by Anne Perry
“Yes, I remember.” There was pain in her voice, raw as the night it had happened. “But it changes nothing. You must find him ... and forgive.”
“No! I can’t! It’s not possible!”
Her hand slipped out of his and the wind stirred the dust again, prickling and hurting his skin. “Tathea!”
But she was gone. He sank to the ground and buried his head in his hands, hurting with every inch of his body and aching to the core of his soul.
When at last he opened his eyes again he was lying exactly where he had fallen asleep. Nothing was different or disturbed. He could even see the footprints of his arrival.
He sat up very slowly, all his muscles aching. The sea of dust stretched around him level in every direction to a flat, grey horizon.
He knew that what she had said was true, bitterly as gall though it rested inside him. If he wished ever to leave, then to find and forgive Tornagrain was the only way. He climbed to his feet and began to walk.
Chapter IX
IN THE CLASHING OF air and darkness where chaos meets creation, Asmodeus strode the ramparts of Erebus and stared beyond them into the void. Hunger consumed him for the earth in its passionate, living beauty, its flesh that could know such suffering and such joy which now were for ever denied to him.
He had refused mortal life in the beginning, afraid of the pain, the risk of loss, doubting, disbelieving love, and that choice had cost him the chance of it for ever. He had sat in the Councils of Heaven, and like every other spirit, he had cast his lot. Now he had no place to rest his foot, no certainty, no sublime hope of eternal light if he stayed the course to the very end. And he hated with all the fury of his soul.
He had looked upon the earth and seen Ishrafeli open the Book, and begin to know himself. But Tathea loved him, and that was a weakness, a fatal weakness, in her armour. In the end it would be her undoing. He would find a way to use it against her. There was always a way.
In the meantime there were other matters for his attention. The Island at the Edge of the World could be left to itself for a while. Its day of darkness would come. The City in the Centre was nicely ripening in corruption, and all Shinabar was rotted to the core. Tiyo-Mah had at least done that much well. It was time to use Ulciber. Since he had chosen to disobey, and enter the world now, let him work for his satisfaction.
For Asmodeus to visit the earth too often was dangerous. Better he were seen as little as possible, until the last. Some man or woman whose spiritual eyes were open might sense who he was. And belief in evil all too easily produces an equally powerful belief in good, and eventually in the power for good.
He did not permit any of his servants to enter Erebus, but if he summoned them none would dare disobey. He raised his voice and sent the command shivering out through the whirling darkness.
He turned and there was Ulciber, motionless in the lurid underlight of broken stars. As always his face was beautiful, skin smooth, features perfect. When he smiled it would be dazzling. How he loved his flesh that looked so very nearly human! Only if it were cut would one see the spongy, bloodless texture, and know it for what it was.
He had wanted a body so much! But he had made the same choice as Asmodeus in the beginning, to walk away from the mortal life with its cost and its reward, its risk and its glory. Now he regretted it. He ached for a body, he lusted after it; his corrupted soul would do anything if only he could obtain one.
And he never would!
Asmodeus smiled at him, curling back his lips.
“You sent for me,” Ulciber said quietly.
Was that fear in his eyes? Good. He had every reason to fear. He had disobeyed.
“Of course!” Asmodeus snapped. “You could not come here had I not! Since you chose to follow Tiyo-Mah through the portal, you will work for your stay in the world.” He saw the flicker of appetite in Ulciber’s eyes, and he resented feeding it. But then he thought of how it would torture Ulciber to live among mortals, however weak, but who still had flesh, and will of their own, and he smiled again.
“Tell Tiyo-Mah to ally with Camassia.”
“She won’t—” Ulciber began, then froze as he saw Asmodeus’ eyes and lips. “She hates Camassia,” he finished under his breath.
“Is she not infecting Shinabar with the disease of civil war?” Asmodeus raised his brows questioningly. “Will it not bring them hatred, persecution, oppression, lies, and betrayal? In the end will a man not sell his brother for an idea, his wife for preferment, his child to save his own skin?”
“Yes,” Ulciber nodded. “It is coming already!”
“And she agrees to all of this?”
“Much is her doing. She uses fear of the barbarian as a musician plays a fine instrument. She can wring from it a dozen tunes, each one to make the hearer do as she wishes.”
“What a shame to keep the contagion locked inside Shinabar,” Asmodeus observed. “If you cannot persuade her to infect Camassia as well, then I shall have to find someone cleverer than you—who can!” He spat the last words with such fury Ulciber stepped back in spite of himself and all his intention to stand fast.
“If you carry a disease,” Asmodeus went on viciously, “you give it to whoever you hate the most! Tell her that—fool! Use her! She is a mortal who has disobeyed me, but I will get every last featherweight of worth from her before I destroy her—and she is of worth! See what she has done already.”
“Because I helped her!” Ulciber’s voice was bitter. Whatever he thought of Tiyo-Mah’s skills, he would never forgive her for having a body. Even if it were resurrected to hell, it still had form and substance, and he had not! He had been lied to, deceived in the beginning. He had believed Asmodeus’ plan for mankind, the easy path, no test, no agency, no chance of failure. Asmodeus had said the souls of men would choose it too, but they had not! More than half had chosen the beautiful and terrible path of earthly life with its sacrifice, redemption and the long journey to the light.
And Ulciber was left fleshless ... and damned.
“Get out!” Asmodeus shouted at him. “Go and prove your worth! Take Tiyo-Mah to the City in the Centre of the World, and spread the corruption of tyranny, violence, greed and oppression until Camassia also tears itself apart! You wanted Armageddon without waiting for me! So go and forge it then! Create it! Reap souls for me.” He held up his hand, clenched tight. “Bring me the cruel, the cowardly, the betrayers, the deceivers, bring me the corrupt to the core!”
Ulciber smiled. “I’ll bring you those who used to be frightened and confused, ignorant of the laws of price and reward, once I have made them all you want them to be.”
“Of course you will,” Asmodeus agreed venomously.
“What about Tathea?” Ulciber asked. “When can I have her?”
“Tathea?” Asmodeus rolled the name on his tongue. “When she loves Ishrafeli more than she loves God ... that is when you can have her. Now get out!”
Ulciber turned on his heel, marched to the end of the long rampart and disappeared into the clouds, shadowed with monstrous shapes of things out of the primeval night.
Ardesir rode into Tyrn Vawr shortly after dawn. “It was a crisp, late autumn day and already there was frost in the air. The walls of the city gleamed pale in the clear light and the gates and arches were shadowed sharply.
He entered through the main east gate from the road to the sea, and clattered on to the smooth paved street with merchants’ halls and houses on either side. Pillared façades rose in slender elegance. Ahead of him an arch spanned the street with a covered passage across. Beyond he could see the trees in half-hidden gardens, almost leafless now, and he smelled woodsmoke from kitchen fires in the still air.
He went straight to the castle on the rise in the centre of the city and into the courtyard with a sense of homecoming. The familiarity of it tugged at his emotions in a way he had not expected. He dismounted, leaving his horse for the groom, and went straight inside.
He was met with great welcome by t
he servants and courtiers, but when he entered the familiar upper chamber where Tathea awaited him, after the joy of seeing him well and safe, she perceived the urgency in him and cut short her greeting. She glanced not at Ythiel of the Eleven Knights but at the man beside her whose face was filled with power and vitality, whose strength was yet vulnerable, then she looked back at Ardesir.
Questions surged in Ardesir’s mind. Who was this man that he dared stand beside Tathea? A quick anger seized him for the presumption. He was even resting his hand on the back of her chair, close to her shoulder, as if he might touch her. And looking at Ythiel’s face in the sunlight, it seemed he did not mind. What had happened while Ardesir was away? A sudden fear seized him. Surely Shinabar was the centre from which all evil was spreading? He was the one with all the news to give!
The usual formal welcomes seemed absurd. There was not time or occasion. “I have much to tell you that is urgent.” Ardesir was startled to find his voice hoarse. He had not realised he was so exhausted. His arms and legs ached and he was trembling very slightly. He was angry with himself. He hurried on, to cover his weakness.
“Reports of barbarian invasion and atrocity have increased so much everyone is terrified, turning to anybody they think can help them. Tiyo-Mah seemed the only strong voice willing them to fight and persuading them they could win, if only they would realise the strength of the danger and throw all their forces into the field. All dissension must be got rid of. To disagree, even to be half-hearted, is to betray one’s country and to condemn one’s family to being destroyed by the barbarians in ways too hideous to be named.”
His voice rose in anger and no one made the slightest move to interrupt him.
“Tiyo-Mah became Isarch in all but name,” he went on. “She suggested a thing and they were all so frightened they obeyed. Taxes were tripled, every able-bodied man was called up into the army. The old leaders disappeared and Mabeluz, Lord of the Undead, was put in charge of everything.”
Tathea was staring at him, her face pale.
He went on to tell them about Min-Obal, the tears of the widows, and the plans they had made. He found his throat tight and he struggled to keep control of his words, hurrying before his grief betrayed him.
When Ardesir had finished it was the stranger who moved and brought him a chair and poured water for him to drink, and he accepted it with overwhelming relief, easing back and letting himself relax at last. “Who are you?” he asked, too weary and raw with emotion to soften his tone.
“Ishrafeli,” came the answer.
Ardesir felt his body tense again. How dare anyone use that name? It was a presumption that could not be tolerated, in fact it was all but a blasphemy, especially to Tathea. Why was she not angrier? This man was mortal. The marks of his humanity were naked in his face: the fine lines from nose to mouth, and around his eyes. He had seen and felt suffering, laughter, fear, anger. He did not know God any more than the rest of them, still struggling and sometimes falling, needing each other’s help to rise and begin again.
“He is Kor-Assh of the River.” Ythiel’s voice cut across his thoughts. “But he has opened the Book again, and read all that it says.”
Ardesir was stunned. The room seemed to swim around him. The Book was unsealed? Then it truly was the dawn of the end. Sadokhar had weakened the portal of time sufficiently for hell to break through, but it was not a single act of madness, creating chaos—it was part of the great plan. All that was needed now was that they should each fulfil their roles, however great or desperate, whatever the cost. If this man had opened the Book, which Ishrafeli had sealed, then in all his fragility of flesh, ordinary, as human as they all were, stumbling step by step towards the outstretched hand of God, then it was indeed he again.
Ardesir let out his pent-up breath in a long sigh, and began to tell them of Tiyo-Mah’s plans to spread the same disease of oppression and civil war to Camassia, by alliance, and then the contagion of fear.
There was no debate as to what should be done. The corruption must be contained. Tathea and Ishrafeli would travel to the City and employ all their skills of argument to dissuade the Emperor Justinus from making any alliance whatever with Shinabar. He must remain apart from it, as one would from a plague-infested city. The question was only how best to persuade him.
“As Sadokhar’s emissary,” Ythiel put forward. “That would give you authority.”
“Tiyo-Mah must know that Sadokhar is no longer here,” Ardesir pointed out. “You should go as his regent.”
There was uncertainty in Tathea now. “The Emperor will receive us as ambassadors. The Island is rich enough he could not afford otherwise.”
“Will you tell him who you are?” Ishrafeli asked, looking at her very steadily, his eyes sombre.
The moment the words were spoken, Ardesir knew that that was what had been troubling her. Tathea was an ancient name, linked with history and legend. Her looks were plainly Shinabari. Some explanation would be necessary.
“The time for discretion is past,” Ishrafeli went on with certainty. “And lies are not our weapons. If we pick them up then we are on Asmodeus’ side, whatever we use them for.”
No one argued with him. A heavy, bright silence filled the room, but it was one in which no doubt rested, only a great sense of purpose, and the will and need to prepare.
The voyage was accomplished as swiftly as possible. Everyone was aware there was no time to waste. Tathea and Ishrafeli took with them only as many others as were necessary to give them the status required as ambassadors so they might obtain an audience with Justinus.
They were welcomed with a respect which surprised them. The Island was held in considerable esteem, perhaps because, although few had ever visited it, many had treasures of one sort or another from its wealth—fine workmanship in silver, semiprecious stones or delicate woven wools of subtle colours. All seemed to have heard of its peace, although they attributed it largely to its distance from the barbarians.
“You are very fortunate to live at the edge of the world,” the High Steward said with envy. “Of course the Emperor will receive you, but you will understand there are many other foreign princes in the City, and courtesy demands you each take your turn.” He smiled, a shallow, professional gesture.
“It is a matter of considerable urgency,” Ishrafeli pressed. “We bring news that must be heard soon, or be of no value.” He refrained from using the word “warning” although it was in his mind.
“Everyone considers their own embassy to be of the utmost importance,” the High Steward said blandly. Then before Ishrafeli could say anything further, he bowed and turned away to the next supplicant, a man whose crimson silk robe swept to the floor.
Ishrafeli said nothing, but Tathea saw the dark blood of anger rise in his face. He swivelled on his heel and walked away.
As they were passing through the great outer hall with its rose marble floor and towering pillars, capitals curled and gilded, a handsome man in a purple-bordered robe approached them. His smooth face was full of confidence and he appeared to feel as if they at least half expected him.
“Guderius,” he introduced himself. He did not add that he was an Archon. His clothes proclaimed that for him, and he assumed they would know, as indeed Tathea did. “Perhaps I may be of service to you?” he offered. His eyes swept up and down Ishrafeli’s carefully chosen dark Island tunic with its silver embroidered collar, and then at Tathea’s wine-red gown.
“We have lodgings, thank you,” she replied. She was more familiar with the language than Ishrafeli, who understood it, as most educated men did the world over, but had had little occasion to use it. He found the written word easier than the spoken, and the employment of colloquialisms tested his grasp.
“Of course,” Guderius agreed, smiling more widely. “I was thinking of something you could not so easily acquire for yourselves ... such as an earlier audience with the Emperor ... should that be what you wish?”
He allowed the question to hang in t
he air, but his eyes suggested he knew very well that it was.
“And how would you accomplish that?” she asked guardedly. That he was an Archon should not make any difference.
He moved his head very slightly, indicating surprise that she should be tactless enough to have asked.
Ishrafeli caught the inflexion. “We will wait,” he said decisively. There was no warmth in his voice and his face was still closed in anger as he took Tathea by the elbow and guided her out.
On the steps in the busy street, carts and wagons, sedan chairs and crowding pedestrians striding past them in the late sun, she turned to him anxiously. “Are you certain? Tiyo-Mah could come any day, and we can’t afford to make enemies. He is an Archon—”
“We can’t afford to make friends like that!” he replied grimly. “And don’t concern yourself with our enemies. I think there will be enough of them—one more or less will weigh little in the end. It’s who is with us we must be sure of.” He smiled very slightly. It was only an easing of the corners of his mouth, but his eyes held all his heart. “Even if it is only each other.”
During the waiting time Tathea showed Ishrafeli much of the City, most especially the old parts which had been there five hundred years ago. They walked together up the cypress-lined roads, to where she had once lived. The pillars were gone, replaced by larger ones, which were more ornate, lacking the ancient simplicity.
She did not tell him about the people she had loved, and he did not ask, but she saw in his averted face as he gazed across the lemon groves and the uneven rooftops that he knew he could not share in it, and it hurt him that there was so much of her he did not know.
She ached to tell him that it did not matter, but she was not yet certain enough that he would wish her to have seen his vulnerability.
They passed one of the great churches of the Light Bearers. He wanted to go in and attend the service. She was reluctant, afraid it would hurt. She could remember too many people who had begun with faith and understanding, and been betrayed by priests who loved power more than truth, and gradually twisted the teachings of the Book until they became fluid, soft to the ear and easy to obey. Music drowned out the words, loveliness of form seduced until the purer beauty of the law was distorted into other shapes, and paths that led only back into themselves.
