Ancestors of Avalon

Ancestors of Avalon Marion Zimmer Bradley Diana L. Paxson The full sweep of the rich history of Avalon – from the fall of Atlantis to the founding of a new temple on the mist-shrouded isle of Britain – is finally revealed in this magnificent tale.The priests and priestesses of Atlantis have known for many years that the Sea Kingdoms were doomed. But now the final destruction has arrived they find themselves less prepared than they had thought for what lies ahead.Micail and Tiriki, prince and princess of the last island to fall, as well as priest and priestess, are separated during the final escape. Micail and his cousin, Prince Tjalan, successfully arrive at their planned destination, a trading post in the Hesperides (the British Isles) where Tjalan loses no time in taking charge. He dreams of continuing the traditions of Atlantis and founding a glorious new empire – whether the local tribes like it or not. Micail and the other priests dedicate themselves to fulfilling an ancient prophesy that they will build a great temple in this new land – and set about finding a way to shift the huge blocks of granite that will become Stonehenge.Micail's beloved wife Tiriki also arrives in the Hesperides, but, blown off-course by a storm, her ship lands on the wrong shore. She and the elderly priest Chedan lead their small group in forming a new community in harmony with the local population at the sacred Tor (Glastonbury). Once the two groups become aware of each other, conflict will become inevitable.A deeply moving and utterly convincing tale of faith in the face of adversity, filled with memorable characters and haunting landscapes. Ancestors of Avalon Marion Zimmer Bradley and Diana L. Paxson To David Bradley Without whom this book could not have been written Table of Contents Cover Page (#u9f87fb33-18bd-54e1-8fe7-7b5f02c1ecc6) Title Page (#ud81be9a5-b93b-59d0-b402-41acce760e9a) PEOPLE IN THE STORY (#u6dec8d86-3d96-5af1-9a84-335ba9c3b996) PLACES IN THE STORY (#u82fab40c-eb0b-5869-a91c-9d701114706c) PROLOGUE (#u95852d65-2b2e-5d8a-b4c6-43e13a030664) ONE (#u056b80ed-113a-5cb0-a45c-da17939f3648) TWO (#uca5c5b8c-88d7-570f-96be-da54f5fa6cbf) THREE (#uda918116-2f52-5422-b403-5cfca9dd9da0) FOUR (#uf4148017-f3f9-583f-bce1-47376321a773) FIVE (#u945bd1a7-8a4f-5420-84d6-a0620560d52d) SIX (#litres_trial_promo) SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) NINE (#litres_trial_promo) TEN (#litres_trial_promo) ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo) THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo) TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo) AFTERWORD (#litres_trial_promo) About the Authors (#litres_trial_promo) Other books in this series (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) PEOPLE IN THE STORY (#ulink_d0f3d104-fe6c-59ce-89bb-1db9f2954510) PEOPLE WHO DO NOT ESCAPE ATLANTIS Aldel – of Ahtarrath; an acolyte, betrothed to Elis, killed in rescue of Omphalos Stone Deoris [temple name, ‘Adsartha’] – a former priestess of Caratra, mother of Tiriki, wife of Reio-ta (Domaris – a Vested Guardian, priestess of Light, mother of Micail) Gremos – a priestess, housemother to the acolytes Kalhan – of Atalan; an acolyte, betrothed to Damisa Kanar – chief astrologer of the Temple on Ahtarrath, Lanath’s first teacher Lunrick – a merchant of Ahtarra Mesira – chief of the healers, a priestess of the cult of Caratra (Micon – Prince of Ahtarrath, father of Micail) (Mikantor – Prince of Ahtarrath, father of Micon and Reio-ta) Pegar – a landowner of Ahtarrath (Rajasta – mage, priest of Light, and Vested Guardian in the Ancient Land) CAPITALS = major characters ( ) = dead before story begins Reio-ta – regent of Ahtarrath and governor of the Temple of Light on Ahtarrath, priest, uncle of Micail and stepfather of Tiriki (Riveda – biological father of Tiriki, healer, mage, and chief of the Grey Robe Order in the Ancient Land; executed for sorcery) PEOPLE AT THE TOR Adeyna – wife of the merchant Forolin Alyssa [Temple name, ‘Neniath’] – of Caris; a Grey Robe priestess (the Grey Mage), seeress, and adept Arcor – of Ahtarrath, a sailor on the Crimson Serpent Aven – an Alkonan sailor on the Crimson Serpent Cadis – an Ahtarran sailor on the Crimson Serpent CHEDAN ARADOS – originally of Alkonath; son of Naduil, an acolyte in the Ancient Land before its fall, former Vested Guardian, and now a mage DAMISA – of Alkonath; eldest of the acolytes, a cousin of Prince Tjalan, betrothed to Kalhan Dannetrasa of Caris – a priest of Light who assisted Ardral in the library; arrives at the Tor on the second ship Domara – daughter of Tiriki and Micail, born at the Tor Eilantha – Tiriki’s Temple name Elis – of Ahtarrath; one of the acolytes, especially good with plants Forolin – a merchant of Ahtarrath and late arrival to the Tor Heron – headman of the marsh folk Iriel – of Arhaburath; youngest of the acolytes (age twelve at the time of the Sinking), betrothed to Aldel Jarata – a merchant of Ahtarrath Kalaran – an acolyte, betrothed to Selast Kestil – daughter of Forolin and Adeyna, five years old when she arrives at the Tor Larin – a sailor on the Crimson Serpent, later inducted into the priesthood Liala [Temple name, ‘Atlialmaris’] – of Ahtarrath; a Blue Robe priestess and healer Linnet – daughter of Nettle, of the marsh folk Malaera – a lesser Blue Robe priestess Metia – senior saji woman, nursemaid to Domara Mudlark – son of Nettle, of the marsh folk Nettle – wife of Heron, headman of the marsh folk Otter – son of the headman, Heron Reidel – of Ahtarrath; son of Sarhedran, captain of the Crimson Serpent; later, a priest of the Sixth Order Redfern – a woman of the marsh folk Rendano – of Akil, a lesser priest in the Temple of Light and a sensitive Selast – of Cosarrath, one of the acolytes Taret – wisewoman of the marsh folk at the Tor Teiron – an Alkonian sailor assigned to the Crimson Serpent Teviri – one of the saji women, attendant to Alyssa TIRIKI [Temple name, ‘Eilantha’] – of Ahtarrath, a Guardian in the Temple of Light, wife of Micail; she will become the Morgan of Avalon Virja – one of the saji women, attendant to Alyssa PEOPLE AT BELSAIRATH AND AZAN Aderanthis – of Tapallan; midlevel priestess from the Temple at Ahtarrath Anet – daughter of the high priestess Ayo and King Khattar of the Ai-Zir Antar – bodyguard to Prince Tjalan ARDRAL [Temple name, ‘Ardravanant,’ meaning Knower of the Brightest] – of Atalan; an Adept, Seventh Vested Guardian of the Temple of Light at Ahtarrath, custodian of the library Ayo – Sacred Sister for the Ai-Zan, high priestess at Carn Ava Baradel – Tjalan’s older son, seven years old at the time of the Sinking Bennurajos – of Cosarrath, a singer from the Temple of Light on Ahtarrath, expert on plants and animals Chaithala – Princess of Alkonath, wife of Tjalan Cleta – of Tarisseda Ruta; an acolyte, herbalist, betrothed to Vialmar, fifteen years old at the time of the Sinking Cyrena – Princess of Tarisseda, betrothed to Baradel, nine years old at the time of the Sinking Dan – one of the three swordsmen known as Prince Tjalan’s Companions Dantu – captain of the Royal Emerald, Tjalan’s flagship Delengirol – of Tarisseda; a singer from the Temple in Ahtarra Domazo – keeper of the inn in Belsairath, heir to the local chieftain Droshrad – shaman of the Red Bulls ELARA [Temple name, ‘Larrnebiru’] – of Ahtarrath; second eldest of the acolytes, also an initiate of Caratra, betrothed to Lanath Galara – half-sister to Tiriki, daughter of Deoris and Reio-ta, a junior scribe Greha – Ai-Zir warrior, bodyguard to Heshoth Haladris – of Atalan; First Vested Guardian in the Temple of Light on Alkonath, formerly an archpriest in the Ancient Land Heshoth – a native trader Jiritaren – of Tapallan; priest of Light, astronomer Karagon – of Mormallor; a chela to Valadur Khattar – chief of the Red Bulls, high king of the Ai-Zir Khayan-e-Durr – sister of Khattar, queen of the Red Bull tribe Khensu – Khattar’s nephew and heir Kyrrdis – of Ahtarrath; singer and priestess of Light Lanath – of Tarisseda Ruta; an acolyte, former apprentice to Kanar, betrothed to Elara Li’ija – of Alkonath; a chela, Ocathrel’s eldest daughter, nineteen years old at the time of the Sinking Lirini – of Alkonath; a chela in the Scribes’ School, middle daughter of Ocathrel, seventeen years old at the time of the Sinking Lodreimi – of Alkonath; a Blue Robe priestess in Timul’s Temple Mahadalku – of Tarisseda Ruta; First Vested Guardian of the Tarissedan Temple of Light Marona – of Ahtarrath; a Blue Robe priestess and healer Metanor – of Ahtarrath; Fifth Vested Guardian in the Temple of Light MICAIL – Prince of Ahtarrath; First Vested Guardian in the Temple of Light Naranshada [Temple name, ‘Ansha’] – of Ahtarrath; Fourth Vested Guardian in the Temple of Light, an engineer Ocathrel – of Alkonath; Fifth Vested Guardian in the Temple of Light Osinarmen – Micail’s Temple name Ot – one of the three swordsmen known as Prince Tjalan’s Companions Reualen – of Alkonath; Priest of Light, husband of Sahurusartha Sadhisebo and Saiyano – saji priestesses in Timul’s Temple, skilled in herblore Sahurusartha – of Alkonath; priestess of Light, singer, wife of Reualen Stathalkha – of Tarisseda Ruta; Third Guardian of the Tarissedan Temple, a powerful sensitive Timul – of Alkonath; second to the high priestess of the Temple of Ni-Terat in Alkonath, head of the Blue Robes in Belsairath TJALAN – Prince of Alkonath; leader of the colony in Belsairath, cousin of Micail Valadur – of Mormallor; a Grey Adept Valorin – of Tapallan; priest of Light in the Temple at Alkonath, a naturalist Vialmar – of Arhurabath; an acolyte, betrothed to Cleta HEAVENLY POWERS Banur – the four-faced god, destroyer-preserver; ruler of winter The Blood Star – Mars Caratra – daughter or nurturing aspect of Ni-Terat, the Great Mother; Venus is her star Dyaus – the Sleeper, also known as the ‘Man with Crossed Hands,’ the force of chaos that brings change; sometimes referred to as ‘That One’ Manoah – the Great Maker, Lord of the Day, identified with the sun; ruler of Summer, and with Orion (‘The Hunter of Destiny’) Nar-Inabi – ‘Star Shaper,’ god of the night, the stars, and the sea; ruler of harvest time [A note on Atlantean astrology: Four millennia ago, the sky was different in many ways. Due to the precession of the equinoxes, for instance, the solstices fell in early January and July, and the equinoxes in early April and October. The signs of the zodiac were also different, so that the winter solstice occurred when the sun entered Aquarius, and the spring equinox when it entered Taurus. The constellation names, in the Sea Kingdoms and the ancient civilizations around them, were different as well.] Ni-Terat – Dark Mother of All, Veiled aspect of the Great Mother, goddess of the Earth; ruler of planting time The Peacemaker – Virgo The Sorcerer – Saturn The Sovereign – Jupiter The Torch – Leo, also called the Scepter or the Great Fire The Wheel – Ursa Major, also called the Seven Guardians or Chariot Winged Bull – Taurus PLACES IN THE STORY (#ulink_c629b814-c345-523a-a522-269ac5dedc1a) Ahtarra – capital city of Ahtarrath Ahtarrath – the last isle of the Sea Kingdoms to fall; home of the House of the Twelve (acolytes) Ahurabath – an isle of the Sea Kingdoms Alkona – capital of Alkonath Alkonath – one of the mightiest of the Ten Island Kingdoms, famed for its seafarers Aman River – the Avon, in Britain Amber Coast – coast of the North Sea Ancient Land – ancestral realm of the Atlanteans, located somewhere near what is now the Black Sea Atlantis – a general name for the Sea Kingdoms Azan – the ‘Bull-pen,’ territory of the five tribes of the Ai-Zir, from Weymouth northeast to the Salisbury Plain in Wessex, Britain Azan-Ylir – capital of Azan, modern Amesbury Beleri’in [Belerion] – modern Penzance, in Cornwall Belsairath – an Alkonan trading outpost where Dorchester is now Belsairath fortress – Maiden Castle, Dorset Carn Ava – Avebury Casseritides – ‘Isles of Tin,’ a name for Britain City of the Circling Snake – capital of the Ancient Land Cosarrath – an isle of the Ten Kingdoms Hellas – Greece Hill of the Ghosts – Hambledon Hill, Dorset Isle of the Mighty, Isle of Tin, Hesperides – British Isles Khem – Egypt Mormallor – one of the Ten Kingdoms, called the ‘holy isle’ Olbairos – an Ahtarran trading station on the continent Oranderis – an isle of the Sea Kingdoms The Sea Kingdoms – the islands of Atlantis Tapallan – an isle of the Ten Kingdoms Tarisseda – an isle of the Ten Kingdoms The Ten Kingdoms – the alliance of Sea Kingdoms that replaced the Bright Empire The Tor – Glastonbury Tor, Somerset Zaiadan – a land on the coast of the North Sea PROLOGUE (#ulink_02c410d1-67dc-5c30-aba1-03d52d5c2c8b) Morgaine speaks… The people of Avalon bring to their Lady their troubles, both great and small. This morning the Druids came to me to say that there has been a rockfall in the passage that leads from their Temple to the chamber that holds the Omphalos Stone, and they do not know how it is to be repaired. Their numbers here are small now, and most of those who remain are old. So many of those who might have renewed their Order were killed in the Saxon wars or have gone instead to the monks who tend the Christian chapel that is on that other Avalon. And so they come to me as they all come to me, those who remain, to tell them what they must do. It has always seemed odd to me that the way to a mystery that is buried so deeply in the earth begins in the Temple of the Sun, but they say that those who first brought the ancient wisdom to these isles, long before the Druids, honored the Light above all things. The Sight no longer comes to me as it did when I was young and we fought to bring the Goddess back into the world. I know now that She was already here, and always will be, but the Omphalos is the egg stone, the navel of the world, the last magic of a land sunk beneath the seas so long that even to us it is a legend. When I was a girl, there were tapestries in the Druids’ Temple that told the story of how it came here. They have fallen to threads and dust, but I myself once followed that passage to the heart of the hill and touched the sacred stone. The visions that came to me then are more vivid now than many of my own memories. I can see once more the Star Mountain crowned with fire and Tiriki’s ship poised trembling on the wave as the Doomed Land is engulfed by the sea. But I do not believe that I was on that ship. I have had dreams in which I stood, hand in hand with a man I loved, and watched as my world tore itself to pieces, just as Britannia did when Arthur died. Perhaps that was why I was sent back in this time, for Avalon is surely as lost as Atlantis, though it is mist, not smoke that veils it from the mortal world. Once, there was a passage that led to the Omphalos Stone from the cave where the White Spring flows out from the Tor, but tremors in the earth blocked that way a long time ago. Perhaps it is not meant that we should any longer walk there. The Stone is being withdrawn from us, like so many other Mysteries. I know all about endings. It is beginnings that elude me. How did they come here, those brave priestesses and priests who survived the Sinking? Two millennia have passed since the Stone was brought to this shore, and five hundred more, and though we know little more than their names, we have preserved their legacy. Who were those ancestors who first brought the ancient wisdom and buried it like a seed in the heart of this holy hill? If I can understand how they survived their testing, then perhaps I will find hope that the ancient wisdom we preserved will be carried into the future, and that something of the magic of Avalon will endure… ONE (#ulink_da5e597c-4650-5399-970e-044d5807f247) Tiriki woke with a gasp as the bed lurched. She reached out for Micail, blinking away tormenting images of fire and blood and falling walls and a faceless, brooding figure writhing in chains. But she lay safe in her own bed, her husband by her side. ‘Thank the gods,’ she whispered. ‘It was only a dream!’ ‘Not entirely – look there—’ Raising himself on one elbow, Micail pointed to the lamp that swung before the Mother’s shrine in the corner, sending shadows flickering madly around the room. ‘But I know what you dreamed. The vision came to me, too.’ In the same moment the earth moved again. Micail seized her in his arms and rolled her toward the protection of the wall as plaster showered down from above. From somewhere in the distance came a long rumble of falling masonry. They clung, scarcely breathing, as the vibration peaked and eased. ‘The mountain is waking,’ he said grimly when all was still. ‘This makes the third tremor in two days.’ He released her and got out of the bed. ‘They’re getting stronger—’ she agreed. The palace was solidly built of stone and had withstood many tremors over the years, but even in the uncertain light Tiriki could see a new crack running across the ceiling of the room. ‘I must go. Reports will be coming in. Will you be all right here?’ Micail stepped into his sandals and wrapped himself in a mantle. Tall and strong, with the lamplight striking flame from his red hair, he seemed the most stable thing in the room. ‘Of course,’ she answered, getting up herself and pulling a light robe around her slim body. ‘You are prince as well as priest of this city. They will look to you for direction. But do not wear yourself out on work that can be done by other men. We must be ready for the ritual this afternoon.’ She tried to hide her shiver of fear at the thought of facing the Omphalos Stone, but surely a ritual to reinforce the balance of the world had never been so necessary as now. He nodded, looking down at her. ‘You seem so fragile, but sometimes I think you are the strongest of us all…’ ‘I am strong because we are together,’ Tiriki murmured as he left her. Beyond the curtains that screened the balcony a red light was glowing. Today marked the midpoint of spring, she thought grimly, but that light was not the dawn. The city of Ahtarra was on fire. In the city above, men struggled to shift rubble and put out the last of the fires. In the shrine where the Omphalos Stone lay hidden, all was still. Tiriki held her torch higher as she followed the other priests and priestesses into its deepest chamber, suppressing a shiver as the hot flame became its own shadow, greenish smoke swirling around the pitchsoaked brand. The Omphalos Stone glimmered like occluded crystal in the center of the room. An egg-shaped thing half the height of a man, it seemed to pulse as it absorbed the light. Robed figures stood along the curving wall. The torches they had set into the brackets above them flickered bravely, yet the shrine seemed shrouded in gloom. There was a chill here, deep beneath the surface of the island of Ahtarrath, that no ordinary fire could ease. Even the smoke of the incense that smoldered on the altar sank in the heavy air. All other light faded before the glowing Stone. Even without their hoods and veils, the faces of the priests and priestesses would have been difficult to see, but as she felt her way to her place against the wall, Tiriki needed no sight to identify the hooded figure beside her as Micail. She smiled a silent greeting, knowing he would feel it. Were we disembodied spirits, she thought warmly, still I would know him…The sacred medallion upon his breast, a golden wheel with seven spokes, gleamed faintly, reminding Tiriki that here he was not only her husband, but the High Priest Osinarmen, Son of the Sun; just as she was not only Tiriki but Eilantha, Guardian of Light. Straightening, Micail began to sing the Invocation for the Equinox of Spring, his voice vibrating oddly. ‘Let Day be bounded by the Night…’ Other, softer voices joined the chant. ‘Dark be balanced by the Light. Earth and Sky and Sun and Sea, A circled cross shall ever be.’ A lifetime of priestly training had taught Tiriki all the ways of setting aside the demands of the body, but it was hard to ignore the dank subterranean air, or the eerie sense of pressure that set goose bumps in her skin. Only by supreme effort could she focus again on the song as it began to stir the stillness into harmony… ‘Let sorrow make a space for joy, Let grief with jubilance alloy, Step by step to make our way, Till Darkness shall unite with Day…’ In the desperate struggle that had caused the destruction of the Ancient Land a generation earlier, the Omphalos Stone had become, if only briefly, the plaything of black sorcery. For a time it had been feared that the corruption was absolute; and so the priests had circulated the story that the Stone had been lost, with so much else, beneath the vengeful sea. In a way, the lie was truth; but the deep place in which the Stone lay was this cavern beneath the temples and the city of Ahtarra. With the arrival of the Stone, this midsize island of the Sea Kingdoms of Atlantis had become the sacred center of the world. But though the Stone was far from lost, it was hidden, as it had always been. Even the highest in the priesthood rarely found cause to enter this shrine. Those few who dared consult the Omphalos knew that their actions could upset the equilibrium of the world. The song changed tempo, growing more urgent. ‘Each season by the next is bound, Meetings, partings, form the round, The sacred center is our frame, Where all is changing, all the same…’ Tiriki was losing focus again. If it was all the same, she thought in sudden rebellion, we wouldn’t be here now! For months, news of earthquakes and rumors of worse destruction to come had been running. like wildfire throughout the Sea Kingdoms. In Ahtarrath, such terrors had at first seemed distant, but the past few nights, Temple dwellers and city folk alike had been plagued by faint tremors in the earth, and persistent, dreadful dreams. And even now, as the song continued, she could sense uneasiness in the other singers. Can this truly be the prophesied Time of Ending? Tiriki wondered silently. After so many warnings? Resolutely, she rejoined her voice to the rising architecture of sound, whose manipulation was perhaps the most powerful tool of Atlantean magic. ‘Moving, we become more still, Impassioned, we are bound by will, Turning in perpetuity While Time becomes Eternity…’ The shadows thickened, contorting the swirls of incense that at last spiraled into the chill air. The music stopped. Light blazed forth from the Stone, filling the shrine as completely as darkness had before. Light was everywhere, so radiant that Tiriki was surprised to find that it carried no heat. Even the torches shone more brightly. The singers released a collective sigh. Now they could begin. First to take off his hood and move toward the Stone was Reio-ta, governor of the Temple. Beside him the blue-robed Mesira, leader of the healers, lifted her veil. Tiriki and Micail stepped out to face them across the Stone. In that light, Micail’s red hair shone like flame, while the wisps that escaped Tiriki’s coiled braids glistened gold and silver. Reio-ta’s rich tenor took up the invocation… ‘In this place of Ni-Terat, Dark Queen of Earth, Now bright with the Spirit of Manoah’s Light, Confirm we now the Sacred Center, The Omphalos, Navel of the World.’ The richness of her husky contralto belied Mesira’s age. ‘The center is not a place, but a state of being. The Omphalos is of another realm. Many ages the Stone lay undisturbed in the sanctuaries of the Ancient Land, but the center was not there, nor is it in Ahtarrath.’ Micail voiced the formal response, ‘Mindful that all here have vowed that what is, is worth preserving, and to that end bending might and will…’ He smiled at Tiriki, and reached again for her hand. Together they drew breath for the closing words. ‘We arrive forever in the Realm of the True, which can never be destroyed.’ And the rest responded in chorus, ‘While we keep faith, Light lives in us!’ The otherworldly illumination throbbed as Mesira spoke once more. ‘So we invoke the Equilibrium of the Stone, that the people may know peace once more. For we cannot ignore the portents we have seen. We meet in a place of wisdom to seek answers. Seeress, I summon thee—’ Mesira extended both arms to the grey figure who now stepped forward. ‘The time is come. Be thou our eyes and our voice before the Eternal.’ The seeress drew back her veils. In the intense brilliance of the Stone’s light it was not difficult to recognize Alyssa, her black hair hanging loose around her shoulders, her eyes already dilated by trance. With strange, half-bowing steps, she moved into the altar’s radiance. The singers watched nervously as the seeress rested her fingertips upon the Stone. Translucent patterns of power pooled and eddied within. Alyssa stiffened, but instead of retreating, she moved even nearer. ‘It is…it is so,’ she whispered. ‘One with the Stone am I. What it knows, ye shall know. Let the sacred song bear us to the doors of Fate.’ As she spoke, the singers began to hum softly. Micail’s voice soared in the cadence of Command, calling the seeress by her Temple name. ‘Neniath, seeress, dost thou know me? I, Osinarmen, do address thee. Part us from dreams as thou dost wake By the answer thou wilt make.’ ‘I hear.’ The voice was quite different from Alyssa’s, sharp and ringing. ‘I am here. What wouldst thou know?’ ‘Speak if it please thee, and we shall attend.’ Micail sang the formal phrase in one sustained exhalation, but in his voice, Tiriki could hear the strain. ‘We come because the Stone has called us, whispering secretly in the night.’ A moment passed. ‘The answer, thou dost already know,’ the seeress murmured. ‘The question lies before the truth. Yet the door that was cast open will not be shut. Stone upon stone rises higher, doomed to fall. The forests fill with tinder. The power which has waited at the heart of the world shifts…and it hungers.’ Tiriki felt a momentary unsteadiness, but could not tell if it came from beneath the flooring stones, or from her own heart. She looked to Micail, but he stood frozen, his face a grimacing mask. Reio-ta forced out words. ‘Darkness has broken loose before,’ he said with grim concentration, ‘and always, it has been contained. What must we do this time to bind it?’ ‘Can you do aught but sing again while silence grows?’ Alyssa shook with unexpected, bitter laughter; and this time the earth shuddered with her. A ripple of fright shook the singers. They cried out as one, ‘We are servants of Light Unfailing! The Darkness can never prevail!’ But the tremors did not cease. The torches flickered out. Scarlet lightnings shot from the Stone. For a moment Tiriki thought the cavern around them was groaning, but it was Alyssa’s throat from which those horrific sounds came. The seeress was speaking, or trying to, but the words came garbled and unintelligible. Fighting their dread, the singers inched closer to Alyssa, straining to hear; but the seeress shrank away from them, arms flailing against the Stone. ‘It climbs!’ Her shrieks echoed far beyond the circular chamber. ‘The foul flower! Blood and fire! YOU ARE TOO LATE!’ As the echoes diminished, the strength faded from the taut body of the seeress. Only Micail’s swift movement prevented her from falling. ‘Take her—’ Reio-ta gasped. ‘Mesira, go with them! We will f-finish here—’ Nodding, Micail bore the seeress from the chamber. The alcove by the entrance to the shrine where they brought the seeress seemed strangely quiet. While the earth beneath them had finally stilled, Tiriki’s spirit was still shaken. As she entered, her acolyte Damisa, who had waited here with the other attendants during the ceremony, looked up with anxious green eyes. Micail pressed past her, touching Tiriki’s hand in a swift caress that was more intimate than an embrace. Eyes met in an unspoken assurance – I am here…I am here. We will survive, though the heavens fall. From the chamber beyond came a babble of voices. ‘How are they?’ murmured Micail, with a nod toward the sound. Tiriki shrugged, but held on to his hand. ‘Half of them are assuring one another that we did not understand Alyssa’s words, and the others are convinced that Ahtarra is about to fall into the sea. Reio-ta will deal with them.’ She looked at Alyssa, who lay upon a bench with Mesira beside her. ‘How is she?’ The face of the seeress was pale, and the long hair which this morning had shone like a raven’s wing was now brindled with streaks of grey. ‘She sleeps,’ Mesira said simply. In the soft light that came through the doorway, the healer’s face showed all its years. ‘As for her waking…it will be some time, I believe, before we know whether this day’s work has harmed her. You may as well go. I think we have received all the answers we are going to get. My chela is fetching a litter, that we may take her back to the Healers Hall. If there is any change, I will send word.’ Micail had already removed his vestments and slipped the emblem of his rank beneath the neck of his sleeveless tunic. Tiriki folded her veil and outer robe and handed them to Damisa. ‘Shall we too call for bearers?’ she asked. Micail shook his head. ‘Are you up to walking? I need to feel the touch of honest daylight on my skin.’ The hot bright air of the outdoors was a blessing, baking the chill of the underground chambers from their bones. Tiriki felt the tightness easing from her neck and shoulders, and lengthened her steps to keep up with her husband’s longer stride. Through the red and white stone columns of the Temple that marked the entrance to the underground shrine, she glimpsed a string of roofs tiled in blue. Farther down the slope, a scattering of newly built domes in cream and red were set amid the gardens of the city. Beyond them, the glittering sea stretched away to infinity. As they emerged from the portico, the sounds and smells of the city rose around them – barking dogs and crying babies, merchants calling out their wares, the spicy smell of the seafood stew that was a local favorite, and the less salubrious odors from a nearby sewer. The fires started by last night’s quake had been put out, and the damage was being dealt with. The destruction had been less than they had feared. Indeed, fear was now their greatest enemy. Even the stinks were an affirmation of ordinary life, reassuring after their confrontation with the uncanny power of the Stone. Perhaps Micail felt the same. At any rate, he was leading her the long way around, away from the tall buildings of the Temple complex and down through the marketplace, instead of following the white-paved Processional Way that led to the palace. The gleaming flanks of the Three Towers were hidden as they turned down a side street that led toward the harbor, where shopkeepers haggled with customers as they would on any normal day. They attracted a few looks of admiration, but no one pointed or stared. Without their ritual robes, she and Micail looked like any ordinary couple doing errands in the marketplace, though they were taller and fairer than most of the people of the town. And had anyone considered troubling them, the decision in Micail’s strong features and the energy in his stride would have been deterrent enough. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked. They had fasted for the ritual, and it was now close to noon. ‘What I really want is a drink,’ he responded with a grin. ‘There used to be a taverna near the harbor that served good wine – not our local rough red, but a respectable vintage from the land of the Hellenes. Don’t worry – the food will not disappoint you, either.’ The taverna had an open loggia shaded by trellised vines. Around its edges grew the crimson lilies of Ahtarrath. Their delicate fragrance scented the air. Tiriki tipped back her head to allow the breeze from the harbor to stir her hair. If she turned, she could see the slopes of the Star Mountain – the dormant volcano that was the island’s core, shimmering in the heat-haze. Down the slope there was a band of forest, and then a patchwork of field and vineyard. Sitting here, the events of the morning seemed no more than gloomy dreams. Micail’s fathers had ruled here for a hundred generations. What power could overwhelm a tradition of such wisdom and glory? Micail took a long swallow from his earthenware goblet and let out a breath with an appreciative sigh. Tiriki was surprised to feel a bubble of laughter rising within. At the sound, her husband lifted one eyebrow. ‘For a moment you reminded me of Rajasta,’ she explained. Micail grinned. ‘Our old teacher was a noble spirit, but he did appreciate good wine! He has been in my mind today as well, but not because of the wine,’ he added, sobering. She nodded, agreeing. ‘I’ve been trying to remember all he told us of the doom that claimed the Ancient Land. When the land began to sink, they had warning enough to send the sacred scrolls here, along with the adepts to read them. But if disaster should destroy all the Sea Kingdoms…where would a refuge for the ancient wisdom of Atlantis be found?’ Micail gestured with his goblet. ‘Is it not for that very purpose that we send out emissaries to the eastern lands of Hellas and Khem, and north as far as the Amber Coast, and the Isles of Tin?’ ‘And what of the wisdom that cannot be preserved in scrolls and tokens?’ she mused. ‘What of those things that must be seen and felt before one can understand? And what of the powers that can be safely given only when a master judges the student to be ready for them? What of the wisdom that must be transmitted soul to soul?’ Micail frowned thoughtfully, but his tone was relaxed. ‘Our teacher Rajasta used to say that however great the cataclysm, if only the House of the Twelve was preserved – not the priesthood, but the six couples, the youths and maidens who are the chosen acolytes – by themselves they could recreate all the greatness of our land. And then he would laugh…’ ‘He must have been joking,’ said Tiriki, thinking of Damisa and Kalhan, Elis and Aldel, Kalaran and Selast, and Elara and Cleta, and the rest. The acolytes had been bred to the calling, the offspring of matings ordained by the stars. Their potential was great – but they were all so terribly young. Tiriki shook her head. ‘No doubt they will surpass us all when they complete their training, but without supervision, I fear they would find it hard to resist the temptation to misuse their powers. Even my father—’ She stopped abruptly, her fair skin flushing. Most of the time she was able to forget that her real father was not Reio-ta, her mother’s husband, but Riveda, who had ruled over the Order of Grey Robe mages in the Ancient Land; Riveda, who had proved unable to resist the temptations of forbidden magic and had been executed for sorcery. ‘Even Riveda did good as well as evil,’ Micail said softly, taking her hand. ‘His soul is in the keeping of the Lords of Fate, and through many lifetimes he will work out his penance. But his writings on the treatment of sickness have saved many. You must not let his memory haunt you, beloved. Here he is remembered as a healer.’ A dark-eyed’ youth arrived with a platter of flat cakes and little crisply fried fishes served with goat cheese and cut herbs. His eyes widened a little as he took in Tiriki’s blue eyes and fair hair, her only legacy from Riveda, who had originally come not from the Ancient Land, but from the little-known northern kingdom of Zaiadan. ‘We must try not to be afraid,’ Micail said, when the servant had gone. ‘There are many prophecies other than Rajasta’s that speak of the Time of Ending. If it has come, we will be at great risk, but the foreshadowings have never suggested that we are wholly doomed. Indeed, Rajasta’s vision has assured us that you and I will found a new Temple in a new land! I am convinced that there is a Destiny that will preserve us. We must only find its thread.’ Tiriki nodded, and took the hand he held out to her. But all this bright and beautiful life that surrounds us must pass away before the prophecy can be fulfilled. But for now, the day was fair, and the aromas rising from her plate offered a pleasant distraction from whatever fate might have in store. Willing herself to think only of the moment, and of Micail, Tiriki sought for a more neutral subject. ‘Did you know that Elara is a fine archer?’ Micail raised an eyebrow. ‘That seems an odd amusement for a healer – she’s apprenticed to Liala, is she not?’ ‘Yes, she is, but you know that a healer’s work requires both precision and nerve. Elara has become something of a leader among the acolytes.’ ‘I would have expected the Alkonan girl – your acolyte Damisa – to take that role,’ he replied. ‘Isn’t she the oldest? And she’s some relation to Tjalan, I believe. That family does like to take charge.’ He grinned, and Tiriki remembered that he had spent several summers with the Prince of Alkonath. ‘Perhaps she is a little too aware of her royal background. In any case, she was the last of them to arrive here, and I think she’s finding it hard to fit in.’ ‘If that is the hardest thing she has to deal with she may count herself fortunate!’ Micail downed the last of his wine and got to his feet. Tiriki sighed, but indeed, it was time for them to go. When the innkeeper realized that the couple who had been occupying the best table on his terrace for so very long were the prince and his lady, he tried to refuse payment, but Micail insisted on impressing his signet on a bit of clay. ‘Present that at the palace and my servants will give you what I owe—’ ‘You are too kind,’ Tiriki jested softly, as they were at last permitted to leave the taverna. ‘The man plainly felt honored by a visit from the prince and wished to make you a gift in return. Why did you not allow it?’ ‘Think of it as an affirmation,’ Micail smiled, a little grimly. ‘That bit of clay represents my belief that someone will be here tomorrow. And if, as you say, he would prefer the honor, well, there is nothing to force him to redeem the debt. Memory fades. But he has my seal for a keepsake—’ Slowly, they walked back to the palace, speaking of ordinary things, but Tiriki could not help recalling how the screams of the seeress had echoed from the crypt. When Damisa returned to the House of the Falling Leaves, the other acolytes were just finishing a lesson. Elara of Ahtarrath was the first to see her come in. Elara, dark-haired and buxom, was a native of this island, and it had fallen to her to make the newcomers from the other Sea Kingdoms welcome as they arrived. On each island, the temples trained priests and priestesses. But from among the most talented young people in each generation, twelve were chosen to learn the greater Mysteries. Some would one day return to their own islands as senior clergy, while others explored specialties such as healing or astrology. From the Twelve came the adepts, who served all Atlantis as Vested Guardians in the Temple of Light. The house was a low, sprawling structure of oddly aligned corridors and oversize suites, rumored to have been built a century or more ago for a foreign dignitary. The acolytes often amused themselves with suggesting other explanations for the stone mermaids in the weathered fountain in the central courtyard. Whatever its origins, until quite recently the strange old villa had served as a dormitory for unmarried priests, pilgrims, and refugees. Now it was the House of the Twelve. Some of the acolytes welcomed Elara’s help while others resisted her, but Damisa, who was a cousin of the prince of Alkonath, was usually the most self-sufficient of them all. Right now, thought Elara, she looked terrible. ‘Damisa? What has happened to you? Are you ill?’ She flinched as the other girl turned to her with a blind stare. ‘Did something happen at the ceremony?’ Elara took a firm grip on Damisa’s elbow and made her sit down by the fountain. She turned to get the attention of one of the others. ‘Lanath, go get her some water!’ Elara said in a low voice as all the acolytes surrounded them. Elara sat down, pushing back the black curls that kept falling into her eyes. ‘Be quiet, all of you!’ she glared until they moved back. ‘Let her breathe!’ She knew that Damisa had been called to attend Lady Tiriki early that morning, and she had envied her. Elara’s role as chela to the Blue Robe priestess Liala in the Temple of Ni-Terat was a pleasant enough assignment, but hardly glamorous. The acolytes had been told that their apprenticeships were determined by the placement of their stars and the will of the gods. It made sense that Elara’s betrothed, Lanath, was assigned to the Temple astrologer because he had a good head for figures, but Elara had always suspected that Damisa’s royal connections had got her the place with Tiriki, who was not only a priestess but Princess of Ahtarrath, after all. But she did not envy Damisa now. ‘Tell us, Damisa,’ she murmured as the other girl drank. ‘Was someone hurt? Has something gone wrong?’ ‘Wrong!’ Damisa closed her eyes for a moment, then straightened and looked around the circle. ‘Haven’t you heard the rumors that have been going around the city?’ ‘Of course we have. But where were you?’ asked little Iriel. ‘At an equinox ritual, attending my lady,’ Damisa replied. ‘Those rituals are usually held in the Great Temple of Manoah,’ observed Elis, who was also a native of the city. ‘It wouldn’t take you this long to get back from there!’ ‘We weren’t at the Temple of Light,’ Damisa said tightly. ‘We went to another place, a sanctuary built into the cliffs at the eastern edge of the city. The portico looks ordinary enough, but the actual Temple is deep underground. Or at least I suppose so. I was told to wait in the alcove at the head of the passage.’ ‘Banur’s bones!’ Elara exclaimed, ‘That’s the Temple of – I don’t know what it is – no one ever goes there!’ ‘I don’t know what it is, either,’ Damisa responded with a return of her usual arrogance, ‘but some Power is down there. I could see odd flashes of light all the way up the passageway.’ ‘It’s the Sinking…’ said Kalaran in a dull voice. ‘My own island is gone and now this one is going to go, too. My parents migrated to Alkonath, but I was chosen for the Temple. They thought it was an honor for me to come here…’ The acolytes looked at one another, shaken. ‘We don’t know that the ritual failed,’ Elara said bracingly. ‘We must wait – we will be told—’ ‘They had to carry the seeress out of that chamber,’ Damisa interrupted. ‘She looked half dead. They’ve taken her to Liala and the healers at the House of Ni-Terat.’ ‘I should go there,’ said Elara. ‘Liala may need my assistance.’ ‘Why bother?’ glowered Lanath. ‘We’re all going to die.’ ‘Be still!’ Elara rounded on him, wondering what had possessed the astrologers to betroth her to a boy who would run from his own shadow if it barked at him. ‘All of you – calm down. We are the Chosen Twelve, not a pack of backcountry peasants. Do you think our elders have not foreseen this disaster and made some kind of plan? Our duty is to help them however we can.’ She pushed her dark hair back again, hoping that what she had said was true. ‘And if they haven’t?’ asked Damisa’s betrothed, a rather stodgy, brown-haired lad called Kalhan. ‘Then we will die,’ Damisa recovered herself enough to scowl at him. ‘Well, if we do,’ said little Iriel, with her irrepressible smile, ‘I am going to have a few strong words to say to the gods!’ When Micail and Tiriki returned to the palace they found a blue-robed priestess waiting at the gate, bearing news from Mesira. Alyssa had awakened and was expected to make a good recovery. If only, Tiriki thought darkly, we could do so well at healing her prophecy… Yet she kept a smile on her lips as she accompanied Micail upstairs to the suite of rooms they shared on the upper floor. The veil before the alcove that held the shrine to the goddess, and the hangings that curtained the doors to the balcony stirred in the night wind from the sea. The whitewashed walls were frescoed with a frieze of golden falcons above a bed of crimson lilies. In the flickering light of the hanging lamps, the birds soared and the flowers seemed to bend in an invisible breeze. When he had changed into a fresh robe, Micail went off to confer with Reio-ta. Left alone, Tiriki ordered soft-footed servants to fill her bath with cool, scented water. When she had bathed, they waited to pat her dry. When they had gone, she walked out onto the balcony and gazed at the city below. To the east, the Star Mountain loomed against the crisp night sky. Groves of cypress covered the lower slopes, but the cone rose sharply above. The perpetual flame in the Temple at its summit appeared as a faint, pyramidal glow. Scattered points of light marked outlying farmsteads on the lower slopes, dimming one by one as the inhabitants sought their beds. In the city, folk stayed up later. Bobbing torches moved along the streets in the entertainment quarter. As the air cooled, the land gave up scents of drying grass and freshly turned earth like a rich perfume. She gazed out upon the peace of the night and in her heart, the words of the evening hymn became a prayer— Oh Source of Stars in splendor Against the darkness showing, Grant us restful slumber This night, Thy blessing knowing. How could such peace, such beauty, be destroyed? Her bed was hung with gauze draperies and covered with linen so fine it felt like silk against the skin. No comfort that Ahtarrath could provide was denied her, but despite her prayer, Tiriki could not sleep. By the time Micail came to bed, it was midnight. She could feel him gazing down at her and tried to make her breathing slow and even. Just because she was wakeful was no reason he should be deprived of sleep as well. But the bond between them went beyond the senses of the flesh. ‘What is wrong, beloved?’ His voice was soft in the darkness. She let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘I am afraid.’ ‘But we have known ever since we were born that doom might come to Ahtarrath.’ ‘Yes – at some time in the distant future. But Alyssa’s warning makes it immediate!’ ‘Perhaps…perhaps…’ The bed creaked as he sat down and reached to caress her hair. ‘Still, you know how hard it is to know the timing of a prophecy.’ Tiriki sat up, facing him. ‘Do you truly believe that?’ ‘Beloved…none of us can know what our knowing may change. All we can do is to use what powers we have to face the future when it comes.’ He sighed, and Tiriki thought she heard an echo of thunder, although the night was cloudless. ‘Ah, yes, your powers,’ she whispered bitterly, for what use were they now? ‘You can invoke the wind and the lightning, but what of the earth beneath? And how will that be passed on, if all else falls? Reio-ta has only a daughter –and I – I am unable to bear you a child!’ Sensing her tears, he clasped her closer to him. ‘You have not done so – but we are still young!’ Tiriki let her head rest against his shoulder and relaxed into the strength of his arms, drawing in the faint spicy scent of his body mixed with the oils of his own bath. ‘Two babes have I laid upon the funeral pyre,’ she whispered, ‘and three more I lost before they could be born. The priestesses of Caratra have no more help for me, Micail.’ She felt her hot tears welling up as his arms tightened around her. ‘Our mothers were sisters – perhaps we are too close kin. You must take another wife, my beloved, one who can give you a child.’ She felt him shake his head in the darkness. ‘The law of Ahtarrath allows it,’ she whispered. ‘And the law of love?’ he asked. He grasped her shoulders, looking down at her. She felt, rather than saw, the intensity in his gaze. ‘To beget a son worthy to bear my powers, I must give not only my seed but my soul. Truly, beloved, I do not think I would even be – capable – with a woman who was not my match in spirit as well as in body. We were destined for each other, Tiriki, and there can never be anyone for me but you.’ She reached up to trace the strong lines of his cheek and brow. ‘But your line will end!’ He bent his head to kiss away her tears. ‘If Ahtarrath itself must cease to be, does it matter so greatly if the magic of its princes is lost as well? It is the wisdom of Atlantis we must preserve, not its powers.’ ‘Osinarmen…do you know how much I love you?’ She lay back with a sigh as his hands began to move along her body, each touch awakening a sensation to which her body had learned to respond as the spiritual exercises of the Temple had trained her soul. ‘Eilantha…Eilantha!’ he answered and closed his arms around her. At that summons, spirit and body opened together, overwhelmed and transfigured in the ultimate union. TWO (#ulink_5a0ed08c-eb37-5c57-8531-722b4e8bd8e4) Damisa peered through the foliage of the garden of the House of the Twelve, wondering if she would be able to see any of the earthquake damage from here. Since the ritual in the underground Temple, the earth had been quiet, and Prince Micail had ordered his guards to help with the reconstruction. Ahtarrath’s capital had grown from the remnants of a more ancient settlement. The Three Towers, sheathed in gold, had stretched toward the sky for a thousand years. Almost as venerable were the Seven Arches, in whose weathered sides students strove to trace hieroglyphs long since worn away. The clergy of Ahtarra had done their best to prepare the old rooms of the House of the Falling Leaves for the twelve acolytes, but it was the gardens that made the location ideal, for they set the house well apart from the city and the temple. Damisa stepped back, letting the branches of the laurel hedge swing down. From here, no other building could be seen. She turned to watch the group on the lawn a little distance away. Priestly inbreeding could produce weakness as well as talent. She often wondered if she herself had been chosen as an acolyte because of her royal grandmother’s influence rather than her own merit, but half the others would have run screaming had they seen those lights flickering up the passageway of the underground Temple. It occurred to her now that the guardians might have seen some benefit in adding the robust blood of Alkonath to the priestly lineage. But why had they decided that the detestable Kalhan, with his blunt features and equally blunt sense of humor, was a fit mate for her? Surely he would have been a better match for Cleta, who had no sense of humor at all. As a minor princess, Damisa would have expected an arranged marriage, but at least her husband should be a man of power. Tiriki had said Kalhan would probably improve with age, but Damisa could see no signs of it now. There he was, leaping about on the lawn, leading a cluster of other acolytes in boisterous cheers, while Aldel, who she had decided was the nicest of the boys, and Lanath, who was better with his head than his hands, wrestled fiercely. Even Elara, usually the most sensible of the female acolytes, was watching them with an amused smile. Selast, on the other hand, looked as if she wanted to join the battle. She could probably win, thought Damisa, as she considered the younger girl’s wiry frame. Damisa turned away. She could not tell if the fight was in fun or fury, and for the moment she did not care. They all seem to have forgotten to worry about the end of the world, she thought moodily. How I wish I was home! It’s an honor to be Chosen and all of that – but it’s always so hot here, and the food is strange. But would it be any safer there? Are we even allowed to run away? Or are we expected to just nobly stand here and let the world fall to pieces around us? Battling sniffles, Damisa let her wandering feet take her up the grassy slope. In moments, she emerged onto the outermost of the garden’s many terraces – a long, broad retaining wall with a sweeping view of the city and the sea. Only two days ago Damisa had discovered this spot, which she was certain could not be seen even from the roof of the House of the Twelve. With any luck, the others did not yet know about it. As always, the sea wind dispelled her ill temper. Every salty gust felt like a secret love letter from her faraway home. Minutes passed before she noticed how many boats were out on the water today – no, not boats, she realized, but ships, and not just any ships, but a fleet of three-masted wingbirds, the pride and the might of Atlantis. High in the water, their wicked prows sheathed in hardened bronze, they could be rowed to ramming speed, or ride the wind under sail. In precise formation they made the turn around the headland. Nestled almost directly below her vantage point was a small harbor. It was rarely used and ordinarily quiet enough for one to sink into trance while staring at its clear blue waters. But now, one by one, the tall wingbirds cast out their anchors as their brilliantly colored banners fluttered and settled to rest in the calm of the bay. The largest was already moored by the quay, furling purple sails. Damisa rubbed her eyes again. How can it be? she asked herself, but there was no fault in her vision. From each proud mainmast flew the Circle of Falcons, the sovereign banner of her homeland. A surge of longing brought tears to her eyes. ‘Alkonath,’ she breathed; and without a second thought, lifted her robes and began to run, her long auburn hair streaming behind her as she passed the ongoing wrestling match and flew out of the garden to the stairway that led down to the harbor. The largest of the wingbirds had dropped anchor at the main docks, but had not yet lowered its gangplank. Merchants and city folk had already convened on the pier, chattering excitedly as they waited to see what would happen next. But even with their servants, they were almost out-numbered by the white-clad men and women of the priests’ caste. Tiriki was at the very forefront, swathed in fine layers of colorless fabric, her headdress dangling flowers of gold across her hair. Her two companions were covered by mantles of Ahtarrath’s royal purple. The rubies in their diadems burned like fire in the sun. It took Damisa a moment to recognize them as Reio-ta and Micail. The ships were expected, then, the acolyte deduced, knowing well how long it took to put the ceremonial garments on. The fleet must have been sighted from the mountain, and a runner sent down to warn them that visitors were coming. She pressed through the crowd until she had reached her mentor’s side. Tiriki inclined her head slightly in greeting. ‘Damisa, what a sense of timing!’ But before Damisa could wonder if Tiriki was poking fun at her, a collective cheer announced that the visitors had begun to debark. First to emerge were the green-cloaked soldiers armed with pikes and swords. They escorted two men in traveler’s cloaks of simple wool, accompanied by a priest whose robe was cut in an unfamiliar style. Reio-ta stepped forward, raising his ceremonial staff to trace the circle of blessing. Tiriki and Micail had moved closer together. Damisa had to crane her neck to see. ‘In the name of Manoah, Maker of All, whose radiance fills our hearts as He illuminates the sky,’ Reio-ta said, ‘I welcome you.’ ‘We give thanks to Nar-Inabi, the Star Shaper, who has brought you safely across the sea,’ Micail added. As he lifted his arms to make a formal obeisance, Damisa caught sight of the gleaming serpent bracelets that could be worn only by a prince of the Imperial lineage. Tiriki stepped forward, offering a basket of fruit and flowers. Her voice was like a song. ‘Ni-Terat, the Great Mother, who is also called Caratra, welcomes all her children, young and old.’ The tallest of the travelers threw back the hood of his cloak, and Damisa’s cheer became a delighted squeal. Tjalan! She could not have said if she cared more that he was Prince of Alkonath or that he was her own cousin who had always been kind to her. She had barely enough discipline to stop herself from running to him and flinging her arms about his knees, as she had done when she was a child. But she controlled herself, and it was just as well that she did, for at the moment, Tjalan was entirely a lord of the empire, with the great emerald blazing from his diadem and the royal bracelets entwined around his forearms. Lean and bronzed, he stood with the confidence of one who had never doubted his right to command. There was silver at his temples – that was new – but Damisa thought it added distinction to her cousin’s dark hair. Still, Tjalan’s far-seeing eyes were the same – green as the Emerald of Alkona, though there were times, she knew, when they could show all the colors of the sea. As the strangely robed priest came forward Tiriki laid her hand upon her heart and then her forehead in the salute offered only to the very highest of initiates. ‘Master Chedan Arados,’ she murmured, ‘may you walk in Light.’ Damisa surveyed the priest with interest. Throughout Atlantis, in the priests’ caste at least, the name of Chedan Arados was well known. He had been an acolyte in the Ancient Land, schooled at the same time as Tiriki’s mother, Deoris; but Chedan had carried his studies further to become a Free Mage. After the destruction of the City of the Circling Snake, he had traveled widely. But despite his several visits to Alkonath, Damisa had never seen him. The mage was tall with warm but piercing eyes, and the full beard of a mature man. There was already a strong hint of roundness to his belly, but he could not fairly have been called stout. His robe, made of the same fine white linen as those worn by ordinary priests of Light, was of a distinctly different design, fastened with loops and buttons on one shoulder and hanging loose to the ankle. Upon his breast was a disk of crystal, a lens in which thin blue-white glimmers darted and sparkled like fish in a pool. ‘I do walk in Light,’ said the mage to Tiriki, ‘but too often, what I see is darkness. And so it is today.’ Tiriki’s smile froze. ‘We see what you see,’ she said, very softly, ‘but we should not speak of it here.’ Micail and Tjalan, having completed the more formal greetings between princes, clasped wrists forcefully. As their bracelets clinked, the severe lines of their similarly large-nosed faces gave way to the warmest laughter. ‘You had a good voyage?’ Micail asked as the two turned, arms linked, making their way along the quayside. ‘The sea was calm enough,’ Tjalan quipped wryly. ‘Your lady did not want to leave Alkonath?’ Tjalan suppressed a snort of laughter. ‘Chaithala is convinced that the Isles of Tin are a howling wilderness inhabited by monsters. But our traders have been preparing a refuge at Belsairath for many years. She will not fare so ill. Knowing she and the children are safe frees my mind for the task here.’ ‘And if we are all mistaken and no disaster occurs?’ asked Micail. ‘Then she will have had an unusual vacation and will likely never forgive me. But I have been speaking much with Master Chedan on the voyage, and I fear your forebodings are only too sure…’ Damisa suppressed a shiver. She had assumed that the ritual in the deep Temple had been successful, despite Alyssa’s collapse, because the earthquakes and the nightmares had ceased. Now she was uneasy. Had such tremors been felt in Alkonath, too? It was becoming difficult to assure herself that Tjalan’s visit was no more than a social call. ‘And who is this? Can this be little Damisa, grown woman-high?’ The voice brought Damisa’s head around. The third traveler stood before her with his cloak now thrown back to reveal a sleeveless tunic and kilt so emblazoned with embroidery she blinked as the bright garments caught the sun. But she knew the gaudy clothing covered a muscular body, and the long dagger sheathed at the man’s side, however ornate, was not aristocratic frippery. He was Antar, Tjalan’s bodyguard from the time they were boys. ‘It is Damisa,’ Antar answered himself, his dark eyes, as always, in constant motion, watching for any threat to his lord. Damisa blushed, realizing that the others were now looking at her, too. ‘Trust you, Antar, to see her first,’ said Micail, smiling. ‘I trust Antar to see everything first,’ Tjalan commented, with a grin no less wide. ‘Damisa. What a pleasure, sweet cousin, to find a flower of Alkona amid so many lilies.’ His attitude was warm and welcoming, but as Damisa walked forward she knew that the days of childish hugs were forever gone. She held out her hand, and her prince bent to it respectfully – if with a twinkle in his sea-colored eyes. ‘Damisa, you are become a woman indeed,’ said Tjalan appreciatively. But he let go her hand, and turned once more to Tiriki. ‘You have taken good care of our flower, I see.’ . ‘We do what we may, my noble lord. And now—’ Tiriki handed the basket of fruit and flowers to Damisa as she said, in a ringing voice, ‘Let the officers of the city make the Prince of Alkonath most welcome.’ She gestured toward the open square at the entrance to the quay where, as if by magic, crimson pavilions had sprung up to shade tables full of food and drink. Tjalan frowned. ‘I hardly think we have time—’ Tiriki delicately took his arm. ‘We must delay all serious discussion until the lords arrive from the estates in the countryside. And if the people see us eat and drink together, it will hearten the city. Indulge us, my noble lord, I pray.’ As ever, beneath Tiriki’s words rang the cadence of a song. A man would have to be made of stone, Damisa thought, to resist the sweetness in that plea. Micail glanced around the great hall to ascertain that the servants had finished setting out the earthenware pitchers of lemon-water and the silver goblets, and then nodded his permission for them to retire. The last of the daylight shafted through narrow windows beneath the soaring dome of the Council Hall, illuminating the circular table and the worried faces of the traders, landowners, and leaders who sat around it. Would the strength of Atlantis ever again be arrayed in such order and dignity? Micail arose from his couch and waited for the conversations to fade. For this meeting, he retained the regalia that marked him as a prince, although Tiriki had resumed the white robe and veil of a simple priestess and sat a little to one side. Reio-ta, robed as governor of the Temple, had taken a place on the left with the other rulers. Once again, Micail felt acutely that he stood between two realms, the worldly and the spiritual. Over the years he had often found his identities as a Vested Guardian and as Prince of Ahtarrath in conflict, but tonight, perhaps, his royalty might give him the authority to enforce the priesthood’s wisdom. If even that will be enough. At the moment, what Micail felt most strongly was fear. But the die was cast. His friend Jiritaren gave an encouraging nod. The room had silenced. All eyes were on him, tensely expectant. ‘My friends, heirs of Manoah, citizens of Atlantis, we all have felt the tremors that shake our islands. Yes, islands,’ he repeated sharply, seeing the eyes of some of the landowners widen, ‘for the same forerunners of disaster have shook Alkonath, Tarisseda, and other kingdoms as well. So we gather together to take counsel against the threat that now faces us all.’ Micail paused and looked slowly about the table. ‘There is still much that we can do,’ he said encouragingly, ‘for as you surely know, the Empire has faced circumstances no less dire, and has survived to see this day. Master Chedan Arados—’ Micail paused, permitting a flurry of whispers to run through the hall. ‘Master Chedan, you were among those who escaped the Ancient Land’s destruction. Will you speak to us now of the prophecies?’ ‘I will.’ Ponderously, the mage got to his feet and eyed the gathering sternly. ‘It is time for the veil to be set aside,’ he said. ‘Some secrets will be shared which have hitherto been spoken only under seal of initiation; but that was done to preserve the truth, that it might be revealed at the appointed hour. To keep these things hidden now would be the true sacrilege. Indeed, for the threat we face has its deepest roots in a sacrilege committed almost thirty years ago in the Ancient Land.’ As Chedan drew breath, the bar of sunlight that had haloed his head moved, leaving him in sudden shadow. Micail knew it was only because the sun was sinking, but the effect was disquieting. ‘And it was not ordinary men but priests,’ Chedan said clearly, ‘who in the misguided quest for forbidden knowledge, destabilized the magnetic field that harmonizes the conflicting forces within the earth. All our wisdom and all our power was only enough to delay the moment when the fault gave way; and when at last the City of the Circling Snake sank beneath the inland sea, there were no few who said it was only justice. The city that had permitted the desecration should pay the price, they said. And when, soon after, the Ancient Land itself was swallowed up by the sea, although the seers gave us warning that the repercussions would continue, that the unraveling would expand along the fault line, perhaps to crack the world open like an egg – yet we dared hope we had seen the worst of the destruction.’ The priests looked grim – they knew what was coming. On the faces of the rest, Micail read growing apprehension as Chedan continued. ‘The recent tremors in Alkonath, as here, are a final warning that the Ascent of Dyaus – the Time of Ending, as some call it – is very near.’ By now, much of the hall was in darkness. Micail signaled to a servant to light the hanging lamps, but their illumination seemed too meager for the room. ‘Why were we not told?’ cried a merchant. ‘Did you mean to keep this secret so only the priesthood might be saved?’ ‘Were you not listening?’ Micail overrode him. ‘The only facts we had were made known as we received them. Should we have created useless panic by proclaiming predictions of a disaster that might not have come to pass for a century?’ ‘Of course not,’ Chedan agreed. ‘That was in fact the mistake made in the Ancient Land. Until the foreseen is seen again, its signs cannot be recognized. This is why the greatest seers are helpless against true destiny. When men are braced too long against a danger that does not come, they grow heedless, and cannot respond when the moment does arrive.’ ‘If it has arrived,’ scoffed a prominent landowner. ‘I am a simple man, I don’t know anything about the meaning of lights in the sky. But I do know that Ahtarrath is a volcanic island. It is entirely natural for it to shake at times. Another layer of ash and lava will only serve to enrich the soil.’ Hearing murmurs of agreement from the village lords, Micail sighed. ‘All that the priesthood can do is to give warning,’ he said, striving to keep rising irritation from his voice. ‘What you do about this is up to you. I will not force even my own servants to abandon their homes. I can only advise all here that the majority of the Guardians of the Temple have chosen to entrust ourselves and our goods to the sea, and return to land only when the cataclysm ends. As a prince of the blood I say it, and we shall endeavor to take with us as many as we can.’ Reio-ta rose, nodding affirmation. ‘We must not allow the truth that the Temple safeguards to…die. We will send forth our Twelve Acolytes and as…many more as we can find ships for, with our hopes that at least some of them will come safely to…lands where new temples may rise.’ ‘What lands?’ someone exclaimed. ‘The barren rocks where savages and animals rule? Only fools trust to the wind and the sea!’ Chedan spread his arms. ‘You forget your own history,’ he chided. ‘Though we have stood apart from the world since the war with the Hellenes, we are not ignorant of other lands. Wherever there are goods to be bought or sold, the ships of Atlantis have gone – and since the fall of the Ancient Land, many of our priests have gone with them. In trading stations from Khem and Hellas to the Hesperides and Zaiadan, they have endured a lonely exile, learning the ways of the native peoples, studying their alien gods in search of beliefs held in common, teaching and healing, preparing the way. I believe that when our wanderers arrive, they will find a welcome.’ ‘Those who choose to remain need not fear idleness,’ said the priestess Mesira, unexpectedly. ‘Not all who are of the Temple believe that disaster is inevitable. We will continue to work with all our powers to maintain the balance here.’ ‘That, I am glad to hear,’ came a sardonic voice from the western quarter. Micail recognized Sarhedran, a wealthy shipmaster, with his son Reidel behind him. ‘Once Ahtarrath ruled the seas, but as my noble lord has reminded us, our gaze turned inward. Even if people could be persuaded to go to these foreign lands, we have not the vessels to carry them.’ ‘That is just why we come now, with half the fleet of great Alkonath, to offer help.’ The speaker was Dantu, captain of the ship in which Tjalan had arrived. If his smile was less tactful than triumphant, there was reason for it. The traders of Alkonath and Ahtarrath had been fierce rivals in the past. Now Tjalan spoke. ‘In this time of trial, we remember that we are all children of Atlantis. My brothers remain to supervise the evacuation of Alkonath. It is my honor and my great personal pleasure to commit eighty of my finest wingbirds to the preservation of the people and the culture of your great land.’ Some at the table looked a little sour still, but most faces had begun to blossom in smiles. Micail could not repress a grin at his fellow prince, though even eighty ships, of course, could not save more than a tithe of the population. ‘Then let this be our resolution,’ Micail said, taking charge again. ‘You shall go back to your districts and followers, and give them this news in whatever manner you see fit. Where needed, the treasury of Ahtarrath will be opened to secure supplies for the journey. Go now, make your preparations. Do not panic, but neither should anyone needlessly delay. We will pray to the gods that there is time.’ ‘And will you be on one of those ships, my lord? Will the royal blood of Ahtarrath abandon the land? Then we are lost indeed.’ The voice was that of an old woman, one of the principal landowners. Micail strove to remember her name, but before he could, Reio-ta stirred beside him. ‘The gods ordain that Micail must…go into exile.’ The older man took deep breaths to control the stammer that still sometimes afflicted him. ‘But I too am a Son of the Sun, blood-bound to Ahtarrath. Whatever fate befalls those remaining here, I will remain and share.’ Micail could only stare at his uncle, as Tiriki’s shock amplified his own. Reio-ta had said nothing of this! They scarcely heard Chedan’s concluding words. ‘It is not for the priesthood to decide who shall live and who shall die. There is no one fit to say whether those who depart will do better than those who stay. Our fates result from our own choices, in this life and every other. I bid you only remember that, and choose mindfully, according to the wisdom that is within you. The Powers of Light and Life bless and preserve you all!’ Chedan took off his headdress and tucked it under his arm as he emerged from the Council Hall onto the portico. The wind from the harbor was a blessed breath of coolness. ‘That went better than I…expected,’ said Reio-ta, watching the others streaming down the stairs. ‘Chedan, I thank you for your…words and efforts.’ ‘I have done little so far,’ said Chedan, with a wave toward Tjalan, who had come out to join them, ‘but even that would have been impossible without the limitless generosity of my royal cousin.’ Prince Tjalan clenched his fists to his heart and bowed before replying. ‘My best reward is the knowledge that I have served the cause of Light.’ Suddenly he grinned at the mage. ‘You have been my teacher and my friend, and have never led me falsely.’ The door opened again and Micail, having calmed the immediate fears of the most anxious councillors, joined them. He looked worried. Until he actually set foot onboard ship, he would carry the responsibility not only for the evacuation but also for the welfare of those who decided to stay behind. ‘We thank you, my lords,’ Micail said, with a gesture. ‘I know I would not wish to endure such a council after a sea voyage. You must be weary. The hospitality of Ahtarra can still provide a bit of food and shelter—’ He managed a smile. ‘If you will come with me.’ I think you need the rest more than I do, boy, thought Chedan, but he knew better than to show his pity. The rooms allotted to the mage were spacious and pleasant, with long windows to admit a cooling breeze from the sea. He sensed that Micail would have liked to linger, but Chedan pretended exhaustion and was soon left alone. As the sound of footsteps receded, the mage unstrapped his bag and rummaged within it for a pair of brown boots and a dull-colored robe such as any traveler might wear. Donning them, he briskly descended to the street, taking care to remain unnoticed, and set off into the murky twilight with such calm self-assurance that any who saw him pass would have thought he was a lifelong denizen of the tangled alleys and byways of the Temple precincts. In fact, Chedan had not visited Ahtarra for many years, but the roads had changed little. Every other step he took was dogged by echoes of lost youth, lost love, lost lives…Chedan paused alongside the vine-draped northern wall of the new Temple. Hoping he was in the right place, he swept aside a handful of vines and found a side door. It opened easily enough. It was more difficult to close it again. Inside it was dark, save for a faintly glowing line of stones in the floor that delineated the way through a narrow service corridor lined with unmarked doorways. Chedan was able to move along the path quickly, until he suddenly came to the low stone archway at its end. I am getting too old for such shortcuts, the mage thought ruefully as he rubbed his head. I might have gotten there faster by the front door. Beyond the archway was a cramped, vaulted chamber, lit by the glowing steps of a spiral stair. Chedan carefully ascended two flights and emerged through another arch to reach the common reading room, a broad pyramidal room almost at the top of the building. Designed to catch the maximum daylight, it was now almost entirely in shadow. Only a few reading lamps burned here and there. Beneath one such glow, the Vested Guardian Ardral sat alone at a broad table, examining the contents of a wooden chest. Moving closer, Chedan could hardly see the tabletop for the clutter that covered it: tattered scrolls, fragments of inscribed stone tablets, and what looked like strings of colorful beads. Ardral’s attention was bent upon the prize of the collection, a curious sort of long, narrow book made of bamboo strips sewn together with silken threads. ‘I didn’t know you had the Vimana Codex here,’ Chedan commented, but Ardral ignored the attempt at polite interruption. With a grimace, the mage appropriated a small bench nearby and dragged it noisily to a spot beside Ardral. ‘I can wait,’ he announced. Ardral looked up, with an outright grin. ‘Chedan,’ he said softly, ‘I really was not expecting you until—’ ‘I know.’ Chedan looked away. ‘I suppose I should have waited, but I’ve just come from the council meeting.’ ‘My condolences,’ Ardral interjected. ‘I hope I succeeded in providing everyone with whatever information they needed.’ ‘I thought I saw evidence of your work,’ Chedan put in. ‘But I simply could not face another rehearsal of the inevitable platitudes.’ ‘Yes, there was a lot of that. They’re afraid,’ said Chedan. Ardral rolled his eyes. ‘Afraid they might remember why they still aren’t ready? This has been coming for a long time, nephew. And it’s just as Rajasta predicted – even if he was a little wrong about the date. With the best will in the world, in the Temple as on the farmstead, most people simply cannot go on year after year, looking for a way out of an impossible situation that fails to develop at the expected time! The urge to resume the routine of life—’ Ardral broke off. ‘Well there, you see, even I do it. Speaking of which, I have something put aside that you used to enjoy very much. Perhaps we could go solve the world’s problems in private, eh?’ ‘I—’ Chedan blinked, then looked about the gloomy chamber…For a moment, seeing his uncle, he felt very young again. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a chuckle, and then a real smile. ‘Thank you, Uncle.’ ‘That’s the spirit,’ Ardral approved, and standing up, proceeded to put the strange book into the wooden chest. ‘Just because eternity is trampling our toes, doesn’t mean we can’t live a little before—’ Locking the chest, he gave Chedan a wink. ‘We do whatever dance comes next.’ During Chedan’s last visit, Ardral had occupied a rather decrepit dormitory, some little distance from the temple. Now, as curator of the library, he had a spacious room within its very walls. A fire blazed up in the hearth as they entered, or perhaps it had already been burning. Chedan glanced at the sparse but tasteful furnishings, while Ardral brought out two filigreed silver cups, and opened a black and yellow jar of honey wine. ‘Teli’ir?’ the mage exclaimed. Ardral nodded. ‘I daresay there are no more than a dozen bottles in existence.’ ‘You honor me, Uncle. But I fear the occasion will not be worthy of it.’ With a sigh, Chedan settled upon a cushioned couch. In his uncle’s company, drinking teli’ir, it was almost as if the Bright Empire still ruled both horizons. Time had hardly passed at all. He was no longer the learned Chedan Arados, the great Initiate of Initiates, the one who was expected to set forth answers, solutions, hope. He could be himself. Although the two had not been particularly close before the fall of the Ancient Land, Chedan had known Ardral all his life – indeed, years before he became an acolyte, his uncle had briefly been his tutor. Many years had passed since then, yet Ardral seemed no older. There were, no doubt, new lines and creases in the mobile, expressive face, and the shock of brown hair had faded and thinned…If Chedan looked closely, he could find such marks of age, but these slight details did not change his inner identity which had somehow remained exactly the same. ‘It is good to see you, Uncle,’ he said. Ardral grinned and refilled their cups. ‘I am glad you got here,’ he answered. ‘The stars have not been reassuring for travelers.’ ‘No,’ Chedan agreed, ‘and the weather is little better, though Tjalan tells me not to worry. But since you raised the subject, let me ask you – your head is always clear—’ ‘For another moment only,’ Ardral joked, and quickly sipped more wine. ‘Hah!’ Chedan scoffed. ‘You know what I mean. You have never been one who is easily misled by presumptions or legends. You see only what is actually before you, unlike some – but never mind that. ‘Once, years ago,’ Chedan persisted, ‘you spoke to me of Rajasta’s other prophecies, and your own reasons for believing them. Have those reasons changed?…Have they?’ he repeated, leaning closer to his uncle. ‘No one living knows Rajasta’s works better than you.’ ‘I suppose,’ said Ardral distantly, as he ate a bit of cheese. Undeterred, Chedan continued, ‘Everyone else has focused on the tragic elements of the prophecy. The destruction of Atlantis, the inevitable loss of life, the slim chance of survival. But you if anyone understands the larger scale of the prophecy – what was, and what is, and—’ ‘You are going to be a pest about this, aren’t you?’ Ardral growled, without his usual smile. ‘All right. Just this once, I will answer the question you cannot bring yourself to ask. And then we will put the matter aside, for this night at least!’ ‘As you will, Uncle,’ said Chedan, as meekly as a child. With a sigh, Ardral ran his fingers through his hair, further disarranging it. ‘The short answer is yes. It is as Rajasta feared. The inevitable is happening, and worse, it occurs under just the sort of conditions that give mediocre horologers fits. Bah. They’re so easily distracted from the many positive influences – it’s as if they want to think the worst. But yes, yes, we can’t deny it, Adsar the Warrior Star has definitely changed its course toward the Ram’s Horn. And this is precisely the alignment the ancient texts call the War of the Gods. But the ancients plainly do not say that such a configuration will mean anything to the mortal world! The usual human vanity. So predictable.’ For some moments there was silence, as Ardral once more refilled his cup, and Chedan tried to think of something to say. ‘You see?’ said Ardral, rather gently. ‘It does no good to think on such things. We only see the hem of the garment, as they say. So let it go. Things are going to be hectic enough in the next few days. There won’t be a lot of time for sitting quietly and doing nothing. And yet—’ He raised his cup, mock-solemn. ‘In times like these—’ Laughing in spite of his dark thoughts, Chedan joined him in the old refrain, ‘There’s nothing like nothing to settle the mind!’ THREE (#ulink_01e56778-e3f0-5dc5-8fe6-376818020bea) How does one pack a life? Micail looked down at the confusion of items piled upon his couch and shook his head. It seemed a sad little assortment in the early morning light. Three parts need to one part nostalgia? Every ship, of course, would be provisioned with practical items such as bedding and seeds and medicines. Meanwhile, the acolytes and a few trusted chelas had been given the task of packing scrolls and regalia, using lists the Temple had prepared long ago. But those items, really, were all for public use. It was left to each passenger to choose as many personal belongings as would fit into a sack to go with him or her across the sea. He had done this once before, when he was twelve, leaving the Ancient Land where he had been born to come to this island that was his heritage. Then he had left his boyhood behind. Well, I will no longer need to lead processions up the Star Mountain. For a moment longer, he examined the ceremonial mantle, beautifully embroidered with a web of spirals and comets…With the merest twinge of regret, he cast it aside and began to fold a pair of plain linen tunics. The only mantle of office he packed was one woven of white silk, so fine that it was luminous, and the blue mantle that went with it. With the ornaments of his priesthood, it would suffice for ritual work. And without a country I will no longer be a prince. Would that be a relief, he wondered, or would he miss the respect that his title brought him? The symbol is nothing, he reminded himself; the reality is everything. A true adept should be able to carry on without any regalia. ‘The most important tool of the mage is here,’ old Rajasta used to say, tapping his brow with a smile. For a moment Micail felt as if he were back in the House of the Twelve in the Ancient Land. I miss Rajasta sorely, thought Micail, but I am glad he did not live to see this day. His gaze drifted to the miniature feather tree in its decorous pot on the windowsill, pale green foliage gleaming in the morning sun. It had been a gift from his mother, Domaris, not long after he had arrived on Ahtarrath, and since then he had watered it, pruned it, cared for it…As he picked it up he heard Tiriki’s light step in the hall. ‘My darling, are you really planning to take that little tree?’ ‘I…don’t know.’ Micail returned the pot to the window and turned to Tiriki with a smile. ‘It seems a pity to abandon it after I have watched over it for so long.’ ‘It will not survive in your sack,’ she observed, coming into his arms. ‘That’s so, but there might be room for it somewhere. If deciding whether to bring a little tree is my hardest choice…’ The words died in his throat. Tiriki raised her head, her eyes seeking his and following his gaze to the window. The delicate leaflets of the little tree trembled, quivering, though there was no wind. Sensed, rather than heard, the subsonic groaning below and all around them became a vibration felt in the soles of their feet, more powerful by far than the tremor they had felt the day before. Not again! Micail thought, pleading, not yet, not now… From the mountain’s summit, a trail of smoke rose to stain the pale sky. The floor rolled. He grabbed Tiriki and pulled her toward the door. Braced beneath its frame, they would have some protection if the ceiling fell. Their eyes locked again, and without need of words, they synchronized their breathing, moving into the focused detachment of trance. Each breath took them deeper. Linked, they were both more aware of the unraveling stresses within the earth, and less vulnerable to them. ‘Powers of Earth be still!’ he cried, drawing on the full authority of his heritage. ‘I, Son of Ahtarrath, Royal Hunter, Heir-to-the-Word-of-Thunder, command you! Be at peace!’ From the empty sky came thunder, echoed by a rumble that sounded far away. Tiriki and Micail could hear the tumult and outcry in the palace and the sounds of things crashing and breaking everywhere. The shaking finally ceased, but the tension did not. Through the window, Micail could see that the Star Mountain’s summit was gone – no, not gone, displaced. Smoke, or dust, rose all about the distinctive little pyramid as, still lighted, it slid slowly toward the city. Micail closed his eyes tight and reached beyond himself again as a roiling onslaught of energies whipped through him. He tried to visualize the layers of rock that made up the island, but the restraining vision only flickered and shifted, until finally it became the image of the crossed arms of the faceless man, bound and chained but stirring, that had haunted their dreams. His muscles flexed and links popped as the man strained against his bonds. ‘Who are you? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?’ He did not realize he had been shouting until he felt Tiriki’s thoughts within his own. ‘It is – the Unrevealed!’ came her mental cry. ‘Dyaus! Do not look at his eyes!’ At this, the vision rose, snarling. The floor shook anew, more roughly than before, and would not stop. Micail had grown up with the whispered tales of the god Dyaus, invoked to bring change by Grey Mages of the Ancient Land. Instead, he had brought chaos whose reverberations had eventually destroyed that land and now seemed about to destroy Atlantis as well. But he had never been to the crypt where that image was chained. ‘I cannot hold him! Help me!’ At once Micail felt Tiriki’s unflinching rush of compassion. ‘Let Light balance Darkness—’ Her thought became a song. ‘And Reaction, Rest—’ he followed. ‘Let Love balance Hatred—’ Warmth built between their clasped hands. ‘The Male, the Female—’ Light grew between them, generating power to transform the tensions of the opposing forces. ‘There is Light – There is Form There is Shadow and Illusion and Proportion—’ It seemed a long time that they stood so, while the vacant howling of the chained god receded, gradually, grudgingly, sullenly. When the shaking ceased at last, Micail drew a deep breath of relief, although his sensitized awareness felt the constant tremors beneath the equilibrium they had imposed upon the island. ‘It’s over.’ Tiriki opened her eyes with a sigh. ‘No,’ he said heavily, ‘only restrained, for a little while. Beloved—’ Words failed him, and he clasped her more tightly. ‘I could not have held back that power alone.’ ‘Do we have – time?’ ‘Ask the gods,’ Micail replied. ‘But at least no one will doubt our warning now.’ He looked past her, his shoulders slumping as he saw on the floor beneath the window the shattered pot, spilled earth, and naked roots of his little feather tree. People died in that quake, he told himself. The city is burning. This is no time to weep over a tree. But as he shoved his spare sandals into the bag, his eyes burned with tears. The mood of the city had certainly altered, thought Damisa as she picked her way around a pile of rubble and continued toward the harbor. After the terror of the early morning, the bright sunlight seemed a mockery. The smoke from a dozen burning buildings had turned the light a strange, rich gold. Now and again, a vibration in the earth reminded her that though the dust from its toppled summit had dispersed, the Star Mountain was still wakeful. The taverns were doing a roaring business, selling wine to those who preferred to drown their fear rather than take steps to save themselves from the sea, but otherwise the marketplace looked deserted. A few insisted that the morning’s quake would be the last, but most people were at home, packing valuables to take on the ship or into the countryside. From the roof of the House of the Twelve, Damisa had seen the roads jammed with wagons. People were heading for the harbors or the inland hills, or anywhere away from the Star Mountain, whose crowning pyramid had come to a precarious stop about halfway down the slope. From the new, flattened summit, a plume of smoke continued to rise, a constant promise of more violence to come. And to think that there had been moments when she had resisted the Temple’s orderly serenity, its incessant imposition of patience and discipline. If this morning was a taste of what was coming, she suspected she would soon be remembering her life here as a paradise. In the emergency, even the twelve acolytes had been pressed into service as common messengers. Damisa had claimed the note meant for Prince Tjalan, and she meant to deliver it. Determined, she tiptoed around a pool of noxious liquids spilling from a market, and she headed down a reeking alley to the waterfront. The harbor yards were crowded and noisy as on any normal day, but now there was a barely restrained hysteria. She tugged her veil into place, and hastened her steps into the hubbub. She heard the drawling accents of Alkonath everywhere she turned. It must have been some kind of instinct that allowed her to distinguish Tjalan’s voice, ringing above the babble of men who toiled to stow a hundred different kinds of gear. As she drew nearer, she heard the sailor to whom the prince was speaking. ‘What does it matter if the seed grain goes above or below the bales of cloth?’ ‘Do you eat cloth?’ Tjalan asked sharply. ‘Wet linen will dry, but salt-soaked barley will mold, not grow. So get back down there, man, and do it right this time!’ Damisa was relieved to see the prince’s expression lighten as he recognized her. ‘My dear – how goes it up there?’ A wave of his hand indicated the temples and the palace on the hill. ‘How is it everywhere?’ Damisa tried to keep her voice even, but had to look away. ‘Oh!’ she brightened. ‘But there is good news! The priests who serve at the summit of the Star Mountain actually survived! They came in an hour ago, all except their leader. He sends word that he dwelled on that peak since he was a boy, so if the mountain wishes to be rid of the pyramid, he will return to the summit without it.’ Tjalan laughed. ‘I have known men like him – “deep in the Mercy of the Gods,” as they say. He may outlast all of us!’ ‘There are some,’ she found herself saying, ‘who believe that when the earth began to shake, we should have made…a special offering…’ Tjalan blinked, brows furrowing. ‘Sweet child – do not even think such things!’ His bronzed face had gone taut and pale. ‘We are not barbarians who sacrifice children! The gods would be right to destroy us if we were!’ ‘But they are destroying us,’ she muttered, unable to tear her gaze from the flattened, smoking peak. ‘They are certainly unmaking the islands,’ Tjalan corrected gently. ‘But they granted us warning first, did they not – first by the prophecies and now by the tremors? We were given time to prepare an escape—’ His gesture embraced the ships, the people, the boxes, bags, and barrels of provisions. ‘Even the gods cannot do everything for us!’ He is as wise as any priest. Damisa admired the strength in his profile as he turned to answer a question from the captain, a man called Dantu. I can be proud to be kin to such a man, she thought, and not for the first time. She had not originally been destined for the Temple – it was her grandmother who proposed her as a candidate for the Twelve. When she had dreamed of a royal marriage as a little girl, Tjalan had been her model for a worthy consort. It was a relief to find that a more mature judgment justified her original opinion. He made Kalhan look like the boy he was! ‘Mind yourselves!’ The prince was glaring at a group of sailors who stopped work to goggle at two buxom, saffron-draped saji girls who were pulling a cart full of parcels from the Temple of Caratra. One of the men smacked his lips and made a kissing noise at the girls, who giggled behind their veils. ‘Wouldn’ mind packing you into my hold…’ ‘You there!’ Tjalan repeated, ‘back to work. They’re not for such as you!’ What the sajis were for had been the subject of much wild-eyed speculation among the acolytes. In the old days, it was said, sajis had been trained to assist in certain kinds of magic that involved the sexual energies. Damisa shuddered, glad that she had not experience enough to guess what those might be. The acolytes were free to take lovers before they married, but she had been too fastidious to do so, and Kalhan, chosen as her betrothed by some arcane procedure of astrology, had not tempted her to experiment ahead of time. ‘I almost forgot!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have brought a list of candidates to sail in the royal vessel, with – with you.’ As Prince Tjalan turned to her again, she opened her scroll case and gave him the parchment. ‘Ah yes,’ he murmured, running a finger down the list of names. ‘Hmm. I don’t know if this is a relief or not—’ He waved the paper at her. ‘I can see beside it like a shadow the list of those who will not escape – either because they choose to stay, or because there is not enough room. I had hoped that the only decisions required of me would be where to stow their gear.’ Damisa heard his bitterness and had to quell a powerful impulse to reach out to him. ‘Lord Micail and Lady Tiriki will be sailing with Captain Reidel, but I am on your list,’ she said softly. ‘Yes, little flower, and I am very glad of it!’ Tjalan’s gaze returned to her face, and his grim look lightened. ‘Who would have thought my skinny little cousin would have grown so—’ Another call from Dantu cut off whatever he had been about to say, but Damisa was to cherish those parting words for a long time. He had noticed that she was grown up. He had really seen her. Surely, the word he had not had the chance to say was ‘fair,’ or ‘lovely,’ or even ‘beautiful.’ The house where Reio-ta dwelt with Deoris was set into a hillside close to the Temple, with a view of the sea. As a small child, Tiriki had lived in the house of the priestesses with her aunt Domaris. They had brought her to Ahtarrath as an infant to save her from the danger she faced as the child of the Grey Mage whose magic had awakened the evil of Dyaus. Deoris had feared her daughter dead until she came to Ahtarrath and they met once more. By then, Tiriki thought of Domaris as her mother, and it was only after Domaris’s death that Tiriki lived with Deoris. Now, as she climbed the broad steps of the house, arm in arm with Micail, she could not restrain a sudden sigh of appreciation for the harmony of the building and the gardens around it. As a child, confused and grieving, she had taken little notice of her surroundings, and by the time the pain of loss had faded, she had learned her way about too well to really see the place for what it was. ‘How glorious.’ Chedan, ascending close behind them, echoed her thought. ‘It is a sad fact that we often appreciate things most deeply when we are about to lose them.’ Tiriki nodded, surreptitiously wiping away a tear. When this is gone, how often will I regret all the times I passed this way without stopping to really look? For a moment the three paused, gazing westward. From here, the greater part of the broken city was hidden by the glittering roofs of the Temple district. Beyond them was only the ambiguous blue of the sea. ‘It looks so peaceful,’ Chedan said. ‘An illusion,’ Micail gritted, as he led them through the portico. Tiriki shivered as they crossed the decorative bridge that had, she reminded herself, always swayed slightly beneath the lightest step, but since the morning’s quake, she had become preternaturally aware of the leashed stresses in the earth. Whenever anything shook, she tensed and wondered if the horror was about to begin again. Here, she observed, there were no chaotic piles of keepsakes and discards, none of the frantic bustling that rippled through the rest of the city, just a soft-voiced servant, waiting to escort the visitors to Reio-ta and Deoris. Tiriki’s heart sank with a premonition that their errand here would fail. Clearly, her parents did not intend to leave. Chedan had gone ahead of her into the wide chamber that looked out on the gardens, and stood, saluting Deoris. It seemed to Tiriki that his voice trembled as he spoke the conventional words. What had Chedan been to her mother, she wondered, when they were young together in the Ancient Land? Did he see the mature priestess, with silver threading auburn-black braids coiled like a diadem above her brow, or the shade of a rebellious girl with stormy eyes and a tangle of dark curls – the girl Domaris had described when she spoke of Tiriki’s mother, before Deoris came to Ahtarrath from the Ancient Land? ‘Have you…finished packing?’ Reio-ta was asking. ‘Is the Temple prepared for evacuation, and the acolytes ready to…go?’ The governor’s speech stumbled no more than usual. From his tone, it might have been a perfectly ordinary day. ‘Yes, all is going well,’ Micail answered, ‘or as well as can be expected. Some of the vessels have departed already. We expect to sail out on the morning tide.’ ‘We have saved more than enough space on Reidel’s ship for both of you,’ added Tiriki. ‘You must come! Mother –Father—’ she held out her hands. ‘We will need your wisdom. We will need you!’ ‘I love you too, darling – but don’t be foolish.’ Deoris’s voice was low and vibrant. ‘I need only see the two of you to know that we have already given you all that you need.’ Reio-ta nodded, his warm eyes smiling. ‘Have you forgotten, I…gave my word, in council? So long as any of my beloved people hold the land, I…I, too, shall stay.’ Tiriki and Micail exchanged a quick but meaningful glance. Time to try the other plan. ‘Then, dear Uncle,’ Micail said reasonably, ‘we must drink deep of your advice while we can.’ ‘G-gladly,’ said Reio-ta, with a modest inclination of his head. ‘Perhaps you, Master Chedan, will…drink, of something sweeter? I can offer several good vintages. We have had some…banner years, in your absence.’ ‘You know me too well,’ the mage said softly. Micail laughed. ‘If Reio-ta hadn’t offered,’ he went on, disingenuously, ‘no doubt Chedan would have asked.’ Catching Tiriki’s eye, Micail jerked his head slightly in the direction of the garden, as if to say, The two of you could talk alone out there. ‘Come, Mother,’ Tiriki said brightly, ‘let the men have their little ceremonies. Perhaps we might walk in your garden? I think that is what I will miss most.’ Deoris lifted an eyebrow, first at Tiriki and then at Micail, but she allowed her daughter to take her arm without comment. As they passed through the open doors, they could hear Chedan proposing the first toast. The courtyard garden Reio-ta had built for his lady was unique in Ahtarrath, and since the fall of the Ancient Land, perhaps in the world. It had been designed as a place of meditation, a re-creation of the primal paradise. Even now the breeze was sweet with the continual trilling of songbirds, and the scent of herbs both sweet and pungent perfumed the air. In the shade of the willows, mints grew green and water-loving plants opened lush blossoms, while salvias and artemisia and other aromatic herbs had been planted in raised beds to harvest the sun. The spaces between the flagstones were filled with the tiny leaves and pale blue flowers of creeping thyme. The path itself turned in a spiral so graceful that it seemed the work of nature rather than art, leading inward to the grotto where the image of the Goddess was enshrined, half-veiled by hanging sprays of jasmine, whose waxy white flowers released their own incense into the warm air. Tiriki turned and saw Deoris’s large eyes full of tears. ‘What is it? I must admit a hope that you are finally willing to fear what must come, if it will persuade you—’ Deoris shook her head, with a strange smile. ‘Then I am sorry to disappoint you, my darling, but frankly the future has never had any real power to frighten me. No, Tiriki, I was only remembering…it hardly seems seventeen years ago that we were standing in this very spot – or no – it was up on the terrace. This garden was barely planted then. Now look at it! There are flowers here I still can’t name. Really I don’t know why anyone wants wine; I can grow quite drunken sometimes just on the perfumes here—’ ‘Seventeen years ago?’ Tiriki prompted, a little too firmly. ‘You and Micail were no more than children,’ Deoris smiled, ‘when Rajasta came. Do you remember?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Tiriki, ‘it was just before Domaris died.’ For a moment she saw her own pain echoed in her mother’s eyes. ‘I still miss her.’ ‘She raised me, too, you know, with Rajasta, who was more of a father to me than my own,’ Deoris said in a low voice. ‘After my mother died, and my father was too busy running the Temple to pay attention to us. Rajasta helped take care of me, and Domaris was the only mother I knew.’ Although she had heard these very words a thousand times, Tiriki stretched out her hand in swift compassion. ‘I have been fortunate, then, in having two!’ Deoris nodded. ‘And I have been blessed in you, Daughter, late though I came to know you! And in Galara, of course,’ she added, with a look almost of reproof. The gap in their ages had given Tiriki and the daughter Deoris had by Reio-ta few opportunities to know each other. She knew much more about Nari, the son Deoris had borne to fulfill her obligation to bear a child of the priestly caste, who had become a priest in Lesser Tarisseda. ‘Galara,’ Tiriki mused. ‘She is thirteen now?’ ‘Yes. Just the age you were when Rajasta brought me here. He was an eminent priest in the Ancient Land, perhaps our greatest authority on the meaning of the movements of the stars. He interpreted them to mean that we had seven years – but it was the date of his own death he foretold. We thought then that perhaps he had been completely mistaken. We hoped…’ She plucked a sprig of lavender and turned it in her fingers as they walked. The sharp, sweet scent filled the air. ‘But I should not complain; I have had ten more years to love you and to enjoy this beautiful place. I should have died beside your father, many, many years ago!’ They had completed a circuit of the spiral path, and stood once more opposite the Mother’s shrine. Tiriki stopped, realizing that her mother was speaking not of Reio-ta, who had been a kind stepfather, but of her true father. ‘Riveda,’ she muttered, and in her mouth it was like a curse. ‘But you were innocent. He used you!’ ‘Not entirely,’ Deoris said simply, ‘I – I loved him.’ She looked around at her daughter, fixing her with those stormy eyes whose color could shift so swiftly from grey to blue. ‘What do you know of Riveda – or rather, what do you think you know?’ Tiriki hid her frown behind a flower. ‘He was a healer, whose treatises on medicine have become a standard for our training today – even though he was executed as a black sorcerer!’ She lowered her voice. ‘What else do I need to know?’ she asked, forcing a smile. ‘In every way that matters, Reio-ta has been my father.’ ‘Oh, Tiriki, Tiriki.’ Deoris shook her head, her eyes filled with secret thoughts. ‘It is true, Reio-ta was born to be a father, and a good one. But still there is a duty of blood that is different than the honor you owe the man who raised you. You need to understand what it was that Riveda was seeking – why it was that he fell.’ They had come to the center of the spiral, where the Goddess smiled serenely through her curtain of flowers. Deoris paused, bowing her head in reverence. Behind her was a garden seat carved of stone, inlaid with a golden pattern of turtles. She sank down upon it as if her legs did not have the strength to carry both her and the weight of her memories. Tiriki nodded to the Power the image represented, then leaned against a nearby olive tree and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, waiting. It was not the Great Mother, but the woman who had borne her whose words interested her now. ‘Your father had the most brilliant mind of anyone I have ever known. And except perhaps for Micail’s father, Micon, he had the strongest will. We never fell in love with ordinary men, Domaris and I,’ Deoris added with a rueful smile. ‘But what you must understand first of all is that Riveda was not a destroyer. Both black and white are mingled in the grey robes his order wore. He knew from his studies and the practice of medicine that any living thing that does not grow and change will die. Riveda tested the laws of the Temple because he desired to make it stronger, and ultimately he broke them for the same reason. He came to believe that the priesthood had become so locked into ancient dogmas that it could not adapt, no matter what disaster might occur.’ ‘That is not so,’ Tiriki replied indignantly, defending the traditions and training that had shaped her life. ‘I sincerely hope that it is not,’ Deoris smiled tolerantly. ‘But it is up to you and Micail to prove him wrong. And you will never have a better chance. You will lose much that is fair in this exile, but you will escape our old sins as well.’ ‘And so will you, Mother! You must agree to come away—’ ‘Hush,’ said Deoris, ‘I cannot. I will not. Riveda was tried and executed not only for his own deeds, but also for much that was done by others – the Black Robes, who were only caught and punished later. It was their work that broke the bonds Riveda had loosened. They sought power, but Riveda wanted knowledge. That was why I helped him. If Riveda deserved his fate – then my guilt is no less.’ ‘Mother—’ Tiriki began, for still she did not entirely understand. ‘Give my place to your sister,’ Deoris said, resolutely changing the subject. ‘I have already arranged for an escort to bring Galara and her baggage to your chambers the first thing in the morning, so you will have a hard time turning her away.’ ‘I assumed you would send her,’ Tiriki said, exasperated. ‘Then that’s settled. And now,’ said Deoris as she got to her feet, ‘I think it’s time we rejoined the men. I doubt that Chedan and Micail have had any more luck in persuading Reio-ta than you have had with me. But they are two against one, and my husband may be feeling in need of reinforcement by now.’ Defeated, Tiriki followed her mother back to the porch, where the men were sitting with goblets and two small jugs of Carian wine. But Micail looked thunderous, and Chedan was also glaring at his drink. Only Reio-ta showed any sign of serenity. Tiriki shot Micail a glance, as if to say, I take it he is also still determined to stay? Micail nodded faintly, and Tiriki turned to her stepfather, intending to beg him to go with them. Instead, she pointed to Deoris, exclaiming, ‘You would go fast enough if she decided on it! You are sacrificing each other, for no good reason. You must agree to come with us!’ Deoris and Reio-ta exchanged tired glances, and Tiriki felt a sudden chill, as if she were a novice priestess chancing upon forbidden mysteries. ‘It is your destiny to carry the truth of the Guardians to a new land,’ said Deoris gently, ‘and it is our karma to remain. It is not sacrifice but an atonement, which we have owed since…’ Reio-ta completed her thought. ‘Since before the…fall of the Ancient Land.’ Chedan had closed his eyes in pain. Micail looked from one to the other, brows knitting in sudden surmise. ‘Atonement,’ Micail echoed softly. ‘Tell me, Uncle – what do you know about the Man with Crossed Hands?’ His voice shook, and Tiriki also felt a tremor in the stone beneath her feet, as if something else had heard his words. ‘What?’ rasped Reio-ta, his dark face going ashen. ‘He shows himself to you?’ ‘Yes,’ whispered Tiriki, ‘this morning, when the earth shook – he was trying to break his chains. And I – I knew his name! How can that be?’ Once more an odd look passed between Deoris and her husband, and he reached out to take her hand. ‘Then you unwittingly bring the clearest proof,’ said Deoris quietly, ‘that it is our fate and our duty to stay. Sit,’ she gestured imperiously. ‘Tiriki, I see now that I must tell you and Micail the rest of the story, and even you, Chedan, old friend. Great adept though you are, your teachers could not give you the parts of the story that they did not know.’ Reio-ta took a deep breath. ‘I…loved my brother.’ His gaze flickered toward Micail in momentary appeal. ‘Even in the Temple of Light…there have always been some who…served the darkness. We were…taken by the Black Robes who…sought for themselves the power of Ahtarrath. I agreed to let them use me…if they would spare him. They betrayed me, and tried to kill him. But Micon…forced himself to…live, long enough to sire you and pass to you his power.’ He looked at Micail again, struggling for words. Tiriki gazed at them with quick compassion, understanding now why it was Micail, not Reio-ta, who held the magical heritage of his royal line. If Micon had died before his son was born, the powers of Ahtarrath would have descended to Reio-ta, and thereby to the black sorcerers who then held him in thrall… ‘They…broke…his body,’ stammered Reio-ta. ‘And…my mind. I did not know myself till…long after. Riveda took me in and I…helped him…’ Tiriki looked back at her mother. What did this have to do with the Man with Crossed Hands? ‘Reio-ta helped Riveda as a dog will serve the one who feeds him,’ Deoris said defensively, ‘not understanding what he did. I assisted Riveda because I loved the spirit in him that yearned to bring new life into the world. In the crypt beneath the Temple of Light there was an…image, whose form seemed different to each one who beheld it. To me, it always appeared as a bound god, crossed arms straining against his chains. But the image was a prison that confined the forces of chaos. Together we worked the rite that would release that power because Riveda thought that by unleashing that force he could wield the energies that power the world. But my sister forced me to tell her what we had done. The wards were already unraveling when Domaris went down into that dark crypt alone, at risk of life and limb, to repair them—’ ‘All these things I knew,’ Chedan put in quietly. ‘The power of the Omphalos Stone can only slow the destructive forces unleashed by these rites long ago. The disintegration has been gradual, but it is still happening. We can only hope that when Atlantis falls, there will be an end.’ ‘Didn’t Rajasta use to say, “To give in instead of fighting death is cowardice,”’ Micail put in, tartly. ‘But he would also say—’ Deoris replied with painful sweetness, ‘“When you break something, it is your duty to mend it, or at least sweep up the debris.” Although we meant no evil, we made the choices that brought it forth – we set in motion a chain of events that has doomed our way of life.’ A long moment passed in silence. The four of them sat as motionless as the carven friezes that framed the doorway. ‘We must stay because there is one final ritual to perform.’ By Reio-ta’s steady speech, they recognized the depth of his emotion. ‘When the Man with Crossed Hands breaks his chains, we who know him so well must confront him.’ ‘Spirit to spirit we will address him,’ added Deoris, her great eyes shining. ‘There is no Power in the world without a purpose. The chaos that Dyaus brings shall be as a great wind that strips trees and scatters seeds far and wide. You are born to preserve those seeds, my children – glorious branches from the ageless tree of Atlantis, freed of its rot, free to take root in new lands. Perhaps the Maker will understand this, and be appeased.’ Was it truly so? At this moment, Tiriki knew only that this day offered her the last sight that she would ever have of her mother. Sobbing, she moved forward and folded the older woman in her arms. FOUR (#ulink_2166c27c-e0ec-50d5-b4e5-85314474afcf) Although the long day had been unseasonably cool, the sunset brought winds that were warm and an ominously hot night. Most of those who actually tried to sleep tossed and turned in damp frustration. The city that had been so quiet by day became the opposite that night, as its people wandered the streets and parks. Perhaps surprisingly, few were actually looting the deserted houses and shops; the rest seemed to be searching, but for what, none seemed to know – a cooler place to rest. Perhaps the true goal was to achieve that exhaustion of the body that alone can give peace to the fevered brain. In their rooms at the top of the palace, Tiriki sat watching her husband sleep. It was several hours after midnight, but rest eluded her. They had been up late making final preparations to sail in the morning. Then she had sung until Micail fell at last into an uneasy slumber, but there was no one to sing her to sleep. She wondered if her mother, who might have done so, was wakeful as well, waiting for what must come. It does not matter, she told herself, looking around the room where she had known so much joy. I will have the rest of my life to sleep…and weep. Beyond the open doors to the terrace the night sky was red. In that lurid light she could see the silhouette of Micail’s feather tree, which she had rescued and repotted. It was foolish, she knew, to see in that small plant a symbol of all the beautiful and fragile things that must be abandoned. On a sudden impulse she rose, found a scarf to wrap around the pot and the slender branches, and tucked it into the top of her bag. It was an act of faith, she realized. If she could preserve this little life, then perhaps the gods would be equally merciful to her and those she loved. Except for the light that burned before the image of the Great Mother in the corner of the bedchamber, all the lamps had gone out, but she could still see the disorder in the room. The bags they had filled to take with them stood next to the door, waiting for the last frantic farewell. The fitful flicker behind the veil of the shrine focused her gaze. Ahtarra had many temples and priesthoods, but only in the House of Caratra were a high altar and sanctuary consecrated in the Mother’s name. And yet, thought Tiriki with a faint smile, the Goddess received more worship than any of the gods. Even the humblest goatherd’s hut or fisherman’s cottage had a niche for Her image, and if there was no oil to spare for a lamp, one could always find a spray of flowers to offer Her. She rose and drew aside the gauze that veiled the shrine. The lamp within was alabaster, and it burned only the most refined of oils, but the ivory image, only a handspan high, was yellowed and shapeless with age. Her aunt Domaris had brought it with her from the Ancient Land, and before that, it had belonged to her mother, the legacy of a lineage of foremothers whose origins predated even the records of the Temple. From the lamp she lit a sliver of pine and held it to the charcoal that was always laid ready on a bed of sand in the dish beside the lamp. ‘Be ye far from me, all that is profane.’ As she murmured the ancient words, she felt the familiar dip of shifting consciousness. ‘Be far from me, all that lives in evil. Stand afar from the print of Her footsteps and the shadow of Her veil. Here I take refuge, beneath the curtain of the night and the circle of Her own white stars.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The charcoal had begun to glow. She picked up a few grains of incense and scattered them across it, feeling awareness shift further as the pungent sweet smoke spiraled into the air. Bowing her head, she touched her fingers to her brow and her lips and breast. Then her hands lifted in a gesture of adoration so familiar it had become involuntary. ‘Lady…’ the word died on her lips. The time for asking that this fate should pass was gone. ‘Mother…’ she tried again, and whatever words might have followed were borne away by a tide of emotion. And in that moment, she became aware that she was not alone. ‘I am the earth beneath your feet…’ The Goddess spoke within. ‘But the island is being destroyed!’ A panicked part of Tiriki’s soul objected. ‘I am the burning flame…’ ‘The flame will be drowned by the waves!’ ‘I am the surging sea…’ ‘Then you are chaos and destruction!’ Tiriki’s soul protested. ‘I am the night and the circling stars…’ came the calm reply, and Tiriki’s soul clung to that certainty. ‘I am all that is, that has been, that will be, and there is no power that can separate you from Me…’ And for a moment outside time, Tiriki knew that it was true. When she returned to awareness of her surroundings, the incense had ceased to burn and the charcoal was grey. But as the lamp flickered, it seemed to her that the image of the Mother was smiling. Tiriki took a deep breath and reached out to lift the image from its stand. ‘I know that the symbol is nothing, and the reality is all,’ she whispered, ‘but nonetheless I will take you with me. Let the flame continue to burn until it becomes one with the mountain’s fire.’ She had just finished wrapping the image and tucking it into her bag when the chimes at the doorway rang faintly. She ran to the entry, afraid Micail would wake. A few swift steps brought her to the door, where she waved the messenger back out into the hall with her finger at her lips. ‘Beg pardon, Lady,’ he began, red-faced. ‘No,’ she sighed as she cinctured her robe, remembering the orders she had left. ‘I know you would not come without need. What brings you?’ ‘You must come to the House of the Twelve, Lady. There is trouble – they will listen to you!’ ‘What?’ She blinked. ‘Has something happened to Gremos, their guardian?’ Tiriki frowned. ‘It is her duty to—’ ‘Beg pardon, Lady, but it seems that the Guardian of the Twelve is – gone.’ ‘Very well. Wait a moment for me to dress, and I will come.’ ‘Be still—’ Tiriki pitched her voice to carry over the babble of complaint and accusation. ‘You are the hope of Atlantis! Remember your training! Surely it is not beyond you all to give me a coherent tale!’ She glared around the circle of flushed faces in the entryway to the House of the Falling Leaves and let her mantle slip from her shoulders as she sat down. Her gaze fixed on Damisa; red-faced, the girl came forward. ‘Very well then. You say that Kalaran and Vialmar got some wine. How did that happen, and what did they do?’ ‘Kalaran said that wine would help him sleep.’ Damisa paused, her eyes briefly flicking closed as she ordered her thoughts. ‘He and the other boys went down to the taverna at the end of the road to get some. There was no one there, so they brought two whole amphorae back with them and drank all of it, as far as I can tell.’ Tiriki turned her gaze to the three young men sitting on a bench by the door. Kalaran’s handsome face was marred by a graze on one cheek, and water dripped down his companions’ necks from wet hair, as if someone had tried to sober them up by plunging their heads into the fountain. ‘And did it put you to sleep?’ ‘For a while—’ Vialmar said sullenly. ‘He got sick and puked,’ said Iriel brightly, then fell silent beneath Damisa’s glare. At twelve, Iriel was the youngest of the Twelve, fair-haired and mischievous, even now. ‘About an hour ago they woke up shouting,’ Damisa went on, ‘something about being stalked by half-human monsters with horns like bulls. That woke up Selast, who was already mad because they didn’t get back here until all the wine was gone. They started yelling, and that got everyone else into it. Someone threw the wine jug and then they went crazy.’ ‘And you all agree that this is what happened?’ ‘All except for Cleta,’ Iriel sneered. ‘As usual, she slept through it all.’ ‘I would have calmed them down in another few minutes,’ said Elara. ‘There was no need to disturb the Lady.’ Damisa sniffed. ‘We would have had to tell her in any case because Gremos was gone.’ Tiriki sighed. For the Guardian of the Acolytes to leave her post in normal times would have been cause for a citywide search. But now – if the woman failed to take her place in the boat, it would go to someone more deserving, or luckier. She suspected that the events of the next few days would effect their own winnowing of the priesthood and test their character in ways none of them could have foreseen. ‘Never mind Gremos,’ she said tartly. ‘She will have to take care of herself. Nor is there any point in casting blame for what happened. What matters now is how you behave during the next few hours, not how you spent the last.’ She looked at the window, where the approach of dawn was bringing a deceptively delicate pallor to the lurid sky. ‘I have called you the hope of Atlantis, and it is true.’ Her clear gaze moved from one to another until their high color faded and they were ready to meet her eyes. ‘Since you are awake, we may as well get a head start on the day. Each of you has tasks. What I want—’ The chair jerked suddenly beneath her. She threw out her hands, brushed Damisa’s robe, and clutched instinctively as the floor rocked once more. ‘Take cover!’ cried Elara. Already the acolytes were diving for protection under the long, heavy table. Damisa pulled Tiriki to her feet, and they staggered toward the door, dodging the carved plaster moldings that adorned the upper walls as they cracked and fell to the ground. Micail! With her inner senses Tiriki felt his shocked awakening. Every fiber of her being wanted the strength of his arms, but he was half a city away. As the earth moved again she sensed that even their united strength would not have been enough to stop the destruction a second time. She clung to the doorpost, staring outside as trees tossed wildly in the garden, and a huge column of smoke rose above the mountain. The shape of a great pine tree made of ashes, from whose mighty trunk a canopy of curdled cloud was spreading across the sky. Again and again the ground heaved beneath her. The ash cloud above the mountain sparkled with points of brightness, and glowing cinders began to fall. Chedan had told them how other lands had fallen into the sea, leaving only a few peaks to mark their former location. Ahtarrath, it was clear, would not disappear without a battle of titanic proportions. At the moment she could not decide whether to exult in that defiance or to whimper in fear. A movement in the distance caught her eye – above the trees that surrounded the House of the Falling Leaves she saw one of the gleaming gold towers shiver, then topple. As it vanished from sight, a tremor like another earthquake shook the ground. She winced at the thought of the devastation that now lay beneath it. In the next moment the sound of a crash from the other side of the city reached their ears. ‘The second tower…’ whispered Damisa. ‘The city is already half deserted. Perhaps there were not too many people there—’ ‘Perhaps they were the lucky ones,’ Damisa replied, and Tiriki could not find words to disagree with her. But for the moment at least, it appeared that everything likely to fall was already on the ground. ‘Someone get a broom,’ muttered Aldel; ‘we should get the rubble off of this floor—’ ‘And who will sweep the rubble from the streets of the city?’ asked Iriel, her voice trembling on the edge of hysteria. ‘The end is upon us! No one will ever live here again!’ ‘Control yourselves!’ Tiriki pulled herself together with an effort. ‘You have been told what to do when this moment arrived. Get dressed and put on your strongest shoes. Wear heavy cloaks even if it grows warm – they will protect you when ash and cinders fall. Take your bags and get down to the ships.’ ‘But not everything is loaded,’ exclaimed Kalaran, trying to control his fear. ‘We were not able to get half the things we were supposed to take. The shaking has stopped. Surely we have a little time—’ Tiriki could still feel tremors vibrating through the floor, but it was true that for the moment the violence had passed. ‘Perhaps…but be careful. Some of you are assigned to carry messages for the priests. Do not enter any building that seems damaged – an aftershock might bring it down. And don’t take too long. In two hours you should all be on board. Remember, what men have made they can make again – your lives are more valuable now than anything you might risk them for! Tell me again what you are to do—’ One by one they listed their duties, and she approved or gave them new instructions. Calmer now, the acolytes scattered to gather their things. The architects of the House of the Falling Leaves had built better than they knew –though ornamentation littered the floor, the structure of the house was still secure. ‘I must return to the palace. Damisa, get your things and come with me—’ Tiriki waited at the door until her acolyte returned, watching the steady fall of cinders into the garden. Now and again a bit that was still glowing would set one of the plants to smoldering. New smoke was billowing from the city. Numbly she wondered how long before it was all afire. ‘I thought the sun was rising,’ said Damisa at her elbow, ‘but the sky is dark.’ ‘The sun has risen, but I do not think that we will see it,’ answered Tiriki, looking up at the dark pall rolling across the sky. ‘This will be a day without a dawn.’ Cinders were still falling as Tiriki and Damisa set forth from the House of the Falling Leaves, adding danger from above to the hazards of navigating streets whose pavements were buckled by the earthquake and littered with fallen debris. When a particularly large piece of lava barely missed Tiriki, Damisa dashed into an abandoned inn and came back with two large pillows. ‘Hold it over your head,’ she said, handing one to Tiriki. ‘It will look silly, but it may protect you if something larger falls.’ Tiriki caught the note of incipient hysteria in her own answering laughter and cut it short, but the thought of what they must look like, scuttling through the shadowed streets like mushrooms with legs, kept a weird smile on her lips as they picked their way toward the palace. It was the only amusement she was to find during that journey. Shocking as the devastation from yesterday’s quakes had been, she had at least been able to recognize the city. Today’s jolts had transformed the skyline into a place she did not know. She told herself that this morning’s tremor was only an aftershock, bringing down structures already weakened, but she knew that this time the earth had been wrenched in a different direction, and with every step she became more aware that what she felt beneath her feet now was not equilibrium, but rather a tenuous balance that at any moment might fail. The chains that bind the Man with Crossed Hands are breaking…she thought, shivering despite the warmth in the air. One more effort will snap the last of them and he will be free… The palace was deserted. When they reached her rooms, she saw that both Micail and his bag were gone. He will be waiting for me at the docks, she told herself. Snatching up her own satchel, she followed Damisa back out to the street and started down the hill. The House of the Healers had collapsed, blocking the road. Tiriki paused, listening, but she heard nothing from within. She hoped that everyone had gotten out safely. Indeed, it was some time since she had seen anybody at all. Obviously, she told herself, the priests and city functionaries who lived and worked here had taken the warning to heart and were already seeking safety on the docks or the hills, but she could not quite suppress the fear that everyone was dead, and that when she and Micail sought Captain Reidel’s ship at last they would find the harbor empty, and have only ghosts for company as they waited for the island to fall. Guided by Damisa, whose experience as a messenger had taught her the back ways of the upper city, they retraced their steps, turning toward the House of the Priests just up the hill. As they ascended the Processional Walk, littered with fallen statues and the ruins of archways, Tiriki caught sight of a hurrying figure in sea boots and a brown traveling cloak. ‘Chedan!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here? Are the priests—’ ‘Those holy fools! They claim to command spirits, but they cannot control themselves. Your husband is there now, trying to talk some sense into those who remain. Some have gone down to the ships as they were bid, and others have fled, the gods alone know where. They’re all half-mad, I think, begging him to use his powers to make it stop—’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘But Micail stretched himself to the utmost yesterday, and a little beyond. He can do no more. Can’t they understand?’ ‘Can’t, or won’t—’ Chedan shrugged. ‘Frightened men are strangers to reason, but that husband of yours will sort them out. In the meantime, those of us who can still think straight have work to do. And who still survive—’ he added grimly. ‘The man who was to have led the team to load the Omphalos Stone was killed by a falling wall. I told Micail I’d take care of it, but there’s no one left here, or no one that is of any use, anyhow.’ ‘There’s us,’ Damisa said stoutly, ‘and the other acolytes will be all right if they have something definite to do!’ For the first time, Chedan smiled. ‘Then lead us, if you can still find your way in this chaos, and let us find them!’ They met Aldel surveying the House of the Healers in disbelief, having found no one to whom he might deliver his message, and Kalaran beside him, clutching an empty sack. Speechless, Tiriki and Damisa returned to the House of the Falling Leaves. Elis and Selast were just inside, packing. Flakes of ash powdered their dark hair. ‘Are you the only ones left here?’ asked Tiriki. Elis nodded. ‘I hope the others reached the ships safely.’ ‘Aldel is waiting outside, and so is Kalaran, so at least you and your betrothed will be together,’ said Tiriki bracingly. ‘And Kalhan is a strong lad,’ she added to Damisa. ‘I’m sure that when we get to the docks he will be waiting for you.’ As Micail will be waiting for me, she added silently. ‘Kalhan? Oh, yes, I’m sure he will…’ Damisa said flatly. Tiriki looked at her curiously. This was not the first time she had thought that Damisa’s feelings about the boy to whom the Temple astrologers had mated her seemed tepid. Once more she realized how fortunate she and Micail had been when they were allowed to choose for themselves. ‘Will they be enough?’ asked Chedan as Tiriki shepherded the acolytes out the door. ‘They will have to be,’ she answered as a stronger tremor rocked the town. ‘We must go, now!’ As they started down the road two more jolts made them stagger, and behind them they heard a crash as the porch of the House of the Falling Leaves came down. ‘That was a very heavy leaf that just fell!’ said Kalaran, lips twisting as he attempted a smile. ‘That was the whole tree,’ corrected Damisa tartly, but there were tears in her eyes, and she did not look back. Elis was weeping softly. Selast, who despised such feminine weakness, looked at her in scorn. But all of them kept moving, picking their way around debris, and passing with no more than a sign of blessing when they saw bodies on the road. It was as well that they found no one in need of assistance. That would have put their discipline to too great a test. Indeed, Tiriki thought that if they had found a hurt child she would not have been entirely sure of her own self-control. That which we seek to save will preserve the lives of generations yet unborn, she told herself, but the old sayings seemed meaningless in the face of the kind of catastrophe they were enduring now. Cinders had begun to fall once more. She flinched and drew her mantle over her head – she had discarded the pillow some time ago – then drew first one deep breath and then another, invoking the trained reflexes that would bring calm. There is no thought…there is no fear…there is only the right moment and the right deed. With relief, she caught sight of the entrance to the Temple. Only now did she allow herself to look beyond it to the mountain. The pyramid at its top and the priest who kept it had been engulfed long ago. The smoke that billowed from its summit swirled now in a shapeless cloud, but the side of the mountain had opened, and lava was inscribing its own deadly message down the slope in letters of fire. For a moment she allowed herself to hope that the escape of lava from within the mountain, like the lancing of a boil, would ease the pressure within. But the vibration beneath her feet spoke of unresolved tensions underground that were greater still. ‘Quickly—’ Chedan gestured toward the portico. Its structure still seemed sound, although parts of the marble facings littered the road. Inside things were less reassuring, but there was no time to wonder how deep the cracks in the walls might run. The cabinet built to carry the Omphalos was waiting in the alcove, and the lamp still swung on its chains. As soon as they had lit the torches they took up the box by the long handles that supported it from the front and back, and hurried the acolytes past the cracked wall of the entry toward the passageway. To descend that passage in formal procession with the priests and priestesses of Ahtarrath had been an experience to strain the soul. To hasten toward those depths in the company of a gaggle of half-hysterical acolytes was almost more than Tiriki could bear. They feared the unknown, but it was the memory of what had happened here only a few days ago that made her afraid. Seeing her falter, Chedan grasped her arm, and she drew on his steady strength gratefully. ‘Is that lava?’ came a frightened whisper from Elis as they rounded the last turn. ‘No. The Stone is glowing,’ answered Damisa, but her voice was shaking. As well it might, thought Tiriki, following her into the chamber. Vivid illuminations like those the ritual had wakened in the Omphalos were already pulsing in the depths of the Stone. Eerie light and shadows chased each other around the chamber, and each time the earth moved, flashes bounced from wall to wall. ‘How can we touch it without being blasted?’ breathed Kalaran. ‘That’s why we have these wrappings,’ said Chedan, lifting a mass of cloth out of the cabinet and dropping it on the floor. ‘This is silk, and it will insulate the energies of the Stone.’ I hope, Tiriki added silently. But the Omphalos had been carried safely from the Ancient Land, so moving it must be possible. With their hearts pounding, she and Chedan took the folds of silk and carried them toward the Stone. Closer, its power radiated like a fire, though she felt it neither as heat nor any other sensation for which she had a name. Then the silk fell across it, muting the pressure, and she released a breath she had not known she was holding. They veiled it a second time and she felt her fear ease. ‘Bring the cabinet,’ rasped Chedan. White-faced, Kalaran and Aldel dragged the box up until it was almost touching the Stone and raised the panel on its side. Taking a deep breath, the priest set his hands about the Stone and tipped it in. Light exploded around them with a force that sent Tiriki sprawling. Damisa grabbed more of the silk wrappings and thrust them into the cabinet around the Stone. ‘Cover it – cover it completely!’ Tiriki struggled to her feet again. Chedan was handing the rest of the silk to Damisa, who rolled it up to push into the corners until the pulsing glow of the Omphalos could no longer be seen. It could be felt still, but now it was a bearable agony. Unfortunately, without the distraction of the Stone, there was nothing to shield them from the groaning of the rock around them. ‘Pick it up! Aldel and Kalaran, you’re the strongest – take the front handles. Damisa and I will take the rear. The rest of you can keep the way clear and carry the torches. When we get out of here you can take a turn on the handles, but we must go, now!’ As he spoke the floor of the chamber trembled ominously. Tiriki snatched up her torch and hurried after them, realizing that only the presence of the Omphalos had kept it stable for this long! The bearers staggered and grunted as if their burden were not only immensely heavy, but unstable. Seeing their distress, Elis and Selast set their hands beneath the midpoint of the cabinet and helped to lift it. But as they got farther away from the hidden chamber, the weight seemed to grow less, which was just as well, for with every step their footing was growing more treacherous. That last jolt had buckled the floor of the passage in several places. Great cracks now showed in the walls, and in places the ceiling was beginning to give way. As they toiled upward they heard the crash of falling rock behind them, a high, discordant keening that seemed to come from all around. ‘My spirit is the spirit of Life; it cannot be destroyed…’ Tiriki chanted, trying to make that awareness replace the dreadful singing of the stones. ‘I am the child of Light, that transcends the Darkness…’ The others joined her, but their words seemed thin and meaningless in this vortex of primordial energies. ‘Hurry—’ Damisa’s voice seemed to come from far away, ‘I can feel another quake coming!’ They could see the pale light of the entryway before them now. The earth jerked beneath them. With a crash that transcended all previous measures of sound, the left wall caved in. The sounds of rockfall and the screams that followed now faded as dust billowed outward. Tiriki’s torch had gone out. She coughed, shielding her eyes. When she could see again, the dim illumination from outside showed her the cabinet knocked onto its side and the acolytes climbing to their feet around it. ‘Is everyone all right?’ One by one, voices answered her. The last to reply was Kalaran. ‘A little grazed, but whole. I was on the other side of the cabinet, and its bulk protected me. Aldel—’ There was a shocked silence. Then one of the girls began to sob. ‘Help me get the rubble off him—’ Chedan dropped to his knees, pulling frantically at the lumps of stone and plaster. ‘Damisa, Selast, Elis! Let’s get the cabinet upright and pull it out of the way—’ Tiriki took one handle and heaved. She felt the others take up the weight and they started forward. ‘But Aldel—’ whispered Elis. ‘The others will bring him,’ Tiriki said firmly. ‘Let’s get the cabinet outside.’ The rock groaned and a little more dust sifted down as they dragged the Omphalos out through the portico. Tiriki looked back apprehensively, but in another moment she saw Chedan and Kalaran emerging from the gloom with the body of Aldel in their arms. ‘He’s knocked out, isn’t he?’ stammered Elis, looking from one to the other hopefully. ‘Let me hold him until he revives.’ ‘No, Elis, he has been taken from us—’ Chedan said compassionately as they laid the body down. Through the dust they could see the distorted shape of the boy’s skull where the rock had crushed it. ‘It was over in an instant, without pain.’ Elis shook her head, uncomprehending, then knelt, smoothing the dust from her betrothed’s forehead and gazing into his empty eyes. ‘Aldel…come back, beloved. We’re going to escape together – we’ll always be together. You promised me.’ ‘He has gone before us, Elis—’ Damisa said with a compassion Tiriki would not have expected. ‘Come now. Come with me.’ She put her arm around the girl and drew her away. Chedan bent over the still figure and closed Aldel’s eyes, then traced the sigil of unbinding upon his brow. ‘Go in peace, my son,’ he murmured. ‘And in another life may this sacrifice be rewarded.’ He stood and took Elis’s arm. ‘But we can’t – just leave him there,’ said Selast uncertainly. ‘We must,’ answered Tiriki. ‘But the shrine will be a noble tomb.’ She was still speaking when the earth heaved once more and propelled them out through the portico. As they sprawled on the roadway a pillar of fire exploded upward from the mountain and the Shrine of the Omphalos collapsed with a rending roar. Muscles and balance told Tiriki that they were going downhill as they struggled onward. But that was all she knew for sure. She jumped and nearly dropped the handle of the cabinet that held the Omphalos as the front wall of a house slammed into the street. Beyond it a second building was collapsing with gentle deliberation, as if it were falling asleep. A dark figure emerged from one of the homes, hesitated, and then dashed back into the falling building with a cry. ‘I can smell the harbor,’ gasped Damisa. ‘We’re almost there!’ A breath of moist air blessed Tiriki’s cheeks and brow. Above the crackle of flames and the groans of dying buildings she could hear the almost reassuring sound of human shouts and screams. She had begun to fear they were the only ones left alive on the isle. And now they could see the water and the masts that tossed in the harbor. Boats bounded across the dark waters, heading out to sea. Two wingbirds had collided and were sinking in a tangled mass while bobbing figures swam for the shore. As they hurried forward the ground shook as if to propel them on their way. Rocks tumbled from the cliffs and splashed into the bay. ‘There’s the Crimson Serpent!’ cried Selast. The lines that held it to the stanchions on the dock were still fast, and young Captain Reidel stood poised at the stern, shading his eyes with one hand. Micail – where are you! Tiriki sent her spirit winging forward. ‘My lady, thank the gods!’ called Reidel. He jumped to the dock and caught her as she swayed. Before she could protest, strong arms were swinging her onto the deck. ‘All of you get on board, fast as you can!’ ‘Someone, take the box,’ Chedan commanded. ‘Yes, yes, but hurry—’ Reidel reached out to give Damisa a hand, but the girl pulled away. ‘I’m supposed to be on Tjalan’s ship!’ ‘It would seem not!’ Reidel answered. ‘The Alkonath fleet was anchored in the other harbor – and everything between here and there is in flames.’ He gestured, and one of the sailors picked the girl up bodily and tossed her into his arms. Tiriki struggled to her feet, trying to make sense of the confusion of people, bags, and boxes. She recognized the seeress Alyssa huddled in the healer Liala’s arms, and Iriel. ‘Where’s Micail?’ ‘Haven’t seen him,’ answered Reidel, ‘nor Galara. We can’t wait for them, my lady. If the headland collapses we’ll be trapped here!’ He turned and began shouting commands. Sailors began to unwind the lines that held the ship to the harbor. ‘Stop!’ cried Tiriki. ‘You can’t leave yet – he will come!’ She had been so certain he would be waiting for her, frantic at her delay, and now she was the one who must fear. ‘There are forty souls on this ship whom I must save!’ exclaimed Reidel. ‘We’ve already delayed too long!’ He grabbed a pole and pushed them away from the dock as the last sailor leaped on board. The third great tower, the one that watched over the palace, was falling slowly, as if time itself were reluctant to let it go. Then, with a roar that obliterated all other sounds, it disappeared. Debris exploded into the sky and burst into flame. Reidel’s ship lifted and fell as the shock wave passed beneath it. Another craft, still tethered, crashed into the dock. The oarsmen heaved and struggled to pull the ship through the debris that bobbed on the dark waters. Above, the sky boiled in a vortex of flame and shadow and fire fell back upon the already burning city in a hail of indescribable destruction. Damisa was weeping. One of the sailors swore in a murmur of meaningless sound. They had already come far enough that the figures who were casting themselves into the water were silhouettes without faces or names. Micail was not among them – Tiriki would have known if he were that near. They were passing beneath the cliff now. A boulder splashed down before the bow and the deck canted over, sending Tiriki sprawling into Chedan. He hooked one arm around her and the other around the mast as the ship righted itself and leaped forward. ‘Micail will be on one of the other ships,’ murmured Chedan. ‘He will survive – that too is part of the prophecy.’ Through eyes that blurred with tears Tiriki stared at the funeral pyre that had been her home. The motion of the ship grew more lively as the sails filled, carrying them out to sea. Black smoke billowed up as the volcano spoke once more, blotting out the sky. In the moment before everything went dark, Tiriki saw the tremendous image of the Man with Crossed Hands, covering the sky. And Dyaus laughed and stretched out his arms to engulf the world. FIVE (#ulink_c54dbdfc-e9a0-579e-add3-8c94c4e703e6) Tiriki clawed her way out of a nightmare in which she was drowning. Reaching out to Micail for comfort in the dark, her fingers closed on cold wool. As she groped, the floor rolled and she tensed yet again, bracing herself for another earthquake; but no, this was too gentle, too regular a rocking to sustain her fear. Exhausted, she sank back limply upon the hard bed, thankful for woolen winter blankets, her eyes half closed again. A dream, she assured herself, brought on by the cool breeze through the window… For some reason, she had thought that it was spring already, and that the disaster had come – that somehow she and Micail had ended up on different boats. But here we are side by side, as we should be. Smiling at the foolishness of dreams, she shifted position again, trying to stay comfortable despite a vaguely dizzy feeling and a persistent chill. Something hard through the blankets…And then, close by, someone began to weep. Her own discomfort she could ignore, but not another’s pain. Tiriki forced her eyes to open and sat up, blinking at the dim, recumbent shapes all around her. Beyond them she could see a narrow railing, and the darkly heaving sea. She was on a boat. It had not been a dream. As she looked about, someone out of sight, toward the bow, began to sing— ‘Nar-Inabi, Star Shaper, Dispense tonight thy bounty—’ As she listened, additional unseen voices joined the song. ‘Illuminate our wingsails As we fly upon the waters. The winds here are all strangers And we are but sailors. Nar-Inabi, Star Shaper, This night reveal Thy glory…’ For a moment the beauty of the song lifted her spirit. The stars were hidden, but no matter what happened here they remained in the heavens, afloat in the sea of space as their ship floated on the sea below. Star father, Sea lord, protect us! her spirit cried, trying to feel in the uneasy rocking of the ship the comfort of mighty arms. But whether or not the god was listening, Tiriki could still hear someone crying. Carefully, she peeled away enough of the woolen blankets about the curled-up figure beside her to recognize the youthful face of Elis, fast asleep, her dark hair tangled, her eyes wet with unhappy dreams. Poor child – we have both lost our mates – Tiriki choked back her own grief before it could overwhelm her. No, she told herself sternly, though we shall surely never see Aldel again, Micail lives! I know it. Tenderly, she soothed Elis into deeper sleep, and only then withdrew enough to stand up. Shivering in the stiff breeze, trying not to let the continual gentle swaying underfoot disturb her stomach, Tiriki tried to will away the lingering tensions of her unrestful sleep and strained her eyes toward the foggy seascape beyond the railing. The wake of the ship glinted redly in the bloody glow that pulsed along the horizon, illuminating a vast cloud of smoke and cinders that roiled the heavens and hid the stars. It was not the sunrise, she realized abruptly. The raging light was from another source – it came from Ahtarrath, even in its final death throes unwilling to submit to the sea. As the lurid dawn light grew she recognized Damisa standing by the railing, staring forlornly at the distant flames. Tiriki started toward her but Damisa turned away, her shoulders hunching defensively. Tiriki wondered if Damisa was one of those people who preferred to suffer in privacy, and then she wondered whether she wanted Damisa’s company for the girl’s sake or for her own. Most of the other people huddled on the deck were strangers, but she could see Selast and Iriel not far away, lying curled together like kittens as Kalaran snored protectively beside them. From amidships came a quiet voice giving orders; then Reidel appeared carrying a lantern, his bare feet almost silent on the wooden deck. She nodded in automatic greeting. Since yesterday he seemed to have aged ten years. For that matter, she thought, I wonder how much older I must look by now! Reidel returned her greeting, rather anxiously, but before they could exchange words, he was beset by a pair of red-faced merchants wanting something to eat. A man whom she recognized as Reidel’s sailor, Arcor, had been hovering nearby. ‘My lady,’ he said, as she finally turned to face him, ‘we hoped not to trouble you while you slept, but the captain wishes you to know, there be comfortable beds for you and the young folk below. The honored ones, the adept Alyssa and the priestess Liala, rest there already.’ Tiriki shook her head. ‘No – but I thank you—’ she looked at him inquiringly and he murmured his name, once more touching his brow in a gesture of reverence. Living at such close quarters during this voyage, she mused, how long will the old caste distinctions last? ‘I thank you, Arcor,’ she repeated, in more pleasant tones, ‘but so long as there is anything to see here—’ She broke off. ‘I must go,’ she murmured, and quickly made her way amidships, where she noticed Chedan standing alone, gazing at the waves and the troubled sky. ‘I am sorry. I meant to help keep watch over the Stone,’ she said, as she reached Chedan’s side. She intended to say more, but found herself coughing, and a sharp, growing ache in her chest reminded her that the very air they were breathing was poisoned with the ashes of Ahtarrath. Chedan smiled at her fondly. ‘You needed rest,’ he said, ‘and should feel no shame for taking it. In truth, there has been nothing to see. The Stone is at peace, even if we are not.’ He gathered her against him, and for a moment she was content to rest within the steady support of his arms, but the mage’s sparkling eyes and ash-whitened beard could not conceal his worried frown. ‘No other ships?’ Her voice was a rasping whisper. ‘Earlier, I glimpsed a few sails, heading on other courses, but in this murk—’ He waved at the smoke and fog. ‘A hundred ships might pass unseen! Yet we can be confident that Micail will direct whatever boat he may be on toward the same destination as we—’ ‘Then you agree he is alive?’ She gazed at him in appeal. ‘That my hope is not just – a delusion of love?’ The mage’s expression was solemn, but warm. ‘Being who you are and what you are, Tiriki – bound to Micail by karma, and more – you would surely have felt him pass.’ Chedan fell silent, then grimaced and let slip a muffled oath. Following his gaze, Tiriki saw the faraway glow of the dying land rapidly expanding in a swirl of flames. ‘Hold on!’ Reidel’s voice rang out behind them. ‘Everyone – grab something and hold on!’ He already had one arm around the mainmast, but he and Chedan barely had time to clasp Tiriki between them as the ship’s stern lifted, sending unsecured gear and sleepers sliding. With a scream, someone went over the side. The masts groaned, sails flapping desperately as the ship continued to lift until it hung poised on the very crest of the swell. Behind them a long slope of shining water stretched back toward the fires of Ahtarrath, perhaps ten miles away. Then the wave passed, and the stern tipped as the ship began a long slide back down. Further and further yet they plummeted until Tiriki thought the ravening sea meant to swallow them whole. The ship bucked, seeking balance on the water, but the overstressed mainmast cracked and came crashing down. The Crimson Serpent shuddered as waves whipped around it. It seemed a long time before the ship came to rest again, rocking gently with the tide. Reidel’s lantern was nowhere to be seen. The faint phosphorescence that danced along the wave crests was the only light. There were no stars above, and the fires of Ahtarrath had sunk, finally and forever, beneath the sea. The next morning Chedan jerked upright with a snort and realized that against all expectation, he had been fast asleep. It was day, and that too, he supposed, was more than any of them should have dared to expect after the violence of the night before. It was a daylight, however, in which very little could be seen. He could hear quite clearly the omnipresent creaking of wood as the ship rolled on the swell, the gurgle of water beneath her bows, and the cries of seabirds as they bobbed like corks all around. A clammy grey fog rested between the sea and sky. It felt as if they were sailing through another world. Although Chedan had often enough found danger in his wanderings, he could not remember ever having been quite so uncomfortable. His back ached from the odd posture he’d slept in, and there was, he perceived, a splinter in his elbow. That’s what I get for not going below, he lectured himself as he plucked it out. He wished a lifetime of experience could help now to take him home. With a sigh and a yawn, he drew in his feet as four sailors, sweating even in this chilly dawn, carried the top half of the mainmast past him. The sailors had unstepped the lower half of the mast from its base and cut chunks from both broken ends so that they could be fitted back together. Spliced and splinted with rope bindings the mast might be strong enough to support its sail. If the winds stay moderate. If no natural disaster comes to finish what the magic of dead men started…Chedan sighed. Bah! Gloomy thoughts for a gloomy day! At least Reidel has the sense to keep his men busy. He hauled himself to a standing position, just long enough to sit down on one of the row of storage chests permanently bolted to the deck. As he sat massaging his aching elbow, he saw Iriel moving with exaggerated caution through the broken crates and other odd items that littered the deck. Dark shadows beneath her eyes betrayed her strain, but she had put a brave face on. Indeed, her look of resolve warmed him more, he guessed, than would the bowl of steaming liquid that she carried so carefully in both hands. She held it out to him, saying, ‘They have a fire going in the galley, and I thought you might like some tea.’ ‘Dear girl, you are a lifesaver!’ A poor choice of phrase, he thought as he saw her blanch. ‘Are we lost?’ Her hands shook with the effort she was making to remain calm. ‘You can tell me the truth. Are we all going to die out here?’ ‘My child,’ Chedan began, with a startled shake of his head. ‘I am not a child,’ Iriel interrupted, a little sharply, ‘you can tell me the truth.’ ‘My dear – all here are like children to me,’ Chedan reminded her, and sipped gratefully at the hot tea. ‘More to the point, Iriel, you are asking the wrong question. We are all going to die – eventually. That is the meaning of mortality. But before that happens we must learn to live! So let’s not gloom about. You have made a good beginning by helping me.’ He looked around, and saw a torn meal sack lying on the deck, threatening to spill what remained of its contents. ‘See if you can round up the acolytes. We’ll make that meal into porridge and spare some sailor the trouble of cleaning it up.’ ‘What a good idea,’ came a new voice. He turned and saw Tiriki shaking off the tangle of blankets in which she had passed the night. She rose and moved toward him, her steps somewhat uncertain on the gently rolling deck. ‘Good morning, Master Chedan. Good morning, Iriel.’ ‘My lady.’ Iriel bowed in the customary greeting, and then again to Chedan, before running off in search of the other acolytes. ‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Tiriki commented, as they watched her go. ‘I can hardly keep my knees from knocking.’ ‘Sit beside me,’ Chedan invited; ‘you look a bit green. Would you like some of this tea?’ ‘Thank you,’ she said, and swiftly lowered herself onto the sea chest beside him. ‘But I don’t know about drinking anything. My stomach is uneasy this morning. It’s not surprising. I…have never cared much for the sea.’ ‘The trick is not to focus on the horizon,’ Chedan advised. ‘Look beyond that – you just have to get used to it. Putting something in your belly will steady it, believe it or not.’ Her expression was dubious, but she accepted the tea bowl, and dutifully sipped. ‘I heard you talking to Iriel,’ she said, soberly. ‘How many more of us are gone?’ ‘We have been lucky, all in all. Two or three persons went overboard when the wave hit, but only Alammos was not recovered. He was a warder in the library. I didn’t really know him, but—’ He forced his voice to steady. ‘Five of the acolytes made it to this ship. We must hope that the others are with Micail. And there are a few others of the priests’ caste – Liala has them all settled, or as well as can be expected. The crew is more of a problem. The greater number of them are from Alkonath and proud of it. In fact, Reidel had to break up a fistfight only a while ago.’ Chedan glanced at her and, seeing that her face was troubled, watched her closely as he went on. ‘Considering how difficult that broken mainmast will make everything, we must be thankful that the Crimson Serpent has a fully trained crew. When it comes to having little experience with the sea, well, that’s one thing the priests’ caste shares with the townsfolk – we are landlubbers all, although most, at least, are relatively young and strong. No, truly things could be much worse.’ Tiriki nodded, her features again almost as calm as Chedan hoped his were. Both of them might weep bitterly within, but for the sake of those who still depended on them, they must provide a steadfast appearance of hope. Looking away, he caught sight of Reidel picking his way toward them through the debris on the deck. ‘Why isn’t this stowed away already?’ Reidel was muttering, with the fiercest of frowns. ‘The moment the mast is up – my apologies.’ ‘No need,’ said Tiriki quickly. ‘Your first duty is the seaworthiness of the ship. We are comfortable enough—’ He gave her a startled look, and she thought again that he seemed overly stern for one so young. ‘With respect, my lady, it was not your pardon I asked. To see my vessel so disarrayed – my father would say it is bad luck.’ Ashamed, Tiriki blushed, and seeing it, Reidel shook his head and laughed. ‘Well, I’ve given offense again, I guess, which I didn’t intend either time. We must still learn how to work together, it seems.’ ‘In regard to that—’ Chedan spoke to distract the other two from their embarrassment. ‘Can you tell us where we are?’ ‘Yes and no.’ Reidel fumbled with a pouch at his belt and pulled out a rod of cloudy crystal about the thickness of his finger. ‘This can catch the light of the sun even in the fog, so we know fairly well where it is above us – and can roughly judge how far north or south we have sailed. But as for east and west – well, for that we await the pleasure of the Star Shaper, but he spurns us still.’ He returned the crystal to its pouch. ‘We set sail with provisions for a moon, and that should be enough, but still, if we have a chance to go ashore, it wouldn’t hurt to take on fresh supplies. All assuming that the mast…’ The words trailed off as he turned to watch his laboring crewmen. ‘Are we on a course toward the Hesperides?’ Tiriki blurted out. More calmly, she continued, ‘I know that many refugees from the islands of Tarisseda and Mormallor have already gone to Khem, where the ancient wisdom has long been welcome. And others, I think, intended to seek the western lands across the greater sea. But – Micail and I planned to go north—’ ‘Yes, my lady, I know. The day before – before we left –I had a few minutes with the prince. With both of them, actually. Prince Tjalan told me—’ He broke off, biting his lip. ‘If all goes well—’ Reidel paused again as one of the sailors approached, touching hand to forehead in salute. ‘What is it, Cadis?’ ‘The lads are done binding the mast; they wait only thy word.’ ‘I will come – excuse me—’ Reidel inclined his head respectfully to Chedan and Tiriki, but his eyes and his attention had already returned to his ship and his crew. The wind never left their sails, which allowed the Crimson Serpent to make good time, and though the spliced mainmast creaked alarmingly, it held fast. But the wind also played in the overcast sky, shaping weird cloud-creatures from the curtaining mists. Ahtarrath might lie broken in the deeps, but the smoke of its destruction remained in the sky, dimming the sun by day and shrouding the stars at night. As agreed, Reidel had set a northerly course, but many days passed and they still had not seen land. They encountered no other ships either, but with the continual fog, it was possibly just as well. A collision would have been one disaster too many. Tiriki made a point of spending a little while every day with the acolytes, particularly Damisa, who was still brooding over her failure to make it to the ship captained by Prince Tjalan; and Elis, whose grief for Aldel reminded Tiriki that at least she could hope that her own beloved survived. She could only counsel those who were still sunk in depression to follow the example of Kalaran and Selast, who were trying to make themselves useful, a suggestion often met with tears. Tiriki insisted, however, that they at least pursue their singing practice and other studies, even if they were not well enough to help with the chores. She had hoped that Alyssa, as the next-most-senior priestess onboard, would be more helpful, but the seeress took full advantage of what was almost a private cabin to nurse her injured leg and meditate. Tiriki had begun to suspect her of malingering, but Liala assured her that the seeress’s leg had indeed been badly sprained during the melee of their escape. One afternoon, as Tiriki sat in the foredeck, wondering what, if anything, she ought to do about the lesser priest Rendano’s repetitive, pointless quarreling with a small cheerful saji woman called Metia, the dreary skies darkened, and a storm whirled down upon them. If Tiriki had thought her first night at sea terrible, by the time the tempest had blotted out even the sight of the towering waves, she was actually wishing that she had stayed in the palace. There, at least, she might have drowned with dignity. For an endless time of torment she clung to her bunk below deck, while the ship bucked and plunged. Selast, who had inherited at least the sea legs of the Cosarrath royal line, refilled her flask with fresh water. Mindful of Chedan’s advice, Tiriki sipped at it in the occasional gaps between upheaving seas, and tried not to watch the others merrily downing cheesebread and the last of the fresh fruit. Sometimes, between the almost endless sobbing of the elder priestess Malaera and the complaints of the acolytes, there came a respite long enough for her to hear the sailors shouting on the deck above, and Reidel’s strong, clear voice responding; but always, just when she was beginning to hope the worst had passed, a rising wind would overwhelm every voice, and the ship would tilt until she expected they would go completely under. Reason told her that no vessel could survive such a battering. She did not know whether to pray that Micail’s ship was faring better, or that he was already dead and awaiting her on the other side. Her misery faded into a stupor of endurance in which her soul retreated into an inner fastness so remote that she did not notice that the gusts were growing gentler, as the roll and pitch of the ship eased almost to normal. Exhaustion became a long-awaited, dreamless sleep; nor did she wake until morning. The mended mainmast had not survived the storm, but the other two remained still intact, though tall enough to support only small sails. Still, as the weather held fair and the breeze steady, they were able to move slowly forward. Yet at every dimming of the cloudy light, Tiriki stiffened, fearing disaster. What has become of my discipline? she scolded herself, sharply. I have been trained to face anything, even the very darkness beyond the reach of the gods, but here I sit frozen with terror while those children scuffle and chatter and hang off the railing. The creak of the ship’s timbers, a sudden tilting of the deck, even the scent of burning charcoal from the galley, all had the power to set her heart pounding. Yet it was also a distraction from a deeper anxiety that had set in when the storm lifted and they found themselves the only ship on the calm blue sea. Chedan had said that the other boats, having departed earlier, could have used their sails to run ahead of the storm. Did he believe that? It did no good to tell herself that the acolytes would only be more frightened if their seniors let their own fears show. The fear was there, and it made her feel ashamed. Tiriki took a deep breath and continued on toward the stern of the ship, where Chedan and the captain were taking sightings from the night sky. She was not alone, she reminded herself as she approached the two men. Reidel was an experienced sailor, and Chedan had traveled widely. Surely they would know how to find the way. ‘But that is just what I am saying,’ Reidel’s finger stabbed upward. ‘In the month of the Bull, the constellation of the Changer should have risen just after sunset. By this time, the pole star should be high.’ ‘You forget, we are much farther north than you have ever come.’ Chedan lifted the scroll he held so that it caught the light. ‘The horizon is different in many small ways…Well no wonder you can’t find it, this is not the right scroll. Ardral prepared more recent charts for our use.’ ‘So Prince Tjalan said, but they never reached us.’ ‘What of the teaching scrolls?’ said Tiriki as she joined them. ‘I told Kalaran to fetch them from the chests—’ ‘Yes, and I thank you for remembering them,’ said Chedan. ‘The problem is they are very old. See for yourself.’ She peered at the scroll, which concerned the movement of the zodiac. Unhappily, it no longer seemed to her half as detailed as it had when she was a student trying to commit it to memory – and that was the last time she had given any serious thought to the stars. It just isn’t right, she thought angrily, as her stomach once more began to protest the unsteady movement of the sea. Of all of us, Reio-ta was the sailor! He and Deoris took that trip to Oranderis alone, only five years ago. Either one of them would be more use here than me! Chedan drew a deep breath. ‘The chief polar star is Eltanin, of course, as shown in all our charts. But for generations now, the configuration of the stars has been changing—’ ‘What?’ Reidel exclaimed in shock. ‘We know that land and sea can change their outlines, but the skies?’ The mage nodded solemnly. ‘I have many times verified it with a nightglass, and it only became more obvious with every hour. The heavens change just as we do, only more slowly. But over the centuries, the differences become clear. You must know something of the wandering stars—’ ‘I know that they wander along a predictable path.’ ‘Only because they have been observed for so many years. When the pole star upon which so many of our calculations are based suddenly moves – well, such a tremendous change is regarded as foreboding some equally great shift in the affairs of men—’ ‘Yes. A disaster. As we have seen,’ observed Reidel. Shielding her eyes from the glowing lanterns, Tiriki gazed upward. Mists veiled the horizon, but the moon was very new and had already set. Directly overhead the darkness was studded with stars in such profusion, it would be a wonder if she could make out any constellations at all. ‘Perhaps,’ Chedan was saying, ‘you may have heard old folks muttering that the days of spring and winter are not as they used to be. Well, they are not forgetful; they are right. Old Temple documents have proved it. The time of the planting season, the coming of the rains – all the cosmos is caught up in some unfathomable change – and we, too, must adapt, or perish.’ Tiriki wrenched her attention away from the confused splendor of the skies to try to make sense of his words. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Ever since the fall of the Ancient Land, the princes have ruled without restraint, forgetting their duty to serve as they pursued power. Perhaps we were saved so that we might revitalize the ancient wisdom in a new land. I am not speaking of Micail, of course, or Reio-ta. And Prince Tjalan, too, is – was – a great man. Or would have been—’ Seeing Chedan’s distress, she reached to comfort him. ‘No doubt you are right,’ Reidel said briskly, ‘but at the moment it is getting us to the new land that must be my concern.’ ‘The stars may be unconstant,’ Tiriki said, ‘but nothing has happened to the sun and moon, has it? By them we can sail east until we find land. And if there is no land – we can take further counsel then.’ Chedan smiled at her approvingly and Reidel nodded, seeing the sense of what she said. She sat back and let her eyes drift up again toward the patch of stars. Cold and high, they mocked her and every mortal being. Rely on nothing, they seemed to say, for your hard-won knowledge will do you little good where you are going now. Tiriki woke to the familiar sway of her hammock and groaned from the nausea that was becoming equally familiar within. It was the third day after the storm. ‘Here—’ said a quiet voice. ‘Use the basin.’ Tiriki opened her eyes and saw Damisa holding a brass bowl, and the sight of it intensified her need. After several painful moments she lay back and wiped her face with the damp cloth Damisa offered her. ‘Thank you. I have never been a good sailor, but I would have thought I’d be accustomed to the motion by now.’ Tiriki could not tell whether duty or liking had prompted her assistance, but she needed Damisa’s help too much to care. ‘How goes it with the ship?’ The girl shrugged. ‘The wind has come up, and every time the masts creak someone wonders whether they will crack, but without it we scarcely seem to move at all. If the wind blows contrary they complain that we’re lost, and when it dies they wail that we’ll all starve. Elis and I have cooked up a pot of gruel, by the way. You’ll feel better for a little fresh air and a bit of breakfast.’ Tiriki shuddered. ‘Not just yet, I think, but I will come on deck. I promised Chedan to help him work on revising the star maps, though the way I feel, I fear I’ll be able to do little more than make approving noises and hold his hand.’ ‘He’s not the only one who needs his hand held,’ Damisa replied. ‘I’ve tried to keep the others too busy to get into mischief, but the deck pitches too much for the meditation postures, and we can only debate the sayings of the mages for so long. They may be young,’ she added from the vantage of her nineteen years, ‘but they were selected for intelligence, and they can see our danger.’ ‘I suppose so,’ Tiriki sighed. ‘Very well. I will come.’ ‘If you spend the morning with the others, I can do a thorough inventory of the supplies. With your permission, of course—’ she added reluctantly. Tiriki realized just how much of an afterthought that request had been and suppressed a smile. She could remember feeling a similar disdain for the ignorance of her juniors and the weaknesses of her elders when she was that age. ‘Of course,’ she echoed blandly. ‘And Damisa – I am grateful to you for taking on this responsibility while I’ve been ill.’ In the dim light she could not see if the girl was blushing, but when Damisa replied her tone was calm. ‘I was a princess of Alkonath before I was an acolyte. To lead is what I was brought up to do.’ Damisa had spoken with confidence, but by the time she finished her survey of the supplies stored in the Crimson Serpent, she was beginning to wish she had not claimed so much responsibility. But facing unpleasant truths was also part of the job. She could only hope that Captain Reidel, though he was only a commoner, would be able to do the same. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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