The Gods' Own Voice Read online

  ~

  Miri spent the three day voyage south-east to Ghibai in a dark cell in the hold of Black Heron. She was given water and unleavened bread once a day, but never saw sun or moon, shackled hand and foot to a cold iron ring. She was neither concerned or afraid, but calm and patient as an Eldritch Knight of the Order must always be. Not two weeks past she had entered the hardpan of the Gray Waste, the last of her water scavenged from her mule and its blood drained into a water skin. A year ago she had seen her King betrayed and the Necromancers ascendant in The Valley of Death and Shadows. The Wheel of Fortune turns ever on, and Miri was just one of millions to be swept up and down in its endless cycles.

  It was evening when Miri was dragged from her cell but she had expected it. Her chamber pot was a simple bucket, but she had placed it at the far side of the cell unused. Her body was extremely efficient since she knew The Way. The light of the ship still blinded her, so she kept her eyes shut while she was dragged to the deck of the ship, her hands and feet still bound. The sun was a swollen red mass descending into the Gray Waste and the Mountains of Madness to the West, the Mist Forests lay to the South, while a thousand stars emerged from the East. Black Heron was lashed to a great dock, one of two dozen great fingers splayed into the western shallows between the Isle and the Mainland. Black stone walls reared up five stories high surrounding the city of Ghibai, with watch towers nine stories tall ringing its entirety. East of the City lay the interior of the island and three broken mountain peaks, sheltering the land from inclement weather. The rock was volcanic basalt, porous like Caledonian Cheese.

  Miri's captors marched her down the docks past fat merchantmen, dhows, junks, ketches, cats, yawls and xebecs. The ships displayed colors from a dozen principalities and two dozen free cities, but it was the black flag of the Necromancers that Miri searched among the ships. It was a relief that she saw none, but she only could spy a quarter of the docks before her guards brought her to a set of massive gates, three stories high with iron plated doors half rusted from the salt sea air. The crowd of people entering and leaving the city was omnipresent, but the simple black flag carried by the lead guard parted the crowd like the hand of a god. The gate guards of Ghibai wore black lacquered armor and silk, with steel helms adorned with rainbow feathers and bearing long-spears with tower shields. The entire guard company at the gate snapped to attention when the man-at-arms handed a small scroll marked with the sigil letters of the East. Miri could speak the language thanks to Ilan's weak mind, but she would have to learn the script the hard way.

  The streets of Ghibai were bricked and offal flowed down sewers towards the sea. The people of Ghibai were dark skinned from the sun, wearing loose fitting pants and barefoot as often as sandaled. All wore colorful tattoos to some degree, from the simple heart lines that Bhara, Khipa, and Ilan bore, and others were fully tattooed front and back with fanciful beasts, monstrous demons, and geometric designs. Miri's guard consisted of a dozen sailors from Captain Kaasha's Black Heron led by the man-at-arms with two swords who was as different from the Ghibenese as Miri herself. The streets of Ghibai were squalid and packed with people short and tall, old and young, but always thin. Miri saw none who could even claim obesity, and many seemed unhealthy to her eye. Eyes were hollow, fingers thin, and bent backs were darkened by the sun. The buildings inside were similar to the outer walls, tall and stacked one atop another with roof bridges linking structures with windows as often bedecked with silk curtains as iron bars. Silk was so plentiful even the Commoners wore bits of it among their clothing, but the hollow eyes were envious as Miri's group passed. The soldiers seemed not to want.

  The guards stopped at the base of a pale-yellow brick fortress with iron bars across every second story window, for no window marked the ground floor. The fortress was protected by a three span thick wall two stories tall with heavy bronze gates. The palaces further up the hill to the east had only been visible a few times from the street; they were great manses with turreted towers and lit with a rainbow of lights, each must have boasted three dozen rooms. Each of the great houses were protected by walls and towers, with guards on patrol.

  Miri was led silently up stairs to a tall tower cell, barely a half dozen paces wide in a perfect circle with a low ceiling. She was given a fresh change of clothes in the Ghibenese fashion, a loin wrap and a chest wrap. Miri preferred her own Ishtarian robe, but it was stripped from her. The door to her cell had a small window near the top, and her cell wall had a small round window barred with iron with a view of the street. It was too small to fit through even if the bars could be removed. At least it was better than the cell in Black Heron's hold.

  For ten days Miri bided her time in the cell, fed unleavened bread and brackish water once a day. She would die soon enough with such meager fare after her ordeal in the Gray Waste, for her reserves were nowhere near replenished. Crossing the wastes had driven her to the last of her strength. No one could Heal hunger, not even Danae. Sister, you have to pick up the pieces! Miri thought anxiously. Danae was the High King's most trusted Knight, she would know what to do in his absence. The Council was difficult enough with the High King, but with no successor? At least Danae would have the Brothers and Sisters of the Order, however diminished. There was still Artin the Blue, Edmur Ford, Brythuia the White, and a half dozen others still at Court. The bulk of the Order's strength had accompanied the High King's Vanguard, and she had escaped, so why not others? Why not the High King himself? No one was stronger in the Power than Ambrosius. Someone else had to have escaped Agath's trap.

  No one visited her, no one talked to her. The door's small window opened at noon and she had to catch the tin plate and water-skin before it hit the floor and spilled on the cracked floor. Miri knew the entire grounds the first day with the help of a pigeon that wandered too close; taking over its mind was as easy as the gull at the edge of the Waste, and the rats were as plentiful in Ghibai as in any other City of Men. Soon enough, Miri knew the streets in the quarter, the extent of her ability to enforce the Sight on weak minded rats and pigeons. The city and its people lived in squalor in the poor quarter, packed in like Caledonian Cod in an iced barrel. The pigeons supplemented her meager prison fare, snatching tarts from bakers and skewers from street vendors at the edge of the Merchant's Quarter. By the third day, the vendors seemed aware of the thieving pigeons and her brave sky pirates were attacked more often than not.

  Miri sighed. She had walked the breadth of the known world, crossed the Gray Waste into lands spoken only in whispers, and now she would die in a tower cell for crimes she had yet to commit on the word of their Seers. Miri looked up into the portion of the night sky available to her from her small porthole in the wall, looking for the red star at the base of the Chalice, the sigil of her Order. Now was the time for the Chalice's ascension, but Miri could not find it. The stars blurred and her eyes were unable to focus adequately. Hunger has stolen my strength. There were no Ley Lines close enough to draw strength; Ghibai lay in a place favorable for trade, not the working of the Power.

  The window of her cell door opened suddenly. "Get up, face against the wall." The voice was male, but she could not catch his eyes. The door opened only after she stood and faced the wall.

  "Keep your face forward." This voice was a different male, a scratchy deep bass. A hood enveloped her head, and the noose cinched tight. Her arms were roughly pulled behind her and bound in thin twine. It was no use, she had no strength to resist. She was led out of the cell, through many hallways and stairs, but always down. She was forced to sit in a chair, it lifted into the air, and then she was carried a long distance. No one spoke to her. She heard the night sounds of Ghibai's streets in the distance, but close by she only heard shuffling feet, nervous breathing and the wind whistling through the cavernous street.

  Miri felt emptiness around her, the echo of footfalls recede and knew she was in a larger space. She even heard the sound of songbirds. Then the chair stopped moving and was lowered to the ground. She was fo
rced out of the chair, her head held down. A palanquin. She was led to the side, and then forward. She climbed step upon step, endlessly climbing straight. The stair was at a thirty degree incline, and she had counted over two hundred steps. At the top, her guards forced her to stop, then she was forced to her knees on hard stone.

  "We stand in judgment of the Waste Wanderer, who came to our fair city threatening all that Ghibai has wrought in the last thousand years. How do you plead criminal?" The voice seemed familiar.

  "I was arrested from the shore. You brought me here Kaasha of the Nine Spears. Whatever your Seers claim to know, I refute, for the future is based on decisions both great and small. I would question these Seers who cast me into the black cells based on a dream." Miri had thought about her defense for many days and nights.

  An old man's voice replied. "I am a witness to the destruction you bring."

  A young girl's voice replied. "I saw the Waste Wanderer with blood on her hands, on her tongue, and Seers lay dead at her feet."

  An old woman's voice replied. "I heard the storm the Wanderer brought that crashed upon Ghibai like a titan's fist."

  A man's voice replied. "I tasted the blood and ashes of Ghibai's destruction, and the wailing of the dead with the Wanderer's name on their lips."

  A woman's voice replied. "I know you Wanderer, I name you Destroyer."

  Miri counted five voices in total, but she knew she was ringed by guards.

  "I would look upon my accusers, and have them look upon me."

  Kaasha laughed. "So you could ensorcel us as you do rat and bird? Dirge Singer I name you, craven and black."

  This time Miri laughed. "I am no Necromancer. I am likely the last of my Order east of the Mountains of Madness, we fought the Blood Sickle six months ago and paid for it with our life's blood. Ten thousand strong was our army, and our foes number ten times our strength."

  The Seers muttered to one another.

  Kaasha spoke again. "Then you reveal the destruction you bring to Ghibai; the Dirge Singers will want you."

  "First you name as a Necromancer and then you wish to hand me over? Who is craven now Kaasha of the Nine Spears?" Miri felt the blow before it came, could sense it, but she hit the ground with splayed hands and the left side of her face seared with fire. She tasted blood.

  "Stay your hand Captain. There is no honor in striking a bound prisoner." This was a new voice, someone who had not yet spoken. It sounded like an older woman, with iron in her tone. This was her true judge.

  Someone unloosened the noose from her hood, and it was removed. Miri blinked against the light, and held her hands up. Torchlight glared from braziers to her side. A group of silken robed men and women sat upon seven chairs, many with circlets of precious stones cast in silver, gold, platinum and Mydas. Miri's guards wore the lacquered plate of the City Guard, and Captain Kaasha was arrayed in her silks. Miri married the voices she heard before to each of the people sitting on the carved chairs, each a different stone, here sandstone, there jade, there basalt, and here obsidian. Standing taller than the Seers upon a dais of jet black and white marble on a disc of writhing monochrome, wearing a crown of Mydas with nine draconic heads ornamented with eyes of ruby, sapphire, emerald, amber, amethyst, tourmaline, quartz, diamond and malachite, was a woman of indeterminate age with eyes of crimson, hair of purest white, with a smooth face and ivory skin. Her judge was an albino.

  A handmaid arrayed in blue and white silks bent over Miri, and attended the cut on her cheek. "My lords and ladies, this needs stitching."

  "No, give me leave to Heal myself."

  The White Woman nodded, and Miri focused herself, using her bare reserves of the Power to join the split flesh back together, mending it at the bottom of the gash near the cheek bone, reknitting the bone where it shattered, and after many moments the handmaid wiped the blood away to reveal unblemished skin. While no longer wounded, Miri felt weaker for her effort. She was as weak as the moment she took the gull near the edge of the waste, and swayed on her feet.

  The Seers to her left murmured at Miri's display of the Power.

  Miri studied the faces of the Seers after her vision focused again. By sheer force of willpower, Miri remained standing.

  The old man who had claimed witness to the destruction of the City was gray of hair, robed in lilac silken folds, his fingers ringed in gold and silver, with nutmeg skin and graying black hair. The young girl who swore blood on Miri's hands and tongue dressed in white linen with bronzed skin and long dark hair. The old woman who heard a storm was heavily tattooed and wore robes of deep crimson, her hair white and held back by a circlet of Mydas. The man who heard the dead name Miri was strong of limb, with callused hands and armed with a curving sickle sword, tattooed in black and crimson. The woman who named Miri Destroyer was homely and if not for her silks and jewels could be any fishwife in the harbor. A boy of no more than ten annums sat uncomfortably on the sandstone chair, bedecked in jewelry with eyes black as night and crooked teeth. The last was the judge, the albino woman who stood on the dais.

  "Release me and I will leave your city, and take ship to one of the Jade Empires. How can I visit destruction upon Ghibai if I am not here to wreak it?" Miri tried reasoning.

  "You would bring a fleet of invaders to conquer and enslave our people," said the old man with lilac robes and graying hair.

  The young girl proclaimed instead, "You would tell lies and send corsairs to rape and plunder."

  The armed Seer with the curved sword proclaimed, "You would send a kraken to destroy our boats and cut us off from the sea's bounty."

  The homely faced woman declared, "You would spirit yourself back and cause unrest under the smoking mountains, poking and prodding until they rained fire and stone upon us all."

  The boy said nothing, but squinted at Miri. The old man on the Dais of black and white said nothing.

  "Five of seven speak of divergent outcomes. Two remain silent. There are many futures borne of poor decisions, but only one future ever ripens to the present. Let me stay then and be a teacher. You all claim to have some portion of the Sight, I can teach you all of the Sight, and other skills such as Healing demonstrated before your eyes."

  The Seers looked at one another in confusion.

  Miri continued. "No one can see all futures. With reason however, we can strive for a future of our choosing. So far, all you have done has alienated me from the interests of Ghibai. In an effort to stave off the worst futures you have been blind to what I am; in order to wreak such great vengeance, I must be a person of considerable power. Why should you risk my wrath at all? Why would you goad me into such bleak outcomes? You do your people a great service, finding the most bounteous lanes in the sea for your fisher-folk and making use of treaties to eke out life in this most inhospitable corner of the world. How long since you sat in judgment of someone for crimes yet to be?"

  The albino woman from the dais spoke. "Not in living memory."

  The old woman nodded, as did the old man.

  "Then I tell you true; restore my freedom, make a friend of me, and I shall repay your kindness to this city and the people, even as you foresaw the possibilities of my vengeance." Miri stood firm, catching each eye in turn, dark and almond shaped, but each face different, each with a different background. "Some of you were fishers, some of you merchants, some of you nobles, I see it plain on your faces and your hands. But the Sight set you apart, and you became Seers. Let me join you and let me teach you, and you will be Seers no longer, but something more."

  The silent boy finally spoke. "Your counsel would sound as wisdom, but I am loathe to accept a Wanderer from the Waste's words as truth. Nothing good comes from the Waste, ever." The Seers' doubts seemed quelled by the boy's words. He pointed a thin finger at Miri. "Let us have your story, all of it, and tell what lands gave you life."

  The albino woman on the dais nodded.

  Miri sighed. "The lands of my birth are those of the setting sun, with green hills, golden fields a
nd blue waters. The Realm is of the Utter West, as far west as a person may walk to seek the sun's bed. It is a land of ice and snow in winter, of warm beaches in summer. The Realm of my youth was protected by the High King, and the head of the Order of the Rose. Those born with the Power are drawn from every walk of life, just as you, and we protect the Realm from threats foreign and domestic, mortal and immortal, we investigate murderers and disappearances, we bring the King's justice to every corner of the Realm. We are healers and justiciars, architects and builders, feared for our power and loved for our compassion."

  "Then, five annums ago the Realm began rooting out a corruption of the Dead, covens of Vampyrs, and many vassals of the Fey Lords succumbed to madness. We rooted out the plots, fought the lieutenants of the Necromancers on the Realm's soil and brought the fight to the very Gates of the Valley of Death and Shadow. Then we were betrayed by our own loyal vassals, and blood and madness took it all. I escaped through my mastery of the Power, and slew those who wished me dead. I sought out my King, but thousands lay between him and I; we had lost utterly, hundreds of knights and ten thousand infantry lay dead on those ashen fields. The Dead roamed freely, and I knew that the Necromancer's gambit was to draw out and slay our noble King, may the Fey Lords and the Goddess have mercy. The last I saw of Ambrosius, he was unhorsed and laying waste to hundreds with Sartorious wreathed in Holy Fire, the ground shook, lightning streaked from the clouds, and his voice shattered shield and helm. It was madness, and all the while the Dead were drawn to the High King like insects to a bonfire. We had lost.

  I fled east, the only direction available, and headed into the Gray Waste, using fox and vulture as my scouts to find hidden watering holes and shelter. I lost my mount, my pack animals, my scouts, and almost my sanity under the blistering sun. For fifty days I traveled thus. When I emerged from the Gray Waste I was at the end of my strength, and three kind Ghibenese fisher-folk nursed me back to health. I owe them my life. Then, on the third day, Captain Kaasha of the Nine Spears arrested me."

  Miri bowed once to them all, and stood tall to bear their judgment.