Emissary (10 page)

‘No sound at all?’ Boaz repeated, incredulous. ‘So you have tested him?’

A sly smile crept across the Vizier’s mouth. ‘I had to, to be sure. I will not go into the detail of it, Majesty, but this young man cannot hear and he cannot talk. You can take my word for it,’ he said, smiling fully now at the young man in question. ‘He will see but he cannot listen into anything you say, nor can he repeat what his eyes show him.’

‘So he cannot write what he sees, either?’ Boaz enquired.

Time to reinforce the lie. ‘The sisterhood confirm he is illiterate, which is understandable considering his afflictions.’

‘The perfect mute, in other words,’ Boaz commented, returning his attention to the bent head of his new protector.

Maliz nodded. ‘Indeed, Highness. He is also the strongest of the warriors here. We tested them in this respect too and Salazin was by far the most adept with weapons and with fists.’

‘His age?’

‘From what I can tell he is around nineteen summers.’

‘Let him stand,’ Boaz commanded. The young man was raised to his feet. Boaz reached to lift the man’s chin and saw that he possessed clear grey eyes. ‘How will he know what is wanted of him?’

‘The sisterhood have their own methods of communicating with him,’ Maliz said. ‘I have been taught its use.’ He smiled. ‘They had no choice but to teach me and now I have schooled all these young men. You, too, can learn it, Majesty. As for this one, he fully understands his role is to protect you with his life, my Zar.’

‘If he has no family to give money to, what is his reward for offering his life to me?’ Boaz queried. ‘The others are presumably volunteering because they can offer their families security
through the generous gold I presume you have offered.’

Tariq bowed his head gently. ‘I did as instructed, my Zar. Each man has been so handsomely rewarded that each of their families is now well set up for the future,’ he said and Boaz acknowledged this with a nod. ‘As for Salazin, I cannot say what motivates this one,’ he lied. ‘Except to say that he wishes to serve the Zar. As you sit on your throne by Zarab’s design, Highness,’ Tariq said, warming to his tale, ‘he sees you as our god’s mortal incarnation.’

‘Really? But he was raised by the priestesses—I would have thought—’

‘No, Highness. He despises them, I gather. They are as glad to get him off their hands as he is to leave their care.’

‘But without them surely he would have perished as a child?’

‘I imagine so,’ the Vizier said airily, as if this was trivial. ‘It doesn’t make him like them. He is a man of Zarab through and through. It is why he leapt at the opportunity to serve you.’

‘That committed?’

‘Oh yes,’ Maliz replied, serious now. ‘I must admit I believe Zarab’s hand guided your father in his choice of heir. Most would feel the same.’

‘I understand tradition, Tariq. I just find it hard to believe that in reality today’s modern thinking still holds true to this belief.’

Tariq was astounded. He had not taken into
account how protected and thus ignorant the royals had become. ‘My Zar, with your indulgence, I might suggest that your life is too sheltered. We must rectify this.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, Majesty. We should let you meet some more of your people so that you may know how close to Zarab they truly believe you are. You are answerable only to our god—surely you know this?’

Boaz nodded. ‘King of Kings, Mightiest of the Mighty,’ he said wearily.

‘Salazin has been raised in a cloistered environment, so his faith is strong. To him you are the embodiment of Zarab himself.’

‘It strikes me as odd, Tariq, that the sisterhood would raise a child to believe so strongly in Zarab, when they themselves worship Lyana.’

Maliz, lurking inside Tariq, quickly stifled his inclination to react. The very mention of her name angered him but he reined in his disgust for fear of it showing in Tariq’s expression.

‘I mean,’ Boaz continued, not noticing any change in his Grand Vizier’s demeanour, ‘the Goddess is everything to them, even though her time is long past.’

‘Majesty,’ Maliz began carefully. ‘The sisterhood know that the orphanage and its very existence is at the indulgence of the Zar. Their time is long gone. They may not subscribe to it but they certainly understand that, outside of their few
remaining numbers, Percheron worships Zarab. They would have no housing, no sustenance for themselves or the families they care for if not for the Zar’s benevolence. They appreciate that these children need to be raised in the Percherese manner, despite what faith they privately hold close to.’

‘You’re saying this is their work, nothing to do with faith.’

Tariq nodded. ‘That’s a reasonable way of putting it, Majesty, although I might term it as their vocation. Their faith is sadly misplaced but it is also private. We tolerate their silent beliefs and they are allowed to pursue their vocation in caring for the sick, the lonely, the needy, the desperate, the orphaned and so on. The royal coffers make this possible.’

‘And I am very happy to continue providing,’ Boaz replied firmly. ‘I gave a promise to a sister once that I would care for the temple and I have no intention of breaking my word.’

Maliz bristled beneath the calm exterior of Grand Vizier Tariq. It galled him that any Zar would offer any form of protection to the hateful sisters of the Goddess. ‘Nor would any of us expect you to, Majesty,’ he said, affecting a soft tone of injury. ‘All I am saying is that their beliefs remain private. They are not in a position to convert disciples to their broken faith, Majesty. They serve Percheron by caring for those in need. It is separate from their faith.’

Boaz looked again at the still figure of Salazin. The man had not moved, not so much as blinked in the time they had talked over and around him, and about him. ‘Your plan for Salazin?’

‘He is the most complete of all the warriors we have chosen, Majesty. I would make him your most personal of all the servants. My desire is that he protect you every hour, every minute of the day. Whilst you go about your day, he will be your shadow. And at night, my Zar, whilst you sleep, he will watch over you.’

‘When does he sleep?’ Boaz asked, but it was a facetious question and he clearly required no response because he moved swiftly forward. ‘And when I wish to have time alone?’

‘I would not advise it, Highness.’

‘Is that so?’ Boaz asked, slightly amused now as he stepped down from his podium and stretched. ‘Well, Tariq, I can assure you I will not be taking your advice in this regard. There will be occasions when I demand privacy that not even a deaf and dumb man can provide. As you’ve rightly pointed out, he still sees.’

Maliz caught on swiftly. ‘Of course,’ he said, bowing his tall frame in gentle apology. ‘In which case, my Zar, Salazin will be directed to search the chamber first before waiting just outside. Guards will always be present nearby.’

Boaz nodded. ‘Let him rest, get acquainted with the palace. When does this begin?’

‘Immediately, my Zar. The others will need to heal but Salazin will take up his duties from this evening, with your permission.’

‘As you choose, Vizier,’ Boaz said. ‘And now I need to take some air…alone.’

The Vizier bowed, as did the mute warrior, until the Zar had departed.

Maliz beckoned Salazin, who followed him to a small room attached to the main chamber.

He signed:
I lied about your ability to read and write.

The mute nodded.

Maliz continued:
The game has begun. You report to me on everything.
He emphasised the word ‘everything’ by signing it again before continuing.
His moods, who he sees, whatever he does, I want to know about it.

Salazin smiled.

More importantly
—
far more important than the Zar, in fact
—
I want to know everything about the dwarf. His name is Pez.

Salazin answered:
It will be done, Master.

The Vizier nodded slowly, the dark eyes of Tariq hiding the demon behind who knew now his secret weapon had been unleashed. The mute would, he was sure, deliver Iridor. Maliz was convinced that the messenger to the Goddess would align himself with the Zar and no matter how many times he dismissed it as fanciful, the feeling got stronger. Although he could no longer float free of the body he inhabited, he was
convinced he could sense the aura of Iridor hovering nearby to the Zar. He had no idea who this was yet or even if his hunch was true but he could not dismiss it. His instincts demanded he listen to them. Iridor could be anyone but his cunning mind kept bringing him back to the dwarf. There was madness there. The strange-looking creature that resembled a man and yet such a cruelly twisted version rarely spoke a word of sense and even when there was momentary clarity it would dissipate into buffoonery almost immediately. He knew the Valide despised Pez, as did Salmeo, and Pez had been in the palace for decades…there was nothing novel about his presence. Everyone he had carefully probed had confirmed that the court clown was just that. He had been this way since his arrival and even Maliz had to accept that for the past year his observations had shown Pez to be an irritating, almost tragic innocent, trapped in his insane mind.

Iridor was far too wily to be this halfwit and yet something about Pez drew the Vizier back again. Just a vague feeling. Once, during his freedom—before he had cast out the soul of Tariq—he had felt Iridor’s presence strongly and to his shock had felt the presence of the Lore. He had tried to find it again but it had disappeared in an instant and he had never traced it back to the person wielding it. His suspicions, for no good reason, fell on the dwarf when Pez had acted
strangely in the presence of Boaz, whom Maliz and Tariq, when they were separate, had been watching. Yet he had no substance to this argument; only intuition.

Salazin would now spy constantly and if he could deliver Pez and the news Maliz longed to hear, then the demon could destroy him—and by turn the Goddess, whomever she was—before she had even the chance to rise again.

Tariq’s smile turned nasty. He patted Salazin on the arm and signed:
Tonight you begin your life’s most important task for Zarab.

Ana now shared a sleeping chamber with only one other. History had shown that youngsters put into one main chamber tended to achieve nothing other than a lack of sleep. And although tradition had it that older women tended to prefer to congregate together for sleeping, many of the odalisques in this harem were still children. Even most of the older ones remained immature and giggly, with years of growing up to do before they could be considered sedate members of the harem.

Ana and her chamber companion and only friend, Sascha, were the most composed and Salmeo hoped they would lead the other odalisques by example. Sascha, a shy, intelligent young woman was not well this evening. Ana had guided Sascha, who was bent double with an ache in her belly, to find one of the Elim and have her taken to the harem’s infirmary. The strong Elim carried the ailing girl and Ana found herself alone this night, which was convenient. The girls were no longer guarded outside their rooms—now that almost a year had passed, they were free to move around
certain areas of the harem at night, without censure.

She toyed with the idea of going for a stroll but couldn’t risk not being here when Pez came as promised, so she remained in her chamber, staring out of the open shutters at the bright moonlight, waiting for his curious arrival. Her lids grew heavy, though, and ultimately she drifted off.

Ana’s peaceful slumber was disturbed by what sounded like flapping and when she rubbed some of the sleep from her eyes she realised she was staring at a magnificent snow owl, which was regarding her intently from her windowsill.

She was surprised into silence, awed by the majesty of the creature. Moving as slowly as she dared, Ana brought her feet to rest on the floor and then gradually stood, her gaze never leaving the owl, who was so still it could have been a statue.

It was that notion that startled her and made her whisper a single word. ‘Iridor,’ she breathed dreamily.

Before she could approach the owl, it changed before her sleepy eyes. She blinked, confused. Standing before her was Pez.

She laughed softly. ‘I…I was dreaming, Pez. I thought you were an owl.’ Ana rubbed her eyes again and yawned. ‘You were so beautiful.’

‘Was I? Good evening, Ana.’

‘You were Iridor—do you know who he is?’

‘He is the messenger of Lyana, the loyal companion of the Goddess.’

‘That’s right. You know your folklore.’

‘It’s not folklore.’

‘That makes it truth,’ she said jauntily, as though this were going to be one of their fun conversations.

Pez was in a more sombre frame of mind. ‘That’s right. It’s why I’m here tonight. We have things to discuss, child.’

She grew more serious, sensing his mood and knowing his falling out with Boaz would be troubling him. She reached for a gown to throw over her bare shoulders. ‘You left abruptly today. How are you feeling, Pez?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m feeling sad. I made an error today with the Zar and we can’t afford to do that.’

‘We?’

‘Ana…what you saw just now…’ He hesitated. This was not going to be easy.

‘The owl?’

‘Iridor,’ he confirmed. ‘That
was
me. I am him.’

She stared at the dwarf, eyes huge in the darkness illuminated softly by moonlight. Ana said nothing for what felt to Pez to be an interminable time. He knew she wasn’t shocked speechless—although he could forgive her if she had been. No, Ana was thinking; he could see it from her frown and her vague expression. Ana was putting something together in her mind and
so he waited anxiously for whatever her response would be.

It finally came. ‘And Ellyana the crone?’ It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear but before he could answer she answered her own question: ‘The crone forewarns the coming of the Goddess. But it begins with the rising of Iridor. The owl aligns himself with the woman who will be Lyana’s incarnation for the next battle…’ She trailed off, looking fearfully at Pez. It was as though the acceptance of him as Iridor was already complete in her mind. She had moved on to the greater problems.

‘How do you know this, Ana?’ he asked, feeling sure his instincts about this young woman were going to be right again, even though this time the reality frightened him.

‘I don’t know how,’ she replied, gaze still far away. ‘I just know things.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as the names of the stone statues of Percheron. All of them.’

‘They all originally served Lyana—do you know that?’

She nodded slowly. It struck Pez that she was scared now of what she knew. Perhaps like him she had tried to put it aside, deny it. He probed further. ‘They were real once, Ana. Beloch and Ezram once roamed Percheron. Likewise the winged lions, Crendel and Darso, as well as the
mightiest of them all, Shakar, the dragon. They all loved and served the Goddess.’

‘They were turned to stone by Zarab. She had no magic to counter his spell. He used a special magic, not of the gods.’

Pez felt a thrill of excitement. ‘That’s right. Someone helped him. A mortal.’

‘His name was Maliz,’ she answered and instantly refocused her stare on Pez. He felt the chill of it as she spoke the demon’s name. ‘He made a deal with the god. Give me immortality and I will deliver Lyana, was the promise from Maliz.’

‘Go on,’ he urged. He needed her to say it, to tell him everything, to confirm that his hunch was right.

‘The bargain was struck,’ she continued. ‘Maliz, a sorcerer, was given everlasting life to rise each time the Goddess tried to reimpose herself on mortals. Maliz returns time and again and each time he has won…but this time it may be different.’

Pez could hardly speak, he was holding his breath so tight at hearing such a startling statement. ‘Why is it different?’ he asked gently, not wanting to disturb the momentum of her telling of the tale.

‘The factors are the same. The crone identifies the new Iridor long before he rises. Maliz, who slumbers in any body he can claim, reawakens and has the spiritual freedom to roam until he senses
where Iridor will rise. He never knows who it will be—and everyone who is part of this eternal struggle is always different for each cycle. They have to find one another. Maliz chooses his next mortal body with care. It is the one he must live in and use to destroy Lyana.’ She paused, but, at Pez’s silent nodding, carried on with her story. ‘When Iridor finally assumes his role, it triggers the rising of Lyana, whose spirit emerges through a mortal.’

‘And so the principal players are complete,’ Pez said in conclusion.

‘Not this time,’ she reminded. ‘For this battle there is a newcomer.’

‘Who?’ he begged, aching for good news.

She shivered. ‘I don’t know. I have no sense of their name, whether it is a woman or a man, or even their purpose. Their role, however, will immeasurably change the very fabric of the struggle.’

Pez found himself holding his breath again but he knew it was his turn to give some explanation. ‘And so we know that Ellyana is the crone who began all of this. She recognised me. She came into the harem, masquerading as a bundle woman some time ago, Ana. She told me to work out who I was. And at the temple I had a vision of who I was—Zafira saw my hair turn white. It was an omen of who I was to become.’

Ana nodded sadly. ‘I should have guessed.’

Pez let her comment pass. She had already revealed much. ‘There were many clues,’ he began.

Ana interrupted him. ‘Beginning with Ellyana seeking me out in the bazaar.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I thought I was noticing her but she already knew me. She was selling a gold chain. Lazar saw it too.’ She faltered at mentioning his name; Pez heard it and felt assaulted by a fresh guilt. ‘When we stepped in to save her from a poor bargain with one of the alley cats she gave me the piece in her hand. It had turned into a gold owl. I recognised Iridor.’

Pez sighed. He dug into his pocket and pulled out that same small gold statue. ‘It found its way to me, Ana.’

She looked surprised. ‘How? I gave that to—’

‘Lazar, I know,’ he said, to save her having to say the name again. ‘He sent it to me.’

‘Before he died? How could he?’

Pez was stuck. He didn’t want to fabricate any more lies to this girl, especially if the truth spilled out under this pressure. He simply shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Another secret of the cycle of the war between gods, I suppose.’

She didn’t pursue it. Ana suddenly sounded maudlin to Pez when she stood. ‘Lazar was surprised that I knew the names of the statues.’

‘He was surprised by everything about you, Ana.’

‘Nothing surprised me about him. I loved that man.’ Now she sounded wistful, only marginally easier on Pez’s ears.

‘I know.’ And he hated that they were speaking of Lazar in the past tense. He wondered
if Ana would ever…could ever, forgive him for such a terrible lie.

‘Ana…’ he began gravely and she interrupted him.

‘I know what you’re going to say next, Pez.’ She looked terrified as she swung around to stare at him. ‘But it can’t be so.’

‘What am I going to say?’

‘You’re going to name Lyana.’

‘Then you do it,’ he urged. ‘You tell me her mortal incarnation.’

Ana held her face but she did not cry. She shook her head beneath her hands. ‘It cannot be.’

‘It is. You feel it. You know it. Ana, every time I have touched you I’ve felt the tingle of your magical being. I didn’t understand it at first. And then I became familiar with it, noticed it less. But when I became Iridor and lived with this knowledge of myself for several moons I
did
comprehend the strange sensation when I touched you. I realised it was not a magic so much as a force and it was a bond between us. I guessed who you were becoming. And I was frightened for you—I still am but this is why we’re together. This is why I will give my life as I always have before, to protect you. This time, Ana, my beloved Lyana…we will win.’

And now they both wept. Ana fled to Pez’s arms and despite having to crouch and despite his limbs being too short to wrap her fully in an embrace, they comforted each other with the
truth of who they were and the dangerous mission they now faced.

Ana finally pulled away. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’ And once again Pez was struck by how easily this young woman accepted the extraordinary. She had tried denying it, but in recognising the truth, Ana now acknowledged it.

‘What we have always done,’ Pez comforted. ‘We go on instinct now.’

Ana wiped her eyes. ‘Who else is on our side?’

‘No-one in the palace,’ he warned. ‘I’ve cautioned you before and I hope you’ll heed these words. No-one in the palace is your friend except me.’

‘Not even Boaz?’

He grimaced. ‘He certainly does not want my friendship any more. No, not even Boaz, because he is being influenced, and until the Zar begins to make all of his own decisions, I can’t trust him…and you definitely must not trust anyone.’

‘So we have no allies?’

‘Zafira,’ he said, wishing he could offer up the name he knew she still longed to hear. He hated Lazar in this moment for making him constantly face this situation, and promised himself the time was fast approaching for the truth to come out.

‘Jumo,’ she offered. ‘Wherever that poor man is.’

‘Ellyana, if she ever returns,’ he concluded.

‘Kett,’ she added.

‘Ah?’ Pez said, as though enlightenment had occurred. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I feel connected to him.’

‘The Raven,’ Pez said. ‘That’s what he called himself when he was barely conscious through his ordeal of being made a eunuch.’

‘Bringer of bad tidings,’ Ana added.

‘Or simply a messenger. We must work out how to bring Kett closer to us.’ Pez knew that the Raven always appeared after Iridor and before Lyana. Another servant of the Goddess, he was often referred to as the black bird of omen but he didn’t want to frighten Ana. Kett was definitely someone that Pez would have to watch and somehow find a way to bring closer to Ana. If what he suspected was right and Ana was the re-emerging Goddess, then she would need to receive whatever message Lyana had passed on through the Raven for her.

‘Well, without Boaz you have no pull in the palace any more. I must speak with the Zar. And perhaps I can help to mend this broken bond? It’s not right, Pez. He knows your secret. It’s dangerous.’

‘I know this,’ he said. ‘But I have taken steps.’

‘Steps?’

He found a smile. ‘Ask me no more right now. Just trust me.’

‘So what must I do?’

‘Live. Be Ana. That’s who you are. Continue life in the harem as it must be lived and the eternal struggle will take care of itself. I have no knowledge of how this unfolds, child. Each time
we are reborn as different people with only a vague memory of the struggle taking place, not how each played out. Each cycle is different in complexity, even though the outcome has been the same for so many battles.’

‘When was the last time?’

‘Centuries ago. So many in fact that it is no more than myth in the minds of most.’

‘So I go on our boating trip…’

‘And you stay out of the eagle eye of Salmeo and the Valide as best you can.’

‘That won’t be easy. Everyone seems to think the Zar is going to choose me.’

‘He will. It’s why you are here, Ana, but that’s irrelevant to your true reason for being.’

‘I feel like I’m just a vessel, with various uses,’ she said. Pez pursed his lips. She was right in this estimation of herself. ‘I just want to be myself. To discover things, to learn, and not to be someone’s slave.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’

‘You forget, I’ve been a slave to the palace for most of my life.’

‘But, Pez, you have freedom. You can go out if you want. And now…now you can fly. Where do you fly to?’

He so wanted to tell her. He could even feel the words queuing up to spill out of his mouth and reveal his secret destination. He fought them down. ‘I just fly,’ he said instead.

She sighed as if she, too, wished she could fly. ‘What about Maliz?’ she asked, surprising him by the turn in conversation. ‘If we know who we are, then surely he has known for some time that Iridor has risen.’