It was unutterably strange to stand before the Deep Library, to hear the voices and watch the surface of the pool rippling as if beneath the strike of invisible raindrops. It was different than the way the Fireflower manifested itself in his head, more chaotic and less like the conversation of humans, but with Saqri directing it, it did not pass beyond what he could take in, although he could by no means understand all of it.
“Terrible things are on the wind,” the Deep Library voices murmured. “The forbidding of the old roads, the dying god, the plans of the southern mortal that make even Heaven tremble ...”
“And Yasammez has a Fever Egg,” another voice said in mournful sing-song. “The end must truly be near. Perhaps even the Dark Lady has finally discovered despair.”
“The roads are still there, if only the gods would open a way for you,” moaned another.
“Stop!” Saqri said, and her voice was like a whipcrack. “The gods themselves are asleep! You know that, because it has been true for half of your existence! And besides, even were they not beyond our reach, with Crooked dying and the rest dreaming, the most powerful of the gods are our enemies! The Three Brothers and all their followers hate us. That is one reason for my great-aunt’s desperation.”
“Then all is lost,” whispered one of the Deep Library; a chorus echoed it, agreeing. The faces formed and disappeared, roiling for their moment of existence like weeds in a swirling river.
“All is lost!” they muttered.
“Almost all,” said one. “Do they hate the mortals, too?”
Saqri abruptly held up her hand.
“May I dismiss them?” she asked. It took Barrick a moment to realize she was asking him. Apparently it took both halves of the Fireflower to dismiss the Deep Library as well as summon it.
He raised his hand into the light and let her do what had to be done.
They walked back in what Barrick assumed was the silence of defeat.
“So what will we do?” he asked at last. “My people—the people of the castle—your people—they will all be killed!”
“If we cannot stop them, I fear you are right.”
He could not believe her calm. “But we can’t stop them. Everyone agrees! We are on the other side of the world and you heard what the Deep Library said—there are no roads left for us to use.”
“Not exactly.” Saqri’s thoughts were quiet, almost hesitant, as though she was still working out the details of some complicated picture in her head. “They said the gods’ roads are still available to us.”
“But the most powerful gods hate the Qar—you said that yourself! So what good would that do?”
“Ah, yes, the gods may hate the Qar,” Saqri said, an invisible shape in the darkness beside him, “but I cannot help wondering how they feel about your folk?”
5. Haunters of the Deeps
“… But in those days the Kracian hills were a fierce, lawless place. A clan of bandits came into the valley where Adis and his parents lived while he was out with the flock, and they killed his parents and took what little the family had.”
“I am weary and heartsick,” said Olin Eddon. “Why must I remain here? I have seen the ships roll in, seen the soldiers in their thousands disembark. Yes, the autarch has ample might to humble my poor country. What purpose does this serve?”
Pinimmon Vash looked up to the deck of this latest, largest supply ship. The chief of the cargo-men waved a signal, letting the paramount minister know that the show was about to start. Other ships were unloading as well—the harbor that had once served mainland Southmarch was now the hub of the autarch’s tent-city along the shore of the bay—but it was this one that was the object of the autarch’s greatest interest.
“It was the Golden One himself who decreed that you must watch from here, King Olin,” Vash said as politely as he could. “That is all you need to know.”
“Why is no one in Southmarch firing on your ships?” Olin’s face was pale and damp with perspiration. “Surely not even Tolly would fail to defend his own castle. What trick has your master played to land here unopposed?”
“Ask the Golden One about such minor matters, King Olin, not me.” Couldn’t the northerner see that all this had nothing to do with Pinimmon Vash himself, that he was only doing what his master required of him? The foreign king was less of a savage than Vash had expected, but his manners were clearly not up to the rigorous standards of a real court. After all, wasn’t having to stand here on the sunny waterfront without even a parasol—where were those cursed slave boys, anyway?—much harder on the older, more delicate Vash?
He became uncomfortably aware that King Olin was staring at him. “Yes?”
“You seem like a civilized man, Lord Vash,” said Olin, weirdly mirroring Vash’s private thoughts. “An intelligent man. How can you do the bidding of someone like the autarch? He has said—if he is not completely mad, of course, if what he plans can actually be done—he has said he intends to bind up the power of a true god so that everything that lives on the earth will be his slaves!”
Vash almost smiled at that, but he had not lost all caution: he quickly looked around to make certain they were alone before answering. “And how is that different from what we have now, King Olin? The Golden One already rules absolutely, so what else can I do but comply? No, your question is naïve, I fear. You might just as easily—and just as fruitfully—ask me why a stone falls to the ground when dropped or why the stars hang shining in the sky. That is how Creation is ordered. Only a fool would give up his life when there is no hope things will ever be otherwise.”
Olin Eddon didn’t appear offended, but neither did he seem convinced. “Then no tyrant in history would ever have been overthrown. The Twelve would not have cast down the dictator Skollas, and Hierosol would have crushed Xis a thousand and more years ago.”
“If the gods willed it, so it would have been,” agreed Vash. “But I see no such truth in the world we inhabit here, today. The autarch rules us, may he live forever—all else is but an airy game of what-might-be.”
Olin continued to stare at him, intently enough that Vash began to feel quite put out. Didn’t this northern upstart realize what an honor was being done to him, having the paramount minister of all Xis as his attendant? “You really should pay attention to the unloading, King Olin. It was the Golden One’s express wish. ...”
Olin ignored him. “Not all southerners are as fatalistic as you, Lord Vash. I know many of your continent who fought back against the autarch—one in particular who became my friend.”
Pinimmon Vash could not help laughing a little. “And what did it gain him? Not much, I imagine.” A thought suddenly came to him. “Hold a moment. Do you talk about the traitor, Shaso dan-Heza? The Tuani general who tried to thwart the rightful claims of Autarch Parnad, the Golden One’s father?”
Now it was Olin’s turn to smile, a wolfish grin deep in his gray-shot beard. “Rightful claims? Now who is being purposefully naïve? Shaso and his people fought Parnad and Parnad’s father, too, and even though I hear a puppet of sorts has been put on the throne in Nyoru, I imagine some in Tuan will continue fighting until one day they drive you Xixians out. The Tuani are no cowards and they clearly do not agree that the autarch’s rule over all the world is inevitable.”