A cold nose nudged her arm.
“Gangar!”
“Has he come to melt the lock again?” Dost sounded unnerved. “The way he always does that, turns up on time. It’s uncanny even he is supposed to be halfway to the world of the dead.”
“I have the key!” Triumphantly Ellinca pulled it from the guard’s pocket.
Her fingers shook as she thrust it into the lock. Inside the room the auratrist was slumped half-upright beside a pile of blankets. Here, in this thin artificial light, she looked as lifeless as a cloth puppet and her upturned face was marred by deep shadows, her lips a faded blue.
“She’s still breathing.”
Her eyes flashed open when Ellinca touched her throat. “What’s wrong? Have they poisoned you?” As quiet and assured as a lifelong companion, Gangar settled in beside the woman and laid his great head in her lap.
“I die,” she murmured. Her gaze swung to examine them all. “You’re here. The Burgla’les. The tuskdog. All three of you. I have been waiting.”
“Yes. Yes we are. What can we do? Tell us!” Trembling Ellinca allowed her awareness to sink inward, reaching for the woman. What was wrong with her? A tremendous shock shoved at her. She fell backward, flailing. Dost caught her by the shoulders and hefted her to her feet.
“What is it?” he said. “You were trying to use your power, weren’t you? Don’t.”
“No.” She pulled away, shaking her head, yet knew he saw through the lie.
“Yes. Correct.” The woman’s voice was like the last air hissing from a balloon. “You must not. Besides, your touch is abhorrent. There is no truth in you. You are too...changeable.” She slowly raised a hand. “I have failed my people. My arguments do not sway him, your Imperator. He believes we cursed his daughter and so I take the path.”
“The path?” Though she questioned it Ellinca had heard of this. Some of the people on the way across the Whispering mountains had welcomed the chance to speak to someone different and she had been curious about the auratrists. If they wished it so, auratrists could will themselves to death. In so doing they somehow distilled their years of wisdom to pass on to their successors.
“Another shall succeed where I have not. Listen to me. Do not forget this. You.” She pointed to Dost. “You are honest and true though your body has the mark of the grave. You I trust, and you, for some reason, trust her – the changeable one.” She scowled and swung her gaze to Ellinca. “Therefore, since a bludvoik must not touch it, when I die, she will take my essence, my jung qua, and she will give it to the Grakkurd named Dayna. She is the next auratrist. So I have chosen.” She cupped her hands and breathed into them, a long breath that produced a coiling gray mist.
Ellinca flinched. What was this woman trying to say? One second she was...abhorrent... The next she was entrusted with her last whatever it was...this jung qua?
“Wait. I can’t do this... Dayna? You can’t be...” But the woman’s eyes rolled up to reveal white streaked with tiny blue blood vessels and she collapsed. Her hands opened as if they were a blossom drinking in the light of a dawning sun. Within them was a tiny shining pearl.
“Take it,” said Dost. “You are honored. We must fulfill her last wish.”
“Okay. Got that idea, but if I touch it...”
“Use a cloth to pick it up. No bare skin, unless you want to be the next auratrist.”
There was a white handkerchief on the auratrist’s lap. Though it felt like sacrilege she picked it up, gently wrapped it ’round the strange pearl and tucked it into a pocket.
“Ah!” Dost raised his head. “Problems. There are now guards with Dayna, moving away fast. Others come here.” He met her eyes. “We’re too late.”
The thing in her pocket seemed to pulse like a tiny living heart. “No. Never.” This pearl was life, the possibility of a new beginning. Among all this chaos, destruction and war she saw this clearly – her responsibility.
“This jung qua.” There was desperate hope in her voice. “It’s more than just her memories, isn’t it?”
“From my studies of books and scrolls – it’s supposed to be, on the day it’s given to another, a sort of all-encompassing awareness of truth. The receiver becomes for a short time, minutes, hours...” He shrugged. “I don’t know...”
“A god?”
“No, not that, but their awareness is more than human.”
“Ah. Then you must go to Sasskia. I’ll go to the guards and then get to Dayna. You said I’d be safe, didn’t you?”
“Yes. From my father, you’re safe. Ellinca, if it were that simple, they would have done this already...”
“It’s settled. I’ll find a way to give this to Dayna.” If she succeeded, surely something good and profound would come of it? Surely.
Chapter 29
The Word of the Imperator
The guards had not been happy at finding the auratrist dead. Their sergeant’s breath smelled of beer. He growled and shouted at her, and she dreaded being beaten.
“The Imperator has guaranteed my safety!” Still he thrust her against a wall and drew a knife.
“Wait!” It was the guard she had healed. “It wasn’t her. The bludvoik is loose, and he’s whole again!”
The sergeant paled, glancing about with his knife still clutched in his fist. “Right! Bring the body! You and you bring the woman.” His face writhed with distaste. “Don’t put any bruises on her. Be quick!”
They marched away.
Sandwiched between two of the guards as she was, the trip up the ramp, then multiple flights of stairs was uncomfortable and painful – for despite the no bruises command she was somehow shoved against many of the balustrades and walls on the way. Long stretches of corridor were in darkness. Only along the main thoroughfares was there lighting. There was an air of quiet panic about these men. News of the oncoming army must have spread. They would know this might be their last day alive.
Instead of being taken to the audience chamber they emerged onto the rooftop of the palace where there was yet another garden, this one of towering palms and thick-leaved tropical shrubbery.
Ellinca squinted, shaded her face with a hand and took a few minutes to adjust her eyesight. Bruises of purple, pink and yellow from the dying sun already streaked the horizon. Sasskia would change soon, with the rising of the first moon.
Finger-sized fronds whisked across her face as they walked between the trees. Their path took them through scattered piles of leaves that crunched and shattered beneath their feet like tiny bones.
At the northern edge of the roof the path merged with a house-sized open area floored with azure tiles, its boundaries mapped out by square columns of black marble and planters of bonsai irontrees. The Imperator rested on his war-suit throne. He looked southward, the expanse of tiles spread before him like a great pond.
Suspended by a gantry and thick cable at the edge of the roof was a curious man-high birdcage. The base was made of polished timber with the steel cage over the top. A pair of burly servants stood ready to unwind the rope round a capstan which would lower the large contraption down the face of the palace.
The backs of the soldiers stiffened as they marched her to a place a few yards in front of the Imperator. Dayna was there, slumped forward, her hands fastened behind her back, her face and arms blotched by purpling bruises. A giant Immolator stood close. His shoulders bulked with muscle and a large ceremonial sword was strapped to his back.
The executioner.
How was she to do this? No benefit would come of the jung qua if Dayna were killed soon after. Ellinca rested a trembling hand on her pocket, feeling renewed determination at the warmth of its pulse.
As if she were invisible, the Imperator remained staring southward with glazed eyes.
“When?” he asked quietly.
“Two hours, perhaps less,” said Thollemew Smythe. She had not seen him standing motionless by the throne. “Frope has only just beaten the rest of the rabble here.”
“And
so.” The Imperator at last noticed her. “What decision have you made, Ellinca? My realm, my daughter’s life, and the lives of many others rest in your young hands.”
“Sire!” The executioner stepped forward and was now alongside her, eyes fixed on the silver bracelet given to her by Sania, the elderly seer. “She is armed. That is a homing, single-use poniard from a Junclastian maker.”
“A trinketton?” The Imperator squinted.
“Yes, sire. An antique, but dangerous. Pull the right piece, stick a gob of the victim’s blood or sweat or spit in the receiver and it will find and kill you from ten miles away. Sort of burrows round inside you. Nasty little thing. Unfortunately, ya can’t get hold of them anymore. I tried once and – ”
The Imperator held up a finger.
“Oh. Sorry, sire.”
She knew her mouth was open. “I’m... I had forgotten. It was a gift!”
Lazily, Uster waved a hand. “No matter. Thank you for your vigilance, executioner. Step back. If she meant to kill me I would be already dead. Now, your decision?”
A guided poniard? She felt transfixed. This moment had arrived and she wasn’t ready. There was no easy escape. No way to jump from the roof and run off with Dayna. They were surrounded by the Imperator’s men. Ellinca counted them from the corners of her eyes. Less than in the audience chamber – his entourage was shrinking – but too many to outrun. It was daunting and her throat tightened.
What should she do? Stall, say anything and stall.
She looked at the Imperator. Funny but his eyes were the same blue as Dost’s. “You gave your word that I would go free no matter what I decide.”
“Yes.”
“If I heal her, will you stop the war against the Grakks?”
“No.”
“Then my answer is no.”
“Ahh.” He smiled, and she saw in it the smile of a predator that sees his prey totter within reach. “I offer a truce for one year. My word on it. If within that time they can prove beyond doubt that they did not curse Sasskia I will never initiate war with them again.”
There. Her bluff was called. It meant the Grakks must prove a negative. Something her uncle had said was hard to do. Nevertheless, a huge change from this putrid war – a year of peace, at least.
There was a commotion behind her. Uster raised a hand. “Speak, man.” An officer came forward, bowing his head. “Sir, Hilas Frope is here to negotiate, sire. The wall guards allowed him through as you commanded. He demands to bring five men with him before he will come to you. And he asks for your word of his safety.”
“Demands, does he? Five?” He looked about, calculating. “I have ten full Immolators, plus ten of you guardsmen. More than enough to deal with his five. Let them ascend. Swords only. No throwing knives. Search them thoroughly for illegal weapons. They will come no closer than the lip of the roof. Tell him he has my word of safety.”
“Yes, sire.” The man sprinted away and began signaling with semaphore flags from the roof edge.
“Shall we continue, Ellinca?”
“How do I know you can keep any bargain?” She gestured southward. The bracelet dangled from her wrist, catching her eye. A guided poniard? “Um... These people who come from Carstelan. They mean to kill you, and all your family. What’s to stop them? With you gone our agreement would be lost to the wind. Nothing.”
He curled his fingers round the armrests of the throne. “I promise you this. I know this. With Sasskia again by my side, and normal, I will reassert my authority. These people will listen. Once I have them I will crush Frope and his rebels.”
Ellinca licked her lips. There was no way for her to see into the future, but the future with Frope as Imperator was too awful to imagine. “Dayna, here, must also go free. And your son.”
He jerked to a halt in the middle of nodding agreement. “I have...no son.”
“Then, the bludvoik who was your son is to go free, unharmed.”
“Only if he is not dangerous.”
“Of course.”
Dayna’s head came up. There was a blaze of hope in her gaze, and Ellinca realized she had nearly said yes to everything when she only meant to stall for time. Dayna, could not know the full price of this, that she would die if she healed Sasskia. The warm pulse from the jung qua throbbed, seeming to spread up her arm. If she looked, she was almost convinced she would see the white glow shining through her flesh.
The Imperator leaned forward, eager, and awaiting her reply.
The words had taken her to the edge of a precipice.
As if at a great distance she heard the clacking of the capstan going ’round and smelled the smoke from the tortured rope, friction creating heat. Why didn’t the Imperator have the rope cut? Frope wouldn’t survive. There was, of course, his noble promise – his word. This was the man who had watched his son cut to pieces in front of him and did nothing. But Frope...Frope trusted the Imperator’s guarantee with his life. And, therefore, so could anyone.
Was her death worth a year of peace, and Sasskia’s and Dost’s lives?
No, it wasn’t. However, there was something. She delved into her pocket and found the handkerchief with the jung qua wrapped within. Dismissing regret for her past and sadness for her lost future, and firming her mind around determination, Ellinca slowly pulled it from the pocket.
Here there might at least have been a flight of white gulls winging overhead, or a swirling hurricane, or a glorious burst of light – something grand to mark her decision. But there was only the drone of the wind, the clack of the capstan and a pretty ringing as swords were drawn from scabbards.
She raised her head and looked squarely at the Imperator, blood thudding through her temples. “Yes, I agree.”
“Then so do I.” His expression seemed strangely sad and yet triumphant. “Thank you. Your name will be engraved on our family mausoleum.”
For the first time she could recall he closed his eyes. A line of wetness appeared along his eyelids. That was when she flicked the handkerchief. The junq qua pearl curled through the air leaving wispy coils of mist in its wake. It landed on the lap of the Imperator and rolled in a small circle. He reached and took it in his hand, his blue eyes opening to focus on this strange thing before it sank away, dissolving into his skin with no mark to show it had ever been.
Now it was worth it. There would be more than a year of peace.
“What have you done?” Dayna gaped.
“Yes,” drawled Hilas Frope. “What have you done, Uster?”
He stepped from the birdcage lift, moving casually to the left. His five men behind him in the lift were hooded and wrapped in long capes as if they were sleeping bats. She frowned. Was she the only one who thought them odd?
“Shall I go to Sasskia, sire?” she whispered. Moving too quickly here might get her sliced and diced by the executioner.
He said nothing but his face and hands began to twitch.
“Poison!” shouted someone. Ellinca froze.
“No,” he croaked. “It is not. Fear not poison. Fear those!” He flung out one arm, straight as a spear, his finger pointing at Frope’s men. “There are Immolators armed with gheist pistols! Betrayal!”
All attention swung to the men who lined the roof edge a neat arm’s length apart. Now Ellinca could see it too. Their movements had been stilted as they suppressed their distinctive gait. But how could they be Immolators?
As one they flung away the capes, gray cloth swirling like solid smoke, and they raised five silver gheist pistols. Ellinca cringed. She was between them and the Imperator.
The long barrels spat roaring blue gouts that hurtled toward her – five of the Imperator’s men, five Immolators, blurred into motion, launching themselves. Four of the blue gouts hit, pouring into their chests. They crumpled to the ground. The fifth sizzled past her ear. Already there was the clash of swords as Frope’s Immolators carved their way through the Imperial guards, only slowing as they met other Immolators in more equal combat.
Someone screamed behind her and she whipped her head round. The stray gheist shot had found a target. Beside the throne Thollemew Smythe writhed in pain. A hundred jets of blue flame erupted from his body – his eyes, his skull, his chest – then the screaming stopped and he slumped and lay still while the blue flames sputtered and faded. Horrified, she turned away.
Frope stood off to the side, smiling at her across the mass of fighting men. His sword was still sheathed and, as yet, none dared to touch him. After all, he had the Imperator’s guarantee of safety.
Men grunted and screamed. Metal sliced, clashed and slew, and no one noticed Ellinca at all, for even the executioner had thrown himself into the fighting.
No one except the Imperator who, glassy-eyed, was muttering odd things under his breath, and Dayna who was struggling to her feet with her hands still tied.
She glowered, staring at Ellinca. “Such wickedness this is, to do this! Why? Let’s hope you do right thing.” She shook her head. “Imperator, I will fight for you. Free me and I will fight.” She paused a second. “There is no war between us now. Yus?”
He prised himself upright, legs rigid as if he were a trinketton. His lips drew back from his teeth and he hissed the words. “No. No war.”
“You need time to take in jung qua. Much time. But you have none.”
“More come.” He gazed out at the horizon. They turned to see what he saw. From the far line of the defensive wall a thin gray tide of men swept toward them, though on foot they moved quicker than any normal man. More Immolators. A horde of much slower Imperial soldiers spilled from the walls on either side of them, sending arrows arcing toward the Immolators.
“Your wrists,” muttered the Imperator. He sliced through the rope binding Dayna.
Magience: second edition Page 27