Echoes of the Great Song (39 page)

“The power is growing all the time,” she told him, “sometimes slowly, sometimes with surges that overwhelm me. It is not constant. It frightens me.”

His spirit hand took hers. “You are a brave woman, Sofarita. The Source chose well. But then he always does.”

“I did not ask to be chosen,” she said. “Nor did I want to be.”

“I think you are wrong. If you had known the terrible evil that was to come, and had been offered the power to oppose it, I believe you would have made this choice. You are strong, and good, and fair hearted.”

“And I am to die.”

“We are all going to die, child. Everything does.” He released her hand. “Tell Rael I need another chest. I must speed the Dance.”

“I will tell him. Why is it that you are allowing yourself to age?”

“I have no wish for immortality, Sofarita. It is a heavy burden, with few genuine pleasures.”

“When you are gone the Music will die with you.”

He smiled and shook his head. “The Music cannot die. All that will fail will be men’s understanding of it. Perhaps that is good. Time will tell. But I feel there is enough evil in the world already, without magic adding to it.”

“The Almecs are trying to break through your barrier of mist. Can you hold them back?”

“I could, but I will not,” said Anu. He paused. “Can you sense the presence of Almeia when she is close?”

“Yes.”

“Do you sense her now?”

“No.”

“Good, then let us talk. I am not a man given to lies, but I have left Rael and the others with the belief that my pyramid will save them, that it will be a new power source to recharge the chests. This is exactly the opposite of the truth. When the Music flows from it all crystal power will be drained. The chests will empty, the zhi-bows fail. Immortality for the Avatars will cease. Equally, when the Music reaches the west, the Crystal Queen will die. But first I must finish the pyramid. At this moment Almeia believes the pyramid will be a power source for her. While she believes this no attempt will be made to stop me. It is vital that she does not learn the truth. You must keep her focused upon you, Sofarita. In any way you can.”

Sofarita remained with him for another hour, discussing strategies. Then feeling the approach of Almeia, she bade him farewell and returned to her body.

Now, as she lay in her bed, she thought again of Talaban.

His bravery had not surprised her, but she had been pleased with his sensitivity in dealing with Pendar. She wondered what it would be like to touch Talaban’s skin, to stroke her fingers across his cheek. For a moment
only she was a farm girl again, remembering her first time with Veris. Only it wasn’t Veris in her imagination. It was the lean, powerful figure of Talaban the Avatar.

Cold reality struck her.

You are not a farm girl any longer. You are a goddess.

A dying goddess.

Questor Ro was not asleep. The day had been a long one, supervising the training of new recruits at the three barracks. The task was not easy. Thousands of Vagars wanted to enlist and each one needed to be physically examined and questioned at length. In turn this led to massive lines of men, snaking out around the buildings, blocking thoroughfares. Ro had been summoned to create order from the chaos. At the first of the barracks he had found Rael and Mejana in heated debate. She wanted to know why fit young men could not merely sign their name and be assigned to a unit. Rael was struggling to explain the military ramifications of such a move. Neither was making an impression on the other.

Ro stepped in. “If I may speak,” he said. Mejana was struggling to hold her temper. Rael also was ashenfaced. Both nodded. “Let me first sum up both points of view. The Questor General is concerned that our new army be disciplined and effective. You, lady, are worried about the need for such rigorous examination, fearing it may be some part of a secret Avatar plan to retain control of the army.”

“Exactly,” said Mejana.

“I am not, as Rael knows, a military man,” said Ro. “But I do know certain principles that should always apply. Our army is small but it has, over the years, proved effective. Lines of communication are well drawn, officers and men know one another well. Orders,
when given, are carried out with speed and efficiency. A huge influx of untrained recruits could prove chaotic. It is, I understand, the Questor General’s plan to add one thousand new soldiers. This would almost double our force.”

“We could put twenty thousand men on the field of battle,” said Mejana. “We would outnumber the Almecs five to one.”

“And watch them all slaughtered!” snapped Rael.

“With respect, lady,” said Ro, soothingly, “and I do mean with respect, for I believe you to be a formidable woman, you are out of your depth in this matter. What I said about lines of communication is not just important, but utterly vital. In any battle a general must be able to formulate changes in strategy, give orders and see them carried out swiftly. What you are suggesting is that we face the Almecs with an undisciplined mob. We Avatars have fought such armies before. We always won. At the first attack hundreds of them are killed. The rest become demoralized. Some decide to run for safety. This causes confusion and, more often than not, panic. We do not have time to train a huge force. However, I think I know a compromise.”

“It needs to be a good one,” said Rael.

“There should be two forces,” said Ro. “The first will be the army and we will continue our examinations as before, seeking only one thousand of the fittest, most able men. The second will be a militia force under appointed commanders in every district. These will be men who will defend the walls when called upon or who will fight on the streets if the walls are breached. Each district commander will appoint sub-commanders and they will organize distribution of weapons. How does that sound?”

“A recipe for disaster,” said Rael.

“I like it,” said Mejana. “My people will feel, perhaps
for the first time, that their destiny is in their own hands.”

“Then we are done here,” said Rael. “Excuse me.” He stalked from the room. Mejana turned to Ro.

“Will you assist me in organizing the militia?” she asked him.

“Of course, lady.” Ro was silent for a moment, then he looked into Mejana’s eyes. “He is a fine soldier. We could have found none better to oversee the defense of the cities.”

“But?” she said.

“But he has nothing to fight for. If he wins, he loses. You understand?”

“The day of the Avatar is over,” she said. “I would do nothing to change that, even if I could.”

“I understand that,” Ro told her. “That is not the point I am making. No matter what is done with the militia, or new Vagars drawn into the army, the fighting spearhead of the war will be the Avatar soldiers, with their zhi-bows. Men fight best who fight for causes. As matters now stand, why should Rael not gather the few hundred Avatars left, take control of the
Serpent
, and sail to a far land to rebuild?”

Mejana considered the question, and its ramifications. If such an event were to take place Egaru and Pagaru would certainly fall to the Almecs.

“I have nothing to offer them,” said Mejana, at last.

“You could make it clear that there will be no retribution against my people should the war be won.”

“Such an offer would be a lie,” she admitted. “Hatred of the Avatar is so deeply ingrained that it would manifest itself very swiftly.”

“I know,” said Ro, sadly. “And so does Rael.”

“What then can I do?”

Ro did not reply. He had sown the seed and could do no more.

The day had been exhausting, but by dusk the beginnings of organization could be seen. Twenty district commanders had been appointed and ten further training areas identified. The long lines of recruits had thinned and a sense of order was beginning to prevail.

An hour before midnight Ro had returned to his home, dismissed his servants, and requested that Sempes wait for the arrival of the Lady Sofarita. Ro himself had taken a long bath and retired to his bed.

Sleep would not come. His mind was in a whir. He thought of his lost wife and children, his years of work and study, his meeting with Sofarita, and the emotions that meeting had unleashed—emotions that would never be fulfilled. At first he had entertained hopes for the deepening of their relationship, but then he had seen how she looked at Talaban. How could he hope to compete with him? Talaban was tall and handsome. Such physical considerations should have had little to do with genuine love. But the reality was far different, Ro knew.

He climbed from his bed and filled a goblet with cool water. His door was open, and he felt a chill breeze. His gaze flicked to the open window. No draft was coming from there and the curtains were not moving. Walking to the door he stepped into the hallway. Immediately he began to tremble with cold.

This was ridiculous! Running back into his room he threw a woollen cloak around his shoulders and returned to the hall. It was dark, and yet he could see a faint blue light coming from Sofarita’s room. Was she working some magic? Would he disturb her if he ventured in? He shivered. Then walked along the hallway. The door was open. Thick ice had formed on the walls and swirling snow filled the room. Ro stepped inside.

Sofarita was lying in bed, snow and ice covering her face.

Ro ran to her side. As he did so he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. Swinging round he saw—just for a moment—the transparent figure of a young woman, white-haired and ghostly, with eyes of cold green. Then she was gone. Dragging back the covers Ro pushed his arms under Sofarita’s limp body and, with a grunt of effort, lifted her clear of the frozen bed. Staggering out into the hallway he carried her to his own room. Her skin was icy cold, her lips blue. There was no time to light a fire. Ro laid her on the bed and tore off her frozen clothes. Covering her with a blanket he threw off his cloak and night-shirt and slipped in beside her, drawing her to him, allowing the warmth of his body to raise her temperature. Gently he rubbed at the cold flesh of her arms.

For a time he felt sure he would fail and that she would die in his arms. But then a soft moan escaped from her lips. Ro hugged her close, feeling the warmth seeping back into her body.

Sofarita’s eyelids flickered. “She … tried to … kill me,” she whispered.

“You are safe now,” Ro told her. “Safe with me.”

She gave a weak smile and snuggled in closer. Then she slept.

Ro drew the blanket over her shoulder. She was warmer now, and he could feel the heat beginning to radiate from her flesh. Ro became acutely aware of her thigh pressed close to his own. He lay back and closed his eyes. Sadness touched him, for he was now where he had dreamed of being, alongside the naked Sofarita, her arms around him. And yet he sensed there would never be another moment like this, never the physical closeness, the intimacy, the sheer joy of togetherness. Ro wanted it to last, and he lay without moving, holding to every memorable sweet and fleeting second.

•  •  •

Talaban lay still in the darkness, his hands lashed behind him, his head pounding from the blows he had taken. He could taste blood from a gash inside his mouth. Why he was alive he did not know. They had been riding for the rendezvous point with the
Serpent
when they had come across a hunting party of Almecs. Pendar, heady with the success of the last few days, had led his men in a wild charge. Talaban had galloped after them, shouting for them to turn back.

A larger force was hidden in the undergrowth and a vicious volley of shots ripped into the Vagars. Ten men were hurled from their saddles and the charge faltered. “Get back to the river!” bellowed Talaban. The survivors needed no second order. Wheeling their horses they had thundered back towards the Luan. Talaban swung on his reins. At that moment two Almecs came running from cover. One loosed his fire-club, the shot taking Talaban’s mount in the skull. The horse tumbled forward. Talaban was hurled over its dipping head. Landing awkwardly he struggled to rise. Something struck him a wicked blow to the side of the head and he had opened his eyes to find himself tied hand and foot and travelling in the back of a wagon.

They had brought him to a deserted village and had thrown him into an empty grain store.

There were no windows and the Avatar did not know if it was day or night. Occasionally he lapsed into unconsciousness. Each time he woke he felt nauseous and cold.

The door was pulled open. Two men moved into the store, took Talaban by the arms and dragged him out onto open ground. Two other men stood waiting. One, dressed in breastplate of shining gold and a helm adorned with golden feathers, had a face which shimmered in the moonlight, like glass. The other was a hunchback holding a golden rod, topped with a circle.
Talaban was hauled before them, then kicked savagely in the back of the knees, causing him to tumble to the earth. Someone grabbed his hair and dragged him to his knees.

“You have been troublesome, Avatar,” said the man with the glass face. “But no more troublesome than a bee sting. Tomorrow I begin my march on your cities. We know much about your defenses and the plans of your leaders. You, however, will tell me more.”

“You will learn nothing from me,” said Talaban.

“On the contrary. Everything you have ever known will be divulged to my servant. He has a particular skill—as you will discover.” He turned to the hunchback. “Drain him,” he said.

The hunchback tucked the golden rod into his belt and moved alongside the prisoner. His hands clasped Talaban’s head, his fingers pressing into the temples. Fire lanced through the Avatar. It was as if a snake had entered his ear and was eating his way through the flesh of his brain. Talaban honed his concentration, moving into the first of the rituals, seeking a defense against the probing snake. The movement inside his head slowed. He threw up a mental wall, created from darkness. The snake’s fangs ripped at it, shredding it like rotten silk. Talaban retreated, holding to his identity. The snake advanced. Talaban moved into the Second Ritual, then the Third. Utterly focused now he let the snake advance.