Waking Olympus (The Singers of the Dark Book 1)

by Peter Yard

  "Yes."

  He had never understood this. More than anyone he knew what the people of Bethor were capable of, and yet they shared the same origins and culture.

  "Long ago, after the calamity that overcame our world, there was a small fishing port called Benthic. Many refugees flooded there. It was where Benthic Corp had established a fishing fleet, one of the few remaining sources of food. Over the years the name mutated to Bethor. There were petty revolutions, but at least in Bethor they didn't fight with Ancient weapons, as they did in the Cities. But they had too many revolutions. Too much history was lost. They forgot who they were and became different, they started to think they were special, that they had a 'Destiny'. Among the revolutions some people returned to the Cities. But most stayed. Eventually, Bethor took on the Cities, who no longer had any functioning weapons and had lost the ability or will to rebuild. It was a terrible and sad time. Does that answer your question?"

  "I guess so. I hadn't realized how traumatic their history was. Before you go I have another question, a little one this time?" He smiled at her. To his surprise she smiled back.

  "What was that unusual tech the farmers were selling, as jewelry?"

  "Good question. Maybe someday you'll find the answer to it, in short — I don't know. No one knows. It is very old, older than the Ancients, but we don't know what it is. It is hard to find, usually you have to chip it out of solid rock. I have no idea where the farmers got it. But they are pretty aren't they?"

  "Indeed and the mystery makes them even more alluring."

  "And about that 'calamity' …"

  "No. That's enough. And no one knows much about that anyway." She moved her knees and the horse leapt forward. She was back on duty.

  thirteen

  Eve of a Nightmare

  From atop the South Tower of the Palace she looked toward the Lake and southern Lindin. There was a low blue haze over the city shading to a brown smear as she looked to the horizon. Brown floating above the shimmering lake. She thought about Tanten to the East and Lind far to the West. Once they had access to such great knowledge then her own wizards would rise in power, and all that power and knowledge would find her at the nexus. As it should be. She looked down at the people of Lindin going to and fro like mindless ants.

  "Look at them all scurrying about. An ignorant mob, unthinking, ignorant of their past, clueless about the present, muddled about the future. I will fix that. Under me they will be educated and learn their own history, they will forget Earth, make their own way in the Universe. The knowledge of the Wizards and Traders comes with strings attached, we will forget the past and its failed morality." She looked about. Her entourage smiled knowingly, she had picked them well. They agreed with her completely and would obey without question.

  "Ellis, Mirren, are you clear on your goal?"

  "Yes sir, General Markham." Both replied on cue.

  One day she would change how they addressed her. But it was too soon to call her 'Empress'.

  "A boat to Pareth is waiting for you. I repeat, make it known to Lord Atkins that he will be very well rewarded for his efforts, he will know what I mean."

  She waved them off, they saluted and her two lieutenants departed briskly. All of her people had a sense of purpose missing from the rest of the world. It always gave her a thrill to look at them and think of their destiny. All obstacles seemed to fall before her now, now that she had understood what was required, the selfless devotion to the Cause, the sacrifices, the deaths, even those at her hands would be honored one day.

  She stood considering the view for another twenty minutes. Thinking how she would rebuild the Cities, educate the Bethor people, and with so many new slaves at their beck and call.

  She also considered her revenge, how she would imprison, then torture, so slowly, so creatively, those she had come to despise, and the list was so long, even before she thought outside of Bethor. It almost made her flush with excitement and anticipation, but not yet. Soon. Be patient, she told herself. She did this occasionally, her own private pep-talk, to bolster her resolve, especially when she had to do something 'distasteful' which, by her definition, was to practice her revenge on those she knew were innocent.

  She left the tower and proceeded, down endless stairs, to the dungeon. Only the light of a brazier and a few oil lamps lit the room she entered. There, strapped to a table, with the odd bruise, spatter of blood, and burn mark, was the subject of her inquiry. The man's name was Marius, he was the owner of the Horse's Whistle Inn, which catered to merchants on the Eastern Road, but now he was of interest because someone noticed him talking to a man and woman, but the woman was overheard later to have a Trader accent. The informant claimed to have heard from an adjoining room. Liz thought this spurious but they might as well see what this innkeeper knew. A pity he was just an ordinary man, still there needed to be sacrifices if the future she planned was to be achieved.

  She didn't bother letting him have his name in her mind, which made it easier to ignore his suffering.

  "What did you find?"

  "He has paid less on the Tax than he should have, about 130 silver. He has been watering down his beer. He welcomed a Trader and allowed her and her male companion to stay the night. He …"

  "That last one. What are the details?"

  The Master of Inquiry, a learned man who 'assisted' the palace torturer, consulted a rough parchment with his notes.

  "He took in a Trader who he referred to as 'Tei', and her companion who identified himself as Mark Oconnor." He read out in his reedy voice, which mocked the black ominous clothes he always chose to wear in failing compensation.

  "Tei? Tei Lin Valis? One of the camel-herder-acting-as-Ambassadors they have, because they don't have the wit to have real ones," she said smirking to the assistants. They all laughed.

  "What about this companion, anything more on him?"

  "He had a Bethor accent, he also had clothes that had a Lind style," the Master of Inquiry read without emphasis.

  "What?"

  She held up her hand as he was about to repeat his account.

  "And …?" Her icy look pressed him, making him aware of the price of a lack of diligence.

  "That is it, Ms Markham. Perhaps a merchant who visited Lind or who likes their clothes?" he responded instantly, his hands shaking slightly.

  "No. Bethorese people do not like Lind styles, our merchants do not visit Lind, and in fact are forbidden to. Gentlemen, we have an ambassadorial Trader traveling with a Wizard, probably of some skill if he can fake an accent that well. What does that tell you?" Not a glimmer of understanding in her select audience. "I'll tell you …" She looked at their consternation. Waste of time explaining she decided.

  "Never mind." She turned to a soldier behind her, took his short sword out of the sheath, looking at it glint so beautifully in the light of the oil lamps, as if liquid gold was pouring down the blade. She turned to the table, the man strapped onto it looked exhausted, as if some vital aspect of his life had been drained from him and could never be replenished. The orange light hid most of the insults to his body, his exhaustion almost gave him a look of peace. She walked up to the table, sword held up like a torch.

  "Don't worry, friend. I am here to set you free."

  He smiled, thankful, then in a moment of horror he understood. She lowered the sword and thrust it horizontally, edge of the blade vertical to pass through the ribs. She pierced his left lung, arcing down, she felt it slice into his heart. A satisfying feeling. The man shuddered, his eyes went glassy, as if looking at her from a great distance.

  She pulled the blade out, in part it was still touched by liquid gold, now also tainted by fading lifeblood oozing downwards. She handed the sword back to its young owner and thanked him, disregarding the look of shock on his face.

  She called her assistants, there was much to do.

  A Trader ambassador with a Wizard, this could only mean trouble. Lind and Tanten forming an alliance? Damn, this would change the
timing of everything. They would have to move sooner than planned.

  "Tori, tell General Chen I need to see him. We will have to accelerate our plans. And Boris, tell me you have found something in the Library dig site."

  "Yes, my Lady. I mean Ms Markham. My apologies." He was embarrassed. But she understood, it was hard to fit into their current culture while maintaining a different one in her presence. Still she had to bring him into line, for his own good.

  "Do you want to work for me and the Cause? If you do then address me correctly. Continue."

  "Y — yes, the dig — the dig has been confirmed as the site of the Lindin library. We have already found some intact old books, very fragile. The conservators are stabilizing them so they can be transferred for analysis. We are still in the outer sections, all collapsed. But there is evidence that the lower sections may still be intact. The site foreman estimates we will reach the lower sections in three days."

  She considered this news. It was too slow; there was a Trader and a Wizard together out there. If such an alliance was made then it would complicate things considerably. Who knew what Lind or Tanten had up their collective sleeves, they were secretive and possessed Ancient knowledge, individually they were dangerous but together they might be invincible. Too many unknowns though it was clear her war must use 'divide and conquer', which meant she had to move quickly.

  "Proceed, but dig around the clock. This has the highest priority. Report any new discoveries to me immediately. I will want an update at sunset."

  fourteen

  Sanfran

  They had been moving east heading towards the rising sun, visiting the few small farming settlements along the way. The stories they told were strikingly similar. The Ancients, according to the stories, were not from this world. Zeus was real. The northern land of Xan was desolate and guarded by a monster. Thaytan, or Raytans as the Traders called it, was a ship of some kind. None of it made sense to the Bethorese who dismissed it all as primitive superstition.

  Apart from the day excursion to Lindin it had been a week of easy travel since they had entered the Plains. They had seen only farmers and had only used the almost forgotten paths through the grass and rolling hills. From the distance they were almost invisible. Eventually they reached a river that was a true river and not an easily forded creek. The Euphray came from the north and the only crossing was a bridge to the south. This made everyone nervous. But in the end crossing the river was uneventful, there were no guards or much of any traffic at the bridge. The caravan now turned southeast as far as he could tell. Mikel noticed that the grasses were starting to lose the vibrant green color. They hadn’t seen any farmers since yesterday. Tei was riding near him, probably managing the files. He guessed someone, probably Rijart was doing double duty and minding her file.

  “Tei! No farms. Are we leaving the Plains?” He spoke louder than he should. She wasn’t that far away, she was distracted though.

  “Not quite. ‘The Plains’ is a misnomer. The term originally described very large ecosystems, but these plains are not ‘Great’. We have just passed to the northeast of the center of the Plains and Lake Baikal. Now we go into drier country as we head southeast towards the Caravanserai.” She gave him a nod and a smile. Then she rode off towards the front of the caravan. After she had gone only 20 meters she abruptly stopped, wheeled around and came back to him.

  “Ah. I have something for you my Wizard.”

  “My name is Mikel.”

  “Of course but it sounds so great having a Wizard in my team. Anyway, I have something for you.” She was close enough to hand something over to him, easily synchronizing her hand to the bobbing of the two horses. She dropped it into his hand. It was a bracelet of brown beads.

  “Tigers-eye beads. Brings good luck and insight. Not that you need the insight part.”

  “I have something for you as well,” he said.

  He pulled out the bandana, blue and yellow, that he had bought from the first farmer’s market they had visited and handed it to her. She smiled at it, then clutched it to her chest and whispered something he couldn’t quite hear.

  “Thank you, Mikel. You know in some parts the exchange of gifts is considered to be a courtship ritual. Even a marriage proposal.” She laughed.

  He felt uncomfortable, perhaps because this was starting to get too close to feelings he was having to fight. Love is not forbidden by the Center for its wizards, but on missions it is a risky idea.

  “Wait, you started the giving with the bracelet. In which case …” he said smiling. Then thought that perhaps he just should have said nothing.

  She wasn’t listening. Tei was looking towards the head of the caravan. There was another caravan coming towards them. It took only a few more seconds before he knew it was not a caravan. Riders on horses with weapons. He could see the glint of metal just above them, likely from the tips of spears. Tei was galloping immediately to meet the band at the head of her caravan.

  It was a large patrol, he supposed out of Sanfran, the nearest and most easterly of the Cities of the Plains. The Traders said that the Cities often tested the borders with each other, and also liked to put down the local peasantry just in case they decided to recover their birthright. So patrols could turn up anywhere at anytime.

  He hung back and tried to look like a Trader. Wizards didn’t usually wear distinctive clothing. They did carry a unique medallion, which each wizard made himself but it was rarely visible. Wizards preferred to quietly observe and ask questions. People who knew wizards could identify one, if he or she was young and inexperienced. The older ones learned to blend in, seem ordinary and boring and occasionally intervene if needed. It was an ethos he admired: to act and do good without expecting recognition, even avoiding it. He was not an experienced Wizard who was able to blend in, he could only do that in Bethor and Lindin because he remembered the accent and attitude so well. Mikel felt very exposed, he would have to try and fake being a Trader, a Bethor merchant with Traders just wasn't going to be believed.

  The Captain, that is what he called himself, quickly rode past the column of freight camels. He stopped for a moment near Mikel, to his right, then looked at the camels that stood patiently as if waiting for the journey to continue. Mikel couldn’t resist a quick look at this Master of the Plains. The Captain was slightly taller in the saddle and looked to be about 30 years of age. He had dark skin, a small scar on his right cheek, and hadn’t shaved for several days by the look. He had the beginnings of a black beard on his face. His armor was made of chainmail over leather. The Center knew about chainmail but had already devised countermeasures. No-one dared attack the Center, it was not an ivory tower. Against the Center any arms race was already lost. He was impressed but not awed. On the Captain’s head he wore a bright metal helmet made from a silvery metal. Probably silver itself since Bethor lagged far behind in metallurgy, in which case was that burnished look of the chainmail, copper? At the front of the helmet was a crest or insignia but he couldn’t make it out.

  The Captain barked an order in Bethorese ordering his men to ‘escort’ the caravan. It seemed they were now to become the guests of the Court of Sanfran.

  They travelled south to Sanfran along an old but serviceable road raised slightly above the surrounding land. Now Mikel could finally get a glimpse of the farms. Not as productive as those to the west he presumed, noticing the distinct telltale lack of deep green around the fields, but more than further east, which by the looks was harsh. To the north of Sanfran farms stretched along the coast. Tei explained to him that there were once farms further inland but since the Drying of the East and the silting of the irrigation systems the farms had increasingly hugged the lake shores. Some new irrigation works had been constructed but they did not extend very far inland. There were no plans at present to connect the new system to the old, as far as Traders knew, because there wasn't the manpower to get the old system working again.

  "They can farm here through all seasons. If they got their irr
igation system sorted out they would be in a much better position." Tei said, with some implied sarcasm or perhaps irritation.

  "From what I see, they are at least doing something. Not like Lindin, which is a mess." He said.

  "The big problem with Sanfran is that they do not have enough storage capacity for the grain they produce. If they could store more they could increase exports, they could expand their farming. We could help but they have been a very insular society. They usually ignore overtures from us, even though they despise the other cities and Bethor. It is very unusual for them to grab one of our caravans. We will see soon enough what this is all about."

  Contrary to what he had seen in Lindin the farmers looked healthy, and although they were not dressed well they seemed better off, happier, and there were no whips here. Some of them even waved as they passed, Mikel couldn't help but wave back, he had small town habits and saw no reason to abandon them.

  The city was not what he expected. Bethor had been bustling with many new buildings, some rough, some impressive, but a city with a future. Sanfran was an occupied ruin, he had not really seen Lindin in the daylight but he thought it was better than this.

  He looked about the small dirt-gray, sun-bleached market square they had entered. It was hot and the glare was oppressive. The soldiers wandered a distance ahead, confident that their guests wouldn’t be slinking away. Mikel turned his head and saw why. A brace of guards on horseback now remained behind them. Further down the street was a road block where they checked those entering the area.

  The square itself was not designed to be a market. Bordering it were ruins and across the square, in the dirt the imprint of some of the ruined walls. The market contained about a dozen rickety stalls draped in brown leather and cloth. Business was not brisk. In the distance above the ruins, which he guessed to be about the height of a standing man, were more distant and greater ruins, skyscrapers.