The Year of Our War (11 page)

“Awndyn,” said San, and at his voice she tensed. “What is the purpose of my Circle?”

“The most talented person of each occupation is made immortal so that the Fourlands can have a repository of wisdom and expertise, which it needs since god has left us and we are at war.”

“Castle’s aim is to protect the Fourlands from the Insects, is it not?”

She nodded and the Emperor continued: “So how can a musician help us? Your melody turns Insects to stone, is that it?”

I said, “She can rally the fyrd and I have heard her play marches—”

The Emperor laughed, gratingly. “Messenger, enough. Next you will have me believing that brave speeches can rouse the rank and file. I think Swallow’s presence might even act as a distraction to Eszai who should be fighting. Governor Awndyn, if we were at peace your art might find a place here, but like all arts it is the pastime of mortals, I fear…If I was to make you immortal, on what grounds would another Musician be able to Challenge you? It would be impossible to judge the best.”

Her soft body pressed against my leg. She shook with restlessness; she had nothing to lose and wished to make the best of the incident in which she was trapped. But I was angry—how could we decide if one activity is more worthwhile than another? I’ve seen Lightning’s tricks with arrows and my flying often verges on acrobatics. For a start, it’s impossible to separate the creative arts and the arts of war; they influence each other continually. Creativity is the humanity we’re trying to save. If Eszai are war machines we’re no better than Insects.

“Even in war, there’s space to compose,” Swallow said softly, but the Emperor chose not to hear her.

“I don’t wish to endow people with immortality on the strength of their hobbies,” he mused.

“My lord, she is the best of all time.”

The Emperor smiled like a wolf in a children’s story. “Governor Awndyn, I think you have made yourself immortal already. Your music will not die easily.”

“My lord Emperor, I could do much more—I could create forever! If I die the Fourlands would lose my gift.”

“Would your creativity survive becoming immortal? People create in order to leave something of themselves in the world when they die. Immortals do not have that pressure.”

“My lord, only with an immortal lifetime can I express all the music I have inside me.”

“Everyone in the Empire can witness the martial skills of my Circle, but not everyone can appreciate music, and they would criticize your membership.”

Swallow’s courage failed her; it was impossible for her to argue with the Emperor and she fell silent out of fear that she had said too much already. I thought the virtuoso had a different kind of strength, distinct from mine but equal; those who understood her musical feats would be convinced of her stamina. Many Eszai are jaded and love innovation; some of us, like myself, invent to make our lives easier and to prove we are the best specialists in our various professions. The more confident immortals embrace novelty and would welcome Swallow’s continual creation.

San said, “Do you think music requires an eternal guardian, as Lightning controls the skill of archery? Would it be better if music was left to change and develop as future people wish? I think that your dedication to join the Castle has little to do with music. You confront me with a very selfish determination. Comet asked how he could serve me, but instead you seem to demand eternity.”

“My lord, I’m sorry if I seem hasty. It’s the nature of mortals to believe that their time is running out and death is imminent.”

The Emperor’s agate eyes softened and he sighed. “Ah yes,” he said. “I remember…Messenger, do you think Awndyn’s music would be better loved if she were one day to die?”

I thought of the shields outside the Throne Room, which used to be so important they were fixed in the center of the Castle, but now nobody knows which divisions of land they represent. I said, “It isn’t the same music if Swallow isn’t there to defend and interpret it. When she dies, her work dies too.”

I braced myself, straightened and met his gaze. The Emperor was vulpine, thin-faced, white-haired, his arms in an ivory and gold cloak out over stone armrests. One candle-strength of humor lit his immeasurable eyes.

“How old is she now?”

“Nineteen, my lord.”

“How old have you been for two hundred years, Comet?”

“Twenty-three. But I’ve grown wiser!”

“Have you? I think it would be a shame to deny the Fourlands the music she would make if she were to grow more mature. When she gains more experience her music will be so improved that the rest of the world will learn from it. We will consider.” San finished, “I will see you again. This evening I will hear you play.”

Swallow stood and walked backward a few steps, then turned and left the Hall. In the still space I heard a clatter from the gallery as Lightning raced out to meet her. A couple of Eszai close on the balcony chuckled.

San limited the numbers of people in the Circle. There are fifty immortals, not including the Emperor, or husbands and wives, and there are rarely positions free. It looked like Swallow would have to wait a long time.

“And what shall we do with you?” San asked. It was my turn to drop to one knee, watching the red carpet. “Take yourself over to Rachiswater and speak with the King. I want to know what he wants, how he plans, and how he feels. The last is most important.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You may remind him that the Circle is still at his disposal.”

There was a weird inflection in the word “still” which prompted me to ask, “Would it be better if there was a new King?”

“Comet, you know better than that. The Castle does not have its own fyrd. We have no authority over the King of Awia, nor the Governor of Hacilith, nor any of the governors or lord governors of the manors. We help when they decide to ask us, and we provide advice when they desire it. Otherwise, how will we last for the millennia before god returns?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“If we are seen to be forceful, we would be questioned. It falls to the governors of Awia to decide between them if Staniel should be replaced. Lightning is the only one of them who has made his opinion clear to me. He is concerned that the manors will start fighting between themselves. That would be a disaster.”

“Yes it would.”

“Make sure you bring any news to me first. Not to Lightning; he can be a little overconfident sometimes. And it has been a contretemps for the Castle to be so slow in understanding the situation. Which is your obligation, Comet. I’ve heard nothing from you, except that which your wife has sent with your name on it.”

“Ah, yes. I—”

“I gather that you needed a rest. I’m interested in knowing how often and for how long you need
to rest
…” The Emperor left a gap in which I was presumably expected to say something, but even if I had anything to say, I was too scared to speak. “If this happens again we will remove your title.”

Feigning flippancy I managed, “I don’t have a title.”

“I mean people will stop calling you Comet.”

I dropped a loose hand to my sword hilt and looked up, grazed with worry. The Emperor continued, “You are only immortal for a while, Comet. I suggest you try to remember why you are lucky enough to have a place here, and imagine what would happen if I called for Challengers against you.”

“My lord. I’m sorry.”

“Remember when you speak to Rachiswater that you address him on our behalf. The Castle’s representative. He’s afraid of you. Yes. Of course he is. I know you find that amusing but please don’t exploit it. Frightened kings are dangerous.”

T
he cool smoothness of Rachiswater was calming after the bright autumn morning. The whole Palace was designed to be airy; it was open plan, invaded by its own gardens. Arches and sweeping white walls had elegant, linear decoration, flowing like script.

The Palace was composed of curves, in a garden that featured only circles and spirals. From the air it looked like a long cluster of giant bleached bones in lush downland; even the hills had been sculpted. It was a very modern building, and the hall outside which I waited was completely circular. Every surface was white, the far wall was distant; it was like looking into a vast drum. A balcony hooped the hall, five meters up from floor level, its plain plasterwork picked out in cream. There were no steps inside; one enters from a grand outside staircase.

It was fascinating to fly to Rachiswater from the Castle. I had become lulled by random patterns of the forest canopy. But as I approached the Palace the woodland changed, becoming a little more preened, more cared for. Hunting lodges took the place of villages. The natural forest became neater and neater until it stopped abruptly in a clean-cut border and I was over the geometrical gardens. The Palace rose in front of me, five-story wings open in a stone embrace. A sudden current played havoc with my steering. I kept head on into it, twisted, stooped. I flew down the curved avenue of trees, so low as to go through the top of the fountain. Straight up and over the roof. Dropped down into a courtyard.

H
ow can I describe flying? You try to describe what it is like to walk.

I
jumped up onto a second-floor sill and peered inside, clinging to the masonry tendrils around the window. Some soldiers saw me soaring in; my shadow on the pitch stopped their game of football and sent them running about like guilty children. I had a few minutes before the news reached Staniel and I wanted to watch him.

Staniel sat alone, on the spindly silver throne, which was polished to brilliance. His corn-gold hair was tied back with a taffeta bow; a white shirt with buttons along the tight sleeves showed the gauntness of his arms. His keen pale face was bowed over a tall card table. I watched him move the cards about rapidly: a red five under a black six, a red ace of swords under a black deuce, a black ten under a red soldier. The red soldier went under a black governor, under a red king.

He’s playing patience.

Ten minutes later: god, this is boring.

A black five and a red six under a black seven.

I seem to spend a ridiculous amount of time standing on windowsills.

I bet whoever built this window never thought that Comet would use it to spy on the King of Awia. At this point, aren’t I supposed to learn some vital and intriguing piece of information?

Swallow once told me that patience allows us to achieve our goals. Unlike her I don’t believe that “talent will out.” The only thing you achieve with patience is a damn long wait.

Exasperated, I hopped through the window and glided down across the panopticon, landing neatly in front of the King. I bowed low, flicking my long hair back and folding my wings. “My lord, I congratulate you and bring the Emperor’s best wishes.”

Staniel jumped, slapped a hand over his heart. “Don’t you ever come in by the bloody door?”

“The Emperor sent me to ask whether the new King of Awia has any requests for the Circle or plans to be made known.”

“I have everything under control,” he said airily.

“Yes, apart from occasional lapses of etiquette.”

Staniel huffed, leaned back in the fragile-looking throne and clicked his fingers. A servant appeared almost immediately with a glass of white wine for me on a salver. This country has its good points. “Tell me about your adventure,” I suggested.

“I barely escaped with my life! So now there are Insects in my province. We encountered a thousand or more; it was a cloudless night and I cannot be in error. They ran along parallel with us, close to the ground like big ants…Ugh. I hailed my escort; we had no other thought but to flee. They are everywhere! Comet—”

“Jant.”

“Jant, where do they come from?”

I shrugged, hands wrapped around the cold crystal. “Do you know that once Insects appeared in the slums in Hacilith? Dead Insects have been found on islands far out in the sea. Nobody knows, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps underground.” He shuddered at the thought of caverns festering with Insects below us, waiting to break forth.

“I’m sure Insects are one of the threats that god expected the Fourlands would have to face. That’s why it asked the Emperor to be its steward for the lands until it returns. So you should let us deal with them, which I’m afraid we can’t do until you grant us troops. Then we will cleanse Rachis of Insects and push them back behind the Wall.”

“If the Castle had been fulfilling its function we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with!”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jant, hear me out. You couldn’t save my brother, could you? Castle didn’t protect him then, in that battle. I…Oh,
damn
. No matter how…how strong he was, Eszai-strong, it didn’t avail him against those…little
butchers
. So what chance have I?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save Dunlin.”

“He disobeyed your orders, didn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

“So I must apologize on his behalf as well as mourn him.”

“In the heat of battle, any man might do the same,” I baited.

“Not I, Jant. I aim to benefit from experience. Having clashed with Insects after dark, I know enough never to go beyond Rachis Town again.”

Staniel would be shocked to see the network of scars I carry. I waved the glass around and the frowning servant refilled it. Staniel continued: “Let the other manors raise more troops. Let Lightning use Micawater, which I have noticed is often spared. Get Hacilith to work for once. I am staying here because if the worst comes to the worst, then the capital will be safe.”

“Is that the answer I must take back to San?”

“Unequivocally. I will dismiss my guard when I am satisfied Rachiswater is safe. Let you immortals prove your worth to me. There is a space in the mausoleum where my brother should lie and I will never forgive the Castle for that. At least you tried, Comet, but where were the others? Mist and Tornado have boasted of slaying that many Insects between them.”

“They were too far away.”

“Then I blame Lightning’s inefficient planning.”

“Is there anything else you would like the Emperor to know?”

He thought for a while. “I am as secure in this Palace as Vireo is in Lowespass.”

“Yes, I am impressed with your defense.”

“The soldiers are one thing, but we also have sufficient supplies.”

“And funds?”

“Not so good, but manageable. I’m the last of my family. The end of the dynasty has come upon us. My family saved and hoarded in case of such an impasse. I am determined to use their accumulated wealth to the best advantage so their endeavors are not in vain…What are you smirking at?”

“Rachiswater was the smallest manorship when I was born,” I said.

The Awian thought my comment less than useful. “Try to understand us mortals,” he sneered. “Time has distorted your viewpoint so much it’s useless! For you, Jant, every day is the beginning of a golden age; chance to be playboy of the entire world. To Lightning, the world is broken; the best times ended in eleven-fifty. Even Mist looks like he’s been left behind in the last millennium. What is the point of Eszai helping Zascai when they have seen so many of us die that we might as well be ants! How do you
really
think of us? As ants? For god’s sake, Jant, I’m just trying to stay alive!”

“I promise you will.”

“Ha! I’d be a sacrifice like my brother in the blink of an eye. While you’re assured of eternity! Have you noticed that the Castle walls are even thicker than those of Lowespass Fortress?”

“You have a thousand times more soldiers than there are Eszai,” I said, reassuringly.

I realized I would get no sense out of him while he was so worked up. I only risked making it worse and I certainly didn’t want to raise his resentment against the Circle. It would be best to leave for a while and tell the Emperor what I had learned. Staniel’s arrogance was like an addict’s, which stems from fear and from the fact one is forced into a more and more extreme position without being able to admit it. I know well the deceit of trying to clothe pain and confusion in mystery and romanticism.

“Let San know I mean no threat to the Circle.”

“Not directly,” I muttered. “Do I have your permission to return with news at any time?”

“Of course.”

I bowed again and took my leave with a word of farewell. Staniel summoned his glowering servant to accompany me across the circular mosaic and through white passageways to the main gate.

I
asked the servant what she thought of the new regime. She kept her head bowed and didn’t reply. She was beautiful, slim, and brisk. I plucked at her sleeve and when she glanced up I tapped the scarification on my upper arm to show her the wheel that Felicitia had carved there.

“See this? It’s the insignia of a Hacilith street gang. I was nothing once, just a homeless stray. Now I’m an Eszai I never get the chance to chat to people, and I really miss it, you don’t know how much. Please don’t be shy to speak to me, just tell me the truth.”

“We’re beat,” she said. “We really can’t feed all these men. I heard His Majesty say he will pay them what he can. Lord Eszai—I don’t think I should be telling you this.”

“It’s all right.”

“Every hour Staniel demands the town wall be built faster and faster. I don’t know why. Some say the Emperor is angry with us; we’ll have to fight the Circle and that will be the end of us.”

“That won’t happen,” I said uncertainly.

“And some say an Insect swarm is massing worse than the year two thousand and four, that will overrun Lakeland Awia and devour us all.”

I
returned via Hacilith, where I collected a letter from the Governor addressed to San. I stopped off at every Plainslands manor on the way back—Shivel, Eske and Fescue—in order to reassure them and gather correspondence for the Emperor.

The missive from Hacilith said:

The missive from Eske said:

From Fescue:

When I returned to my Castle room, I scraped off the wax and resealed the letters with care. I used different types of wax and fake seals of the manors which I had crafted over the last hundred years, and which I keep in a locked cabinet. Then I took the letters down to court and presented them to the Emperor, with my report.

A
n hour later, I found myself leaning against the wall outside the Throne Room, gasping for breath and shivering head to foot, like a burning puppet hanging from hot wires. My legs and wings trembled from extreme exhaustion, and when I rubbed my inflamed eyes I smeared the eyeliner everywhere. Dropping altitude too quickly had given me a nosebleed. Blood. Mascara. Fucking wonderful.