The Tides of Nemesis (The Windows of Heaven Book 4)

by K. G. Powderly Jr.

  Nu slammed the papyrex down. “Who in their right mind could possibly believe this?”

  Tylurnis’ golden eyes scanned the Archonic Proclamation with disdain. “Tarbet must think we are all silly children!”

  Pandura watched the drooping delta forests of Zhri’Nikkor absorb the sun behind her hostess’ gold-streaked sienna hair. She understood now why the Samyaza Cult called Tylurnis and her sister the “Daughters of Heaven.” Pandura suggested to her new ally, “It is better than the doom everyone else thought it was. It might be best to play along with him—nobody is more vulnerable than a man caught in the throes of his own success.”

  The First Wife of Samyaza smiled as if they were just making idle girl-talk. “The same can be said of gods.”

  “And titans.” Pandura laughed, almost sad to have to leave so soon.

  Tylurnis returned a smile. “If it wasn’t for us women pulling the puppet strings behind the scenes, I think there really would be a World-end.”

  “Then we are agreed,” said Aztlan’s High Priestess.

  “Samyaza shall so do his part, and richly share Aeden’s bounty with Psydonu, as promised.”

  Pandura bowed before her counterpart. “Then I take leave of you, Great Mistress. By the time I get to your airship field, it should be dark.”

  Pandura had arrived by astra from Psydonu’s new divine sky chariot-carrying flagship, Prometu, before dawn that morning. She would depart Zhri’Nikkor after sundown, to avoid anyone noticing that her sky chariot was not Assurim-made when it took off.

  Tylurnis returned Pandura’s bow, and receded into the modest stone riverside summerhouse where they had carried on their secret conference.

  Once outside the portico, Pandura pulled up her cloak hood, and climbed the portable stair into a quaint, tricorn-mounted, enclosed sedan-coach for the ride back to her astra. The enormous three-horned quasi-dragon snapped its great beak at a dragonfly, while the porter at the top of the stair closed the cab door, and signaled the driver seated down behind the tricorn’s bony collar-shield to depart. Pandura closed the curtains, and leaned back into the cushions. She had a long trip ahead of her.

  From the airship field, her astra pilot would whisk her across the Assuri Ocean, south, to a secret fueling station on one of the barrier islands off Ae’Ri, where a tribal chieftain friendly to Aztlan had just overthrown a pro-Lumekkor warlord. After that, it was on to Far Kush, for several meetings with At’Lahazh. Last on her itinerary was Sa-utar, for the first of what Pandura hoped would be a long series of conferences with Archon Tarbet about “reunification.”

  The streets of Ayur L’Mekku bustled with noisy throngs celebrating Tarbet’s arrival for the annual Cosmic Games of Zu. It surprised him to see such extended displays of his newfound universal popularity—much more than his predecessors had ever enjoyed, even Seti the Great.

  It hardly seemed possible that a year had passed since his Prophecy of Peace with Heaven. Summit talks with Pandura of Aztlan were going better than the Archon had predicted, while rivers of new funding from Lumekkor, spent on restoring and expanding Sa-utar’s ancient precincts, reduced the loss of the sacred treasuries of Paru’Ainu to the Seer Clan to an insignificant trifle.

  The exuberant urban dwellers of Lumekkor’s old capitol had such a zest for life that it made similar celebrations of Tarbet’s prophecy at Sa-utar tepid by comparison. Jade colonnades lined granite-paved avenues as the sun-chariot sedan carried the visitors past ecstatic women and men crying the Archon’s name in an inebriated chant. The gray Northern Ardis Mountains leered down on the mobs, ancient voyeurs, as women dressed as the Earth Mother Goddess bared their breasts for the price of a drink tossed by men costumed as their favorite sky gods. The Archon smiled that his escort chariot had received so many displays free of charge.

  Tarbet and Avarnon-Set had flown in by astra not only for the Games, however. Another summit with Emperor Uggu was on the main agenda—the fifth in six months. Things were starting to happen.

  When they reached the arena, the Archon gave his commencement blessing over the annual Cosmic Games from the Imperial Booth. Soon the players began their opening moves on the elaborately painted gaming field below. Macabre bas-reliefs of ritual slaughter and divine post-battle orgies encircled the lowest tier of the stadium, revealing the pre-Seti’s Code origin of the festival. Although the roles played by Lumekkor and Seti’s Archonate had in many ways reversed during the last twelve hundred years, Tarbet still prided himself that Seti the Great had civilized Lumekkor back when its first emperor, L’Mekku, was just a savage tribal warlord. Children should help their aging parents once they mature; so what of the reversal?

  “Luwinna” wiggled in her cushioned seat under his arm, laughing and pointing at the gigantic moving-picture orb inside the imperial balcony, which afforded the honored guests a close-up view of the entire spectacle.

  In the opening moves, one of the opposing team’s players fell to a ruse, after making a ridiculous twirling leap into the home team’s portion of the field to rescue the nearest “earth goddess” from her dungeon square. It turned out the “she” was actually a “he” incapable of offering any fertility points. The Temple moderators blew a conch horn to signal a pause, and penalize the failed “rescuer” for taking a decoy.

  One of Uggu’s player-gods appeared with a penalty stick, while the priestly mediators pressed the captive to kneel at center field.

  “Watch this!” Emperor Uggu cackled from his throne.

  Tarbet’s mistress tried to stifle her laughter. “I loved the look on the captive god’s face when he found out his prize was just a Temple boy, and then he saw your two player-gods closing in on him!”

  Uggu’s player shouted inside the orb, “God of gloom, and Son of the Null Space, we banish you back to the netherworld!” He attached something to the end of the penalty stick, and swung it down on the captive’s head.

  The crowds roared, as the orb-senders magnified-in on the penalized player’s terrorized face just before his head exploded.

  Tarbet was impressed. “It’s amazing, Lords, how well you can simulate these things, even in a real-time picture.”

  The entire balcony howled with laughter.

  “Luwinna” playfully punched Tarbet on the arm. “You silly! They stopped simulating the Cosmic Games earlier this year, after Tiamatu!”

  Avarnon-Set said, “We did it in honor of your prophecy. After all, you said that all religions teach different paths to the same divinity—or divinities. Nature is as cruel as it is kind. Since Nature only reflects whatever divinity created it, then where is the problem with a little reality? Besides, we buy the opposing teams from Iya’Baalim human resource scouts in Nhod. The players are all well paid, and their entire families receive lavish relocation here, where they enjoy a lifetime Temple stipend. Those that survive their five-year contract live out their centuries as wealthy men.”

  Tarbet leaned back into his seat, as he felt the cold sweat dribble across his forehead. A long-dying part of him—the part the real Luwinna had once loved—felt trapped inside a body that refused to move, behind a mouth that refused to speak. The unspoken words grew distant and unreal as they echoed safely inside the confines of his skull. “But the Cosmic Games have always been simulated, since Emperor L’Mekku heard the Code of Seti read by the priests of Sa-utar, and embraced the Spirit of Law and Light!”

  In the end, only a tiny remnant of sound escaped Tarbet’s lips, when he realized where a coherent reply could lead him. “Oh.”

  For the rest of the game, the Archon sat quietly and watched the new “Luwinna” laugh and joke with the titans and their effeminate boy courtesans. He hoped she was not really enjoying herself as much as she seemed to be, but wondered how realistic that hope was. Why can’t people just know when to stop? Why do they always have to push the limits too far?

  He moved through the rest of the afternoon’s festivities in a listless fog—even the private banquet at Uggu’s opulent tower suite was
insipid.

  The Archon decided that his mood was unhealthy when he found himself wanting to push his mistress away in revulsion—the only woman who really understood him. He was relieved when Uggu ordered the catamites and “Luwinna” dismissed, before the business end of the summit.

  Ceremonial scribes replaced the courtesans, while the Titan Emperor of Lumekkor mounted his amethyst throne like a god come to earth—which was almost what he claimed to be nowadays.

  Uggu’s “father,” Uzaaz’El, was what Tarbet’s people called a “Watcher”—one of the celestial powers that had come down long ago to advance humanity toward discovering their inner divinity. For centuries, Uzaaz’El had not claimed to be divine himself, merely an “elder intellect” in the cosmos. This had set him apart from other Watchers in Tarbet’s mind. Avarnon-Set—another son of Uzaaz’El—insisted that real divinity was in man, not the heavens. Man simply needed to free it.

  The titans were supposed to be a breed of men in which divinity had progressed to the next level. Uggu was the oldest, best-looking result of Lumekkor’s Watcher-human unions—an odd contrast to the contorted beast-like figure of Avarnon-Set. Uggu’s perfect face and well-muscled double-tall body seemed ageless, until you got up close.

  Avarnon-Set and Tarbet took seats at the Emperor’s feet.

  “I understand, brother, that you have an update for me on the situation with Samyaza,” Uggu began, rubbing his perfect ivory-white nose.

  “I do,” said Avarnon-Set. “New intelligence again confirms that our father’s old partner is not being quite as cooperative as we had hoped.”

  “Should that surprise us?”

  “Guild analysts have suspected for a long time that Samyaza’s compliance in our war against the fanatic fringes of his sect is a ruse.”

  Tarbet said, “A ruse? How can we be sure? What does he gain?”

  Avarnon explained, “It’s clear, if you study Samyaza’s Law, which advocates any deception that can be used to advance his holy war. If that’s not enough, several of our intelligence sources independently confirm now that Samyaza’s Temple is so compartmentalized that two—sometimes three—entirely different authority structures often exist in any middle-sized Assurim city-state. The administrator-priests of the civil government all seem genuinely willing to help us. They oppose literal interpretations of Samyaza’s holy war, seeing it rather as an allegory for the battle between good and evil. Their military and constabulary are a mixed bag, but most follow orders. It’s the popular folk-religion that’s the trouble.”

  Tarbet asked, “How so?”

  “Low level priests—low level in name only—inflame the masses with rabid sermons of how Lumekkor ‘holds Assur’Ayur’s Temple hostage’ and ‘oppresses the Daughters of Heaven’—Samyaza’s latest First Wives. These ranters bully the upper and middle castes into submission whenever push comes to shove. Evidence grows that the fanatical sub-cult of ‘Heaven’s Daughters’ actually receives its orders directly from Uranna and Tylurnis. Tylurnis is said to secretly travel the countryside, and has been seen near Assur’Ayur astounding their destitute faithful with ‘signs’—Samyaza’s usual parlor tricks.”

  “This is insane,” Tarbet said. “Uranna and Tylurnis have always been the most cooperative element in Samyaza’s government. Last year, Temple authorities acted in their name to slaughter the entire city of Yraga, which had been subverted by Corsair-financed fanatics.”

  Uggu said with a wry grin, “It would seem that there is more than one set of First Wives for Samyaza. Not surprising, really. Samyaza backed himself into a corner centuries ago, and his attempts to recover have become increasingly desperate. The problem is that this ties up a sizable number of our troops to oversee their police operations. We can’t make a full-scale invasion of Assuri and still be able to meet the threat of Aztlan.”

  “You could make an example of Assur’Ayur,” Tarbet said, not sure he could actually stomach the idea himself.

  Avarnon-Set scowled. “And have their peasant assassin cells everywhere else go on the rampage—plus the full-scale war with Aztlan that would invite? No! Our economy and force structure could never handle it. Your land would lose most—you still allow your Assurim immigrants too much freedom; they approach, what, twenty percent of your city populations now? Haven’t you noticed how demanding they’ve become?”

  Tarbet said. “Yes, but what is the answer?”

  The Beast-man said, “The situation with Aztlan must stay forefront. They have a new fleet with untested capabilities, centered on their astra-carrier, Prometu. It’s been cruising off the world’s East Rim periodically for over a year now. We can’t have a two-front war, compounded by internal uprisings. Speaking of Aztlan, Brother, has Psydonu responded to our request for new diplomatic talks yet?”

  Uggu said, “I’ve received a communiqué from Pandura of Epymetu. In fact, that was the main reason I called us together. Her lords have authorized her to negotiate a permanent peace, and to seek a ‘reunification’ between her Temple and the Archonate of Sa-utar. I don’t understand it, Tarbet, but it seems your prophecy has borne fruit.”

  Tarbet glanced at Avarnon-Set. “I’ve already had several meetings with Pandura. I thought your brother was keeping you informed of this.”

  Avarnon bowed his shaggy head. “A regrettable oversight on my part; please excuse it. I wanted to see where the talks went more clearly, before I troubled the Emperor. They concern religious matters only.”

  Uggu’s dark eyes pierced both his brother and Tarbet. “’Religious matters’ often mean the difference between war and peace. I want to see where these talks go also. Though I don’t understand why Pandura should want to ‘reunify’ with Sa-utar, when she broke away from Ayar Adi’In. Can either of you enlighten me on this?”

  Tarbet said, “Perhaps I might be able to help you there, my Lord. Ayar Adi’In’s Temple grew with support from the Enlightened Coalition of Merchant-Priests centered at Erdu. The Erdu Coalition originally splintered away from Sa-utar, before aligning with Uzaaz’El’s Mount Ardis Temple. Perhaps Pandura wishes to return to the source.”

  “And you are the source?”

  “No, but Aeden is. Aeden is entered only through Paru’Ainu—our largest Holy Precinct.”

  “Why now?” demanded the Emperor.

  The Archon shrugged. “I knew Pandura when she was a novice at Ayar Adi’In. On the Armistice Ship, at the end of the Aztlan War, she tried to convince me that Psydonu has special prophetic ties to my people. She represents a large bloc of tribes descended from Seti’s early colonies in the Far West. We know that Psydonu was born to Klyeto, a woman distantly related to my people. He even claims himself to be our Promised Seed—though I give him no greater credit there than to any other titan—much less than to either of you.”

  Null-glyph to none, that is, Tarbet added mentally. He said, “If Pandura desires union with my Archonate, it is so her Seti-descended followers can have pilgrimage access to Paru’Ainu.”

  Uggu leaned back. “That explains much, but not my chief concern.”

  Avarnon-Set said, “I think we should tell him, Brother.”

  “Tell me what?” Tarbet caught himself stroking his cleft chin.

  “There’s something going on in Aztlan that we don’t know what to make of yet. Every operative we send over there manages to disappear. The only thing we know is that about a year ago our spy astras began to bring back an increasing number of heat-caused sensory images. The pilots have observed non-stop smoke over every major city in Northern Aztlan—especially those with important Temple complexes. In cities for which we have good maps, the images show that the heat and smoke centers on the Temple crematoriums, or from hastily made dumps outside the city gates.”

  Avarnon-Set said, “Guild mages suspect some form of plague.”

  Tarbet realized he was stroking his chin again, and lowered his hand. “What if Pandura’s pilgrims spread this thing to Lumekkor and Seti?”

  Uggu shook his he
ad. “Our Temple isn’t so sure, and they have more experience with such things. If it were a normal plague, even an engineered one, it should already have spread to us through commerce, and over land. Until now, we’ve given Aztlan’s merchants almost free reign to trade at will, while for two years they’ve redirected our goods south, through Far Kush middle men, instead of letting us ship from more conveniently located, and cheaper, ports along the North Central Channel—some of them even visible from Aztlan’s shores mere kilo-cubits away.”

  Tarbet said, “That just sounds like a trade war; they force us through unnecessary tariffs and customs, which bloats the price of our products, while they enjoy freedom of access.”

  The Emperor glared up at the ceiling. “So it would seem, Tarbet, except that, in less than a year, their cities have gone from a normal status on astral spy images to a state of advanced contagion protocols. According to our own Temple procedures, this is the last phase to avoid total collapse.”

  Avarnon-Set bristled, his eyes like polished hematite spheres. “The fools have summoned up a demon they cannot control!”

  Uggu nodded. “But why hasn’t it spread to us?”

  “Perhaps it has,” Avarnon said.

  Tarbet’s heart almost stopped. “What do you mean?”

  “Pandura has been bolder in her genetic experiments than our priests. She has also been less cautious in her controls. High Priest Duruvanu told me privately that mutant retro-demon strains produced inside certain chimerical animals have almost escaped from Ayar Adi’In several times over the years—things almost too bizarre to describe. What if that happened to Pandura—what if this retro-demon incubates many years before symptoms show? What if many strains have escaped, that are mutating too fast for her mages to regain control of?”

  “This is terrifying!” Tarbet said, “And after I gave such a promising reading of the Heavenly Sign!”

  Uggu roared, “Oh, let the Heavenly Sign be sucked into Under-world! It’s just a big snow ball that hit a big rock!”