Echoes of the Great Song (45 page)

“I put it to this gathering that we reject the Almecs’ offer.”

The audience sat in stunned silence as he returned to his seat.

Rael returned to his place in the center. “My thanks to my esteemed cousins. It is left now for me to speak as the Questor General. We have, through these past decades,
managed to convince ourselves that the Vagars are sub-humans and natural slaves for us. We have seen ourselves as benevolent parents, overseeing a land peopled by unruly children. The first point, as I have come to realize during these past days, is a fallacy. The second is a conceit. But it is that second point on which I would like to dwell. If we are, indeed, benevolent parents, then do we allow our children to be slaughtered? I think not.

“Despite their knowledge and their advanced civilization the Almecs have descended into evil. They do not see themselves in this light, I am sure. But that is what they are, nonetheless. To join with them would be to embrace that evil, to accept its validity in our lives. I cannot in all conscience consider such an action. It is my intention to fight them, and to defeat them. If this gathering votes to join with the Almecs I shall renounce my Avatar heritage, surrender my crystals and fight alongside the Vagars.” He fell silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. “This gathering is suspended for three hours to allow you all to discuss the matter among yourselves. We will assemble again at midnight and a vote will be taken.

“In the meantime would those among you who remain soldiers of the empire walk with me to the Museum armory.”

One hundred and twelve Avatars rose from their seats. Mirani moved to stand beside him. Taking his arm she said, “I am so proud of you, Rael. I have never loved you more than I do at this moment.”

Leaning down he kissed her. “As long as you are beside me I fear nothing,” he said.

“Then that is where I will always be,” she promised.

The armory was a dank cold place, windowless and deserted. Dust-laden cobwebs hung on the arches and
upon the suits of armor flanking the grey walls. Dust was also heavy in the air as Rael led his soldiers down into the depths of the building. Lanterns had been lit in the stairwells and in the armory itself, and the silver armor on display glittered in the dull red light.

“These battle suits were once worn by the royal guards of the Avatar Prime,” said the Questor General. “They were crafted two thousand years ago and last used in the Crystal Wars.” Viruk strode to the nearest suit of armor. It had been set upon a wooden frame, the silver-winged helm perched on the top. Lifting the helm clear he brushed away the webs and examined it. It was lighter than he expected and crafted from a metal unknown to him. It had a curved visor that slid down to shield a warrior’s face and a long, curved neck guard at the base. The breastplate was created using bands of silver over a leather undershirt, and thigh guards and greaves were fashioned over leather leggings.

“They are too bulky for the men to wear,” Viruk said.

“I was not intending them for use in defense,” Rael told him. The Questor General climbed to a table and turned back towards the gathered men. “The Almecs’ superiority rests in their thunder clubs and the tubes which unleash the fireballs. We know that they are powered by black dust. Great amounts of it. If we can destroy that power source then the Vagars will merely be facing eight thousand warriors with swords.”

“Merely?” put in Viruk. “And you say the
Vagars
will be facing. What is it you are suggesting, cousin?”

“I intend to repeat the strategy used by Banel in the last battle of the Crystal Wars.” A murmur started up among the soldiers. “Do not speak of it aloud,” he warned them. “We cannot know whether the Crystal Queen is observing us.”

Goray stepped forward. “You say you intend to repeat the strategy, Rael. But what if our people vote to join the Almecs?”

“Do you think they will?” countered Rael. Goray was silent.

“Of course they will,” said Viruk. “You think the fatted calf would vote for slaughter?”

“I am hoping that my people will act with honor,” said the Questor General.

Viruk laughed. “I love you, cousin,” he said, “but you have become a romantic. Fear not, I will follow you on Banel’s path.”

“And I,” said Goray.

No one else spoke. Rael looked at his soldiers’ faces in the lantern light and realized that Viruk had accurately gauged the feeling of the Avatars. None of them was willing to continue the battle. Fat Caprishan stood silently at the back. “I will not need the armor,” he said.

“None of the suits would fit you, you fat bastard,” said Viruk.

At that moment the sound of thunder echoed high above them, followed by a series of explosions that caused huge cracks to appear in the ceiling of the armory.

“Sweet Heaven, we are under attack!” shouted Goray.

“Stand fast!” bellowed Rael. “We are under the building here. Nothing can reach us!”

Scores of explosions sounded, one after the other, as if the world were ending above them in fire and death.

After what seemed an age the noise subsided.

Rael led his men up the stairs. They were blocked by fallen masonry. Working steadily the Avatars dragged clear the stones. Above them they could see moonlight. Rael was the first to push himself out into the ruins of what had once been the Great Library. The statue of the
Avatar Prime had fallen, the head smashed into a dozen pieces. Fires were burning all around and bodies were scattered among the broken rocks.

Vagar troops appeared, led by Mejana and Pendar. Rael walked out to meet them.

“It was so sudden,” said Mejana. “The Almecs began to move their fire tubes about two hours ago. They concentrated them then began loosing their fireballs. We thought they were attacking the walls, but every missile was aimed at the Library. There was nothing we could do.”

“Did anyone get out?” he asked her.

“Three children were carried clear. One died, the others are only shocked.” Rael said no more, but ran into the ruins with the other Avatars, and began tearing at the fallen rocks.

As the night wore on more and more bodies were pulled from the wreckage. By dawn the scale of the massacre became known. Two hundred and seventeen Avatars had died, or were still missing. Only four of the women and two of the children had escaped.

Rael found Mirani just before dawn. She had tried to shield two children from falling masonry. Their bodies were beneath hers, her arms around them. Avatars and Vagars worked together to clear away the stones. Rael lifted her body clear and sat back on the rubble, cradling her to him. He did not speak, and his soul was too heavy for weeping. He just held her close and rocked to and fro.

Some distance away, exhausted, Mejana sat and watched his silent grief.

Two stretcher bearers stood by nervously, afraid to approach Rael. Mejana walked across to the Questor General. “It is time to let her go,” she said. Rael looked up at her. He did not speak. Then he kissed Mirani one last time and carried her to the stretcher.

With the rising of the morning sun Rael gathered his last soldiers, and together—all save Caprishan—they returned to the armory and clothed themselves in the silver armor of the Crystal Wars.

For Ro it was a different kind of pain. There was no longing involved in it, no yearning to draw the life from others. For him it was the pain of despair, of bereavement and loss, allied to an aching of the limbs that made him feel his muscles were slowly tearing themselves apart.

He sat cross-legged upon the rug holding onto Sofarita’s hands. His fingers were numb now, his thoughts almost desolate. Tears fell from his eyes and he would have welcomed death like an old friend. She sensed his increasing despair and allowed the pain to flow back inside her. Ro sighed with the release from agony.

And so, locked into the rituals of the Avatar Prime, they endured the journey, sharing the pain, each holding to it for as long as possible, then allowing the other to take up the burden.

On the evening of the third day, as the
Serpent
approached the land mass of the western continent, Sofarita felt the power returning to her. It came like a breath of sweet breeze, faint crystal energies flowing over her. She drank them in. They tasted of life.

Drawing in a deep breath she released Ro’s hands. He opened his eyes, smiled at her, then slumped to the floor, exhausted. Reaching forward she tenderly stroked his cheek, then she rose and stretched. Moving from the cabin to the central deck she stood in the last light of sunset and watched the gulls wheel and dive over the ship.

Talaban saw her there and moved alongside her. “How are you faring, lady?” he asked her.

“Ro saved me,” she said.

“I know. I came to your cabin many times and saw the two of you sitting there. He is a good man.”

“The very best,” she said.

Without another word she moved away and sat on a coil of rope by the port deck rail. Releasing her spirit she soared high over the distant bay, across the darkening land and its forests and plains, seeking out the One-Eyed-Fox. The encampment she had first encountered was in ruins now. Blackened tent poles flanked the river and several bodies lay on the ground. But there had been no wholesale massacre. The Anajo had largely escaped the attack. She searched the area, and found a mass grave near the tree line. Allowing her spirit to sink beneath the earth she found the grave contained around forty bodies of Almec warriors.

The Anajo had not only survived, but had inflicted heavy losses upon the enemy.

As high as a hunting eagle Sofarita flew in a wide circle over the land seeking sign of movement. She saw an Almec column of close to 500 men moving toward the east. As she flew toward it she saw a second, smaller force running through the trees two miles ahead. Sofarita sped over them. They were Anajo, seventeen men and three women. Their faces were smeared red and blue and they carried short hunting bows and quivers. In their belts were battleaxes made of flint.

As she came closer the first of the twenty runners paused and looked up. He was a middle-aged man, with deeply tanned skin and deep-set brown eyes. He raised his hand, palm outwards toward her, and smiled. Then he knelt, folded his arms across his chest, his spirit rising from his body.

“It is good to see you, my sister,” he said.

“Your enemies are close behind,” she told him.

“They will not catch us until we wish them to. Is Touch-the-Moon with you?”

“Yes. And Talaban.”

“Aiya!” he said, his tone triumphant. “That is good. I have my wolf soldiers with me. Come ashore in the bay and head southwest towards the highest mountain. We will meet you there. We will fight the last battle, yes?”

“There is no need,” she told him. “The Crystal Queen knows about Anu and his pyramid. My journey here is now futile.”

“Not so, my sister. I have walked the Grey Road. I have seen. She is trying to pierce the magic around his encampment. She seeks to stop him before he completes his work. You can drain her power. You can give Anu time. Nothing is futile. Go to the mountain. We will draw the Almecs away from you.” He paused and sorrow touched his face. “First, though, fly to your city of stone. Much has happened there. The Spirits of Death fly over it and the Ravens wait for the heroes to ride. I will see you on the mountain.” Fading back into his body he waved a farewell, then led his runners away to the north.

Sofarita returned to the ship, told Talaban to head for the bay, then journeyed again to Egaru.

When she returned less than half an hour later she found Ro and Talaban and Touchstone waiting. The
Serpent
was at anchor in the bay, and from here she could see the tall mountains to the southwest. “That is where we must go,” she said. “The One-Eyed-Fox awaits us there.”

“How many warriors does he have?” asked Talaban.

“Twenty.”

“Did you see any Almecs?”

“Hundreds,” she said. Talaban swore softly.

“I promised Rael to send the ship and its crew back to Egaru. But we will sorely need the ship’s twenty
Avatar bowmen. Is there time for you to contact him and request them?”

“No,” she said, her voice hard. “But they will be neither needed, nor welcome, at Egaru. Use them as you will.”

“What does that mean?” he asked her.

“I do not wish to speak of it yet. Let us get ashore.”

“You think they are going to betray us?” asked Pendar, as the 112 Avatars rode through the southern gates heading along the coastal road. Mejana leaned on the parapet and watched the riders. She did not answer. How fine they look in their silver armor, she thought, like heroes of legend. It was confusing to see them like this. These were the evil men who had dominated her people, extending their own lives by draining the life force of others. The same men who had taken her daughter, leaving her senile and spent. Yet now the sun glittered upon them, and they were riding to their deaths to save the cities. Mejana no longer knew what to think or feel. She had plotted their downfall for so long, so many lonely bitter years.

And here was the day.

There was no feeling of triumph in the air, no heady joy. This was not as she had imagined it.

“They’ll make a pact with the Almecs,” said Boru. “They cannot be trusted. We will all go to our deaths.”

“You may be right,” said Mejana, at last. “But I do not think so. Their wives and their children are dead, their power almost gone, their day over. We will follow the last orders of the Questor General.”

The area to the east of the city was still flooded, but to the south the ground rose and she could see Rael in his silver armor leading his riders up a low hill. Glancing back she looked down at the hundreds of militia
men waiting nervously behind the gates. Some were armed with swords and spears, but most carried knives or rough-made clubs. They had no armor and there were few bowmen among them. She swung to Pendar.

“Go now to the Third Gate. When Rael attacks lead out the army. The militia will follow.”

“There will be fearful losses, grandmother,” he warned her.

“Try not to be among them,” she said. Pendar bowed, then ran along the ramparts to where the Vagar soldiers were waiting. Turning to Boru she looked into his hard blue eyes. “You may stay here with me, or fight alongside the militia. Your choice,” she told him.