by Jean Lorrah
As she closed her eyes, a single word softly crossed her lips, so gently that it was lost in the mourning sounds of the other Readers: “Murder!”
Chapter Two
By the time Zanos got home from the temple, he could do nothing but fall into bed and sleep. For some time he slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, but eventually his soul retreated into his favorite dream-the dream that had sustained him through all the years of his captivity.
He stood on the deck of a northbound ship, staring at the waters ahead as the blue sky slowly turned to a familiar iron gray. The air grew cool and crisp, and green islands appeared on the horizon, snow-capped mountains rising to greet him and his friends.
Above them, white birds with black-tipped wings circled the ship, and he pointed them out to Astra as she came up to him and lovingly slipped her arm around—
NO! Suddenly he was sitting up in bed, surrounded by darkness, hearing nothing but his own rapid breathing. “By Mawort-!” he swore, but broke off. He didn’t really believe in the gods, not even the warrior god to whom his life was dedicated.
Serafon is right, he thought. Why am I dreaming of a Reader in such terms?
He didn’t know, as he sat sweating in the darkness, which Astra terrified him more: the Reader who might discover his secret… or the woman who had in two brief encounters impressed him as no other woman ever had. Against his will, her face appeared in his mind, mature yet childlike, with beautiful features that reminded him of one of the temple statues. When she had smiled at him after the earthquake-He wanted to see that smile again.
And I will, he told himseE She is part of my destiny. He had not slept long enough to recover his strength, and drowsiness began to overtake him again. But before he yielded, one last thought warned, That destiny may be my destruction.
In the Academy the next day, Astra also struggled with a sense of impending danger. She had agreed to meet Tressa out of body.
Why? she demanded of herself, thoughts carefully shielded. Why did I trust her? She’s no friend—
never has been. I’ve often wished she could be, since it would have been safe…
Had Astra and Tressa been friends, they would not have had to fear separation. Readers who failed to reach the top ranks were married off to other failed Readers, to produce children with stronger talents, in service to the empire. Consummating such marriages weakened those Readers’ meager powers, and birthing children sometimes destroyed a mother’s powers entirely. In all cases, she lost contact with the girls she had grown up with.
Astra remembered the sad day when her friend Helena was wed to Tranos, a total stranger. She was there at her friend’s request, as the bride’s attendant. Just before the ceremony, the two young Readers had stolen a few minutes by themselves. Helena had cried in Astra’s arms, for the badge of the Dark Moon had just been pinned on her.
Both girls looked on it as an unearned mark of shame. But even though Astra could sympathize with her friend and offer her comfort, she could not fully appreciate Helena’s turmoil. For Astra, there was no fear of treading the Path of the Dark Moon. How could someone cursed with so much Reading power not pass the test for Magister?
Four years later, when her turn finally came, it was all Astra could do not to appear overconfident to the Masters who tested her-in fact, she had been careful not to show the full range of her powers that day, for in one so young they might pose a threat to ambitious members of the Council.
She had passed, of course-but although her incredible strength and range guaranteed her a place in an Academy for life, she had not achieved the control she would have to have before making the final step into the ranks of Masters.
That was where Astra eventually planned to be. She still had ten years until she reached the height of her powers; surely by then she would gain control. Once in the highest rank, she would be in the realm of real power-perhaps in charge of an Academy of her own. And one day, in the far future, perhaps she might sit in Portia’s seat. Master of Masters, Head of the Tiberium Academy, adviser to the Emperor-why was she risking all that on Tressa’s dare?
But when Astra had been ritually washing her hands and face in the temple fountain before the memorial service for Master Quantus, Tressa had come up beside her and whispered, “I have the same suspicions you do. Foul play!”
But Tressa had been closed to Reading, and Astra, despite the startlement Tressa’s statement caused her, had managed-she hoped-not to broadcast to the other Readers. Those other Readers were already taking their places, and the sound of running water covered their voices as Astra whispered back, “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean!” the other Magister insisted. “After the service, when we all go back to our rooms to meditate, meet me on the plane of privacy!” And she shook the water off her hands and stalked to her place at the back of the temple. Astra followed, deliberately letting herself be caught up in the ceremony so that her turbulent emotions would attract no attention.
If only no one had Read that conversation—
Astra had not been able to tell that anyone had, and she was certain she could catch any Reader spying on them as they left their bodies. They simply would not move to the plane of privacy if there was anyone Reading them.
By the time Tressa’s mind touched hers, Astra was certain they were alone. She left her body, which she had carefully arranged on her bed so that nothing would cramp or cut off her circulation while her attention was elsewhere.
Wordlessly, they moved together to the plane of privacy. Not since her last meeting with Master Quantus had Astra come here, where no Reader could eavesdrop on their conversation unless that person had come out of body and passed over to this particular plane with them.
Just as she was admiring the smooth techniques Tressa had achieved, the other woman broke the spell with the tasteless remark, III thought that memorial service would go on forever.”
Astra made no attempt to hide her irritation. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Why are you so upset? You act as if Master Quantus was a friend of yours.”
Tressa knew they could never have met in person, but she didn’t know the rest. “He was a friend. Like me, he was a musician-and Master Thenea sent me to him on the plane of privacy when she couldn’t answer my questions on musical theory. He was a great authority-and very patient with a less experienced musician.” He had also given Astra valuable lessons in how to ask those difficult questions without alienating her own teachers who didn’t know the answers. “From what little contact I had with him,”
she added, “he impressed me as a good teacher and a very kind, gentle person.”
“Perhaps,” Tressa said with the mental equivalent of a shrug, “but that’s not the kind of person Portia lets into her inner circle.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Council of Masters has split into two factions: Portia and other heads of Academies against the Masters who don’t teach. Portia’s group may be smaller, but they are well organized and in constant communication. The others are divided over changes in the Reader system-trying to prevent further failures at the Magister level after the poor showings of the past few years.”
Ill know all that,” Astra told her. “Get to your point.”
“Four Masters have died in the past eight months. One after a long illness, one in a mysterious accident, one in an Academy fire-which could have been deliberately set-and now Master Quantus.”
“He died of heart failure,” said Astra.
“Did you examine the body? He had something in common with the other three who recently died: he disagreed with Portia’s new policy of retesting Magisters and Masters. Last month, he brought a formal protest before the entire Council when one of his staff members was reevaluated and placed on the Path of the Dark Moon… and now he’s dead.”
Tressa’s suspicions were only too familiar, for Astra had been refusing to make the same connections in her own mind. They had been the sour
ce of her reaction to the news of Quantus’ death-but it would not do to speculate about such matters, especially with the Academy’s most notorious gossip.
She yearned to share her fears with another strong Reader, but it had to be someone she could fully trust.
And there was no such person, she realized sadly, in the whole of the Aventine Empire.
At her mental silence, Tressa urged, “Astra, it’s time to put our differences aside. If Portia can retest and demote even Masters-and may be murdering some she can’t-what chance have young Magisters like us got if we look like a threat to her?”
“What are you proposing, Tressa?”
“We must create our own secret faction-the way they did at the Adigia Academy. Don’t pretend you haven’t heard about Master Lenardo and his students-first Galen went over to the savages, and then Lenardo followed. He came back for another student, Torio-and nobody’s sure whether Master Clement can be trusted anymore.”
It was all Astra could do to keep Tressa from Reading her memory of Master Clement and that boy-Decius-walking through The Maze just before the earthquake. Were they plotting against the empire, afraid to talk within the walls of their own Academy?
After all, Lenardo had been exiled as a traitor for openly declaring that the Aventine Empire should seek peace with the Adept Lords who ruled the lands of the savages-the same savages who could set fires with the powers of their minds, throw thunderbolts, or stop someone’s heart with a glance. They pushed back the walls of the empire, enslaved the citizens of the lands they captured, and killed any Readers they discovered. Everyone had expected Lenardo to meet the same fate-but he hadn’t.
Not long ago the traitor had secretly returned to the empire, entered this very Academy, and faced Portia herself. Astra had seen a tall man with a beard and long hair, but at the time she had had no idea who he was. Soon enough the rumors had started flying-rumors Astra, of all people, could not shut out of her consciousness.
Some said that Lenardo had tried to twist Portia’s mind, using the same Adept sorcery that his captors had used on him. If he had influenced Portia, though, it had been only briefly-she had raised the alarm that very night. Lenardo had fought clear of the city, stealing away one of his former students-a blind Reader named Torio-but the boy had been killed at the border.
Border security was tightened, but people lived in fear of what the savages might try next. What if Tressa was right? What if savage Adepts were indeed slipping in and out of the empire at will? This was no time for Readers to be disputing with one another!
“You want us to turn traitor?” she demanded of Tressa.
“No! I’m saying we can borrow their methods. Astra, just think about it-the Aventine Empire has already lost half its territory. Lenardo has formed an alliance with the savages and even learned their Adept powers. Our only safety was that the savages didn’t have Readers to guide them-and now they do! Just when our only hope is our system of Readers, it’s breaking up into factions!”
“So you want to create another one.”
“No. Well, yes-but look, it’s the old Masters who are tearing the system apart. Surely some of the younger Masters, and almost all the Magisters, would side with us. We could all gather evidence of what Portia and her cronies are doing. Then, if she turns on us-”
“You would threaten the Master of Masters?”
“We have to protect ourselves!” Tressa insisted. “If we can keep Portia at bay for just a while longer, we’ll be safe. She may act like a god, but she’s not immortal. She can’t live many years longer. If Marina gets her place, our troubles will be over.”
“Tressa, the Council would never choose someone like Marina! Not even to head this Academy-and for Master of Masters they’d choose someone strong,
especially if at the time the Council is divided. They’d choose someone who could pull-or force-the various factions back into harmony.”
Clearly, Tressa hadn’t thought so far. “Still, whoever they choose will have to be more rational than Portia. She’s obsessed with the empire’s enemies. Either she thinks the savages are causing all our problems-or she hopes they are, because that would force everyone to join with her to protect the empire.”
“So Portia is no different from everybody else in blaming the savages.”
Ill think she’s really convinced. Haven’t you noticed in the past few months how Portia suddenly needed to “rest” right after every tremor to shake the city? I overheard her telling Marina-”
“Tressa-you’ve been eavesdropping on Portia? And you haven’t been caught?!”
“Astra, I told you-she’s old. Both of them are, and their powers are weakening. I Read Portia telling Marina that the tremors are being caused by savage Adepts.”
Such a thought was almost too frightening to contemplate. Tressa took Astra’s mental silence as a request for further information. “That tremor yesterday did some damage in The Maze-but a real earthquake would level half the city. If that’s the best the Adepts can do, we have nothing to worry about. Portia’s fears are the delusion of an old and senile woman.”
“But one still powerful enough to destroy Magisters who conspire against her,” Astra reminded.
“Whatever plot you’re constructing, Tressa, I want no part of it.”
Astra mentally held her breath, afraid to think as the silence between them grew deeper than the void in which they floated. Finally she caught a thought from Tressa: This one has no love for Portia-she won’t betray me.
Indeed, Astra had no intention of letting this conversation be known-and she let that determination reach Tressa.
But as they were wordlessly parting to return to their bodies, Astra heard another thought: Someday soon, she’ll wish she’d listened to me.
Although she knew she was meant to “hear” it, Astra made no reply, waiting until Tressa’s consciousness had completely departed before she allowed her own turmoil to surface. Were renegade Readers guiding the savage Adepts to destroy the empire? Was that what Master Clement had been doing in The Maze-? Of course they would not try to destroy the city with one or more of their own still within its walls-but had it been a test of their powers?
Surely, oh surely such a plot was possible only in her imagination! If she could talk to someone-but she could trust no one. No one! What was she to do?
Massos charged Zanos at full speed, looking more like a huge black bull than a man as he closed the gap between them. Zanos held his position until the last moment, then made a spinning sidestep, easily evading Massos’ outstretched arms and kicking him in the buttocks as he passed.
The blow threw the black gladiator off-stride, nearly propelling him into the wall. He spun and glared at his master, who was calmly backstepping to the center of the wrestling pit, never taking his eyes off his opponent.
Zanos stopped, set himself with legs spread, and beckoned to Massos. “Come on, plow-ox. Even you can do better than that.”
The six slave-gladiators in the spectators’ seats sucked in a collective breath, but said nothing. For Zanos to challenge Massos to a practice match was one thing-to ridicule him in front of others was to invite injury or death.
Slowly, warily, Massos approached Zanos, circling as he came within arm’s length. Zanos followed his opponent only with his eyes, leaving his right side apparently open. Massos made a sudden leap-and was backflipped through the air, landing with a sickening thud.
The big man lay gasping like a fish out of water, and Zanos wondered if he could ever turn all that raw strength into fighting skill. Massos was turning out to be a bad bargain, although his huge size and exotic appearance struck fear into the inexperienced fighters Zanos pitted him against. Sheer strength had won him many matches, but it was getting harder and harder to find appropriate opponents.
The underground chamber remained silent as Zanos knelt to see that there was nothing wrong with Massos except for having the breath knocked out of him. Then Zanos stood up and unsmilingly helped the man back to
his feet.
It should not have been that easy to defeat him-nor was Massos, of all Zanos’ men, capable of deceit in the ring. Indeed, it was one of the problems with his training that he could not learn to feint! But for all Massos’ crudeness, even Zanos should not have been able, not only to take him down, but to put him out in only two moves.
He looked up at the other gladiators. “Practice is now over, ” he announced, watching them glance at one another uneasily. None of them had yet performed.
“Also over is the practice of disobeying my orders, ” Zanos continued. “When I announce a curfew, there will be no more violations. When I give an order, there will be no backtalk, or the next practice will be with weapons-real, not wooden. Against me.”
He wished he could Read which of his men were as out of condition as Massos. They had won their last games in the arena-although Salamis had barely defeated his opponent in a match that he should have had easily, while Aeson was out of the wrestling season because of a dislocated shoulder and torn tendons. He had won his match, but possibly at the cost of his career if that injury did not heal properly.
They had all been slipping, Zanos was sure, because he had counted on their dedication to the games to keep them on the regimen he had laid out. Time to tighten the reins.
“I’ve given all of you privileges that most slaves only dream of, and you’ve repaid me with sloppy performances-and Clavius by losing his life. Now you will have to earn those privileges before you have them again-and each of you will have to earn back my trust. Now-five laps around the arena, today and every day to keep your stamina. Then as soon as you’ve cooled off, back to your quarters!”
“Yes, Zanos,” came back to him in ragged chorus as his men hastened to obey. Massos’ eyes met his for a moment, but his defiant look quickly subsided. Then the black giant hoisted himself out of the pit and followed the others.
Zanos stayed where he was until they had all gone but his manservant Ard, who stood watching him towel off.