Silence of the Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  Merit chuckled a bit but came up short. Clearly, it hurt when she laughed. “She’s hasn’t changed a bit. She has the wrath of a girl half her age and the patience to match it. She is unchanged, though her hair is a bit shorter these days. It was long when she was a child, but she cuts it at the nape, wears it like a boy to match her figure, and her manners. She’s Arko’s daughter, though she would never admit it. She was the son he never had. Whether he forced her into that role or she did it just to please him, I could never tell, but she made every effort to become the boy that was stolen from him. She fights with the ferocity of a king and it has done her some good, saved her life more than once from what I’ve heard.”

  “Keep speaking,” said Sarra. “We have time.”

  The door shook, but Merit went on about Kepi and their childhood. She spoke about her life, about Dagrun, and the wedding in Feren.

  “I wanted him, that fool of a boy, that brash young king. I wanted Dagrun, but I never admitted it to myself. I don’t even know how such things are possible, but I swear I kept the truth from myself. I said it was a ploy. Shenn and I talked about it like a game of Coin, how we would manipulate the man, forcing him into a marriage he did not want. Then we would marry General Tomen’s eldest to Dagrun’s warlord, Ferris, and another to Deccan. We had plans to entwine our kingdoms at every level. All for the purpose of doing this”—she gestured toward the window, to the fires and the looting—“the destruction of Solus. None of what I wished for came to pass, save for the last bit, the part I wanted most. Now I wish I had the rest. I wish I had Dagrun and none of this had ever happened.”

  “Have no regrets, your life is not yet at an end.”

  “Isn’t it? Isn’t this the end? Our last sup before the door comes crashing down?”

  Sarra dipped her head and shook it slowly from side to side. “There is a way out,” she said, “a passage that leads into the Hollows.”

  “Thank heavens,” said Merit.

  “There is a way out,” said Sarra, “but it’s not for both of us.”

  65

  “Those aren’t the Harkans,” said Ren.

  Tye caught sight of the distant army. “No, they’re Ferens.”

  “We can all see them,” said Kollen as he climbed to where Ren stood with Tye and Asher. They were perched atop the stairs of the Waset, raised above the inner city, still trying to find the Harkans when they caught sight of this new army. The Ferens chased what appeared to be imperial soldiers, hounding the men in bronze as they retreated toward the main body of the Protector’s Army.

  “Look, Ren, at the head of the Feren Army. There’s a girl and she’s got some sort of bird,” said Tye. “Do you think?”

  “It’s my sister? Maybe,” said Ren. “I can barely make out her face.”

  “Too bad she’s chasing the ass end of our enemy,” Tye lamented.

  “Well, that’s generally how a chase works,” said Kollen, “but I take your meaning. Your sweet sister won’t be helping us anytime soon, Ren.”

  Mered’s army stood between the Ferens and the kingsguard.

  “Where are the damned Harkans?” Ren asked. He still hadn’t set eyes on them.

  “There!” Tye said, punching at Ren’s shoulder so he’d turn. In the distance, beyond the Protector’s Army, past Mered and his palanquin, black spears poked at the sand-infested sky. The army of Harkana had engaged the Protector.

  “They must have marched the whole army up and out of the Waset, coming around so they could strike at the Protector’s back,” said Asher. “That’s why we couldn’t find them. They left the inner city.”

  “Yes, but how’d they get all the way over there? They must have run like madmen,” said Kollen.

  “Like soldiers,” said Asher with a scoff. “Those are Tomen’s men.”

  “It might be a brilliant maneuver, but it does us no good,” said Ren. “Our allies have surrounded Mered. He’s outflanked, but they’ve left us in a lurch.”

  “What do we do?” asked Tye, sheepish, exhausted. “They’ll slaughter us if we stand here.”

  Mered was once more standing atop his palanquin, directing his troops, sending more soldiers hurrying toward the kingsguard. He barely took notice of the Harkan Army.

  “He’s bent on defeating the kingsguard,” said Kollen, “or maybe he’s just got a grudge against you, Ren.”

  Ren simply shook his head as a wall of bronze shields approached, the soldiers advancing one step at a time, a drum beating, the now-familiar clarion ringing in the distance. Some unseen commander shouted orders. Signal flags waved. A red one flashed. Arrows dotted the sky. A blue one flapped and rocks pelted the Harkan shields.

  “We can’t hold this position,” said Asher.

  “That wasn’t my plan,” said Ren, his voice nearly swallowed by the relentless din of the approaching army. The clap of their sandals was near deafening, and the drums were even louder.

  “Behind us,” said Asher. Mered’s house army had begun a second advance. Red shields approached from one direction, bronze from the other.

  “Trapped,” muttered Ren. He looked for a way out, but it was too late to find one. The red army struck with astounding speed, driving the Harkans back toward the bronze soldiers. The kingsguard withdrew, Butcher dragging Ott, the ransoms stumbling, jostled this way and that by the retreating men. The black shields simply did not have enough soldiers to hold back their adversary’s charge, so they were flung to and fro as the two armies, the red and bronze, converged on them.

  Heels ground against the cobblestones, men shouted, and swords danced in their air. A spear struck the man at Ren’s side. A clean shot, in and out. The Harkan hit the earth and no one took up his place. Everywhere, the kingsguard were falling; one by one they hit the stones. Dozens, possibly more, lay dead, and they were dropping faster than he could count. A spear here, an arrow there. A bullet struck one man; an arrow dropped another. A push. A shove. A dozen shouts. Ten men fell. Another twenty dropped to their knees. A cloven shield arced through the sky. A man searched in vain for his dismembered hand. Ren had never seen such carnage. There was no hope here, no mercy. The black shields were overrun. The Harkans fled and they trampled one another. Feet mashed limbs. A man dodged one spear, but collided with another. Soldiers butted heads, knocked shields and armor. There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to even stand, not unless Ren wanted to step on one of his fallen companions.

  He saw the truth of their situation.

  Soon there would be no kingsguard, no ransoms, and as if that were not reason enough for Ren to lose his mind, that buzzing sound appeared once more at the back of his head, louder and more distinct. It called to him, and the gnarled eld horn felt heavy in his pack. Tye stood with the last of the kingsguard. If he wanted her to survive, to live, he needed to end this fight.

  Some instinct made him run.

  He fled the Harkans’ ranks, hurrying toward the garden of statues. When the black shields saw him run, some called him a coward, a foolish boy who had shirked his duty. Perhaps they thought he’d lost his nerve, or that he was never meant to be a king.

  Ren paid them no attention; he knew what he was doing.

  He’d circled those golden effigies since he stepped out of the Hollows. He’d fought among the twelve and beside them. He’d sheltered in the caverns beneath the statues. He’d come and gone and all the while that odd buzzing sound had followed him. At first, he thought he’d knocked his head a bit too hard on that granite pedestal. He told himself the noise was just a good headache, but he knew better. Instinct told him to open his ears, to close his eyes and follow the sound.

  Ren stumbled into the garden and fell to his knees, his hand touching the eld horn. He cleared his thoughts and the terrible sound transformed. Slowly, bit by bit, that awful humming, that horror in his head that had sounded like the buzzing of a thousand bees, resolved into something distinct. He heard voices, twelve voices, that spoke in volumes. Each utterance was a thousand words crammed int
o the space of a heartbeat, and it all sounded like noise to Ren. There were simply too many words crushed into too little space. His mind had no way to parse it. Then something changed, or maybe he changed. Perhaps he was at last ready to speak to the twelve.

  Ren had spent the better part of his life trying to find out who he was and where he’d come from, but the answer to that question was something older and stranger than anything he could imagine. Noll had told it all to him, but he hadn’t embraced it—not fully. He wasn’t even certain how to take hold of it. Ren held the blood of Mithra. It coursed through his veins, and there was proof. He’d communed with the eld, and his sister had done something similar. In the air, above her army, the kite circled. He felt its power and knew it was the same strength that flowed through the eld horn. He guessed that Merit and Ott also shared that power. The children of Arko held the blood of Mithra-Sol and his offspring, Re and Pyras.

  Ren gripped that gnarled tusk a bit more tightly.

  He feared what would come next, but he had little choice. With every heartbeat that passed, a man fell to the ground. The four hundred soldiers became three and soon there would only be two and so on. The black shields would not last the hour.

  Ren took up the eld horn staff, and an odd sensation wriggled through his fingers. It washed over him in waves, and each one made him stronger. His blood beat faster, his thoughts raced. He kneeled before the twelve and knew their names. They revealed their true nature and he accepted it. They were the sons of Pyras, the ones who struck at Soleri. Centuries ago, the gods fought one another to a standstill. In that conflict, the Pyraethi sought to destroy the Soleri and their empire. And now it was time for them to complete that task. They spoke … but something broke his concentration. Cries of war, the terrible shouts of men, shattered the air. Sandals beat upon the cobblestones. Soldiers in red, a whole pack of them, charged straight at him.

  66

  There were no more doors, and nowhere left to flee.

  “What now?” Merit asked, her body awash with agony. She could no longer walk or hobble as she’d done in the yard. Her knee and foot were swollen, and even the slightest pressure elicited an unbearable pain. Her jaw throbbed and the amber had done little to quell her thirst.

  “Where do we go?” Merit asked, coughing a bit when the pain set in again.

  Sarra pursed her lips. “At this level, the tower connects to the Shroud Wall. There is a passage within the wall itself. It will take you down into the Hollows. Beyond that, there is a web of tunnels. These corridors were once used by the Soleri to commune with the priests and priestesses of the royal cults. This place we’re in, the Tower of the Ray, was once the royal observatory. The Soleri came here to see the stars, to speak of poetry and philosophy, to talk of Mithra and the home before time. I read this in Ott’s notes, my son’s notes—”

  “Sarra,” Merit interrupted.

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to keep my mind off the present.” A loud thump echoed through the chamber.

  “The ax,” Merit muttered. “They’re at it once more.”

  “I’d give it a rest if I were them. I saved their lives. The least they can do is thank me.”

  “I doubt there’ll be much time for talk when that door comes down,” said Merit.

  “No, there won’t be, but I’ll give it a try. I’ve talked my way out of more situations than I can recall. Why not one more?”

  “Yes,” said Merit. She forced her voice to sound hopeful and high. “But why not escape into this passage you described?”

  “They’ll follow us, just as they followed us up the tower steps. The mob wants my head. They need someone to blame. They want to find the liar and put their hands around her neck.”

  “You don’t know that. You saved these very same people, you said as much a moment ago.”

  “Yes. I saved them. And when I did, I hoped fear might keep them out of the palace of the Soleri. If only I’d had time to seal the doors…”

  “They’d have wanted to see their gods eventually. The people of Solus begged for the Soleri, not Sarra.”

  “I know. We are curious beings. We seek answers to the questions that cannot be answered. I will do my best to provide the impossible. Perhaps the mob will listen,” said Sarra.

  “Don’t chance it.”

  “I have to, but you don’t,” said Sarra. “You’re leaving. Now, preferably.” She gestured, and the man from the Kiltet lifted Merit.

  The pain was exquisite.

  Merit motioned for him to set her down, but that only elicited more pain. All movement meant pain. The best thing she could do was sit still in this man’s arms.

  “You will go and I will stay,” said Sarra.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t be foolish. You know how this must end,” said Sarra, and indeed Merit did know what was next.

  “The people watched me slip through the tower door. They will not rest until they’ve found me. They want answers. For two centuries, this city lived beneath a lie. They toiled away at their petty lives thinking they were protected by the all-powerful Soleri. They believed they were forever safe, that no army could penetrate these walls, that no one would even dare. In truth, those same gods are absent, gone for centuries. Maybe they’ve been missing since the Harkan revolt. That’s my guess. This mob wants answers, but I have none. Suten must have known a few of them, and maybe he passed that knowledge to Arko. The truth is out there, but the tablets are written in the gods’ own script, and we hardly had time to decipher much of it. The mob will demand some explanation from the Mouth of Tolemy. They saw me enter this tower. You, on the other hand … you aren’t even here. No one saw you enter and no one will see you depart. If I leave, they will follow me. If I stay, they’ll have what they want. They won’t stop to look too hard for a secret door, a hidden passage that leads into the Hollows.”

  “Mother.”

  “Stop. You cannot deny the logic of it. If I am not here, they will tear this chamber apart. The mob will find the concealed door and the pursuit will begin anew. My flight ends here. I will stay, and our friend will carry you to safety.”

  “I won’t go.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Sarra said. “Remember, the oaf works for me.”

  “I’ll refuse. I’ll pull myself from his arms. I’ll scream until the mob finds the passage.”

  “Will you?” Sarra asked. “There’s no point in both of us dying, and perhaps I can yet talk my way out of this. You will go.”

  “No.”

  “Go,” Sarra begged. “For once, let me be your mother. Give me this one favor. One good deed to offset a lifetime of bad ones.”

  “It—” Merit bit her tongue. She could neither leave nor stay. Both were impossible. It was all impossible, and her health was quickly deteriorating. Her wounds might claim her life before she made it out of the Hollows. At least her mother was healthy. Sarra ought to be the one to go. She had the best chance at survival. What possibility did Merit have? What life will I lead? The boy will take my kingdom and then what will I be?

  Merit had no desire to sit at feasts in the King’s Hall and giggle at poorly told jokes. She would not spend her remaining days tying her hair in knots or picking out dresses.

  “All is not lost,” said Sarra. “You are no doubt wondering where you will go and what you will do. Harkana is not your only option. In fact, it might be your worst. I know what you’ve done. The boy, Ren, is kind, but he’ll never trust you. In truth, you’ll never be welcome in Harkana if he takes that throne. You must go where there is power.”

  “Power? Where? If I cannot go home, will I run to Feren? I’ve followed a stern course of action. It allowed for no errors and it seems I’ve made nothing but them. I have few friends.”

  “You won’t need them where you’re going. All you’ll need is your blood—if I am right. Ott was working on something before he left, trying to put together the history of the Soleri, to find out where they went, who left them for dead, and
how it all came to pass. I read his notes, the things he learned from a boy named Noll, the history of your family—our family. His efforts were not without results.”

  “What are you rambling about?” Merit asked, fearing her mother had lost track of her senses.

  “Go to the Temple of Re. There is a passage that leads there, to the inner sanctuary. You know the symbol?”

  “The circle and stars.”

  “Yes, there will be a door carved with that mark and it will take you to the temple. There is power there, though I cannot describe its nature. Go to the house of Re and you will find what you desire. That is all I can offer. Go,” said Sarra. “Just this once, do as I’ve said. Like you did before I left Harwen, when you were but a child and I was still a queen. When I was your mother and you were my daughter.” Sarra swallowed bitterly, then she looked like she was trying to put on a smile. “We shared a perfect day. We ate and we drank and I cherished the sound of your voice. Let’s leave it at that. I have that one memory. It’s enough.”

  Sarra led Merit and her servant to a place where the wall was uneven. A simple touch made the stones shift, revealing a passage of sorts, a concealed door.

  Outside, the mob howled; they pounded at the wood.

  “Go, foolish girl.” Sarra pressed her lips to Merit’s forehead. One kiss and it was done. The hidden door sealed and the other one shattered. There were raised voices, screams, but Merit was already moving away as Sarra’s servant carried her blindly through the darkness.

  67

  The Feren Army pursued Mered’s soldiers with the relentlessness of a hungry pack of dogs. With Ferris and his sworn men at Kepi’s side and the kite flying low above her shoulder, they followed close on their heels, forcing a portion of the men to turn and engage the Ferens while the rest of the army rode off toward the white wall. Their rear guard was relatively small, and the kite alone might have won the contest. It ripped through their lines, taking hold of two or sometimes three men and tossing them at their brothers. Each dash through their lines opened a path wide enough for a pair of horses to charge past the red shields. By the fifth or sixth pass, the rear guard had no lines to speak of and the army of the Ferens gained on their foes, charging at the soldiers in red and bronze.