A Shout for the Dead (4 page)

The fountain was there in the left-hand corner of the room. In the pool, a carved wooden boat with a cloth sail on its mast scudded around in gentle circles. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth. The sail was filled with a breeze that chased the boat, propelling it in its course.

'Oh, darling, you can do it!' she said, kneeling and pulled him into a crushing hug.

The boat slowed and stopped, his concentration on it broken. 'Oh, Mother!'

'Kessian, I am so proud of you. I knew you could do it.' 'Happy birthday, Mother.'

She kissed his cheek and let him go. 'How did you do it?' 'Well, he needed a little help but it was there all along, just like you said.'

Mirron swung round on her haunches, having to steady herself against the marble side of the fountain pool. She'd forgotten there were others in the room. Actually, it was quite crowded with friends.

But the voice belonged to a man she hadn't seen in a year. She flew to her feet and into his embrace.

'Ardu! When did you get back? Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because your son got to me first and wanted to organise this surprise,' said Arducius. His eyes swam from green to a gentle warm blue.

'And then we thought we might as well have a joint birthday party.'

Another voice. Mirron almost burst into tears. She pushed Arducius away. Standing to his left was Ossacer. All three of them came together. Applause broke out.

'Happy birthday all of us,' said Mirron.

Her words were chorused around the room. Goblets were raised in salute.

'Twenty-four now,' said Ossacer. 'Getting on
...'

'Sometimes I feel twenty years older,' said Mirron.

'Well you look ten years younger,' said Arducius.

'Liar.' She shook her head and stepped back so she could see them both, looking tired but wonderful in white togas slashed with deep Ascendancy red, Ossacer with his hair cut short and Arducius who sported long, slightly wavy dark locks these days. 'Neither of you is supposed to be here until solastro. It's been lonely without you.'

'Never miss a birthday,' said Ossacer.

Mirron smiled at him. He was studying her closely, his sightless eyes flickering up and down her body, irises a chaotic rush of colour. It was disconcerting if you weren't used to it. But Mirron, Ossacer and Arducius had been together almost every day for the first twenty years of their lives. Ossacer was examining her energy map and lifelines in the way only he could, trying to discern the emotions underpinning her words.

Mirron didn't need to look inside Ossacer to understand his mood. He was unhappy and he was anxious. It was written on his face and in the way he held himself. That little stoop and the rounding of the shoulders as if he had been given something too heavy to carry.

'Come on, Ossie, think I buy that even for one moment?'

Ossacer shrugged. 'Well, you know, we were just passing through
...'

'No one passes through here from Morasia to Westfallen,' said Mirron. 'But I couldn't be happier you're here, today of all days. See what my son can do?'

‘I
saw the trails,' said Ossacer. 'Very impressive in a ten-year-old. Glad he's coming into his potential so soon. Still, I shouldn't be surprised by the talents of the offspring of Mirron and
...
well, you know.'

Mirron nodded and looked round at Kessian. He was playing with his boat, sending it in a figure-of-eight with the breeze he created. Hesther Naravny, Mother of the Ascendancy, was looking over his shoulder, encouraging him. Others were watching too, along with a couple of the teenage Ascendants. The room was breaking up into small groups to talk and drink, or try snacks from the serving platters set around. Much of the Ascendancy project hierarchy was here, testament to the reverence in which Mirron was held. In which all three of the original Ascendants were held.

Kessian could feel her eyes on him and he turned round, favouring her with a huge smile. Mirron smiled back but behind her expression, she felt the pain that would never truly die. Those gorgeous blue eyes and that mass of curly blond hair. So much like Gorian.

'At least that's where the similarity ends,' whispered Ossacer into her ear.

Mirron let go a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. 'I'll never work out how you do that.'

'It's quite simple, dear Mirron. Be blind most of your life. It gives you such an uncluttered perspective on the nuances of energy.'

Even when he tried to joke, Ossacer managed to sound serious and analytical.

Mirron turned to face him. 'What is it, Ossie?'

'What do you mean?' Ossacer looked at the floor.

'Like I don't know something's amiss? You and Ardu show up here unannounced from your duties in the west. I know it's our birthday but I can't imagine the Advocate agreeing that you break off your tour for a party, can you?'

'Just enjoy it,' said Arducius. 'It's a beautiful genastro day in Estorr, the Advocate is paying for the wine and we've brought back some fantastic potential for you and Hesther to meet. And taken from beneath that lovely snarl the Chancellor has when she gets beaten.'

'She was there?'

'Like always,' said Arducius.

'And is there nothing we can do about it?' asked Mirron. Arducius shook his head. 'The Advocate won't change the law. And anyway, it isn't the Order who is at fault, it's just her and her cronies. We have to persuade people of our faith through demonstration and understanding. We need acceptance, not religious conflict.'

Mirron chewed her lip, worry nagging at her mind. 'One day you won't be able to talk your way out of it. What then? We know the Chancellor would use force, given the merest opportunity. I can't bear the thought of you two getting burned in some far-flung corner because you've spoken out of turn.'

Arducius spread his hands. 'What else can we do? This is the only way to get the message across. And look at the hundreds we've taken from self-imposed repression. People who thought they were freaks and who lived in fear of the Order can now walk in daylight with confidence.'

'That's still a naive vision, Ardu,' said Mirron. 'Maybe they can here on the Hill, but there are parts of Estorr where we still can't go without protection, and this is the capital city for God's sake. It doesn't matter what the Advocate says and what she decrees. At best, most people are wary of us. And out in the wilds most of them still hate us. The Order still represents the Advocate and we are still a splinter faith, no matter what we believe.'

'It changes nothing,' said Arducius. 'We have to spread our message. Like the Order did in centuries gone by. It has its risks but if we don't do it now, our future generations will be no further forward. What would you have us do?'

Mirron shook her head. 'Oh, I don't know. Just be careful. Don't provoke the Chancellor. And don't deny that's what you do. I've seen you at it.'

Arducius laughed and kissed her cheek. 'Come on, let's mingle. Relax for a change. You worry too much.'

'With good reason.' She accepted the goblet Arducius took from a tray for her and drank. 'And don't think I won't find out the real reason you've shown up here today.'

'I know that you will,' said Arducius and for a moment, his sparkle dimmed. 'Please, it has to be later.'

Mirron nodded and turned to her son and Hesther, trying hard not to think about it.

Roberto Del Aglios, eldest son of the Advocate, and the first Conquord Ambassador to the closed nation of Sirrane, felt energised and far younger than his forty-eight years today. Season upon season, year upon year of difficult, delicate and frustrating negotiations and at last, in his hand he held a Sirranean government signature.

It was short of full alliance but it was an agreement to closer ties, to an exchange of technologies and to a broad range of commodity quotas that would benefit territories across the Conquord. And more important than all of these, it was an agreement to share information on Tsard to the south, Omari to the west and the vast desert and plain kingdom of Garanth to the north of Sirrane. The once-blind now had eyes everywhere.

Roberto waited until they stepped outside the Sirrankjor, the seat of the government in this extraordinary country, before letting himself go and embracing Gesteris. The two men slapped each other's backs.

'This,' said Roberto, breaking away. 'Is going to make the Conquord great once more. Just think what this does for Gosland, for Dornos
...'

'It strengthens your mother's hand in every corner of the Conquord.'

Roberto looked at his companion. Senator Marcus Gesteris, hero of the Conquord. The man who hel
d the Tsardon at bay on the Ner
atharnese border until Roberto himself came to relieve him in the defining battle of the 848th cycle in the war with Tsard. A great soldier and a clever diplomat. There were few that did not recognise and respect the one-eyed general with the signature scar down the right-hand side of his face. It still flared red in cold weather and the eye socket remained a constant irritation.

'I cannot thank you enough. So long away from your family.'

'It is an honour and a pleasure to serve,' said Gesteris. 'But there is more to do. Our intelligence from Tsard suggests they are arming again. It might be in response to our retaking of Atreska and the buildup of legions in the border states but I don't think so. We need Sirrane's help militarily. They have such strength should they choose to use it.'

'Interesting, isn't it?' said Roberto. 'And in Conquord history, they have never chosen to invade anywhere. No desire for expansion.'

Gesteris chuckled. 'Hard to credit when you're a Conquord citizen, eh? But think about it. How many people have we seen. How much of the country have they let us see? It could be empty. Maybe the talk of strength here is just that.'

'I very much doubt that. What is it really, do you think?'

'Well, no doubt part of it is in their psyche. They aren't a united people and that will undermine any thought of invasion. This is a country ruled by consent, not declaration. But more than that, and laugh if you want, I think they're a race of agoraphobics. Very unhappy out of the shade of trees. Take the city. No parks, no big open spaces.'

'You know, you might be right,' said Roberto. 'If it wasn't for the spires.'

'No. They're safe because they are protected. The spires are enclosed and they are blessed, so I understand.'

Roberto looked around him at the stunning and extraordinary capital city of Mytarinos, which translated roughly as 'meeting place'. It was a city of low domes and towering spires; tree-lined streets and walled woods; covered markets and secluded glades. The predominant colours were those of the forest, greens, browns and reds.

The trees, so the Sirranean saying went, were the roof of the world. And to pierce the roof was to toy with the power of the sky. Not that it meant they were scared of the heavens. The highest spires soared hundreds of feet above the tallest tree and were monuments to engineering excellence. They were places for solitude and reflection, to bask in the glories of the world above the roof, to offer respect and worship to the myriad gods the Sirraneans followed and, with typical Sirranean practicality, to monitor the weather.

Roberto hadn't considered it before. The Sirraneans were an eclectic mix, happy to live in sprawling low houses that seldom reached above two storeys but equally comfortable in their swaying spires or the upper boughs of their trees. He had never seen climbing like it. Nor camouflage. Nor the breathtaking acrobatics they undertook to get from tree to tree. Fearless. You could easily see why they had never suffered serious threat from invasion. No conventional army could hope to counter them, short of felling or burning every tree. And getting close enough to wield the axe would be a task in itself.

And yet Gesteris had nailed it. On their journey through the vast forests, studded with stunning mountain ranges, broad lakes and impenetrable valleys and gorges, the Sirraneans had been uncomfortable the few times they had been forced to cross open spaces.

'I'm right, I promise,' said Gesteris. 'Look.'

Their translator, Tarenaq, had just emerged from the building along with Huatl a senior member of her delegation. As they emerged into sunlight, they made a brief gesture, passing their hands across their eyes and over their heads.

'The Omniscient save me, I had assumed they were waving away flies.'

Gesteris chuckled. 'Sometimes they probably are. I swear some of these bites will leave permanent scars.'

'Marcus, your minute observation has embarrassed me again.' 'Don't be down on yourself. It's a rare enough gesture.' 'Superstition?'