by Martha Wells
She met Rian's eyes steadily. She was counting on the fact that he wouldn't disobey her in public. Mirak turned away, his men closing around him as he moved down the causeway. Karuda waited for Rian.
Maskelle faced him for another heartbeat, then he turned and followed Mirak, Karuda falling into step beside him.
Maskelle drew a deep breath, now that there was no one to see it but Hirane and the Celestial One. He’ll hate me for that, she thought. But at least he’ll be alive to do it.
"What game do you play, daughter?" the Celestial One asked, eyeing her thoughtfully.
Maskelle shook her head. "Something is about to happen. I don't know what. The Ancestors and the Adversary are speaking in my head so loudly I can't tell their words from my thoughts. And none of it makes sense."
"I thought you could no longer hear the Adversary," Hirane said sharply.
"I had a vision in the Illsat Keo on the way to the city, another in the Illsat Sidar, and...one just now. He spoke to me." She admitted wryly, "He was obscure, but insistent."
"What sort of vision did you have?" the Celestial One asked, frowning.
"You said nothing of this to me," Hirane said to him. "If the Adversary has returned—"
"You didn't ask me," he told her abruptly. "Return to your duties; we'll discuss this later."
Hirane's eyes narrowed. "Go inside, old man." She started across the causeway, her attendants moving to follow her.
The Celestial One watched her walk away, his face unreadable. Maskelle offered him her arm as they started up the steps back into the Marai. Answering his question, she said, "The Adversary appeared as you, showed me the Rite, and told me to stay in the Marai, no matter what happened. I'm as imperfect an Oracle as ever." They paused in the shade of the gallery. "It did mention Marada's people, the people who 'covet our world.'"
The Celestial One looked weary. "The wall between the world and the Infinite is always thin on the days of the Rite. But for this Rite it seems almost nonexistent. I have word from all the Voices and half the seventh level in the city of visions and warnings. Perhaps it's only that this is a Hundred Year Rite."
"But you don't believe that. You—" Maskelle stopped. Somewhere power swelled and rose like a wave on the sea. She could feel it echoing down the canals and the sacred paths of Kushor-At. But where is it coming from? It had to be the culmination of the Rite, but...She stared at the length of the shadows on the floor of the open gallery. They’re too early. Maskelle shared a startled expression with the Celestial One. The old man's face had gone grey. Without having to discuss it, Maskelle picked up the skirts of her robe and ran down the gallery, making for the inner court and the central tower.
The Rite was always brought to culmination at the Equinox; it had never, in all the years of Kushorit history, been executed at any other time. What this would do she wasn't sure; the voice of reason in her babbled that it couldn't be that bad, they were only hours away from the proper time. If it was some buried sabotage of Marada's, set to proceed even if she was no longer alive to reap the benefits, then Maskelle wasn't sure of the use of it.
She reached the end of the gallery and pelted across the second inner court. She lost a sandal on the steps up to the first gallery and had to pause to tear the other one off. The flow of power was stronger and the taste of it was acidic and unfamiliar, as if against every principle of Koshan philosophy and craft something else had invaded Kushor-At's reservoirs and was flowing over the city. It couldn't have been worse if the mud from the rice paddies had suddenly risen up to break the flood gates and stream into the canals. Every Koshan she passed was reeling under the shock of the onslaught. If it was the Wheel's culmination, then something had gone very, very wrong.
She reached the first inner court, running out into the open area toward the central tower. Then it hit.
It was like a physical blow, as if something heavy had struck her in the back. Maskelle staggered, then sunk to her knees, pressing her hands to her face. It came from behind me; it’s not the Rite. Power swelled and raged like a storm, tearing across her body and her mind.
***
Rian walked down the bridge, trying to keep his expression controlled, but it was an effort. He could feel Karuda's eyes on him and hoped what he was thinking wasn't there to be read on his face. I can’t believe she did this. He didn't know whether it was some plan he was simply too dense to see the logic of, or if she had suddenly gone insane.
He looked out over the water toward the low dike and barrier wall, feeling his gut twist. It was stupid to feel betrayed. This was just the way of the world.
At the midpoint of the bridge Mirak stopped and motioned Karuda to come to him. "Return to the temple and follow her. Make sure she keeps her vow."
Without a word, Karuda bowed and turned away, going back toward the Marai's enclosure. Rian fought the urge to make a break for it. He had known this would happen and now he wouldn't even be there to do anything about it. Mirak looked at him, brow lifted speculatively. The Chancellor said, "Perhaps you're not as valuable a hostage as I thought."
"Try it and see," Rian said, meeting his eyes. He was tired of playing it safe. If Mirak wanted to have him killed, let it be for a good reason.
The Chancellor's lips thinned, but he didn't deign to answer. He started for the end of the bridge again and Rian followed, the guards closing in behind him. A hot wind lifted his hair, sudden and strong, and he looked up, frowning. There’s a storm coming, he thought at first. There was a grey cloud on the horizon, visible above the buildings and the walls of the city in the distance. Then he remembered this wasn't the plains of the Sintane and he shouldn't be able to see storms coming on the horizon miles away.
One of the guards swore. The group halted and Mirak stared at the rising greyness above the city wall.
Rian squinted, lifting a hand to shade his eyes, trying to understand what he was looking at. This wasn't a storm, it was a wall of clouds.... Not clouds, it was a solid wall, becoming darker as it drew closer. The noise of the festival crowd was dying out, the sound dropping away in waves. The black wave grew larger and Rian realized it was now on this side of the city wall. The sudden realization of how huge it was took his breath away and he realized he was backing up without conscious volition. Its shadow was travelling across the terraces to the broad plaza that lay before the Marai. Its shadow was blotting out the sun.
There were screams rising from the crowd now. Rian felt the stone of the bridge's balustrade against his thighs and knew he had nowhere else to go. Maskelle's words were echoing in his head: It’s more likely that in changing the shape of the land, what they actually did was change everything about it, its shape, its history, its reality...changed the whole region to someplace else, that looked a great deal like the places where the Sakkaran cities used to be... Which is why we don’t try to do that anymore.
Rian turned and bolted back down the bridge, running for the temple's entrance. The wind hit him with sudden force, throwing him against the stone. He tried to stand and the next gust tumbled him over the balustrade. He struck the cool water hard, going under. Coming up sputtering and gasping for air, he looked wildly around for the temple enclosure. There was no one else on the bridge and he hadn't seen if the others had run or gone over the side. Then he saw the black wall had reached the outer edge of the moat.
That’s it, Rian thought. There was nowhere to go. It had to be the Rite. Something went wrong. Very wrong. The darkness moved out over the water and seemed to slow, as if pressing forward against a steady resistance. Rian discovered he couldn't just float here and wait for it, not even if there was nowhere to go. He kicked away from the bridge and swam for the temple enclosure. The noise of the city had died away and the silence was complete except for the sound of his own thrashing in the water.
Rian was almost there when something lifted him up and flung him against the rough ground at the base of the enclosure wall. He struck it with stunning force and lay tumbled there a moment, ga
sping for air.
He pushed himself up on his hands and knees, shaking his head, dizzy and sick. Pain from his ribs stabbed him again and he clutched at his side, sitting back on his heels. Then he noticed the water was gone, replaced by giant paving blocks, each one of smooth grey stone. Oh, no, Rian thought. I really don’t want to know. He made himself look up.
The sky was dark and roiling, like a summer thunderstorm, and under that sky was another city. Buildings as mountainlike as the temples of Kushor-At and Kushor-An, but far stranger. The nearest, perhaps half a mile away, looked like a giant overturned pottery bowl. Others were cone-shaped, or like pillars with giant balls set atop them. Surfaces that the Kushorit would have used for giant stone canvases were mostly bare, marked only with one or two bands of geometric shapes. Trying to deny the evidence of his eyes, Rian looked toward the front of the Marai.
The moat and the bridge over it, the plaza and the walls and the city itself were gone; he could see the causeway that ran through the outer gate of the Marai's enclosure not far away. It dead-ended about level with where he had fallen, the stone chopped off as if by mason's tools.
He looked back out at the strange city. There were no people anywhere. The festival crowds that had surrounded the Marai had vanished with everything else.
Rian got to his feet, stumbling as his right knee tried to give out. He realized he was shivering, though the air wasn't cold. He wiped sweaty palms off on his shirt. Panicking was beginning to seem like an appropriate response. He wished he had screamed earlier when the wind or force or whatever it had been had thrown him into the wall; it seemed like self-indulgence to do it now.
He started toward the gate, limping, new bruises making themselves known. The only sound was the wind sweeping dust over stone, a whispering noise that seemed to echo with threat and loneliness and loss. Rian took a deep breath. He had come to the Celestial Empire looking for a different world right enough, but this wasn't what he had had in mind.
Rian reached the outer gate and leaned on the pillar. The court on the other side of the wall looked the same, except the color of the grass was dull and lifeless under the dark sky and the only sound was the stir of the palm leaves in the empty wind. A rustle in the grass that wasn't the wind made him freeze.
For a long moment there was nothing. Maybe I've gone crazy and none of this is actually happening. It was a heartening thought. Then he heard it again. He stepped to the edge of the causeway.
Karuda lay on the grass near the base of the causeway. As Rian watched he stirred feebly and groaned. Rian contemplated the unfamiliar sky in exasperation. It would be him. He swung over the low balustrade and jumped to the ground, landing awkwardly. Karuda groaned again as Rian rolled him over. The noble had a bleeding gash on his temple, but he blinked and opened his eyes.
Leaning over him, Rian said flatly, "Guess what."
Slowly, Karuda pushed himself up on his arms. He stared at the churning sky. "The Rite..." he managed to say.
"Yeah, the Rite. But at least that little problem with the Koshans having too much power in the Imperial system is all taken care of. Too bad Mirak isn't around to appreciate it." Rian turned away in disgust, limping toward the steps that led back up to the causeway. If Karuda had survived inside the Marai, the others must have too.
***
Maskelle's head hurt. She knew she was still in the Marai before she opened her eyes. The gritty stone under her cheek resonated with the temple's power, but something was terribly wrong. She pushed herself up on her arms, lifted her head.
The sky was grey, the clouds dark and angry, as if a storm had just passed. It was almost familiar.
The breath caught in her throat. Her vision in the Illsat Keo. "Oh, no," she breathed. "Oh, no, oh, no." She laid her hand flat against the stone of the pavement and extended her awareness outward, through the courts of the Marai, inner, first outer, lunar and solar, to the outer wall just before the moat—There it stopped. "This isn't happening."
Rian was kneeling at her side then, one hand under her arm to hold her up. She stared at him incredulously. "What are you doing here? I sent you away from this."
He was looking worriedly up at the strange sky. "Just lucky, I guess."
She shook her head. Nothing worked, nothing. "Help me up."
He pulled her to her feet and she wrapped an arm around his waist. Leaning on him, she buried her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of warm human sweat. It was another connection to the world as it had been. She took a deep breath. "We're in trouble."
"I figured that out," he said into her hair.
She lifted her head and looked toward the end of the passage. "I need to see outside."
Running footsteps in the court made them both turn. It was Rastim, white-faced and anxious. "What's happened?" he said, low-voiced, as he reached them.
Maskelle shook her head. "I need to get to the first solar tower."
Rastim picked up her staff and tried to hand it to her. She shook her head. Cut off from the spirits and the power of the temples, it was only so much dead wood and silver now. His mouth twisting in distress, he leaned it against the wall.
All the lamps had gone out along the colonnade, and as they neared the corner tower it was almost too dark to see. Maskelle's knees were weak and she waited to feel the Marai's force start to fade. The temple would die around her until the stone was nothing but a shell.
They reached the entrance to the western tower and Rian started up first. The chambers off the stairwell were quiet and the air unnaturally still. When they came out on the gallery, Maskelle moved forward to lean on the parapet.
It was the plain of her vision, vast as time, stretching away into the dark horizon under the purple-grey storm-churned sky. In the distance a wind drove a wall of dust across the giant paving blocks that formed it, and from the height of the tower she could see a mountain range in the distance. The city she had seen rose like smaller mountains around them. The nearest structure was a strange bulbous shape, like three balls of stone perched atop each other. It was decorated only with wide bands of unfamiliar, meaningless geometric carving. It was so strange that it was frightening to look at, and Maskelle found it hard to draw a full breath until she turned away.
Rian asked her quietly, "The Rite brought us here, didn't it? Something went wrong, like you thought."
"The Rite didn't bring us here."
"You mean...it's an illusion?" Rastim's voice was hopeful.
Ariaden are the eternal optimists, she thought ruefully. She shook her head. "It's not an illusion."
"Oh." Rastim flattened his hands against the parapet uneasily, seeking reassurance from the familiar stone. "Then how...?"
"This is our world. We haven't gone anywhere. They brought this to us. This is what the disruption to the Rite was for. It let them do this."
"No, really," Rastim said, as if hoping she would change her mind. Rian said nothing, looking out at the alien landscape.
"Yes, really." Maskelle touched the Marai's power again tentatively, waiting for the inevitable. But the temple wasn't dying yet.
It felt, in fact, a little stronger. The center doesn’t move.
She realized both men were staring at her, that Rastim had spoken again and she hadn't heard a word. She said, "I just heard the Adversary."
"And that means?" Rastim prompted worriedly.
She shook her head and turned back into the tower. Behind her, she heard Rian say, "It means we're not dead yet."
Maskelle went back down the stairs, down the gallery toward the inner court. She could hear voices, hushed and frightened, and when she came out into the open below the central tower, she saw a group of about forty people, huddled in the gallery and the portico around the tower. Some of the younger priests were on the upper level where they could look out over the plain. She saw one pointing, another shaking his head in disbelief.
And the Marai's stone throbbed with the temple's heartbeat, stronger with each step.
The rest of the Ariaden were there, and Therassa and Firac hurried toward her. "What's happened?"
The question was echoed by the others. It was a mixed group, most of them Koshans. "I'm not sure," Maskelle told them. What she wasn't sure about was whether she was lying or not. She was beginning to think she had misunderstood again.
She stepped past them, through the portico and into the tower. There was no one in the outer vestibule and she went around the wall to the chamber of the Rite.
Vigar and the other Voices were there, many of the older ones still lying on the floor in shock or unconsciousness. Vigar was just climbing to his feet with the help of a young nun. But Maskelle had eyes only for what lay on the chamber floor beyond him.
The Celestial One lay as still as a dead man, his head pillowed on a bundled-up robe, two of the younger Voices anxiously leaning over him. She went to his side and they made way for her. He wasn't breathing and she touched his face gently. She whispered, "I'm sorry." The Marai's power must be in her imagination, or it was some temporary state that would quickly fade.
She felt Vigar standing behind her. "He may come back when the shock is less," he said, his voice rough.
She didn't look up. "Come back to what?"
Vigar touched her shoulder and she finally looked at the center of the room.
The Wheel of the Rite was whole and almost undisturbed. A path was torn through the edge of the outer ring, through the border protection symbols and into the eastern rise. Someone must have been thrown into it when the shock of the change took place.
But that little disruption was nothing. The Rite was nearly intact and still waiting for its culmination. I was right, she thought. It came from somewhere else, not the Rite. At least, not our Rite. Maskelle looked at Vigar. "We didn't do this."
He shook his head. "No."
She felt a little of the tightness in her chest ease. She took a deep breath.
"Who did?" one of the other Voices said quietly. "That's the question."