Bringer of Light (Hidden Empire)

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘Er, right. Where?’ Taro decided he had to get himself one of them invisible com implants.

  ‘Clarification: she is on her way here.’

  When Zhian arrived a few minutes later Trin stood, waved farewell to Taro and walked off. Out of the corner of his eye, Taro saw the handful of other people in the room just happening to choose that moment to leave as well. Definitely smoky.

  He looked at Zhian. Judging by her expression, Taro guessed that whatever she had to say wasn’t gonna brighten his day.

  She stopped next to his seat and said, ‘Statement: I have news of your lover.’

  ‘My lover.’ Taro’s mind raced. Did they know about him and Nual? But they’d been so careful! ‘Who would that be?’ he said, fighting to keep his tone even.

  ‘Statement: we have been made aware of your relationship to the Sidhe female.’ She didn’t sound too happy about it.

  ‘Her name is Nual,’ said Taro slowly, ‘and if something’s happened to her I want to know, right now.’

  ‘Statement: she has been disappeared.’

  ‘What d’you mean, “been disappeared”? How can someone be disappeared?’ He could feel his stomach start to contract.

  ‘Clarification: perhaps a more appropriate term would be kidnapped.’

  ‘Shit and blood!’ That couldn’t be right – he was on his way to her; they were supposed to be together again, soon. ‘Do you know where she is?’ he asked desperately. If Zhian was telling him this, then perhaps she wasn’t his enemy.

  ‘Answer: she is still within the Consensus structure.’

  ‘So, what’re you – we – gonna do about it?’

  ‘Statement: be aware that her disappearance was sanctioned—’

  ‘What the fuck’s that mean? Sanctioned by wh—? Oh. You’re saying the males agreed to this, and you’re prepared to go against them?’ That didn’t sound likely: even the so-called ‘free humans’ jumped when their patron told them to.

  ‘Clarification: we have been informed that a majority in the Consensus recently approved the abduction of your lover.’

  ‘But not your patron, right?’

  ‘Assertion: our patron would never act directly against the Consensus. No sane patron would.’

  Not when they can get expendable humans to do their dirty work for them. ‘So he’s going to turn a blind eye while we go in and get her out?’

  ‘Statement: my crew’s actions cannot be seen to reflect badly on our patron.’

  ‘I thought your stupid talk was meant to stop people misinterpreting each other, Zhian. Just tell me what the fuck’s going on here.’

  Zhian paled; he probably shouldn’t have snapped.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, it’s just—’ He stopped, took a deep breath and said, more calmly, ‘So: what’s the plan? You do have a plan, don’t you?’

  ‘Statement: we have been instructed to put you in a position to rescue the Sidhe female.’

  ‘You seem pretty certain I’m going to just agree to—’ Taro searched for a polite way to say it, gave up, and concluded, ‘to jump straight into the shit.’

  Zhian said frostily, ‘Statement: she is a female Sidhe, and you are her lover.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Taro, ‘you got me there.’

  ‘Statement: we understand that her com is no longer active. However, we believe that you may have other, less orthodox means of getting in contact. Query: are you willing to employ them now?’

  ‘Whatever it takes.’ The ship was steaming in towards the Consensus; maybe he was close enough to pick up Nual’s mental signature. ‘I’ll need somewhere quiet.’

  ‘Query: would the medbay be suitable?’

  ‘Should be.’ Taro considered asking for drugs to get him into a more receptive state, then decided against it. Zhian was helping him because her patron’s agenda currently fitted with his; that didn’t mean he trusted her. He needed to stay sharp.

  Even with the lights dimmed and Zhian’s assurance that he wouldn’t be disturbed it took Taro a while to get into anything like a trance.

  Eventually he managed to achieve something resembling a calm and receptive state, but that was all it remained: a trance, of sorts. There was no hint of contact with Nual.

  He mustn’t panic. Their long-distance communion only worked if they were both asleep or in a trance at the same time.

  Zhian came back in as he was sitting up, but she stayed by the door. ‘Statement: I shall take you to the area of our ship analogous to a “bridge”,’ she said. Before, she’d been wary; now she was treating him like he might explode if she spooked him. He guessed that was ’cos he was a Sidhe’s lover – even if the Sidhe was a female Sidhe, the enemy – and that made him something more-than-human in her eyes.

  His guess was confirmed by the reactions of the crew-members they passed. No more polite nods; now they looked awestruck. Guess I’d act like that too, he thought, if someone had slept with one of my gods. Or devils.

  The bridge had no obvious controls, just couches. Two of them were occupied by semi-comatose people.

  As they came in one of them, a man, opened his eyes and sat up. He didn’t introduce himself, but watched them intensely. Taro looked between the man and Zhian. ‘So,’ he said uneasily, ‘what’s the plan?’

  ‘Statement: we will set up conditions that allow you to find and rescue Nual,’ said the man, as if he’d been part of the conversation from the beginning – and maybe he had been, given the way their tech worked.

  ‘From the Consensus? How big’s the place anyway?’

  ‘Answer: it is approximately twenty-two klicks across.’

  ‘So even if you manage to get me in there, how’m I gonna find her?’

  The man said, ‘Answer: our patron has told us precisely where your lover is to be found.’

  ‘Then let’s go get her.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Back in the bedroom, Ifanna used the chamber-pot, washed her hands and face, then searched the chests in the bedroom for more appropriate clothing than the barely decent tunic she was wearing. The woman who had once lived here was shorter and fatter than she; the skirt Ifanna chose ended some way above her ankles and the shirt needed a lot of tucking in. Ifanna looked for some perfume to disguise the musty odour of the clothes, but the only thing she found were a few old incense cones in a carved wooden box on the dresser, and their scent was all but gone.

  She did wonder about lighting one anyway; it had been a long time since she had sent any offering save prayer up to the Mothers – and even prayers came hard now. The Mothers must know that she had gone against the decree of their Daughter, yet they had not punished her – so did that mean the Cariad was indeed false, and Ifanna had been right to disobey her? The priest’s reaction to her admission implied he already suspected as much . . .

  But the Cariad was Creation’s link to Heaven, at once the pinnacle of earthly order and the will of the Skymothers made flesh. Without her, everything would fall apart . . . and that was what appeared to be happening – unless there was some higher purpose at work? What if the Cariad had chosen not to manifest her power in order that Ifanna should doubt, and, because of her doubt, run away? Yet why would she do that? Ifanna’s thoughts were tying themselves into knots; no wonder such questions were left to the priests. She put the carved box back.

  She wandered the house for a while, trailing her hands over the possessions of the recently dead and peering through cracks in the shutters at the world outside. This should have been enough after being so long confined in her squalid cell, but Ifanna wanted more – besides, she had used all the water: she should fetch more. She peered through the crack in the shutter again to check no one was outside then picked up the jug and lifted the latch on the back door.

  The yard, and the alley beyond, were empty. She looked around: the houses across the way were shuttered, or else showed open but empty windows. She could hear a mother scolding an errant child, and slightly off-key singing from another house further down the
row. She spent a while examining the ordinariness of the world outside: the houses, with their red-brick walls and roofs of small blue tiles, the lines of bright washing, and the potted plants that enlivened the yards.

  She was about to venture out when the door directly opposite opened; she stepped back hurriedly, pulling the door closed behind her. She must not be seen! And even that brief exposure to the sky had set her heart racing; she put the reaction down to being too used to having roof above her, rather than fear of the naked gaze of the Skymothers.

  She returned to the parlour and sat down in the most comfortable chair. She was still thirsty, but while she had been imprisoned she had learned to put aside physical discomfort, taking refuge in memories and daydreams. Now she let her wandering mind alight on Gwas Maelgyn. She did not think of him as a priest – priests were cold, distant figures who preached and disapproved. Maelgyn treated her with care and consideration, and he listened to her. All he demanded was her honesty. And he had risked much for her. The thought that anyone should act so on her behalf was intoxicating.

  Ifanna wondered how she could ever repay him . . . He was not so bad-looking; she had been unfair to think him ugly at their first meeting – a bald head covered in tattooed text was never flattering. And she thought he was attracted to her . . . He was a priest, and her powers would not work on him, which meant that if he did respond to her, it would not be because she had entrapped him. Such love would be something genuine; something precious. This was a man who might love her for herself.

  And, said a small wicked voice deep inside, seducing a priest who is immune to the witches’ curse would be a great achievement! Her father had hated her, even as he loved her. With Maelgyn, things would be different—

  The sound of someone at the door set her heart racing, until she recognised the pattern of knocks – two slow, and four fast, the same sequence Maelgyn had used that morning. As she jumped up to let him in, she was surprised to find the house dimmer than she remembered. She had dreamt the whole day away.

  Maelgyn wore a cloak, though the evening was not cold. He presented one to Ifanna, saying, ‘Put this on, chilwar. There is someone who wishes to meet you.’

  ‘To meet me?’ She wanted to protest: surely no one knows I am here, save you and your friend. But she stayed silent.

  ‘Aye, and their time is precious, so we should be going.’

  ‘Of course, Gwas.’ As she put the cloak on, she looked out of the half-open door, which showed a clear summer evening drawing towards night. Gwas Maelgyn raised his hood, and indicated she should do the same. She was glad to have her head covered.

  Maelgyn pulled the door closed, but did not try and re-latch it; she took comfort in that, for it implied they would be coming back.

  When they reached the water-pump, Ifanna asked if she might take a drink; Maelgyn agreed, though he appeared somewhat impatient. As Ifanna straightened after slaking her thirst, curiosity overcame caution and she asked, ‘Gwas, this person we are to meet, is it Captain Siarl?’

  ‘No.’ He set off again, and Ifanna fell into step beside him.

  ‘I see,’ she said, though she did not.

  ‘Siarl and I have had a falling out,’ he added in a low voice.

  ‘Over . . . over me, Gwas?’ She had to ask.

  Maelgyn made a small noise of annoyance, though when he spoke his voice was soft. ‘Amongst other things: Siarl is a devout man, Ifanna, but not overly imaginative.’

  Whatever that meant. They came onto a wide, crowded, thoroughfare. Ifanna, momentarily confounded by such hustle and bustle, found her eye drawn to the divine globes of light, high on their poles. Only a few were lit, but as she watched, another one sparked into life. She drew a quick breath, amazed and obscurely reassured to witness such a miracle.

  When she looked at Gwas Maelgyn to share her wonder, she could not at first see him, but before her momentary fear sparked into panic she spotted him; he had just drawn ahead a little. As he stopped and looked around for her, a man with a tray of fresh loaves on his head almost ran into him. The simple disguise obviously worked, for no one would dare curse a priest way the baker did. She hurried to rejoin him.

  ‘You had best take my arm to stop us getting separated, chilwar,’ he said.

  The thoroughfare widened further, and open-fronted shops, like those she had seen in Plas Morfren, were doing a brisk trade.

  Beside her, Gwas Maelgyn grunted in disapproval. ‘Look at that, chilwar!’ he said, pointing at a shop which appeared to be selling medicines: powders were displayed on wooden plates, while baskets overflowed with dried herbs, roots and bark. ‘Oh, if I were not hiding my calling I would go over there now and take them to task!’

  ‘I am not sure what you are showing me, Gwas.’

  ‘There, by that tray of yellow bark! Those bundles of coloured sticks.’

  ‘What are they, Gwas?’ Priests might claim that no remedy beat prayer, but Ifanna did not know of any medicines the Traditions specifically banned.

  ‘What they are does not matter; it is what they are used for that is my concern: they are the tools of divination!’

  Like Maelgyn, Ifanna was appalled – and to see them sold openly? That was surely inviting Heavenly retribution: only the Cariad could indicate divine will! But she was a fraud . . .

  Maelgyn led her down a smaller street off the main road, and she realised they were heading uphill towards the dark shape of the Tyr. As she looked up at it, she glimpsed a momentary flash high overhead. Was that one of the portentous lights? She looked more carefully, hoping to see another, but instead she saw a star she did not know, near where she thought she had seen the flash. ‘Is that the Navel of Heaven?’ she murmured.

  Gwas Maelgyn glanced up briefly. ‘Aye,’ he said, sounding troubled.

  Ifanna bowed her head again, nervous under Heaven’s gaze. As they took another side-street she wondered if the Gwas was taking her to the Tyr by some roundabout route. ‘What rank do you hold in the Tyr, Gwas?’ she asked.

  ‘I am of the fourth tier,’ he replied.

  ‘And that is a high rank, is it, Gwas?’ She knew little of the priestly hierarchy, but surely someone as wise as he was important.

  ‘Aye, it is – quite high.’ He paused. ‘Though not as high as I would have achieved had I come from a rich city family.’

  ‘What do you mean, Gwas?’

  ‘There is a bias against Fenlanders here, and against those of humble birth. I have been thwarted in my career, denied promotion on the grounds of my origin.’ His tone was bitter.

  Ifanna said sincerely, ‘I am sorry to hear that, Gwas.’

  ‘It is not your problem.’ He sounded tired.

  ‘And you serve the Mother of Justice first amongst the Five?’ Ifanna had noticed the yellow trim on his robes.

  ‘Indeed I do. We who honour Mantoliawn above all others are the life-blood of the Tyr, chilwar. We are also the most fortunate of all the branches of the priesthood: our Escori, Garnon, is the noblest and truest priest in the land.’ His voice swelled with pride.

  ‘He was at my judging, though he said very little.’ She barely remembered the man; he was just one of five voices who condemned her.

  ‘And which Escori spoke most, I wonder?’

  Ifanna was not sure if the question was one she was meant to answer, but she searched her memory anyway. ‘I think it was the Escori of Frythil.’

  ‘Hah! Of course it was.’

  ‘Why do you say that, Gwas?’

  ‘This spring, there was a coup in the Tyr. Only two Escorai survived it, and one of those subsequently went mad and took his own life. The sole survivor was Urien, Escori of Frythil. Some say he initiated the coup, though how a man who serves the Cariad could act so without her sanction . . . One thing is certain: he wields more power than he should.’

  Ifanna knew so little of the Tyr priests and their ways. ‘But your Escori, he is . . . He is good?’

  ‘Garnon is a man I admire greatly.’ Again, this was
spoken with pride. Then, unexpectedly, Maelgyn laughed. ‘But you need not take my word for it.’

  Ifanna was still trying to work out what he meant when he pointed ahead. Their alley crossed another, and on the corner was a house with light pouring from most of the windows. Sounds of merriment came from within. As they approached, Ifanna identified the building as a tavern. There was a wooden sign hanging at the corner, showing some sort of animal’s head.

  Gwas Maelgyn led her to a door at one side of the main entrance and knocked, the same sequence he had used with her. The man who opened the door was not in uniform, but he did carry a crossbow. He lowered the weapon when he saw them and made the circle, though he did his best to avoid looking at Ifanna as he admitted them. He remained below while she and Gwas Maelgyn went up a flight of stairs.

  The stairs came up to a short landing, then a large room with chairs and tables pushed to the side. It was lit by a single lamp on a table at the far side. A man in dark clothing sat by the lamp; his head was uncovered, and Ifanna could see he was a priest. He was flanked by two men with crossbows, standing loosely to attention.

  Gwas Maelgyn circled his breast, at the same time bowing his head, and Ifanna did the same.

  ‘Gwas,’ said Maelgyn, ‘I have brought the girl, as you asked.’ His voice was low and earnest.

  ‘Have her approach.’ The priest’s tone was casual, almost uninterested. Ifanna looked to Gwas Maelgyn, who motioned her forward.

  She obeyed, though her knees kept trying to knock together. This man was old, she saw, with deep lines around his thin-lipped mouth. He watched her walk towards him with eyes that missed nothing. The monitors watched her too, their weapons half-raised. ‘Has he told you who I am?’ he asked while Ifanna was still a few steps away.

  ‘He has not, Gwas,’ she said, stopping. ‘But— But I would guess that you are Garnon, Escori of Mantoliawn.’

  She heard Gwas Maelgyn’s sharp breath at her impudence, though she had not intended to be rude.

  He did not confirm her guess but said mildly, ‘And you are the witch who claims the Cariad is a fake.’