Voice of the Gods aotft-3

by Trudi Canavan

  “Just in case the White have ideas about invading.” She paused and looked at Imenja. “Do they?”

  “I’d have thought not, if not for the Siyee attacking Klaff. It would make sense to kill off the birds if they were planning to wage war against us.” Imenja crossed her arms. “The Siyee believe their action was retribution.”

  “For what?”

  “A failed plot. Not mine.”

  Reivan smiled at the wary tone in Imenja’s voice. Obviously this plot was yet another one her mistress could not discuss. She looked down at the courtyard again. Auraya gestured toward the pool. Suddenly something jumped out of the woman’s bag and onto the pool edge.

  It was an animal of some sort, small and lithe. After drinking from the pool, it scampered around the fountain then, at a gesture from Auraya, slunk reluctantly back into her bag.

  Reivan found herself thinking of something a Servant in the monastery she had grown up in had told her once. “You can tell a lot about a person from how they treat animals, and how animals treat them.”

  Auraya and Nekaun moved out of sight. Reivan sighed. If Nekaun did manage to “seduce” Auraya would she stay here in Glymma? If so, she would not be embraced by most Pentadrians. She had, after all, struck the blow that had killed Kuar and won the war for the Circlians. She would have no friends here.

  Imenja abruptly moved away from the window. “When I do meet with her, I want you with me to help translate.”

  Reivan followed her mistress to the chairs.

  “I’ll be there. Not sure if I’m looking forward to being in her presence, but I’m sure it will be interesting.”

  Imenja’s mouth twisted into a half-smile.

  “Yes, but interesting isn’t always pleasant.”

  24

  Emerahl approached the library door slowly, concentrating her senses on what lay beyond. She sensed only a handful of minds. Some were dark with annoyance and skepticism, others curious. One was a little more familiar than the rest, and full of anticipation.

  Ray, I’m guessing.

  He had pounced on her in the market, seemingly oblivious to her embarrassment at being discovered selling cures, and invited her to meet with the Thinkers again as soon as she was able. They had arranged a time for that afternoon, and she had returned to her room to deposit her cure bag and collect the fake scrolls.

  Taking hold of the handle, she twisted it and felt the latch slide free. The door swung inward easily. She stepped into the library and closed the door behind her.

  The librarian regarded her suspiciously over the same pile of scrolls she had seen him cataloguing last time. She ignored him and walked to the end of the room. The same five men sat in the same positions.

  Almost as if I hadn’t left, she mused. Except this time they’re not ignoring me.

  Ray stood up and smiled. “Greetings. Thank you for returning. Here,” he gestured to an empty chair. “Please sit down.”

  She sat where he indicated and looked around at the faces.

  “This is Emmea Startracker, in case you didn’t catch the name last time,” Ray said to the other men. He gestured at each man in turn, beginning with the larger. “This is Barmonia Tithemaster, our leader and expert in history and old languages. This is Mikmer Lawmaker, another historian. Kereon Cupman, finder and collector of artifacts, and Yathyir Gold, who has a flawless memory for facts.”

  He then placed a hand on his chest. “I am Raynora Vorn and I’ve spent too much time studying dead gods and their followers.”

  She did her best to look impressed. “With such qualifications I would be surprised if none of you could help me with this scroll.” She lifted the box.

  “Well show us then,” Barmonia said, holding his hands out.

  As she gave him the box her heart began to beat faster. Though The Twins had guided her in making the scroll, they hadn’t actually seen them with their own eyes. They looked convincing enough to Emerahl, but these men were experts.

  Barmonia opened the box and gently lifted out the roll of parchment. He unrolled it slightly and a fine dust wafted off. His eyebrows rose, then his eyes moved back and forth as he scanned the glyphs.

  Abruptly he stood up and moved to a table. There he weighed down the corners of the scroll and carefully rolled it opened further. As the other men rose and walked over to watch, Emerahl followed them.

  “This means ‘priest,’ ” Barmonia said, pointing to a glyph. “And this ‘most favored’ or ‘special.’ ” He paused.

  “It says ‘... the goddess ordered her favorite priest to write her words on a scroll...,’ ” Emerahl told him.

  A tense silence followed, then Barmonia sighed heavily. “You can read this?”

  “Yes. I don’t understand some of it. What does ‘breath offering’ mean?”

  Barmonia smiled. “To offer your last breath to the goddess. Which is just another way to declare oneself a follower in the hope a god or goddess will take your soul when you die.”

  Emerahl nodded. “I see. I was a bit worried it meant voluntary strangulation or something similar.”

  “When it comes to history it is all too easy for the imagination of the untrained to blur the truth. Especially with young women.”

  Emerahl met his eyes and held them. The man’s face began to redden. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “We’re all very impressed, Emmea,” Ray said. “Would you read out the entire scroll for us?”

  She turned her attention back to the roll of parchment, stepping closer to Barmonia. It was supposed to be a scrap of a record of the priests of the goddess Sorli, and the information was all accurate according to The Twins. When she had read it out the men were thoughtfully silent.

  “Well then, what else can we get her to read?” Ray asked.

  Barmonia sighed. “Bring out the bones.”

  “Bones?” Emerahl asked.

  Ray smiled but did not answer. She watched as Kereon and Mikmer disappeared through a door and returned carefully carrying a long, heavy box between them. They placed it on the table and Barmonia lifted the lid.

  Emerahl did not have to fake her surprise. Within was a skeleton. That was not surprising. The Twins had told her the Thinkers believed that there was significance in “a lot of old bones.” But they didn’t understand what it was because the Thinkers didn’t.

  They must have known why the bones were special, Emerahl mused. They just left that bit for me to discover.

  The bones were covered in glyphs. As Ray picked one up and handed it to her she saw that the symbols had been carved into the surface, then painted black. She stared at them in wonder.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “Dug up in an old temple,” Kereon said lightly. “This man must have been very important.”

  She looked down into the box, read the rest of the glyphs and nodded.

  “He was. This was the last favored priest of the goddess Sorli.”

  And the glyphs confirmed the Scroll’s existence and location... but she wasn’t going to tell them the latter.

  “Read,” Barmonia said in a low voice.

  “The glyphs on the skull say: ‘I am the favored priest of the goddess Sorli.’ On the right arm it says: ‘To me are entrusted the secrets of the gods.’ Not ‘god;’ it is the plural form. On the left it says: ‘Seek the truth in the sacred chamber when the gods are most...’ Hmm, ‘occupied’ is the closest translation.” She chuckled. “A riddle. I so love it when there’s a riddle. The legs say: ‘Sorli will direct the way. A mortal may enter and take the secrets.’ ” She paused.

  A mortal may enter and take the secrets? Does that mean not an immortal? Where can a mortal go that an immortal can’t?

  “Is that it?” Barmonia asked.

  “No, there are glyphs on the ribs. Are they in the right order?”

  The men exchanged looks of dismay. None were experts on anatomy, she knew.

  “What do they say? Maybe we can work out their order.”

  S
he gave them enough words to describe the place named on the ribs, but not the directions. “If arranged like this,” she changed the positions of a few ribs, “it says ‘heart speaks more.’ I’m guessing that means there are further instructions in this ‘sacred chamber.’ ”

  Barmonia scowled, but she sensed that he was pleased.

  “Then we’ll just have to take you there,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and pretended dismay and suspicion.

  “Take me where?”

  “The famous city of Sorlina.”

  The platten driver and his assistant scurried about erecting the tents and setting a fire. The Dunwayans were as comfortable outdoors as in their fortresses and even the most powerful and rich clan leaders were happy to sleep in the open during long journeys. Camping areas were maintained along every road. If there was no river there was always a well. Fireplaces of various sizes could be found and piles of firewood, and in some places constructions had been built designed for exercise and the practice of fighting skills.

  Another benefit of camping was that a traveller’s identity was less likely to be noted than if he or she stayed at a fortress. Ella had found spies in the few forts they had visited in order to buy food. Though these spies hadn’t identified her, they had heard of her arrival and departure from Chon and had been told to watch for her in case she had not returned to Jarime, as I-Portak claimed.

  Danjin and Ella were sitting on wooden boxes near the fire, blankets folded several times as cushions. Gillen was still inside the platten; he had been asleep when they’d arrived and Ella had decided not to wake him. Yem was gathering together some of the cooking implements and supplies.

  Cooking was one of the warrior’s many unexpected talents, and he said the easiest dish to make while camping was called “coopa”: various ingredients cooked in spices and water to which dry bread was added to help form a sauce. The previous night he had disappeared into a forest and returned with a large bird, an arrow protruding from its chest. He’d kept the feathers and stowed them away in the platten somewhere.

  Now he was carrying a large pot, some root vegetables and a package to the newly made fire. Danjin watched as the warrior chopped ingredients and added them to the pot. From time to time he rose to collect water or leaves from plants in the camp site. The smell of the bubbling concoction became more and more appetizing. Then Yem unwrapped the parcel.

  At first Danjin caught his breath in horror. In the dark the contents looked like swollen fingers. But as Yem began to slice them Danjin realized they could not be. They were some kind of stuffed tube. Yem glanced up at Danjin and smiled.

  “They’re made of shem intestines,” Yem explained. “Washed out and stuffed with meat and spices. These are made with a very rare spice. The one the spy in Chon sells.”

  Danjin nodded and watched doubtfully as the warrior deposited the sliced tubes into the pot. The mixture was bubbling gently. A rich aroma wafted out and set Danjin’s stomach growling.

  “How long have we been here?” a muffled voice asked. All turned to see Gillen emerging from the platten. He looked at the tents, now fully erected, and his eyebrows rose. “That long? You should have woken me.”

  “You obviously needed the sleep,” Ella told him.

  The man grimaced. “Yes. Don’t tell any Dunwayans or I’ll never be able to negotiate a deal again, but I’ve never taken a liking to sleeping on the hard ground,” he said quietly in Hanian. He walked over to the fire and drew in a deep breath. “I see we’re in for a treat tonight,” he said in Dunwayan. “Or rather, an extra-special leg of the superb culinary journey we are undertaking.”

  Yem looked up and grinned. “It would be a shame if our visitors left Dunway having only experienced sleeping on hard ground and chasing after vagrant servants.”

  Gillen blushed. Danjin chuckled as the ambassador sat down and sighed. “My secret’s out. I’m unworthy,” he mourned. Yem smiled and said nothing as he stirred the pot.

  Looking at Ella, Danjin noted the distant focus of her gaze. Her forehead was creased and her lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever - whoever - she was listening to was causing her both concern and anger.

  The servant they were following was half a day’s journey to their east, nearing the southwestern coast of Dunway. He had no idea if he was close to his destination and those that had helped him along the way were no better informed. If he reached the coast he would have to turn east or west. Or leave Dunway. Ella was less concerned about the latter than the possibility there was a Pentadrian base in Dunway.

  They were all used to her silences now. Danjin turned his attention back to the other two men, and they talked of places they’d seen and their experiences in the war. At some point Yem decided his “coopa” was ready and scooped some into bowls for them. Even the servants received some, despite the expensive meat tubes it contained.

  The spice from the meat had flavored the whole dish, giving it a heat that set Danjin’s mouth burning pleasantly. The meat itself was a little too spicy for his taste, however. And very salty.

  After they had eaten, they drank a little fwa and talked some more. Ella roused herself and joined in. Eventually the yawns of Gillen prompted her to suggest they retire to bed.

  Danjin rose to follow, but Ella placed a hand on his arm.

  “Stay a while. I need to talk to you.”

  He sat down again.

  She smiled and looked up at the sky. “Look at the stars. Are they brighter here than in Jarime?”

  “I was told once that all the lamps and lights of Jarime make them seem dimmer.”

  “I have never slept out of doors before this journey. It is pleasant, though I can imagine it wouldn’t be if it were raining or cold.”

  “No,” he agreed, thinking back to a few uncomfortable nights in his youth, and during the trek to the battle with the Pentadrians.

  “The Siyee live in tents all the time, don’t they?”

  Danjin nodded. “Larger and more resilient than these, of course. They call them bowers.”

  “Bowers,” she repeated, glancing toward the tents of Yem, Gillen and the servants. “Good,” she murmured. “They’re asleep.”

  “That’s quick,” Danjin said quietly. “Gillen must not be feeling the hard ground as much as he claims.”

  She smiled, but her expression quickly became serious again.

  “I have bad news for you, Danjin. Auraya has joined the Pentadrians.”

  He blinked, then stared at her in shock.

  “No,” he found himself saying. “She wouldn’t have. Not willingly.”

  “She has, though I do not know on what terms.”

  Danjin looked away. Auraya and the Pentadrians. It wasn’t possible. She resented them as much as any Circlian did for daring to invade and causing the death of so many - especially the Siyee.

  There had to be a reason...

  “The gods must have asked her to,” he concluded aloud. “She would never turn against them.”

  Ella smiled. “Your loyalty is your strength and your weakness, Danjin Spear. Do you have the same faith in me?”

  He met her eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

  “But in Auraya your trust is misplaced. She has already disobeyed the gods once.”

  He looked away. “I know you’re referring to her resignation. I accept that there are details I don’t know. That you cannot risk telling me.”

  “Risk? No. I did not tell you because I did not want to disappoint you,” she said gently. “I could see that you regarded her with a similar pride and affection that you feel for your daughters. Any ill doing of hers would hurt you.” She sighed and straightened. “But it is time you knew the truth. If she has truly allied herself with the Pentadrians your loyalty is a trait she can exploit.”

  He felt a stab of fear, then smiled at the irony. Now that he was going to learn what Auraya had done he didn’t want to. Ella was not going to take pity on him, however.

  “You know of her
affair with the Dreamweaver Leiard,” she began. “What you don’t know is that he is not who he claimed to be.”

  He frowned. “Who is he?”

  “Mirar.”

  He stared at her for a long time, expecting her to smile and admit to a joke. But she didn’t. She returned his stare with grim determination.

  “But... that’s not possible,” he finally said. “Juran would have recognized him!”

  She grimaced. “Somehow he suppressed his true identity to the point that neither he nor the gods were aware of it. But when he regained it the gods were able to identify him. Juran says his memory of Mirar had faded, and Leiard looked very different.”

  “I doubt the gods were happy about this.”

  “No. They sent Auraya to kill him.”

  Danjin drew in a sharp breath and stared at her, appalled. “And she couldn’t.”

  “No.”

  “So they threw her out of the White.”

  “No. She resigned, having rightly concluded that an inability to obey the gods is a weakness a White should not have.”

  He winced. “They couldn’t expect her to kill someone she loved. Couldn’t someone else have done it?”

  “He isn’t the man she loved. He is Mirar. And he was in Si. No other White could get to him as quickly as she.”

  “Oh.” I bet she was cursing her flying ability that day, he thought.

  “Leiard was a temporary personality behind which Mirar hid. She would not have been killing her former lover. She knew that.”

  Danjin sighed. “I’m sure she did. Even so, I wouldn’t find it easy to kill the likeness of someone I loved.”

  “Being a White is not meant to be easy.”

  He nodded at that. She was right, but he found her ruthless judgment hard to accept. Surely she was being too hard on Auraya. But how could she feel sympathy for Auraya when she hadn’t yet faced such a dilemma herself?

  Then how is it that I can sympathize with Auraya? Is Ella right? Am I too blindly loyal?

  He sighed. “So she returned to Si...” He frowned as he realized what that might have meant. “Was Mirar still there?”