass,” Livorus replied, firmly. “Wine is the drink of a civilized man, not some form of beer. Unless it is a choice between that, or dysentery.” He gave them all a direct stare. “Potable water, the ability to bathe, and clean clothes would, I think, be in order. At the very least, we will not put a strain on the locals’ emergency supplies, in this fashion.”
Kanmi waved a hand. “After the meeting, I’d be happy to accommodate.”
Minori raised hers, tentatively. “Ah . . . you don’t wish us to go and assist with relief efforts? Clean water would be a tremendous help to people in the city.”
Sigrun smiled. Minori was a very good person. Beginning, middle, and end of story.
Livorus waved. “I can’t order you to do so, Dr. Sasaki. But while I believe it would be an excellent public relations gambit, not to mention the right thing to do, I am rather concerned for everyone’s safety at the moment. Our goal is to leave this country on the first flight available, before we can be delayed for any further questioning by local authorities, or become the subject of any riots.”
“On the plus side, I don’t think there were any survivors from Nazca who’ll target us. I believe Mamaquilla took care of the guilty parties.” Kanmi’s eyes were hooded.
“Yes, but the palace guards are sure to be trying to determine what happened to their emperor,” Livorus pointed out. “We are, however, putting the cart ahead of the horse. For the moment? Start at the beginning and relate to me precisely what occurred over the past thirty-six hours. We’ll decide the rest from there.”
All of them exchanged wary glances. They’d barely begun to sort it out amongst themselves. Trennus began by noting that Lassair had called to him across the miles, letting him know the instant that she and Minori had been taken captive. Lassair stated that she hadn’t had the power, as far as she knew, to protect the child she carried, and shift form to something capable of repelling the attackers. Jumbled explanations, that Sigrun could barely keep track of, as her focus faded. The colored lights around people’s bodies were distracting, but she registered the fact that the wards on the hotel room doors had been rigged for silent alarm, not for ‘lethal force.’ The deaths of the Praetorians assigned to guard them. Minori paled. Saw Lassair turned her face aside, leaning against Trennus’ shoulder. Trennus, with his eyes like the inmost heart of a flame now. Marked.
Sigrun wavered in her seat and struggled to control her mind, as they all worked through the past day and a half. Explaining decisions made—Kanmi in particular, had struggled with the decision to bring Minori, as a civilian, into an area where a firefight might have been ongoing, but he defended it, simply, as the only course of action open to him. “If I’d taken her and Lassair to the airfield, and stayed there to protect them, that would have left Matrugena alone, trying to find ben Maor and Caetia, with the assistance of . . .” He paused. “What are we calling Mamaquilla and Cocohuay on the official reports? An entity and an outside civilian contractor?” He drummed his fingers against the table.
Another nervous, borderline hysterical round of laughter. Livorus rubbed at his eyes. “Call them both outside agents. That should . . . distinguish them from the other entities in your report.”
“Right. And the Sapa Inca? Head of state? Supreme executive authority?”
“Regional autocrat suffering from delusions of grandeur,” Trennus suggested, after a moment.
“Too long,” Kanmi shot back. “That’ll get red-lined from the report. But I can work with regional autocrat.”
And then they came to the portion of the discussion that was going to be the hardest to negotiate. Sigrun listened, as Adam tried to finesse the issue. “In the end, the . . . main entity, who had been trapped, asked me for assistance in terminating his existence, in order to create a . . .” He looked at Kanmi and Minori.
“Cascade failure in the entire system,” Kanmi supplied. “At least, that’s what resulted. I can’t tell anyone what the entity said. I don’t remember any of this conversation actually happening.”
“I was unconscious for it.” Trennus supplied, with a sidelong shift of his eyes.
“The, ah, entity slowed down my perception of time to relay the message,” Adam supplied.
“So, you killed the main entity.” Livorus’ eyes were hooded. “How precisely did you manage that?”
Adam appeared to be choosing his words with great care, but Sigrun wasn’t sure why. “He required some assistance with his suicide, sir. Just as Roman might ask for a friend to be at hand while the blood runs freely, to ensure that there are no errors and no pain.” Adam winced. “Not that I am calling myself his friend, in this example,” he added, hastily.
“Your point, ben Maor, please?”
“I was, momentarily, a vessel of his power, in a sense. I fired my gun, he released the body he held, and dispersed himself. It was his sacrifice that saved us all, sir. Not any real action of mine.” That, at least, had the ring of conviction in it.
“And the enemy combatant entity, and the regional autocrat?” Livorus had been taking notes, the entire conversation.
“That was all on Caetia and Lassair,” Kanmi supplied, with an acerbic grin. “No involvement from the rest of us at all.”
“Can I just remind everyone that I was unconscious?” Trennus repeated.
“Your support touches my heart,” Sigrun muttered. She tried to focus through the haze of colors around her. “I was engaged in combat with the enemy entity with the assistance of one of our two . . . civilian support specialists?” She raised her hands. “When the major entity sacrificed himself, I believe that weakened the one with whom I fought sufficiently to allow me to gain a killing blow. That is my only explanation for events.”
A very likely one, Lassair agreed, faint amusement in her tone.
“You, my dear, just as much a nuisance as the rest of them,” Livorus told Lassair. “We simply cannot list you on these forms as ‘spouse of one of my lictors,’ or ‘intermittently-corporeal bound spirit.’”
“Civilian liaison to the Veil,” Kanmi suggested, leaning back in his chair.
“Not helping matters, Eshmunazar.” Livorus got back to work with the fountain pen.
“I’m not sure there’s any help to be had in this or any other world, dominus.” The mix of respect and effrontery in the words was pure Kanmi, and Sigrun put her face in her hands and laughed.
Livorus shook his head as weary laughter once more swept the room. “And Cornelius?” he prompted Kanmi now. “Any links to the Source Initiative?”
Kanmi’s face darkened. “I underestimated him,” he said, his voice tightening. “I’m the one who said he rated no more than a three on my damned threat radar.”
“He was a good actor,” Trennus put in, his face dark. “I knew there was something off about the way he was watching Lassair at dinner, but I didn’t imagine this.”
Kanmi rubbed at his face. “He wasn’t on the membership rolls for SI. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t know some of the people in it.”
“You tend to meet people at conferences,” Minori admitted, quietly.
“Someone will undoubtedly be tasked with going through all of his correspondence,” Kanmi replied, and then added, acidly, “Someone who will not be me, more than likely.”
Another set of chuckles, but this time, more thoughtful ones, as each of them began to grapple with the enormity of what had passed today. For her part, Sigrun was terribly concerned about Trennus. She liked Lassair. But she wasn’t sure that being Lassair’s bound servant was likely to be healthy for her friend. And of course, there was the whole having died part of the problem.
And then there was Minori’s torture; technically, some polite priest of Isis or Vesta should be talking to the woman right now, to see how much mental damage had been done. The possible damage to all of them, from having been so close to the deaths of not just one god this time, but several. It might explain the colors, Sigrun thought, and then put it out of
her mind. She’d be reporting to the Odinhall soon enough.
Livorus broke the silence now, gesturing for Sigrun, who happened to be closest, to turn on the far-viewer. “We have all of one working far-viewer channel. Let us see what the news is, shall we?”
Sigrun reached out, under the table, and took Adam’s left hand in her right, rubbing her thumb against his forefinger, where he wore his wedding ring. The far-viewer warmed up, and they could see in the sphere’s depths that the massive fortress of Sacsayhuamán was intact. The megalithic architecture of the ancients had once again proven its worth. A news reporter stood before the palace, clutching a large microphone, and explaining to the viewers, “There was a precursor earthquake, with its epicenter near Nazca, in the late afternoon hours of yesterday, which registered five point two on the Rihtære scale. Then, as an anomaly of unknown origin burned in the sky, lighting up the night as if it were noon, Cuzco was rocked by a succession of further earthquakes. The first, centered at Coropuna, measured eight point two on the Rihtære scale.” Sigrun’s mind wandered, and the words became a meaningless buzz of sounds in Latin. She managed to focus as the reporter continued, “Seismologists say we cannot tell how long aftershocks will go on, but divination experts suggest four to six weeks, assuming there are no further anomalies. The successive earthquakes have left Cuzco, Ica, and several other major cities in the region in ruins.”
The camera panned, to show skyscrapers without windows, their facades ripped off, and the underlying metal scaffold bare. Brick buildings, lying folded in on themselves, unrecognizable, but for a wall here, the outline of a window, there. And that was the wealthier districts of the town. The hovels of the slums, to the eastern side of the city . . . which had been comprised of wooden shacks with tin roofs and brick tenements in various states of disrepair . . . had been flattened entirely. Not a single building stood upright.
Trennus’ jaw worked as he got a good look at the destruction caused by the earthquakes. Of all of them, Trennus most intimately understood geology, and its effects. For her part, Sigrun swallowed, and put her face in her hands. “And this was the good option,” Adam muttered, his tone horrified. “Are there estimates on casualties yet?”
Livorus shook his head. “Not as yet, ben Maor. We all know that the first reports will be inflated, then deflated as they find people alive who were merely missing . . . and then will escalate as disease and lack of clean water take their toll.” He gave them all a quick, piercing glance. “I’ve made a call or two to Rome. I’ve recommended that relief supplies be flown in, immediately. And I’ve requested that we be evacuated as quickly as possible. For the moment, we’re merely taking up rooms and supplies that could be used elsewhere.” A quick, grim smile. “I am, however, quite certain that as soon as the governmental situation here manages to coalesce a little we will doubtless have many questions about the Sapa Inca asked of us. I would prefer to make my answers from the comfort of Rome.”
Sigrun’s stomach churned. She knew she was going to have to pay the reckoning for having killed Supay. Her gods had turned a blind eye, when it came to Tlaloc. And while Supay had been just as involved in this conspiracy, if not more, than Tlaloc had been in the schemes conducted in Nahautl, she knew she’d be making her accounts. But at the moment, she would rather face her gods, than the people of Tawantinsuyu. The gods, given previous events, seemed as if they might be reasonable. The people, however, might well tear them apart.
The news broadcast turned then to footage of the anomaly in space, with footage shot from the Libration point station, which made Adam lean forwards in fascination. With filters on the cameras, the miniature sun had clearly had a spherical shape and even a corona around it . . . until it expanded out, dissipating. “No damage to either the moon base or the Libration point station. Scientists indicate that it will be months, or even years, before they are able to identify what the object was. Persia has accused Judea of testing a bomb capable of being launched from space to a location on ground. Since this object directly threatened the Space Coalition’s own station, and was located directly above Tawantinsuyu, most observers are discounting this accusation for what it is: propaganda. Hellene scientists believe that it may actually have been the exit point of a white hole, which served as a conduit to pull material from our sun to just inside of Earth’s orbit. This is, they say, actually a far more troubling possibility than a mere missile.” The news reporter looked grim. “If a spell-caster were capable of creating a white hole that could conduct matter from the sun to Earth’s orbit, they could transmit that fire to the planet’s surface, as well. For the moment, however, the anomaly is being categorized as the act of a god.”
The room was very quiet indeed, for a long moment. “Accurate assessment,” Kanmi supplied.
“Our latest story is the footage we’ve received from the valleys around Coropuna.” The sphere shifted to showing them black-and-white footage of Coropuna, in daylight, this time, from the southern side of the mountain. “The Maucallacta Oracle, including its ushnu, or what remains of it, is directly at the center of your screen,” the voice told them, obligingly.
The pristine white glacier cap on the western side of the mountain was simply gone, though the caps on the eastern peaks of the long ridge were still present, if ash-strewn. A vast plume of smoke still billowed out of the mouth of the volcano, and massive mudslides had scraped away large swathes of the mountainside, scouring it of plants and animals. Trails of hot lava roped down the same paths that the lahar and pyroclastic flows had taken . . . but none of it had touched the small village at the center of the screen. Maucallacta itself was untouched by the flows, although, through the telescopic lens, it was clear that many of the buildings had collapsed around the ruined shrine. “This type of phenomenon is called a kipuka by the Polynesians, we’re told. A place where the lava does not reach.”
There was a pause, and then the news station jerked back to the studio—which had clearly been shaken by the earthquakes as well. Lights hung loosely on the walls, and Sigrun could see wires dangling down from the ceiling, into the frame. The news anchor, a Tawantinsuyan, from the look of him, suddenly appeared harried. “We’ve been told that there is an announcement being made at the Temple of the Sun in Cuzco. We have one truck nearby with a working transmitter, and our reporter is making her way through the ruined streets to reach the temple. Please, bear with us . . . ah. Live from Cuzco, Cuxi Palta.”
The news went black for a moment, and then returned, fuzzy, rapidly dialing back into focus. Everyone in the room stiffened as the image sharpened into what was, clearly, the sorrowful visage of Mamaquilla.
“Has . . . any god . . . ever allowed themselves to be caught on film before?” Adam asked, tightly.
“You mean, other than your wedding pictures?” Kanmi asked, his tone uneasy.
“No, I mean . . . live-action.” Adam sounded dazed. “God. No possibility of misinterpreting anything she might say, is there . . .”
Mamaquilla, close to eight feet in height, and covered in glossy, dark scales, towered over the human reporter, who came to approximately the goddess’ sternum as she followed, at a respectful, awed distance, timidly holding up her microphone and occasionally looking back at the camera as if to ask, Is this real?
The goddess was clearly not a statue. She moved, flowing like a wave, up the steps of the Temple of the Sun, holding . . . yes, it was Inti’s limp body in her arms. At the top of the steps, framed by the pillars, she turned back, still holding her husband’s body, and looked directly at the camera. Her luminous eyes glowed, almost hypnotically, and for a moment, Sigrun swore she could see color on the black-and-white image. As if the blue-greens of Mamaquilla’s scaled skin filled in, suddenly.
“Don’t know how she’s going to talk,” Kanmi muttered. “She wasn’t exactly using her mouth to speak last time . . . .”
“Do you think she can use the radio waves as a carrier for her power?” Minori asked, interestedly. “I mean, that’s more or l
ess what they were trying to do with the ley-lines. All she really needs to do is modulate the carrier waves, and, well, she’s a sea goddess.” The small woman spread her hands. “I assume she understands waves better than the rest of us do.”
Kanmi gave Minori a direct look, opened his mouth, as if to reply, and was cut off, as all their heads rocked back.
To all within the reach of my voice, I bid you now, take heed. Mamaquilla’s voice was soft, but powerful. It radiated through Sigrun, and she knew, without question, that even people who hadn’t turned on their far-viewers could probably hear this. Anywhere that the radio waves were carrying right now. This was . . . a living testament. It would be recorded in the film . . . perhaps . . . but it would be more essentially encoded in the minds and hearts of those who listened now. Your emperor, Sayri Cusi, was Sapa Inca, first among you. He betrayed you. He betrayed the gods. He sought to follow in the footsteps of Akhenaten. He was the cause of all the destruction you see here today. He practiced forbidden magics. Formed an alliance with Supay, to destroy all the gods of this land, and almost succeeded. Inti . . . my beloved Inti . . . gave his life, so that the destruction would be less. Because of his sacrifice, the emperor is dead. Supay is no more. But unfortunately, the emperor was responsible for the deaths of many other gods. Mamazilla. Kon. Urcuchillay. Apu. Hundreds of the small gods were sacrificed to sate his hunger and slake Supay’s thirst. Now, I remain, and three of my servants. Coniraya, who was so despised of the gods that a goddess once unmade herself, rather than bear his child. Copacati, lady of the lake waters. And Mamallpa, lady of fertility.
Sigrun swallowed. She couldn’t have imagined that Mamaquilla would do this. Gods tended to reveal themselves to only a few devotees at a time. Gave new truths to someone, and sent them forth to give that light to others. Public revelation like this was unprecedented in human history.
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 124
