Echoes of the Great Song (11 page)

“We will not be able to stop them, sir,” said Cation.

“Not once they march,” agreed the General. “Now, what progress has been made in tracking down those responsible for the killing of Questor Baliel?”

“We are still gathering information, sir. But there has been much talk in Egaru concerning a group calling themselves Pajists, which in the old Vagar tongue means—”

“I know what it means. Assassins.”

“Indeed, sir. We have many informers, and they have all been instructed to gather information about the group. However, though there is much talk, there is little evidence so far.”

“I have read the reports,” said Rael. “Two of your best informers have died recently. Is that not so?”

“Yes, sir. What is your point? Both were accidents. Several witnesses saw the first leaving a tavern drunk. He fell from the wharf and drowned. The second was a blacksmith. He was kicked in the head by a horse. Witnesses observed the accident.”

“Bring in the witnesses and question them under duress,” ordered Rael.

“For what purpose, sir?”

“Cation, you are a blood relative, and I love you dearly. But you do not
think
. The drunk would have had to walk two miles to the docks in order to fall into the sea. His home was in the opposite direction. Even assuming he had staggered for two miles do you not think he would have sobered sufficiently to avoid such a fall? And what was he doing at the docks at midnight? The gates are locked. Are you suggesting the drunken man walked two miles out of his way, then climbed a gate, with the express purpose of hurling himself into the sea? As to the blacksmith, the back of his skull was caved in. How many blacksmiths do you know who would approach a horse backwards?”

“I see, sir. I am sorry. I have been remiss.”

“Indeed you have. Both men were murdered. First bring in the witnesses to the blacksmith’s death. When you have questioned them for several hours, keeping them from sleep, send for me. I will conclude the examinations.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dismissing Cation he walked back along the wall, down a circular stairwell and out into the compound. Soldiers were training here under the watchful eyes of their Avatar officers. As he passed, the Vagar soldiers saluted.

Questor General Rael entered the officers’ section, passed through the empty halls and climbed to his study on the third floor. Once there he sat at his desk, swinging the chair so that he could look out of the window and see the distant mountains.

Today there had been two surprises, one curious, one joyful.

For the moment he concentrated on the joyful. One of Questor Anu’s acolytes had brought him news of the
success of the southern expedition. They had replenished four chests and were on their way home. They should arrive within two weeks.

Rael had expressed his thanks and his best wishes to Anu. The acolyte bowed.

“You may express your thanks in person, my lord, for Questor Anu asked me to invite you to his home. At noon, if it is convenient.”

This was the second surprise. Anu, the Holy One, had withdrawn from public life more than thirty years before. It was, he said, his intention to age and die. He had given his crystals to Rael and retired to his home on the hill above the bay. His decision affected his popularity among the Avatar. He was the Savior, the one Avatar to predict the fall of the world. He had convinced more than 200 people to join him on a trek to the north, leading them over rugged plains and barren mountains, across deserts and valleys, arriving at last at the gates of Pagaru, the first of the five cities. There were only sixty other Avatars this far north, and they greeted the arriving column with cold courtesy.

The following day the earth had tilted and the sun had risen in the west.

Anu’s prediction had been correct, and he had become the Holy One. But his decision to age and die was obscene. No Avatar would even consider such a course. The full Council of Questors voted to place him under house arrest in order to prevent Vagars from witnessing the grotesque deterioration of a supreme being. The five cities contained more than 200,000 Vagars. They were controlled by a mere 570 Avatars. The Questors feared that if Anu was seen to age like any mortal the Vagars would cease to hold them in such awe. Avatar soldiers now guarded the exits, and all of Anu’s Vagar servants had been taken away.

He was attended now by three Avatar acolytes, and had not been in contact with any on the Council since that day thirty years ago.

Now he requested the presence of Rael.

The Questor General left his office and moved through to his apartments. A Vagar servant bowed as he entered, and informed him that the Lady Mirani was in the roof garden. Rael climbed the circular stair and emerged into the sunshine. The garden had been designed by Viruk twenty years before, and the air was heavy with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. Mirani was sitting in the shade of an arched trellis, that was adorned by a climbing multi-colored rose of yellow, red and white. Rael paused and took in a deep breath. Even after a hundred years he found Mirani’s beauty intoxicating. Her long, fair hair, dyed blue at the temples, was tied back now with a white ribbon, and she was leaning forward, paintbrush in hand, adding delicate touches to a newly shaped pottery vase. A touch of blue paint had marked the skin of her cheek. Rael felt the burden of responsibility lift from him. He was a man again. Sensing his presence, she turned and smiled.

“What do you think?” she asked him, pointing to the vase.

“It is beautiful,” he said.

“You haven’t looked at it.” Moving across the garden he knelt by her side. The vase was tall and slim necked, and Mirani had painted exquisite female figures all around it. They were running and laughing. “The Maidens of Contar,” she explained. “You remember the myth? They heard the enchanted music of Varabidis, and left their homes to seek him on the mountain.”

“As I said, it is beautiful. But where is Varabidis? Should he not be present?”

“They did not want him, they wanted his music.” Mirani leaned back. “What brings you home so early?”

He told her about the summons from Anu. “Perhaps the Holy One has repented of his decision to die and wishes to join the Council once more,” he concluded.

“I do not think so,” said Mirani. “Anu is not a fickle man.”

“I do not wish to see him withered and ancient. The thought is obscene.”

Mirani shook her head. “You see old people all the time, Rael. If Anu has called for you then the matter is of importance. As I said, he is not fickle, and he certainly is not frivolous. Perhaps he has experienced another vision. You must go to him.”

“I know.” Taking a cloth he wiped the blue smear from her cheek. “You should return to the Council,” he said. “You are ten times wiser than Caprishan.”

“I no longer have any interest in politics.”

“That is something I have never understood.”

She smiled. “The moment you do you will walk away as I did.”

“You think what I do has no merit?”

“Not at all. Society will always need to be governed. But here is a question for you, my dear. What does a normal man desire?”

“A family, a home, children. Enough food on the table. Health and a little wealth,” he said.

“Exactly. And when a man has these things, but desires to control—as a councillor—the lives of others, that makes him abnormal. A man who seeks to rule
everyone
must necessarily be extremely abnormal. It could be argued that such a desire to rule should disqualify any applicant.”

Rael laughed. “In that case you are the perfect councillor, since you have no desire to be one.”

Her smile faded. “Perhaps. But I served for sixty years, Rael, and I saw too much. Now go and see Anu. Give him my love.”

•  •  •

On his favorite gray gelding the Questor General rode through the Park of the West, and up over the clifftops. There was a cool breeze coming from the sea, and the smell of salt was strong in the air. He rode down through the small wood and onto the paved road that led down to the docks. Then he cut to the right, guiding the gray up along the unpaved trail until he reached the wrought-iron gates of Anu’s home. Two Avatar soldiers saluted as he dismounted. Leaving his horse with them he strolled through the grounds and was met by the same acolyte who had brought the message. This man, his head shaved, but his beard dyed blue, led him through the house and up to a small library on the first floor. Heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, shutting out all natural light, and the room was lit by three glowing lanterns. Anu was sitting in a deep leather chair, an open scroll upon his lap. He was asleep, but woke as the acolyte gently touched his shoulder. “Ah, Rael,” said the old man, running his bony fingers through his white, shoulder-length hair. “Welcome to my home.”

Rael found Anu’s appearance sickening. The old man’s skin was dry and flaking, like a lizard left in the sun. His neck scrawny, fleshless and withered. Rael kept his disgust from his face and sat down opposite the frail old man. “Why are you putting yourself through this?” asked Rael.

The ancient face broke into a smile. “Why are you not?” he asked.

Rael shook his head. There was no point in arguing. That had all been done years ago. “Shall I draw back the curtains? It is a glorious day.”

“No, Rael. I like the gloom.” He settled back and closed his eyes again.

“You wished to see me,” said Rael, holding his temper.

Anu’s eyes snapped open. “I am sorry. One of the penalties of age, you know. Ah, of course, you
don’t
know. Anyway … You have four full chests, Rael. They will be the last. A volcanic eruption has destroyed the line.”

“Four will give us a few years. Much may happen in that time.”

“Indeed it certainly will.” The old man’s eyes closed and, for a moment, Rael thought him to be sleeping. Then he spoke again. “We lose much, Rael, by being ever-young.”

“And what is that?”

“Flexibility. Understanding. Perspective. The physical frailties are many, but they are assuaged by a wealth of insights. All living things in nature grow, die and are reborn. Even the earth, as we have so painfully witnessed. Not so the Avatar. We have forgotten how to grow, Rael. To adapt and change. We are what we were a thousand years ago. Perhaps not even that. A thousand years ago the Avatar Prime and I designed the White Pyramid. It was a wonder, a work of genius from among a gifted people. What new inventions can we boast from the last two hundred years? What strides have we made? We are frozen in time, Rael, and we exist as merely echoes of a great song.”

“All that you say may be correct, though I doubt it,” said Rael, “but do you think that by aging and dying we would improve? And even if that were true, how many would accept it? I, for one, would not. I like being young and strong.”

“The crystals were the blessing that became a curse,” said Anu sadly. “But I have learned much in these last years.” The old man smiled. “Once I stopped using the
crystals my visions became sharper. I see much now that was hidden from me.”

“Is that why you wished to see me?”

“In part, Rael. Would you fetch me some water?” The Questor General rose and moved to a slender table crafted from bronze in the shape of a bush with golden leaves. Upon the bronze leaves lay a long, rectangular slab of blue-stained glass and upon this a clay pitcher and two golden goblets.

Rael chuckled. “The gold looks incongruous against the clay,” he said. “I shall send you a more suitable pitcher.”

“It is suitable,” said Anu, accepting a goblet of water with a trembling hand. “It reminds me that no matter how great our wealth the source of all life comes from the humble earth.”

“Always the teacher,” said Rael amiably, seating himself once more opposite the old man.

“It is my nature,” agreed Anu.

“And you are a great teacher, my old friend. Without you the empire would have died. We should have listened to your teachings.”

“You still should, Rael. But that is a debate for another day. I want you to give me one of the chests.”

The request surprised Rael. “For what purpose?”

“I shall build a new pyramid, to almost the same specifications as that of the Avatar Prime.”

Rael remained silent. The ramifications of the offer were enormous. Such a pyramid would ensure the rule of the Avatars for the next thousand years. “How can you do this? The Music is gone. How will you fashion twenty-ton blocks and move them? And if you find a way to do that, how will you raise them into place? It is impossible.”

“The Music is not lost, Rael,” the old man told
him. The words were spoken simply and without arrogance.

“Show me!” whispered the General. From the pocket of his cavernous gown Anu drew forth a small flute. Pushing himself to his feet he stood before Rael. “Drop to your knees and extend your right hand,” he told him. Rael did so. Anu lifted the flute to his lips and began to blow a series of notes, soft as an autumn wind through the grass, light as down, sweet as the first bird call of spring. For a moment only, Rael became lost in the music, and then he saw Anu step onto his outstretched hand. He tensed, expecting the old man’s foot to stamp on his fingers, driving them into the floor. Instead his hand did not move, and the ancient Questor levered himself up to balance on Rael’s palm. The music died away.

“Rise, Rael,” said Questor Anu. “Lift me to the ceiling.”

Rael rose easily, raising his arm as if it carried no more than a feather. He could feel no weight at all from the old man. “Now bring me down,” said Anu. “Lower me to my chair.”

Rael lowered his hand, then took hold of Anu’s bony arm and watched him float gently into the wide armchair.

“Why did you not tell us?” asked Rael.

“What purpose would it have achieved? I wanted other Avatars to pursue the ancient knowledge—to master it. To prove to me there was a future for our race. But none have come forward. Save perhaps Ro, and he is too rooted in the past to stretch his hand towards the future.”

“But you could have taught us!” said Rael, torn between feelings of awe and exasperation. “These have been difficult years for us. With your powers we could have achieved so much more.”