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

by Trudi Canavan

  A loud clang of iron interrupted their conversation. For a moment she wondered why the man and woman hadn’t reacted. Then her stomach sank and dread clutched her heart as she realized her own ears were hearing the sound.

  Her awareness snapped back to her surroundings. Opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and let it out. The same four domestics hurried toward her. Nekaun strolled after them.

  The smell of flowers came with them. It sent her pulse racing though she wasn’t yet sure why this should bother her. Looking at the domestics, she realized they were all carrying buckets. Bags were slung over their shoulders. Obviously they were planning to do more than just wash and feed her.

  She resisted the temptation to look at Nekaun.

  The first domestic swung the bucket toward her. She braced herself for the chill water and nearly gasped as she was battered with warmth instead. Before she had recovered from the surprise the second domestic tipped more water over her head. This, too, was warm.

  Setting aside their empty buckets, the domestics drew objects out of their bags. Pottery jugs were uncorked. Hands drew out fistfuls of something resembling very fine wet sand.

  She flinched as the first spread the substance onto her arm and began to rub it against her skin. It was sand. This, she remembered, was how the locals preferred to clean themselves. The rich used a fine, rare sand from some distant place. The two domestics scrubbed her arms, neck and scalp then, to her embarrassment, worked ever lower. Their touch was efficient and their faces expressionless, but she gritted her teeth and tried not to show how much their touch unsettled her.

  All the time she felt Nekaun watching.

  Finally the domestics had scrubbed her all over. The other two approached with their buckets and carefully washed the sand off her skin. This rinse water held the perfume she had noticed earlier. It was cooler, but not cold.

  When they had stepped away Auraya’s skin tingled all over. It would have felt good to be clean, if Nekaun hadn’t been there.

  He hasn’t asked me any of his stupid questions yet, she realized. The domestics swept the dais and then hurried from the hall. None had brought any food. Perhaps because there’s no point. Why bother feeding me if I’m about to die. But why clean me? Does he prefer to kill clean people?

  She nearly giggled at the silliness of that thought. But all humor vanished as he moved closer. Her skin felt too sensitive. Her body felt too exposed. She resisted the temptation to curl up as much as the chains would allow.

  “That’s better,” he said quietly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I like a bit of sweat and dirt. But not utter filth.”

  He stopped a mere step away. He’s just trying to intimidate me, she told herself. And he’s in the void now. He’s vulnerable too.

  Now that she would have to go out of her way to avoid looking at him, she met his gaze with what she hoped was a blank stare.

  He stared back.

  That’s different, she thought. He usually smiles and says something snide and ridiculous to point out that he’s in control.

  When he spoke next, it was in Avvenan. The two Servants guarding the door paused, then walked away.

  That sent a shiver of pure terror through her. Why send away the guards unless he was about to do something he didn’t even want his own people knowing about?

  “There,” he said. “A little privacy.” She resisted the urge to shrink away as he moved a hand toward her, then tried not to flinch as his fingers touched her throat. His hand curled around her neck, warm and firm.

  “So thin. I could throttle you right now,” he murmured. “But I don’t gain any pleasure from killing.” His gaze shifted lower. “Did I ever tell you that I was the Head Servant of the Temple of Hrun before I became First Voice?”

  His hand slid downward to her breast. Her mouth went dry. Intimidation, she repeated. Don’t react. Be boring. Give him nothing and he’ll lose interest and go away.

  “Hmm. How tense you are.” His breath was sickeningly warm. She tried not to breathe it in. “So am I. Here, I’ll show you.”

  He pressed his body against hers, pushing her against the stone wall. Smothered by black robes, revolted by his breath, she felt herself shudder in horror at the hardness of his groin beneath his robes.

  He really means to do this….

  No. Stay calm. He wouldn’t dare. It’s just intimidation.

  His hand left her breast. Her relief was brief. She felt knuckles dig into her belly as he pulled at his robes. His breathing was fast. Despite herself she looked up. He bared his teeth.

  “Yes. That’s right. Where are your gods now, Auraya? They can’t help you.”

  Her mind spun in increasingly frantic circles, then abruptly she saw, with awful clarity, that he did mean to do what he threatened. This is going to be revolting and humiliating and painful but I can bear it. I will have to… But she had glimpsed the wounds and scars in the minds of women who had been used by men. He has, too. He knows he’ll leave me with more than his…oh, gods. She had no magical means to prevent conception. But he won’t want to sire a child, she reasoned. But he’s in the void too. His magic won’t work either. Gods, no! She bit back a scream as she saw herself, chained and bloated with his child, in this place. Imprisoned without and within. But if he’s in the void he’s vulnerable too. I can hurt him. I can kill him. She felt her jaw tense. I will bite out his throat. I will….

  “Nekaun.”

  The voice was unearthly. It echoed and whispered around the room like wind. Nekaun whirled around. Looking over his shoulder, Auraya saw a being of light. She felt her mouth go dry. She had seen this god before.

  “Sheyr!” Nekaun gasped.

  “Come here.”

  Nekaun hurried off the dais and threw himself to the floor before the feet of the glowing figure.

  “Do not harm Auraya,” the god said. “Revenge will come, but not in this way. What you wish to do may disadvantage us.”

  “But…” The word was barely audible.

  The being straightened. “Do you dare to question me?” he boomed.

  “No, Sheyr!” Nekaun shook his head, his whole body quivering at the movement.

  “You would take unnecessary risks for a moment of gratification.” The god’s head rose and he stared at Auraya. “Be satisfied that she is alone and friendless, with only her shadow for company.” His head snapped back to Nekaun. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go.”

  Nekaun scrambled to his feet and fled. The glowing figure looked at Auraya again.

  He winked, then faded away.

  In his place stood a Servant. The man blinked and glanced around the hall, then backed away from her. She looked into his mind and realized that he had given his will over to the god. Otherwise Sheyr would not have been able to see her, or speak with a real voice.

  He saved me. She shook her head. How could she feel such gratitude toward one of the Pentadrian gods when they had ordered Nekaun to break his vow and trap her here? “…with only her shadow for company.”

  And the significance of his last words came to her. Shadow! She quietly began to laugh, not caring that there was a hysterical edge to her voice.

  It was Chaia! And Nekaun fell for it!

  40

  At the first opportunity, Reivan slid out of bed. Her legs were shaking and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Seeing her robes on the floor, she decided she would feel better dressed. Those were torn now. She moved to a chest and drew out another set.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looked back at Nekaun. Lounging naked on the bed he was so beautiful it was painful. It took her breath away, but she made herself straighten her back. Stand up to him.

  “That was unpleasant,” she told him.

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

  “No.”

  “You usually like it. Aren’t I welcome here any more?”

  “Not if it’s going to be like that. You…
you nearly choked me.”

  “Some women like that. They say a little fear makes it more thrilling.”

  She turned away and drew the robe around herself. “I don’t.”

  “Don’t be angry. How could we know that until we tried it?”

  She felt her anger weakening. “You should have asked me first.”

  “Then you would be expecting it. Surprise is part of the pleasure.”

  “It wasn’t. And the rest wasn’t much fun either. It was like…” She grimaced. Her insides felt bruised.

  “Like what?”

  She frowned. There was something in his voice. Almost a smugness. Almost as if he liked seeing her discomforted.

  Turning to face him, she held his gaze. “It was like you were punching me with your…Surely, with your background in the arts of lovemaking, you would know that is not pleasant for a woman?”

  He laughed. “You’re hardly the goddess of love. You’ve got a lot to learn. I think you could come to like a bit of rough play.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He grinned. “Oh, I think you found what we just did more than a little exciting.”

  She stared at him. “You can’t be serious. It was nice at first, but later…what part of ‘Stop, you’re hurting me’ didn’t make sense to you?”

  He laughed. “You didn’t mean it.”

  “You know I did.” She shook her head. “I think you enjoyed hurting me. You had that same look in your eye you’ve had since you chained Auraya up. I almost expected you to call out her name.”

  His smile faded, then his eyes narrowed. Rolling to the edge of the bed, he stood up. She watched as his robes rose from the floor to his hands and he began to dress, his movements quick and angry.

  She felt her anger ebb, leaving her numb. “You’re leaving.”

  “Yes. If my efforts aren’t appreciated,” he said, “I’ll go where they are.”

  Stung, she felt tears spring into her eyes. Stop it, she told herself. Stop being a fool. He meant to hurt you, so don’t let him see he succeeded.

  He marched out of the bedroom. The sound of the door slamming echoed through her rooms. The silence afterward thundered in her ears. His words repeated over and over in her head. “You’re hardly the goddess of love.”

  I’m not good enough for him. That’s why he was rough. He got impatient with me.

  She moved to the bed, thinking only to curl up and give in to her misery. Then she saw the bloodstains. Her blood. A few drops only, but enough to remind her of his body slamming against hers, the manic look in his eyes, the hand about her throat and the way he had laughed when she had protested. Anger flared again. She rose and stalked to the bathing room.

  I will scrub every last bit of him away, she told herself. He can bed every woman in Glymma. He can bed Auraya for all I care. If that’s what it takes to satisfy him he can find it elsewhere. I’m done with him.

  If it weren’t for the constant nagging thought that Auraya was suffering in her prison under the Sanctuary, Mirar would have considered the day to have been particularly satisfying and enjoyable.

  He had met with over a hundred of Glymma’s Dreamweavers to discuss their role as healers after the coming battle. Dreamweavers were travelling to the city from all over the continent, and Arleej had asked him to oversee all accommodation, food and travel arrangements. Though most of this work was organized by Dreamweaver House leaders, they all needed someone to make decisions where there was disagreement, and mediate with the Voices and Servants.

  The Dreamweavers had joined together in one large mind link, and he had learned much from them. He let his mind shield slip only long enough to confirm his identity. He wanted to tell them of his “death” and survival, but Auraya featured too much in the story and he couldn’t afford chancing that the Voices would read their minds and discover that he didn’t dislike her as much as they believed.

  From the Dreamweavers he had learned that they had suspected that he wasn’t really Mirar, that the Voices had recruited a Dreamweaver willing to pose as Mirar in order to influence Northern Ithania. Arleej had assured them this wasn’t true, but some were still shocked to discover, through the link, that he was their legendary, immortal founder.

  After dining with Glymma’s Dreamweaver House leader, Mirar had returned to the Sanctuary late and immediately received an invitation to meet with Second Voice Imenja. A Servant escorted him to a balcony overlooking a courtyard, where a fountain glittered in the light of several lamps. Imenja was sitting in a reed chair and rose to greet him.

  “Dreamweaver Mirar,” she said. “How did your meeting with your people go?”

  “Very well,” he told her. “I still can’t get used to seeing Dreamweavers living without the constant fear of persecution. I’m heartened to see that they can exist in harmony with a religion of dominant power.”

  She smiled. “Just like old times?”

  He shook his head. “Yes and no. In the past there were so many gods that few dominated as completely as yours do. A single god might rule in small nations like Dunway, but never an entire continent. And never united with other gods.”

  “I would like to hear more about those times. What do the Circlians call them?”

  “The Age of the Many.”

  “Yes, and now we live in the Age of the Five. Or should that be the Age of the Ten?”

  Mirar shrugged. “At least when I tell you tales of the past, it won’t be your gods’ evil deeds I tell of.”

  She chuckled. “No. I gather Circlians aren’t aware of their gods’ past, then?”

  “No. Only Dreamweavers know, passing down experiences and stories through mind links.”

  “So perhaps that is the reason your people are badly treated there and well treated here. Our gods have no need to fear the stories Dreamweavers might tell.”

  Mirar looked at her, impressed. It made sense, though he was sure he would have come to the same conclusion eventually.

  Imenja looked out at the courtyard. “I have to warn you, the closer war comes the more we will want you to commit to helping us in some way.”

  As she turned to look at him he met her gaze steadily.

  “Dreamweavers do not fight.”

  “No, but there may be other ways you can assist us.”

  “We heal the wounded. What else can we offer?”

  She shifted in her seat to face him. “If someone attacks a patient you are healing, what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”

  “Protect them,” he answered.

  “If someone attacks a friend—or a stranger—what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”

  He frowned, suspecting he knew where this was leading. “Protect them.”

  She smiled and turned back to regard the courtyard. “Nekaun might be satisfied with a compromise.” Her smile faded and she sighed. “I can’t promise that he won’t punish you or your people if you don’t offer him something. That something doesn’t have to involve your people. He wants it to appear that we have you, the legendary Mirar, on our side.”

  Mirar shook his head. “That may endanger Dreamweavers in the north.”

  She looked at him, her expression sad. “I know. It is a choice I don’t envy you for.” She stood up and smiled. “But if you join us, there’s a good chance we’ll win, and that will probably be a better result for Dreamweavers than the alternative.”

  He nodded. “You have a point.”

  “Consider what I’ve proposed,” she told him. “But it is late, and even Voices need to sleep now and then.”

  “And immortals,” he said, rising. “Good night, Second Voice Imenja.”

  “Good night.”

  The Servant who had escorted him to the meeting appeared and guided him back to his rooms. Mirar stared out of the window for a while, thinking about what Imenja had suggested.

  A compromise. One that doesn’t involve my people, just me. I protect the Pentadrians with magic. That frees the Voi
ces to put more of their magic into fighting. With Auraya locked up below the Sanctuary, surely the Pentadrians will win this time.

  How would his people feel about that? Would they lose respect for him for choosing a side? They might, but the southern Dreamweavers would feel betrayed if they knew he could have prevented the Circlians conquering the southern continent and subjecting them to their habitual prejudice.

  Sighing, he retired to bed. As soon as he reached a dream trance he sought Auraya’s mind, but the only response he got was disjointed and reluctant, and he decided to let her sleep. He called another name.

  :Emerahl.

  :Mirar, she responded without hesitation. I was just talking to The Twins. How is life in Glymma?

  :Good for me; no different for Auraya.

  :Poor woman. Have you found a way to free her?

  :No. She is too well guarded, as am I, but I am hoping that may change as the war begins to distract everyone. If I show any interest in her Nekaun starts asking if I want to be present when he kills her. When I ask why he’s delaying he just says “when the gods decide.” Imenja made a suggestion to me tonight. He told her what the Second Voice had proposed. What do you think I should do?

  :Don’t get involved. But since you’re already involved then don’t take sides. But since these Voices probably won’t let you, then do what she suggests. But not straightaway. If you give in now they will start asking for more. Wait until the last moment. And if you can, make Auraya’s fate part of the deal, even if it only means delaying her execution.

  As always, she was a source of good advice.

  :That sounds like a good plan. How is the Quest for the Scroll of the Gods progressing?

  :We haven’t figured out what the symbols mean yet. I haven’t had much time to work on it. The Twins want me out of Southern Ithania, in case the Thinkers track me down. I’ll be coming through Glymma. She paused. Could we meet safely? I’d like you to look at the diamond.