The Canticle of Whispers

by David Whitley

  “You thought Snutworth was going to attack you?” Mark asked. The Director shook his head.

  “Not him, specifically, although looking back I should have realized that he would be the only one with the intelligence to manage it. But I knew that powerful men rarely die of natural causes. I knew that one day, I might have to fake my own demise, to disappear so perfectly that even the Directory, with all its resources, could not find me. To do that, I would not merely have to hide. I would need to become a different person.”

  Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, drawstring bag. From it, he tipped out what looked like a few small, colorful, boiled candies.

  “Miss Verity followed my written instructions to the letter. She took me to a doctor, without saying who I was, to heal my wounds. She provided me with a false name and signet ring. And then, she took me to the memory extractor, and left me there, so she would never be able to say where I had gone. I knew that if Snutworth found me, he could extract the last of my secrets this way, and I chose to lose myself on my own terms.” He sighed. “My whole self was stripped away by the extractor, each pearl of memory disguised in a truly harmless form.”

  “The candies…” Mark breathed. The Director nodded.

  “I would have taken them all before our journey, but there were some memories I did not dare recall until we were safely out of Agora. Even now, there are a few last details that I have kept from myself.” He tipped the candies back into the bag. “My memory extraction technician was truly an expert. He even labeled the candies in a cipher, and told me the code when I awoke, so I would know which to take first.” The Director rolled the candies around in the palm of his hand, looking a little wistful. “I must admit, it was a relief to be Verso for a time. To lead a simple life. Having my years as Director settle back upon me was an … unpleasant experience. There were many days I would prefer to forget.” He shook his head. “After the process was complete, the technician promised to even remove his own memory of my presence, and crush it beneath his heel. I was left believing myself to be an old servant, confused by advancing years. Not a single soul in Agora knew Verso to be anyone special. My only clues were this sealed bag of ‘candies,’ and a note, in my own handwriting, warning me that I had a greater purpose, and that this bag was not to be opened until I received the sign to become myself again.” He paused for a moment. “Fortunately, I had also been kind enough to write myself a good reference for the Sozinhos. After all, I needed a place to work.”

  “Why them?” Ben asked, finding her voice. The Director smiled.

  “They guarded the Last’s Descent. The few memories I had allowed myself to recall included all my knowledge of the Sozinhos. I knew that, one day, I would have to take the Descent myself.” He frowned. “As Verso, of course, I did not fully understand the significance of these memories, but the note I had left myself was clear—I had to enter their service. It was risky, of course—they had no real reason to take me on. At first, I tried flattery, pretending to be an old librarian, fascinated by their family history. This brought me little success. But when I explained that I was pursued by a cruel former master and needed to stay away from the public eye…” The Director met Lily’s gaze. “Fortunately for me, they are charitable people. I think I have you to thank for that. They even agreed to pretend to the world that I had been their servant for years.”

  “But,” Mark looked even more baffled, “what about the page from the old book? The one Verity went to such trouble to get?”

  The Director rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

  “Ah yes, the page. My lifeline.” He pulled the page from his pocket, smoothing it out. “I had told Verity that it would show the way to me, should the need arise. I must admit, she used it rather sooner than I was expecting, but perhaps that was all for the best.” He held it up to Mark. “What do you see here?”

  Mark glared at it.

  “It’s just a recipe,” he said. “You need to hold it up to the light.”

  The Director smiled again. “Really, Mr. Mark? Would you expect me to hide my true meaning so simply? That message led to my hiding place, but it did not alert Verso that it was time to turn back into me. I needed a message that only I would understand.”

  Mark looked down at the page again, and the light of understanding dawned in his face.

  “It’s a recipe for boiled candies,” he said, softly. The Director nodded, returning the page to his pocket.

  “For all his short life, Verso knew those candies were important. So when this ancient page appeared, borne by strangers…” He sighed. “He knew … that is, I knew … that my last reprieve was over.” His sigh grew more pronounced, and he leaned against the wall for support. “But I have little time left. My health is far from ideal, and I must save my breath for my confession. Is the Oracle prepared to see me?”

  His last words were addressed to the Conductor, who had appeared at the entrance to the chamber.

  “She will already know that you are here,” the Conductor said, solemnly. “Will your friends be joining you?”

  “No,” the Director replied, “this confession is for the Oracle alone.” Absently, he wiped his gloved hand across the blank plaque. “The Directory and the Cathedral of the Lost are built on the same black stone we encountered in the tunnel. It silences all echoes—even the Canticle. I believe that the ruling founders did not want their thoughts overheard. But we pay a price for this privacy—all secrets must be given up eventually. Every Director ends his days before the Resonant Throne, making his final confession.”

  He turned to go.

  “You’re staying right here.”

  The Director turned back. Lily realized that she had spoken—the words had come out of her mouth before she could stop them. But after everything she had been through, after all the hours she had spent with the Canticle, searching for anything that could help her, she wasn’t going to let the most knowledgeable man she had ever met walk away.

  “And why, might I ask?” replied the Director. “I am quite certain that you could stop me leaving, if you wished. But I fail to see what that would accomplish…”

  “Stop!” Lily shouted. “Stop treating everything like a game!” She approached the old man. A shiver passed through her, and behind her she heard the Canticle begin to buzz. “I trusted you,” she said, her fury building. “Mark and I went out into Giseth because I believed you when you told me we were Judges, that we were important. Since then, I’ve been at death’s door, had a village full of friends turn into murderous maniacs, fought off a creature that fed on all my worst nightmares, watched my father die in front of me, and been forced to live in this maddening hole. And do you know why? Because I wanted some answers! I wanted the end of the story you could have told me in the first place! So you owe me something, Director. You owe me the truth.”

  Lily found that her breath was coming out in gasps. The old man looked at her, with an odd kind of respect.

  “Really, Miss Lilith, I am not as useful as you think,” he said, utterly calm. “The Oracle will tell you everything you need to know.” He smiled. “Once you have given her back her name, of course.”

  For one long moment, Lily seriously considered punching him in the face.

  “I don’t know her name,” she snarled.

  The Director smiled. Then he held up something, between the tips of his fingers. A tiny memory pearl, the last of its sugary coating falling away.

  “No, Lily. But I did.”

  * * *

  The Director had been in the Oracle’s throne room for nearly an hour now, but Lily had barely noticed the time go by. As soon as he had left them at the entrance, drawing the velvet curtain behind him, all of her joy at seeing her friends again had flooded back, replacing the sudden and surprising rage. Since that moment, they hadn’t stopped talking.

  Some of the stories she found hard to believe—picturing Cherubina as a revolutionary figurehead took some effort. Some were all too easy. Sadly, she
did not find it difficult to see Snutworth becoming the Director. She had met him only a couple of times, but that had been enough. He was everything about Agora that she had hated. It was all too likely that he would achieve anything he desired.

  It was overwhelming to hear Ben’s excitable tones again, to argue with Mark over where he had embellished his stories of their time together, and to hear Laud’s remarks, so sharp but tender. She barely paid attention to what they said, just listening to their voices was enough to enchant her.

  They had made her tell them her own stories, of course. But she found that she was barely able to get them straight. She had heard so many secrets in the Canticle, lived so many lives, that her own story seemed small in comparison. When she came to the death of her father, though, she found that the memory was so real and sudden, so unlike the whispers, that fresh tears sprang to her eyes. The three of them hugged her again, and she felt safe in their embrace, as though she was waking up at last from a very bad night.

  “How long … how long has it been?” she asked, at length. “It’s hard to keep track of days, down here.”

  “A couple of months since we last saw each other, I think…” Mark said, shaking his head, “but…”

  “Longer for us,” Laud said, intensely. “So much longer.”

  Lily looked at Laud. She realized that he had been staring at her ever since they had first arrived. Even during her argument with the Director, his eyes had barely strayed. She dropped her head self-consciously.

  “No need to stare, Laud. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Laud hastily turned his gaze away.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…” he broke off. “That is … I—we—I always knew that you’d be back, Lily. I want you to know that. You said you would. I knew you’d come back…”

  Lily took his hand, confused. Laud seemed to be struggling with something, but as he opened his mouth to try again, a voice cut across them all.

  “It is done.”

  The voice sounded tired, and old, and relieved. It came from behind the curtain, and as they turned to face it, Lily saw a withered hand draw the curtain aside. The figure that emerged was almost unrecognizable. He was a little like the Director, but the Director with all of his pride and strength drained away. He hunched and wheezed, and looked at them through watery eyes.

  “Well, that was certainly a powerful experience,” he said, laughing weakly. “When the Oracle takes your confession, you leave nothing out. I had not expected the resonance in the chamber to be so overwhelming.”

  Benedicta rushed forward to offer the old man her arm. He pushed her away, lightly but firmly.

  “I neither deserve, nor want your help, Miss Benedicta. Reserve that noble soul for those who are more worthy.” He looked up at Laud, who looked surprisingly angry at the Director’s return. “And there is no need to curse me, Mr. Laudate. I am no one, now. Save your energies; there will be plenty of time to use them.” He turned to Mark. “Guide her well, Protagonist. There is no true Director now, and the Day of Judgment is nearly upon you.” He laughed, feebly. “Of course, that might all be nonsense. You know, I’m really not sure anymore. The approach of the end will do that to all our certainties.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Mark asked, with a cautious tone. The Director sighed.

  “I shall find the Conductor. He will know the proper arrangements. The funeral of a Director is a quiet affair. I shall not expect any of you to attend.” He pulled himself up straight, regaining his dignity. “Now, there is one last promise to fulfill.”

  The Director came close to Lily, steadying himself on her shoulder. Then, with careful deliberation, he slipped the last memory pearl into his mouth. He hesitated for a moment.

  “Miss Lily,” he said, “it is not far from here to a path back to Agora. You could take it; return home without asking any more questions. You already know so much, and I can promise you this—the truth will not make you happy.”

  Lily took hold of his hand. Deep inside her, the whispers rose up again.

  “I have to know,” she said, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

  The Director sighed.

  “Then I am sorry, Miss Lilith. I hope you will forgive me.”

  He leaned close and whispered something into her ear.

  The world stopped.

  The Director pulled back his head, and looked her in the eyes. Lily stared back at him, speechless.

  “It is the truth,” he said. “Go, and tell her.”

  Lily walked forward, in a daze. Behind her, she heard the old man shuffling away, back down to the mausoleum. She felt Laud take one arm, and Mark, the other. She saw Ben in front of her, asking her what the Director had said, with mounting concern. But it was as if all of them were miles away. It was like she was back inside the Canticle—all she could hear was the truth, resounding inside her own head. She broke free from their grasp, pushed aside the curtain, and walked into the Oracle’s chamber as though she were the only person in the world.

  Every part of her seemed to have shut down—her mind, her voice, her senses. Mark, Laud, and Ben buzzed around her, exclaiming about the Oracle’s cavern. She dimly felt their awe as they edged out onto the stone walkway over the spines of rock, and gazed up at the vast crystal suspended over the Resonant Throne. She watched her friends collapse to their knees from the vibrations, but somehow the resonance couldn’t touch her now.

  And then, she stood before the throne. And the Oracle looked down at her from behind her crystal mask, as impassive as ever.

  “I have brought you Truth, Oracle,” Lily said, her voice thick and heavy. “I have brought your name.”

  Lily’s words echoed far louder than they should have done. Her friends struggled to their feet, hands clasped over their ears, as the words grew into a sound like the blast of trumpets.

  The Oracle leaned forward, her face only a few feet from Lily’s own. Her gloved hands gripped the arms of the throne.

  “Tell me,” the Oracle said, her voice bearing an unmistakable note of tension.

  Lily stared at that masked face, and finally let herself form the words that the Director had whispered.

  “Your name is Helen d’Annain,” Lily said. “And you are my mother.”

  * * *

  There was dead silence. Behind her, Lily heard Mark and Ben saying something to each other, amazed. Laud took her arm. And she wanted to look at him; she was sure that his face would have been full of sympathy. But she could not move. She could do nothing but stare at the woman on the throne, looking for any reaction at all.

  Around her, Lily felt a vibration in the air, a faint rumble from the cavern, as though a shower of distant whispers had been set all a flurry. But the Oracle’s body did not show this; the crystal mask did not move. When her voice emerged again, it was steady, and devoid of emotion.

  “Yes, that is true,” she said.

  Lily’s eyes grew hot. She wanted to cling to the Oracle, or to strike her—to beg for love or to curse her for not even remembering that she had a daughter. But when she opened her mouth, her voice was still and cold.

  “My father said you were dead,” she said, dully. “Why did he lie?”

  The Oracle’s reply came readily enough.

  “He did not lie, Lily. Listen.”

  From around the cavern, the voices of the Canticle began to increase. Then, out of it all, another voice emerged, clearer than the others, but still distant—an echo from far away. Lily recognized that voice. It was her own—reading aloud the letter her father had left for her as he lay dying:

  Your mother would probably have approved. But I buried her long ago.

  Lily almost laughed, but the sound caught in her throat, strangled.

  “So, that’s what he meant,” she said. “He really meant ‘buried.’ He put you in the earth.”

  “Helen d’Annain became the Oracle soon after your birth,” the Oracle intoned, speaking her own name as if it were a distant relation. �
�Her husband objected, but she wished to go. It was a great honor. But her memories were taken from her. All Oracles must live without a self. For self brings only emotion and disharmony, and destroys the balance of the Resonant Throne.”

  Lily turned away from the Oracle, sickened.

  “Lily…” Laud said, softly, but Lily wasn’t in the mood to listen. She looked back at the Oracle. Outwardly, she gave nothing away. But inside, she felt the whispers of the Canticle growing louder.

  “You remember nothing about me?” Lily asked, feeling a pain in her chest.

  The Oracle hesitated. Again, the room seemed to shake slightly, the light in the crystal spire above pulsed and strained, as though agitated. This chamber really was attuned to the Oracle’s mind. The echoes responded to the slightest disturbance.

  “I remember all things,” the Oracle replied. “Facts from a hundred thousand lives. I know every one of them.”

  “But you don’t feel them, do you?” Lily retorted, almost willing there to be another disturbance, another wave of vibrations in the air. Anything to show that this woman who claimed to be her mother was feeling something.

  “I cannot. All truth is equal in my sight,” the Oracle said, a tiny tremor in her voice. Lily felt the pain spread through her—a terrible, gnawing ache.

  “What’s the use of a million lives if you can’t live even one?” she asked, louder. This time, the vibrations hit her in the stomach, and she and her friends fell to the floor, the whole room shaking. One of the stalactites in the roof cracked, and fell into the chasm yards away from the walkway, splintering with a thunderous crash as it hit the floor far below.

  Mark crawled over to Lily, winded from his fall.