Wheel of the Infinite (26 page)

“It’s a little late to worry about that.” Maskelle picked up the ivory ball from the table where it rested. Except she didn’t think it was ivory. The texture was wrong, and though it was hard to tell in the lamplight, she thought the color was off as well. She tried to feel it with her inner senses, to listen to it the way she could hear the currents of power in water or air or the stone of the temples. There was nothing. The power that had made it shine with light in this world and the Infinite might have died with Marada.

“These people should be taken to the prison,” Hirane persisted.

Maskelle looked from the white ball to the face of the oldest servant. She was a stocky woman with grey hair, just as plainly dressed as the others. She had probably been Marada’s chief maid. There was no defiance in her cold dull eyes, just a complete lack of interest. Too complete. “I’m not so sure that’s true,” Maskelle said, thoughtful. The woman’s only jewelry was a wooden amulet with an earth spirit sigil on it. It was the kind of token worn by the village shaman who had helped people placate or defend against the spirits, before the temples had risen in the Celestial Empire.

Hirane snorted. She folded her arms and looked away. “By your own evidence they cooperated with that woman in an attempt to assassinate—”

Hirane was an intelligent, perceptive guardian for the Baran Dir, but she didn’t like being argued with by anyone but the Celestial One. Maskelle didn’t like being argued with either, but she explained, “Marada wasn’t a woman. We don’t know what she was.” She stepped closer to the oldest servant and looked into her eyes. “And I don’t think I’d call this cooperation.”

“You’re thinking of Veran,” Rian said, watching her closely.

“Yes.” She nodded slowly.
Poor dead Veran, who I should have watched much more carefully
. “He was a priest, trained in meditation disciplines. If he was close to fighting his way free of whatever controlled his mind and kept him from speaking to us, then that’s why he had to be killed.... How would the same condition look on a person who wasn’t trained, who had no way to fight?”

“You told the chief healer that Veran was possessed,”

Mirak said slowly, almost unwillingly. He took a step closer. “Possessed by what? And why can’t the other Voices and the seventh-level priests see what you seem to see?”

“If I had those answers, we’d be further forward in this matter than we are now.” Maskelle rubbed the bridge of her nose, tired and annoyed. “The only thing I can say is that this seems to be a deception only the Adversary has the knowledge to penetrate. That is why the Ancestors created him, to be their guide where they couldn’t go.” She turned the globe over again.
Maybe I should just break it
. The Adversary and the Ancestors remained stubbornly silent on the subject.

“Is it to be a philosophy lesson?” Mirak asked, his voice an amused rumble.

“If you’re in need of one, I can send a fifth-level priest to supply it,” Hirane told him sharply.

At least she’s impartial in her irritation
, Maskelle thought. She hefted Marada’s ball again. “I’ll keep this with me.” Stepping closer to the oldest woman, she looked into her eyes.

There was still no expression there. She might have been staring into the eyes of a dead woman. Like Veran, this woman might be trapped inside her own body, struggling to get out. Like Veran, it might be possible to reach her, if only for an instant. Maskelle stretched out her power toward the woman, drawing on the Celestial Home’s place in the network of temples. There was a barrier there, something of the Infinite and of the world at the same time, as Marada had been. Maskelle pushed at it, but it held firm. She felt power flow down toward her from the Baran Dir, from the Marai with the Wheel of the Infinite set into its heart like a great glowing jewel, and pushed again.

Suddenly she felt the presence of the Adversary, flowing through her, lending her a strength that struck forward into that barrier, shattering it like glass.

Maskelle caught the woman, then felt her own knees give out on the way down. They landed on the gritty floor together, but she managed to keep the woman’s head from striking the stone. Dizziness overwhelmed her for a moment and it was all she could do not to keep from falling over on the woman in her lap. Looking down at her white face and the pain etched there, Maskelle thought,
Ancestors, she’s dying
. She reached for the Adversary again, but felt it withdraw. It couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help her.

The woman’s fingers dug into her arm and she gasped, “Listen. I was a healer and a shamaness of the old magic, until that woman came to our village on the coast at Iutara and trapped us.”

“Trapped you how?” Maskelle asked. Rian was leaning over her shoulder and she could hear Hirane shouting for the guards’ physician.

“With that ball. She made us look into it and it trapped our minds, made us do whatever she willed. There was something inside it, alive, it had a face. . . .” She shook her head wildly. “She made me— I know the old magic, the death magic. I never used it, but she knew I could. She made me bind a dead boy’s soul to a curse, a tela worm ball, and she sent him after someone— Warn—”

“It’s all right, he was released. No one else was hurt.”

A brief expression of relief crossed the woman’s face. “There were others with her, she wasn’t the only one. They look like people, but inside .. .” She gasped.

“How many others?”

“I don’t know. I saw four . . . men.” The woman’s voice was a faint rasp.

“Tell us what she wanted. Tell us—”

The woman stiffened in her arms, then went limp.

Maskelle watched her eyes go still and set. She lowered the woman to the floor and let Rian help her up. She glanced around, and saw that Mirak had left the chamber hurriedly with his attendants. From their muted voices they were in the court outside the archway.

Looking grimly down at the woman, Rian said, “She didn’t know anything else. If she knew why Marada was here, she would have said that first.” Glancing up, he said, “We need to find that village.”

Karuda said, “I’ll send men tonight.”

Hirane nodded to the seventh-level priests who had helped search Marada’s house. “They will go with them, should those others she spoke of remain there.”

I should go with them
, Maskelle thought, then,
No, not until after the Rite is over
. Iutara wasn’t near a power center, and the second Wheel of the Infinite couldn’t be there.

“What about the others?” Karuda said, eyeing the other servants who still stood impassive, surrounded by their guards.

Maskelle looked at Hirane, who shook her head slightly. She saw in the old woman’s eyes that she knew as well as Maskelle did that it might be kinder to kill them. But Maskelle wouldn’t give that order, not yet. “Lock them up, under guard,” she said helplessly. “Maybe we can find a way to free them.”

Seeing the faces of Karuda and the others, she wasn’t the only one who found this doubtful.

The day dawned hot and clear, unusual for this season of daily rains. It would make it easy for the priests to judge the exact moment of the Equinox, when the Rite would draw to a close. The chanting had stopped early this morning, but the Marai’s stones still sang with it. Despite Marada’s interference and her strange brand of power, the temple felt exactly as it should, even to Maskelle. She had risen before dawn and, bringing Rian with her, had gone to the Marai to make certain everything was all right. The crowds had already been thick in the streets and the canals nearly clogged with boats, but any craft with the Imperial seals had right of way and they made the trip in good time.

Once there she had walked an abbreviated meditation ring over the whole Marai, eliminating the rituals but checking every cardinal point, every resonance chamber, every corner of each court. She could find no weaknesses in the structure, not in the physical or the spiritual realms. After the first hour, they had passed Vigar in the solar side of the inner court, on the same mission.

Maskelle had reached the far end of the gallery on the lunar side of the outer court when the steady growl of the festival crowds on the other side of the moat rose to a roar. “Maybe that’s Rastim getting lynched,” Rian commented, leaning on the balustrade in one of the openings between the pillars.

Maskelle glanced out on the court below and read the time from the length of the shadows on the walls. It was midmorning and the Ariaden should have been performing some time now, from what Old Mali had told her of the plans for the entertainments. “Hopefully it’s the end of the play,” she said. “I think they’re doing
The Mask of Night
!” With help conscripted from the hundreds of workers the Warden of the Public Festivals had available, they would be able to handle the complex scenery movements and the big puppets.

“Did you want to see it?”

“Yes, but I’m sure if I ask nicely, I can get the whole thing repeated for me tonight. With a blow-by-blow description of the audience’s reactions.”

Smiling, Rian cocked his head at her, pretending to doubt it. “You think so?”

“I don’t see how I can avoid it.” She leaned her staff in the corner and stretched, easing the kinks out of her back. She had brought Marada’s white stone to the temple, not liking to leave it behind in the palace. She had given it into the safekeeping of the Temple Master, to be stored in one of the cupboards in his quarters within the Marai. It might be only a focus for Marada’s strange power, like the staffs used by the Voices when they were away from the temples, and would be empty and useless now that its owner was dead, but she wanted to keep an eye on it. “At least after the Rite culminates, I don’t have to worry about anything else.”

Then she saw a monk running toward her down the length of the gallery, his expression urgent, and thought,
Why did I say that
?

He stopped and bowed hurriedly to her. “Revered, your presence is asked in the outer court, in front of the third gallery gate, by the Celestial One.”

“All right, I’m coming.” She followed him reluctantly. She was a little surprised they were calling her to the outer court. If something was going to go wrong, it would go wrong in the heart tower, in the Wheel of the Infinite. The ceremonies surrounding the culmination of the Rite were complex, but worthless for anything but entertainment value. “What is this about? Has there been another problem with the Rite?”

“I wasn’t told, Revered.” The monk glanced back at her worriedly. “But Chancellor Mirak is there, and guardsmen from the Palace.”

“But the royal party should already be in the inner gallery for the invocations.” The ceremonies involved the presence of the Celestial Emperor, who had been brought here in a formal procession earlier in the day. Maskelle had planned her examination of the temple carefully to avoid the Emperor’s ritual progress to the inner gallery.

“They are there, Revered.”

She glanced at Rian and saw the significance of this wasn’t wasted on him, either.
I exist to be tormented for the pleasure of the Adversary
, she thought.

They went down the steps of the entrance to the outer court. Maskelle saw the temple guards arrayed on the lowest step under the porch and read the tension in their stances. They made space for her to pass before she reached them and she stepped down onto the terrace.

The sun was bright on the two reflecting pools on either side of the stone terrace and a damp heat rose off the deep green grass. The scatter of palms around the large court provided no shade whatsoever. Standing on the cross-shaped terrace were the Celestial One, his attendant priest, and Hirane of the Baran Dir. Maskelle sensed Rian tense next to her and a heartbeat later she registered what he had already seen. They were facing Chancellor Mirak, Lord Karuda, and a dozen or so Palace Guards.

Half surrounded by the Palace Guards were the Ariaden, still in their stage clothing and face paint. The children, except for Firac’s two sons who worked puppets in the show, were not with them. They would have been left back at the guesthouse with one of the Kushorit servants attached to the place, since their help hadn’t been needed with the props and other little chores. That was one small mercy at least. Old Mali was there, though her help hadn’t been needed in the play. The old woman had an uncanny ability to involve herself in everything.

It explained the roar of the crowd. Kushorit theatricals tended to be freeform and would often go on for hours if the audience was still interested. The play must have been a success and the crowd had expected more of it, and been disappointed to see the actors leave the stage.

It didn’t matter.
This is enough
, Maskelle thought. She was getting very tired of Mirak’s interference. She walked past the Koshans, almost stepping on the Palace Guardsman who didn’t move out of her way quickly enough. “Rastim, what are you doing here?”

“There’s a little difficulty,” he said, sounding embarrassed. Firac, standing at his elbow, moved uneasily and looked down at his feet. The sun was melting the white paint off their faces and they both looked awful, but she didn’t think they had been hurt by the guardsmen.

Karuda stepped toward her and Rian shifted just enough to block his way. The noble started to speak, but Maskelle ignored him, saying, “Rastim, please, just tell me.”

“We were arrested.” He shrugged, apparently philosophical about it. “At least they let us finish the play. I don’t know what they didn’t like about it—”

“Rastim, they didn’t arrest you, and certainly not because of the play,” Maskelle said, she hoped patiently. Rastim was doing a good job of telling the story briefly for an Ariaden. “They don’t bring criminals to the Marai.”

“I’m pretty sure we were arrested—”

“Rastim, don’t argue with me just at the moment.”

Maskelle took a deep breath.
Something going on here
. More than just court intrigue and the shifting politics of power. There was nothing wrong with the Marai, there was nothing wrong with the Rite and nothing likely to go wrong with it, surrounded as it was by the Voices as they did the invocations for the royal party. She could feel the growing tension as a tightness in her chest, but it seemed to be coming out of nowhere. She said to Rastim, “Stay here.”

She had meant for Rian to stay there too, but he followed her anyway as she went toward the Celestial One and the others. They had all been watching her and she had the uncanny sensation for a moment of feeling like one of Rastim’s puppets. She asked Mirak, “Why did you bring these people here?”

Ignoring her, Mirak turned to the Celestial One. He said, “You understand the necessity for this.”

The old man’s expression was less yielding than the stone faces carved into the temple wall behind him. He said to Maskelle, “Tell our visitors to go into the inner court.”

She looked back at Rastim, jerked her head slightly. He caught the hint and started for the stairs up into the gallery, the other Ariaden trailing after him.

Mirak turned, about to gesture to Karuda to stop them. Maskelle felt a swell of tension that was sure to end in something rash, but the Celestial One said, “I don’t recommend it, Chancellor.”

Maskelle had heard that tone only once before in his voice and that had been when he had told her that if she wanted to move against the Celestial Throne she would have to kill him first. It sent a little shiver of cold memory through her and her own impulse to take action died.

Mirak paused and regarded the old man. The moment stretched. Then he let his hand drop. Karuda shifted uneasily as Rastim and the others made their way past the Temple Guards and into the shade of the enclosure. Mirak said finally, “You choose a strange cause in which to exercise your authority.”

The Celestial One didn’t bother to acknowledge the side issue. “Does the Rite mean nothing to you?” he said.

“I mean to make sure she and all those she brought with her leave the city when the Rite is over.” The Chancellor betrayed no sign of anger or any other emotion except quiet confidence.

“Oh, I’ll be leaving the city.” Maskelle had no idea it was she who had spoken until she saw the Celestial One and Hirane staring at her. The words had come straight from the Ancestors. It was one of the more annoying forms of prophecy, when the spirits spoke as your own voice. The world was so close to the Infinite at this time of year that in holy places like the Marai the barriers became so thin as to be almost insubstantial. The effect would become worse as the Rite drew closer to culmination. She just hoped the Ancestors didn’t decide to say anything particularly damning in front of Mirak.

“You take too much on yourself,” the Celestial One said to the Chancellor. The old man spoke quietly, but Maskelle still heard the warning tone in his voice. She saw Hirane tighten her hold on her staff and sensed the older woman’s uneasiness.

“I’ve always believed the Koshans had too much power in the Imperial system,” Mirak said calmly. “As you know.”

“When have I given the Throne commands? I give him advice, which he is free to take up or ignore as his own judgment suits him.”

Maskelle suspected Mirak had been preparing for this test of his power for a long time, that her presence had only provided him with a much looked-for opportunity. It was the worst of bad omens to have this sort of confrontation between religious and secular authorities, at this festival during such an important Rite, and in the Marai of all places.

Such things would not have escaped Mirak’s calculation. But if he thought to wring concessions from the Celestial One by forcing him to capitulate rather than continue such an inauspicious disagreement, then he hadn’t counted on the old man’s stubbornness.

“The next to hold your office may have the ambition you lack.”

The old man’s lips thinned. “A man with ambitions cannot hold my office—”

Maskelle winced in anticipation of what was coming next.

“—unfortunately I can’t say the same for your position.”

“Perhaps you take too much on yourself,” Mirak said, his tone amused but his eyes hard.

“This can be settled later,” Hirane broke in. “The Rite is more important than this bickering.”

Maskelle felt someone standing behind her and turned. She found herself looking down at the Celestial One. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the fact that the Celestial One still stood confronting Mirak and the others. She turned back to what was standing in front of her. She felt curiously hollow, distanced from reality, free of emotion. After seven years, here was the Adversary. Not just a half-vision that might be a dream, not a ghost hinting at doom. She said, “You need to choose a new Voice to take my place.”

It looked up at her, an odd gleam of humor in the ageless eyes. “All right,” it said, obligingly. “I choose you.” The voice was the Celestial One’s as well, but it sounded oddly flat and she knew she wasn’t hearing it with her ears.

Suddenly she was inside the chamber of the Rite, but the shape of the room and outlines of the carvings on the walls were subtly distorted. She looked down and saw the world was at her feet, glowing with life. Mountains, rivers, deltas, the gulf and the sea, the oceans beyond, all in perfect detail. The Adversary stood next to her, still in the form of the Celestial One. It said, “The sacred mountain is at the center of the universe.”

Puzzled, she nodded. “Everyone knows that.”

“Not everyone.” He pointed down. The world was revolving around the centerpoint of the Rite. “They don’t know it. Those who covet this world. The center doesn’t move.”

Not again
, Maskelle thought. Another vision she couldn’t understand. “Those who covet this world. Marada and her people?” Dizzy, she had to look away from the spinning landscape at her feet. “Why can’t I understand you? Is the fault in me?”

“No,” it said. Its eyes tracked the progress of the rotating world. An expression crossed its face, a mix of confusion and regret, near panic. “The fault is in me.”

Maskelle stared, feeling her heart freeze in her chest. “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “What’s wrong with you?”

“With me?” it said, its features smoothing back into blandness.

Maskelle shook her head slightly, bewildered.
Did I imagine that
? “You said the fault was in you.”

The glowing world at their feet threw a dizzying reflection onto its face. It said only, “Ask the right question.”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it? You never have to do anything useful, just make me guess.” It didn’t react to the bitterness in her voice; she had been foolish to even think that it would. She gestured helplessly. “So it was no use, killing Marada?”

“Marada spoke the truth, it was already too late.” Its smile was almost gleeful, then its face abruptly turned serious. “You have both one opponent and many.”

One of the nameless fears Maskelle had been prey to all day suddenly became solid and real.
I missed something
. She still couldn’t see it.
I must be the most useless Voice of the Adversary in history
. “Can you tell me what I need to do?” she demanded, frustrated.