They were all the ugly memories, the ones that carried the sharpest emotions—shame, terror, hatred, rage. All the times he had failed to act right, or had allowed his emotions to act for him. Everything he was ashamed of paraded before his eyes, as vivid as the first time he had experienced them. The portrait of himself sickened him, and he longed for her to stop probing, stop exposing him for what he didn’t want to be.
But she didn’t stop. On and on she went, right through his life, till the pool of his mind had turned dark and turbid with pollution. It felt unclean on his skin.
Long after it had become unendurable, it finally ceased. He was floating again, but far deeper now, so deep there was no surface, and a lucid glow was all around him. The water was crystal clear now, and the light seemed to penetrate every crevice of his being. He floated on it, weightless, unencumbered, and free. All the impurities had washed away, leaving him transparent, more naked than he had ever been. He was nothing but a flow of sensation without any taint of self to block it. He was utterly clear, and all the world showed through him.
When he came back to the room in Lashnish, Agave was still holding his hands, but her head was bowed in exhaustion. He felt battered, and his face was wet with tears. She finally looked up at him, and their eyes met. They said nothing; no words were adequate.
When she let go of his hands and sat back, he knew that she had not been entirely honest about the lack of a dhota-bond. It was not the sharp and sensual bond he felt for Spaeth; but Agave had seen parts of him that no one else had witnessed, and there was an intimacy in that. She rose and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Her hand rested on his hair for a moment with a maternal warmth. “I am sorry to have made you endure that,” she said. “It was very hard for you. It is always harder for a good person than for a bad one. It is impossible to tell beforehand.”
She walked away then, and Spaeth came over to Nathaway’s side, putting her arms around him. “Oh Nat,” she said, “I didn’t know she was going to hurt you.”
He still felt too drained to talk, but he squeezed her hand.
Auster had gone over to Agave’s side, and they were talking softly together. Nathaway couldn’t hear their words, only the murmur of their voices. He leaned against Spaeth, feeling secure in her warmth. He wanted to sleep.
Presently Auster and Agave seemed to come to some resolution, and Auster went back to stir up the fire under the teakettle. He was soon pressing a cup of hot tea into Nathaway’s hands. “Drink it, my boy,” he said. “We need you back with us. We have some decisions to make.”
It was strong and stimulating, and Nathaway soon felt alertness tingling back into him. He realized that the windows were completely dark. “How long has it been?” he asked.
“Just a couple of hours,” Auster said lightly. “Come with me, I’ll show you the lavatory.”
It felt good to stand; his muscles were stiff. Auster said nothing of consequence to him while they were alone, but when they returned to Agave’s office, the two women were deep in a conversation that broke off when they entered. Spaeth looked reluctant and disturbed.
When they were all seated again, Agave took a long draught of tea and pushed the hair back from her forehead. She looked exhausted; there were dark circles under her eyes. “First,” she said, “I must tell you a little more about this talisman you have, the Emerald Tablet.
“Long ago, in the days before history, the Altans were the greatest civilization the world has ever known. They discovered all the underlying geometry of the world. They knew the crystals and the chords of music, and why they are alike. They even knew the harmonies that drive the stars and compose the soul.
“But in the strange last days of Alta, the forces of disorder—those the Adaina call the Mundua and Ashwin—became unbalanced, and nothing the Altans could do would put them right. So they encoded all their knowledge in a single crystal, and created the Lashnura to carry it down through future generations, bit by bit working to restore the ancient harmony that had been disturbed. We are like single notes in a song they composed long ago. The world as it once was is locked in the Tablet, all its parts forming a chord we cannot yet hear.”
Nathaway lifted the pendant and looked at it; it seemed far too worn and ordinary for the exalted legend attached to it. “Is the information still there, do you think?” he asked.
“We must hope so,” Agave said.
“Could it teach us all the Altans knew?”
She shook her head. “If you mean could we learn to speak their language or rebuild their cities or do their computations, no. Perhaps that kind of knowledge is there, but inaccessible to us. The knowledge it conveys comes in another form. Every Lashnura on earth is driven by implanted instincts that ultimately derive from what is encoded in the Tablet.” She hesitated, as if the words came painfully. “If ever we are to be free, we must relearn enough to mend what has been broken.”
“Then why isn’t the Tablet kept locked away safely?”
“As I said, we can’t read it any more. That is what the Heirs of Gilgen are for—to interpret it for us. It does not speak to them in words or knowledge, but through instinct and unconscious acts. They are our only, imperfect access to what lies in the Tablet. Their ultimate purpose, like ours, is to lead the world back to its ancient symmetry. When that has happened, the Grey Folk will have served their purpose and our suffering will no longer be necessary to set the scales right.”
Nathaway was silent. He could understand her mythic beliefs, but he could not share them. It seemed as if these dignified people, in their desperation, had resorted to a magical faith. He felt compassion for them, and some admiration, but their eschatology was a delusion.
Misreading him, Agave said, “We are as puzzled as you. But ultimately, you are the only one who can answer the question of why you have it. We want you to stay here and let us help you learn more.”
At this, he looked at her hopefully. “Really?” he said. “We could stay here?”
“We would be very pleased at that,” Auster said.
It was a priceless opportunity to delve into the knowledge of the Lashnura. Everything about this place intrigued him. The archives alone might solve a thousand mysteries. He looked at Spaeth, scarcely able to conceal his eagerness. She gave him a wan smile.
“I would be honoured to stay,” he said. “I’ve wanted to learn about your people all along. I want to know your history, and your teachings. If you’ll have me, I would love to be a student of your ways.”
“Good,” Agave said, smiling; but it was a smile tinged with pain. Impulsively she reached out and took his hand. “Nathaway,” she said, and her yearning for his welfare was plain to see. She took Spaeth’s hand then, and placed it in his, enclosing both their hands in hers. “Both of you need to know that there is no power in the Lashnura way. Power is what the Mundua and Ashwin have. For us, there is only surrender and acquiescence. Can you learn that?”
Nathaway and Spaeth looked at each other, and neither of them wanted to answer yes. “I don’t know,” Nathaway said.
“Well, at least I haven’t lied to you,” Agave said.
At that moment, the sound of a distant explosion came from outside, rattling the glass in the window. It was soon answered with an even more thundering roar. All of them rose to go to the window and see what was going on. The noise seemed to be coming from the harbour.
“Auster dear, run down and find out what is going on,” Agave said.
He turned to the door, but even before he could reach it there was a nervous rap on it. When he opened it, a girl stood there—the first Lashnura child Nathaway had ever seen.
“Namenda Agave,” she said, “there is an officer here to see you.”
“An officer?” she said sharply.
“Yes, in a uniform.”
“Well, show him in.”
Nathaway said quickly, “It would be better if Spaeth and I left. We are not particularly anxious for the Navy to know where we are.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Agave said severely. “You are under the protection of the Pavilion now. The Pavilion is inviolate. No one would dare harm you while you are here.”
He did not share her sense of invulnerability, and might have argued, except that at that moment, the door opened and Joffrey stepped through it.
He was resplendent in a Native Navy officer’s dress uniform, booted and braided with authority, carrying his hat under his arm. Nathaway had never seen him in uniform before; he had known Joffrey only as Tiarch’s clandestine agent among the rebels. They had last met when Joffrey had arranged for Nathaway’s escape from the Ripplewill in Tornabay. The instant he entered the room Joffrey saw Nathaway, and froze.
“Justice Talley,” he said tensely. He glanced around, his mind clearly scrambling to account for Nathaway’s presence. “Are you here on your brother’s behalf?”
“No,” Nathaway said. Then, since they were being honest, “Are you?”
“No,” Joffrey said. “I am here on Tiarch’s behalf.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not any more,” Joffrey said.
Only then did Nathaway remember what he had overheard in the hallways of the palace, that there had been a break between Tiarch and the Inning authority. The chaos it had caused was the main reason he and Spaeth had been able to escape.
Joffrey had turned to Agave, and now pressed his hands together before him with the index fingertips touching, and bowed. “Ehir,” he said. “Pardon me, my message is from Tiarch to you, Namenda Agave. May we speak privately?”
“Whatever Tiarch has to say is of concern to everyone here,” Agave said regally.
Joffrey looked around the room as if memorizing every face. Then he held out a sealed letter to her. “This conveys Tiarch’s greetings to you and your revered institution,” he said.
Agave took it and broke the seal. “What is going on? What is this firing in the harbour?”
“Don’t be concerned about that. It was just our ship saluting the Governor’s arrival. I had intended to be here before this, in order to inform you, but I was delayed.”
There was a pause while Agave read the letter. At the end she looked up at him. “Are you Vice-Admiral Joffrey?”
He bowed. “Any questions or concerns you may have, I am ready to address. We are eager to have cordial relations with the Pavilion while we are in Lashnish.”
“So her letter says. It doesn’t say why she has come to Lashnish.”
Joffrey smiled thinly. “The answer to that question lies with this gentleman’s brother. Ten days ago, Tiarch was removed from office by the Inning authority she had served so long and loyally. What they didn’t reckon with was that the militia and much of the Northern Squadron was more loyal to her than to Inning, and they rallied round her. She has come here to make Lashnish her headquarters while she appeals her dismissal to Fluminos.”
“Why Lashnish?” Agave said tensely. “What are her intentions?”
Unspoken, but obvious to everyone in the room, was the question, Has she come here to claim dhota-nur?
“At the moment, her intentions are to set up an administrative base for her government, the legitimate government of the Forsakens,” Joffrey said. “Lashnish is a central location, since Tornabay is now off limits to us.”
He hadn’t answered the real question, but his bland expression told them he didn’t intend to.
Nathaway was still trying to grasp the situation. “The Navy mutinied?” he said, barely believing it.
Turning to him, Joffrey said coolly, “That is doubtless the construction certain parties will put on it. We prefer to think that the Navy stayed loyal when given an illegal order.”
So the Navy that had just arrived was not the Navy that Nathaway had been fearing, but a renegade force bent on making Lashnish yet another rebel stronghold. This was all going very badly for Corbin. But by now, Nathaway didn’t care. He wanted nothing to do with any of it, and felt some alarm that trouble seemed to be doggedly following his scent. The refuge he had just managed to find was to be plunged into the midst of things. He turned to Agave. “Agave, pardon me for speaking, but you need to stay neutral in this. If you have any power, don’t throw it to one side or another; it’ll only make you a target.”
“The Pavilion never makes judgments,” she said, “until we are approached in the proper way. Then we will play our part as we always have done.” She turned to Joffrey. “You may tell that to Tiarch.”
He inclined his head respectfully. “I will do so. She will doubtless wish to visit you herself, once she is settled here.”
“She will be welcome, as are all,” Agave said.
Joffrey nodded, then looked appraisingly one last time at Nathaway, and left.
When he was gone there was silence in the room. Outside the window, down by the waterfront, they could hear distant shouts and some celebratory gunfire. It seemed very far away, up here.
Agave turned to look at Auster. Silently, he moved to her side and took her hand. “It is all happening so fast,” she said. “We have no time. Just listen to them out there, Auster. Our city is waking.”
3
The Bells of Harbourdown
Just off the rocky coast of Thimish, Harg Ismol was sitting in a place uncomfortably familiar to him, on the horns of a dilemma.
The aft cabin of the warship Smoke was still lavishly furnished with the belongings of its absent captain, who had—either through choice or chance—ended up on the Inning side in the mad scramble when Tiarch had sailed from Embo with her navy. When Harg had first inherited the cabin, the sight of the man’s perfect mahogany shaving stand, his wine chest, his silver service, and curtains had said only one thing—that this was a warship that had never fired a gun in war. Harg had occupied his share of captains’ quarters during his time in the Native Navy, but that had been in the Southern Squadron, a mean and stripped-down fighting force often thrown into the midst of battle. Nothing could have brought home to him how pampered the Northern Squadron had been in comparison like seeing how their captains lived.
But it had not taken him long to detect the symbolism behind all the captain’s luxuries, and the indispensable role they played in enhancing authority among the Torna officers. And that was where his dilemma lay. He was trying to figure out what to wear for his triumphal return to Harbourdown. If he appeared in the spectacular Vice-Admiral’s uniform hanging before him, as he had every right to do, it would alienate the Adaina companions he had left behind less than a month before. All that official lace and plumery would say only one thing to them—Tiarch’s-man. It would look as if he had crossed over, become co-opted by the enemy.
On the other hand, if he didn’t wear it, it would have an effect on the Torna officers of the three warships that comprised his little squadron. Despite his rock-solid Navy credentials, they regarded him with scepticism, still convinced he had been promoted over them solely for being Adaina. They followed him in obedience to Tiarch’s orders, but every second he was being appraised.
So he left on the civilian trousers and white shirt he was wearing, and put on the uniform jacket over them, leaving off the waistcoat and stock, but keeping the crimson sash. He hesitated over the epaulettes, but kept them in the end to remind the Tornas of his rank. He pulled on the boots, but under his trousers. The hat was far too showy, out of the question, so he left it off. In the end he tipped the shaving mirror to try and survey whether he had produced the proper look of deliberate informality.
There was a knock on the door, and Harg called, “Come in.” When he turned, Captain Jearl was standing there in full dress, every detail precisely according to regulation. When he saw Harg, he stepped in and closed the door.
/> “Is that how you’re going to appear?” Jearl said, his voice noncommittal.
Inwardly, Harg winced, but he said, “Trust me, Jearl, it’s necessary. You’ll understand when we get there.” He had to make it seem to Harbourdown like he was bringing in the three warships, not like they were bringing him in.
Jearl said nothing, as usual. The thin, grey-haired officer had the useful gift of reticence. He thus avoided offending, but as a result Harg never knew quite where he stood. The man had been a commander under Tiarch for twelve years, and knew more of Inning naval tactics and training than anyone in the fleet. If he resented having an Adaina upstart put over him, he had never shown a flicker of it; but then, he had not shown much of anything but reserved courtesy.
“Shall we go up on deck?” Harg said.
“If you please, Admiral.” Jearl held the door open for him.
The oddness of Harg’s position was the result of a week of hurried bargaining aboard Tiarch’s flagship, as her fleet had retreated from Tornabay. Considering that he had brought nothing to the table but the promise of Adaina alliance, he had come off surprisingly well. To give him the authority he wanted, she had appointed him one of two Vice-Admirals over her fleet, the other one being Joffrey. Harg’s promotion had supplanted dozens of Torna officers who had served her for decades, and she had given him the power to promote Adaina officers to any ships he was able to capture. Now all he had to do was persuade the Adaina that the deal was to their advantage as well as his.
While they were bargaining, Tiarch had argued that, whatever his formal rank, his command ought to be limited to the ships already captured by the Adaina at Harbourdown. But then the news had come in about Holby Dorn.
The messenger had arrived as he was sitting down to dine at Tiarch’s table along with four or five of her top captains. The conversation had turned to grave silence as the messenger related the story. Dorn and his pirate fleet had sailed north to brazenly raid the prosperous town of Torbert, southernmost port of the Inner Chain. But this time the Adaina marauders had not contented themselves with plunder. With an organized ferocity they had never shown before, they had gone house to house, rounding up male Torna inhabitants and herding them into a warehouse on the wharf. Then they had surrounded the makeshift prison with gunmen, and set it on fire.
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