The Canticle of Whispers

by David Whitley

  We must try, Director. We cannot ignore them any longer. The people will not stand for it.

  He held his lantern low. The flame was dim, but just enough to see the iron tracks, and to make sure that he didn’t fall into any sudden drops. Lily had to have gone this way, along the rails. It was his only lead.

  I’m not theirs! I’m not … I’m not …

  The voices ebbed and flowed. Lily had said that the Cacophany was made up of sounds from the worlds above, fragments that forever echoed through the tunnels. Some voices were old and serious, some light and carefree. But all sounded lost among this sea of sound.

  He was right. I should never have come. Never known, never known …

  Sometimes, he thought he heard a voice he recognized. It was tantalizingly familiar. A distinguished voice—an older man with many cares on his shoulders.

  You must consider, Director, that they are not the only ones to blame. We cannot let war break out in our streets.

  Sometimes he walked; sometimes he tried to sleep. But the voices wouldn’t let him rest for long. They were building, rising into a storm, reverberating off the endless stone around him until his head shook with it. Above it all, the old man’s voice came again, loud and fearful.

  Please listen, dear friends. We are not enemies. We are not—

  There was a gasp. A shout. Cries and screams. But Laud struggled on. The air of the tunnels howled with the noise.

  The stone! The stone! The stone!

  Laud wanted to stop, to clasp his hands over his ears. But he couldn’t, because there, ahead in the darkness, was the sound of Lily’s voice. Tiny and alone, but still somehow audible in the maelstrom.

  They’ll never find me. They’ll never come …

  “I will, Lily,” Laud whispered, so softly that he could barely hear it. “I will.”

  And he carried on, his own words blowing back at him, as he walked deeper into the storm.

  I will … I will.

  I fear, sir, that the mission has failed.

  I will … I …

  May the stars watch over us all.

  PART TWO

  TRUTH

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Stone

  “MARK, did we do the right thing?”

  Mark looked over at Benedicta. This was the first time she had spoken for hours. They had both been quiet over the last few days once it had become clear that no matter how much they shouted, and raged, and pleaded, they weren’t going to be able to follow Lily and Laud.

  They had started the weary trek back to Agora three days ago. With the Rail Nexus destroyed, the carts no longer worked, and the journey that had taken mere hours on the way there had been a long slog through the silent darkness. Once their frustration had faded, there hadn’t been much to talk about. Or rather, there had been, but by mutual consent, they had chosen not to. There was no point in wasting their energy worrying, when there were more miles of tunnel ahead. Even when that “morning” they had finally reached the Descent, Ben had only flashed him a tired smile as they had climbed aboard, activated the controls, and the machine had rattled into life, to hoist them back up to Agora.

  Mark sat up, rubbing his back. He had been lying on the metal platform, trying to sleep. Ben was already standing, holding on to the rails around the platform, watching the sides of the rocky well as they slipped past.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Did we really have a choice?”

  They hadn’t. That was what Mark kept telling himself. The tunnels had been impassable. They had stuck it out for two days, helping to clear the rubble. But although they had finally made it into the Rail Nexus, the tunnel where Tertius and Septima had been trapped was still too weak, too likely to collapse. They had been forced to slip food through the tiny hole in the rubble just to keep the young Naruvians alive. Mark had raged at the Conductor, insisting that there had to be another way; that they couldn’t leave Laud and Lily in the outer caverns, all alone. And through it all, the Conductor had been begging them to return to Agora, saying that the Oracle could hear shouts and screams coming from the world above.

  “You know that we’d have gone after them if we could have, no matter what the Conductor said,” Mark said, trying to sound reassuring. “But we weren’t doing any good down there, not anymore. And Laud will find her.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Ben replied. She turned to face him. In the strange, soft light, her face looked washed out, paler than she really was. She bit her lip. “I trust Laud. Once he’s set his mind to something, he’ll finish it. No, I mean, should we have let Lily visit the Oracle?”

  Mark wanted to answer immediately, to say that of course they should. That Lily would never have delayed for a second.

  Except …

  “You think we could have made her wait?” he asked.

  Benedicta sighed, leaning back against the rail at the edge of the platform.

  “Maybe we should have tried,” she said. “Maybe if we’d had time to talk to her, to prepare her, she wouldn’t have run off, the Oracle wouldn’t have gotten upset … those workers wouldn’t have died, Mark.”

  Mark frowned, remembering the Conductor berating them as they surveyed the wreckage of the Rail Nexus, shouting that Lily had poisoned the Canticle, and disrupted the Oracle’s control. Without the Oracle to provide order and harmony, he said, the Canticle’s echoes had spiraled out of control, until their wild resonance had shaken the caverns to their core—with fatal results.

  At first, Mark hadn’t believed the Conductor. Surely, he thought, Lily’s confrontation with the Oracle couldn’t have been responsible for all this death? But as they had picked their way across the devastation, Mark had heard a sound he had hoped to never hear again. Behind the ominous rumbling that continued in the rock overhead, he could just make out a familiar mocking, eerie whisper.

  He should have recognized the Nightmare in the Oracle’s throne room, where its dark suggestions had hung in the air. He should have felt it lurking in the Mausoleum as Lily greeted them. But he had been too swept up by all the other revelations, too happy seeing Lily again after so long, he hadn’t understood the danger they were in.

  Then again, apparently neither had Lily. The Conductor had explained that the Nightmare could hide within the Canticle, feeding on unguarded minds. Suddenly, the strange behavior of the Naruvians made sense—always flitting from one thought to another, never letting themselves feel true emotion, lest it overpower them. An unhappy way to live, but it had kept them safe. Until Lily had come.

  After that, it had been hard to argue with the Conductor. And no matter how hard Mark and Ben had worked to clear the rubble, the Conductor had never wavered in his opinion. The Oracle wanted them to return to Agora, and the best thing they could possibly do now was to follow her wishes, before she lost control again.

  “It isn’t what I’d hoped for,” Mark admitted. “Slinking home and hoping for the best. That isn’t what Lily would do. We’ve beaten the Nightmare before. Together, we could do it again…”

  “But we aren’t all together, are we?” Ben said softly, looking out at the rocky walls as they slipped slowly by. “I don’t think we ever were, this time. We were all so desperate to rescue Lily, to bring the truth to light, we didn’t really pay attention to her…”

  Mark fiddled with his cuffs, noticing for the first time how badly frayed they were.

  “We didn’t have a choice, Ben,” he began. “Lily wasn’t going to leave without finding out the truth, and we needed to bring her home as quickly as possible.” He sunk his head into his chest, trying to mask a growing feeling of guilt. “It’s not just for our sake, you know that,” he said, hastily. “Agora needs her. It needs someone other than Crede to lead the ordinary people—to stop the fighting in the streets, to stand up to Snutworth. The Oracle was right about one thing: Lily knows how to light a fire, and make everyone see the world a different way.” Mark set his jaw, feeling so very tired. “We need her.”

 
“You sound like Crede,” Ben said, quietly.

  Mark stared at her, too shocked to reply. Ben’s eyes glinted in the dim, bluish light radiating from the stone walls.

  “We told each other we were going down there to rescue a friend,” she said, softly. “But if we’d really wanted that, we’d have calmed her down. We’d have looked after her better. Crede’s spent all this time treating her like a symbol, and now we’re doing the same.”

  “But … we need her,” Mark said, alarmed at how much Ben’s words rang true.

  “Yes, we do.” Ben knelt down in front of Mark, looking him in the eyes. “As a friend, not a savior. Lily started up the Temple Almshouse, but we’ve spread its message. Without all of us, it would never have become as important as it is. We kept it alive.” She put her hands on Mark’s shoulders. “This isn’t just her fight anymore. It’s our city, our world.” She smiled. “When Laud finds her, and he will find her, shouldn’t we be able to show her that we’ve made a difference, our way? Wasn’t that what she always wanted? For everyone to be free, and make their own future?”

  Mark smiled, tentatively. He wished he had Benedicta’s confidence.

  “I’ll … try,” he promised, meaning it.

  For a long moment, the two of them didn’t speak. They sat together on the floor of the platform, listening to the rumble of the long chain above, raising them ever higher, taking them home.

  “But…” Mark said, at last. “I’m not sure I can match Lily’s resolve.”

  Ben’s smile grew sad.

  “That might not be such a bad thing,” she said. “Maybe what we need is a little more flexibility. I mean, if there’s one thing those ancient Librans had, it was resolve.” She sighed, turning away. “I still find it hard to believe that no one let the truth slip. Not once. All those years lying to their children, pretending that Agora was an ancient city … even a threat of death wouldn’t have stopped me from talking.”

  “I don’t think it was about that,” Mark said, cautiously. “Don’t you remember what the Oracle said? Those first settlers took that oath willingly. Maybe they were mad, but I think they really believed they had to keep the secret, to make their perfect world. They probably thought they were doing the best for their children, by giving them a better place to live and not burdening them with the truth.” His mood darkened. “It was like that in Giseth. It wasn’t just the Nightmare that kept people in line—it was so much easier not to think. Not to wonder. Just to accept that you should live your life the way everyone else did.” He shook his head. “I suppose, when you’re struggling to survive, who has time for history?”

  Ben nodded, thoughtfully.

  “Maybe we should keep it that way,” she said, stretching. “The last thing we want is something else to make people angry. Those street mobs are bad enough already…” she paused, putting her head on one side.

  “What is it?” Mark asked, seeing a look of concern pass over her face.

  “Mark,” she said, quietly, “can you hear something?”

  Mark listened. He wished that he hadn’t.

  “Isn’t that shouting, coming from above?”

  Ben nodded, nervously.

  “Sounds like a lot of people,” she said.

  “Mmm,” Mark said, uncomfortably. “More than usual. A lot more.”

  “But I’m sure the rocks are just echoing it, making it sound louder,” Ben said, hastily. “Just like back in Naru.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mark replied, a little too quickly. “I’m sure that’s it.”

  Neither of them wanted to remember what the Oracle had said about shouts of terror on the streets of Agora. Certainly not now that light was beginning to filter down from above, and their journey to the surface was nearly over.

  * * *

  By the time they reached the Last’s house, the noise had died away. But it wasn’t a peaceful kind of quiet—there was a tension in the air.

  That feeling only increased as they slipped down the corridors and out into the Virgo District. Mark was surprised to find that it was mid-morning—they had lost all sense of time in Naru. It was a beautiful day, bright and fresh, but the streets around the Last’s house were deserted.

  “So…” Mark said, keeping his voice low. “Which way back to the temple?”

  Ben frowned.

  “This way,” she said. “At least, I think so. I don’t remember that stall being there…”

  Mark looked more closely. The stall was very much out of place—a rickety, wooden construction perched on the corner of this elegant street. It looked like it had been thrown together in a few minutes.

  “I’m sure I’d have remembered that,” he agreed. “Maybe we turned the wrong way?”

  He approached the stall, trying to get a better look. There didn’t seem to be any wares on display, apart from a large, brass hand bell. The proprietor, a surprisingly elegant woman with a pale, tired face, was staring glumly the other way. She looked tense, but harmless enough.

  “Should we ask?” Mark whispered to Ben. Ben considered.

  “I’ll ask,” she said. “The receivers are still after you, remember?”

  Mark agreed, slipping out of sight behind one of the nearby houses. He watched Benedicta approach.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “I wonder, could you tell me how to get to…?”

  The woman jumped.

  “Oh, forgive me,” she said, stumbling over her words. “My nerves are all shot to pieces, but that’s hardly a surprise. We must be vigilant against the…” she trailed off, looking Ben up and down. A note of suspicion crept into her voice. “I don’t remember seeing you in this area before. Who is your mistress, girl? You’re obviously a servant.”

  “Actually,” Ben said, patiently, “I’m not. I’m just trying to get back to the Temple Almshouse in—”

  Ben got no further. With a shriek, the woman grabbed for the hand bell on the counter beside her, and swung it wildly, its shrill peals shattering the peaceful morning.

  “Receiver! Receiver needed here quickly! Oh, by all the stars come now!” she shouted.

  Alarmed, Ben jumped back.

  “What’s going on? What…?”

  In the distance, Mark heard the answering shriek of whistles.

  “Run!” he shouted, and broke cover.

  The two of them sprinted down the cobbled streets. The whistles were joined by cries of fear and alarm. All around, upstairs windows opened, and masters and servants alike joined in, shouting for the receivers. In the distance, they could see an approaching line of midnight-blue coats. Mark dodged down an alleyway, and Ben nearly barreled into him.

  “The receivers … are they…?” Mark managed to gasp, too afraid and confused to make any more sense.

  “I don’t think they’ve seen us,” Ben panted. “We’re nearly at the Central Plaza—that’s the fastest way back home. At least…” she reconsidered, all of her confidence draining away, “it was when we left.”

  Mark took Ben’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

  “Run now, questions later?” he asked. Ben nodded.

  “Definitely,” she said.

  They dodged through the streets, the whistles fading into the distance. Every now and then, they passed another of the rickety stalls. It was obvious now that these stalls were watch posts—civilian volunteers ready to summon the receivers. But Virgo had always been a sedate district. Six days ago, when they had left Agora, there had barely been any receivers here at all. Now, it was all they could do to keep away from their patrols—every few minutes they spotted another blue coat, and were forced to duck into alleys or wait, breathless, behind abandoned carts. Every receiver that hurried past them bore the same haunted look, and no one seemed to have slept for days. But it was only when they approached the Central Plaza, only when they heard the sound of shouting carried on the breeze, that they realized that whatever had happened, it was far bigger than they had thought.

  Mark and Ben crouched in the shadows of
the Virgo District archway, and stared. The plaza looked like a battlefield. The stalls that normally covered it had been pushed together to form a crude barricade, curving in an irregular line across the plaza, stretching from the Taurus District archway to the Sagittarius Bridge on the other side of the wide marketplace. No, Mark realized with a jolt, the barricade wasn’t limited to the plaza—it stretched out into the city as far as Mark could see. Agora had been slashed in two, and the Sagittarius District, their home, was on the other side.

  On this side of the barricade, a detachment of receivers was patrolling up and down, tension written all over their frames. Mark couldn’t see the other side, but from the noise, it sounded like there was a large and very angry mob, screaming a litany of curses, and crashing against the barricade.

  “Blood for blood, a fair trade!” they were shouting. “The stone will strike anew!”

  For a brief moment, Mark wondered what they meant, but then he shoved it to the back of his mind, along with all the rest of his worries. It was strangely easy to do, because none of this felt real. This city was his home; it couldn’t just change like this, not when they had only been gone less than a week …

  “Mark!” Ben whispered, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Look! I think I can see a way past the barricade!”

  Mark followed her gaze, and nodded. Some of the broken stalls that made up the barricade had been piled up across and under the marble bridge that led to the Sagittarius District. It looked like it had been a rush job, and there were definite gaps in the barrier under the bridge. Large enough for them to slip through.

  Just at that moment, there was a sudden cry from the other side of the plaza. A few ragged figures had struggled over the top of the barricade, and begun to rain down pieces of wood and stone on the startled receivers. For a minute or two, the receivers were thrown into confusion, before rallying to arrest the rioters. It didn’t take long, but it was long enough for them to miss Mark and Ben, running across the other side of the plaza, and scrambling down the bank beside the Sagittarius Bridge.