"One thing's sure," Orim said bitterly. "The Mercadians have accomplished what they intended. We're stuck here, and they've got the Matrix."
Sisay nodded. "I'm afraid so. There's a hearing scheduled for two weeks from today, and the gods know how long that will drag on."
"What about the Mercadians? What are they doing?"
"They're gone. They disappeared just after your arrest." Sisay slammed a hand angrily on the arm of her chair. "Can you believe it? They couldn't have left the city without help from within-the Saprazzan commander you mentioned. The Mercadians are gone with the Matrix, and we're stuck here."
"What do we do?"
Sisay began to pace restlessly, kicking pieces of furniture as she passed. "Well, we've got to do something. I'm going to talk to the vizier."
Though in the past Sisay had had little difficulty obtaining an audience with the Saprazzan leader, today she found her way barred by Guard Commander Oustrathmer. When she insisted on seeing the vizier, he motioned several guards over and stood implacably before the door.
Sisay grew belligerent. "Look, just take her the message that I need to see her! Is that too much to ask?"
He replied in an unmistakable Saprazzan negative.
"She'll damn well see me, and you know it! Of all the-"
"What is the matter?" came the vizier's gentle voice. She came to the doorway. Her face seemed older, wearier.
The dark woman drew a breath and fought to control her emotions. "Vizier, I must speak with you."
"I cannot free your friend. We have already discussed this matter."
"Vizier, that's not what I'm asking. I understand she must stand trial. But what I have to say, I would rather say-" she shot a venomous look at the commander- "in private."
Oustrathmer spoke coldly to his vizier. The Saprazzan leader put a hand on his arm and made a request in Saprazzan. He replied in the negative, but the tone of her final words brooked no resistance. Oustrathmer's face turned pale. With a brief salute, he marched away from the door, allowing Sisay through.
The vizier beckoned Sisay to follow into the counsel chamber. They seated themselves on either side of the table. At a gesture from the vizier, a servant brought them each a tall glass of clear, cold water and then retired from the room.
The Saprazzan looked at the Dominarian silently, waiting for her to speak.
Sisay spread a hand on the table before her. "Excellency, I am as concerned about this theft and murder as you. Now the Matrix is in the hands of those who do not believe. If Orim had conspired to steal the artifact, at least she would have stolen it to raise Ramos. But those who have the Matrix wish only to prevent him from rising."
"We do not know yet who stole the Matrix."
"Orim was attacked by a Mercadian and your guard commander."
"So she says," interrupted the vizier.
Sisay nodded. "Yes, but assume for a moment her story is true. If that's the case, your enemies have our ship and your Matrix. If they can acquire the Bones of Ramos too, we'll all be doomed."
The vizier shook her head skeptically. "And if you had the Matrix and could join it with your ship and the Bones of Ramos, what is to say you would use your ship to help us? We Saprazzans might be doomed anyway."
"No," Sisay said, clear eyed. "I give you my word. If Ramos rises, his children-Cho-Arrim, Rishadan, and Saprazzan- will rise too."
Even after two weeks, Orim found sleeping difficult in Saprazzo. The soft, diffuse light that came through her underwater window made her feel sleepy and sluggish, and the perpetual damp gave her the feeling she risked molding. Her bedclothes felt damp as well, and she often shivered beneath them half the night, or avoided them altogether, rising to pace back and forth across the room, waiting impatiently for morning.
Even the coming of day brought no change in her restlessness. The Saprazzans were continuing their investigation of the theft and murder, but at a leisurely pace, characteristic of everything that happened in the city. Orim was permitted to leave her quarters and move freely about Saprazzo, but she was invariably accompanied by a guard, who never left her side. She could talk to whomever she pleased, and though she spent time with Hanna and Sisay, she found she had little to say to them. Most days she spent meditating in her cell or sitting on the seawall and staring at the everchanging water.
This morning, in what had become a disturbingly familiar routine, she rose, dressed, and rang the bell that signaled she was ready for breakfast. Having completed the meal, she opened the door and, the guard at her side, walked up into the city.
Unlike Dominarian merfolk, Saprazzans were excessively friendly, even with a prisoner. Orim had several times been invited to dine with the vizier, who questioned her extensively about Dominaria and the journeys of Weatherlight. Orim answered the questions as best she could, trying to avoid explaining too much about the Legacy or Gerrard. The vizier never seemed to take offense when her questions were turned aside. Instead, she moved politely on to some less sensitive topic.
Orim's daily meditation in the little courtyard had reduced the pain of Cho-Manno's death to a dull heartache. It no longer overwhelmed her, as it had in the first weeks since it occurred, but it was always with her, always a sadness that rose up behind every thought and action.
Now, as she sat in the courtyard, the sun slowly rose over the city. Orim emptied her mind as the Cho-Arrim had taught her. She let her senses flow out around her, embracing her surroundings. The voice of Cho-Manno returned to her.
To live is to grow. We live only because we are growing. Even death is a kind of growth. Growth is more than mere change. To grow is to become one with those things around you. All existence-the sky, the earth, the water-strives to become one. All things yearn to be united to one another. Thus to grow is to progress toward a state of oneness, of unity.
Intellectually it had been easier for Orim to grasp this idea than to understand all its spiritual implications. The desire for unity was common to many religious systems. She had encountered such beliefs many years before at the Argivian University. What she found more difficult was the Cho-Arrim conviction that to actually attain unity with one's surroundings meant rejecting the logical connections formed by the conscious mind and surrendering to those elements she had always rejected as irrational and ineffable. Nonetheless, each time she practiced the meditation Cho-Manno taught, she felt closer to a moment of revelation, a flash of insight in which all creation would suddenly come into focus and, for the first time, she would become complete. This feeling was still a dim anticipation, but she now found meditation a delicious rest rather than a vain striving against some distant, unattainable goal.
She felt, rather than heard, a step behind her on the stones of the courtyard. Her concentration broke, and she rose, a reproof on her lips.
Silence enveloped her. The world rushed away, and all she knew was concentrated in the face before her.
Cho-Manno.
He stood exactly as she remembered him, one eyebrow slightly raised, his mouth drooping half-humorously. He was clad as he had been that day of the raid-in a short skirt, his chest bare, and coins flashing in the braids of his hair. She could see the fine beads of sweat on his breast, the gentle rhythm of his breathing as he looked silently at her. She gave a wordless cry and held up a hand, blocking him from her sight. Then, cautiously, she lowered her hand and saw that he was still there, still gazing at her. His soft brown eyes reflected all the world in their deep pools.
Without another sound, she ran to him and was gathered into the warmth of his embrace. She heard his voice, just as she'd remembered it so many times. "Orim. Chavala."