Torto flushed red. He opened his mouth to protest, but Volda held up a hand, silencing him. The lump in his throat rose and fell as he swallowed his words.
“Deshanyo,” she said to the young man, “that is enough. We’ve no time for bickering.” Then she turned back to Ghis. “You forget yourself, Lord Ghisanyo. As high priestess of Akshak, it is my will, and mine alone, to determine who has rights to enter. Tell your men to put away their swords, lest they risk Akshak’s wrath.”
He narrowed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck again, no doubt weighing his options. He finally nodded and waved his hand to his men. They sheathed their swords.
“Thank you, Lord Ghisanyo. Now leave us to finish our deliberations.”
He stood tall, unmoving.
“Unless I am mistaken,” she said, her voice growing quieter, “you have no seat on the council of clerics.”
The temple guards who had been disarmed stepped up beside Ghis, standing just behind him, and a moment later, four more guards came rushing in, forming a circle around Ghis and his footmen.
The footmen stirred uneasily, hands hovering back above their swords, but Ghis dismissed them. “Leave us,” he said to the footmen.
They glanced at each other, hesitating.
“Go,” he said.
They shuffled out, the temple guards following after, sealing the doors behind them. But Ghis did not move. He stared defiantly at Volda.
I glanced around the table at the clerics. The eldest woman in the midnight blue cloak seemed unimpressed and unperturbed. She watched Ghis with an arched eyebrow. Deshanyo, Ghis’s son, had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was staring down at the table, his face contorted into a scowl very much like his father’s. Ofir, the cleric who had greeted Socha, was running his thumb and fingers over the painted golden beard on his chin, giving us all a contemplative look. And the potbellied one called Torto looked like the proverbial sindacat with its tail snared beneath the hoof of a gliaphant. His eyes darted around the room, beads of sweat condensing on his forehead.
“Guards,” the head cleric Volda said, “if Lord Ghisanyo will not leave, then please remove him.”
Ghis’s hand went to the hilt of the scimitar at his waist. Though they outnumbered him six to one, there was fear in the guards’ eyes.
“Wait,” Socha said.
All eyes turned to him.
“My lord,” he said to Ghis. “It does not have to be like this. As a leader who could unite the tribes of Kkadie, you fear losing the authority that is yours by rights. But the magi,” he gestured to me, “have not come to take that from you. They are not our enemies. You have my word.”
“Your word?” Ghis’s voice pitched up. “You betrayed me. I should kill you where you stand.” Faster than I could blink, Ghis’s sword flashed out of his scabbard. It hovered inches from Socha’s face.
Socha did not flinch. I went to intervene, but he held his palm out to halt me while keeping his eyes locked ahead. He stared past the blade, meeting Ghis’s glare.
No one said a word.
Finally, Ghis exhaled and shook his head, slowly lowering his sword. “Have you forgotten our time together in the pits, brother?” he said, as he sheathed the scimitar. “Those with power take what they want from those who have none. These warlocks will take everything.” His eyes were on me, his look filled with venom. “Everything.”
Socha shook his head. “You’re wrong. They can give us back everything we lost in the wars with the Sagain. When the great island city is finished, all of the people of Kkad will be welcome there, as will the people of the Sagamer.”
“You speak of peace with the Sagain as good news.”
“Better peace than slavery, lord Ghisanyo. We cannot hope to stand against the might of the Sagain, and with the strength of the magi, we will not have to. There is a better world ahead.”
“Slavery!” Ghis roared. He pushed up the sleeves of his cloak. Vicious purple scars ringed his wrists and scored his forearms. “Seven years we slaved together in the salt mines of Sagamer before making our escape. Seven years! We have bled for each other, Socha. Killed for each other. I would have died for you. And still you left me for… for what?” The last words came out at almost a whisper.
For the first time, Socha’s calm exterior showed signs of breaking. There was love in his eyes, and sadness too. “My lord…” he said, trying to find the words. “Your scars are mine. You talk of dying for another? I would give you my life, if only it would help you see that the way of the scimitar is not the sole choice for men like us. I would rather live in peace than die for vengeance.”
“You worship at the altar of these warlocks, Socha, but they are false gods. You have not seen what the great and mighty Adjet has become.” The superlative was thick with sarcasm. “You have not seen what she has done to us. These so-called magi are charlatans and snake charmers, and you have fallen under their spell.”
“Enough!” Volda was standing now, her hands pressed down on the table.
We all looked at her.
“You’ve said your piece, Lord Ghisanyo, and though I do not appreciate your methods, you are not wrong.” She looked at me. “The one called Adjet does not to give our gods their fair due, magus. There are even rumors that she denies that the gods exist at all. And there are other whispers, even more troubling, that claim she is a true god. More and more of our own people, once devout believers, seem to have turned to worship at the power she promises.”
This news hit me like a mining drill. “Please,” I said, searching for words. “Our powers are… overwhelming to those who do not understand them, but we do not claim divinity. Where is she? Let me talk to her. Whatever’s gone wrong, I’m sure we can fix it.”
“And why should we trust you?” Volda said. “How can we know your true intentions?”
“If Socha vouches for this Orenpausha, then that is enough for me.” It was Ofir. The ring of gold around his head caught the torchlight as he nodded towards us.
The elder cleric pushed back her chair.
“Speh-tal?” Volda said to her, giving her an inquisitve look.
An attendant came rushing from the edge of the chamber to help Speh-tal stand, but she swatted him away. With the creaking pace of age, she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled over to me, her cape trailing on the earthen floor of the temple. Her body was shrunken with the years, and her face was dense with wrinkles, but she held herself tall and straight as she tilted her head to look up at me. She was barely the height of my waist.
“Give me your hands,” she said quietly.
“What? I…”
“Your hands,” she said again.
I held them out to her. She reached up and placed her tiny hands on top of mine, tracing the lines of my palms with her delicate fingers.
“For all your strength, you are not so different from us, are you, magus?” she said.
I shook my head. “No, your eminence. Not so different.”
Socha nodded. “Orenpausha has shown me much in the past year, Priestess Speh-tal,” he said, “and one thing he has shown me is that, for all his power, he is not infallible. That is why I do not serve him. I serve the vision he represents.”
She gave Socha a long look, then turned back to me and let go of my hands. “And you truly believe you can help us?”
“I will do everything in my power to make this right.”
She turned to face the other clerics. “This Orenpausha has my vote,” she said as she shuffled back to her chair. Whispers ran through the other clerics.
I raised my voice so that all could hear. “I know you are skeptical,” I said, “and with good reason. But the world is changing. Most of you cannot see it, because you are too close, and it is too big, like standing at the foot of a mountain. The body of the mountain obscures your view of the peak. All you have is the dirt around you and the steep incline ahead. Some people turn away from that challenge. Others seek to charge up, with no knowledge of how tall the
mountain is, or what dangers lie in wait.
“But I have been to the top. I have seen the view from above. There is a new world waiting, where Kkadie and Sagain live together as one, a new people, a shining light in the darkness.”
“Here, here,” Ofir cheered, pounding the table in affirmation, nodding his head vigorously.
Other clerics took up the cheer. “Here, here!” Not all of them, but enough.
Speh-tal had the slightest hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.
Then Ghis stepped in front of me. “A beautiful dream, giant. But that does not change the fact that your Adjet has overreached.” He patted the hilt of his scimitar. “You need to rein her in, before it becomes bloody.”
He turned and marched out of the temple. The temple guards hurried after him, trying, perhaps, to keep some semblance of control over this dangerous and powerful man.
Volda was still standing. Her eyes moved amongst the clerics circled around the table until they came to rest on me.
“So, magus,” Volda said, “what would you have us do?”
* * *
“Oren! I thought you’d never come!” Adjet cried out as I entered her private quarters. But she did not seem surprised in the least to see me.
She was holed up in one of the largest residences in the wealthy northern district of the city, a three-floor edifice made from sturdy sun-dried clay, its exterior embellished with the gorgeous, curving line-work popular among the nobles of Akshak. The noble family who owned it had, I was told, recently given her unfettered access to the entire home as some sort of offering or tribute. None among the Kkadie had seen or heard from anyone in the family in three days.
Adjet’s last message was three days ago.
I’d sent Socha with Ofir and Speh-tal in hopes that they might placate Ghis. He seemed ready to attack at any moment. If even a fraction of all the Kkadie gathered in Akshak rallied to his cause, the violence would be terrible. And if he saw Adjet as she was in this moment, he would have unsheathed his sword and tried to run her through.
She sat on a large, wooden chair layered with plush cushions, and she had the self-satisfied smile of someone without a care in the world. Her skin had reverted back to its original color, crystal white, and she wore silk robes dyed a deep red, flowing down around her like gossamer. She held a small pipe in her hands, made from what looked like the polished bone of some poor desert animal. A thin sliver of smoke curled up from its bowl.
“Adjet, what in the names of the Scions is going on? Why weren’t you and Xander at the gathering of clerics?”
She sighed. “They weary me with the neverending debates.” Then she took a long pull from the pipe, embers sparking as she drew in.
Anger welled in my gut. “Eledar’s breath, Adjet. I thought you were in trouble! But here I find you, lounging without a care. Have you any idea what they’re saying about you?”
She rolled her eyes, exhaling a long cloud of smoke. It smelled of tar and linden blossoms. “Oren,” she said as the smoke dissipated around her head. “Please. Do not trouble yourself with their petty gossip. Here.” She held out her pipe. “You should really try this.”
I glared at her. “Where’s Xander, Adjet? Maybe he can help me make sense of this madness.”
She shrugged, then took another deep pull from the pipe, inhaling smoke into her lungs. When she exhaled, the smoke curled out of her mouth and nose, and she did not cough. She sat there, smiling, barely moving, like a snake that had just swallowed its prey in one gruesome gulp.
“When did you become such a worrier, Oren? Are you sure you don’t want to try?” She held up the pipe again. “The plant grows in great abundance on the mainland, near the rivers and their many tributaries. The Kkadie believe it gives them access to the divine spirit. It is really quite… revealing.”
“Where. Is. Xander.”
She ignored me. “I have been studying its chemical composition. It stimulates many of the same parts of our brain as the field serum. Taken in small doses, it serves primarily as a relaxant. But in larger doses, it is a potent psychogenic. The Kkadie have only been using its buds and leaves, which is what I am smoking right now. I have, however, discovered that the roots contain significantly more psychoactive potency.”
I said nothing, waiting her out.
She tilted her head at me, looking at me like I was a stranger. Or a fool. Then she let out another exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine. I only thought you’d be interested. I can take you to him.”
She stood up and walked past me. Her silken robes brushed against me as she passed, and I couldn’t help but notice her shapely figure beneath, barely hidden by the gauzy fabric. I averted my eyes, willing myself not to stare.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
I turned after her just as she slipped out through the door.
* * *
Adjet moved quickly ahead of me, staying always just in sight as I tried to chase after her. The home was large by Kkadian standards, but I had to keep my head ducked low, forcing me into an awkward gait. She led me down, floor by floor, until we reached the basement, and she disappeared through a darkened doorway.
The entrance was small, opening on a set of stairs that led down into the darkness. I was about to venture down after her when the smell hit me, like rotting food and excrement. It made me retch.
I was tempted to turn back for fear of what I might find, but I pushed ahead, squeezing through the door. When I reached the bottom, there was a light on the far wall, maybe a hundred paces away. The chamber was long and wide, and the low ceiling forced me even deeper into a crouch.
The putrid smell got thicker as I went in, filling up my nostrils, my mouth, my lungs. In the darkness, my imagination ran wild. The odor became so thick and viscous that I thought it might actually be surrounding me, enveloping me, like walking into the belly of some massive, awful beast.
When a shadow darted in front of the light, I froze. My pulse thudded in my ears. I cursed under my breath. The last time I remembered being this afraid was during my first winter on Verygone, during the endless frozen night. Some of the adults, no doubt bored and jaded after so many seasons on our little rock at the edge of the galaxy, amused themselves by telling children about the terrible blind monsters who lurked underground and came out in the darkness of winter to feed. They had impenetrable shells, colored black as the void, and they could use their spiked tongues like a fist, shooting out from their mouth, which was lined with rows of razor teeth, to punch through steel.
I was embarrassed by the memory, and embarrassed to be scared down here like a small child. I took several long, slow breaths. It helped just enough to let me keep moving forward.
Another shadow flitted past.
“Adjet?” The strange shape and acoustics of the room amplified my voice. There was no echo, but the volume of my own voice surprised me, hitting me with another spike of adrenalin.
I tried again, quieter this time. “Adjet?”
Fingers brushed across the back of my neck.
23 A Dark Vision
I stood on a platform at the top of a long set of stairs. I looked to my left, and Adjet was there. She was practically glowing with light, almost too beautiful to look at. She glanced at me and smiled.
A crowd of people were at the base of the pyramid, far below us. Adjet took my hand and lifted it up to the sky. The crowd roared.
She lowered my hand and handed me a knife. It was a wicked, curved blade with a serrated edge. Its handle was chiseled from a human thigh bone.
A person lay flat on the heavy sandstone table in front of us. When he saw the knife in my hands, his eyes rolled back with fear. He writhed against the bonds holding him to the table.
There were long, thin canals sculpted into the table, crusted with thick black spots. The canals all ran to a basin at the head of the table, which sat on a slight incline.
There was a sound behind me. A sort of guttural snorting and swallowing, with a high pitched
overtone. I turned at the sound, and saw a vaulted doorway opening onto pitch black. Something was back there in the darkness. Something terrible and hungry.
Adjet put her hand on my back. I looked at her, and she nodded at me. Go on, she said, though her lips did not move. Do it.
I raised the knife above me, and the crowd murmured with excitement. How did I get here? some distant part of me wondered.
I stabbed the knife down.
The person on the sacrificial altar was Xander.
The knife was stuck in his chest.
He gurgled, and a bubble of blood escaped from his mouth. My hand was still on the knife, and Adjet put her hand over mine. She pressed down harder and twisted. Xander cried out in pain.
She is so strong, I thought. Stronger than I am. Stronger than I have ever been.
I tried to stop her from twisting the knife any further, but she pushed me aside, and I fell to the ground. I watched her lift the knife out, and I heard Xander choking.
Stop, I tried to say as I stood up, but no words came out.
The darkness leaked out from the vaulted door behind us like an impenetrable black mist. It flowed towards the blade in Adjet’s hand, curling around her arm. Then it poured down into the gaping wound in Xander’s chest like foul water. His limp body started thrashing, and his eyes turned black.
His body stopped thrashing. He sat up, facing me, his mouth open as if to scream. Tiny tendrils of black mist were reaching out from the depths of his throat.
Someone was giggling.
I turned and ran.
Xander and Adjet both lunged after me, but I darted out of their reach. I came to the edge of the platform, jutting out from the roof of the pyramid, and after the briefest moment of hesitation, I leapt.
The crowd below lifted their hands as one.
This is a dream, I thought as the side of the pyramid raced towards me. I’m going to wake just before I land.
I crashed into the hardened clay. A bone splintered in my wrist as I tried to absorb the impact, tucking into a roll. I tumbled off one ledge, down to the next, landing hard on my back. Air rushed out of my lungs.
Gradient Page 31
