Threshold (17 page)

I shook my head, not wanting to forgive him.

You do not have to forgive him, Tirzah. That is something he will have to seek from you himself. But listen to us. Listen. There is hope for the Elemental within that cruel hoax that calls itself Magus. Has he not hidden himself from Threshold? Has he not kept the Song of the Frogs alive in his heart for years and years? Tirzah, you must work to help him accept his true heritage. He’s struggling within himself now, screaming for help. Be the one to give it to him. Help him. And you know as we do that there is only one person he will let help him. You.

The Magus is too powerful…

You must find a way, Tirzah. Do all you can. Be there. Go back when he calls you. Finish the goblet and give it to him.

He destroyed the other glass.

Then we must hope that he will not destroy this one. Tirzah, do this for us. Help him, for he is the only one who can destroy Threshold – and we do not believe any of you yet realise what a terrible thing Threshold will eventually become. Help him. Soothe him, hold him, love him. Promise us this. Promise.

Yes, I promise.

I cried for a long time, then I grew sick of my tears and resolved to weep no more. I sighed and walked through the workshop, up the stairs, and sat down at the work table with Zeldon and Orteas.

Lifting a sanding strip, I sat for the five hours it took me to finish the goblet.

Zeldon’s and Orteas’ eyes widened at the sight of the glass, but they did not speak, and neither did I.

I
DID
not see Boaz for several weeks, which did not surprise me. He had revealed so much, so dangerously, that he would not call me again until he felt in full control. Until the Magus felt invulnerable.

But I was alive, and continued to live, and for that I suppose I was grateful.

My injuries healed as best they could, although when I pressed with my fingers all I could feel of my womb was a hard lump instead of soft, pliant flesh. I wondered if the Soulenai were right in saying that one day I would bear children, but all I could do for now was hope.

I did not tell Isphet or anyone else of what the Soulenai had told me. To do so I would have to reveal all, and I was locked too deeply into my secrets now to let a single one go. Besides, I wanted time to think. I wanted to see Boaz again. Be sure.

I went back to work with the glass, often helping out with the mixing and firing of the blue-green plate glass, as much of the work for the Infinity Chamber had gone to Izzali’s workshop. Soon we would begin the capstone. And then Threshold would be all but finished.

The plating now spread down the eastern face. Early one morning I went with Yaqob and a worker called Fust
to help with a particularly difficult section of the glass. It would be my first time on the glass face, and I was a little nervous. But I wanted to go. The kindness of those within the workshop was stifling me.

Yaqob was cautious, but I was agile enough, and not afraid of heights, and he would be there to help me. And it would be nice to have some time together. Boaz confused me, and Yaqob was so straightforward. He had no hidden depths to tug at my own soul.

It was a lovely morning. As we used the ropes hanging from the peak to pull ourselves up, I laughed at Yaqob’s jesting and at the middle-aged Fust’s panting behind me. Even Threshold’s danger seemed mute, distant. We climbed to a spot two-thirds of the way up the face, and as we finally eased ourselves into a safe position, waiting for the glass to be winched up to us, I looked out over the landscape.

It stunned me. I hadn’t realised I would be able to see so much. Neither did I realise it would be so beautiful.

To the east the great Lhyl River wound its serpentine way through the land, green reed banks lining its path, irrigated fields and gardens stretching out about half a league on either side. Beyond them stretched league after league of desert, patched here and there with a stand of date palms about a spring or well. Far distant I thought I saw a slow caravan wending its way north. I wondered if it carried slaves, or more inanimate cargo. I returned my gaze to the river. Several graceful river boats plied south along its waters. The Lhyl was a wonderful gift to give the land, I thought. No wonder the frogs had sung for the Soulenai.

“Look,” Yaqob said, and pointed north. There lay a smudge on the horizon, a distant haze. Setkoth. Closer than I’d thought, but still a good half day’s travel by river boat.

To the immediate east and south of us lay Gesholme. It looked even uglier from above than it did from within. To
the south-west, hidden by Threshold at my back, lay the compound of the Magi. It made me think of Boaz, and then Yaqob nudged me.

He pointed down this time. Far below, their forms puppet-like, a group of workers fastened plate glass to the ropes that would be used to haul them upward. Beside them were several Magi, Boaz among them.

I shouldn’t have been able to distinguish him from this height, for his clothing and head of black hair were virtually identical to the other Magi about him. But his movements were so familiar, the sweep of his hand, the way he shifted his weight from hip to hip, that I knew it was him.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again.

“Boaz?” Yaqob asked softly at my side.

“Yes, to the left. See?”

“He spoils the beauty of the morning, Tirzah.”

I nodded, opened my mouth to say something, then there was a shout above us, and all thought turned to the glass that fellow slaves were now hauling upwards.

The glass climbed ever higher, and we made ready to receive it, securing our feet in their notches.

Threshold’s shadow winked.

It was so brief, but I was sure. I felt it in the pit of my stomach as well as saw it, and I knew.

“Yaqob!” I cried, terrified, and he wrapped his arms about me as tight as he could – as if that could save me had I been chosen. He, too, had seen and felt what I had.

Who?

The glass sliding upwards passed over the mouth of one of the shafts. As it did so there was a burst – an
explosion
– of heat and light from the mouth…and the massive plate of glass melted.

Melted into the vicious black substance I had seen coat the walls and ceiling of the corridor that had cooked the five.

Seven. But who?

Mostly the poor men who slaved below to haul the glass skyward, and one donkey-handler standing close to them.

Great gobs of molten glass poured down and spattered the men.

They took agonising minutes to die, and I think Threshold had planned it that way. The glass seared great chunks off their skin and flesh. One man had his face eaten away, another half his chest. Another yet lost the flesh off his arms, and ran screaming about the compound, waving the blackened stick-like objects about. Apologetic whiffs of smoke drifted from them.

I leaned in against Yaqob and hid my face, and he held me tight until the screams and howls had been silenced.

Only then I dared look down again.

Boaz was staring up at me.

I was shaking, and could do no work. No-one could, the day’s glass had been destroyed and more would have to be transported to the site.

By the time we got down Boaz had gone.

Yaqob saw a tall, athletic man of early middle age in the crowd of labourers milling about the compound, and he gave a slight nod of his head.

The man responded and disappeared into the throng. Yaqob, Fust and I walked silently back to the workshop.

The athletic man joined us there in the mid-afternoon when the fuss had died down.

His name was Azam, and he was the one who Yaqob now depended on to bring the labourers behind his plan for revolt. Azam was a striking man, keen eyes, aquiline face, greying hair. I thought he looked anything but a labourer, and wondered if he had been born into slavery or had been subjected to it through misfortune.

Again we met in the upper room.

“Threshold has worked in our favour this time,” Azam said.

“How so?” Yaqob asked.

“Among the labourers there grows the sense that they are just fodder for Threshold’s appetite,” Azam said. “I have spread the word about the incomposite numbers, about how they grow into Infinity itself and how all of us, eventually, will die. Yaqob, almost to a man, they are now committed to you. Even if Threshold takes me, they will still follow. They know that if we revolt many will die, but they also know that many will escape, and that is enough.”

“Azam, that is good news.”

“And I have even better, Yaqob.”

“Yes?”

“Last night one of my men discovered a site where the guards store spare weapons.”

“Azam!” Yaqob leaned forward. “Tell me!”

As Azam described the location of the weapons, I watched the faces about me. They had lost all suspicion of me since Boaz had abused me so badly, and now did not hesitate to talk before me.

And yet if only they knew what secrets I held.

I longed to tell them that Boaz had been born an Elemental Necromancer, and that he hid a kinder face behind that of the Magus, but they would have regarded me with astonishment which would have rapidly deepened into suspicion. None but I had ever seen what the deception of the Magus hid, and they would never, never, believe that he was a Necromancer. Has poor Tirzah fallen in love with her captor, they would wonder, and then say that such a thing is not unknown.

And if she has, then will she betray us to him? Then they would be silent and distrustful of me, and that was the last thing I wanted.

If Boaz
could
be persuaded to accept his Elemental heritage, then surely I’d be able to persuade him before
Yaqob’s plans for revolt ripened into action. And then he could help us. We could all escape together, and no-one need lose their lives.

If Boaz could
not
be persuaded before Yaqob led his revolt, if the Magus remained in tight control, then he would be a hopeless case, and I would tell the Soulenai so. And we would flee into the night and into freedom without him.

Whatever, I wanted to know what Yaqob was up to. I wanted to know when and how he planned to launch his strike. I would never betray him or any of my friends to Boaz, never that,
never.
But I hated to think that they might murder Boaz when I was within days of persuading him to help us.

That would be…a shame.

“Tirzah?”

I jumped, so absorbed in my thoughts I’d lost track of the conversation. Isphet.

“Tirzah, all of us hate to ask this, you know we do, but do you think Boaz will call you back?”

Again I wondered if all they wanted me for was to collect information for them. Then I dismissed the ungracious thought. Boaz had ignored me these past weeks, and all – Isphet and Yaqob more than most – had been kind and generous to me.

“Sooner or later, yes. He said he would.” I sighed. “It’s just that I displeased him so greatly the last time I was there…”

Yaqob’s arm was about me again. “One weapons cache is not enough, and it is too well guarded at the moment for us to have a real chance at it. Tirzah, you know how desperate we are for weapons. If only you could find out where other caches are, and the number of guards that patrol them. If we had more weapons, we would have a real chance. A
real
chance.”

“I know, Yaqob.”

“Well.” Isphet smiled. “We mustn’t stand about here idle all day. Azam, take care that you’re not seen on your way back.”

He nodded and left quietly.

“Yaqob, Tirzah. I wonder if you could collect some more potash from Izzali’s workshop?” She smiled at us. “There is no need to rush. Take your time.”

We took our time. Yaqob led me to one of our favourite haunts, a small space used for the storage of water urns and in a relatively isolated alley. He drew the canvas across the opening, then pulled me into his arms.

“Tirzah, it has been so long.” His voice was rough with desire, and I tried to relax. It had been several months since Boaz had first called me to his quarters, and Yaqob had not made love to me in that entire time. Perhaps it was only now that he trusted me, was sure of me, perhaps that was all he needed to regain his desire.

He pressed me hard against a wall, pulling my wrap down, his hands at my breasts, my back, my buttocks, his mouth hard, demanding.

I tried to relax – had I not let him do this countless times before? But I was tense and uncomfortable, and Yaqob was not yet so consumed by his desire he could not feel it.

“Shush, love, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you. Come on now, relax, relax.”

I tried, gods know I tried, but when he pulled me down to the floor and settled his weight upon me, I cried out and tried to push him away.

“No, Tirzah, it’s too late,” he said. “I can’t stop now. Please, let me…”

But this time I was not prepared to put up with the discomfort and the indignity of the dirt any more. With the last of my strength I managed to roll away from him.

“Yaqob, I’m sorry…but it hurts…it hurts…”

He grabbed me again, rolling me back, and I thought he would force me. “You said the pain had all gone. That you were healed.”

“Yes, but I didn’t realise…until I felt you…Yaqob, please, it hurt me.”

He cursed and rolled completely away, sitting with his back to me. After a long time he spoke over his shoulder. “Tirzah, I’m sorry. But I thought –”

“It’s Boaz,” I said, “it’s what he did to me.”

Yaqob sighed and helped me up. Thinking he understood what I meant. “When he’s dead it won’t matter,” he said. “It won’t hurt then.”

That night Boaz sent for me. I was half expecting it, for Threshold had frightened everyone that day, and the Magus would surely be feeling in total control.

But it was late, and our quarters were asleep when the guard banged at the door.

“Open!” he cried as Isphet sleepily made her way to the door. “Open up!”

“Yes?”

One day, I thought, I will master that imperious “Yes?”.

I was up and halfway into my dress by the time Isphet came for me. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Be careful, Tirzah. Be very careful.”

I returned her kiss and paused long enough to give her a quick hug. “Thank you, Isphet,” and then I was gone.

Outside in the still night air the nerves struck. My stomach churned, and I had to clutch my arms about me to keep them from trembling.

“What’s wrong?” Kiamet asked.

“Nothing. The night air. It’s cold.”

“He’s in a bad mood. Be careful.”

I stared at him, wondering at his kindness. I also wondered how much he’d seen and heard from his silent post on the verandah.

Kiamet didn’t say anything else, and delivered me to Boaz’s residence.

Again I shivered, hesitated, then walked to the rectangle of light.

“Excellency?”

“Enter.”

I went in, bowed, then collected the pitcher and water and washed his hands and feet. He was silent, staring. I kept my eyes down, my breathing as gentle as I cold, and hoped that I would not rattle the pottery or spill the water. I sensed he was waiting for a slip – any slip.

I did not give it to him, and eventually he handed me the oil to massage in.

The fragrance was soothing, but I did not let it relax me.

He took the phial back, put it on the desk. “Get up.”

I rose.

He stared at me, so fully the Magus I could feel as well as see the power of the One radiating from him. “Have you learned your place?”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Good. Then take off your dress and wait for me in the bed. I shall join you shortly.”