Michelle West - Sun Sword 04 - Sea of Sorrows (107 page)

"/ did not know. I was not here, not at
this
City. No wonder the Lord chose to bespeak the old earth; he could not destroy this place without using the full force of his power, and he was at war."

He laughed again, and the sound was terrifying because it was so beautiful.

But the air was cold. In the heat of the sun, it was chill. She heard the wind's howl as it threw her hair back, and she could not stop herself from shaking.

"But he negotiated with his blood, and the old earth accepted it. Never accept the blood of a god in return for service, little human, no matter how fair the exchange seems at the time."

Her teeth made more noise than his voice. Elena had never been fond of heights. The ground surged forward and back; it would not stay still.

"Do you think he asked the ground to bury the Cities at its own convenience? Do you think his blood was offered and accepted carelessly?"

She could not answer.

It didn't matter.

"No," he told her, his voice almost lilting. "You witness the beginning of the end of an age."

She
knew
the words for truth when they were spoken, although she would never have thought to speak them herself.

From the heights, at a distance, she watched the City rise. An eighth building's broad dome jutted out of the ground, joining the seven, and then, after it, other buildings too numerous to count.

And as she stood in the air at the height of day, she felt fear give ground to wonder, for she had never seen a city so vast as the one that rose now, and she had traveled the length and breadth of the Dominion, following the
Voyanne
.

"This City," Lord Telakar whispered, "stood against the armies of the Lord. What he had planted for his own use was too frail; it was discovered and destroyed before he could use it to break the Spheres. He suffered losses that day that the
Kialli
remember still."

"W-what do you mean?"

"The mortals served the Lord, as did we; they accepted the power he offered, as did we. But they were numerous, and he had chosen only the most powerful among their number to receive his gift. They proved to be short-lived, and they fought his command in a way that the lesser Allasakari could not, breaking the oaths they had been foolish enough to make. Mortals are not what we were, not what we are. Death freed them. Do you Understand? Death
freed
them, and saved these edifices, this history."

He gestured, and she cried out, grabbing at the arm that still held her waist.

His laughter was low and rich. "If I wished you to fall, you would fall. Come. The Spheres slumber a moment. Can you feel their power?"

She shook her head.

He laughed again, but a coolness had entered his amusement.

"You are not so accomplished a liar, Arkosan, that you can lie to me. I spent centuries within the walls of these Cities, studying the ways of your ancient kin. My kin chose to watch trees grow; I chose to watch you."

She swallowed air, hating the cold.

"I will ask you again, do you feel the power of the Seven?"

She did. But she did not understand what exactly it was that she felt. It was as if she had two hearts, as if she could separate their mutual rhythm. He was waiting for an answer. She felt the winds buckle beneath her feet, although he did not threaten her.

"I feel… a heartbeat."

"Is that all?"

She nodded.

"Where?"

"I don't know." The winds dropped her again, but this time, he removed the arm that she had clung to. "/
don't know
. I'm not the Matriarch. I'm only barely her successor."

He stepped back; she stood above the distant ground, alone, his gaze as compelling as the Lord Ishavriel's had been.

"You can't know what I see, when I see you," he said softly. It was not what she had expected to hear. "I did not see it clearly when I last walked these lands."

She didn't ask. She didn't want to know.

But he spoke anyway. "I see what dies, and I see what cannot die. I see your name."

"My name?"

"Yes." He lifted a hand; trailed the line of her chin with the tips of his fingers.

"Only demons have hidden names."

He laughed. "Is that what you were taught? Only demons? Is that what I am?" He turned away, lifting an arm. "This desert was once the cradle of the lands your petty Tyrs now rule. From those mountains in the South to the heart of the Deepings, lakes lay beneath the fronds of great trees, fed by the rivers that ran toward the distant oceans.

"The Arianni hunted in the wilderness beyond your walls. And there, upon the peaks of those mountains, Verasallion lived above his ancient hoard; in the clearest of nights, when he so cared, he crested the thermals above the Cities, drawing their fire, and responding in kind.

"There," he said, "the spirits of the forests gathered to speak and dance, and many a mortal traveler was lost to the circles they spun of grass and flower, branch and leaf.

"Look. That building there, that large, long crescent, do you see it?"

She nodded. It had broken through the ground slowly, for it was not tall. But it formed one of two arcs that surrounded the base of the first tower to struggle its way to the heights. No building that she had ever seen had its shape, and in the light of sun, it glittered as if it had been painted with liquid gold.

"The Sen adepts dwelled there."

"And the—the other building?"

He laughed. "The other? The other crescent? Do you truly not recognize it?"

She shook her head. A sharp retort made its way to her lips, and she bit it back with effort. She should have been afraid. And she was—but not afraid enough.

"It was the other half of the City's power, the subtle half. If the Sen adepts provided the power that fueled—that still fuels—these Spheres, if they provided the defense that a god at war could not breach without peril, the women who ruled the northern crescent provided the warning by which the adepts planned their battles and made their decisions.

"There are mages now, in the lands of the mortals, who have the power of the least of the adepts, but I have not heard yet of one who has taken up the mantle of the Sanctum. The seers dwelled there the women who had walked the Oracle's harshest road, and passed her final test." His smile dimmed; his eyes narrowed.

"You do not know what you have lost," he said quietly. "I do, although it was never mine to lose." He lifted his chin, his gaze unwavering as it sought the harshest of the Lord's glares. He did not fear for his vision.

But he looked down again, drawn, compelled, by the City below their feet.

"Ah. Do you see the circle?"

She could not help but see it; it rose last, but although it was thin, its line was unbroken as it circumnavigated the City.

"The walls," he whispered. "They closed them against us. Against
all
of us."

"But—"

"But?"

"But how did they feed the people?"

He shrugged. "We were not witness to the how, but it was clear that those of worth did not starve."

Although she knew it was pointless, she asked anyway. "Those of worth?"

"How is worth defined in the Dominion? Anywhere?"

She said, after a pause, "I don't know. We feed the children first."

"Before the Matriarch, daughter of Arkosa?"

"Before anyone," she replied flatly.

"How unusual. So many of the children die before they reach an age at which they can be useful."

He was smiling as he said it. She turned away, to watch the City unfold, to see history made and remade.

To hide what she suspected could not be hidden: her contempt and her disquiet.

No one spoke.

They had barely started their journey when their steps became punctuated by the trembling of the earth. Stavos drew the circle over his chest and turned to his wife; she was worried. But she did not speak.

Yollana stumbled, but the Serra Teresa prevented her from falling. "Matriarch?"

"We are safe here."

"And if we continue?"

"We will know when to stop, Serra."

Serra Teresa di'Marano was silent. Silence could convey so much in the hands of the right woman. And it could conceal just as much.

Jewel ATerafin stared across the desert, seeing the air move in the twisting dance of heat. There wasn't a cloud in the sky; in Averalaan she would have been able to see for miles. "Are we stopping?"

"No, ATerafin," Yollana replied.

At least two minutes had passed between the question and the answer. Jewel frowned. She hated the heat because it was so deceptive; she longed to pull hood from hair, to feel the open breeze that now blew, cool and sweet, across the barren plain.

"I would not," Avandar told her. And because she expected it, she kept her grimace to herself.

They resumed their walk. The old woman set the pace, Serra by her side; the Arkosans followed. Their shadows had lengthened perceptibly, although it would be a long while before the sun set across the distant horizon.

"ATerafin."

She looked up. Kallandras had approached her so quietly she hadn't noticed his presence at all. She frowned. "What's wrong?"

A pale brow rose and fell. "I do not think the news is bad." He lifted an arm, and she followed the folds of his robe, the curve of his hand.

In the distance, running across the sand so quickly there seemed to be no contact between hooves and ground, was the stag.

"Who is that on his back?"

"I cannot see clearly, but—"

"It is the slave," Lord Celleriant offered.

She jumped at the sound of his voice.

He, too, raised a silver brow.

"Celleriant?"

"Lady?"

"Make
noise
when you walk."

"As you command, Lady."

She would have asked him if he was certain, but it was clear that he was, and besides, the stag was moving so damn fast, she'd be able to see for herself who he carried in a minute or two.

But he didn't wait the minute.

Jewel.

You found him!

Yes. But I found things less pleasing in the desert. The Kialli are here.

Demons, you mean.

No; ATerafin
. Kialli
lords
.

"He—the stag—says that there are
Kialli
in the desert."

She was surprised by Avandar's response. He laughed. "They are foolish indeed if they are anywhere near this place."

There is more. One of the Kialli took the Matriarch's cousin.

Elena?

I believe that is what she calls herself.

Took? Took where?

I did not have time to watch and bear witness. The City was rising beneath our feet, and I had given you my word that I would return this man to your keeping, if he lived.

The City?

Tor Arkosa
, he said.

* * *

The fires left her. The winds receded. The lights dimmed. But the voices whose silence she half-feared simply hushed; she was aware of their presence.

The Serra Diora was alabaster and ebony; her eyes were unblinking, her expression nonexistent. And her hands were shaking.

"It's over," Margret whispered. Her throat felt raw, as if she had spent an hour screaming.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

Diora looked away. "I heard… Margret, did you hear it?"

"I heard a lot," Margret answered wryly.

"Did you hear the earth's voice?"

"I heard the earth breaking, if that's what you mean."

"No… I mean the earth's voice."

Margret was silent a moment. "I heard no words," she said. "I heard you. I heard the Matriarchs. What did you hear, Diora? Why have you gone so pale?"

But the Serra shook her head, as if to clear it. Or to deny what she did not wish to speak of.

The seven spheres that lined the room's walls were guttered. The light that had joined them in the room's center now lay entirely contained within the Heart of Arkosa. Margret gazed at it for a long time. She knew that she could carry it now. She could lift it from the Serra's trembling hands, catch the chain that seemed too slender to bear its weight, and place it around her neck.

She knew that when she did, she would have the voices of the Matriarchs, as guidance, as company, and as strident critics all, for the rest of her life.

But she hesitated.

"What is wrong?"

"I—I don't know what we're supposed to do now. I don't even know how we're supposed to leave this room."

The Serra Diora's hands ached. Her arms ached. She felt the slow movement of earth as if the dense, dark soil that both bore life and buried it were a part of her flesh.

She was afraid.

All things had voices.

If she paused for a moment, if she closed her eyes, she could recall them clearly: the lap of water against the stones in the Tor Leonne, the cry of wind, the chittering, high song of birds, or their raucous cries. She could hear the sorrow in the whining of dogs, the amusement in the nickering of horses, the droning hunger in the flight of insects.

But although she had listened for all of her life, she had never heard them speak with words.

The earth's voice was like no voice she had ever heard. Not even the wind's voice had frightened her as much.

But perhaps that was because Kallandras controlled it, and nothing that he controlled could be so wild, so dangerous. She had heard death in his voice before, beneath the pretty skein of his words. But it had never been for her.

Take back your home, child. Take back your world. The oaths that bind the wilderness and the old gods have been sundered, and payment is due.

Speak. I know you listen. I feel your feet upon the surface. Speak now.

She was almost mute with fear. His command was like no command she had ever heard; she could not fight it, had no desire to try.

But her power had fled her; she could not speak.

The earth rumbled beneath her feet.

Who are you?

I
am Diora
.