The Canticle of Whispers (43 page)

“Father Wolfram is about to perform a rather useful task for me,” Snutworth said, thoughtfully. “He is going to begin a project I have long been preparing, and convey some choice information to my agents in Agora. They are unassuming people—trained to be unnoticeable. Some are native Agorans, but most are former members of the Gisethi orders. Wolfram has been recruiting from Giseth for quite some time, and I must say, I am very pleased with them. They are used to following commands without question—their faith is remarkable. Under my guidance, they will become my voice in the lands above. They will whisper the right secrets in the right ears—have a few people shamed, and a few others inspired. Reputations will be ruined, my own chosen elevated, and my control assured, all without needing to leave this throne.” He settled back. “I must confess, some of the things I have learned from only a few hours on this throne have made me unwilling to return to the lands above. Dear me—the things people think when they are alone, such nasty little secrets, such dark desires. And yet so useful, if revealed at exactly the right moment…”

Mark's eyes widened.

“What did he tell you, Wolfram?” Mark asked. Wolfram twitched, but didn't respond. The tip of the blade hovered a hair's breadth from Lily's throat.

“Whatever it was, it was lie,” Lily said, her voice tight. “He lies to everyone…”

“No, Miss Lilith,” Snutworth said, firmly. “I do not lie—quite the reverse. Lies are never as powerful a weapon as the truth.” He smiled. “You have searched for ‘the Truth' your entire life, and has it ever brought anything other than misery and pain?”

“What? Are you going to claim that you'll usher in some perfect world?” Lily snarled, and then gasped as the blade moved a little closer. Snutworth waved his hand, airily.

“Not in the least. But I don't suppose mine would be worse than they could manage on their own. And at least my world will follow a plan. Our lands were not designed to run themselves. They are not natural. They need a guiding intelligence, or they will descend into chaos.”

“And you think you should be the one to guide us?” Lily said, her voice dripping with defiant scorn. “I'll try the chaos.”

“Well now, you would say that.” Snutworth leaned forward in his chair. “The sad thing is, you truly believe that you do all this for the greater good. But I have listened to the Canticle, Miss Lily. I know all of your thoughts, even the ones you don't realize that you have. And let me tell you something, I know exactly why you want chaos. Because that is where you shine. You, the symbol of charity, the savior—all those people look to you, and it makes you feel wonderful.”

Lily grew pale. Mark wanted her to deny it, to throw Snutworth's words back at him. But he knew that she couldn't.

“And why would
you
stand against me?” Snutworth asked, his green eyes moving to take in Mark. “Don't you hate all of this chaos, Mark? All this fighting, and running, and changing the world? All you wanted was a quiet, stable family. That was the only time you were truly happy, wasn't it? When you used to play on the riverbank, before you knew any of this. Don't deny it. I have heard your thoughts.”

Mark tried to muster a response, but suddenly he felt tired. The air around him thrummed with whispers, and so many of them were familiar. The voices of his dead mother, brother, and sister.

“You poor children,” Snutworth said, sounding almost heartfelt. “But of course, you were never truly children, were you? Poor Lily, abandoned by a father who sent her to live in a cruel and heartless city, and a mother who knew everything in the world except her own name. Poor Mark, watched over by a mother who could offer nothing but stories, and a father who sold him. Such sad lives. But I can change that.” He smiled. “All you have to do is leave this chamber. I will let you live. And from now on, nothing will be your fault. No responsibility, no pain. People around you will still believe that they control their own lives, sadly, but you will know the blissful truth. That I know their every thought, their every desire. And when it suits my whim to change the world above, I will summon one of my followers and issue my instructions. A single word in the right place can change the course of lives, or end them altogether.” Snutworth smiled, benevolently, and all around him the Canticle surged with power. “The ancient Librans were extraordinary people, but they never truly understood what they had created. They only meant for the Oracle to observe. They never saw the potential to manipulate, to control, and all under the illusion of freedom.” His voice rose, the whispers echoing his every word. “Until today, I was merely the ruler of the lands above. Now, I will
be
the lands above. Agora, Giseth, as much part of my will as my own body. Others will struggle, others will rise and fall, if I so choose. But you two will live in peace. You can be children again, knowing that I am watching over you, that you will never have to make a decision again.”

Mark and Lily met each other's gaze. Through all the fear, Mark realized that he did want that. He wanted it so desperately it hurt. He'd been running and fighting for so long. He just wanted to go home, to see his friends again, to not have to worry anymore.

Which was why he could never let Snutworth win.

Lily elbowed Wolfram in the ribs, just as Mark charged. The monk fell to his knees, the sword dropping from his grasp. Lily squirmed free, diving for the weapon. Wolfram shoved her to one side, scrabbling for the blade, but Mark stamped on his hands, and Lily snatched up the sword, jumping up and backing away.

Wolfram rose to his feet, and Lily held out the sword, pointing it at Wolfram's heart. Neither moved.

Cautiously, Mark crept behind Lily. From here, he could feel her trembling, a little, but the monk didn't get any closer.

“Dear, dear,” Snutworth said, placidly, “not your finest moment, Wolfram. Still, it is of no matter. These two are little but a distraction. Go. Begin your task.”

To Mark's surprise, Wolfram didn't move. He simply stood, head bowed. It was impossible to see his face in the shadows of the cowl, but Mark was sure he was staring at the tip of the sword.

“Do you hear me, Father Wolfram?” Snutworth said, with a trace of irritation. “It is time to begin the great work—to use the secrets I gave you. Forget the children. What harm can they do us?”

Again, Wolfram didn't move. Didn't even raise his head. Mark risked a glance at Lily. He could see a bead of sweat running down the back of her neck. Wolfram's stillness was unnerving, and he was standing between them and the exit.

“I gave you an order, Wolfram,” Snutworth said, his tone still measured. “I understand the need for revenge, but you have duties to perform.”

“No,” Wolfram said. His voice was quiet, but it had a rasp to it that Mark hadn't heard before.

And then, he pulled back his hood.

Mark stiffened, and he saw Lily take a step back. In the shifting light of the cavern, much of Wolfram's hard-lined face was in darkness. But what he could see was enough. He had never seen an expression like that on the face of a living man. There was no emotion there at all. No anger, no fear, not even his old look of hard determination. And when he spoke, his voice was hollow, and dead.

“These things you have told me,” he said, his gaze never moving from the sword, “these secrets you have shared, they will not work. They cannot, because they cannot be true…”

“They are, Wolfram,” Snutworth said. “Every word.”

Deep inside him, Mark felt a familiar, unwelcome presence. The Nightmare was lurking close by, inside every whisper of the Canticle. But it was different than any time before. This time, it wasn't interested in him, or Lily.

“They
cannot
be true,” Wolfram said, his voice growing louder. “Because, if they are, these people you seek to control are not worthy of our attention. They are not worthy of life,” he began to breathe heavily, his voice changing, filling with hatred. “I thought that I knew darkness; I had made darkness my tool. I knew why you wanted control, to bring order to this bestial world, and I supported you. But I didn't truly understand.” He stepped forward, his whole body tense. “Not until you made me understand, Director. Not until you showed me what mankind has done. What secrets they hold in their heads.” Mark could feel the Nightmare, thick in the air, and through it all, Wolfram's voice continued, deep, and loud, and broken. “You showed me there is no truth. There is no true virtue; no love, or faith, or duty in their minds. Everything is corrupted, mixed in with lies, and deeds that are worse … far, far worse. The things that they think, and do, when the world cannot see them…” Wolfram's voice rose in anger. “I wanted a better place for mankind. I defied my church for you, so you could be their master, and save them from their own base desires. But now I know—mankind isn't worth controlling.” His lip curled in disgust. “We are filthy, and vile, and we must be purged. One by one.”

Wolfram sprang.

Lily had no time to react. The monk ran at her, snatching back the sword. He made a grab for her, but she twisted, slipping under his arm, just as he slashed the air. He spun around, lunging at her again, and his eyes fell on Mark, still frozen to the spot.

Mark turned to run, but too late. Wolfram grabbed his shoulder, wrenching him back. Mark struggled, desperately, kicking and punching, but the monk barely seemed to feel his blows. He tightened his grip, and Mark gasped in pain, his arm going numb.

Wolfram lifted the sword to Mark's throat, letting out an almost animalistic growl. Mark's heart skipped.

And then Lily was there. She sank her teeth into Wolfram's wrist, and he let go of Mark, staggering back toward the edge of the abyss. Mark sprang free, but Wolfram seized Lily's hair. He threw her to the ground, her chin striking the stone. For a second, Mark watched, powerless, as the monk stood over her, the sword in his hands, his eyes full of the mad light of the Nightmare.

He swung up the blade, and brought it down toward her face.

Before he knew what he was doing, Mark slammed his whole body into the monk, sending him sprawling back, toward the edge of the stone walkway. At the same time, Lily kicked out, striking at Wolfram's bad foot. He yelled in pain, arms spiraling, trying to regain his balance.

And he fell, plunging off the walkway.

The Canticle took up his scream, magnifying it a thousand times over. For a few seconds, as Mark and Lily stared in horror, the Nightmare surged in their minds, triumphing, making them feel Wolfram's rage, and fear, as the huge jagged shards of crystal grew closer.

His scream stopped.

There was a terrible silence. Mark stared at Lily, his whole body shaking. Lily, looking dazed, crawled forward, to look over the edge, but Mark sprang up and pulled her back. Neither of them needed to see that. He was gone, and they had done it.

Up on his crystal throne, Snutworth sniffed.

“Regrettable,” he said, “But it matters little. I have many more servants. The Naruvians will send my messages, for now. And the Canticle will reveal to me who will make an appropriate chief agent in the days to come. My message will be spread, my dominion assured.”

Mark felt sick. He had hated Wolfram; he couldn't mourn or regret what he'd done. But at least he felt something. Not like Snutworth.

“He's dead!” Mark shouted fiercely, turning to face the Resonant Throne. “Can't you feel anything? He was your friend!”

“He was my servant,” Snutworth said, placidly. “Soon, I will have so many more.”

“And what, you'll play with the world until you get bored?” Lily asked, equally angry. Snutworth smiled.

“Perhaps. Or I may improve it, or make it worse. There are so many fascinating possibilities. These lands were built for experimentation, but now that the old Librans are dead, their plans will live on.”

Mark felt Lily squeeze his hand, and they looked at each other. He could see the strain he felt etched on her face, too. He wanted to run, to curl up, to have a chance to feel something over what had just happened. But they couldn't give up now. Not when they had Snutworth talking.

Mark swallowed hard, burying his morbid thoughts in case Snutworth could hear them. Lily let go of his hand, and both of them turned again to face Snutworth, refusing to show fear.

“What about new ideas?” she shouted. “Or new lives? What about freedom?”

“Freedom,” Snutworth replied, contemptuously. “Who deserves this freedom? You? Your friends, perhaps? Like my little wife, who runs to anyone with a modicum of power because she can't face the world? I can hear her thoughts Mark. She's thinking of you right now. Listen…”

The Canticle around Snutworth seemed to reach out, and the voices grew louder, more distinct. Mark stepped back, alarmed. But then, one voice—a voice so clear and familiar to him—rose above all the others.

Mark can't come back now. Not right now, I couldn't bear it …

She sounded so lost, so uncertain, and Mark felt a stab of pain. “Maybe she's in danger and doesn't want me to get mixed up in it,” Mark said, defiantly.

Snutworth raised an eyebrow and turned to Lily.

“Or perhaps you would like to hear Mr. Laudate?” he said, leaning forward. “Do you want to hear how he thinks of you? All the thoughts he barely acknowledges, all his doubts, and fears? Do you know what he thought when he first met you?”

On command, the Canticle rose up, and with it came Laud's voice—speaking in that harsh, sneering tone that he had used when he had first come to the almshouse.

Silly little girl. Someone should teach her how the real world works …

“He still sees you like that,” Snutworth said. “He doesn't think of you as your own person, just a bundle of ideas that need to be protected. Proud little Lily, what will you think of that…?”