by Gary Gibson
Several of the conspirators were dead. Sam had heard a scream, far into the night, abruptly cut off; had immediately known it was Marjorie, Vaughn’s young wife. She’d fallen in with them, of course. After all, one of the conspirators was her own son, Matthew. Now . . . she was in that place neither Vaughn nor Sam seemed able to reach. He thought of the people who had created them, Vaughn and Trencher and himself, and wondered at the blindness of their fanaticism. Marjorie’s death at the hands of her own husband was just one more reason to hate them all the more.
He glanced at Vaughn, saw the briefest flash of real fear deep in his eyes. Vaughn turned, climbing the path back up to the plateau, back to the light and warmth of an everyday life Sam hadn’t experienced in an eternity.
Roke
‘Master Roke,’ said Utma, walking towards him as he entered a courtyard within the Emperor’s Palace and passed into the inner ring of buildings, a storm of kitchen staff and servants hurrying around them. ‘Are you well?’
‘As well as I can be,’ wheezed Roke. ‘Are you attending this meeting of Xan’s?’
Utma blinked, taking on a more furtive expression. ‘Master Roke, please. Who knows who may be listening?’ Utma took Roke’s arm and spoke into his ear as they walked rapidly towards Xan’s Sanctum at the heart of the Palace.
‘Nobody’s listening, Utma,’ Roke said wearily. ‘And even if they were, I haven’t said anything about the meeting. Xan does have a lot of meetings, I might remind you.’ But Utma didn’t look comforted, just apprehensive.
More guards swept the Sanctum’s great doors open and they entered, seeing other Masters favoured within the court standing some distance away, sunlight streaming down from the windows near the ceiling, far above. Roke could see Feren, the Emperor’s Spymaster, who gazed in their direction for a few moments, before looking away.
‘Backstabbing widow-makers, the lot of them,’ muttered Utma. ‘If I thought I’d end up consorting with people like that when my mother gave me away to the priesthood, I’d have run away and joined the tribes.’ Roke nodded in agreement. He counted few true friends within the court, but Utma was one of them. They approached the other Masters, also waiting for their audience with Xan. Mostly they made cordial small talk, and Roke heard some news about the siege against the northern city, Nubala.
‘A shitstained hovel, been there once, never again,’ muttered Riteyan, who maintained Tibe’s great book. ‘And cold, too. Very cold.’ He shivered, as if in illustration.
‘I hear they have as yet failed to retrieve the city’s god,’ Roke interjected mildly.
‘But nothing insurmountable,’ argued Feren, stepping up to stand by Riteyan, a cool expression on his face. ‘I’m sure the Emperor will have no trouble completing his great Plan. What do you think, Roke?’
Roke noted the way in which distant walls and ceilings suddenly became the objects of great fascination for his fellow Masters. ‘I would say that none have greater faith than I in the Emperor’s Plan,’ said Roke, ‘but I would not wish to insult other members of the Court with such an arrogant conceit.’ He smiled, taking pleasure at the flash of anger in Feren’s one good eye. Oh, but I must be losing my love of life to take chances with Feren, thought Roke. Or perhaps I have simply ceased caring.
‘Riteyan,’ said Utma, ‘I might remind you that Master Roke comes from one of those shitstained Northern hovels. Your own Great Book tells us it used to be just as cold here as there, and colder, only a few generations ago.’
‘Enough, gentlemen,’ said Roke wearily, as the doors to the inner court were opened by the Palace Guard. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
It was dark enough within the court that the other-wordly light that surrounded the form of the Pale Ghost – the Shai – was very apparent. Pink and hairless, with tufts of fur where its flesh was visible outside of its garments, the creature’s head was disturbingly lacking in ears until you noticed the tiny, shell-like shapes on either side of its skull. They looked strange, malformed. It stood close to an enormous map of the world, which rested on a wide table half as long as the chamber itself.
This map was composed of carefully carved representations of mountains and valleys and seas that Emperor Xan himself had ordered to be created some years before. The Great Northern Sea, of which Tibe was a southern port, filled up much of the map, as did the bulk of Tisane even further south, and the Tieve mountains to the north.
The Emperor Xan himself stood at the far end of the table. The Shai, which called itself Vaughn, stood near him. Roke noticed immediately how frail Xan looked.
‘Roke!’ Xan hurried around the table.
Not as young as he used to be, thought Roke, but he felt genuine fondness for the Emperor, both the one he knew now and the one he had first known, many years before. Roke smiled, and went to meet his Emperor.
‘My lord,’ said Roke, ‘I hope you are feeling better.’
‘Much better, thank you. I have received a new treatment from Vaughn. His men of learning believe they may have found a cure for my illness.’
Roke nodded slowly, trying to hide his feelings. But Xan had not become ruler of an empire through a lack of perception.
‘Oh come, Roke, forget your misgivings. I believe Vaughn here may be able to help us in locating the final part of the Plan.’ As Roke followed Xan around the great round table, he looked over and found Vaughn gazing at him intently. Roke had the uncanny sensation the creature had heard every word that had just passed between him and the Emperor.
A bundle lay nearby: the sheen of metal gathered in rough cloth. Roke stared at it, and the Emperor also looked to the bundle.
‘What do you think, Roke?’ The Emperor strode over and pulled the cloth aside. ‘This is a gift of Vaughn’s great knowledge.’
‘It’s the least we can do,’ said Vaughn – or, to be more precise, the Shai held up a small box and the voice came from there. At first Roke and Utma had speculated that the creature was mute, totally incapable of speech. Then he realized that could not be so; he had heard it gabbling into the device using its own, bizarre tongue. Rather, as the Emperor had explained, those boxes enabled the Shai to communicate by transforming its words into those of true folk. The result was a ghastly, flat, though comprehensible din that carried none of the pleasant qualities of Tisane’s dominant dialect.
Roke stared at Vaughn, not sure how to react. The creature was looking back at him, and Roke knew the Emperor expected him to respond. How could one tell what it was thinking, when it possessed such inexpressive ears?
Xan picked up a long, steel tube from the cloth-covered bundle and called the Masters to approach. They gathered near him, an attentive audience with the great map spread out to one side. Roke studied the tube, and saw it was more than that: a carefully manufactured artefact that grew wider at one end where a shaped piece of wood had been fitted. Other protrusions had been attached with painstaking intent, although to what end Roke could not imagine.
‘What is it?’ asked one of the other Masters. Though Feren, Roke noticed, looked like he was enjoying their puzzlement, which suggested he had already witnessed a demonstration.
‘It’s called a firearm,’ said the Emperor, glancing towards the Shai beside him, whose head bobbed in agreement for a few moments. ‘It’s the solution to our Great Plan. I’m afraid I’ve not been very forthcoming with you, this past year, although I’m sure you’ve heard rumours nevertheless.’
Roke had indeed, and he caught Utma’s eye. An unknown weapon, being used on the Northern shores, far from Tibe? The cities of the Empire had, indeed, been buzzing with rumours about this new technology.
‘You should demonstrate it for us, my Lord.’ Feren sounded positively gleeful.
‘As I will do!’ said the Emperor. Raising the tube to his shoulder, he pulled at a small metal hook set underneath. Sudden light flashed before Roke’s eyes, then he heard someone give a high-pitched yelp of dismay. He hoped it hadn’t been himself. The explosion the device had made was i
mpossibly loud, and Roke looked up to see all the Masters with their ears flattened against their skulls, looking around bewildered.
The Emperor’s own ears were flicking with sheer joy. He strode forward, all the way to the far wall, and waved a beckoning arm for his court to follow him. Among them, Roke observed Seyferen, the Captain of Guards, hovering with a grim expression on his face.
‘There, see that?’ The Emperor was pointing to a statue of some honoured officer of guards at least two centuries old, who had suddenly and dramatically lost one arm. Roke was, indeed, impressed.
‘Gentlemen, equipped with these devices, our specially trained squadrons have thrown our enemies into disarray. But remember, you have the Shai here to thank for our victory.’
‘I’m sure the Emperor himself had hardly a small part in such triumphs,’ said Roke.
‘Perhaps I did, Master Roke, and I’m not inclined to false modesty, but great changes are afoot in our world.’ Xan casually lowered the firing end of the weapon towards them, and one or two of the gathered Masters stepped back.
‘My dear fellows, don’t worry. I’m not sufficiently displeased with any of you to use you for target practice.’ The Shai had stepped forward. ‘And I may be getting old, but I am, believe me, in full possession of my faculties.’ Xan looked around at them. ‘But I felt it was time for a proper demonstration of what benefits the Shai can provide. Many of you here, as Masters, are entrusted as caretakers of the gods of other communities who now reside in this city. This Shai called Vaughn,’ the Emperor pointed the weapon at the Shai, ‘walks with our gods. I am your Emperor; my victories in reuniting the ancient empire should be all the proof you need that I am the Fidhe reborn. Yet I suspect some of you do not quite believe the truth of this.’ He lifted the weapon and fired it directly at the Shai.
The Shai remained unharmed, mute, impassive, but there was an eruption of powder from the plastered wall behind it. Yet clearly the weapon should have wreaked terrible damage . . .
Roke felt a chill deep in his belly. Demons, ghosts, he thought immediately. But of course he knew from the monstrous Shai he had met in the tower that they were something entirely different. He looked around at the rest of the Emperor’s audience, and saw nothing but awe and horror struggling for dominance in their expressions.
‘I need your allegiance, good Masters, not your doubts,’ continued the Emperor, his expression suddenly serious. ‘Remember that, the next time you whisper sedition behind my back. You may all leave now.’ The Masters gathered around Roke stood still for a few moments more, then gradually began to break into small knots heading for the great doors. Roke noted their appalled expressions; only Feren looked untroubled.
As he himself turned to leave, he caught Seyferen’s eye, and walked beside the Captain of the Guard as he too stepped towards the door.
‘You knew about this?’ said Roke, and Seyferen nodded stiffly. ‘But you don’t approve?’
‘Master Roke, I am the Emperor’s loyal servant.’ He glanced around, wary of twitching ears. ‘But I’m less than comfortable with these new weapons. They are . . . ignoble.’
‘Times change, Captain.’
‘In their own good time, Master. Only in their own good time.’
A servant came up to Master Roke and handed him a rolled-up note, which he opened. The Emperor was inviting him to a private meeting in his antechamber. Roke hoped the Shai would not be in attendance.
Xan, he was relieved to see, sat there alone on a stone bench.
‘Roke, my old friend, come join me. I hope my little demonstration of strength hasn’t alarmed you.’
‘Perhaps a little. But may I speak freely?’
Xan looked at him in surprise. ‘Why, of course. But don’t expect me to pay attention to a word you say,’ he said, his tongue flicking good-humouredly around his nose. ‘I’ve never been averse to straight talking.’
‘Your assessment that some of the Masters entertain doubts concerning the Shai would be more than accurate. I can’t myself see what the Shai possibly have to gain from this alliance. Until you can assure the other Masters of that, they can hardly be blamed for harbouring some doubts. Though I must stress I have no reason to believe any suffer from a lack of loyalty.’
‘Feren might disagree with you,’ Xan replied wryly.
‘Feren is a foul little snake.’
‘Yes he is, but he’s very good at his job. As to the Shai, well, I’m not so sure it or the other creatures it claims to represent are genuine Shai – not in the fairytale sense. Ghosts and goblins don’t normally show you new ways of smelting metals or constructing machines, or concocting new medicines, do they? As to what they gain from us in return, well, I have to confide in you, old friend, I can’t be sure.’
Roke felt as if his heart might stop. ‘Yet they claim to be Shai, the ancient messengers of the gods.’
‘Who were usurped when the gods favoured us instead, and the Shai were left to wander the ice for eternity. Yes, I know the stories of the Pale Ghosts as well as you. But this is an enlightened age and we know these accounts to be just stories. Or so I believed myself until the creature appeared less than a year ago. And you know how much things have changed since then.’
‘My lord, it pains me to hear you talk so.’
‘My campaign was failing, Roke, and you know that. Seyferen knows that, too. Even Feren knows that. I overreached myself by invading the Northern continent. My generals were then complaining of their men deserting in droves, returning to their families rather than starve and freeze amid the ice. My health is . . . not what it used to be, and such setbacks lent encouragement to those claiming them as the proof that I am not the Fidhe. But then the Shai came.’
‘The weapons it has given you are certainly potent, but how do they work?’
Xan sighed. ‘Simply a mixture of powders ignited by a flint, which hurls a steel ball down the barrel fast enough to cause terrible damage to anything unlucky enough to be standing in the way. Imagine, Roke, having one for every soldier in my army – small and manageable enough to carry over the shoulder. Could you yourself turn down such an opportunity?’
‘Everything has a price, my lord, but some prices—’
‘Are too great? I am an Emperor, Roke. They acclaim me the Fidhe reborn, the uniter of nations. I have brought civilization and order not only to this land of Tisane but also to so many territories beyond. Victory is worth any price, Roke, but I will tell you one thing. And I tell you this because you are a valued friend, and because I feel sad at hiding these new weapons from you for so long. I begin with a question: how many stories does one hear, even in Tibe, of the Shai? Or of the mountains they haunt?’
Roke shrugged. ‘They traditionally haunt the glaciers and high places. You hear most accounts of them, I believe, in the north, because it is so cold there.’
‘Let us be more precise, then. Within the past few generations, the Teive mountains are where most claim to have encountered the spirits of the Shai. You must have heard there are areas of those mountains where the superstitious never stray? And where travellers have been known to disappear?’
‘There is little to substantiate such tales,’ Roke replied.
‘And that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Xan vehemently. ‘And that is one reason why Feren makes such a good spymaster. I have sent my cartographers to the Teive mountains in the wake of our armies, to study the geography. But the areas they cannot reach are the same parts that have been associated with the Shai for centuries. Which is why,’ added the Emperor with relish, ‘I have come to believe that is where these strange creatures are hiding.’
‘You haven’t explained why you’re telling me this.’
Xan stared at him. ‘Perhaps so. You know me better than most others here in my court. And I only ever hear the truth from you, and value what you say. The Shai came to me originally out of a professed sense of altruism, supposedly because I was the Fidhe. But I don’t profess to understand the real reasons for
its wanting to help me.’
‘My lord, it must have said something else to explain.’
‘Only that it believed that helping me in my task would bring about a universal state of paradise. Which is flattering, of course, but peace in itself would be nice enough.’ Xan’s ears flicked in amusement. ‘I don’t trust it, however, and so believe it would be to our advantage to learn precisely whereabouts in the world it and its brethren are located.’
As Roke realized what the Emperor was telling him, he felt a chill as he remembered the Monster’s words. ‘You need me to go there?’
‘I need you to lead an expedition to evaluate our newly conquered territories. That’s the official purpose,’ said Xan. ‘The real purpose of your trip remains between you and me, and just a few others.’
Roke nodded. ‘And if I do find them, what then?’
‘My dear Roke, I wish to know if they are truly as immaterial as this one appears to be.’
Six
Vincent
‘Christ, Vincent, you look like shit.’
‘Ah,’ said Vincent, ‘that would be the famous Gabarra wit. How I miss it. Really, I do.’
Eddie peered past the door, looking over Vincent’s shoulder. ‘You alone?’
Vincent tried to think of something funny to say, but all that really came to mind was: It’s three in the morning. Couldn’t it have waited? But of course Eddie couldn’t have waited any more than Vincent could have – or wanted to. He was tired, but as much as he had wanted to sleep over the past few days, he’d been unable to do more than grab random catnaps. Sleep had come to seem ephemeral, a barrier to the greater understanding. His life had come to revolve, it seemed, around the flimsy smartsheet Eddie had left for him.
‘Sorry?’
Eddie stared at him. ‘I’ll take a guess, you’re alone. Let me in and I’ll make you something to keep you awake. Then we can talk.’
