[Age of the Five 03] - Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  If Genza is an example, these Voices are a lot better at having fun than the White, he thought.

  Then he sobered. It was so easy to admire Genza in this place and at this moment. But this was the same woman who bred and trained birds to kill mortals, who waged war and ruled, along with her fellow Voices, an entire continent.

  I will remember this side of her, he told himself, but I will not be charmed out of good sense and caution.

  Though he pretended indifference, Barmonia never failed to be impressed by the ruins of Sorlina.

  The high escarpment wall that had cast its shadow over them during the previous afternoons had collapsed here, and on the broken ruins of it a city had been built. The collapse had formed a natural, though steep, access point from the highlands of Avven to the lowlands of Mur, and while it was no surprise that a city had reaped the benefits of that in the past it was strange that none thrived here now.

  The foreign woman had stared up at the city all the morning, stupefied by amazement. At one point, during a crossing of the river, she had said something to Raynora about there being too little water in it to sustain a city. Mikmer had put her in her place by pointing out it was the dry season, so of course there was little water.

  She had looked at Mikmer with that amused, almost pitying way, but said nothing. Of course, if a city couldn’t sustain itself all year round it was bound to diminish and die anyway, but Barmonia hadn’t been about to shame Mikmer by pointing that out.

  The old road zigzagged up the slope. It had once been smoothly paved, but the ground had shifted and the surface was broken in places. For this reason they had left the vehicles behind and now rode the arem that had pulled them, leading those carrying tents and supplies.

  The road wound past rows of low stone walls, the remains of ancient houses. Or not so ancient, Barmonia amended. The city only died a few hundred years ago. Not like old Jeryma in the north or Karn in the south.

  But the younger the ruin the less chance it had been plundered. In the past, Barmonia had opened tombs here still stuffed with treasures, and taken many statues and carvings back to Hannaya’s library and to sell to collectors. They weren’t as rare as the truly ancient pieces of other ruined cities, but they still attracted good prices. The statues often had remnants of paint on them, which buyers didn’t like, and he alone had found a method of removing it that didn’t harm the stone.

  He smiled. If the directions written on the priest’s bones were correct, he was going to discover not just a new tomb, but a whole new section of the Temple of Sorli.

  They were passing the larger houses near the top of the city now. Barmonia could hear Raynora talking to the woman.

  “…over there. Public latrines. Yes, that’s right. They peed in front of their neighbors, and both men and women used them. Can you imagine the smell—oh, we dug up some of the dirt inside. No charcoal or dyes, but lots of the same straw-like stuff that we found in the latrines of private houses. Lots of coins, too…”

  The road turned and they entered the first of the higher levels of the city in which public buildings had been constructed. Many walls still stood, as they had been made thicker and sturdier in order to support larger buildings. Ray named the buildings and described their uses.

  Then the road turned again and they ascended into a large public square. The sight, as always, was both impressive and disturbing. It had been paved with enormous slabs of stone, and as the ground had shifted these had lifted and tilted. Few lay flat, so the whole space was an uneven jumble. Some of the slabs had even managed to shift into a vertical position, while others projected at such an angle that they looked as if they might fall over at any moment.

  Ray fell silent as Barmonia dismounted and began to lead his mount and pack beast across the square. There had always been something eerie about this place. The wind made strange noises. The crossing took concentration and could not be done quickly. When heavily burdened, the arem could not deal with too great an incline.

  When he reached the other side he breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting on a fallen column, he waited for the others to join him. The woman looked up at the structure behind him.

  “The Temple of Sorli,” Raynora said quietly, leaning closer to her.

  The others looked up and Barmonia watched as their faces fell.

  “The dome is gone,” Yathyir said, pointing out the obvious.

  “Yes.” Barmonia stood up and turned to regard the remains of the building. “It collapsed in a recent tremor most likely. Let’s hope it hasn’t blocked anything or we’ll have to get local help in.”

  He handed the lead of the arem to a domestic then turned and walked inside.

  Light and rubble now filled the large hall that had always been dimly lit. The former revealed the wall paintings in their full glory, as well as the damage that rain had caused. The latter had covered the floor with fragments from the size of pebbles to enormous slabs of stone. He made his way to the altar and paused to look up. The head of the massive stone goddess had broken off. He cast about and glimpsed an eye behind a large piece of the fallen dome.

  Another piece rested between the back wall and the hips of the seated figure. He had to climb up into the wedge-shaped gap behind it to reach the doorway to the inner chamber. The magnificent carved doors had been removed centuries ago to become part of a collector’s mansion in Glymma.

  Better that than rotting here, he thought. Or more likely the locals would have cut them up for firewood years ago.

  The chamber beyond was roofed and dark, so he sent Ray back for torches. Barmonia was amused when Ray returned with only five and handed them out to the Thinkers, leaving the foreign woman without a light.

  Perhaps he’s not as enchanted by her as he appears.

  The inner chamber was a small room with an empty altar in the center. Barmonia had no idea where the statue had gone and would willingly pay a good sum to find out, but he had seen sketches of it. He was satisfied to see the woman was frowning at the altar.

  “The bones said ‘Sorli will direct,’” she said. “Sorli is no longer here.”

  “Obviously not,” Mikmer replied dryly.

  “There’s a picture of her in the library,” Yathyir said gravely. “I remember it.”

  Barmonia smiled. This was why he put up with the strange boy. He might be a freak, but his memory was impressively good.

  “Describe her to us,” Barmonia ordered.

  The youth considered the stone, then walked over to Raynora.

  “Help me up,” he said.

  Ray hoisted Yathyir up. The boy moved to the center of the altar and paused to think.

  “She holds a cup in one hand and is pointing at the ground with the other,” he said, mimicking the pose.

  “So the entrance to the secret temple is below this stone?” Ray asked, regarding the huge block dubiously.

  “Probably.” Barmonia moved behind the stone and rubbed his shoe on the floor. “There are scratches here. Thinkers have always believed they were made when the stone was first moved here, but perhaps it was shifted more often than that.”

  “How?” Yathyir asked, jumping down to examine the scratches.

  “With magic,” Barmonia replied. “Skill is always a requirement of priests.”

  “How are we going to shift it, then?”

  “With our skills.” Barmonia turned to the entrance. “Which is why I brought so much equipment.”

  “You didn’t need to,” the woman said quietly.

  Barmonia turned to regard her. She no doubt wanted to show off whatever Skill she had, but he had no intention of letting her. “This should be moved gently and carefully or you—”

  “Oh, spare me the lecture,” she interrupted. “You obviously don’t know anything about magic if you think it less subtle than levers and ropes.”

  He felt anger flare at her arrogant tone, then bit back a curse as she turned her back on him to face the altar.

  “Don’t you…” Taking a ste
p forward, he reached out to grab her shoulders but his hands skittered over some invisible barrier. The others were moving backward, their faces betraying curiosity and excitement.

  “I’ll lift it first,” she said to Ray. “Take a look underneath and tell me what you see.”

  Barmonia felt a chill run down his spine as the altar stone rose slowly upward. His stomach clenched. Magic always had that effect on him. A woman should not be able to lift a huge block of stone. It was unnatural.

  Ray dropped to the ground and examined the gap between the stone and the floor. Incredibly, he ran his hands under it, trusting that she wouldn’t drop the stone on him.

  “There is a square hole beneath. Looks like you could slide the altar to the back of the room without breaking anything.”

  The woman nodded and the stone began to move backward. A staircase descending into darkness was revealed. The stone settled onto the floor without a sound.

  The bitch has control, Barmonia conceded. Then another thought occurred to him. If she is this powerful, how are we going to get rid of her?

  They’d have to trick her, which shouldn’t be hard. She was a lone woman in a land she didn’t know, where people spoke a language she had admitted she had only recently learned. They might have to slip away from her rather than send her away. Whatever happened, he was not going to let some foreign sorceress take any of the credit for finding this tomb.

  I can turn this to our advantage. If we tell people about her moving stones like some magical work beast, that’s all she’ll be remembered for.

  He stepped forward. Suddenly respectful, she moved back and allowed him to lead the others down the stairs. At least she knew her place. She was the magical work beast. He was the leader of the expedition.

  The walls were carved with religious scenes, but they were too coated in dust to make out. There would be time for that later. He gave up counting the stairs after one hundred. Their descent seemed to go on forever, so when he suddenly found himself at the bottom it was a surprise. He stopped.

  A narrow corridor just wider than his shoulders continued into darkness. He started along it, moving slowly. The corridor was free of rubble at first, but soon became cluttered. At one point he stepped over a crack as wide as his hand that had severed the entire passage. Not long after he saw a faint light ahead, then several strides later he had reached the end of the passage.

  “Halt!” he called, fearful that the others would blunder into him and push him over the precipice.

  “What is it?” Mikmer asked, his voice close to Barmonia’s shoulder.

  “A crack,” Barmonia replied. “An enormous crack. It must be two hundred paces to the other side.”

  “Does the passage continue on the other side?”

  “I don’t know. I can barely see it.”

  “Let me come forward and I will make a light,” the woman offered.

  Barmonia was tempted to refuse out of spite, but he could think of no other way to know the size of the crevice.

  “Come forward, then.”

  There was a shuffling behind him as the men made room for her to pass them. A spark of light flared into existence and floated past his shoulder, moving slowly out into the void. The opposite wall brightened. There was no passage in it.

  “No,” Barmonia said. “The corridor ends here.”

  As the light brightened he looked down. Not far below was a jumble of rocks, filling the crevice. Looking up, he felt his blood turn cold.

  A massive slab of the wall beyond had fallen forward and now rested precariously against the opposite surface. A tremor of enough force would one day free it, and it would come crashing down on top of the rubble below.

  He drew in a deep breath and let it out again. Looking down, he surveyed the floor of the crack. Some pieces of the rubble were larger than a house.

  “Hopeless,” he muttered. “If anything was there it is gone now.”

  He turned and pushed past the woman. The others looked at him closely, reading the disappointment from his face. He began to move past them, to lead the way back.

  “There are handholds in the rock.”

  Barmonia turned to see Yathyir crouching by the edge.

  Walking back, he peered over the edge and saw that the boy was right. Grooves had been carved into the wall below the passage. Looking closer, Barmonia realized that the outside edge of the passage had been carved with a decorative border. This was meant to be a precipice.

  Leaning out further, he saw that the handholds continued down to the floor of rubble.

  “If there is anything down there, it is well buried,” he amended.

  “But it can be dug out,” the woman said.

  “That will take months.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  Barmonia turned to glare at her.

  “Or maybe it does.” She shrugged. “The choice is yours.”

  “Let me see,” Kereon said.

  The woman and Yathyir moved back into the passage to allow Mikmer and Kereon to look at the crevice. Mikmer turned back, allowing Raynora past.

  “I don’t like the look of that bit of wall above us,” Mikmer said. “I think, whatever we do, we should do it quickly.”

  Kereon nodded in agreement.

  “I most definitely agree,” Raynora said from the end of the passage, still looking upward.

  Barmonia managed to stop himself scowling at them. Local workers would have to be paid. And watched, which meant someone had to be in there with them. They could be clumsy. A loud noise might be enough to send the wall tumbling down on them. Then there’d be more rubble and rotting bodies to clear.

  He turned to the woman. “Then you had better get started.”

  “I will,” she said, holding his gaze. “Tomorrow. This will take concentration and I could do with a night’s sleep.”

  He shrugged. “Tomorrow then.” The others looked relieved—happy to leave the work to another. Yet Barmonia did not like the thought of her uncovering anything without someone else around. She might pocket something. Someone must watch her. He considered his fellow Thinkers.

  Not Raynora. He’s too weak when it comes to women. Mikmer and Kereon will insist on shifts if I pick them. That leaves Yathyir. Yes, he’ll do.

  The boy was a useful freak, but still a freak. If the ceiling fell, it would hardly be a loss to the world.

  Turning on his heel, Barmonia led the others back along the passage.

  Auraya had settled into a routine in the evenings. First she and Nekaun would enter her rooms. He would draw her attention to a new gift and she would make the appropriate noises of gratitude and admiration. Then he would leave and she would pause a moment to look around and sigh with relief.

  The tables and shelves of the room now bore many objects. Large stone statues of dancers, tiny blown glass warriors and carved wooden animals stood next to toy ships floating in pottery bowls. Bolts of fabric patterned with pictures of farmers and aqueducts were neatly draped across a bench. Reed chairs had been delivered the day she had visited the river where the source plant was harvested. After a walk in one of the city’s lush gardens she had returned to find a cage containing two brightly colored birds.

  All this was hers to keep, or so Nekaun had said. Which meant nothing, because she couldn’t fly back to Si carrying reed chairs and stone statues and she didn’t intend to return in a Pentadrian ship.

  Next she would look for Mischief, who always hid when Nekaun was about. Tonight it took only moments to find him. A familiar pointy nose emerged from behind one of the large pottery water vessels brought every day. She crouched beside it.

  “There you are, Mischief.” She smiled as he hauled himself to his feet with obvious effort and let her scratch his head. The heat made the little veez sleepy and subdued. During the day he lay sprawled on the stone floor, rising only to eat or drink. The domestics seemed fascinated by him, brought him fish, and had taught him the Avvenan words for food and water.

  Danjin
would be amazed to see Mischief now. He’ll be annoyed to hear the veez didn’t give the Pentadrians any trouble.

  Reassured that Mischief was alive and well, she sat down in one of the reed chairs for her next nightly task. Closing her eyes, she focused her mind on the ring around her finger.

  :Juran.

  :Auraya. How are you?

  :I’m tired of this game. Heartily sick of the sight of Nekaun, too. But otherwise I’m fine.

  :And the Siyee?

  :Twenty-one free, twelve still imprisoned. What has Teel reported?

  :That they are in good spirits, though staying fit enough to fly is increasingly hard in the close confines of their prison.

  :Have any of them reached Si yet?

  :I don’t know. None have reached the Open yet. He paused. I don’t suppose the Voices have given away any useful information about themselves?

  :Nothing new.

  :When is Mirar due to arrive?

  Auraya felt her heart skip a beat.

  :Any day now.

  :We have discussed this at length. At first we felt it best that you ignore him. But if the Voices intend to recruit him, then you ought to do whatever you can to stop them. Or persuade him not to join them.

  :How do you suggest I do that? Auraya could not help sounding a little resentful.

  Juran was silent a moment.

  :I am not suggesting you seduce him.

  :No, but last time we met I was sent to kill him. He’s hardly going to trust me now.

  :He might. After all, you didn’t kill him.

  Neither of them said what was obvious: that Mirar would not have been a problem now if she had killed him.

  :I won’t know what is possible until he gets here, she told Juran. In the meantime, my main priority is freeing the Siyee.

  :Yes. Of course. I will speak to you again tomorrow night.

  Standing up, Auraya moved into the bedroom and lay down. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her mind kept moving from the Siyee’s predicament to Mirar’s impending arrival. Soon she was staring at the ceiling.