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

by Trudi Canavan

  Then suddenly she remembered Leiard in the cave in Si, staring at her out of Mirar’s eyes.

  “…joining the brothel was necessity…but I also wonder if you unknowingly seek the same kind of assurance that Mirar seeks. You seek a reminder that you are a physical being, not a god…”

  She took a step away from Ray. The thought of bedding him no longer appealed. The other Thinkers might take it as proof that their prejudices about foreign women were correct—not that they’d suddenly respect her for remaining chaste.

  “Good night Ray,” she said. “I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.

  She backed into the tent and closed the flaps firmly. He was all surprise and disappointment, then amusement and determination. After a moment she heard him walk away and breathed a sigh of relief. She drew magic and put a barrier across the entrance.

  I’ll have to turn him down a few times before he gives up, she told herself. She regarded the narrow bench covered in a thin mattress that served as a bed and shrugged. Well, it’s better than the bottom of a boat, and I don’t want to fall asleep too quickly anyway.

  Lying down, she closed her eyes and let herself relax. Slowly her thoughts began to drift. Soon she had completely lost track of time.

  :Emerahl.

  The Twins’ dual voices were like an echoing whisper in her thoughts.

  :Surim. Tamun.

  :You were wise to reject your admirer, Tamun told her.

  :Oh? Why?

  :Surim would have found it much too interesting.

  Emerahl felt a surge of relief. She hadn’t considered that The Twins might end up watching her bedroom antics through the eyes of Raynora. The thought was disturbing.

  :You wouldn’t have watched me, would you, Surim?

  :I’d have to, in case something happened to you. It would be entirely for your own protection.

  :I see. And if something did happen, what could you do to protect me?

  He didn’t reply.

  :We’ve discovered the true source of the money being offered to Raynora for the Scrolls, Tamun said. It is coming from the Voices. They or their gods must have known the Thinkers are seeking the Scrolls, and don’t like it.

  :Which supports our suspicion that the Scrolls contain something dangerous to the gods, Surim added.

  :Could I bribe Ray to give them to me? Emerahl asked.

  :No. You risk revealing your knowledge of his mission. His gods may be watching.

  :If they are, they will be suspicious of me already since they can’t read my mind.

  :True. They probably tolerate your involvement only because your help enables Ray to steal the Scrolls sooner.

  :How can I stop him?

  :Easy. Steal them yourself.

  :Steal the Scrolls from the Thinkers, the smartest people in Southern Ithania, while their gods watch? Emerahl felt a rush of amusement. Now that is going to be satisfying.

  27

  As Ton reached the crest of the hill, panting and sweating, he paused to catch his breath. Looking up, he forgot his weariness and stared ahead in awe. The land before him undulated in gentle hills, then descended to an abrupt stop where a flat expanse, glowing with the light of a low-hanging sun, stretched to meet the sky.

  The sea, he thought. So that’s what it looks like.

  The water glittered like expensive cloth or a great rippling sheet of gold. He suddenly understood that the strange tang in the air was salt.

  I must be getting close to the haven…unless it’s over the sea. He scanned the hills before him, his whole body trembling with anticipation and exhaustion. He felt as if he had been walking forever. The life he’d left behind seemed like a dream. A bad dream.

  Near the coast were the tiny shapes of many, many houses. A fine thread wound past them: a river. He could make out smoke ascending in the dusky air. Was this the haven Chemalya had told him of?

  Only one way to find out. He pushed himself on. At least it’s all downhill from here.

  As the hours passed he kept his mind occupied with thoughts of his wife Gli and their two boys. They would love it here. His boys had never seen the sea. He must learn how to sail and take them out. Perhaps they would become fishermen. Or farmers. It would be hard work, but better than being treated like a slave. Not that Ton had suffered as much as Gli had in her youth. They both hated Gim and his clan. All that talk of honor and pride. He’d never met a warrior who had a decent thought in his head. The sooner Ton got his family away from there the better.

  His mood turned gloomier as night descended. He rested beside the road until the moon rose and gave him some light to travel by, then he pressed on. Just when he began to wonder if the road had missed the village he saw lights in the distance. His stomach fluttered with excitement, stirring the hunger that had nagged at him for days.

  But as he reached the first house a powerful reluctance to draw attention to himself or disturb the villagers came over him. He slowed and plodded quietly on. The houses were widely spaced at first, but soon they occurred more often until they sat side by side. A man emerged from a door ahead. As he drew closer to Ton he frowned and stared in an unfriendly fashion. But then a smile sprang to his face.

  “Newcomer, eh? They’ll be waiting for you. Big drinking house a few doors down on the right.”

  Ton mumbled thanks and hurried on. He could not have missed the drinking house. Light and many voices spilled from the windows and door. A tall lanky man sitting on a bench outside smiled as he saw Ton, and stood up.

  “I’m Warwel. Who would you be?” he asked.

  “Ton.”

  “Ah. Welcome to Dram. Come inside. You must be tired. And hungry.”

  “Very,” Ton admitted.

  The man placed a hand on Ton’s shoulder and steered him through the door. It took a few moments for Ton’s eyes to adjust to the bright lamplight, but he heard the pause in conversation. Looking around, he saw that the room was full of men and women. Some regarded him with welcoming smiles, others with curiosity, and a few with guarded expressions.

  “This is Ton,” Warwel announced loudly. “A newcomer from…?” He looked at Ton.

  “Chon,” Ton said quietly.

  “From Chon,” Warwel boomed. “Ton from Chon. He’s come a long way.”

  Murmurs of welcome filled the room. Warwel gestured to a woman. “Kit, would you bring him something to eat?” Ton felt his heart lift at the polite request, and the dignified clothing of the woman. She must be a servant or Warwel wouldn’t ask her to fetch anything, yet he hadn’t treated her like a slave.

  Maybe it’s true what the spice seller said. Of course it’s true. I wouldn’t have left my family and come this far if I hadn’t believed him.

  Still, it was such a relief to know he hadn’t been deceived.

  Warwel guided Ton to a bench before a large table occupied by several other people. They were drinking, but none looked drunk.

  “Chem told me about you,” Warwel said.

  Ton blinked at him in confusion. “He did? I thought he didn’t know where you were?”

  Warwel tapped his forehead. “We talk with our minds. I don’t have to tell him where I am.”

  “Oh.” Magic. Ton looked around at the people. They looked a lot like Chem. Or rather, Chem looked like them.

  As the truth dawned on him, a huge bowl of soup was placed in front of him and a plate of bread.

  They’re all Pentadrians, he thought. He looked down at the soup and his stomach growled. The enemy. There was a utensil of some sort in the bowl. He lifted it. If I join them I’ll be a traitor to my country. It was a small ladle, and there was a piece of meat in it. He stared at it in disbelief. Meat! But the warriors will kill me and my family if they find out. The meat sank out of sight as he let go of the ladle. He looked up at Warwel.

  “My family…” he began, then sought the words to explain.

  “We’ll make every effort to bring them here,” Warwel assured him. “Though I must be honest: it will be more
difficult now that the clans are looking for spies.”

  Ton nodded. “Is Chem…?”

  “Alive? Yes, he appears to have escaped notice for now.”

  Then there was a chance. Ton picked up the ladle and brought it to his mouth. The soup was hot and spicy. It smelled of Chem’s shop. The meat was tender and as delicious as he had always suspected it would be. Why else did the warriors hoard it to themselves? He ate steadily until both bread and soup were gone, then he turned to Warwel.

  “So how do I convert?”

  The man blinked in surprise, then laughed.

  “You don’t have to, Ton. But if you want to we’ll teach you about the Five.” He hesitated. “You would so easily turn from the Circle?”

  Ton shrugged. “What has Lore ever done for me or my family? He only cares about warriors.”

  “And the other gods?”

  “Never did me any good either.” Ton yawned. Exhaustion, the warmth in the room and the food were making him sleepy. Gli had always accused him of making hasty decisions when he was tired. He frowned. “I suppose I should wait until Gli gets here, but in the meantime it can’t hurt to learn about your gods.”

  Warwel smiled broadly. “Then we’ll teach you. But for now I think what you need the most is a good night’s sleep. Come with me and I’ll arrange a bed for you.”

  The freed Siyee was now a speck in the hazy morning sky. In the corner of her eye, Auraya saw Nekaun uncross his arms and knew the game was about to begin again.

  “I thought we might explore the city today,” he said lightly. “I would like to introduce you to my people.”

  His people, she mused. As if he is the sole ruler of this continent. I wonder how the other Voices feel about that.

  “That would be interesting,” she replied. “I’m sure I have seen everything and met everyone in the Sanctuary by now—except the other Voices, of course.”

  “They are eager to meet you,” he told her.

  She smiled thinly. “I doubt that.”

  He chuckled. “You must remember that, unlike myself, they once faced you across a battlefield. They may be quite intimidated by you.”

  Intimidated? She frowned. More likely he’s worried that they’ll attack me and break his promise that I won’t be harmed.

  He gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we move on?”

  She followed him into the building then through the Sanctuary. Turaan came after them silently. Servants paused to stare at her briefly before hurrying away. From their minds she read a now familiar mixture of curiosity and dislike for her. The Pentadrians knew her only from the battle. She was an enemy who had killed their former leader. They accepted Nekaun’s judgment, however, and concluded that if he was treating her politely, they would do the same.

  Their regard for Nekaun was high, but not quite the same as the affection they felt for the other Voices. She also picked up thoughts in which he was compared to his predecessor, and from these she guessed that while Nekaun was liked and respected, Kuar had been adored.

  Nekaun wants that adoration, she guessed. What will he do to earn it? She shivered. Invade Northern Ithania again? Yet by introducing her to his people and showing her their ways he was making a small step toward encouraging understanding between Circlians and Pentadrians. Perhaps he hoped that avoiding a war would raise him in the eyes of his people.

  They had arrived at the large hall that was the entrance to the Sanctuary. It was as busy with Servants and non-Servants as it had been when Nekaun had first shown it to her. They paused to watch as Nekaun led her to the arched façade at the front of the building. He stepped out and began descending the wide staircase.

  At the edge of the road below, several muscular, bare-chested men and a Servant stood beside a litter. Looking closer, Auraya picked up thoughts of boredom and resentment as well as resignation. These were the first slaves she had seen. Nekaun had told her of the tradition of enslaving criminals. It was a novel idea—perhaps more merciful than execution—though only useful to the Servants since the system would work only if slave masters were Gifted enough to suppress rebellion.

  Nekaun ushered her onto the litter, where she sat opposite him and his Companion. The Servant barked orders and the slaves bent to pick up the litter. It was a disconcerting sensation being lifted by the men. Though the worst they could do to her was drop the litter she could not help feeling uneasy.

  At Nekaun’s order they set off down the wide main street of the city. Her host began talking, and Turaan translated. He spoke about the houses that had been removed long ago to make this parade, and other changes that had been made a hundred years ago. Auraya barely heard. Her attention was being drawn away by the thoughts of the people around her.

  As they noticed the litter they stopped to stare. Initially it was Nekaun that attracted their interest, as the sight of the First Voice was something that excited them. She caught glimpses of plans to boast to friends and family about sighting him.

  But the excitement was short-lived. All around her, interest was changing to shock and anger, and she was the cause. Those that didn’t recognize her from the war were informed by those who did. Rumors had circulated that she was in the Sanctuary. Few favored her presence, but now they were outraged that she might show herself so openly to the kin of those she and her allies had killed.

  Never mind that this was Nekaun’s idea, she thought wryly.

  As the anger of the crowd increased, Auraya’s skin prickled with warning. She drew a little magic and surrounded herself with a light, invisible barrier. Nekaun’s chatter had slowed. A slight crease appeared between his brows, but he kept talking. Auraya endeavored to look unconcerned, hoping that if they kept moving the crowd would not have the chance to gather and confront them.

  Not that I have anything to fear from them, she told herself. But it would be embarrassing to Nekaun, and that’s never good for a man in his position.

  People had begun to follow the litter. She felt her heartbeat quicken. As the crowd grew, the slaves noticed and began glancing around with worried expressions. Turaan was pale, but he kept translating doggedly. Nekaun ordered the litter into a side street.

  They had travelled only a short way along this when people began to emerge from narrow streets on either side. A noisy crowd formed around the litter, forcing it to stop.

  “Murderer!” someone shouted.

  “Go home. You’re not welcome here!”

  Those and following shouts were spoken in the local tongue, but Auraya knew she could pretend she guessed their meaning from their tone. She looked around at the people. One man met her eyes, scowled, then spat at her face. The spittle splattered against her shield and dropped to the ground.

  She realized her heart was racing. Though she did not fear these people, she could not help reacting to their threatening behavior. Nekaun ordered the litter lowered. As it met the ground he stood up. The crowd drew back a few steps and quietened.

  “People of Glymma, do not shame me,” he implored. “I understand your anger. Here before you sits a sorceress who was once our enemy, and you see no reason to gain her favor. But there is a reason. A very good reason. She does not know or understand you. If she did, she would love you as I do. Like me, she would not bear to see you or your families harmed. I know you are honorable and loyal. Let her see that, not this pointless hatred.”

  The people were not entirely convinced, but Nekaun’s words had subdued them into a dissatisfied and begrudging obedience. They drew back, muttering. Nekaun sat down and nodded to the Servant controlling the slaves. The litter rose again, and the crowd parted to allow it to continue.

  Though Nekaun appeared relaxed, there was a stiffness to the way he braced himself against the swaying of the litter. He did not meet her eyes. It was obvious he had miscalculated his people badly.

  Her heart was still beating quickly, yet she felt only sadness. They hate me, she thought. They hate me and I understand why. I represent their enemy. Nekaun will have a hard t
ime convincing them to ally with Northern Ithania in the future. In fact, it may be impossible.

  As soon as the litter had turned down the next street Nekaun ordered the men to return to the Sanctuary. Auraya looked at him questioningly.

  “We will return and change to a covered platten,” he told her. “Not for your safety,” he assured her. “You are in no danger, but it will be more convenient and prevent delays. I am sorry you had to see that.”

  “Are you? Or was this to show me the effect of my apparent crimes?”

  “No. I did not expect it,” he said. “I forget sometimes that most people are less forgiving than I.”

  “You were not in the war, then?”

  “I was.” He turned back to meet her regard, all signs of weakness gone.

  “Then surely you understand their anger,” she said. “It is never easy to forgive the killing of family and friends, and they have no choice but to believe the invasion of Northern Ithania was justified or else they would lose faith in their gods and leaders. So they blame the people they invaded.”

  “Your people are not innocent of that crime now,” he reminded her. “It is amusing to hear you admonish us when you accompanied those who invaded us.”

  “The Siyee attack on the birds?” She shook her head. “That was no invasion, but a foolish act of vengeance for the actions of your people in Jarime.” Arranged by Huan, she added silently.

  “Interesting that you think so,” he said.

  “What else would it be? Your defenses must be weak indeed if thirty or so Siyee could have threatened Southern Ithania.”

  “Thirty-three Siyee and one sorceress,” he corrected. “Ah, but you were forbidden by your gods to join in any fighting, weren’t you? How strange.”

  She shrugged.

  He smiled. “I suspect your gods have other reasons to send you here. Trouble is, I cannot guess what. Except, perhaps, that you are a spy.”

  “Then why are you giving me the tour of your city?”

  “Because I know you will find no great secrets or weaknesses here. We are not planning another invasion of Northern Ithania. I am serious about forging peace between our peoples.”