“They will find only wine if they catch us now.” He half joked, as though he was able to read my face, trying to alleviate the fear. He sighed again without knowing it. You fear it yourself, I thought and this helped more than his try.
“You can still make jokes. I envy you. Without this wine...”
“He was not hiding ... he had the agreement of other Factions with an interest on this planet.” He forced me to think. “This doesn't bode well, for you ... for me, for the locals. At least your mission has not been cancelled yet, so it's definitely a game with two ends, if not more. Skullduggery, back-stabbing, they are experts.” He moved the discussion into a field with less sterile results.
“Our mission ... there is no one to tell us if it was cancelled or not.” I suppose it was. “And to extract us from here. I hope Houston did not tell them that we landed again.”
“If told, we would have been already dead.”
“Dead, hypnotized… Who knows? Anyway, his task was fulfilled, and a new narrative was inserted in the minds of some of the main power brokers in the Kingdom. We know where it leads ... war.”
“Think about the good part of this escapade.” He completely surprised me.
“Where do you see any good part here?”
“There were no SAT-mines.”
“Pure luck.”
“No, it was not luck. We were outside the city, where that entity can act against Time.” Can we really trust Houston on this?
“You want to say that it was not aware of our trip ... that entity.” Something seemed to rise from my drunken fog, a logical consideration kept hidden by fear and alcohol. I was fighting to maintain that something alive, to find a rational conclusion.
“Yes, its knowledge comes from some sources; it knew about our road from Sarmis Library to here. All Dava knows it, so no wonder why. Yet, it has no knowledge about this trip.”
“We kept this in a small circle of people whose knowledge was not passed to it by some intertwined chains of events.” He smiled at me, and I raised another glass. “We have to celebrate the news.” I don’t really remember when the celebration ended and how I got into my bed.
*
“Airan is my son and heir, Garon has been my best counselor for more than twenty years; why should I believe your story?” The King’s voice was bitter, but something was reassuring me. I was expecting thunder – the mountain only managed a whisper.
“Think of us only as witnesses and take Altamira as the main storyteller. She passed through a great ordeal to remain the same and save everybody. There is no easy way to escape the will of the Black Travelers.” If he was thinking that Altamira might be trying to undermine Airan, he did not say. The King was dismayed, his eyes were dark, and blue circles ringed them after a night with no sleep; the Queen did not look much better. I had to understand things from their point of view. A stranger had taken their daughter on a weird trip, with a dangerous outcome, and come back with an unbelievable story that made a pawn of their beloved son and destroyed whatever trust they had in Travelers and in the men with the highest positions in the Kingdom: the Chancellor, the Magister and the Treasurer. The old world they had known, unsafe as it was, had crumbled into even more pieces. I have to push further for your sakes … for my sake. Too many things were at stake to yield now. You can grieve later.
“Did Airan tell you about his journey?” The face of the old man became older. There was menace and suspicion in his eyes, but also sadness, almost beyond bearing.
“You have made your point.” Then silence fell thick and heavy, and too long for my liking. “I have made note of what you have said. That does not mean I believe you, but I will not imprison you because neither do I distrust you. I will give you the chance to prove everything and redeem yourself. Until then, you are no longer an observer of my council. As for you, my daughter, I hope that there is no bad will in your story. However, if what you say is true, then what you have revealed will probably save our kingdom. If there is treachery on behalf of these newcomers this will not save you, as you do not deserve to be saved, even if you were fooled. If you are dishonest, you have lost everything you had and will become an ordinary woman in our land.” I wanted to remind him of the importance of keeping everything secret when he suddenly grunted: “Yes, I will keep everything secret,” as if he had been reading my mind, and dismissed us.
*
We had two new developments after the dancing-ducks episode, and one of them was benign: all the hostile manifestations against Baramunti suddenly stopped, but it came with strings attached. That the internal strife stopped was obviously a good thing, but we did not know what had pushed the Magister to initiate such rebellions. We guessed that he and some few others had been part of a different hypnotic session in the past, coming from the other Faction. Faction Two? Probably ... the Magister was pushing for war. We were enemies yet worked well together. Thank you for my job in the school, I mocked him. Our supposition about Factions joining their efforts to start a war was confirmed. The second one was of a different nature.
Munti attacks started two weeks later. Riders in black came in the night, overwhelming isolated villages, killing and destroying everything by arrow and by fire. Children, women, elders, nobody was spared. The only remaining traces were ash and charred bodies. All efforts were made to protect the people; companies patrolled the borders to no avail. No Munti was ever caught, no attack intercepted, no death avenged. Morale went two meters underground.
The Queen was walking slowly on the terrace, working through some thoughts she did not condescend to share with us. Not yet, I corrected myself. You did not call us without reason. It’s midnight, the perfect time for conspiracies. The heralds had woken me and Batranu from a sweet sleep. Why such haste? Altamira was also there. The full moon spread a red, angry light over the palace, the color of spilled blood, and the sudden intensity of darkness sent the strong night chill into us.
“Our people are being killed; villages are destroyed; our land is ruled now by terror. Cowards are attacking under cover of night. Why do they not fight soldiers? Why are they killing innocent people?” She rubbed her hands together in desperate, uncontrolled movements, her fingers’ bones cracked, piercing the sudden silence. She shivered, and anger shot through her face, overcoming her desperation.
“You gave yourself the answer, milady, it's not about fighting, it is about unleashing fear.”
“The Travelers were right, Deceneus, the Munti are evil. They wanted to save us.” Deceneus? It’s for the first time ... you call me … Deceneus. After all that tumult and horror, her voice was now cold but calm, and I sensed her affirmation more as a question. I took ‘Deceneus’ as a proof. Quiet, Batranu nodded to me while she was looking away. “From that moment I trusted her,” he told me later.
“It could be that there are no Munti doing this, or it could be that they are no longer Munti.”
“So we go back to your hypnotic story.” I was happy she did not look at me when saying this.
“It’s more Altamira's story than ours,” Batranu interfered.
“It could be,” the Queen softened again, Altamira’s name tamed her a bit, and Altamira was quiet but she did not look scared. There was only melancholy and a deep trace of sadness, on her face. The odds are not yet cast against us, I encouraged myself.
“The people who went there had a way of knowing that their presence was requested and by whom.” I had to be careful to open their eyes slowly. Deep beliefs are hard to dislodge, and then only with small advances.
“This is correct, but the same could apply to you and Batranu.” We had made a lot of plans to control this discussion but nothing had prepared us for this question. “There’s far more to this tale than you’re telling.”
“If this is the case our narrative was implanted in us as it was in them. My thoughts, their thoughts, do not count. At least we can agree that we face induced malevolence, even if you are not yet sure on which side.” I anxiously followed her ha
nds, more than her face, to perceive her interpretation of things.
“Yes, we can agree on this.” And I had the impression that, like us, they also prepared a scenario, and that a certain assessment had been passed. “To make things easier, I have in my possession a device used by Travelers to make their presence known to us. The same is true for the King and all other members of the Council.” With an impetuous movement, she presented to us a small bracelet hidden under her sleeve.
“And you were not contacted.”
“No, neither me nor the King nor Altamira; we were left out of the loop.” Her voice went back to a neutral tone.
“A strange omission, then, if their purpose was to prevent the attacks. What is the King’s opinion regarding such outlandish exclusion?” Why is he not here?
“Let us say that he is still neutral, not yet able to make a definitive decision, but I am willing to listen, as is Altamira, to your version of what is going on. You can start from: It could be that they are not Munti or no longer Munti.”
“I am sure that you understood my words.”
Her voice changed tune suddenly, whipping me: “That's a riddle, let’s see if we have the same understanding of it.”
“I meant no disrespect.” Her hand moved in a gesture that could have meant anything. “I suppose either that some Munti have undergone the same experience as our own people, or the attackers are insiders, from Scharon’s company.” She stepped back as if being hit; her eyes widened, and Altamira took her arm. I saw the incredulity on their faces, the search for evidence, and I felt their silence moving into sorrow. Use your own logic, cause and effect, every attack happens when Scharon is on a mission with his company, the sooner you acknowledge this, the better. Your future son-in-law is the killer of many people; enjoy it. “We have information that outsiders want to provoke a war with Munti. I apologize that at this moment we cannot share this source with you.” That was stupid; your source is gone. Let them think we have one. Let them guess what is in the cards for them, what game the Travelers are really playing here. Let them see the war is coming.
“Then you have your own Traveler backing your actions.” She ignored my warning about war. Bury your head in the sand; this will make you sleep better.
“We are not in contact with any other Traveler.”
“So you say.” She stopped. “Let's say that this is not the most important factor for the moment. I will call for you again when a decision is to be made.” The meeting ended.
“Why did you talk about a different source? It's obvious what that source would be.”
“Look, Batranu, it may seem stupid to you now but I still hope that Houston will be back, and there will come a day when our real identities can no longer be kept hidden. I want this alibi to tell at least a small bit of the truth. It was a hard evening.” A question lingered in my mind. Was this generally true, or was Altamira the reason for my behavior?
*
“How is the King?” I asked Altamira. We met in the small corridor reserved for high officials; nobody else was there but us, and the guards at the end were almost invisible in the semi-obscurity. High officials… the thought pleased me; I was summoned there by the King.
“Both in mourning and full of anger.” We stopped, face to face; the wall kept her from stepping back; I studied her face for a moment, meeting her eyes; so close, they stirred memories: dancing, hands touching, bodies touching, breaths blending. Should I remember her? It’s dangerous. Yes, and the Baragans are cowards. A smile betrayed my thoughts. She frowned, stepping aside, and our hands touched briefly. Say something now or the frown will haunt you.
“You had a green dress on at the ball,” I pointed at her dress. It is not the same. I know.
“It is not the same.” The frown passed. “But the color matches.”
“The green deceived me, too much of it around.” I met her green eyes again. This time she smiled, and the silence went on longer. Take a step back now. “Would the King kill the messenger?” I forced my mind to remember the night attacks and Scharon. I bet this is why I was summoned.
“You came here with a message of hope, Sarmis, the books ... now.”
“Now, I am the crow of sorrow spreading bad news in people’s ears.”
“I did not say that.” You thought it. Is this coming from you? Are any other people thinking the same? The King, for example? “I think he doesn’t have an opinion yet about the attacks. Your ... guessing enraged him.” Guessing? She is right, it is only a guess, be careful.
“And you? Is the Traveler mind still inside you?”
“Stop this! I was there...” Her voice broke.
“I am sorry, that was stupid. All I wanted was ... to remind you how complicated things are and what forces are playing us.” We stopped in front of the door of the King’s chamber. She made a sign to wait until she composed her face again. The guards glanced at us, intrigued, but said nothing and opened the door when she told them to do it. I looked down at the council table: just the Queen and the King. Airan is not here. How hard is it for parents not to trust their son and heir? The King’s eyes were icy and he looked older, the strands of white hair thicker than before and he went to the window, ignoring me, seemingly ignoring all the people in the room – it’s hard to be a king in troubled times. The Queen smiled gently from her chair. “Please have a seat.” The delicacy of my position struck me from her smile, stranger in a strange land depending on people in high positions, with no power base of my own, a leaf in the wind. ‘Your mind is your power,’ Munenori spoke to me from another life, ‘and your sword’.
“Tell your story,” the King finally spoke, bitter words, biting words. “No, not the story, we have already heard it. Tell us why you think it is a real story and not a mad dream.”
“Four villages burned and emptied of people, no survivors, no witnesses, nothing. All this happened when Scharon’s company was watching the border. All of those soldiers meeting in secret with a gray face not long ago.” Is that enough for you? Not to be certain, as I am not either, but at least to verify. The King shifted uncomfortably in his chair; the anger was leaving him, the old man’s face become older.
“That’s your only proof?” But he did not look at me as he asked.
“The proof we need is not here. Give me a man you trust, to find what we are missing.” This time he looked at me, yet he could not decide. Don’t scold him; the world around his throne is falling apart, broken by his most trusted people. Silence stayed until the Queen broke it.
“Scharon is leaving tomorrow for the border.” She glanced at the King, and he nodded hesitantly. “I will tell Brasus to be ready for a ride in the morning.” Brasus, a little bit old, but a fine man, and a Baragan. He was Airan’s first sword master and a relative to the Queen.
“Brasus then. I will take Batranu with me.”
*
Batranu kept the horses a hundred feet back, hidden in the forest; we moved to the edge, crawling on our bellies as we got closer, until the village was in sight. The morning mist was riding the valley, white moving shadows spread thin along the river. We followed Scharon’s company, avoiding his scouts, and finally guessed that this was the place of the next attack, an isolated village hidden deep in the mountains. Here and there, people were coming out of their houses, a few people, only men, ghosts surrounded by fog. A rooster marked the coming of the day. I took the binoculars and checked again downriver. Scharon’s men should be there already. Am I wrong? The villagers’ silhouettes in the valley became more and more clear. This is not good; the more the mist vanishes the less the chance for them to escape. Where the hell is Scharon? The memory of my boot crushing his fingers resurfaced. I should have broken your snake neck.
“The sun,” Brasus killed the silence. I glanced east; a bright line of red went over the forest. You want me to fail. I cursed him. What is better, to have the proof or to have the people in the village still alive at the end of the day? They might die tomorrow, others will follow, man
y times more, the Travelers don’t give a damn about their lives. I tried to remember if the village burned in one of my dreams of Delena was Baragan or Munti. I could not; my mind was filled only with shadows. The bright line of red changed into an arc of fire, I took my eyes away, too late, black spots were already playing inside. I closed my eyes: the spots were still there. I am almost blind. I kept my eyes closed for more seconds, still seeing running spots behind the eyelids. When I opened them again the black flying spots moved into the fire. What the hell? I rubbed my eyelids with nervous fingers. “Arrows!” Brasus whispered. What arrows? I see only flying flames. “They are trying to burn the village before attacking.” Burning arrows were flying from the mist into the village.
“Again!” A hidden voice shouted from far away, and another volley of arrows followed. Scharon! “Ride now! Leave none alive…” I glanced at Brasus. You did not hear him. The few men between the houses ran away toward the forest, strange moving bodies, half hidden by mist. Some never gained the forest; arrows took the life from them. Riders with torches came out of the hidden place; they reached the first line of houses and chaos erupted in the village. Door after door was being smashed, as riders dismounted and ran into houses. “Nobody here!” a voice shouted. “Nor here either!” Another column came from the opposite direction; they met in the middle, dark mounted silhouettes against the burning houses; the horses neighed fear. Scharon was there, and I gave my binoculars to Brasus. He returned them and nodded. “Scharon. Let’s go,” Brasus whispered, “we have a story to tell the King. We owe you an apology.” I glanced at him. “Sorry,” he swiftly added. “I couldn’t believe until now that we had such savages among us. The Baramunti are a pest in our lands.” It’s not them. Wake up! “The villagers would be all dead by now without your stratagem to keep only a few good fast-running people in the village before the attack. Two hundred people are still alive there in the forest.” Yet, five of them are no longer alive. He patted my shoulder. “Let’s go.” He stepped forward. “We...” The word died in his mouth. When he bent forward in pain I saw the point of the arrow going out from his back, a cold black pistil growing from a red flower of blood. I caught him in my arms. “Go,” he whispered in pain. “I am dying.” His words drowned in blood, his head fell heavily. Another arrow pierced his body, and another one. What am I doing? Keep his body in front of you. He will... He is dead. I moved my eyes to the forest; Sumael’s face was there, with a morbid smile spread on it. Another arrow was in his bow when Batranu emerged behind him, rustling the dry leaves. “Old dog, you will die first,” Sumael shouted and dropped the bow for his sword. His head fell after his last word. I caught a glimpse of incredulity just an instant before he perceived how fast Batranu was moving. Yes, he is quite quick for 168 years old, too late for you to know it. I lay Brasus on the grass. The arrow was meant for me, a thought whispered. He moved just in time to catch it. I glanced at Batranu and said nothing. We tied Brasus’s body to his horse and left in a heavy silence that the world around us did not share. We had the proof, yet we had nothing.
Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe) Page 25