The Canticle of Whispers (21 page)

“Project?” Mark interrupted. “Experiment? What are you talking about? And why are we part of this? What are the Protagonist and the Antagonist supposed to
do
?”

Lily felt her desperate smile begin to freeze on her lips. Something about this was wrong, very wrong. She remembered Pauldron, the receiver who had read the Midnight Charter. She remembered his ravings, how he had believed that the whole city, the world, was unreal—nothing but a glorious dream. She remembered how her father had called them all the children of the lost, abandoned by the outside world. What was happening here? No … what had
happened
here?

“This experiment,” Lily said. “When did it begin?”

When the Oracle replied, she seemed almost satisfied.

“Nearly 144 years ago. Twelve grand cycles of twelve years…”

As she spoke, her voice seemed to be joined by another. A ghostly echo of a man's voice, distorted but jovial—a voice of triumph.

Twelve times twelve, my Libran brothers and sisters! Our most perfect of numbers. Enough time to build the city, to populate our new lands with our most loyal followers, and to ensure that every member of the original generation lives out their days, so that the new generations will grow knowing only our created world. Our Agora, our Giseth, the testing grounds for our greatest balance of all!

The voice faded. Suddenly, Lily was afraid. Her excitement was gone. She didn't want to know what the voice had meant. She wished that she'd listened to Ben. She wanted to leave, wanted to go home.

But somehow, she kept asking, kept pushing for more.

“This Libran Society, were they the same people as in Agora?”

The Oracle replied, her bland tone never wavering.

“No, the first Libran Society was a group in the world outside our lands. A gathering of thinkers and philosophers who saw balance in all things as the key to a perfect world. And they were rich, wealthier than even the greatest merchant in Agora. They believed that under their guidance, the world could find a perfect way of life.” For a brief second, Lily thought she heard a flicker of emotion, like an ironic sigh. “One day, they were challenged to prove it. To create that perfect world.”

Lily heard Mark gasp.

“Agora? It was Agora, wasn't it?” he said.

The Oracle seemed irritated by the interruption.

“Not quite, Protagonist. The true Libran Society knew that balance was everything—that even their own vision of perfection might be corrupted, and would need a counterbalance. So they founded Agora and Giseth—opposite, interdependent, in perfect balance. They populated it from the outside world, with others who believed in their vision to the point of madness, who willingly swore never to tell their children about their past, on pain of death for them, and all to whom they revealed the truth.”

“The Last…” Mark said, slowly. “He guarded the Descent down here … He was the last to know, wasn't he? The last to have seen the world outside, before the experiment began.”

“Yes,” the Oracle replied, “the Last had seen six summers when first brought to Agora. Not quite the youngest, but the last to die. A curiosity.”

Lily felt a flash of anger. To hear a man's whole life dismissed in a footnote was inhuman. She wanted to shout, and demand that the Oracle apologize. She shut her eyes, her skin prickling. She couldn't let it get to her. Deep inside her head, the whispers of the Canticle sounded like they were mocking her. The more she discovered, the more she wanted to understand. There would be time for dealing with emotions later. There had to be.

“But this place, Naru,” she said, “this wasn't part of the plan, was it?”

The Oracle turned her blank, masked face to her.

“Naru is not a true land. It was created to watch the experiment for the Librans. They planned that their successors would visit every few years, to review the latest results. We still gather information, though all but I have forgotten the reason. Now, it is just our way.”

Again, a voice emerged from the chorus of whispers. The same excitable man—a long-dead Libran.

The natural crystals in the empty lands we have chosen have extraordinary properties! Their resonant abilities should allow us to record all manner of facts without venturing into the lands themselves and disturbing the projects. My colleagues have even speculated that they could be made to resonate on the frequencies of thoughts, or memories … even pure emotions, allowing them to be drawn out of a body and kept in solution!… I feel that calling my ideas preposterous is not entirely fair, Sir …

The voice faded again. Mark was shaking his head in disbelief. Ben and Laud exchanged glances, bewildered. Outwardly, Lily knew that she looked calm. But that was only because her hands were clenched so tight her nails were pressing into her palms. The arrogance of those ancient Librans! To turn a whole country of people into the Naruvians—to warp their lives so far that they never touched, never felt—never knew anything more than broken, fragmented facts. Just to keep their precious experiment pure.

No, she couldn't think like that. She couldn't think about how everything she had known, every person, and sight, and experience in her life had been planned as part of a grand social experiment. So many lives, bent and warped to fit their scheme. To create their “perfect” world.

“So what went wrong?” Lily said. Her tone was mocking now. It barely sounded like her own voice at all.

This time, the sound of the echoes flared up once again, as though the Oracle's mind were in torment. But when she answered, it was in the same, flat, reasonable tone as ever.

“The messages stopped coming. The Society said that something had happened in the outside world, but that the project should continue. That they would contact us again when they could. Then nothing, until one ship arrived at the cliffs beneath the Cathedral in Giseth. A ship with red sails, loaded with gold and silver coins. But the crew were nowhere to be seen. Only one man remained alive onboard, and before he died, he babbled that a disaster had befallen the outside world. Maybe he was right. Or perhaps the Librans simply abandoned us. Whatever the truth, from that day to this, we have heard nothing. The monks took the coins, which they had no use for, and bound them into the walls of the great Libran Cathedral of Truth. And it was renamed the Cathedral of the Lost, for that is what we are, now. Lost forever.”

Lily wondered whether she should have felt sad, or even horrified. But instead, a great flood of relief washed over her. A crumb of comfort, at last.

“So, the experiment is over,” she said.

“No, Antagonist, the experiment continues. You have seen to that.”

Lily stared. She couldn't even speak anymore.

“What do you mean?” Laud asked, angrily, in her place.

“They knew that at the end, after 144 years, they would need some means of judging the success of their experiment,” the Oracle replied. “They knew that the people within their experimental societies would have formed different opinions. All they needed were two—one of whom bore the Agoran mindset, and one the Gisethi. One who thrived in their perfect city, where every trade was balanced and fair, and one who fought against it, and exposed any flaws. The Protagonist and Antagonist—to be chosen toward the end of days—would sweep through Agora and Giseth, and purge them of their imperfections. Each would play their role. Together they would travel the lands. Together they would see everything. And together, they would cause chaos and conflict, as impurities were removed. And then they would judge the project's success, and find the perfect balance.”

At the base of Lily's spine, the strange shiver started up again. All her plans, and thoughts, and beliefs … it was all part of the grand plan.

Mark swayed beside her, his face drained of color.

“You're saying that our lives … our parents' lives … everything was for this? Everything was to
prove
a
point
?!” He shouted the last words, furious. The chamber rang, and a billion shouts returned from the walls, making them all stagger. Lily wanted to shout too, to blaze with fury. But she felt cold. The shudder spread through her. Her knees buckled.

“No…” she muttered, disbelieving. “It's not true. I wasn't at home in Giseth, not really…”

“But you were,” the Oracle continued, with passionless determination. “You saw faults, and you burned them away. For that is what you will always do, Antagonist. Already, revolution is brewing. Agora is splitting into factions. Giseth is ravaged by doubt, and rage, and violence. Already the experiment is coming to its conclusion. Your chaos is a refining fire. And none escape its flame.”

Lily couldn't move. She could barely breathe. In her head, the whispers were back, stronger than ever, the Canticle within her echoing the one in the chamber. And every voice was saying the same thing—that the Oracle was right. Everywhere she'd gone, she had brought chaos. Her Almshouse movement was breeding revolution and violence in Agora every day. She'd gone to the peaceful village of Aecer, and thanks to her the villagers had torn their leader limb from limb. Even the Nightmare, that dreamscape of hidden feelings, had turned hellish every time she had ventured there. Never once, in her struggling, fighting, messy excuse for a life had she done anything that hadn't left its scars all around her. And still she'd forged on, her way lit with self-righteous anger. Telling herself that she was doing good.

“Lily … are you all right?”

Laud was talking to her, but she couldn't focus. She was sweating now, her unwanted thoughts coming thick and fast. All her life, she had been a rebel. That had been her identity. That had been more important to her than the family she didn't have, than the friends she kept losing. She'd been ready to die for her cause. Ready to do anything. But she hadn't died. Others had bled and died for her. She wasn't a leader. She wasn't a savior. And now, according to the Oracle, she wasn't even original. She was nothing at all.

“No, I won't accept this!” Mark was shouting at the Oracle. “I've been my own man, I tell you.”

That … that was it.

Lily laughed, suddenly. High and pained. All the whispers stopped, as though holding their breath. It was a lie. All of it. It had to be. There was nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It was all … so clear …

“Mark…” that was Laud's voice, warning. “I think something's wrong with Lily. Lily? Can you hear me? Lily?”

But Lily pushed Laud away. She couldn't look at him now. What face could she show him?

“It's all right,” she said, quietly. “It's all a trick, isn't it? The Oracle's lying. The Director lied. It's all lies…”

She kept repeating it, over and over, walking closer to the Oracle, staring at that blank crystal face. This wasn't her mother. That wasn't the truth she had searched so long to find. She couldn't be the daughter of a soulless machine. She couldn't have spread chaos and pain to fulfill the plans of long-dead overlords. That was what she was telling the whispers—the pain-fueled echoes in her head. They had no power over her anymore.

Because she understood them now. In her sudden clarity, she saw the truth of the Canticle. She could feel the brooding, desperate weight of the Nightmare, hiding inside it. She laughed again, a choking sound that hurt her throat. She knew the Nightmare's ways from her time in Giseth—knew how it lived in the spaces between thoughts, feeding on dark emotions. But down here, in a land where no one truly cared about anything, it had been starving. All it had needed was one head to hide within. One heart that felt true emotions. It had been crafty, luring her into the Canticle with promises of knowledge. It had nearly taken her. But now she was free.

“Lily?” Ben said, grabbing her wrist. “What are you doing?”

Lily shook off her friend. There was no time for distractions now. Her mind was clear, and clean, and focused. She had beaten the Nightmare. She would drive it, and all its lies, out of her head, out of the Canticle. And she would be left with the Truth. That shining, wonderful Truth that would give sense to her life. The Truth would never harm her. Never leave her alone, with only her fears and emptiness.

“Lily?” Laud asked. “Lily, what are you doing?”

“I'm ending the lies,” she said.

In one frantic movement, Lily reached up, pulled the mask from the Oracle's face, and flung it to the ground. It broke, scattering the crystals onto the rocky floor, bouncing to oblivion. Lily stared.

The Oracle's face wasn't so like hers as Verity's had been—though the skin was dark, Lily had obviously inherited her looks from her father's side of the family. But there was something in it—the set of the chin, the shape of the nose—that made it unmistakable. Only the eyes were different. Not a different color; they were that same dark mirror that Lily's were. But while Lily's pierced, the Oracle's were depthless pools. Drawing in, but giving nothing out at all. There was no feeling in those eyes. Nothing at all but cold, terrible knowledge.

“Every word is true, my daughter,” she said.

In the distance, Lily heard someone shouting and screaming at the top of their lungs. It sounded a little like her. No, it
was
her.

The Canticle's whispers filled her mind. Her mother was a monster. A monster just like her. Hide, children, because the Antagonist will come, with her fiery eyes, and burn down your world.

She was running now, wasn't she? Maybe. Had she fallen over? Had someone caught hold of her arms?

Every moment of her life predicted. All that suffering and pain around her, calculated and worked into a theory. And she'd played her part. She'd given those around her false hope, even as she led them to their deaths.

She shook herself free. Someone crashed to the floor.