:She might not realize she has, Tamun countered. We can’t take any risks. In the old priest tongue words often had two meanings.
If Emerahl had been awake she would have sighed. Tamun hadn’t taken well to the news that the scroll was useless. She refused to believe it, saying the poem must be a code.
:Very well. I’ll copy the glyphs somehow. But what then? It’s just a history. There are no directions to these secrets about the gods.
:No? Tamun’s amusement rippled over Emerahl’s mind. What you have recited bears some obvious clues.
:Obvious?
:The secrets were preserved in an indestructible form. What is indestructible?
:Nothing.
:Gold, Surim said. Or so a smith once told me. It can be melted and mixed with other metals, but alone it never rusts or deteriorates.
:If the secrets are recorded in gold, and gold can be melted, then the secrets can be destroyed, Tamun pointed out.
:Then it must be something so hard and solid it can’t be broken.
:Diamond? Emerahl suggested. Her mind shifted to the treasures found in the coffin. There had been plenty of precious stones among the jewellery and trinkets.
:A diamond can be cut by another diamond, Tamun said. That makes it as fragile as gold.
:What else is there? Surim asked.
The Twins fell silent as they considered. Emerahl’s mind kept returning to the jewellery and trinkets. If the secrets were preserved on a diamond it would be a clever trick to hide it among the treasure.
Though there couldn’t be many secrets if they were carved into a diamond. Some of the gems in the collection were impressively large, but there was little room for more than a few words on them.
:It would be easier if you just stole it and brought it to us.
:I’m not stealing that great hunk of gold! Even if it wasn’t a big ugly piece of dung too heavy to carry, we know Pentadrian Servants want it. I could have half the Servants of Southern Ithania on my tail all the way to the coast, and I might not be able to find a ship to—
:Emerahl. Wake up. Something has happened. The traitor has—
Suddenly Emerahl was aware of a voice. Barmonia’s voice. He was shouting. At once she slipped from the dream and into full consciousness.
“... stinking whore of a thief! I’ll rip your guts out with my bare hands and feed them...!”
Getting up, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and hurried out of her tent. The shouting came from the direction of the arem and domestics. Barmonia’s words echoed in the still night. Kereon and Yathyir stood beside the fire, Kereon scowling and Yathyir looking wide-eyed with fright. The older man looked at Emerahl, then nodded toward Barmonia’s tent.
The front flap was open and they could see the mess inside. A battered, misshapen item lay on the floor: the Scroll.
“Smashed,” he said.
Emerahl did some silent cursing of her own. Barmonia had been so protective of the Scroll, insisting he be present whenever anyone studied it, she had assumed it would be safe enough.
I am a fool! she thought. The Twins are going to be furious.
The shouting stopped, then two figures emerged from the darkness. Mikmer and Barmonia were arguing.
“... miss him in the darkness. When the sun rises we can track him,” Mikmer said.
“He’ll hide his tracks once he knows we’re hot on his tail. I’m going after that slut-raised, traitorous...”
Barmonia froze as he noticed Emerahl, then closed his mouth. She tried not to show her amusement at this.
“What happened?” Yathyir asked in a small, frightened voice.
Barmonia scowled. “Ray smashed the scroll. The domestics say he took an arem and left.”
“When?”
“Not long ago.”
Only minutes ago, Emerahl realized. Ray must have decided to do this while The Twins and I were discussing the Scroll. If he’d planned it before now, they would have known.
“Was he carrying anything?” Kereon asked.
“A pack and a large bag,” Mikmer replied. He frowned as Barmonia hurried into his tent. “Why?”
A roar came from the leader’s tent. Barmonia emerged, his face dark with anger. “He took the treasure.”
A cold chill ran over Emerahl’s skin. If I’m right, and the secrets are on a diamond somewhere in the treasure...
It did not surprise her that Ray had stolen the treasure. He’d need money, since his membership as a Thinker would end once the news got about that he’d betrayed them. What didn’t make sense was that he had smashed the Scroll. He was supposed to steal it.
Had he worked out that the secret was in the treasure?
The Scroll wasn’t going anywhere. If the Thinkers could restore it, they would. She didn’t need to wait around for them to do it.
What matters is retrieving the treasure.
“We can’t wait until morning,” Barmonia growled.
“We should split up, take a few domestics each, and go in different directions,” Kereon advised.
Mikmer sighed, then nodded. “I’ll go north. Someone should stay here and guard what’s left of the Scroll.”
Barmonia looked thoughtful. “No point in sending Yathyir. I had better stay.” He looked at Kereon and Mikmer. “Bring him back here. I’ll deal with him.”
The two men nodded, then hurried away. Emerahl heard them barking orders at the domestics.
“I could go too,” she offered.
Barmonia gave her a hard, suspicious stare.
“No. He could be dangerous.”
She smiled faintly. “I doubt it.”
“No. I need you here.”
“I’ve translated the Scroll,” she argued. “What else is there for me to do?”
“Stay where I can see you,” he snapped. “To be honest, I don’t trust you.”
She shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll go back to bed, then.”
“Stay by the fire,” he ordered.
She hesitated, tempted to just leave. He couldn’t stop her. But there might still be something significant about the Scroll. She might need to remain on good terms with him.
Out of the darkness came a domestic. He reported that a light had been seen moving down the road to the lowlands.
A light, eh? I don’t think Ray would be so foolish as to use a lamp when there’ll be plenty of light when the moon rises. More likely he tied a lamp to an arem, pointed it in the direction of the lowlands and gave it a good slap. He’ll have gone in the other direction, toward Glymma and his reward.
A little mind-skimming would confirm it.
She gave a mock sigh of exasperation and walked to the nearly burned-out fire, where she lay down on one of the mats and covered herself with her blanket.
Yathyir and Barmonia returned to their tents. She heard Barmonia muttering about the Scroll and whether he could salvage it. Soon he would be too distracted to see her slip away.
Then she would collect her pack and an arem to ride and she would set off after the traitor and his stolen goods.
Auraya drifted, alone in the dream trance. Beneath the Sanctuary two Siyee waited to be freed. In less than two days she would escape Glymma and Nekaun.
In a room somewhere closer, Mirar’s body rested while his mind skimmed the thoughts of others. She felt a wave of affection, and a wistful amusement. First, as Leiard, he had been a mentor then a lover. In Si he had been a teacher again, then an enemy. Now he was a welcome ally. A helper. A friend.
I like him, she thought, and it’s not because he reminds me of Leiard. I can’t see him, so my eyes aren’t telling me I’m talking to Leiard. Sometimes there’s a hint of Leiard in what he says through the dream-links, but mostly I am talking to someone else.
Mirar. The enemy of the gods. Auraya gave a mental shrug. So is Jade, but that didn’t stop me liking her, once I got to know her. Must I hate whoever they hate in order to be considered loyal?
They can’t make me love someone. Is it th
e same for hate?
It was an interesting question, but she still had much to do. She had been skimming minds every night since Mirar first suggested it. Bit by bit they had put together enough information to confirm that Pentadrian Servants had been sent to all countries of Northern Ithania to establish themselves and start converting locals. The White had managed to find and put a stop to most of the attempts, including the most successful one, in Dunway.
Now, as she sent her mind out, she reached toward the closest mind, but then stopped in surprise.
Not far away, loud voices buzzed within the magic of the world.
:... happens when you don’t consult others.
:I consulted.
:We talked about exercises and tests, not the full assembling of armies.
:Assembling a full army quickly takes practice.
The defensive voice belonged to Huan, whereas the accuser was Saru.
:It also raises expectations and—
I’ve stumbled into another of the gods’ conversations, Auraya thought. Chaia warned me that I could be detected. I should stop listening and...
:Do you really think he’ll believe such a feeble excuse? This was an older male voice. Lore. Auraya hesitated, amazed that gods other than Chaia had confronted Huan. The Circlians are now wondering if we know what we’re doing.
:Which is hardly my doing, Huan said. I didn’t give the order for the armies to stand down.
:What were you intending them to do, if not finish their “exercise” and go home?
The question was from Chaia. Auraya felt her heart warm at the sound of his voice.
:More exercises? Huan suggested. Too bad you ordered them to stand down. They could do with a bit of training.
:Which you knew the Pentadrians would hear about, Lore said. You can’t pretend to be ignorant of the consequences.
:They would have killed Auraya, a quiet female voice said. This could only be Yranna. The balance would have been regained.
:No, it would have tipped in the favor of the Pentadrians, Lore said. They have Mirar.
:Who won’t fight, Saru reminded them.
Huan ignored him. We’ve never been in a better position to be rid of him, too, she pointed out.
:If all that worries you is balance, we can order Auraya to stay out of any battles.
:And she would obey, if the Circlians were losing?
Though the gods now began arguing about whether she was to be trusted or not, Auraya found herself puzzling over Huan’s claim that Mirar was in a good position for them to get rid of him. How could he be, when he was within the Pentadrians’ center of power? Perhaps there was an assassin here in the hire of the White. How had he or she managed to avoid detection by the Voices? Or were they unaware who their employer was?
:Auraya isn’t the reason the Circlians will go to war, Huan boomed suddenly.
Go to war? Auraya suddenly regretted becoming distracted. Were the Circlians actually going to attack the Pentadrians, or were the gods simply speaking in terms of possibilities?
:They won’t go to war, Lore replied. A few Pentadrian plots to convert Circlians aren’t enough reason to invade another continent.
Auraya felt relief.
:The White would only go to war if we ordered it, Saru agreed.
:So? Yranna said quietly.
:It’s not right to interfere, Lore said firmly. They must come to the decision themselves.
:I don’t see why we can’t nudge them, Saru said. Last time it was a mortal’s decision, why not ours this time?
:I will only agree to it if Auraya is not involved, Chaia said.
:You fool, Huan said, her voice seething with anger and contempt. You would have us return to the old days, when the world was crowded with gods and none of us could do anything without others spying upon us.
Spying... Remembering Chaia’s warning, Auraya reluctantly moved away from the gods as they began to argue again.
:... going to tell her...
:Once you have, which... kill?
:I don’t...
As their voices faded out of her hearing, she returned her awareness to her own self, and opened her eyes. Snatches of the gods’ conversation repeated in her mind. There was much to puzzle over. She listed what she had learned.
The gods want a war, they’re just not in agreement about the timing or who will be involved.
For beings that didn’t mind breaking their own laws in order to kill Mirar, they’re remarkably concerned that a war would be a fair fight between equals.
Chaia is still defending me. In fact, he seemed to offer his support for war in exchange for me being sent safely out of the way.
Mirar is not as safe here as he believes he is.
And if she warned him, would she be allying herself with the gods’ enemy?
Did she care?
Lu hadn’t felt so tired since... since after Ti had been born. Like that night, tonight she could not sleep despite her exhaustion. Back then it had been worry over Ti, who had been weak and sickly. Now she fretted for her whole family.
She turned to look at her husband, Dor. He was glowering at the night sky. His cheekbone was swollen and darkening into a bruise where he had received a blow from one of the warriors, tired of Dor’s attempts to talk his way out of this.
Might as well try to talk the stars down from the sky, she thought. Warriors and servants alike, we all follow our rules and traditions blindly. That’s what the Pentadrians said. She frowned. They said they could change Dunway, but nothing changes if the clans don’t want it to. They like things just as they are.
“It’s all their fault,” someone said nearby. Another voice murmured something in reply. Something defensive.
Whispered conversations had passed between the villagers and newcomers since the warriors had ordered them to lie down and sleep. She had listened to arguments and accusations, fears and hopes. All the while there had been the soft sound of weeping from all directions, and old Ger had begun coughing again.
“... do we believe? Her or them?” a voice said. Lu recognized it as Mez, the smith.
“She knows the truth. She’s got powers. She can read minds,” another replied. Pol, a farmer.
“She could be lying.”
“Why would she?”
“Because she don’t like outsiders interfering and making low people stronger. She got a deal with I-Portak to keep him and his warriors in charge.”
“The gods chose her,” Pol said. “I still follow the Circle.”
“This’d never have happened if we’d had our own priest,” a different voice lamented. Roi, the baker’s wife.
A short silence followed. Ger stopped coughing.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said hoarsely. “Nobody cares about us. Not the newcomers or the warriors or the White. If the newcomers cared about us they would have gone home, not got us all in trouble.”
“We were trying to make things better,” a different voice interjected. Lu recognized Noenei’s voice. Lu had admired the woman’s dignity and tranquil bearing. Now, on the road to Chon and judgment, such qualities didn’t matter.
“You shouldn’t have brought the servants here,” Roi said. “That got their attention.”
“We... we just wanted to help them.”
“Well, you didn’t. Look at us now. All of us are going to die because you didn’t know when to stop.”
Another silence followed.
“Why couldn’t you have put aside your gods for ours?” someone further away asked angrily. “Not one of you became a Circlian, but lots of us became Pentadrians. Seems to me if you wanted to be Dunwayan like you said, you would have.”
The answer came from another newcomer too far away for Lu to hear.
“Your gods aren’t helping you now, are they?” a woman said bitterly. “They’re not helping us, either. I wish you had never come here!”
Others voiced their agreement. Ger’s coughing grew louder. More accusations rang out. Suddenly lots of
people were shouting. The air vibrated with pent-up anger and fear. Someone leapt up and Lu flinched as she saw them deal out a savage kick, though she could not see the victim. There was a cry of pain and several of protest, then people all over the field were scrambling to their feet - some to strike at the newcomers, some to get away.
Lu grabbed Ti as she rose and turned to Dor, but he was gone. She searched for him, heart racing with terror.
“STOP!”
A light flashed so bright Lu found she could not see properly. Ti began to wail.
“THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTING!”
The voice was the White’s. Vision was slowly coming back. Lu blinked hard and held Ti close as she searched for her husband. Warriors marched across the field, snapping out orders.
“Pentadrians to the left, Circlians to the right,” one was saying.
They’re separating us, she realized. Where’s...?
Out of the crowd came Dor, his face dark with suppressed anger. She hurried to him and saw his expression soften. As his arm came around her shoulder she sighed with relief. Then she noticed the blood on his knuckles. She looked at him questioningly.
He smiled grimly. “A lucky hit,” he said. “After that I couldn’t get close. Nobody could. Most of them are sorcerers.”
“Sorcerers?” she repeated.
“Yes.” He sighed. “I think the White must be right. Ordinary people might have a few Gifts, but nothing like these. We’ve been tricked, Lu.”
Lu looked down at Ti, her little face screwed up as she cried with all her being, then over at the crowd of newcomers - no, Pentadrians - now settling down on the other side of the field. She felt something she had never felt before.
Hate.
34
Wrists were unbound. A water skin was handed over, and a parcel of food. Sreil turned to look at Auraya. His concern for her, and for the priest left alone below, was so strong she felt battered by it. She held his eyes and watched his thoughts shift to those who had gone before him, and home. He nodded once, then turned and leapt off the building.
She watched him fly away, relief washing over her. He still had to survive the long journey home, but the chances she could face Speaker Sirri again without terrible guilt and grief were better. She did not know how she would, if Sirri’s son did not make it home.
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