Prince of Storms (31 page)

“But in the Drowning Time we won't unfurl. We'll keep the land folded. It bestows great power on the Nigh, making it deep, very deep. And those
who live in its depths will control the universes that remain.” He dropped his voice to a whisper to emphasize what he would say next. “Sen Ni, I know how to fold the land.”

Her single good eye stared at him with what might be hate.

“Then the Nigh will enter a new phase. It will become a power stream from which all the universes can be braided to a navitar's will. Or just experimented with. You don't need to have a grand vision for how sentients will behave. You can try different things. Especially in the Rose. There are so many worlds there, each teeming with sentients. It would have been such a waste to burn it, and we don't need to anymore. The Nigh's energy needs will be small.”

He waited, hoping to see some softening in her eye. Nothing.

“But when I'm gone, there must be others to carry on. Therefore, the children on board. You see? You could have been a part of this, Sen Ni. You could have gone for a navitar, and been at my side as my sister. You would never have had the power Tiejun will, but you would have had a life in the Nigh.”

He shook his head. “I don't think you want to come with me. I hope you'll change your mind.”

Using his cane to steady himself, he lumbered to his feet. “Soon we'll travel to the Fold.” He looked down on her. “But first I must weave.”

Always weave. When he lived in the Nigh, his powers would mature. It could not come too soon. For now, he prepared to go into the binds. This
in and out
was taking its toll not only on himself but on the children. Very soon would be their last plunge into the binds. Until they went there eternally.

But first, weaving.

In the Nigh he worked feverishly. The threads of Manifest were thick and bloated, resisting his hands, springing free at the smallest lapse of his concentration. Above him, Avva ceb looked like a behemoth, a dumb beast staring at her feet, confused as to why she could not move freely. He grappled with the strands.

While thus occupied, he spied from the corner of his mind all the threads floating near, some still braided, some fraying. Above the strings, the beings themselves, present and futures. When at his best he knew exactly which threads to grab and how to fashion them to his purposes. Hours passed, hours that seemed moments. This deep Nigh weaving was his only joy, a pleasure so acute there were times—as today—when he almost could not bear to leave. But he must, for the sake of the children.

And yet, there was one more thing.

The next level down in the binds, the fathoms beneath…

Here were the roots of the storm walls. With strands to weave. Strands like massive cables. They plunged down into the mantle of the Entire. They could never be dislocated and brought together, but that was not the way of these ancient threads. Each cable was identical to all other cables, all sprung from one womb. Take a single self-braided cord, and
internally
untwist it…yes, the right touch would unravel it. And because the cables were all one cable, the storms walls would spring free of restraints, and fold the Entire.

Geng De hesitated to touch the roots of the Entire. He dare not begin too soon. Only when the time came to fold. But he lovingly reached out to the cord in front of him and petted it. He felt it quake, heard a distant, electrifying growl.

Far away in the city of Xi, Master Yulin climbed onto the roof of his palace. He was far more agile than in former days, and had been quick to sense something wrong and rush up the narrow staircase to the highest deck. His servants and several guards followed him, all alarmed.

The storm wall had spoken.

It had thundered—thunder being the only voice one could imagine issuing from the throat of a storm wall. Yulin and his entourage stood transfixed, gazing into the distance, waiting for they knew not what.

Another rumble, like the quaking of vast lands. Then silence. The memory of the sound lay on their hearts like an unspeakable insult.

Yulin longed to have Suzong at his side. He was not sure why his first
thought was of calamity, and of wishing to die with his wife. It was, after all, only a brief thunder.

“A storm has passed,” he said to his servants.

They looked at him doubtfully.

“See? All is quiet again.”

They descended the stairs. Behind him, Yulin heard someone murmur, “Always to last.”

Of course. Of course they would last.

ANZI STOOD IN MANIFEST
. Above her loomed a ceiling, tall and far away. It was a room of palatial dimensions but empty of furniture or ornamentation. Her boots echoed on the floor as she walked toward a large set of doors. Behind these, a hall, also empty.

“Avva ceb?” she called.

Windows along one side of the corridor looked out into a white fog, bright but blind. “Avva ceb?” Someone must be here. Perhaps they hid, offended that Anzi had spoken without permission.

A tray of food lay on the floor, contents scattered. At the end of the hall, curtains fluttered in slow-motion. She went toward them, trying to quell a deep unease. Where was the raging discussion? Where were the contending voices? And most of all, where was Avva ceb?

Manifest had never before taken the shape of a great mansion. Anzi could not shake the impression that this was their collective home. And that they had abandoned it.

When she found Avva ceb, she lay on a bed surrounded by diaphanous curtains, stirring now and then from an undetectable wind. It was a very great shock to see how Avva ceb had deteriorated. She looked so thin and pale, Anzi thought she must be near death.

“What has happened?” Anzi asked.

Avva ceb smiled, but it was not very comforting. Her gaze slid away from Anzi.

“Avva ceb? Talk to me.”

“I am. Talking.”

Underneath their conversation, she heard eerie voices, sounds just out of hearing, just beyond meaning. In growing alarm, Anzi whispered, “Tell me what's happened.”

“There is not much to say.”

“There's everything to say! What have you decided? Will you help us?” Anzi sat on the side of the bed, hoping to gain Avva ceb's whole attention.

“What do you need? Tell Avva ceb.”

It was alarming that Avva ceb appeared to have forgotten. Dark thoughts flitted at the edges of Anzi's mind, hinting at madness and disaster. “We need you to pursue Geng De in the river where he's hiding. We need you to use your knowledge to preserve the Entire. To preserve everything.”

“Oh, that.” Avva ceb plucked at the loose white dress she was wearing. “There's nothing I can do. Please tell Titus Quinn. Tell him no. Tell him I'm sorry.”

Anzi closed her eyes for a moment, overcome. Her voice, when she found it, was bitter. “You mean you're going to let him do it for you. You're going to make him a navitar.”

“We decided no to everything. It's all no. I'm sorry, Anzitaj.”

No. They had decided no. The shock of it reverberated in her mind. They had withdrawn themselves from the fight. Was it possible the great conflict was lost? Yet Anzi was breathless with relief that they were not going to transform Titus.

She looked around the bedchamber. Ghostly images flitted here and there along with a murmuring of voices. There was no distillation of opinion. But instead of chaos, there was merely the occasional comment, soft and threadbare.

Avva ceb's form was blurring, diminishing by the moment. “What has happened to you?” Anzi managed to whisper.

“We are…” Avva ceb sat up, reaching out for Anzi, in a gesture of appeal. “We are without our volition.”

The words confirmed what Anzi had suspected. But until this moment she had held out hope. “Fight him, Avva ceb!”

“The navitar comes into Manifest. But through a side door, an internal
door. We could not deflect him, not in Manifest where we are accustomed to openness. He induces certain actions. They seem to be our own. We justify them. My people do not know they are compelled.”

“Tell them they are woven!”

Avva ceb looked up at her in confusion. “I cannot tell them what they do not themselves know! I listen to their voices. It's all I've ever done, all I know to do....” Closing her eyes, she whispered, “He spread his arms wide and dug his fingers into our souls.”

Anzi began backing up. Manifest was dead, woven, compelled. She was afraid to be here if Geng De returned.

She turned and fled the whispering room.

Anzi lay wide awake by Titus as he slept. She thought of the empty mansion and Avva ceb—Avva ceb, the essence of the Jinda ceb, the locus of a strong and great civilization. And she was helpless. Nor had anyone spoken up for Titus—not Venn, not Tindivir, not Iritaj. They were compelled by Geng De.

Perhaps, if they could find Lord Inweer, he would do something. He would not want to be in thrall to the navitar. He could remain conscious in the binds. But there was no way to contact him.

A growing despair drove her from her bed, into the main room of the hut. Tai stood at the front door, talking with someone.

Nistothom.

She moved to Tai's side. Nistothom looked rumpled, his derma streaked with odd discolorations.

“He wishes to speak to the regent,” Tai said.

“What do you want, Nistothom?” she asked.

He turned a resentful gaze on her. “Manifest turned you down.”

“Are you satisfied? You wanted us to fail, didn't you?” He was an easy target for her bitterness; he had made clear his antipathy.

“Wanted you to fail? Perhaps I did—you in particular. But now we have larger things to command our attention, Anzitaj.” He looked past her, into the atrium. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“Tell us your business, first,” Tai said, commanding the doorway.

“It is your business, too, Li Yun Tai. I have come to help you, hard as that may be to believe.” He turned to Anzi. “I heard Avva ceb render her decision. But she does not speak for all of us.”

It was a highly unusual statement, and Anzi must have shown her surprise. “I have not been in Manifest for a long time,” Nistothom said. “You may believe me, Anzitaj: I am free of Geng De's machinations.”

Anzi collected herself, trying to find her bearings with him. “Are you willing to help us? Can you track him down?”

He faced her squarely. “I will help you, but we must hurry. While I still have my own mind, and before
he
senses my decision.”

Her heart kicked in her chest. Was there hope after all? Tai glanced at her for permission to invite the Jinda ceb inside, and she nodded. They ushered him in.

Now in the privacy of the domicile, Anzi still hesitated, forcing Nistothom to say, “I will help Titus Quinn go into the binds. But we must begin now.”

“Into the binds?”

“If he has the intention to become a navitar, I will help him.” Nistothom stepped toward the sleeping room.

She was between him and the door in an instant. “No,” she hissed. Nistothom did not retreat. “You don't know how!”

“I do, however.”

“You're trying to kill him!”

He stood stolidly, completely unmoved. “There has not been a murder among the Jinda ceb for a million days.”

“Because you haven't been real! You can't murder information!”

His head swirls tightened. “But you can
erase
it.” He looked to the door. “I am not going to murder him. I may be pathetic, but I am not a killer.”

She wanted to push him out the door, to reject his offer, banish this revolting figure from the hut. “Get out!” she spat at him.

Tai moved to her side, his voice sharper than she had heard from him before. “This is not your decision, Anzi. You can't tell Master Quinn what to do.”

She whirled on him. “This Jinda ceb is my enemy. He hates me. You don't know, Tai....”

They were all startled when Titus came into the room.

He looked at the three of them. No one spoke. “What is this, Anzi?”

“It's Nistothom,” she whispered. “He's come to take you away.” Heart sinking, she looked at her husband, feeling that his choices were now inevitable. He would do the thing that the worlds demanded.

Tai said, “Master Quinn, he claims he can teach you to become a navitar.”

Anzi wanted to stop them. She wanted to lock the door. But no one could prevent them.

Tai went on, “Manifest said no.”

Titus turned back to Anzi. “Avva ceb gave her decision?”

It was all unfolding like a horrid dream. There was only one direction for this, now that Nistothom had come. Anzi whispered, “She is woven, Titus. Through Manifest, Geng De has taken control of them all.” She flicked a gaze at Nistothom. “Except for him, he claims.”

Addressing Titus, Nistothom said, “I have avoided Manifest for a long time now. You have heard my story? My disgrace?”

Titus nodded. “This would be a further disgrace, wouldn't it, Nistothom? You're not afraid of the consequences?”

“There is nothing more they can do to me. It has all been done, you see.”

Titus gazed deeply at him. Anzi remained immobile, and Tai, at her side. Only one direction, she thought. Settled already. And then Titus confirmed it. He said, “Where will we go?”

“To my domicile.”

Titus took Anzi's hand, but she pulled away.

Nistothom noted the interaction. “She is right to be afraid. You should be afraid, Titus Quinn. This is a dangerous thing. What you will be afterward—may be terrible.”

Anzi turned on Nistothom. “You can change him back! Don't pretend you can't.”

Nistothom still held Quinn's gaze. “Manifest could remember you as you are, but it would take several days to imprint your current state. Add to that the transformations to navitar and we would spend many days before you could leave.”

Titus reached for Anzi's hand, capturing it. “No time, my love.”

“There's time!”

“Is there? Anzi, do you believe we can risk it?”

“Yes.” But she knew he would never agree.

Nor did he. He glanced at Tai. “You know what comes next.”

“Yes, Master Quinn.”

“Tell Ghoris to come. Tell her to wait for me as near as she can dock.”

“It is still across the primacy,” Tai said.

Nistothom said, “When you are ready, I will take you by travel slit.”

Anzi could barely find her voice. “What will you do, Titus, once you are a navitar?”

“I will kill Geng De.”

“And then?”

But there was no answer to this, or none that they could bear to say.

Tai stood by as Master Quinn wrote his letters. While the regent wrote, they all waited: he and Anzi and Nistothom. The first letter, to Caitlin Quinn, entreated her to advise whomever had taken charge of the affairs of the Entire on Earth to send a new emissary to replace him. He urged her that it be someone of great capacity and a fair mind.

He asked that those present read it and agree they would do everything in their power to send it to her.

The second letter was to Sen Ni:

Beloved daughter: I've come to the end of my efforts here. Events have conspired to bring us both into positions we could never have imagined, and for which we were surely unprepared. For myself, I never wished to be a prince, a regent, or a conqueror. I now give these things up freely, with relief. My last actions will be those I believe any sentient—given the fair chance—would take in my place. I have no time for writing. They're waiting for me. I believe that with your best heart, you will look on the Rose and protect it. I hope that in the end, this will be true. There are others by your side who will not protect it. This is all that stands between us. I beg your forgiveness, not for what I do next—because there is no choice—but for my past
actions which have been imperfect, and sometimes much worse. I ask you to trust those who may come to you in my name: My wife, Ji Anzi; my secretary, Li Yun Tai; my friend Zhiya. They are of the Entire but found room in their hearts for the Rose. If you receive this letter, I ask you to believe and always remember that with my whole heart I have loved you.–Your father