“We should leave,” Adin said, watching the flames creeping down the hall toward them.
“Not yet. I have to make it to the roof; perhaps she was sent to the Sun’s Justice.”
The boys passed the crude lesson rooms, the scrolls now on fire, and then the armory, where the wooden swords were now embers, the racks turned to ash.
They found only dead bodies on the third level, a single living boy on the fourth. They climbed to the fifth level, running past the last rows of cells, all empty, or else their occupants were dead. They were twelve now in Ren’s little group, twelve boys from how many he could not recall.
The refectory was empty, its stone construction and spare decoration saving the chamber from the flames. The great cauldron was still there, the long table and hard, flat benches, the bronze cups and wooden plates. He kicked a bench and watched it tumble.
“Tye’s not here, not alive at least,” Adin said, grabbing Ren’s arm. “Let’s go before the rest of us are dead too.”
Ren searched the boys’ faces. Some were scared, others eager to continue their search. “There’s just the roof, let me look,” Ren said, breaking loose of his friend’s grip and heading toward the stair that was always guarded but now stood open. Where did you go, Tye? He dashed up the steps, skipping one, and then two at a time, stretching his gait as wide as he could manage. The door at the top was unbolted, the place where the guards stood now empty. He pushed the massive wooden leaf aside. Smoke whirled in the doorway, the sun illuminating the roof. He saw the place where he had stood in the light. The nest of shafts and wells that fed light and air into the Priory were empty save for columns of smoke and ash. Ren’s heart broke at the sight of the empty roof.
No Tye.
Did she escape? Did the flames claim her, or did something else happen to his friend?
Ren hobbled, alone, down the winding stair.
“There’s no one—” Adin started.
“I know,” Ren said. “Tolemy’s house is empty.”
Ren led the survivors down the twisting steps, past the cells, through the training rooms, and out toward the bridge. He stood at the door, counting the boys, marking each as they left the Priory and crossed the bridge over the chasm. When he was sure they were all out, when he was certain they were all safe, he glanced one last time at the passage, his gaze fixed upon the corridor that led to the Prior Master’s chambers.
It’s time.
Ren lifted what remained of the great door and tossed it toward the opening, blocking the entry. It landed with a resounding thud that raised a cloud of smoke and dust.
“Ren!” Adin called, his voice already distant. “You’re coming with us.” His last words were barely audible.
Ren was not leaving, not yet. Not without her.
58
Over the city an acrid smoke rose, billowing up and up into the blue, cloudless sky. So it was done. Her husband was dead—not at her hands, perhaps, but through her will. Sarra Amunet was now the Ray of the Sun. And she shivered at the thought of it, at the achievement and what it had cost to accomplish it. Arko was gone and she had barely escaped the Antechamber. Her robe was torn and she had a bruise on her arm where her husband held her. She was safe from him now, but not from Saad. In a room, just past the Shadow Gate, Sarra waited for the Protector to arrive so she could escort him into the Empyreal Domain.
In death, it was easier to mourn her husband. Sarra closed the shutter, blocking the smoke from her sight. She thought of Arko, of the day they met in Harwen, his handsome face taking her in impassively as she stepped down from the carriage outside the city walls, surrounded by the entourage her father had arranged to bring her from the southern islands to the desert. He had taken her hand and led her inside the Hornring to the cheers of the people, had nodded and smiled and waved like a happy bridegroom. Once inside—once they were alone in her chamber, she trembling at the thought of him making love to her—he had bowed his head and bid her good night. Then he had turned, never once explaining, and left her alone to wonder when he would return.
All night she sat alone, waiting. When the torch had gone out and the chill had overcome her, she wandered through the unfamiliar corridors until she once more heard his voice. Stopping outside a closed door, kneeling on the hard stone, she peered through the keyhole to see her new husband inside, a woman between his legs. Serena, she heard him call the name.
There would be many more nights, many more keyholes, but that first time hurt her more than any other. She could still feel the sting of that humiliation, the new queen of Harkana on her knees outside a tiny chamber, watching another woman take what was hers. If he’d loved you, would it have made a difference?
It didn’t matter anymore. He hadn’t loved her. Whatever plan Suten Anu had had for the man, it had failed. She mourned for him as best she could. She had been his wife, but he had not been her husband. She had waited years to tell Arko the truth, to reveal to him that Ren was not her son. Her true son was Ott: her beautiful, perfect, but strange and withered boy. She needed Arko to know the truth before he died. To know why she had never visited Ren or never once used her position to lessen the boy’s suffering. I didn’t walk out on my family, not all of them.
Enough with the past. I am done with Harwen. Sarra wanted only to see her son, Ott—the boy who waited in the Protector’s Tower.
A powerful knock startled her, and Saad swung open the circle-encrusted doors. She could tell by the Protector’s swagger that he had been there when the deed was done: Saad still had sweat on his brow, his face streaked with soot and blood, a bruise on his eye, his cheek, and his chin, and a blood-soaked bandage on his chest. Bright-red circles blossomed across the linen wrap, and he spat blood as he approached. Despite herself, she hoped it was her husband who had gotten in that one good blow against the arrogant boy. A host of soldiers trailed behind Saad. All but one wore the armor of the Alehkar. At the back of the group a lone soldier stood with a cloak hung over his face, concealing his features.
The Alehkar closed the great doors, sealing the passage that led to the throne room, beginning their journey into the Empyreal Domain. Saad took his time crossing the corridor, stopping twice to take in the smoky air, his victory. The man walked with the confidence of an emperor, probably thinking himself already Ray, or as good as, but Sarra needed to be wary—she might not be the only one with a plan.
“Shall we go meet the emperor together?” he asked, making no reference to Arko’s passing. “Or should I go on alone?”
“No elaboration on the death of my predecessor?” she asked. “Not a word of respect or regret?”
“Wouldn’t that be a waste of time, god-lover?” His eyes sparked with bloodlust. “My soldiers tell me your spies watched every moment. I’m sure they’ve already described it to you in great detail.”
He was learning. Too bad it wouldn’t help him in the end. She straightened her robe. Calm, keep calm. She motioned to another door. “My predecessor named no replacement so I am Ray, though I do not wear the jewel and my light has not shone upon the mountain. There will be no need for me to do these things. As Ray, my only duty will be to escort you to our lord so that he may name you to the position.” She led Saad and his men through the dark maze of corridors, the labyrinth of passageways that wove through the old buildings and half-buried temples preceding the Empyreal Domain. The passages were so narrow that Saad’s men scraped their spears and bumped into walls as they thrust their torches into each corridor, clearing each passage before they would allow the Protector to proceed. Sarra waited silently at the corridor’s end, feigning calm, smiling at the Protector as if his victory were her own.
Saad left his guards when the doors opened to the innermost chamber. His captain—the man who had so cautiously guarded his Protector’s every movement—turned and nodded, leaving Saad alone at last. The domain was holy ground, a place for gods and no one else. The soldiers and their weapons could not enter the sacred precinct. Only the Ray could cros
s the threshold and return, so she did, beckoning Saad to follow.
At the door he motioned to the soldiers still waiting in the corridor behind him. They parted to allow the cloaked man to approach. Sarra had forgotten about the curious figure. Something about him gave her a chill.
Saad tugged back the man’s hood, revealing Ott’s face.
“What’s this?” Sarra pressed her lips in a narrow line.
“Your priest,” he said. “Did you think I would go alone with you, Mother? Who knows what traps hide in these depths. I will not travel into the Empyreal Domain unprotected. I can’t bring my swords or my soldiers, so I brought something else. I brought your son.”
“You’re mistaken,” Sarra said without thinking. “My son is in Harkana.”
“No,” said Saad. He took Ott by the arm and thrust him toward her. The boy stumbled and fell to the floor, weeping, his body shaking uncontrollably. “This is your son, the boy you keep at your side, the one who is the same age as the other, as Ren. He told his secret to the Rachins.”
The Rachins. The two priests Saad had taken. Ott had told them his secret. She hadn’t known he had shared his parentage. She’d told him to tell no one, to never speak of it, not even in private. Even we must not speak of it, she had said. The secret must be absolute, she had told him again and again. But Ott was no ordinary boy; his mind didn’t work like hers. He was special, different.
“He is just a priest—
“No,” Saad interrupted. “Don’t toy with me or I’ll snap the boy’s neck while you watch.” Saad pressed his hands into fists, tensing his muscles, the scar on his face glowing red, the ugly bruises throbbing on his face and his neck, the wound leaking blood.
“He cannot enter the domain,” she said flatly, refusing him.
“He can and he will. You said Tolemy would speak through the veil, that I would not yet meet the emperor until I was Ray—yes? So the boy will come as far as the veil,” Saad said, the tone of his voice telling Sarra that she must comply, that if she did not agree he would kill the boy on the spot, kill her and be done with it all.
“So be it, Saad. The boy is my son. Let us all go to the veiled window so that Tolemy may speak and name you Ray.” She turned as she spoke. Eyes stinging, she bent alongside Ott and helped him to stand. No, she thought, not Ott. I can’t lose him like this. Sarra had sacrificed her marriage and her eldest children for this boy. She would not lose him now, not to Saad. The Protector knew her son’s secret, but not the emperor’s. He left his troops behind. He believes in Tolemy.
As his soldiers closed the doors, Saad tore Ott from her grip. “Follow at my heels,” he barked, and she struggled to ignore him. Calmly, she offered a lamp to the Protector and lifted one for herself. “Tolemy waits,” she told him, but he did not acknowledge her; he did not even bother to meet her gaze—his thumbs were tucked into his bronze breastplate, his eyes surveying the many carvings that lined the Hall of Histories. Saad was thinking about the emperor, picturing himself standing behind the veil, in the dazzling light of the god. She saw the glow on his face.
Behind him, Ott staggered and nearly fell. It was a gruesome sight, watching her son struggle while the Protector strutted. I can’t do this, she thought, her resolve wavering momentarily. Saad stopped in front of a depiction of the Children’s War, surveying the heroic image of his father, foot on the head of Koren Hark-Wadi.
“It looks glorious to me, no matter what Arko said.”
“Didn’t … he like it?” Sarra shook as she spoke, her eyes burning.
“He thought our artists had taken some liberties with the subject matter.” Saad stood back a little more to admire the carving, as if his father’s glory still reflected on him. “It’s a shame my own father never saw it. Must be twice his height.” She held her lamp high and the flickering light made the relief glow. A cool wind swept down the hall and the light vanished. Sarra struggled to control her trembling limbs, her voice.
“We shouldn’t keep the emperor waiting.” Sarra said, glancing at Ott, wondering what was in that head of his. He did not speak, nor did he tap his fingers. Linen wraps covered two of the digits. Did he break Ott’s fingers? What happened in the tower?
Saad paid them no mind, speaking aloud to himself. “I’ll see that the Harkan stories are changed as well, when I am Ray. There is no glory save that of Solus, no bravery but our own.” He pointed down the corridor, where carving after carving showed the hand of the Protector smiting the head of one kingdom’s leader or another tribe’s warlord, the position of the hand always the same, the club the identical shape, an image reproduced over and over again without regard toward the truth.
“That would be glorious,” she said, her voice flat, anger in her face and in her words. “But the emperor must not be made to wait.”
She urged him forward with a wave of her hand, but he would not move. While her boy shivered, Saad turned once more in a circle, surveying the entirety of Soleri history illustrated in the stele.
Ott fell while Saad idled. Mithra, let this end.
She rushed to him, but Saad blocked her path.
“Stand,” he commanded, and Ott rose to his feet, using his good arm for balance.
Mithra help me, she thought, or I will club Saad with my own hands. I will strike him as he struck my son.
In the distance, a door groaned on its hinges—Saad had reached the end of the hall. Thank the gods, she thought. I can’t take any more of this.
He pushed open the heavy door, beyond which the corridor narrowed, the air growing cooler, mustier. She caught sight of his shadow as it passed into a small chamber, where there was the sound of water and the flicker of lamplight and three pale eunuchs formed a circle around the Protector. He glowered at them, at their shaved heads and white skin. They seemed frightened, uncertain of how to proceed, waiting for Sarra’s direction. Poor, pitiful creatures. She caught sight of Ott, waiting in the shadows, his head once more concealed beneath the cloak. She prayed he was all right. She nodded for the girls to remove Saad’s tunic and armor, saw Saad wince in pain as they peeled the blood-soaked fabric from his chest. She waited in the darkness of the corridor, hearing the splash of water, watching Ott. He was clearly in pain, he shifted from foot to foot, groaning a bit, mumbling, but never speaking. Why? She feared they had cut out Ott’s tongue when he refused to reveal some secret.
When Saad emerged, he was no cleaner than before, but the water was now black with blood and ash. He took the Ray’s ceremonial robe from a rack. “Damned blind mice,” he growled, his exposed back facing Sarra, the skin littered with scars, long cuts arrayed in parallel lines. These were no battle marks; these wounds were deliberate in their arrangement. She wondered if the ragged lines were the work of Saad’s father, Raden. Was this the old Protector’s method of punishment? Had he cut the boy whenever he disobeyed a command or broke a rule? She wanted to pity Saad, but could not. All men suffered.
Saad tugged the robe over his head, the blood from his chest seeping through the fabric. Without looking at her, he stepped into the Hall of Emperors. Ott at his back, Saad perused the imperial statues, whispering the name and title of each as he passed: Kantafre, beloved of Mithra, heir of Atum, chosen by Bes and Horu, he who united the inner and outer rings, enduring of life and strong of heart. Osokohn, beloved of Mithra, son of earth and sky, chosen by Sen and Makht, he who laid the stones of the Dromus, enduring of years and firm of mind.
She could feel his ego growing with every word and every footstep, the power entering his every gesture. The man stank of victory. No—this is my hall, my throne. Soon you’ll be dead and forgotten. Mithra spared me from the rioters so that I could serve the line of Tolemy. That’s what the people will think. She would replace the old lies with new ones. She would tell Solus that Saad set the blaze without Tolemy’s consent, that he murdered the Ray of the Sun then perished when he stood beneath Tolemy’s light, that the emperor had endorsed Sarra as his First Ray. All that stands in my way is you, Sa
ad.
“This is it?” he asked, and she realized he had reached the end of the corridor. Statues of the Soleri flanked the door. A circle crowned their heads, a plaque adorned the pedestal. It read MAY YOU SHARE THE SUN’S FATE. Sarra smirked at that, doubting Saad would rise again after today.
“This is it.” Sarra put her hand on the amber panel. “Beyond this door is the great veil of the emperor. He will speak to you through the screen, but you will not see his face. To see the emperor is to see the sun, and no one can survive that light.”
“Open it,” said Saad impatiently, a drop of sweat dribbling down his cheek. He drew Ott to his side, holding the boy by the neck, keeping him close, as if the boy could somehow protect him. Saad was nervous, trembling, but she could not tell if it was the unknown he feared or the emperor himself. Either way, the boy was at the edge of his wits. He looked as if he might snap Ott’s neck just to ease his nerves.
“Do it. Stop stalling, Mother. Stop playing games. This one is done.”
You are more right than you guess, thought Sarra, but she held her tongue as she opened the door a crack, watching him peer inside. He wanted so much to know the secrets of the empire. Go on, she thought. Have a look. She waited until he was almost at the crack. Now is the time.
She faced him, unafraid at last, “Did you know that word has already spread through the capital that the Protector assassinated the Ray of the Sun, mouth of our Lord Emperor and God, and set fire to half the Waset in the process?”
Soleri Page 40
