Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  Standing up, he walked to the door and opened it. Dardel stared up at him, eyes wide.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I heard you were leaving. I came to…to say goodbye.”

  Though she did not meet his eyes, he could feel her conflicting emotions. She was hoping they would do more than just say goodbye.

  “I’m glad you did,” he told her. “Dardel…”

  She looked up. He raised an eyebrow. Her lips curled into a smile. “I hope you don’t mind the late hour. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Not at all. These hot nights do make sleeping difficult. Would you like to come in and…talk?”

  She slipped past him into the room. Shutting the door, he turned to find her shrugging out of her vest. “This heat just makes me want to take off all my clothes.”

  He laughed quietly. “I thought I was the only one.”

  Coming over to him, she took hold of his vest. “Let me help you.”

  Dreamweaver robes discarded, they moved to the bed. She smelled of sweat and jungle flowers; the moonlight caught the curve of a shoulder. Breast. Hip. Warm skin under his palms. Hands moving over his body. They drew ever nearer, teasing with fingers, exploring with lips, until they couldn’t get any closer. He felt her heels press into his back and then they were rocking back and forth, the only sounds their breathing and the soft creak of the bed, taking him ever closer to that moment when pleasure overtook thought.

  When thought returned she pulled away from him. He reached out to touch her, but she caught his hand. Surprised, he looked at her closely and sensed a thoughtfulness.

  “Something is different,” she said. She looked at him. “I thought it would be more exciting now I know who you are. But it isn’t. It’s…” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  He leaned back against the wall.

  “Sometimes a fantasy is more exciting than reality,” he said.

  She nodded, then frowned and shook her head again. “It’s not that.” She looked at him and smiled. “Well, it is a bit. But there’s something about you that’s always bothered me. You remind me of…have you…?” She stopped and looked thoughtful. “I get the feeling there’s something distracting you, even when you’re most, um, attentive.” She paused. “I’d normally guess it was a woman. I hope that’s not too presumptuous.”

  She was perceptive, he mused. He also recognized her mood. A bit of conversational intimacy sometimes rounded off bedroom encounters nicely, though women liked it more than men. He had learned to appreciate this long ago. They could be frivolous, funny, outrageous or show depths of intelligence and insight. Sometimes they simply needed to talk about their problems. At times a little too much. That took a little patience.

  Dardel was no complainer. He could have shrugged off her guess, but there was no reason to, so long as he kept Auraya’s identity secret.

  “There is a woman,” he told her.

  She looked up at him. “Then why aren’t you with her? Is she in the north?” Her eyes widened. “Are the Circlian gods keeping you apart?”

  He smiled. “No. Unfortunately she doesn’t regard me in the same way I regard her.”

  “Oh.” Dardel’s shoulders dropped and she smiled at him sympathetically. “Then she’s a fool.”

  He chuckled. “The number of times I’ve said that to women in the opposite situation. Now I’m reassured that it helps—a little.”

  But Dardel didn’t appear to be listening. Suddenly she looked up and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

  “And you just bedded me! How can you do that when you love another!”

  He caught her wrist. “Do you really expect me to be celibate for a woman who has no interest in me?”

  She smiled. “No. I suppose not.”

  “I can think of a few ways you could show your support for my decision not to remain celibate.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I’m sure you can.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s nice to know you’re human enough to be a fool for love.”

  “Is it?” He grimaced. “Glad it’s nice for someone.”

  “Aw.” She grinned and patted his cheek. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure it’s extra-nice for you.” Leaning forward, she began to trace her fingers across his chest. He smiled, caught her hand, and pulled her closer.

  23

  The Sanctuary, in contrast to the Temple, was a jumble of interconnected buildings on several levels. Auraya felt as if she was descending into a maze, yet every time she began to feel trapped and disorientated Nekaun would lead her into a corridor open to the air on one side, or out into a courtyard. She realized that this form of architecture allowed breezes to flow through the building, making the dry heat bearable.

  Most of her thoughts circled around the situation she was now in. The Siyee were hostages. They were fortunate to be, as they had come here to attack Pentadrian property—or forces, depending on how the Pentadrians regarded their birds—and could have been killed in retaliation.

  Instead they were being used to blackmail her. The price appeared to be small. She must simply stay here a while. Meet Nekaun’s people. That was all.

  There has to be more to it than that. At best he will try to gain knowledge about the White from me. At the worst he is keeping me near while he works out if he can kill me.

  So far Nekaun had led her about the Sanctuary, stopping here and there to point out decorations or explain the use or significance of features. He was playing the gracious host. She felt that while her body was keeping up, her mind was lagging far behind, not yet fully grasping everything that had happened in the last few days, and the full consequences of what she had agreed to.

  Nekaun said something in a grand tone.

  “And here,” Turaan translated, “are your rooms.”

  A servant opened a large pair of double doors. Auraya drew her attention back to her surroundings and followed Nekaun inside. The first room was the size of a house and sparsely furnished. Nekaun gestured at a doorway. Stepping through, Auraya found herself in a broad room filled with an enormous bed. An archway to one side led to a room covered entirely with tiles, a sunken, empty pool in the center.

  “Domestics will bring you water when you wish to bathe,” Nekaun told her through Turaan. He pointed to glass and pottery bottles. “A selection of perfumes and oils.”

  So I am to live in luxury while the Siyee are chained beneath the ground.

  “I want to speak to the Siyee,” she found herself saying. “It is needlessly cruel for them to be ignorant of our agreement.”

  Nekaun regarded her thoughtfully.

  “I will take you to them,” Turaan translated. “But only if you swear by your gods that you will not attempt to free them. I would have to stop you, and they might be hurt in the process. I do not wish to harm them.”

  “I understand,” she replied. “I swear on the Circle that I will not attempt to rescue the Siyee you hold captive while our bargain holds.”

  He nodded. “Follow me.”

  To her relief he did not stroll along pointing out features of the Sanctuary as he had before. Nor did he set a swift pace, however.

  “The Siyee regard you as their own personal White,” he said. “They believe you consider them your own people. Is that true?”

  “It is and it isn’t. I am not Siyee. I will never be Siyee.”

  “But you have much in common with them. Flying, for instance.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you regard Si as your home, or Hania?”

  She frowned. “Si is my home for now, but I will always have a link with Hania.”

  He smiled. “Of course. Did you leave the White in order to live among the Siyee?”

  “I am not going to tell you my reasons for leaving the White.”

  He chuckled. “I thought not. But I had to ask. It has been the source of much speculation here.”

  They had descended into an underground corridor. The walls were bare and the
floor dusty, suggesting this area was little used. The floor dipped slightly at the center, inferring wear over many centuries, perhaps millennia. Intrigued, Auraya looked for other signs that might indicate what this part of the Sanctuary had once been used for.

  Nekaun led her through a gate into a passage. They passed a few alcoves, each holding a lamp. At the end they came to a small room. An iron gate filled a large archway, two Servants standing guard on either side. Beyond was a much larger hall filled with columns. At the far end was a chair of enormous size.

  It’s an old temple, she thought. That is the throne of a god. A dead god, most likely.

  Then a movement drew her attention to the base of a column and she felt her heart sink.

  Siyee were chained to the columns. They sat or crouched on the floor, their thoughts despondent and fearful. Wooden bowls had been set by each Siyee for their excrement, and she could smell the stench of it.

  “You said your people would provide sanitation,” she said, turning to face Nekaun. “This isn’t healthy.”

  Nekaun’s eyebrows rose. “They are prisoners. You can’t expect me to treat them like honored guests.”

  She thought of the rooms he had presented to her. “I don’t,” she said. “But I do expect them to be healthy enough to return home when they are freed. They will sicken like this. They must be allowed to exercise or their wing muscles will grow too weak for flying.”

  He looked at the Siyee and nodded slowly. “I understand. Once I am sure this hall is secure, I will have them unchained from the columns. An area will be set aside for the collection of excrement.” He spoke to the Servants. One drew a key from beneath his robes then moved to the gate and unlocked it.

  Auraya strode inside. The Siyee looked up as she approached, their faces and thoughts full of hope. She searched for Sreil. Finding him, she walked over and crouched beside him.

  “Are any of you hurt?”

  The young man shook his head. “Scratches, sprains, but nothing more.”

  She looked around at the hopeful faces. “I’m not here to free you,” she told them. “At least not today. But I have come to an arrangement with Nekaun, the leader of the Pentadrians. Every day I remain here he will set one of you free.”

  “There are over thirty of us,” one of the Siyee said. “That’s a whole month. We won’t be able to fly if we stay like this for a week.”

  “I have explained that to him,” she told him. “He has agreed to unchain you.”

  “Do you trust him?” Sreil asked.

  She looked at him and sighed. “I have to. He swore on his gods. If that doesn’t keep him honest, nothing will.”

  “What does he want from you?” the priest asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He says to stay here and meet his people.”

  “He will try to corrupt you. Turn you from the gods,” Teel warned.

  “No doubt,” she agreed. “Tomorrow morning we will see if he keeps to his word. I will insist on watching him free one of you.”

  Among their doubts and hopes was a concern for herself and gratitude for the risk she was taking for them. She could not help feeling a surge of affection for them. If Nekaun had not been watching and listening, she would have moved among them, talking to and reassuring each, but she did not want him to see how much she valued them or his demands in return for their safety might increase. Standing up, she managed a smile.

  “Be strong and patient,” she told them. “I’ll be thinking of you all every moment.”

  “And we of you,” Sreil said.

  Turning away reluctantly, she forced herself to stride back to the gate. Stepping outside, she turned to face Nekaun.

  “If any of them are unable to fly from the Sanctuary, our deal is finished.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Of course. I will see that they are made more comfortable.”

  The Palace library closed in the evenings for all but the “members,” which usually gave the Thinkers all the privacy they needed while discussing their progress in the search for the Gods’ Scroll.

  Or lack of progress, Raynora thought. I wonder how many other clues my companions have overlooked or dismissed because they didn’t like the gender or the race of the one who supplied it? Has their jealousy of all with magical Skills driven them to ignore important information too?

  He felt a familiar twinge of envy and smiled wryly. All Thinkers coveted magical power, even himself. You always wanted what you couldn’t have. Knowing he couldn’t become a Servant had made him all the more fascinated by them. He’d wanted to be one once, but when a Thinker was ordained in the aftermath of the war he found his interest waning. He couldn’t hope for a role as prestigious as Companion, and the humble life of an ordinary Servant didn’t appeal so much when there still wasn’t magic involved.

  Whereas being a Thinker does gain me some respect from others, and I don’t have to give up my assets, small though they may be.

  Having come to that conclusion, Ray had found his interest in the Scroll of the Gods diminishing as well. It had been part of his fascination with religion, but now that was gone he was finding the unpleasant personalities of the principal searchers wearing. Barmonia was the driving force of the group, but his arrogance irritated Ray. Mikmer’s cynicism was no longer amusing, and gods help you if you got Kereon started on one of his favorite subjects. The only Thinker close to Ray’s age was Yathyir, but Ray secretly suspected the Dekkan’s parents had made a pact with the gods—to give their son a genius for remembering facts—however, to make room the gods had removed any ability to understand social norms, jokes and subtleties of conversation.

  So why am I still here? Well, I was made an offer too good to refuse…

  “What are you smiling about, Ray?”

  He turned to find Mikmer regarding him suspiciously and felt a pang of guilt. To compensate, Ray grinned even wider. “I was just calculating how much gold the Scroll will bring me when I sell it.”

  The others turned to stare at him.

  “We are not going to sell the Scroll!” Barmonia declared, his face beginning to turn red already.

  “Oh, I don’t imagine you would,” Ray agreed. “But I’m sure you’ll pay a lot to get it off me.”

  Yathyir smiled. “He means to find it himself.”

  Barmonia’s eyebrows rose. “You think you can do so without our help, do you?”

  “Maybe,” Ray replied, lounging in his chair with deliberate nonchalance. “If I can persuade that woman to help me after you all treated her so rudely the other day.”

  “That northerner woman!” Barmonia huffed. “You’re welcome to her. All you’ll get from her is scabs.”

  “Because all northern women are diseased, are they?”

  The big man stared back at him. “No moral woman travels on her own.”

  “No moral unSkilled woman, anyway,” Mikmer said quietly.

  “She’s Skilled?” Yathyir asked, turning to look at Mikmer. “How do you know?”

  The older man’s shoulders lifted slightly. “An educated guess.”

  “But you don’t know for sure?” Yathyir asked.

  Mikmer rolled his eyes. He was not the most patient of men, especially when it came to Yathyir’s literal way of thinking. “Of course not. Did she use magic while she was here? No. Is it likely I went out and found her and asked her to demonstrate, and she agreed to? No.”

  “Oh,” Yathyir replied, looking thoughtful. Fortunately he never took exception to Mikmer’s sarcasm. He accepted it as the normal behavior of an older, more experienced Thinker.

  “You think we should use this woman?” Kereon asked Ray.

  All turned to regard the man. Kereon rarely spoke unless he felt he had something worthwhile to say, but when he did he could drone on for hours.

  “I do,” Ray replied. “She read the tablet as if it was her own language, and hinted that she can read ancient Sorl.”

  “And if we bring her here and she can’t?” Mikmer asked.
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  “No harm done.”

  “Unless she learns something of the Scroll from us,” Yathyir warned.

  “She won’t learn anything we don’t want her to. She only has to try to read the bones.”

  “And if she understands them she’ll know what we’re after,” Barmonia said. “We can’t risk that.”

  “Why not? What can she do with that information?”

  “She might find it herself.”

  “Not if we invite her to join us.”

  “Join us!” Barmonia exclaimed. “We’re not working with some foreign flit.”

  “She’ll steal the credit from us,” Mikmer agreed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kereon said, gaining a look of surprise from Barmonia. “Who would believe her? Nobody.” He leaned forward, mostly toward Barmonia. “If she can help us, we invite her in. She’ll accept because she won’t get to see our other artifacts or learn what we know unless she does. When we find out where the Scroll is, her part in it ends.”

  Barmonia’s eyes had taken on a gleam of interest.

  “She won’t tell us what the bones say unless we take her with us.”

  “If she’s clever. Even so, once we have the Scroll we won’t have to give her anything. Certainly not any credit.” Kereon smiled. “Do you really think anyone will believe she had anything to do with finding it, except cooking for us?”

  Barmonia sat back and shook his head. “No. Very well. Bring her in.”

  Kereon looked at Ray. “She’ll be suspicious if anyone but you approaches her.”

  Ray nodded. “I’ll find her. I can’t guarantee that I can persuade her to join us after the way you all treated her the other day, but I’ll try.” He narrowed his eyes at Barmonia. “You’ll have the hardest challenge.”

  “Putting up with her,” Yathyir said, nodding.

  “No,” Ray replied. “Remembering what manners are.”

  As the others grimaced or rolled their eyes, Ray considered how he was going to persuade Emmea to cooperate. He had no illusions that the others would even attempt to be civil. If the woman was going to spend any length of time helping them, she’d need a friend who sympathized with her.