Alta dj-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  Toreth looked up sharply. “Why?” he demanded.

  Kiron shrugged. “The Magi are men to whom little matters but their own good,” he said. “Like my old master Khefti. When anything bad happened to Khefti, as soon as he was over his first fright, he looked for revenge. I believe they will, too. If they have grown so great in their own minds as to place their power above the welfare of the folk of the city, they will have grown great enough to believe that whatever they want is also right and proper.”

  “Ah, gods.” Toreth buried his face in his hands. “The rot goes deep,” he said, his voice muffled.

  Kiron thought it best to leave him alone at that point. He had a lot to think about. In some ways, Toreth and Kaleth, raised amid the endless political infighting among the royal families, had been anything but sheltered. Still, there were other ways in which they had been very sheltered indeed. They had never seen evil, amoral men under conditions in which their evil was recognizable. They were so used to petty evil that they had a great deal of difficulty in believing in great evil. And they had not made the intuitive leap that those who practiced petty evil were perfectly capable of undertaking great evil, and lacked only the perceived need and the opportunity to do so. Kiron felt oddly sorry for him. He had once been certain that there were things in his world he could be certain of. Not anymore.

  He stood in the corridor—still only partly cleaned up, and with fewer than a third of the lamps replaced—and debated telling Aket-ten what he had seen and heard. On the one hand, it could make her more angry, more fearful, or both. On the other—it might serve to warn her.

  Not tonight, he decided at last. Not until things are closer to normal. Unless, of course, she insists on going where the Magi can find her.

  As he turned into his own door, something struck him so forcibly that he stopped dead in his tracks. When he had first come here, he had only been afraid that he would not be accepted. It had never occurred to him that he would find Khefti’s form of evil writ larger among his own people. The rot went deep. Just how deep? Could it be cut out, or was it too deep to cut out without killing the tree? He had once told Ari and the Bedu that if he did not like Alta, or was mistreated there, he and Avatre would just leave. That was still an option—

  But not before I make a stab at standing and fighting.

  There was no such rot among the Jousters; he was fairly sure of that. Yet the Jousters were a tool, and the weakness of any tool is that it may be used all unwittingly. And there was the war to consider—the Tians would not cease from pressing their attack, no matter what was going on in Alta, nor would they stop committing atrocities on Altan villagers. Toreth’s plan called for negating the Tian advantage so that a real truce could be pressed for, by drastically increasing the number of Jousters.

  But what if the Jousters could be eliminated altogether, from both sides?

  The armies will have to square off man-to-man, and there will be very little that the Magi can do that will make any appreciable difference. Would that mean a change in their status?

  Probably not. He sighed, and went straight to Avatre who was sitting up in her sand. Waiting for him, patient as a statue made of rubies and gold, but far warmer and infinitely more desirable.

  He went to her and sat down in the sand beside her. No matter how bad things got, at least he had Avatre, and she had him.

  He only hoped that Toreth got the same measure of comfort from Re-eth-katen, because tonight, he sorely needed it.

  By morning there were rumors of the confrontation with the Magi “somewhere” on the Second Ring, but nothing was confirmed. Kiron kept his mouth shut, even around the boys, but Toreth looked very unhappy to hear Kiron’s story confirmed.

  There were more rumors flying when he went out for the second day in a row to help on the Fourth and Fifth Rings. And this time, Menet-ka, Orest, and Oset-re took a turn in going to see their families. They let Huras go out for the second day in a row, because he was, indeed, helping his father to bake for the entire area—but he was not going to be restricted to walking. He was flying Tathulan; the heat from the ovens would keep her happy.

  Kiron, however, was walking. He decided to make a detour across the Second Ring—considerably out of his way, but he wanted to see if there was any sign of yesterday’s near-riot. When he passed the Temple of the Twins, he saw that it was shut up tight, which was a very new thing indeed. There was some damage around the Second Ring, as he had seen yesterday, but with the exception of a few places like beer shops and markets, it was minimal. There was no sign of yesterday’s disturbance.

  To say that things were in a state of chaos was a profound understatement, and the contrast between the Second and Third Rings, where rescue, cleanup, and even rebuilding were organized and well underway, was profound. No one was rebuilding in the Fourth and Fifth Rings. In fact, no one was really cleaning up. There was no organization, except as people organized the members of their own families into work parties. And if there was only one survivor left—well, that one person worked alone, moving the rubble, usually with bare hands.

  The shake did not seem to have struck everywhere in the Rings with the same force. In some places, damage was minimal; in others, shocked and bewildered people sat outside the piles of broken bricks and cracked timbers that had been their homes, unable to comprehend what had happened to them, or were slowly and methodically moving over the piles, removing them brick by brick, hoping to find something to save—or someone. You could easily tell the latter. They were the ones working with tears cutting channels through the caked dirt and dust on their faces. They were the ones Kiron tried to help first.

  Even when all he could do was to help move bricks. “Where did you see him last?” he would ask. “Where was she sleeping?” And the survivor, so choked with grief that he or she was unable to speak, would point instead. And Kiron would start, trying to pick a “safe” spot to pitch the rubble to, because he did not want to discover that the survivor had been wrong, and he had, all unwittingly, been piling more debris atop someone already buried. Yesterday had been bad after the first rescues were done, because the people he found were sometimes still alive, but one look told him that not even the finest Healer could save them. Today, at least as he worked, he knew that he was only going to recover the bodies so that the ghosts would not wander. Once he uncovered a hand, and once, a foot, and the survivor shoved him aside, weeping, to do the rest of the work. That was when he left, with his part over.

  He was in the middle of what had been someone’s sleeping-chamber, when the cries and shouting began.

  He’d had his back to the Central Island, so he didn’t see what everyone was shouting about directly—but suddenly, he had a shadow stretching out stark and black in front of him. Filled with a sense of dread, he turned.

  Before he had half-completed the turn, he had to squint against the brightness. The slender reed of light cutting down from the Tower of Wisdom was too bright to look at, brighter than lightning, a painful blue-white rod that began at the tip of the Tower, and ended somewhere down in the Second Ring. He thought it was moving, although at the angle he was, it was difficult to tell. But there was no doubt at all that it was touching, and torching, something in the Second Ring.

  Just as he had predicted.

  Then, with no warning, it was gone, leaving behind an afterimage that crossed his field of vision in a dazzle of purple, and a burning, acrid scent in the air. Then as the after-image faded, he saw that there were fires in the Second Ring where there had been none before.

  All around him, work had stopped as people stared, slack-jawed, at the fires and the place where the Eye of Light had cut across the Second Ring. There was absolute silence for a very long time, a silence heavy, and appalled, as if no one could quite believe what they had seen.

  Then, into the ponderous silence, the sound of a single brick falling.

  That broke the spell, and hesitantly, fearfully, people went back to work.

  The rumors be
gan to fly almost immediately. Most absurd, of course, was that the Magi had discovered a nest of subversive Tian priests—ones that had actually caused the earthshake—and had used the Eye to burn them out. Most prevalent, and most accurate, was that the only things that had been burned belonged to those folk on Second Ring who had confronted the Magi the night before. No one really bought into the first rumor, but there was no doubt that, whatever people might say, deep down inside the one that they believed was the second.

  Kiron kept his mouth shut, volunteering nothing. Knowing the Magi, he would not doubt that there were spies about—or at least, people who would report what was said back to the Tower of Wisdom for a reward. Fortunately, no one knew he had actually been there when the confrontation took place, so no one asked him any questions. Once in a while, some of those he was helping asked him what he was and where he belonged, and he answered, truthfully, that he was one of the new young Jousters with the baby dragons. And for a moment, tragic gazes would soften, and perhaps, someone would say, “Ah. The pretty ones . . . but why are you here?”

  “Because you need help,” he would tell them.

  Shortly before noon, an official-looking fellow in an absurdly clean kilt showed up, took up a stance in the middle of what had been the street, and began shouting.

  “All hear!” he cried. “All hear! Hear the words of the Great Ones to the people of Alta!”

  Some folk dropped what they were doing to gather around him, but most simply went on with their work, keeping an ear and half of their attention on him. If this bothered him, it didn’t show. He looked bored with the entire proceedings, and a bit impatient, as if he wanted to get this business over with and get back to something important.

  He was thin and energetic, with the look of a scribe and the lungs of a military commander. He wore a yellow-and-white sash running from his right shoulder to his left hip, and a matching striped headcloth.

  “Who is that?” Kiron muttered to the man he was helping, in an undertone.

  “Royal Herald,” the man muttered back, without taking his attention off the pile of rubble they were moving.

  The man continued to shout his summoning call until he either grew tired of it, or figured he had gathered around all the people he was going to get.

  “The Gods have unfolded to the Great Ones that the mighty earthshake was caused by the false Tian Priests!” the Herald proclaimed. “So subtle their work, and so wrapped in dark magic, that there was no foretelling that it would strike.”

  “Bollocks,” the man with Kiron muttered. “If they were that good, they’d have flattened the Central Island.”

  “When the damage to the First, Second, and Third Rings has been cleared, the army will send men and tools here.”

  The man snorted. “By that time, we’ll have cleared it with our hands alone.” The back of his neck was red with anger as he turned away from Kiron, and he flung the piece of beam he had picked up with great force onto the pile of trash.

  “The hiding places of foul spies of the false Tian Priests, the stores where they have secreted poisons and weapons, have been discovered on the Second Ring. In their wisdom, the Magi of the Tower have sent forth the Eye of Light to cleanse these places.” Kiron risked a glance at the Herald, and saw that the man was watching him and the house owner with narrowed gaze. “As more such hiding places are discovered, they will be cleansed, so fear not to see the Eye Opened, but rejoice that the Magi watch over all of Alta.”

  Having delivered his message to this part of the Ring, the Herald did not wait for questioning, but strode on and outward.

  The man with Kiron spat. “Bastards. ‘Poisons and weapons and spies,’ my ass! Places where people are asking questions is more like! Pockets of people wanting to know why the Winged Ones didn’t warn us!”

  Another man in what was left of the next house over straightened and looked warningly at him. “I’d be careful about what I say, Atef-ka,” the neighbor said. “I’m not saying you aren’t right—but if you are, well—you saw their answer.”

  Atef-ka looked bleakly at his neighbor. “Too right,” was all he replied, but both of them looked sick.

  Well, for all that he had predicted just this action, Kiron felt sick, too. Sick, and angry.

  He had to return to the compound to feed and exercise Avatre, and to do so, because once again bridges were closed except for certain “privileged” folk, he had to go to the Second Ring to get to the Third, and pass right by the site where the Eye had touched.

  There was nothing there but a slab of glasslike, fused earth, still hot. Fires smoldered around the perimeter. And the silent, white faces of those whose duties kept them here said it all.

  But when he got back to the compound, there was someone waiting for him, in his chamber, along with Aket-ten. Someone he had not expected to see there.

  “Healer Heklatis!” he said in surprise. “But what—”

  “The Temple of All Gods is no longer a safe haven for me,” the Akkadian said grimly. There was no smile in his eyes at all. “Or at least for my magic. I suspect a spy has been planted in the Temple of All Gods, and since the Magi are looking very, very hard for a mythical Tian Priest-Mage on the Second Ring, I deemed it wise to come assign myself to the military on Third Ring.”

  “That is an ugly thought, Healer,” Kiron replied. “Though—maybe a wise one.”

  “There is an uglier scar on the Second Ring, provoked by no more than a demand for truth, Jouster,” said Heklatis grimly. “And truth and trust are the means by which civilization holds off barbarism. When those in power intend to abuse that power, they look to an outside enemy in order to trick their people into pressing the means to their own abuse into the hands of the abusers. If an enemy does not exist, it will be manufactured, and all manner of horrors attributed to it, so that anyone who demands truth and accountability is set upon as being unpatriotic. And so that, when someone said to be an enemy is found, there will be few questions asked about guilt or innocence, and many faces averted when he is taken away.”

  Kiron thought about his own experience in the Fourth Ring, and nodded.

  “Now,” continued Heklatis, “I could remain in the Temple of All Gods and take my chances on being discovered as a clandestine Magus—and knowing that the Magi of the Tower are bent on finding a foreign enemy Magus, I think we can both see where that would take me. Since I do not desire to be cast into a dungeon to rot, or killed, or tormented to reveal what I allegedly know, I have come to offer my services to the military—the Jousters, to be specific, because I also have no wish to see the war from close at hand.”

  “You have not come to me, I hope!” Kiron replied. “I have no power to engage you—”

  “No, to Lord Khumun, of course, who has accepted me and my skills with thanks,” Heklatis responded. “Although he has told me to assign myself to the welfare of those on the Fourth and Fifth Ring during the current crisis. I confess that I am pleasantly surprised. I had not expected to find someone with a title who understands the responsibilities that should come with that title.”

  “And does he know that you are a Magus?” Kiron asked sharply.

  Heklatis shrugged. “I told him nothing but the truth; that Healers learn their trade differently in Akkad, which he already knew, and I feared that, being a foreigner, I might become a target for ill-will, which he quickly understood. If he asks, I will admit to him that I am also a Magus. If he does not, my silence is his best defense should I be traced here by your Magi.”

  Kiron, who had been about to open his mouth to rebuke the Healer for not telling the whole truth, shut it again. Heklatis was right. “I hope you are going to be discreet, then,” he said.

  Heklatis snorted, and favored him with a look of withering scorn. “I believe,” he replied, “that I am aware of the dangers. Especially as I was close enough to the lash of the Eye today to have cooked my dinner in its fires.”

  “They gave no warning?” Kiron said, aghast. He had assumed that
the Magi would at least have warned people that the punishment was coming! Even a moment or two would have been enough!

  “None. And while I have not heard of any that died there, well, the question is, would I?” Heklatis asked. “After claiming first that they had found a plague spot, and when that was not believed, that they had uncovered a nest of traitors, would anyone come forward and say, ‘You incinerated my poor, innocent cousin without warning?’ I think it unlikely.”

  Aket-ten had been silent throughout this conversation. Finally, she said, in a very small voice, “How can the Great Ones be unaware of this?”

  “If they are unaware,” Heklatis said bitterly, “they must be complete idiots, and I had never heard that of them. Oh, they know. They just do not care—so long as what they wish is done. The Magi are too useful to them, for some reason, and they count the lives of mere Altan citizens of no account, I suspect. But they will never admit that they know what the Magi are doing, because then people would say that they did not care about untruth and injustice. And they will not welcome anyone who tries to enlighten them as to true conditions.”

  “Oh—oh, no—” Aket-ten said in dismay.

  “What?” both Heklatis and Kiron said sharply.

  “Toreth—Toreth has gone to the Palace, to demand audience of the Great Ones by right of being the Heir,” she said, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “When the Eye was opened, he said that you had predicted this, and that the Great Ones must be told what the Magi have done!”