“I know you abide in the shadows. You cannot remain there forever.” The voice of the power was melodic, and yet like thunder, echoing through the shifting quantum forces that comprised the shadows.
“Powerful as you are, Kartikeya, what do you know of the time before time, or the Heaven before Heaven?”
“Would you dare to take on all the Asuras?”
“At present, I have no quarrel with any of the Asuras. Would you create the reason for a quarrel?” Corvyn preferred that Kartikeya see reason, but he had his doubts. It was not for nothing that Kartikeya was called the god of battles, and most likely that would require Corvyn to do what was necessary.
Kartikeya’s voice intensified, like massive bells tolling in Corvyn’s ears, even through the shadows. “By your presence and your inquiries into matters that should not concern you, you are creating the quarrel. You’re a mere annoyance to be removed.”
“And what of the Valkyries?”
“They were also an annoyance, by their existence.”
Corvyn decided no longer to restrain the white-hot rage he felt, and without speaking further, he gathered certain energies and folded certain quantum shadows around the god of battles, shadows that transported Kartikeya to the depths far, far below Limbo, and below Hades, into the small still molten core of Heaven, where, if Kartikeya could even survive, he would doubtless be engaged for some time in just that, possibly until Heaven itself was either a charred cinder or a frozen airless waste. And, if not, there’s little lost. For Kartikeya did not deserve the mere inconvenience of escaping from beneath the Great Cataract while avoiding the waters of forgetfulness that roar from Lake Lethe.
When that was done, Corvyn emerged from the shadows, breathing heavily, and soaked in sweat. For several long moments, he stood there before taking a long drink from the water bottle he removed from the electrobike’s holder. After a time, he ate the last biscuit and finished the water.
Aren’t you getting too old for this? His short burst of laughter was one of wry, self-deprecating humor.
Then he got back on the electrobike and resumed his journey, thinking.
First, Rudianos, except Rudianos hadn’t been the first to attack him. Michael had, and Brother Paul hadn’t ordered it. Then Rudianos had attacked him. The Avenging Angel in Nauvoo didn’t count, most likely, because it could have attacked any intruder. Still …
In Yerusalem, he was attacked by Samael, and in Jannah by both Azrael and Israfyl, and threatened indirectly on the Sands of Time through the death of the nearly but not quite unkillable Valkyries. In Keifeng, though, neither Shui Rong nor Caishen had attacked, but in Tian, Zijuang himself had attempted an attack. And then, at the unnamed village, both Rudianos and Kovas had attacked him, and Garuda had thought about it before withdrawing.
So why hadn’t Garuda been with Kartikeya? Because of that fight with Vasuki when Kartikeya saved the serpent?
Corvyn shook his head. Trust gods to carry grudges as close to eternity as possible. He didn’t speculate on the difference between duty and grudges. He hadn’t for several Falls.
The other question was why war gods from disparate villages of belief had joined with Garuda in support of Bran Denu, particularly Ares in the guise of Rudianos. Had that been Garuda’s doing, because he didn’t want to deal with Kartikeya? Or because Garuda didn’t want to be further eclipsed by Kartikeya? Or because he didn’t want Shiva to know? Some form of plausible denial—a term that had almost become a deity in its own right over the eons? Corvyn doubted he would ever know … not exactly. Nor did he much care.
Most of those who had attacked could have been termed gods or angels of war, an irony not lost on Corvyn, but in Sunyata, Mahakala had not attacked. Except he is a defender, not a holy warrior trying to convert through force …
And then there had been the nearly successful attack on the Blue Dolphin, as well as Rudianos’s warning, which, coupled with what had not happened in Los Santos, suggested that three Houses were involved to some degree, and that the power behind the tridents lay in one of them, which was why Corvyn was on his way to Varanasi. He looked forward to what awaited him there even less than before. He already knew the reason behind the tridents, or one of them, which was to portray doubt, represented by shadows and by an ancient symbol, as evil, as part of an effort to create an artificial distinction between darkness and the brightness of the True Faith, and thus strengthen the attempt to meld all faiths into a shining and united beacon, where no variance from the revealed “truth” was permitted.
As for which hegemon or power was the prime mover behind this effort, the one most interested in the Triumph of His True Faith, Corvyn had a strong feeling about who that was, but he would have to confirm that before he acted, because that was required of him and because acting against the wrong hegemon would be as bad as failing to act. And that’s assuming you’re not too late to prevent another Fall.
He had failed more than once before, and those memories were bitter, and the source of all too many of his nightmares.
He took a deep breath, glad for the air through which he moved and which cooled him and removed the sweat generated by his disposal of Kartikeya, something he would have to explain to Shiva—or avoid explaining, whichever might be the case, depending on what he discovered in Varanasi.
Three milles later, the road flattened into a level grassy plain, stretching toward the River Ganges. For the first time since leaving Sunyata, Corvyn could see no dwellings or structures of any kind, and only loose groupings of cows, not exactly herds, with an occasional herder. For a moment, he frowned, then smiled as he recalled the reason for the grasslands—simply a way for the followers of Siddhartha to keep the Vedic peoples of Varanasi from crossing the river to settle there. While the rationale had never seemed logical to Corvyn, that was because he had never really understood the importance of any sacred animal, including cows, although he certainly understood the behavior of those who believed in such … because that behavior so often led to what he was trying to prevent.
When he reached the ferry slip, it was empty.
“How long before the next ferry?” he asked the crewwoman standing by the barrier.
“Half an hour or so, sir.”
“Thank you.” Corvyn turned to survey the few others waiting—an older couple wearing well-washed khaki shirts and trousers, a bearded man barely more than a youth who moved away from the ramp barrier when he saw Corvyn, and two men in khaki uniforms with visor caps who looked to be military rankers of some sort.
The shorter of the two troopers kept looking at Corvyn.
Corvyn smiled and asked, “Do you have a question?”
“No, sir.”
“You were wondering how far I’ve traveled on the electrobike? I’ve come from Sunyata.”
“That’s a long trip on a bike, sir.”
“Moderately so. Where are you two posted?”
“Angkor, sir.”
“On leave, then?”
“We’re due back the day after tomorrow. It’s a short van ride from Varanasi.”
Corvyn smiled again. “Enjoy your evening.”
“You serve, sir?”
“A while back. But not here.”
“You put in a full life, then?”
Corvyn nodded. That was an understatement, but one he wasn’t about to expand upon.
“Officer, too, right?”
“At the end,” admitted Corvyn, which was true in more ways than one.
“Thought so. Thank you, sir.”
“Just think it through,” Corvyn said, “whatever it is. It’s harder in the short run, but worth it.”
The taller ranker nodded, and the two eased away.
Corvyn turned his attention to Varanasi, more than a half mille away across the brownish waters of the Ganges. Unlike Tian or Keifeng, Varanasi was a giant semicircle extending some thirty milles along the river and fifteen milles east. The great Lanka Palace dominated the landscape, set as it was on a circular platea
u a hundred yards above the city midway between the river and the semicircular wall marking the boundaries of the city proper, seven milles from the Ganges and seven milles from the wall. The plateau was a circle a mille across, all of which comprised the walled and golden Lanka Palace, with its endlessly elaborate sculptures and ornately decorated towers.
Even after his conversation and the survey of his surroundings, Corvyn had to wait almost half an hour for the ferry to return to the western shore of the river. When it finally eased into the slip, only a handful of people walked off, followed by two electrobikes, and one half-filled passenger van.
Then the crewwoman raised the barrier, and Corvyn waited for those on foot to step onto the ferry—except for the ferry at Cammat Landing, the smallest he had utilized on his entire journey—before he rode on and to the far end of the boat, from where he watched and waited.
Another quarter hour passed before the ferry left the slip and crawled across the brownish waters toward the City of Shiva. When it finally reached the eastern shore, it entered a modest slip between two large piers, where cargo ships that dwarfed the ferry moored. Farther north and farther south were other piers, occupied by similar craft, with much activity on the piers.
Corvyn did not recall nearly so much river traffic as the cargo carriers suggested was taking place, and that indicated that even more believers had flocked to the city in recent years. He let the others precede him, then guided the electrobike off the ferry and onto the pier road, and from there onto Saraca Boulevard, one of those radial main streets that converged on the Ring of Shiva, the wide avenue that circled the base of the great and golden Lanka Palace.
Since Kartikeya had known that Corvyn was coming to Varanasi Shiva doubtless knew as well, and, Corvyn saw little point in making great efforts to hide his presence. He ended up selecting the Brijrama Hotel because it was the closest to the Lanka Palace. It was also known to be luxurious, and after staying in places that were anything but over the past days, he was in the mood for a certain amount of luxury.
While the doormen at the hotel were solicitous and one carried his cases, Corvyn sensed a certain disdain over a traveler arriving on an electrobike and not in a chauffeured van or even a palanquin. Likewise, the clerk smiled politely, but his smile widened when he took Corvyn’s card and scanned it. “Welcome to the Brijrama Hotel and Marigold Garden, Maitre Corbin. Would you prefer a grand suite?”
“A small suite will suffice, thank you.”
“We can do that, honored sir. The Moonflower Suite is on the fourth level.”
Corvyn smiled. The assignment of a suite named for a night-blooming flower suggested that the clerk either suspected or knew Corvyn was of a certain power associated with shadows. Whether that knowledge would be passed to the Lanka Palace remained to be seen.
When he and the doorman reached the fourth level, there was no doubt of the clerk’s recognition. The suite was far larger than what Corvyn would call small, suggesting that the clerk had decided against creating any possible offense to Corvyn. And that was not entirely surprising, either, given the vagaries of the pantheon gathered around Shiva, as well as the large number of gods, demigods, powers, and their ways of surprising those with only standard human abilities.
Corvyn arranged for all but one of his few outfits to be cleaned and ready in the morning, then washed up, and descended to the hotel restaurant. He was hungry and tired after his efforts in dealing with Kartikeya. No matter where he went, he would likely be watched, and while no one seemed to be watching him, that was an illusion. In Varanasi, as in Los Santos, everyone was watched. Whether they were immediately recognized by more than the systems was another question.
The restaurant was called Pashtarana, and a woman of indeterminate age, wearing a long dark blue tunic with gray trousers, seated him at a corner table that provided a view of the half-filled dining area.
“Would you like something to drink, sir?”
“Just black tea, jasmine, if you have it.”
“I’ll have that for you immediately, sir.”
Corvyn studied the single-sheet menu—on pseudo-parchment, as was common in better establishments in Varanasi, at least from what he recalled—and then decided, setting the menu aside and studying the others in the restaurant. At one table sat three men in jackets of different shades of blue, whose measured and apparently pleasant conversation suggested a certain maturity. Two women in brighter garments talked animatedly. A single man sipped intermittently from a glass, a lime soda, Corvyn guessed, while his eyes continually glanced toward the entrance to the restaurant.
The only aura of power in the restaurant belonged to Corvyn. That should not have been surprising, but it made him wonder.
His tea arrived, and he ordered the butter chicken with saffron rice and garlic naan, then sipped the tea and mulled over the possibilities for what might occur on the morrow. And after that.
He ate and enjoyed the dinner, skipped dessert, and finally made his way back to his suite, which, thankfully, faced the river, and not the Lanka Palace. He stood a yard or so back from the window when he sensed an oncoming shadow, out of which stepped a woman in a cream jacket and trousers—the poetess calling herself Erinna, although she was far more than a mere poetess.
“Greetings,” he said. “I found the poem you left in Tian most interesting.”
She inclined her head. “I thought you might, given that you also write, even if you write only for yourself.”
That she knew about the book of verse in his study stopped him for a moment, and before Corvyn could say anything, she went on. “You don’t need to visit Aethena, Raven. There’s a trident there as well. You’ve been visiting all the Houses of the Decalivre, and you were on the Blue Dolphin, weren’t you, when a Lance of Heaven was turned on it?”
“I was on the boat, but how did you know it was a Lance of Heaven?”
“Is there anything else that could destroy a courier boat that thoroughly? And all at once?”
At her words, Corvyn almost stiffened, realizing that the explosion that destroyed the courier boat had not been quite instantaneous, and with that realization he saw that he had almost been led into a trap, unwittingly, by the power before him. He listened as she continued.
“Nothing less could destroy a courier boat. You should also have known that, and so does every hegemon. That means at least one hegemon has access to the Lances. That makes it dangerous to both of us if I’m here with you more than a few moments. I can only block surveillance from the Pearls of Heavens for a short while before the shielded area shows up. You’ll have to do what you can with the two of them. I don’t have quite the powers you do.”
With those words, the poetess vanished into the shadows.
Corvyn had wanted to ask her opinion about Shiva, but her words about “the two of them” essentially answered that question. Shiva and Jaweau.
Corvyn just stood there for several moments. First, there was no doubt who the gray-eyed poetess was, especially if she observed him in his study, or even if she only gained the confidence of Ishtaraath, and the fact that she kept moving confirmed that she believed that either Shiva or Jaweau had partial remote access to the Pearls of Heaven, but hadn’t been able to get around the fail-safes. From what happened in Tian, Corvyn also was fairly certain that Zijuan was involved in some fashion, although he did not see what the Disciple of the Twin Masters gained from such involvement.
Unless he’s convinced that they’ll fail and that will strengthen his position. And that was certainly a strong possibility, given the precedents and examples set by the Twin Masters, and from his last meeting with Zijuan alone, Corvyn would be surprised if that had not been Zijuan’s objective all along.
There was also the question of whether the Maid was being completely truthful, but if she were behind any of what had happened, then there still would be a trident burned into the temple there as well. Besides, none of the assorted war and battle gods would unite behind her.
And she wouldn’t support any of them in anything, which might be why Ares joined the others.
And that left Jaweau and Shiva, and the real question was why either had set up the situation so that Corvyn would believe that one of them had gained remote access to the Lances of Heaven … and, as the Maid had said, to the surveillance systems of the Pearls of Heaven. So you’d lead them there and hopefully disable some of the defenses and fail-safes in the process?
Corvyn shook his head. The First had been smarter than that.
Corvyn wasn’t about to rush into the golden Lanka Palace after the day he’d had, and it was highly unlikely Shiva would leave the protections of the palace to seek him out. Besides, the way matters were unfolding meant that one of the two hegemons, if not both, wanted to force Corvyn into acting, so as to improve their chances of gaining control of the Pearls of Heaven … and Heaven itself.
Which means you will have to act, if not exactly as they would wish.
He did not quite sigh.
The black of wings, the eye of night,
no ill escapes the raven’s sight.
40
Corvyn woke, neither early nor late, just as the sun cleared the hills to the east. His sleep had been troubled, most likely because of Kartikeya’s actions, and because of his own less than temperate reaction.
But how could you have known Kartikeya would have destroyed the Valkyries because they’d once served your predecessor? They would have done nothing. They didn’t even know about the tridents.
Trying not to dwell on Kartikeya, Corvyn forced himself to prepare for the day meticulously, beginning by using the hotel system to check the news, noting that there were no further reports on the destruction of the Blue Dolphin, nor any reports on anything out of the ordinary. But then, most people wouldn’t immediately notice the disappearance of three gods, especially in Varanasi, where there were so many deities. And even of the few remaining ancients descended from Olympus, few cared much about Ares.
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