The Stars Askew (14 page)

Armand nodded. “A good idea.”

Some hours later the Ritual of Ascent began. A grand passage led beneath the great plaza to a large subterranean hall, the Room of Pools. They marched in in solemn procession. The meeting of Controllers had occurred earlier in the day. It had been a formality: Zelik was nominated for the position of Director.

Armand and several hundred others filed toward the seats, which ran in concentric circles around the room. The wide circular hall magnified the merest sounds of the crowd as they moved nervously in the outer seats. At the room's center, a dark pool of water surrounded a small marble island connected to the rest of the room by a thin walkway. The place was lit by patterns of lichen on the domed roof, which threw off unusual colors: greens and purples, slowly changing and shifting. Pearl-flowers dangled on long stems from the roof, like clusters of little stars throwing off brilliant white light.

Valentin and the Controllers stood in formation at the end of the walkway. Valentin directed Armand to a seat close to him.

When all were seated, the pearl-flowers seemed to dim, and a soft rumbling sound rose from deep below.

“It's time,” someone said as the willowy belligerent leader, Zelik, walked carefully onto the island. He stood in his closely cut black suit, looking every bit a Director: calm, prepared. He threw his head back, called to the ceiling, “Gorgons, I have come to announce my claim for the position of Director.” The sound of his voice resonated in the perfectly shaped room. It joined the rumbling sound, filling Armand with dread. Slowly, the sounds died away, leaving an ominous silence.

A moment later the perfectly flat waters in the pool began to churn. Something moved beneath, rising slowly and ominously. The room was filled with tension. Members of the crowd shifted uncomfortably, the sound of their rustling amplified. The waters roiled more, now in three distinct parts of the pool. Armand could see a form beneath the water in the disturbance closest to him.

A head broke through the surface, and an icy fear ran through Armand. He wanted to move but could not. Instead he stared as water flowed from the slippery scales of the gray serpents that sprouted from the head of the Gorgon. The writhing of the snakes drove terror into his chest: the way they wrapped around one another, curling in and out, now showing their white bellies, now flicking out red forked tongues. From the water, three of them emerged, surrounding the island, stepping gently up to the island's shore. Armand's eyes flittered from one to the other. He caught a glimpse of their eyes, the elliptical pupils horizontal, like a goat's; their powerful musculature; the claws at the end of their hands.

Above, the pearl-flowers retreated up into themselves, leaving the room darker still.

Around Zelik the Gorgons circled, in some intricate dance. The Controller kept his head, but Armand could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, and knew that the man must have been caught in the vise of fear, just as he was.

One of the Gorgons, this one with a wide flat face, stopped before Zelik, turned to face him head on. At that critical moment time seemed to slow to a crawl. Silence reigned in the cavern.

Zelik began to shudder, just barely discernibly.

The Gorgon leaned in closer to him, face-to-face, and the snakes leaned forward and slithered over Zelik's head, engulfing him. The belligerent leader grabbed the Gorgon by the arms. His thin body shook unnaturally, his entire face hidden by the covering of serpents. Its face was pressed against his now in some horrific kiss. More and more Zelik's body shook, until finally he fell backward, blood pouring from his mouth in gushes. Armand thought he saw the bloody stump of Zelik's tongue flittering around in his mouth. But then Armand's focus shifted to the Gorgon, standing above the Controller, blood dribbling over its chin. It grimaced in intense joy, showing its canine teeth. It turned to look across at the congregation of Controllers and officials. For a moment Armand fancied it looked meaningfully at Valentin.

Everything sped up again. Valentin stepped across to Armand, his face gripped by some kind of desperation. “The prism. Give me the prism.”

Armand brought the prism forth from his bag, and Valentin held it before himself, stepped across the walkway to the Gorgons. “Zelik has failed to pass the test. Hence I stake my claim as Director.” Now he stood before the Gorgon and looked into its face. There was a slight smile twitching on its lips. It seemed to whisper something to him.

“As a gesture of goodwill, I give you the Prism of Alerion.” Valentin passed the Gorgon the object, whose misty insides seemed to burst into excited activity. “Use it wisely. Use it well.”

The Gorgon leaned in to Valentin, smiled. Within seconds the Gorgons were dancing around Valentin, who stood beaming at their center, raising his hand in triumph as the chamber resonated with the chant of his name. “Valentin! Valentin!”

Armand drooped involuntarily to one side. What had just happened? He stumbled to his feet, fell backward to the floor. Valentin had given away the prism—the realization smashed into Armand like a catapult stone.

*   *   *

Events moved at a strange pace: drawing out like some never-ending dream, then lurching forward crazily like some out-of-control machine. Armand's mind was a tumult. Like a churning river, thoughts coursed around one another, washed one another away. He found himself staggering along with the rest of the procession, back along the walkway beneath the plaza. Excited discussions seemed to burst into the air around him.

Two helmeted guards grabbed him by the elbows and helped him along. “You're sick, sir. We'll bring you back to the Department.”

They left him in Valentin's office, looking over the plaza, and he tried to assess the scale of Valentin's betrayal. He rehearsed what he would say, ran over it again and again. And yet, deep down he felt his vulnerability and helplessness. What did he have now that would protect him? At least he was insignificant. There would be little point in punishing him.

When Dominik entered the room, followed once more by guards with the grated helmets, Armand remained still. “Where's Valentin?”

“I am the new Controller of Benevolence. Valentin is Director, don't you know?”

The suited men continued to walk toward Armand, who tensed.

“Valentin said to meet him here. Will he be here shortly?” Armand was disturbed by the cruel smile on Dominik's face.

“I think he just might,” said Dominik.

“I'm here, I'm here,” came Valentin's voice. When he stepped into view, his face gleamed with victory.

“Valentin…” Armand's words failed him. He had rehearsed what he would say, but it scattered along with his hope.

Valentin crossed his arms. “Now, Armand, it's time for a bit of truth, isn't it? Yes, a good dose of truth. See, Armand, I hated your grandfather.”

“You loved him,” said Armand.

“It was his idea to make the assault on the villa. I told him no. I tried to stop it. It was madness. Of course, workers will kill their hostages. What other power did they have but the power of preemptive revenge? But your grandfather wouldn't listen. No, he had the arrogance of the elite, you know. He thought he knew better than everyone. But when it went bad, he tried to blame it on me. On me! Where were his precious principles then? Where was the truth and loyalty, Armand?”

In a softer, broken voice, Armand repeated, “You loved him.”

Valentin's birthmark deepened in color. His handsome face was barely recognizable now. “It didn't matter. We were both thrown onto the streets. I was exiled from Caeli-Amur, but he was allowed to stay. I kept my thoughts to myself, but I promised one day I'd have my revenge, and now I have, Armand.”

“But why?”

“I considered ruining you from the first, but you gave those little hints about the prism. I sent my guards to raid your hotel, but it wasn't there, was it? But I bided my time, and now, this. Do you know how sweet revenge is? It's a return to order. The universe must be brought back into balance, mustn't it? Yes, it must.”

Armand's mind was racing. He tried to gather his thoughts, but they rushed at him from all angles, like wasps protecting their nest. Only when the suited men were next to Armand did he realize the terrible extent of events. A second later a hood was over his head. Strong arms grasped him. He was forced into a jacket of some sort, its long sleeves strapped around him, pressing his arms to his side. He didn't cry out—there was no dignity in that. Instead as he was led away, he was filled with a despair as black as the night. Tight-lipped, he held his nerve, not allowing the bitter emotions to well out of him.
Poor Ice,
he thought.
Left in the stable at the Long Rest. At least you have Tedde to look after you.

 

ELEVEN

Maximilian watched as Aya bought a sturdy horse, complete with bridle, saddle, and saddlebags. He watched as Aya purchased bags full of spiced bread and dried meats, and he watched as Aya picked out a long knife and scabbard, which he strapped around his waist. He watched Aya buy blankets, then watched as Aya rode south from Caeli-Amur, out past the walls and the scattered slums pushed up against them. Indeed, he could do nothing but watch, a disembodied soul lost in his own body, a body someone else used now. He struggled to hold on to something in there, some control of his functions, but it was like grasping mist. So he lurked in the basement of his own mind, a creature dispossessed and raging. At times he fell into that basement filled with defeat. At other times he schemed to take back his functions, though he wasn't sure how or when he would. The feeling of powerlessness was complete.

The best he could do was see and hear, and absorb whatever stray thoughts and feelings Aya let drift away. So he knew they were riding southwest, toward the ancient city of Lixus. Once, the Sentinel Tower had been hidden in the mountains to the north of Lixus.

From a low rise, they looked down on the water-parks to their left, their magnificent gardens crisscrossed with canals, dotted with white marble statues rumored to move around at night. The main road headed south to the fishing villages that ran along the coast. Another, more ancient, road ran southwest, into the rolling green hills. Here Aya stopped for a moment, confused.

The old ruined road—that's the one to Lixus, isn't it?
Aya said.

—You expect me to tell you?

Max remained silent. He sensed Aya dredging through his own memories, but they were fragmented things, and the land had changed.

In frustration, Aya kicked the horse, and they took the southwest road, through the rolling hills and glorious villas overlooking the fields and vineyards below. Greenhouses dotted the land in between lines of olive trees, and laborers worked on orchards. Others moved through the more exotic fields of furnace trees, candle-flowers, and fire-roses, which, clearly at the end of their reproductive cycle, had burst into flame some time earlier, leaving only the blackened remnants of their flowers.

These flora had once been destined for the Arantine, or else exported to the voracious Varenis, the Dyrian coast, or even across the sea to Numeria. Now nothing was heading up to Caeli-Amur, and Max saw the workers piling bags and barrels into storehouses.

Soon enough they came to a barricade built from sturdy logs and broken farm implements. To one side it pressed up against a hedge; to the other, a stone wall. Rough-clothed rural workers milled around, chatting quietly; a small fire burned to one side, thin smoke floating up at an angle, carried by gentle winds. The golden sun glinted off several swords and spears, but most of the workers held pitchforks and rakes. A gap between the barricade through which travelers might pass looked like it could be easily closed. They were prepared for violence, it seemed.

One of the men spat ul-tree root on the ground as Aya approached. “Escaping Caeli-Amur, huh? They starving up there yet?”

“That's what you'd like, isn't it?” said Aya.

Several more of the ramshackle force milled around, eyeing Aya suspiciously.

“What I'd like is for them to pay us for the grain, for the work we do. We used to get at least some recompense, you know, but now—nothing. We need boots, coats—winter is coming, but the factories aren't producing much back in the city, are they? They sure ain't sending anything down here. Now, the question is, what do
you
want, mister?”

“I'm headed south.”

“Ain't nothing south, mister, unless you plan on heading all the way to the Teeming Cities.” The man took another bite of ul-tree root, which he held in his hand like a stick.

“There's Lixus.”

“Suppose that's true. There's even an Arbor outpost down there, you know, but we ain't heard nothing from them.” The man laughed and spat out the ul-tree root again, leaving a black stain on the ground. “You wanna pass, it'll be five florens.”

—That's highway robbery—said Max.

Aya tossed him the coins and rode through the suspicious group. Farther on, he found a fine roadhouse in which to stay, with polished floors and delicate wines served in grand crystal glasses. The food was cheap, for there was plenty of it here among the villas, and the conversation of the former House agents, who came down from their villas for the evening, revolved around the crisis: How long would Caeli-Amur last before they capitulated? The entire population of the area—rich and poor alike—seemed committed to the blockade.

Seems even the poor are going to betray your seditionists,
said Aya.

—Just because you're poor doesn't mean you're on the right side—said Max.

There were plenty back in the city who identified with the Houses, worshipped them. They hung pictures of the Directors on their walls, read gossip about the parties and soirees. It was their little taste of glamour, of a better life.

That's not what's happening here. They have real concerns. You heard the man at the barricade. They need boots. They need coats.