Echoes of the Great Song (44 page)

Touchstone shrugged. “I do not know, but my heart is heavy, my soul burdened.”

Sofarita lay on the floor of her cabin, her knees drawn up, her arms hugging her body. She was trembling uncontrollably, her frame racked by a series of cramps that caused her to jerk spasmodically.

Never in her short life had she suffered such pain or felt such a terrible hunger. It was as if she stood starving at the center of a feast, fine food all around her, exquisite delicacies to melt with flavor upon the tongue. Sofarita groaned.

Another cramp struck her belly and she cried out. She felt suddenly cold and began to shiver. Struggling to her knees she crawled to the bed. The blankets were thick but they offered her no respite. Through her pain she recalled the attack by Almeia and how Ro had warmed her with his body.

This was different. Now she was under attack from her own starving system.

Ro had warned her of the dangers of such a journey, separated from the city’s crystals, but she had not imagined the symptoms would be so severe. Her mind screamed at her to take just a little energy from the ship’s chest. Just a tiny morsel …

She resisted the temptation, knowing that if she allowed herself to follow her desires she would drain the ship in an instant.

When the pain first started she had attempted to flee it by allowing her spirit to soar free. But she could not. The cramps cut through her concentration, trapping her within this hurting cage of flesh and bone.

Talaban had come to her cabin twice that day but she had refused to open the door. Even through the wood she could feel the sweet pulsing of his life force. Her flaring hunger terrified her.

She found herself thinking about members of the crew and how some of them were unpleasant or dishonest. As she had come aboard she had felt their thoughts. Base men, cruel to their families. No one would miss them, she thought.

No! Their lives are their own. I have no right!

You have every right. You are a goddess! You are needed. They are not. If their lives are lost so that the Crystal Queen can be destroyed, then they will have served a greater purpose.

The argument was compelling.

Sitting up she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and began to plan how to reach the worst of the men. Another cramp struck her, this time with needles of fire that made her arch her back and cry out.

She was hot now, burning with fever. Throwing back the blanket she moved to the water jug and filled a goblet, draining it swiftly.

The door opened and Questor Ro stepped inside. “Go away,” she said. “I have … work to do.”

“What work, Sofarita?”

“Go away, I said!” Her hand shot up. Ro was lifted from his feet and slammed back into the cabin wall. He slid to the floor. Grabbing the door frame he hauled himself upright.

“I know you are suffering,” he said. “But it will soon be over. Anu has shown Talaban how to speed the Dance of Time. We will cross the ocean in only two days.”

“I need … to feed!” Walking past him she pictured the faces of the men she would destroy.

“Like Almeia needs to feed,” said Ro. “Perhaps we should bring a child to you and bury it for you, alive and screaming.”

Sofarita paused in the doorway. “Do not make me angry, Ro.”

“Even if you drain Almeia and end her evil, it will be as nothing if you become like her,” he said. “You are better than that, Sofarita. Stronger. But if you need a life, take mine. It is yours. I offer it freely.”

She swung toward him. “Why? Why would you offer this?”

“To prevent you from murder.”

She looked at him then and, for a moment, the pain eased.

“Evil is like a poison,” he said. “That is why we cannot use it. To defeat evil with its own weapons, only replaces one evil with another. I believe the Source has blessed you with power. It must not be stained or sullied.”

“What can I do? The yearning is tearing at me.”

“We will be there soon. You need to be strong.”

“And what happens when—and if—I drain Almeia’s power? What will become of me then?”

“Anu’s pyramid will be complete. That will feed you.”

She laughed at him, the sound bitter and derisive. “Anu’s pyramid will kill me!” she shouted. “It will rip my soul from me.” As soon as she had spoken the words she blanched. “No!” she whispered. “What have I done?”

Ro stood by silently, staring at her stricken face.

“I have doomed them all,” she whispered. “Almeia was here. She heard me! Oh sweet Heaven!”

“She knows what?” asked Ro.

“Anu’s pyramid is not intended to feed the crystals but to drain them utterly. He is building a weapon against Almeia. This journey was merely a distraction, to keep her energies focused on me.” Suddenly she cried out, as another spasm of pain tore into her. “I cannot … survive … without feeding, Ro!”

Tenderly he took her hand. “Sit with me on the floor. Link with me as I move through the Six Rituals. We will find calm. We will win, Sofarita. Let your pain and your need flow into me and we will fight it together.”

“It will destroy you,” she whispered.

“We will see,” he said.

They sat together on the rug, hand in hand.

The Great Hall of the Questors was rarely used, save for ceremonial functions or the funeral orations—thankfully rare—of those Avatars who died after centuries of service. Situated beneath the Great Library the vast circular hall had high arched windows and banks of seats around the walls. It had been built to stage plays for guests of the ambassador to the Avatar Prime and could accommodate 800 people.

Now it was scarcely half-full as all of the surviving Avatars and their families gathered to listen to the words of the Questor General. Rael stood in the center of the hall, gazing at the people as they took up their seats. Rarely were all of the Avatars gathered together, and only at times like this did it come home to him how few they were. Six of the women held newborn babes. A mere six. Elsewhere the younger children were playing in the high gallery watched over by two of the mothers.

When at last all were gathered—save the twenty men sailing with the
Serpent
—Rael called for silence. Then he told them all of the offer made by Cas-Coatl. Unity with the Almecs. A new life with a brother race. He made it clear to them that he believed the assurances given by the Almec. Then he fell silent for a moment.

“I shall speak again at the close of the debate,” he said. “But now I shall take questions.”

“What changed their minds, Rael?” asked Niclin.

“I believe the most significant factor is the work of Anu. The Crystal Queen learned of his talents and knows that by absorbing his wisdom and his knowledge she can assure herself of life eternal.”

“What was it that stopped you agreeing at once?” asked Caprishan.

“As I said, I shall speak later.”

High at the back of the hall Mirani raised her hand.

“I recognize the Lady Mirani,” said Rael.

“What are the Almecs’ intentions toward the peoples of the twin cities? It is my understanding that these killers leave only destruction in their wake.”

“They intend to kill all of the Vagars,” said Rael, his voice even. “Cas-Coatl maintains that the Crystal Queen needs this sustenance until such time as Anu’s pyramid begins to generate power.”

“So they are offering us our lives in return for utter betrayal?”

“Indeed they are,” said Rael. Mirani met his gaze, and fell silent.

“Has Anu been apprised of the situation?” asked another man, sitting close to the front.

“We have no way to contact him,” said Rael.

The blue-bearded Goray raised his hand. Rael gestured for him to speak. “As you know,” he began, “I am one of the oldest here. I have seen many wars and a
host of battles. My question is this: do you, Questor General, believe this war can be won?”

“I believe it can be won,” said Rael.

“Then I have a second question. What becomes of us if we do win? Where do we go?”

“I cannot say, Goray. For I do not know. Are there any other questions?”

Niclin rose. “Can we win back power once Anu’s work is completed?”

“I do not believe that we can,” admitted Rael. “Our days of pre-eminence here are over. Worse still, I do not believe the Vagars will allow us to merely go on as immortals in their midst. There will be those who seek revenge against us for what they perceive as past wrongs. There will be others who envy our immortality. No. If we do win this war we must make our home elsewhere.”

“Unless we join with the Almecs,” said Caprishan.

“Indeed so,” agreed Rael.

No one spoke, and Rael waited for several heartbeats. “Now,” he said, “it is time to debate the question facing us. As is our custom I shall ask two of our number to address us, one in favor of joining with the Almecs, one against. I will ask Questor Caprishan to put forward reasons in favor of accepting Cas-Coatl’s offer.”

Caprishan stood, walked out to the center of the floor and turned to face his fellow Avatars.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that there is little need to debate this issue. We are no longer fighting for our homes and our land, for we have no land and our homes and possessions will be forfeit should we succeed against the Almecs.

“But let us put aside thoughts of the war and the loved ones we have lost since it began. Let us look instead at our first thoughts concerning the Almecs. Since
we first learned of them we knew they were Avatars like ourselves. We hoped that they would accept us as brothers and join with us in maintaining control of this savage world. That was our hope then. Why should that be changed? What prospects have we if the war goes on? To become an exiled people—if indeed the Vagars do not seek to murder us when the war is won? To sail the seas and set up dirt camps on some foreign shore? To grub in the earth like farmers? How many of us know how to plant crops and gather them? How many can raise cattle, and butcher them? Does anyone here know how to build a house, or weave a cloth, or make a chair?

“We are gods, my friends. Gods do not have to concern themselves with such grubby detail. We have servants to minister to us and serfs to farm the land.

“So, the Almecs need to kill a few Vagars. Why should that concern us? Their lives are measured in a few heartbeats. Ours are almost eternal.

“The simple truth is that if we defeat the Almecs we defeat ourselves. Therefore we should join with them.”

He was widely applauded as he strode to his seat. Rael moved back to the center. “I ask Viruk to speak in rebuttal,” he said.

Viruk, sitting two rows back, looked startled. He rose and walked down the steps to where Rael waited. “But I agree with Caprishan,” he whispered. “Why choose me?”

“Because you are a gardener,” said Rael, moving away.

Viruk stood in the center of the hall looking at the silent Avatars in the bank of seats before him. He had sat listening to Caprishan and had agreed with every word. Debating the issue seemed pointless. And yet Rael had asked him to speak in rebuttal. The Questor
General had chosen him. Viruk felt honored, for Rael was the one man he respected above all others. In many ways he loved him as he had never loved his own father. And it was important to Viruk that he did not let him down.

They were waiting for him to speak and he had no idea what he was going to say. Rael’s words meant nothing to him. What did gardening have to do with an Almec—Avatar alliance?

“I think our cousin is a little tongue-tied,” said Caprishan. Nervous laughter rippled out. Viruk gave a wide smile. And in that moment he knew what Rael required of him.

“I was thinking of my garden,” he said. “Of all the plants and shrubs and insects and worms. Did you know that the humble worm is vital, for its tunnels allow air to penetrate and feed the earth? The flying insects which plague us in the city during the heat of summer pollinate the plants, allowing them to seed and enchant future generations. Everything in my garden speaks of harmony and of continued life and growth. Each has its purpose in the great scheme. But I am a ruthless gardener. Those plants which fail to flower are ripped out with the weeds. Thus my garden thrives.

“Every plant has its role to play, a scent to draw butterflies and aid pollination, a wide leaf to gather moisture and provide shade for the earth. And when their leaves and petals wither, they go down to the earth to feed the ground for future generations of blooms.”

His voice rang out. “This land, this planet, is a garden. We are like plants upon it. But what kind of plants are we? Two thousand years ago an Avatar developed a script through which people could communicate without speech. Fifteen hundred years ago another Avatar discovered the link between certain crystals and sunlight. Twelve hundred years ago three mathematicians,
seeking the secrets of the stars, discovered the Great Song. Its music helped build the wonders of the lost continent. We were valued plants in the garden then, my friends. We taught the world to write and farmers how to feed the land and grow better crops. We conquered disease and finally death itself. We were like fruit trees growing from naked rock. We fed the world with our knowledge.” He paused, and scanned his audience.

“But that was then. What are we now, we innovators, we inventors, we
Questors?
For what do we quest? What do we offer this garden? We stand facing annihilation, and the only argument that my cousin Caprishan can offer for joining with the enemy is that we are now so useless that we cannot possibly survive alone. We, who gave the world its civilization, cannot make a chair. We, who clothed the tribes with knowledge, cannot weave a cloth. What then is our purpose in this garden land? We are no longer fruit, nor even flowers. We are straw, long dead and dried out.

“And make no mistake, Avatars. The Almecs are the same. They do not give to the world. They take. They do not feed, they hunger. Yes, they are like us, and like us the Gardener will weed them, casting them out.

“And I have an answer to Caprishan’s questions. Yes, I can grow crops, and yes, I can raise and butcher cattle. And I
have
made chairs and tables and even a bed to sleep upon. No, I cannot weave cloth. But if I need to I will learn.