Come Armageddon

by Anne Perry

  Chapter X

  “WHAT ARE WE GOING to do?” Tathea said desperately when she and Ishrafeli were alone in their lodgings an hour later. “We’ve made it worse, not better. I played right into Tiyo-Mah’s hands, didn’t I? Why am I such a fool? This is the war to test us all. Everything there is will be won or lost for ever in this. Asmodeus is going to use all the weapons he has. There’s nothing else to keep them for!” She hesitated a moment. “I wonder where the other Lords of Sin are. Are they in other parts of the world: Caeva, Tirilis, Pera? Or Irria-Kand—leading the barbarians? Or did they corrupt the Irria-Kanders so they fled before the barbarians, instead of standing their ground and fighting?”

  Ishrafeli’s face was pale. The enormity of the thought hung in the room like a suffocating weight. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we must learn, if we can. Perhaps there is something that holds them back, some spiritual weapon we are using even though we are unaware of it. All sin operates by our leave.”

  Her gaze stayed fixed on his. It was an enormous thought, beautiful in its hope, and terrible in its acknowledgement that they held such power of failure. She found she was shivering, even in the slanting sunlight in the room.

  “We are fighting in so many different ways,” she said quietly. “But if there is a way we can hold them back, blunt any of their weapons, then we must do it. Ulciber has been the easiest to allow in. We have always been open to corruption. Perhaps delusion is the next. They are not so far apart. Anyone who has passions and dreams is in danger.”

  A flash of bitter humour crossed Ishrafeli’s face. “They are the best.” He drew in a deep breath. “I suppose the highest to climb, and the furthest to fall. We must watch for Azrub. And the others?”

  “I think the earth is not ready yet for terror or despair,” she said softly. “Please God, I hope not.”

  He walked over to her and put his arms around her, holding her close to him, his cheek against her hair till she could feel the warmth of him, smell the familiarity of his skin.

  It was a long time before she spoke the thoughts inside her. “When Tiyo-Mah comes,” she began, “we must be there and say or do something that will provoke her into showing who she really is.” The certainty grew inside her as she spoke. “If she does, then Justinus will see, and even his courtiers won’t be able to mock him into denying it.” She took a deep breath. She still stood close to him, her brow against his cheek. “And if he sees that Tiyo-Mah is who we say,” she went on, “then he will have to consider that I am also who I say. In fact, he may be only too eager to believe it! If one sees a force for evil, surely one doesn’t rest until one finds the force for good, out of sheer terror, if nothing else?”

  “Provoke Tiyo-Mah?” He pushed her a little away from him so he could look at her. “Have we power to withstand her?”

  Tathea bit her lip hard. “God help us if we don’t!” She was shivering very slightly. She was not sure she did have the power. “But if we don’t, we’ve given up. Then what have we left? This isn’t a war we can choose not to fight ... nobody can, but we least of all.”

  “I’m beginning to understand that,” he replied, smiling at her, but his eyes were bleak.

  He was a long way from understanding it yet. She knew that, but perhaps it was as well he did not. One step at a time is all anyone can bear.

  She kissed him very gently, and it grew longer and deeper as he responded, because there was nothing to say except, over and over again, “I love you.”

  Five days later the City was clamouring with the news that Tiyo-Mah had arrived and was to be received immediately by the Emperor. Tathea and Ishrafeli were back in the audience chamber again to watch. It was one privilege they had yielded to bribery to buy. Were they not to be there they would have no chance to confront her.

  They waited almost shoulder to shoulder with nearly a hundred other aristocrats, Archons and courtiers. There was a hush and everyone turned as the doors at the far end opened and Justinus appeared, robed in purple and gold with a coronet on his head. He walked very slowly to one of the two padded and gilded seats that stood near the centre of the room. He made an effort never once to look at the double doors at the opposite end, and Tathea realised with a start that he was nervous. Gone was the calm arrogance with which he had received her and Ishrafeli, merely ambassadors from the Island. He stood a trifle stiffly, and three times he moved his robes so they fell a little more elegantly. And still he restrained himself from glancing to see if the other doors were opening.

  “Part of him believes us,” Ishrafeli whispered to Tathea.

  “I wish it were a larger part!” she returned.

  Any further speculation was prevented by the doors at last swinging wide to reveal nothing at all. There was a gasp from the throng, a slow letting out of breath, and then another gasp as a very old woman, shoulders bent, head almost bald, shuffled across the entrance and walked very slowly down the length of the marble floor towards Justinus. She was clad in the ancient Shinabari turquoise and copper against parchment white, heavily embroidered and encrusted with gold. An enormous star sapphire hung on a chain between her shrunken breasts. Never once did she look to either side of her. For her the crowd lining the way did not exist.

  Tathea felt a tingle of both horror and pride. She had once been Isarch of Shinabar herself, and she would have entered a foreign court like this. No upstart Camassian Emperor would outshine her or seem to anyone watching to dominate the room.

  She glanced sideways at Ishrafeli and saw the amazement in his face. She had tried to describe Tiyo-Mah to him, but no words could have encompassed the reality.

  No one in the crowd moved at all, not a step nor a whisper. There was no pushing or jostling for position. Tathea looked at the doorway again. Tiyo-Mah would never have come alone. What size of retinue would she choose to bring, and of what nature?

  It was apparent within seconds. A dozen Shinabari nobles walked in, two by two, all in ceremonial court dress dating from the time of the old Shinabar Empire, in the style of Tiyo-Mah’s own days as Empress, before her husband had died and her son taken his place, and Ta-Thea taken hers, sins for which she had never forgiven any of them.

  After the nobles came a single figure, tall and graceful, with blue eyes, fair hair and a face of calm and smooth-featured beauty. He was dressed in military uniform, also Shinabari, blue and white with copper breastplate and greaves and a long copper ceremonial sword at his side.

  Tathea felt a chill run through her as though in a breath the heat of the hall had turned cold. Ardesir had described Ulciber, but no words from anyone else could match the reality of seeing him again. Without being aware of doing it, she was gripping Ishrafeli’s arm so hard he winced at the pressure.

  Tiyo-Mah was level with Justinus now, barely half a dozen yards from Tathea and Ishrafeli. She stopped, and all those behind her stopped also, preserving the distances between them, except Ulciber, who continued to come forward on silent feet, and the Shinabari nobles parted for him as if they had expected as much.

  “Welcome to the City in the Centre of the World,” Justinus said stiffly. “We receive your embassy with interest.”

  “You are most gracious,” Tiyo-Mah replied. She did not use any courtesy title. She called no one “Majesty.” “We have much to say to a great nation like Camassia,” she continued. “Together we hold the civilised world in our hands. We have privileges and duties in common.”

  It was an odd way in which to address an emperor, and Justinus was not subtle enough to conceal his surprise. He stared at the old woman in front of him, in her stooped age, more than a head shorter than he. Her body was bowed, her hands clawlike, but her strength of will dominated the entire hall as if she were the monarch and he the supplicant. For a moment he did not know how to reply, which must have been obvious to those closest to him.

  Tathea stepped forward, not more than a pace, but sufficient to draw every eye to her.

  “The privileges and duties to which you
refer belong to the Island also,” she said distinctly. “We have fought the barbarians not only from our shores, but from within our cities too ... without resorting to secrecy and oppression of our own people.”

  Tiyo-Mah turned very slowly and stared at Tathea. Her skin was mottled dark with blood and her opaque eyes shone with a hatred as old as the first damnation. Her hand clenched on the stick she used to steady herself.

  Justinus stared at Tathea in horror.

  Tiyo-Mah lifted the stick as if she would strike her with it.

  Tathea held her breath.

  Then Tiyo-Mah smiled, drawing her lips back from shrunken gums. It was a hideous gesture. The stick sank back and rested on the marble again.

  “Of course,” she agreed, her voice a whisper like the wind through dry reeds. “Had I realised you were here in Camassia, I should have included you in my words. Even in Thoth-Moara we are aware of the nobility of the Island at the Edge of the World, and the peace that has reigned there in the last ten years. The sea is your friend. Would that we had such a defence against the barbarian, but alas we have not. We must provide our own bulwarks, with the sacrifice of our people, and their courage and loyalty to the cause.”

  She turned again to Justinus. “That is the reason we have come to speak with our cousins in Camassia, whose problem is the same as our own, that we may aid each other, and learn from each other’s experience.”

  Tathea had been effectively acknowledged, and dismissed. Her eyes were drawn beyond Tiyo-Mah to Ulciber, standing behind her, straight-backed, and a little taller than the nobles around him. He was looking at her. To anyone else he must have seemed full of grace and charm, smiling at strangers with the confidence of one whose heart is clear.

  But Tathea saw the jubilation in his eyes and the shadow of a sneer over his lips as if a darkness inside him had been momentarily visible. He tasted victory, smelled it in the air around him as he heard Tiyo-Mah’s voice, and knew that Justinus would listen to her, and Tathea had no power to prevent it. It was as certain as tomorrow.

  Then he looked past her and saw Ishrafeli. He was puzzled. He did not know who he was or why he was there so obviously beside her. Did he matter, or was he incidental, a courtier of sorts, an attendant? He stared steadily, and Ishrafeli stared back, eyes unflickering.

  Then Ulciber stiffened and a shudder passed through his body as his soul recognised his final enemy, and he was dizzy with the knowledge. The physical world became as nothing. Spirits faced each other across an abyss, aware that one day they would do so again, without the distraction or the protection of other people, a set ceremony, and a war yet to unroll and play itself out.

  Then the present closed in again with the noise and the words and the business of the moment.

  Tiyo-Mah was speaking to Justinus, telling him about the atrocities in the southern desert, and how the barbarians were pressing steadily northwards. Her words were not extreme but she spoke with an intensity that gripped him whether he would or not. His face was pale and for once he seemed unaware of his courtiers and advisers around him.

  “News comes to us that you also are experiencing greater activity on your borders,” Tiyo-Mah continued, her voice stronger now and the light glancing off her withered face. “We would be most interested to hear your solutions to meeting it.”

  Justinus hesitated. He had not been conspicuously successful, but he wanted to appear in control in front of this strange old woman from the ancient enemy.

  “Our armies are well trained,” he replied cautiously. “Extremely so. The barbarians are not. It makes the difference ... in the end.”

  “Precisely my thoughts,” Tiyo-Mah agreed, nodding very slightly. “It all comes to superior discipline. That has been the Shinabari experience also.” Then she went on to relate several stories she had heard of Camassian military success in the past.

  Justinus listened with evident pleasure. Even though none of them was directly attributable to him, he took the praise as if they were.

  Ulciber listened and every now and then added a comment and suggestion as to how the tactics might be improved, made more stringent, civil interference excluded altogether and eventually a total power obtained. All the time he drew examples of how necessary this was, and how Justinus would become the saviour of his people, a preserver of the present and also of all the wealth and heritage of the past. Every move he outlined, he also justified.

  Tathea could hear it all, and understood its sweet-tasting corruption, its appeal to vanity and fear, and she could not interrupt. Justinus seemed not to hear the lies with the truth, and his pretence at consideration, reluctance, the need to be persuaded, was no more than a diplomatic game to make the decision seem his own.

  Tathea and Ishrafeli left, knowing that the treaty of alliance would take its appointed time, but it was already concluded in everything but signature. Tiyo-Mah had won, and they had not raised a weapon to prevent her.

  They walked home through the dusty streets in silence.

  “How can we fight her?” Tathea demanded almost as soon as the door was closed and they were alone. “I used to imagine Armageddon was vast armies drawn up against each other, covering the earth with blood and tears, and I suppose it will be, in the end.”

  “That kind of war doesn’t destroy the soul,” Ishrafeli replied, walking over to the cool stone jug and pouring water for both of them. “Death is no victory for Asmodeus. He wants misery, despair, the corruption of the heart until we hate as he does, until we lash out and destroy each other, and thus ourselves.” He passed her one of the goblets. “Would it be wrong to kill her, if we could?”

  “Assassination? I don’t think so. This is war, and her time when she had a right to mortal life is long past. But she’s not alive in an earthly sense.”

  “I thought not,” he said grimly “I had to ask.”

  He smiled at her, and she reached forward and touched his bare arm, feeling the warmth of him, the muscle under the skin. “We must stay here and find allies. They are here somewhere. The art will be in recognising them!”

  He gave a little grunt. “I think the greater art will be in recruiting them!” he said drily.

  Tiyo-Mah and her entourage waited in the City only long enough for the formalities to be completed, then claimed that the urgencies of war required that they return to Shinabar as rapidly as possible. Messengers would come and go regularly, but Ulciber would remain, at least for a matter of weeks, to offer any advice and encouragement he could in the practical plans for getting rid of the weaknesses within Camassia which would sabotage their efforts: the disloyalties, the personal greeds and ambitions, the talk of defeat, the false information that undermined resolve.

  The corruption spread with terrifying speed. It began as a call to all citizens to give their time and means to the war effort. Taxes were raised again. More men were recruited to the army, as they had been in Shinabar. Gradually all criticisms of the Emperor or of the Hall of Archons were suppressed, and complaint of any sort was branded as selfish and unpatriotic.

  All news was censored. In ignorance of the truth, fear increased. Rumour spread like fire in summer grass. Any bulletin or letter of news was illegal unless it had the Ministry of Information seal on it. Anybody found passing or receiving unauthorised news documents was deemed to be an enemy of the people and liable to fine, confiscation of goods and properties and, in extreme cases, forced conscription into the army.

  Violence erupted in the streets, unreasoning prejudice as fear was whipped up and unthinkingly people turned on anyone who seemed different, who spoke for moderation, or made light of the barbarian threat. It was easier to have an enemy to lash out at. It made them feel as if they had achieved something, taken some action in their own defence. Fear was released and the tension abated until next time.

  Two or three moderate leaders were voted out of office, and replaced by men of more extreme views. One by one dissenting voices fell silent. One man whose courage and passion outweighed his ca
ution had his house burned by a mob who had just heard new stories of barbarian incursions, fifty miles closer than before. Their fear turned to rage, and he was an easy victim.

  Tathea and Ishrafeli stood quietly by their open window on to the cypress walk, close enough to touch each other, but without speaking. There was no need to give words to the understanding of what Tiyo-Mah had achieved. Whether the Great Enemy had had anything to do with the rise of the barbarians around the margins of the world or not, Tiyo-Mah and all her servants knew with a skill soul-deep how to find the weaknesses in every man and woman and turn them into the ugliest possibility. One of the most potent of all, and the easiest to manipulate and to spread, was fear. It overrode reason, tolerance and compassion. It ploughed judgement under and tore it apart.

  Surely this was the first wave of Armageddon—not open battles with soldiers wielding swords against an army they could see, but the secret worm in the heart, eating courage, pity and faith, carrying corruption like a disease on the wind?

  “How can you fight it?” Tathea asked desperately. “There are only two of us here, and people are falling by thousands. Except it isn’t really falling, it’s stumbling, slithering, losing balance.” She pressed her hands up against her face, her head throbbing. “He’s so clever! So very clever!”

  “Of course,” Ishrafeli agreed. “I suppose it’s comfortable to think of evil as stupid, but it’s only stupid in the spiritual sense. It can never win because it destroys the very thing it fights for. There is nothing left for the victor.”

  “Then we must be cleverer!” Tathea said fiercely “Where do we find the good?”

  “In people,” he answered, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We must find the people.”

  In Erebus, Asmodeus looked over the ramparts of darkness at the churning chaos that bound him in, the nothingness of worlds that disintegrated into the void and ceased to be. Tiny like a blue jewel beyond his grasp, he saw one earth and all the life that was on it. And he smiled, his lips parted, the taste of victory on his tongue.