Echoes of the Great Song (31 page)

Mejana slid sideways, then fell from the bench. She was lying on her back now and looking up at the clear blue sky. Three gulls flew high overhead, and she watched them bank and head back over the sea. There was little pain from the wound, but she felt her mind swimming, losing focus.

She had always known that once she took on the might of the Avatar her life would be at risk. But she had never dreamed the death blow would come from an ally. In that moment she knew with certainty that the Erek-jhip-zhonad were never truly allies. I have been used, she thought, sadly. Images crowded her mind, vying for attention. Her grandson Pendar, her nephew Baj, her daughter Lari. So beautiful. Lari had been crystal-drawn twenty-two years ago for the crime of loving an Avatar. One of her twins had also been killed. Pendar had escaped that fate, for he had been ill and
was in the house of a neighbor. The Avatars had not killed Lari, but they had robbed her of youth and middle age, releasing her the same day as a withered crone. That had been hard. So hard. So savagely against what nature intended. Mejana had been in her late thirties, still attractive and supple. Now she nursed her aged, almost senile, daughter. Mejana had used her considerable wealth to try to buy back those lost years. She had bribed officials, sent gifts, petitioned the Questor General. She had begged and pleaded for Lari to be given a second chance at life. Then Lari died.

Mejana groaned. Now there was pain. The wound in her chest was hot and prickly and deep inside Mejana could feel blood filling her lungs. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Lying very still she thought again of Lari. After the funeral Mejana had been inconsolable. For days she sat in her house, organizing no parties for rich Vagars, arranging no orgies. Her girls had come to her, beseeching her to allow them to work.

Slowly her grief turned to anger, then to hot rage, and finally to a cold impenetrable fury. The Avatars were the enemy, and Mejana knew she would devote the rest of her life to bringing them down. Once arrived, the thought stayed with her. She brought in builders to work on the house. The twenty rooms used by her entertainers were made a little smaller, creating narrow gaps between the walls, and spy holes were set along them. Now when the rich men and women arrived for their pleasure they could be observed and heard. Her entertainers, both male and female, were urged to get their clients to talk about themselves. “It will make them relax,” she said. “Everyone loves talking about themselves and what they do. They will enjoy your company all the more, and will pay you even more handsomely.”

Once the house had reopened Mejana took to creeping
down the hidden gaps, listening and noting. Day by day, week by week, Mejana gathered information. Infinitely patient she wrote everything in a huge ledger. For two years she did nothing more than gather information. Then she contacted the ambassador to the Erek-jhip-zhonad. His name was Anwar, and he was a trusted adviser to the old king. She gave him information concerning troop movements near the borders and kept him apprised of regiment strengths. Closing her house she wintered in Morak, the Erek-jhip-zhonad capital. Anwar taught her many things—ciphers and codes—and schooled her in the arts of information retrieval.

“It is unlikely, in the immediate future,” said Anwar one day, “that the Avatar will be overthrown by an outside force. The seeds of destruction must be sown from within. There are hundreds of thousands of Vagars. If they should rise, not all the power of the Avatar can stop them.”

Mejana returned to Egaru with a new brief: to recruit and train an army of freedom fighters from within the cities. A secret army that would, one day, take control. Slowly, over the next ten years, she built such a force. And now the Pajists had sympathizers in every aspect of government, including the Vagar army.

Mejana’s work was perilous. Mostly she stayed in the background, using others to relay information or to seek sympathizers. But on three occasions in the last four years agents of the Erek-jhip-zhonad had been arrested and crystal-drawn. Each of them could have betrayed her. None did.

When the old king died and his son Ammon succeeded him Mejana had wondered what level of support she would continue to receive. Anwar, old now but still possessed of great cunning, was promoted to First
Councillor, and with increased funding the Pajists grew in strength.

Earlier this year Mejana had authorized a daring plan. Attacks were made on prominent Vagars who supported the Avatar regime. Three were killed, one paralyzed when he tried to flee and fell from his balcony. Now the work of the Pajists became an open secret. Wherever people gathered they would talk about the attacks and what they meant. Through this Mejana’s agents were able to gather more information and recruit still more fighters to the cause.

But the most important breakthrough came when Mejana ordered the kidnapping of Questor Baliel. The youngest of the Avatar High Council, Baliel was considered by Mejana to be less than courageous. He had attended private orgies at her home and she had observed him closely. He was filled with petty ambitions and believed his lack of political success could be laid at the door of those envious of his wit and intelligence. Like most stupid people he regarded himself highly, and when faced with superior men branded them “intellectual” or “lacking in common sense.”

Four Pajists had grabbed him as he left the house. Throwing a grain sack over his head they had beaten him unconscious and carried him to a warehouse close to the dock. Here Mejana had visited him. The Avatar was locked in a dark and windowless cellar. When Mejana entered he had thrown himself at her feet, begging her to help him.

“I am surprised and saddened to find you like this, lord,” she said. “The evil men who have captured you have asked me—as a friend of yours—to tell you their demands.”

“Demands?” he said, from his knees. “I will pay them anything. Anything!”

“They do not require money, lord. They require information.”

“What information?”

“They told me to tell you that you must teach the Six Rituals to a young man. They want a Vagar to learn to use the crystals.”

“Sweet Heaven! I can’t do that. No Vagar could master the art. Please help me, Mejana.”

“I can do nothing, lord. They have me locked in a cell close by. They say they will kill me if you do not obey them. And they will certainly kill you.”

“Kill me? I cannot die. Oh Mejana, what must I do?”

Crouching down beside the whimpering man she stroked his long blue hair. “If, as you say, no Vagar can learn the rituals, then what harm is there in teaching them? It will keep you alive. And they have promised to move you to a better room, with lanterns and good food. Also,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “they have promised that I can go free. Once I am clear of them I can alert the Watch and you will be rescued.”

“Yes. Yes, that is the answer. I will teach them. You must get a message to Rael. He will know what to do.”

“It will be as you say, lord,” she told him.

For three weeks Baliel taught Pendar the Rituals. At first the young man made little progress, but on the twenty-seventh day he managed to revive a dying flower, bringing it back to full bloom. After this, progress was swift.

Outside, in the city, the Avatars were searching for the missing Questor.

One morning Viruk arrived at the house. Mejana had heard of him. And what she had heard was not encouraging. He was ruthless and cruel, his malice disguised by a great physical charm and charisma.

As he was ushered into the room by a frightened serving girl Mejana rose. “You do my house great honor,
lord,” she said. “However, I cannot accommodate you for, as you know, the race laws are very harsh.”

He smiled. “My dear lady, let us not play games. The services of your entertainers are offered to any with the gold to purchase them. And that includes some of my Avatar colleagues. So let us not flirt with one another. Tell me the last time you saw Questor Baliel.”

“My clients always respect the fact that I keep their confidences, lord,” she said. “My house would not be filled were it known that I was loose-tongued.”

“Oh very well,” he said, sorrowfully. Drawing his dagger he moved towards her. “I shall cut the left breast from your body, you fat cow, and then we shall speak without games.”

“Three weeks ago,” she said. “He came three weeks ago.”

Viruk did not sheath his dagger. “What time did he leave?”

“With your permission, lord, I would have to ask the … entertainer who kept him company. I do not always see my friends leave.”

“Then do so.”

Mejana walked to the door and called out a young man’s name. Within moments he entered the room, and, seeing Viruk, bowed deeply. Mejana asked him about Baliel, and the time of his departure. The young man replied that it was just after midnight.

“Did you walk with him to the door?” asked Viruk.

“No, lord. I fell asleep.”

Viruk asked the man’s name and his address and then allowed him to leave. “I trust,” said Mejana, “you will not tell the noble Questor that we spoke of him. He is a very good client, and honors us with his presence.”

“I doubt he will be honoring you again,” said Viruk. “Who would know of his trysts here?”

“He visits on the same two days every week, lord. I
know this, as do all my entertainers. He has a carriage waiting for him at the end of the Avenue, a walk of perhaps a half-mile. His driver would know, as would any who saw him leave. Has something happened to him?”

“I expect so,” said Viruk cheerfully. “He was a windbag and a blowhard. He will not be missed. Even so, the man was an Avatar, and therefore the investigation will continue. By the way, how much did he pay for his pleasures?”

“Five gold pieces, lord.”

“You must miss him greatly.”

“I do not like to lose customers. I thought he had moved to one of the other cities. I know he has a house in Boria. Perhaps he has gone there.”

“No one has seen him since he came to your brothel. Did you speak to him on that last night?”

“Yes, lord.”

“How did he seem?”

“He was always happy here, lord. I sincerely hope he will be again.”

Viruk stared at her for a moment. She felt the intensity of his pale gaze and found that her heart was beating in panic. “I shall question the boy he slept with tomorrow. Send him to the Officers’ Building on Military Square. Have him ask for me.”

“I will, lord. But I promise you he is a good lad and would not wish any harm on the Questor. He is very fond of him.”

“Then he has nothing to fear.”

The following day the boy was crystal-drawn to death.

Mejana groaned as the pain flared once more. She could not move now and her eyelids were growing heavy. Death was whispering to her like a trusted lover.

On the news that the boy was dead she had walked to the warehouse and, with the aid of two strong men,
had up-ended Baliel into a barrel of salt water. She had stood and watched as his legs thrashed around, the bubbles rising from his tortured lungs. The body was later thrown from the wharf.

She heard movement in the garden. A hand touched her. Heat roared through her chest and she cried out.

“Be still, Mejana, and let me heal you.”

She opened her eyes and saw the village girl she had taken to the inn. “I am beyond healing,” she said.

The girl smiled. “I do not think so.”

In her private apartments Mejana stripped off her blood-soaked clothing and stood naked before a full-length mirror. There was no sign of a wound upon her pale flesh. Not even a mark to show where the knife blade had punctured the skin. Tidy, as always, Mejana carried the stained clothes to a laundry basket and dropped them inside. Then she dressed in another voluminous gown, this one of pale green linen. Returning to her outer rooms she saw the girl sitting by the window, looking out over the bay.

Mejana paused and stared at her. Outwardly she looked no different to the naive villager she had found wandering the city, the shy girl she had taken to Baj. But something about her had changed. There was a radiance to her features and a new confidence in her movements.

“How are you feeling?” asked Sofarita.

“Better than I expected. How did you master the Avatar crystals?”

“I have no crystals, Mejana. The power is mine alone.”

“I had no sense of it when I last met you,” said the older woman, moving to a large chair and sitting opposite the girl.

“It had not manifested itself at that time. Now it has. And all is changed.”

“And now you serve the Avatar?”

“No. I
serve
no one.”

“Yet you dwell with Questor Ro and you saved his life.”

“Indeed I did—and would do so again. Just as I saved yours.”

“Mine is worth saving,” said Mejana. “I have a mission and a purpose. To free my people from Avatar tyranny.”

Sofarita shook her head. “No, you desire only revenge for the death of your daughter. But your motives are not important now.”

“What is important, then?” asked Mejana.

“The defeat of the Almecs. They are a cruel and malevolent people, ruled by a goddess of crystal. She is fed by blood, by ritual sacrifice. If they succeed here then the Vagars and all the people under their dominion will be merely food for the goddess.”

“My daughter was food for the Avatar. She fed their crystals with her life.”

“I am not defending the Avatar, Mejana. Their day is almost gone. However, I want you to trust me. I want you to understand how terrible is this new enemy.”

“What are you asking of me?” snapped Mejana.

“The Almecs have landed armies upon the coast and they are sailing to attack the Mud People at Morak. More ships are arriving daily along the coastlines. Soon there will be thousands of Almec warriors. It is vital that we coordinate our efforts. You have contacts with Ammon and the tribes. Your grandson Pendar is close to the Patiakes. He made a friend of their king.”

“Until Viruk slew him,” Mejana pointed out.

“That is past. Viruk slew Judon, you killed Baliel,
and ordered the deaths of others. You did not listen as Baliel cried for mercy. You held his legs as he thrashed around in the barrel.”