Echoes of the Great Song (22 page)

Even as the thought occurred to her, one of the lanterns flickered into life and a gentle glow filled the room. Sofarita sat up. Looking across at the second lantern she pictured it alight.

The wick flamed instantly. Sofarita leaned back on the pillow. There was no panic now.

For this had to be a dream. Settling down and pulling the blankets around her she slept again.

The home of Methras was on the eastern outskirts of the city, close to the lumber yards, and closer still to a slaughterhouse, built two years ago on the old meadow. A hundred years ago the area had been highly popular with well-to-do Vagars, men who were not yet rich but who were climbing through the ranks of the merchant classes. Now it was run-down and shabby, though some of the older homes were well built, and occasionally fronted with marble.

Methras had walked the four miles from the wharf and, as he opened the small gate that led to the rear garden, he saw two horses tethered in the shade behind the house. He was tired and in no mood for company as he strolled along the garden path. A figure in a dress of sky-blue satin stepped into the garden. She saw him and ran to meet him. In her late forties, his mother was still a handsome woman, though her once-trim figure had thickened a little and there was now grey in her golden hair. She kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, my son,” she said, taking his arm and leading him inside.

“Who is here?” he asked her.

“An old friend of yours, come to greet you upon your return,” she told him. “And his uncle from beyond the Luan.”

Pausing in the kitchen he poured a long, cool drink of
water from a pottery jug and drained it. Then he turned to his mother and smiled. “It is good to see you. You are looking well. Is that a new dress?” With a wide smile she stepped back from him, and twirled. The heavy satin of the dress lifted briefly as she spun.

“Do you like it?”

“It is very becoming. Does this mean you are in love again?”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” she scolded him gently. “You think I am too old for love?”

“You don’t look a day over twenty-five,” he assured her. “Who is this lucky man?”

“He is a merchant, recently arrived from Pagaru. He is a fine man. Very witty and entertaining.”

“How old?”

“Fifty—or so he says. I think he’s closer to sixty. But he’s a fine figure of a man.”

“He would have to be,” said Methras. “Now tell me who is here?”

“Don’t you want to be surprised?”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You used to,” she said. “I remember when you were very young …”

“Not now, mother,” he said, gently. “Who is here?”

“It is Pendar.” She leaned in close. “And he is rich now,” she whispered. “You should have accepted his offer and joined him in partnership. Perhaps he still wants you.”

“I am sure that he does,” said Methras with a wide smile.

His mother reddened. “Oh you know I didn’t mean
that,”
she said. “I know Pendar—” she struggled for words “—prefers the company of young men. But I know he values your judgement.”

Methras kissed her cheek. “Of course. He loves me for my mind,” he said.

“What he needs—” she began.

Methras held up his hand. “If the phrase
the love of a good woman
is hovering on your lips, do not say it. You are far too intelligent to be caught in that cliché.”

“What I was going to say is that he needs the guidance of someone he can trust. He has a way with money, but he is like a straw in the wind. You could help him, Methras, and become rich yourself.”

“I have no interest in wealth or power,” he said. “I am a soldier. It suits me well.”

“You are very much like your father,” she told him.

“Too much—and not enough,” he said sadly.

Moving through the house, he entered the wide living area. Two men were seated in the archway leading to the front garden. Pendar, as always, was immaculately and expensively dressed. His pearl-grey tunic and leggings were woven from heavy silk, his shoes crafted from lizard-skin. He was tall, very slim and still boyish, his hair dyed with streaks of gold. The man beside him was more strongly built, with wide shoulders and powerful hands. His beard was silver and yellow.

“My dear friend,” said Pendar, as Methras entered. Moving smoothly across the room he embraced the soldier and kissed his cheek. “It is so good to see you. How are you?”

“Fit and well, Pendar. Who is your friend?”

“Not a friend, exactly,” said Pendar. “More a business acquaintance. He is a fine man. Trustworthy. His name is Boru. He is of the Banis-baya, a tribe who dwell close to the Well of Life.”

Boru rose and moved forward, his hand outstretched. Methras shook it briefly.

“Good as it is to see you, my friend,” said Methras, turning once more to Pendar, “I must tell you that I am very weary, and was looking forward to some sleep this afternoon.”

“We won’t keep you long,” said Boru. “I understand you have just returned from a long voyage.”

“Yes, to the southern ice. It was successful.”

“By which you mean …?” asked Boru.

“We found what we were looking for,” he answered. “That would seem to me to constitute a successful trip.”

“As I understand it, Vagars died upon the ice,” said Boru, “and what was found made the Avatars more powerful than they were before. Some might argue that as a great failure.”

“A soldier of the empire would not argue so,” Methras pointed out.

“He might,” said Boru. “These are changing times. The hourglass of history is about to be spun. Some men believe that within a few years these cities will once again be controlled by Vagars. What then will befall those loyal to the old empire?”

Methras did not reply. Ignoring Boru, he turned to Pendar. The golden-haired man was about to speak, but Methras lifted his hand and shook his head. “Say not a word, my friend. It is best you leave, and when you return come alone. What I have not heard I cannot report.”

“He is right,” said Boru. “We are wasting our time here.”

“No, it is
my
time you are wasting,” snapped Methras. “Leave now.”

Boru swung on his heel and stalked from the room. Pendar stood still for a moment, confused. Methras put his hand on his friend’s slender shoulder. “Walk with care, Pendar, for the road you travel is very dangerous.”

“Boru is right,” said Pendar softly. “The days of the Avatar are coming to an end. Once they are overthrown all their friends and allies will be killed. I do not want to see you hurt.”

“How can you believe the Vagars will be allowed to rule their own cities? If the Avatars fall then the Erek-jhip-zhonad or the Patiakes will conquer them, and they will have merely exchanged masters. Stay out of politics, Pendar. It will destroy you.”

“
Their
own cities?” countered Pendar. “Do you not mean
our
own cities? Or is your Avatar blood taking hold? You are like me, a half-breed, caught between two races. If the truth was discovered even now we would both be crystal-drawn. The Avatars will never accept us. I will not give my loyalty and my life to people who would wish me dead if they knew of my blood. They are the enemy, Methras. One day you will see it too.”

“They are not all enemies. There is Talaban.”

“Ah yes,” said Pendar, with a mischievous smile, “the beautiful Talaban. Do not be deceived, my dear. He is still a member of the god-race, and his long life is maintained by the deaths of Vagars, crystal-drawn against their will.”

“You must go now,” said Methras.

Pendar nodded, and gathered up his heavy black cloak. “I think of you often,” he said. Methras walked past him and out into the late afternoon sunshine.

He stood there for some time, until he heard the two horsemen ride away. His mother joined him, linking her arm through his.

“Did he want you to work with him?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t believe that I will.”

“You could be making a mistake,” she said.

“One of us is,” he agreed.

The problems facing Anu were many. His 600 workers had begun work on the pyramid in good spirits,
making jokes about the seemingly perpetual sunshine. After ten
days
, with the sun having inched its way to its first noon, the mood among the Vagars had changed. Anu felt the tension. It was bizarre to work for hours with the sun almost frozen in the sky, to sleep for five hours, and to awake with the sun still high. It jangled the nerves. Many men reported sick, others found difficulty in sleeping. Tempers flared, and on the fourth day one man slammed a hammer into the skull of a coworker. One of the Avatar guards slew the murderer. Separated from the holding magic of the chest the two bodies rotted instantly, becoming covered in maggots. A hundred workers saw the scene, and it frightened them. Accelerating time, as Anu was discovering, produced a host of allied problems.

Bread became stale within minutes, fruit rotted even before it could be removed from the barrels. Grass grew at twenty times the speed. A man could sit and watch it grow. Anu eventually solved the food problem by adjusting the power of the chest to encompass the supplies. The same method was used on the plants and grasses that grew in the valley. But even so the mood among the hired men was deteriorating. Thirty had so far asked to be relieved, and this request was granted. They trooped home on the next occasion that Anu slowed the Dance to allow supplies into the valley.

At Shevan’s suggestion he sent a request for fifty whores to be brought in, and built a series of huts for them on the edge of the valley. The service provided by the whores was free. The men were given special coins of baked clay, which the women collected against payment from the Treasury at the end of their allotted service. This mollified the workforce for a while. Then came the interminable twenty-day
night
. Now the men grew more fractious, and several fights broke out. One of the workers committed suicide during this first period of
night. This puzzled Anu for a while, until he concluded that sunlight was somehow important to the brain, and without it men became depressed. Along with the services of the women he now allowed strong drink and opiates to be offered to his workers, and organized dances, competitions and other forms of entertainment for those who had finished their labors.

By the thirtieth
day
the foundations of the pyramid—a deep and perfect square of limestone blocks, stretching for 750 feet on each side—were finally laid in place. Anu arranged an impromptu party, allowing the men to vote for a Foundations King. The winner—a foreman named Yasha—was crowned with laurel leaves and carried around the foundations, which were then inscribed with his name. Anu liked Yasha, a big man, wide-shouldered and tall, with a booming laugh and a powerful way with other men. He was an imposing figure and his crew of thirty were the best by far.

Shevan watched the procession and smiled. “They seem happier now, sir,” he said.

Anu nodded. The work was still slower than he had expected and he decided to make changes to the rotas. From now on the crews would work in three shorter shifts instead of two long ones, and there would be rewards for those who matched the work targets set them. “What is the hourly rate for placing the blocks?” he asked Shevan.

“A week ago it was six, but now we are closer to nine. It is getting better, sir.”

“It needs to be higher than twelve. What is the situation at the quarry?”

Shevan looked troubled. “The tools are wearing out much faster than anticipated, sir. And there is a problem with the pegs. It appears—”

“That the wood is not absorbing water.”

“Yes, sir. You anticipated this?”

“I wish that I had,” replied Anu wearily.

Stonemasons drilled holes in the sandstone then drove dry wooden pegs into the holes. When water was added the pegs expanded, splitting the stone neatly. This is how the blocks were created. But, somehow, the acceleration of time was affecting the absorption rate.

Anu strolled across to the Gepha pyramid. It had been the first attempt, seventy years ago, to build a power source. It had failed. As Anu had known it would, for it was built without the Music. Now it served as a base for his own work, and laborers were busy chiselling out the blocks, harnessing them and, by careful use of massive hides full of water, were counterbalancing their weight and lowering them to the ground. The work was slow and dangerous. Had he possessed two chests Anu would have used the enhanced power of the Music to lessen the weight of the blocks, but with only one he needed to conserve the energy for the courses of his own pyramid.

A commotion began some way to his left. It was close to the mist barrier he had summoned around the valley. He and Shevan hurried across to where a crowd of workers had gathered.

An incredibly old man lay on the ground. His limbs were twitching, and, as the men watched, the flesh fell away from him, the skin drying, becoming leather, then peeling away from his bones like worn papyrus.

“It was Jadas,” whispered one man. “He crossed the mist last night to meet his wife.”

Anu stepped forward. “Be calm!” he said. “You have all been warned about the magic used here. I told you all that it would be death to cross the mist.”

“We are prisoners here!” shouted another man.

“That is not true,” said Anu. “I explained the dangers when you agreed to the work. But any who wish to leave can do so when the supplies are due, and the mist
is lifted. I am Anu. I do not lie. This man was a fool. There are many fools in the world. He was told of the dangers and chose to disbelieve them.”

“What happens if the magic goes wrong?” shouted the first man. “We could all end up like Jadas.”

“Come now, lads,” said Yasha, the Foundations King, striding forward to stand among them. “You’ve all heard of the Holy One. He’s not a liar. And I, for one, am looking forward to going home with eight thousand silver pieces. I’m going to
build
this wonder for Anu, and then I’m going to
buy
a home. Not build it.
Buy
it! I’m going to sit in the shade and drink fine wine. And upon my knee will sit the prettiest whore in Egaru.”