[Age of the Five 03] - Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

  The walls inside the lower levels of Hannaya’s Palace were so thick the rooms appeared to be connected by short passages. Niches had been carved into these and some were lined with fresh stone. Busts of important men and women peered out, their expressions uniformly dour.

  Men and a few women hurried about. It was easy for Emerahl to imagine they were eager to be out of this oppressive place, but she sensed no fear from them. There was only the usual undercurrent of irritation, purpose and anxiety she had felt in a dozen other cities.

  According to The Twins, the palace had been the home of the royal house that had once ruled Mur but which had long ago died out. The maze of rooms, both grand and crude, were still occupied by the same range of servants, courtiers and artisans, but the ruler was now a Pentadrian Dedicated Servant, known as the Guardian.

  Two of the Thinkers searching for the Scrolls were from rich and influential families who lived in the palace. They were providing accommodation for the others. For most of the day, however, the five of them gathered in the library. It was there that Emerahl was heading now.

  The boy she had paid to take her there turned toward another passage, leading her deeper into the cliff. Her pulse quickened as he stopped before two large carved wooden doors. The boy held his hand out to her. She dropped a coin into it and he raced away.

  Emerahl paused to take a deep breath, then knocked.

  A long silence followed. She concentrated on the space behind the door, picking up emotions of several people. Most were distracted and quiet, but one was purposeful and a little irritated.

  Then the handle lifted and the door swung inward. An old man peered down his long nose at her.

  “Yes?”

  “I wish to see the Thinkers,” she told him. “Are they here?”

  His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Stepping back, he gestured at the room behind him.

  And there was a lot of room to gesture at. The roof, like in most rooms in the palace, was disconcertingly low. The far wall, in contrast, was some distance away. The long side walls were lined with shelves piled with scrolls and other objects. Statues and tables covered with arrangements of curious and ancient objects divided the room into three sections.

  The old man moved to a scroll-covered table next to a half-empty shelf. He lifted a piece of wet cloth from a clay tablet and put it aside, then picked up a scribing tool. As he turned his attention to his scrolls, Emerahl smiled wryly. Clearly she was to find the Thinkers herself.

  She walked down the length of the library slowly, examining the objects on display. Several men of different ages were scattered about the room, some reading, some writing, and a few talking quietly together. At the far end five men of differing ages were relaxing on benches, talking. Fragrant smoke wreathed up from a smokewood burner set between them, most likely some kind of stimulant.

  As Emerahl approached, the three men who were not talking looked up at her. The younger watched her curiously, while the others turned their attention back to the speakers. She stopped between the benches of the pair who were talking, and the conversation ended. A large man with thick eyebrows and a thin, lipless man looked up at her and frowned in annoyance.

  “Greetings, Thinkers,” she said. Now all were watching her. She glanced from face to face and settled on meeting the stare of the larger man. “Are you Barmonia Tithemaster?”

  The eyebrows rose slightly. “I am.”

  “I am Emmea Startracker, daughter of Karo Startracker, a nobleman and mathematician of Toren.”

  “You are far from home,” the youngest of the men remarked.

  “Yes. My father and I have an interest in antiquities.” She lifted the box containing the fake scroll. “Recently he bought this, but being unfit to travel he sent me here on his behalf to search out more information. My enquiries have led me to you. I think you will find it most interesting.”

  The large man made a skeptical noise. “I doubt it.”

  “I did not mean the box,” she said dryly. “I meant the contents.”

  “I assumed so,” he said.

  She met his eyes again. “I was warned that the Thinkers had no manners, respect for women, or personal hygiene, but I did expect to find clever and enquiring minds.” This brought a smile to the younger Thinker’s face, but the others looked indifferent.

  “We’re wise enough to know no foreign woman could ever bring anything of interest to us.”

  She looked at the burner then smiled and nodded to herself. “I see.”

  Turning away, she strolled back down the length of the library. On a heavy table lay a slab of stone, carved with ancient glyphs. To her surprise it was a monument stone from a long-ago dismantled Temple of Jarime—or Raos, as it had once been known. She had probably walked past this very stone in its original resting place many times. How had it come to Mur?

  Footsteps drew closer and she realized that someone was approaching. She kept her eyes on the stone, expecting the man to pass, but he didn’t. He moved to her side and when she looked up she realized it was the younger of the Thinkers.

  She resisted a smile. Of course it was.

  “Bar’s always been like that,” he said. “He doesn’t like women much. I hope that you are not too disappointed.”

  “It is his loss, not mine. Tell me, how did this monument stone come to be here?”

  He shrugged. “It has always been here.”

  She chuckled. “Now I am disappointed. Are you Thinkers so befuddled by your smoking herbs that you don’t even know the treasures you have here?”

  “This is no treasure.”

  “A monument stone from ancient Raos no treasure? Do you know how rare these are? The Circlians destroyed so much from the Age of the Many that our history is in fragments.” She pointed at a glyph. “This priest, Gaomea, is one of the few whose names are still known.” She ran her finger down the line of symbols, translating to Murian. “Are there any other stones like this here?”

  He was staring at her now. “I don’t know, but I can ask the librarian for you. If there is anything here, he’ll show you if I ask for it.”

  She turned to regard him. “It’s that bad?”

  “What?”

  “I can’t ask for them myself?”

  He grimaced. “No. Like Bar said, you’re a woman and foreign.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well, I suppose it’s still better than home. The only way you can see old treasures is to buy them off a rich noble, and only if he or she is willing to sell.”

  He led her away from the table toward the old man cataloguing his scrolls. “All this belongs to the Pentadrians,” he said in a voice that indicated he didn’t think much of that.

  “At least they haven’t destroyed it. The Circlians would have. I was lucky to save this.” She patted the box.

  “So…what’s in there?”

  “Just a fragment of a scroll.”

  “Why did you come here with it?”

  She paused and regarded him carefully. “It’s in Sorl.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. She continued on as if mistaking his silence for puzzlement.

  “An ancient priest tongue of Mur. I would have thought you’d know that.” She shook her head as if exasperated. “I was hoping it would make more sense to a local, who might know the places it refers to and what ‘breath offering’ means.” She slipped the box into a bag at her waist. “Could we ask about those treasures now? I think they’re all that’s going to make this trip worth the effort.”

  The tension and excitement within the young man was palpable. With admirable self-control he kept silent. She was expecting this: the younger Thinkers rarely did anything without consulting their powerful peers first.

  “Then I’ll just have to make sure old Rikron shows you everything.”

  22

  Auraya had tested a few limits to her abilities in the last few days. It was not possible for her to sleep and remain airborne at the same time, so she had remained awake as she
hovered over Glymma. After a few sleepless days it became difficult to concentrate, so last night, at Juran’s urging, she had retreated to the hills to rest.

  Her willingness to obey the gods was constantly tested. She could hear the thoughts of the Siyee. She knew they were chained somewhere below the Sanctuary. She knew they were frightened and despairing.

  But they had not been harmed physically. Nobody in the Sanctuary—nobody whose mind she could read—knew what Nekaun planned to do with his prisoners. Some thought he intended to ransom them. Others considered a possibility Auraya was glad the Siyee had not considered: that the sky people would be handed over to a group known as the Thinkers, who would probably study and experiment on them.

  Returning to her position high above the Sanctuary, Auraya began to skim the minds of those below.

  The first mind she found was that of a Servant given the task of alerting the Voices if Auraya approached the Temple. The woman had already seen Auraya. She had informed Nekaun telepathically through her star pendant.

  Auraya ignored the woman and skimmed over the minds of other Servants and the domestics that took care of mundane chores. Fragments of prayers, recipes, sums and songs came to her. Snatches of gossip, instruction and intrigue threatened to distract her. But her need to find the Siyee was all-consuming.

  There. They’re still there.

  The impracticalities of being physically chained to the same place were beginning to have an effect. She sensed humiliation and revulsion as well as fear. Then she sensed their fear deepen. Looking closer, she saw that one of the Siyee was being taken away. She felt her stomach clench and realized she had let herself drop toward the Sanctuary. Pulling up, she watched and waited, dread growing.

  She saw Nekaun through the Siyee’s eyes. Nekaun said something, but the Siyee was too frightened to comprehend it. Something about leaving.

  Then the chains were removed from the Siyee’s wrists. Doors opened and the sky appeared. The Siyee took a step forward, but the man caught his shoulder in a firm grip.

  “Tell her to meet me on top of the Sanctuary,” he said slowly.

  The Siyee nodded. He was to be a messenger. That was the price of his freedom. The man holding the Siyee let go. The Siyee staggered forward toward the doors. There was a short drop outside. Was this a window, then? No matter. The wind was good. His legs were still stiff. He stretched his arms—he ought to warm his muscles up more before attempting to fly but he wasn’t going to stay any longer than he had to.

  Reaching the opening, he leapt out and felt his heart soar with joy as the wind lifted him up.

  Free…but what of the others? He circled higher. The man wants to speak to Auraya. Maybe she can work something out. But where is she?

  Auraya descended quickly. The Siyee saw her and rose to meet her. He flew in a tight circle around her.

  “The leader freed me,” he told her. “Gave me a message for you. He wants to meet you. On top of the buildings.”

  She whistled that she understood.

  “How are the others?”

  He described what she had seen in the Siyee’s minds: the hall, the lack of sanitation and his fears that they would soon lose the ability to fly.

  “I took food and water for Zyee and Siti to leave at the places we camped,” she told him. “Is your water skin empty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Swap it with mine.”

  She flew alongside him to make the exchange. When she was done he circled around her, looking down anxiously.

  “Can I help?”

  “No. Go home.”

  He whistled an acknowledgment.

  “Then good luck. Be careful. Could be a trap.”

  “I know.”

  She watched him fly away. He was tired and hungry. How would he manage to return to Si, across the Sennon desert, with no food but the little she had stolen from Klaff and only one skin of water?

  I should have stolen more and flown it back to some of our camps in Sennon. She frowned. Maybe I should do that now, as well as catch up with him and….

  :Auraya?

  She looked down. A mind was calling her name. Concentrating, she identified the Servant woman given the task of watching for her. The woman was uncertain that her call would be heard, but Nekaun had asked her to try.

  Auraya searched for the woman. She found three figures standing on the roof of the topmost Sanctuary building. The woman, Nekaun and another, who was full of suppressed excitement and self-importance.

  :Juran? Auraya called.

  :Auraya. What is happening?

  She told him that Nekaun had freed a Siyee in order to give her a message, and of his request.

  :Should I meet with him? she asked.

  :This could be a trap, Juran warned.

  :I’m willing to take that risk. If I don’t meet with Nekaun, he might retaliate by killing Siyee.

  :Go then. See what he wants.

  She looked up at the tiny speck that was the escaping Siyee.

  :If Nekaun wants to ransom the Siyee, will you agree to it?

  :That depends on the price.

  Taking a deep breath she drew magic, created a barrier around herself and began to descend. She felt a movement in her pack and cursed under her breath. If only she’d thought to ask the Siyee to take Mischief with him. But the veez would have been an extra weight the Siyee didn’t need.

  Three upturned faces watched her. The woman looked at Nekaun abruptly, made a gesture with her hands, then walked away. She lifted a hatch in the roof of the building and descended into darkness.

  Auraya landed several strides away from the two men.

  Nekaun smiled. “Welcome to Glymma, Auraya,” he said in heavily accented Hanian.

  Looking at the man standing beside the Voice, Auraya read from his mind that he was Turaan, Nekaun’s Companion, and was here to help translate. His master did not yet know any of the northern languages well and doubted Auraya had learned any of the southern ones.

  I must be careful to avoid showing an understanding of anything said in the southern languages, she thought. Nekaun might reason that I have learned them somehow, but the gods will know that isn’t true and guess that I’m reading minds.

  “Welcome?” she replied in Hanian. “I doubt I am.”

  Nekaun’s smile widened. He spoke in his own language and Turaan repeated his words in Hanian. “Not to some, but they do not understand your reasons for being here.”

  “And you do?”

  “Perhaps. I must admit, I am guessing at a few matters. From the Siyee’s minds I learned you are forbidden to fight. I guess from this that you are here only to protect them. I think maybe you mean my people no harm.”

  “Only if you do no harm to mine.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Yet they came here to harm my people.”

  She smiled thinly. “That is not true.”

  He frowned, then chuckled. “Ah, that is right. They came here to harm the birds. So if a few people got in the way, the Siyee would not have hurt them?”

  Auraya crossed her arms. “I did not give them their orders.”

  “It must be difficult to love a people yet watch others rule them badly.”

  “It is not a unique position to be in.”

  His gaze wavered, as if what she had said had caused him to think of something, then steadied again. “I make you an offer. If you will stay here and let me show you my people and my city, I will free the Siyee. For every day you are here one will be freed.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “All I have to do is stay here?”

  “And let me show you my people.”

  “Why?”

  His expression became serious. “Your people do not understand mine. You think us cruel and depraved. I wish to show that this isn’t so.” He grimaced. “I do not want to harm the Siyee nor do I want to enslave them, as is allowable by our laws. I could ask for money in exchange for their freedom but I do not need it. What I want more is peace. You are not a White,
but I doubt a White would ever come here no matter how humble our request. However, you are their ally. You can tell them what you see here.” He looked at her earnestly. “Will you stay?”

  Auraya regarded him suspiciously. It might still be a trap. There was no knowledge of one in Turaan’s mind, but he might not have been told.

  So? Some risks are worth taking, for the sake of the Siyee.

  “One Siyee every day,” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “I must witness them leave.”

  “Of course.”

  “You will give them food and water for the journey home?”

  “It will be arranged.”

  “And sanitation for those that remain?”

  “I have people already seeking a solution to that problem.”

  “Will you swear it on your gods?”

  He smiled. “I swear, on Sheyr, Hrun, Alor, Ranah and Sraal, I will release one Siyee prisoner per day and night you remain here, and that you will not be harmed during that time.”

  She looked away, as if considering.

  :Juran?

  :Yes?

  She described the terms of the bargain.

  :He will try to recruit or convert you.

  :I expect so. He will fail.

  :Yes. I believe he will. This is a dangerous game, Auraya, but if you’re willing to play it, you have our approval. Good luck.

  Meeting Nekaun’s eyes, Auraya nodded once.

  “I will stay.”

  After reporting to Emerahl and The Twins, telling them of Genza’s request that he travel with her to Glymma, Mirar had let himself drift into sleep. He dreamed Auraya was trying to tell him something, but a knock interrupted her. Then he realized his eyes were open and he was staring, awake, at the ceiling.

  Something just woke me up. Sitting up, he frowned and listened. He looked toward the door…

  …and sensed both hope and uncertainty. A familiar presence stood beyond the door, determination rapidly waning.

  Dardel. She’s finally got up the courage to approach me again.

  For a moment he was caught between conflicting feelings. The memory of Auraya’s presence in his dream lingered in his mind. Yet he knew this opportunity to reassure Dardel might not come again.