A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3) (34 page)

hen Inguska awoke again in his mossy hide, he found the forest quiet. Another day at least must have passed, for a mid-morning sun bathed the trees in a deceptively cheery gold-green. He crawled out of the ferns, and wondered what had happened to him.
Did I have a sudden fever? Perhaps I ate a poisoned berry.

He was about to thank Samyaza that his dreams had only been hallucinations, when he saw the blood-spattered tree. Scuff marks in the dirt and a few discarded straps told Inguska that
some men had really murdered a bound woman while he had watched from the ferns.
What happened to me?

He closed his eyes, and sought answers in the vision of Heaven’s Daughters. They came to his mind’s eye, lovely as ever, but stern and silent.

They are displeased. It must have been a distraction of the Basilisk, to waylay me further from my sacred mission!

For a moment
, Inguska wondered if the murdered woman had really been Galkuna, the concubine of Satori.
Probably not—maybe in my fever she reminded me of her. It is a shame that the sickness hit me when it did. I might otherwise have helped her.
What a corrupt place this valley of Q’Enukki’s children must be for such things to happen!

He noticed a line of disturbed underbrush and a streak of blood—as if the woman had somehow dragged herself away to die. He followed the spoor
a long way up a gentle slope through the trees, until it met another well-used trail down from the foothills. Apparently, someone had already found her and taken her away from where she had finally died and bled out. He doubted the woman could have survived with so much blood lost.

How long was I asleep?
Inguska wondered again, figuring it must have been at least an additional day. With no way to know, he finally shrugged, and continued onto the new trail, which ran down toward the village and his final destination. It surprised him how close he had been to the forest’s edge. The other trail, where the murder had occurred, must also have led to the same village. It made the brazenness of the crime so much more appalling—as if the perpetrators had sought the thrill of a higher risk of capture. He also marveled that no constable had found him sleeping so near the crime scene. They must have traced her blood trail down the slope.

Inguska felt bad about the dead girl, and wondered who she rea
lly was. Then again, soon none of it would matter.

he Temple receiving hall of Samyaza’s pyramid complex at Assur’Ayur murmured with confused voices among the lesser functionaries.

Tylurnis greeted the Ambassadors from Lumekkor and Sa-utar with a cordial smile, while Uranna sat silent
ly with stern scorpion-in-glass eyes upon their twin throne. They used this posture to keep the two visiting dignitaries and their entourage uneasy and unsure of themselves.

Lumekkor’s envoy demanded as loudly as diplomatic protocol allowed,
“If Samyaza Cultists in our lands are not acting under orders from Assur’Ayur, then whose orders are they acting on?”

The man from Sa-utar added,
“Every captured attacker is an Assurim immigrant with a fanatical devotion to Samyaza—if you’ll excuse my putting it that way. These are directed attacks, madam, plain and simple.”

“I agree they are directed,” said Tylurnis. “I simply tell you the truth that they are not directed by Samyaza’s authorized government. You must understand that since the end of the Century War there have been radical independent factions—often financed by the Eastern Corsairs—
trying to destabilize our region, and yours. I assure you that we will cooperate fully in rooting out these usurpers who falsely claim to do my master’s bidding.”

The Lumekkor Ambassador softened just a little. “If you wish, we can land troops at Zhri’Nikkor to send a message to the Corsairs.”

Tylurnis did not allow his veiled threat to rattle her. “Your offer is warmly appreciated, but I do not think that we should allow things to escalate to that level just yet.”

“I agree, Lord,” said the Envoy from Sa-utar. “We should use all means at our disposal to solve this crisis diplomatically. While the attackers are all Assurim, several leading Assurim immigrants have denounced the violence. Our constables have found many people in the Samyaza sections of town quite helpful in breaking up several of these assassin rings.”

This news saddened the First Wife, but she did not let it show.

Lumekkor’s Ambassador did not seem too sanguine about Sa-utar’s speaking out, though Tylurnis could see that he would not jeopardize what he no doubt thought was the current geo-political balance
by objecting.

“Let us launch our investigation,” said the First Wife of Samyaza. “We must manage this crisis carefully. We would not want hasty action to create an impression among my people that your aim is to make war on Samyaza. That could only bring hostility and ruin on us both.”

“Of course,” said Lumekkor’s Envoy. “If there is any technical aid you feel might enhance your investigation, we are ready to offer it.”

Tylurnis smiled for him. “The spirit of my master burns within me. He is warmly appreciative, and sends greeting to his brother Uzaaz’El
, with his thanks. We, his First Wives, are little more than figureheads, but I think you will find the priests and viziers of all the city-states in Assuri and Ufratsis in agreement with us that these violent acts must end. They will cooperate with you completely.”

“We thank you, Great Ladies.”

After the envoys all departed, Tylurnis joined her sister up on their double throne. The courtiers exited the hall at a wave from her hand.

The arms of Uranna drew her into an embrace. Tylurnis sensed with growing sadness that little of her sister remained in the gesture.

“You are conducting this with a subtlety even Isha’Tahar never mastered,” said the throaty masculine voice from ‘Ranna’s lips.

“It is perhaps good that Isha’Tahar has lingered on in
her coma,” ‘Nissa said. “The factions still loyal to her are genuinely against the new offensive—yet they will never stop loving you, my Lord, even if they don’t fully understand your cause. I have assured them that your holy war is symbolic rather than literal. We continue to build their faction up as the administrative power in Assuri’s city-states, and in the diplomatic court.”

Uranna’s mouth croaked,
“A chancy move, my sphinx, especially after the zeal in the Pyramid Court.” Her hand stroked Tylurnis’ hair.

‘Nissa leaned her head on
to her sister’s shoulder. “A calculated risk, yes, but necessary—that way when Lumekkor’s agents penetrate our government, they will find everything in order. The tools of statecraft must reflect those of the regular military—at peace, and helpful to the eyes of our enemy. Every faction must each genuinely believe it represents your ‘true’ spirit—even if they all seem to oppose each other in their methods. I have even fomented a rift within the Temple to facilitate this.”

“I cannot have disunity in my Temple!”

‘Nissa nodded. “It is a cosmetic division only—more a difference in caste, really.”

“Explain.”

She faced Uranna. “The politically visible high priestly mediators desire peace, and think they still speak for you. I’ve busied them with ceremonial tasks since the Pyramid Rally, or else cultivated a sedate way for them to apply your revelation. They are loyal in that they teach you are the very manifestation of E’Yahavah El-N’Lil on Earth. They have a post-Century War hatred of bloodshed for all the right reasons, but would never knowingly betray you.”

Uranna’s lips barely moved
. “What about unknowingly?”

‘Nissa laughed. “That is hardly a problem, Lord. It is in the hearts of the rural folk, abused immigrants, and the common worker
, that we find our real warriors. Lower priestly messengers inflame them with anti-Lumekkor and anti-Archonic rhetoric. The two castes coexist, and each carries out its purpose, secure in the knowledge that they are the ‘true messengers’ of Samyaza’s Law. When conflicts arise between them however, the cultural and political pressure always falls upon the peace-loving artisan-merchant class to get into step with the warrior-zealots. This is because the warriors interpret your law most naturally, with the smallest allowance for deviation.”

Samyaza said,
“Is that not true in all nation-cults?”

Tylurnis answered with an odd, inexplicable sadness,
“Not really. Your law commands us to use the sword to force conversion—as you showed us at Regati, for example. It is a simple; requiring only that people outwardly submit to your authority, which is all we can realistically expect. Among the Archonic Orthodox and the sons of Q’Enukki, it is usually the opposite. Devotion for them requires an inward change of heart—a freely chosen conviction—at least in principle. Where I grew up, the sacrilegious often had considerable freedom—up to a point.”

Samyaza laughed. “Which is why Seti’s empire
has decayed!”

It sometimes amazed
Tylurnis how little her divine spirit-husband seemed to grasp the human condition. Perhaps he merely tested her on it.

She said,
“With respect, it’s not quite so simple, my Husband. Such conversions as they seek would be better, if enough people had them. But they never do. Don’t mistake me—the Orthodox, and maybe Akh’Uzan, will still rant for a holy war, and possibly get one. But they will hypocritically do so—by obscuring the clearest words of Seti and Q’Enukki —who taught that war should be waged only on unjust foes, and even then, only against military targets. While their history has many inconsistencies here, those who use violence as a tool to advance their so-called ‘orthodoxy’ must still explain away most of the teachings of Seti and Q’Enukki to do so. Even their own people will see it and speak against them.”

“Really?”

‘Nissa nodded. “Oh, they can sometimes exploit a few obscure sacred tablets, but these are limited by their historical context. That is their weakness—they must wait until they are reasonably certain that our attacks truly come from you. Yet, no matter how many attacks we make, more than half of our enemies will never be sure—because it’s unthinkable to them that we should act this way—and these hand-wringing weaklings most often have the Archon’s ear. The more attacks we make, over longer spans of time, the more their political resolve crumbles. Our real problem is Lumekkor—they can move swiftly, and have the greater power to oppress our poor.”

Samyaza
’s sigh through Uranna’s lips reminded ‘Nissa of one that a fat man, well gorged on an enormous feast, might make. “Masses of poor who swell beneath me like an ocean rich with rage; my ‘Nissa, I almost feel that it is I who should worship you!”

arbet reclined in the glass-bubble lounge of the gigantic Guild astra, while Avarnon-Set dozed in the couch opposite him, with long narrow legs bent at knees raised almost level with his chest like some enormous spider. The Archon gazed down at the hazy patch-quilt meads and mountains of the Parn River Gap drifting by far below. It was his first real rest since the Colossus explosion. The fruity liquor the ship’s maid poured for him helped.

We’re at war with Samyaza, but we’re not at war
with him—which is it?
he wondered.

Even many of his more temperate council patriarchs and matriarchs wanted to support a
joint military expedition led by Lumekkor and Near Kush against Assuri. Tarbet tended to agree—though he would prefer if yet more of the expense in men and arms fell to Lumekkor. The ultra-Orthodox bloc he felt he had so successfully put to sleep now enjoyed a disturbing resurgence. Old political allies embraced ancient enemies in a surreal landscape where it seemed that anything could happen. The new situation did not fit any of the old paradigms, and forcing them back into them would take time and social engineering, using the orbs, academies, and other media to maximum.

Avarnon-Set has
now whisked me off to his mysterious encounter that he assures me will solve most of our problems—old and new.
The Archon sipped his beverage.
At least my popular image is stronger with the people since rescuing that girl and her child.

Tarbet sighed with a dreamy smile.
My Lu—even after all these barren centuries, you still bring out the best in me. I had no idea I was that brave—or foolhardy. She looks so much like you, Luwinna. Maybe that’s why I haven’t tried to make her into another mistress. I want to make things right for her somehow—and with you. Poor woman—her husband deserting her and the boy—it’s all too common a story nowadays. The orb pundits hardly give her a moment’s peace. I hope she finds her guest quarters at the palace a refreshing change from that tiny one-room tenement.

Tarbet noticed that Avarnon-Set had woken up.

“Enjoying the flight?” asked the Titan.

“Immensely. I’m left curious as to its full purpose—aside from giving me some much-needed rest.”

“Unveilings should have a certain drama—like a blood sacrifice or a coronation—don’t you think?”

Tarbet gulped down the fruit liquor, and motioned for more. “What are you unveiling? You have a gift for vagueness.”

Avarnon exposed a yellowed fang. “Remember the dispatch I shared with you the night you became Archon?”

“How could I forget?”

“Samyaza will quickly cease his little game—or at least the rules will change unexpectedly on him.”

“That big?”

“Bigger.”

“Aztlan?”

The Titan grinned. “Aztlan and possibly even Aeden.”

The blood drained from Tarbet’s head.