Path of Revenge (42 page)

‘Explains the lumps,’ the senior Pasmaran said, an old man with a grey beard and pitiless eyes. ‘Make your point.’

Lenares could hear the captain’s teeth grind together. ‘My point is that we can deal most efficiently with the
lions by adding them to the list of things that cull any expedition. We will, of course, keep a lookout for them, issuing warnings when and if necessary. Each Alliance may detail as many soldiers as they see fit for this purpose. But no chasing after shadows, make that clear to your men. We shall wait for no one.’

Lenares stepped out from the shadows before Torve could stop her. ‘You are wasting your time,’ she said in a clear, steady voice.

Every head swung in her direction. She knew her words would make them angry, but what point was there in knowing things no one else knew if she had to keep them to herself?

‘And you are?’ The senior Elboran got to his feet, making ready to dismiss her.

‘Ask ma sor Enui,’ she said, pointing to the big man sitting next to him, the man with the well-trimmed beard she had spoken with at the well just before the lion attack. ‘Or ask Captain Duon. I am Lenares the Cosmographer, and I have come to tell you not to waste your time looking for lions. They are gone and they will not return.’

‘Why ever not?’ The senior Pasmaran stood in turn, one hand stroking his long white beard. ‘Once they have fed on human flesh, they will not go back to the gazelle or the camel. They will have to be killed.’

‘Have a care arguing with this woman,’ Duon said. ‘She is the cosmographer introduced to the court by the Emperor. You were not there, ma sor Losanda, but I am sure you were told about her.’

‘And I, for one, believed not a word of it.’ The Elboran named Farouq leaned forward, his wide-set eyes taking her in. She stared at him in turn. Her numbers, gathered from the man’s expression, his posture and the regard of the men around him, as well as from the little he had said, spoke to Lenares of an iron will, of deep cruelty, an unbreakable pride.

He curled his lip. ‘Do you know how unlikely it is that a child such as yourself knows anything of value, or can offer even a half-coherent opinion on any subject? I am now into my third thirty years, and I have never seen it. You are no exception, I will wager the entire wealth of the Elboran Alliance on it. A foil, perhaps unwitting, for the Emperor to dispose of Tumille, and not before time. You who speak of time-wasting, you will waste no more of
our
time. Enui, take your soldiers and arrest this child.’

So many numbers cascading from his words, from the ripple of his facial muscles, the flicker of his eyes and of those surrounding him, reactions to key words in his speech. Raw data, processed into shapes and insights. More than enough to stay his unbelief.

Lenares chose her words with care. ‘You think the Emperor told me about ma sor Tumille? Then did he also tell me that ma sor Enui knows more than he has so far told you about the money missing from your Alliance?’

The three soldiers, including the one called Dryman, hesitated at this.

‘How could you…? Even the Emperor could not have…Enui, have you spoken to this young woman of Elboran finances?’ Farouq’s fierce eyes, clouded now by doubt, transfixed his subordinate. Around the gathering, men from rival Alliances leaned forward unconsciously.

‘No, ma sor,’ the man said, licking his lips. ‘She is a witch, seeking to divide the Elboran Alliance. A trickster! She should not be listened to!’

‘Makhara, Suweya, hold the man Enui in your custody until I can speak with him more closely. Child, you have won yourself a few moments’ reprieve.’

‘I have done no such thing,’ she bit back at him. ‘Captain Duon commands the cosmographers; the Emperor said so.’

‘Ah, the Emperor,’ said the Elboran. ‘Such a powerful man. And yet—do you see him here?’ He waved a hand at his soldiers. ‘What matters outside Talamaq is
effective
power. Duon here commands none of the Alliances. The Alliances command the soldiers. If we choose not to acknowledge the Emperor, then we hold effective power.’ His dangerous eyes glinted. ‘Duon relies on us, don’t you, Captain?’

‘You will only have power over traitors like yourself,’ Lenares said. ‘We cosmographers will serve the Emperor through Captain Duon.’ She clenched her fists and took a step towards the Elboran leader. ‘And if you prevent the captain from commanding the expedition, you will lose my help and everyone here will die.’

‘I don’t know what you are,’ Farouq said. ‘Some sort of unnatural creature, perhaps, a desert
jiran
who emptied out a little girl’s mind and took possession of her soul. Whatever you are, I will not allow—’

‘Don’t you understand?’ she shouted at him, spraying those nearby with saliva. ‘One of the three gods is missing, and I think I know which one! He went missing many years ago, but no one noticed. Why should they? Elamaq hasn’t had a true cosmographer in three thousand years! Now one of the remaining two gods feels strong enough to enlarge the hole the Father left behind. The earthquake in Talamaq last moon was caused by the hole getting larger, and the lions were sent to waylay us because we—because
I
—know what is happening! Do you think the attacks will stop? They won’t! They will become worse and worse. The desert itself will rise up against us, unless we can stop it!’

Thirty blank faces looked intently at her, each wearing an identical bemused expression.

I am just a puppet show for them. They see me as a…a crazed lackwit. They will destroy me before they ever listen to my words. They are all going to die.
She began to cry.
Ma dama Mahudia, come and make it better!

The millions of numbers, the thousands of calculations that sustained the shapes and colours of her inner vision, spiralled up through her being. Out of control. Needing to be expressed. Doubted, disbelieved. Deadly.

‘How many times must I prove myself?’ Her arm stabbed out. ‘You! Betrayer!’ she screamed at one startled man. ‘Murderer!’ at another. An irresistible cascade. Eyes closed, she no longer saw whom she pointed at. ‘Thief! Emperor! Lia
rrrr
!
Oh Mahudia, please help me
!’

The numbers rose to a crescendo, eroding her consciousness like a wind whipping over a dune, then petered out into an empty, forsaken darkness.

This is where the giant stood. He cast his rocks from here and created the stone plain, crushed chunks of granite plucked from the barren mountains around him. From the dust caused by the crashing rocks he made the sand seas. He beckoned the winds to sculpt pleasing patterns in the sand. Here and there he plunged a giant finger into the ground, forming oases of green amid the russet purity. He took form in the desert he had made, and for thousands of turnings of the sun he dwelt there alone.

Numbers, numbers, falling through her mind like rain in a parched place.

This is where the people lived. Spun from the sand, weaned by the wind, the children of the desert gathered together by the pools of water. Lions and hyenas, insects and birds, deer and humans shoulder to shoulder, lapping from the pools. Looking around themselves, wondering where they came from, the children begin searching for their god.

Numbers, numbers, forming calm pools in the seared sands of her mind.

This is where the giant hid. Like a dung beetle he burrowed into the sand, hoping to avoid the people
and their demands. But they saw his unchanging shape amongst the shifting sands, and worshipped him. He had created the desert from which they had sprung, and he could not gainsay them.

Numbers, numbers, shaping themselves around the jagged breaks in her head.

This is where the giant became a god. Bowing to necessity, he lived with the people who had chosen him. The god became more like his people as he lived with them, and they became more like him. They, too, began to shape the place they lived in, while he began searching for someone to love. For a long time they lived together, the people and their god, until the Time of Quarrels.

Numbers, sweet numbers, identifying all the broken and scattered parts of her consciousness.

This is where the people fought. Under the weeping eye of their god some ran and some chased, some became predators, others prey. Some made traps and others became snared in them. The quiet pools ran red with blood, and mercy in those times was a rare and precious thing. The god tried to help, but the people were wilful and, apart from two, a man and a woman, none would listen to his advice.

Numbers, numbers, shaping a story to fuse her shattered mind into something workable.

This is where two new gods were born. The god took the woman and made her his Daughter, and took the man and made him his Son. All the other people found their own places to dwell, but the god lived in the desert with his Son and his Daughter, and there they dwelled together for turnings of the sun beyond knowledge.

Numbers, numbers, her reality, her sustenance and betrayal, her blessing and her curse.

This is where the god was betrayed. In a battle of armies without number, the Son and the Daughter
defeated their Father and drove him out of the desert. From here, from the centre of the stone plain in the midst of the desert, the god left Elamaq with his few faithful followers. The Son and the Daughter did not kill their father, though they could have. Instead they began an argument that became a fight lasting three thousand years, ending only when one was forced into exile, all her people finally enslaved.

Numbers, numbers, offering cruel revelation that no one else will believe.

This is where the one remaining god began experimenting with the hole in the world left by his Father. Using it to touch the world, to influence events and outcomes, to disrupt and destroy. To enlarge the hole so that he can once again step into the world. He remembers what it is like to be human and wishes to repeat the experience, while retaining the power granted him by his Father, the giant of the desert.

She will remember none of the numbers when she awakens. Pity her.

Torve laid Lenares out on the cooling sand. He had found for them a shadowed place under a red-rimmed overhang at the fatherback side of the valley; safe for now, though later in the afternoon they would be left without shade. He fussed with the sticks he had found under the overhang until he had made a frame he could hang the blanket from. If she had not regained consciousness by the time the sun found its way under the overhang, the makeshift shelter would keep the sun from damaging her.

If she had not regained consciousness by then, she might never.

She had collapsed while screaming incoherently at the most important men of the expedition. Foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. Some kind of seizure,
it appeared, most likely triggered by the frustration of finding herself disbelieved. Cushions scattered everywhere, senior members of various Alliances scattered along with them. Noise and confusion. Lenares convulsing unregarded in their midst. Captain Duon calling for order, no one calling for assistance. Torve forced to watch, unable to help, as the important men dusted themselves off and sought somewhere else to reconvene their meeting.

By the time everyone bar a few guards had left, and Torve could go to her without fear of being seen, Lenares was in a bad state. Tongue bitten, blood and foam all over her face, limbs contorted and still twitching, bruised from where she had crashed against people. He picked her up and draped her carefully over his shoulder. So light, so insubstantial, as though most of her was somewhere else. She did not stir.

There was only one place he could take her. He tried to act as though he had a right to be carrying an obviously ill woman, but despite his efforts his progress attracted stares and comments. The cosmographers had their own tented area near the more informal tents of the camp followers. He made his way towards it.

‘Goodness, what happened to her?’ a male cosmographer said when Torve found their tents at last; but it was not a question, because the man turned his back when the Omeran began to explain. ‘Arazma, Vinaru!’ the man called. ‘Come quickly, you are needed. Lenares has had some kind of accident.’

Two women, one old, the other of middle age, emerged from the nearest tent and together took Lenares from Torve’s shoulder and carried her inside. Through the tent flap Torve glimpsed many curious faces. The man followed the two women into the tent, drew the flap closed behind him and said, just before he went beyond Torve’s hearing, ‘There is no one to tell us what happened…’

Abandoned outside the cosmographers’ tents, barred from Lenares’ side, Torve found he could not leave. Someone from one Alliance or another would scoop him up and put him to work, and he might not get back to Lenares until well after dark, if at all. He would have to hide. Thought translated into action: he found a half-empty hay wagon perhaps twenty paces from the tent, let the nearer side down and squeezed underneath the shelter it afforded.

Barely in time. One of the soldiers from Captain Duon’s gathering made his way towards the tent. No doubt a belated thought from Captain Duon—or, more likely, ma sor Farouq. Gather her up if she is still alive. Question her, empty her out, dispose of her.

Short for a soldier, the man walked without that rolling gait they all seemed to adopt. More of a swagger. Definitely one of Farouq’s men.

His calls drew the male Torve had seen before. ‘You are the senior cosmographer?’ the soldier asked. An answer in the affirmative encouraged the soldier to deliver his message.

‘I am a mercenary newly taken into the service of the Elboran Alliance. Should you see the cosmographer Lenares, my new master, ma sor Farouq, would consider it a personal favour if you were to let him know. He is concerned for her wellbeing, having witnessed her experience a seizure, and believes one of his physicians, skilled in fatherback medicines, can aid her. Be assured that Cosmographer Lenares is not in any kind of trouble, and she will be delivered safely to you when my master has finished with her. Her care is my master’s primary concern. After all,’ he added with a straight face, ‘none of us would like the cosmographers to experience more tragedy, would we?’