The Canticle of Whispers (11 page)

Although she couldn't help but wonder what someone who impressed the inhabitants of a realm like Naru would be like.

*   *   *

The last notes of the Choir's song were fading away as Lily emerged. Already the choristers were wandering down from their platforms, chatting in groups of two or three. As they all kept their distance from each other, this hubbub was loud, each conversation trying to drown out the next, without any thought for privacy.

More surprising, though, was their reaction to her. These Naruvians were supposed to be obsessed with knowledge, with new things, and she must have been the most extraordinary person to walk among them for years. Yet they seemed determined to ignore her, scattering if she attempted to get their attention. Their shimmering clothes—simple robes and tunics, glimmered in the undulating light from the Hub. As Lily walked among them, fragments of their conversations emerged out of the noise.

“It can't be true, can it? No, not possible…”

“You'd better believe it. This is top-quality knowledge! So what will you give me for it?”

“… So she thought no one else would turn up, just wasn't her lucky day!”

“Everything I know about the village is worthless! I've nothing but old news … this is the worst day of my life! Why did they have to go and get a new Speaker?”

“Well, he had been dead for several days…”

“… that's no excuse!”

Every time she caught a hint of something familiar, it dissolved into a sea of nonsense. The Choir began to move faster around her, rushing over to greet new people and spurn others. It was like no crowd she had ever been in, so loud and yet so separate, as though each person wanted to be everywhere and nowhere at once. Lily began to feel quite disoriented, stumbling from one group to another, trying to pick out the Conductor. She was so absorbed in this that she hardly noticed Tertius and Septima until they were almost face-to-face.

The pair stopped in front of her. For a second, they glanced at each other, and back at Lily, in a slightly puzzled way, as though she had been someone they had met once, a few years ago. And then, Septima turned back to Tertius, and resumed their conversation.

“You'll never believe it,” she continued, her eyes wide and excited, her hands fluttering. “She's going to stay with Crede! What do you think he'll do now?”

“Who cares?” Tertius grunted, stepping around Lily as though she were invisible. “Why are you always listening to the Agoran echoes anyway? I heard something really good from Giseth last night. One of the monks is missing. His Speaker is frantic.”

“Really? That's amazing!” Septima gasped in delight as she trailed after him. “Um … what's a monk, again?”

And then Septima and Tertius were gone, vanished into the chatter. Lily stared after them, mouth agape. Had it really been only yesterday they had been screaming at each other as they betrayed her to their “enemy”? And had they really been talking about Agora? For a moment, she thought about running after them, to ask what they had heard—did they have any news of her far-off home? But then, all they would be able to offer her were meaningless fragments, bald facts without understanding or experience. They'd probably been listening to voices from Giseth for years, and yet Septima still had no clear idea of what a monk was. Just like she had known a hundred details about Agora, but could not picture a city.

Then again, Lily thought, as she continued on her way, was it that surprising? No one in Giseth needed to explain the monks to each other because they saw them every day. Lily shook her head, trying to imagine what it would have been like to be brought up a Naruvian, to know so much, and understand so little. It seemed like only the Conductor talked sense around here.

At least, he had yesterday. With a shiver, Lily wondered if the Conductor would remember her when she found him. He had seemed more sensible, but age was no indication of stability here. A pair of old men had already passed her, squabbling like schoolboys over whether sheep or goats would make the best pets. Lily wondered if they had ever seen either.

To her relief, when she did see the Conductor, lingering near his podium, he returned her gaze, and even raised one chubby hand to give a little wave. It wasn't a particularly friendly greeting; he looked more nervous than anything else as she approached. But here, that was more than enough.

“You're early,” he observed, nervously twirling his baton. “I hope you were not unsettled as you approached—I have told the Choir not to bother you with questions, but I fear they were not terribly subtle.”

Lily nodded, thoughtfully, as the choristers filed out of the Hub chamber, until only the two of them were left beneath the eerie glow of the crystal spire.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Lily wondered what passed for small talk down here.

“Um…” she glanced around. “The Hub is very bright today,” she ventured. The Conductor nodded, distractedly.

“A lot of knowledge was brought to it, and has yet to be taken by the Oracle,” he mused. “Many have called knowledge a light in the darkness—in Naru, this is the literal truth.” He paused. “But I am not the one to explain such things to you. Do you want to see the Oracle now? We can wait; she is very patient…”

“I'd like to see her now, if that's all right.” Lily said, eagerly. After traveling for so long, she didn't want to delay a second longer. The Conductor nodded, still oddly reluctant.

“It's not far.”

The Conductor shuffled toward the Hub, and Lily followed. As they drew nearer, Lily began to hear something. It felt like a low buzzing in her ears, but the closer she got to the Hub, the more pronounced it became, vibrating through her whole body. Not painful exactly, though uncomfortable. But the strangest thing about it was that it was oddly familiar; it seemed to peak and flow just like the song the Choir had been singing as she awoke.

She turned to ask the Conductor about this, but he was already disappearing down a set of stone steps, hidden behind one of the choir platforms. Lily hurried after him.

The light of the Hub was soon replaced by a blue-tinted gleam, cast by smaller crystals set into the walls of a descending tunnel.

“Watch your step,” the Conductor warned her, turning back, his dark eyes like mirrors in the strange light. “I can guide you part of the way, but you must approach the Oracle alone.”

“You won't be coming with me?” Lily asked, surprised. The Conductor shook his head.

“It is not right to visit the Oracle without being summoned.” He tucked the baton behind his ear. “And I do not care to visit the Resonant Throne. It is not a comfortable place.”

“But, if the Oracle is your leader, why does she stay there?”

The Conductor sighed.

“She does not sit there out of choice. It is the only place that she can hear all of the echoes—beneath the Hub, where every secret it absorbs is released.”

They walked on a little, in silence. Something was nagging at the back of Lily's mind.

“So, the Oracle hears everything said in the world above?” she repeated, slowly. “Millions of voices, all at once? Wouldn't that make it just a meaningless babble?”

“For most, yes,” the Conductor said. “I am sure you have seen that for the choristers, the sense of the whole truth is less important than the fragments they can call their own. But the Oracle is the most gifted of us all—she truly listens. She remembers. She can bring our secrets together into sense. That is why she rules. And of course, the Oracle does not just hear simple echoes.” The Conductor grew somber again. “There are more secrets in the world than those that are spoken aloud.”

The stone steps came to an end, to be replaced by a rough-hewn corridor. The glowing crystals were becoming more sparse, and the Conductor walked ahead into the gloom. Lily wanted to reply, but she found all her attention was required to feel her way, and not trip.

“That is why we sing,” the Conductor continued, half to himself now, so Lily had to strain to hear him. “We spend our days in search of trivia, disjointed pieces of information, and we bargain with them among ourselves. But in the end, their true purpose is to make the Song. We take the secrets we have discovered and weave them into a harmony, as an offering to our ruler. The Hub then focuses everything down to the Resonant Throne, where the Oracle directs its flow. She banishes worthless babble to the Cacophony in the Outer Caverns, and absorbs our songs, rich in true knowledge and wisdom. Nothing is hidden from her. Nothing.”

Lily was silent. The more she heard about the Oracle, the less she liked the thought of meeting her. How many times had she shouted in frustration through her short life? How many words of bitterness and rage, how few words of love and friendship? She hoped that the scales balanced in her favor, but to meet someone who would know every word she had ever uttered was an unsettling prospect.

“But, if she knows everything, why does she need you?” Lily asked, hoping she didn't sound too tactless. The Conductor frowned.

“I and the Choir have our purpose, set down by ancient laws. We preserve her harmony, keep the song flowing, and protect her physical form. In return, we are fed, we are comfortable, and we have endless truths to find. We know our duties; there is no unrest in our land. We have little need of strong feelings, they are … dangerous.” The Conductor turned away a little, his voice softer—more contemplative. “And it will remain this way, until the Day of Judgment.”

Lily was about to ask him what he meant, when he came to a sudden halt, and gestured down the tunnel.

“No more questions,” he said. “We have arrived.”

Up ahead, Lily saw a stone archway, set into the wall. A thick curtain of dark velvet stretched across it, and at one side hung a tasseled rope. The curtain pulsed and waved, as though there was a strong wind beyond it, though on this side, as ever, the air was still and dead.

“Go and meet the Oracle, my young wonder,” the Conductor said, as he reached the arch. “But be aware, she will know everything about you.”

Lily faced the curtain, fighting the urge to put it off, to run back to the Hub, and the madness that she almost understood. A strange shiver passed through her, and she felt herself tense.

“She doesn't know my thoughts,” Lily said, with more bravado than she felt. “I'll have something to surprise her.”

The Conductor met her gaze. Not for the first time, she was struck by something deeply sad behind those nervous eyes.

“No, Lily. Even your thoughts are not your own. She will know those too. She has always known them.”

Lily took a step back, involuntarily.

“How?” she breathed. “That's impossible. Has she ridden the Nightmare? Has she been spying on me?”

The Conductor shook his head.

“No, child, she listens to the Canticle.”

Lily felt her fists clench. Every time she thought that she understood what was going on, the Conductor pulled out another story. She gritted her teeth.

“And what's ‘the Canticle'?” she asked, pointedly. “Capital
c
, presumably? Are you ever going to tell me what's really going on here?”

The Conductor pulled back, in alarm. Lily looked down at her own hands, her knuckles white with tension, no less shocked. Where had that outburst come from? She must have been more on edge than she thought.

“I … I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “You've told me so much, and all for free. It's just … it's a lot to take in…”

The Conductor nodded, mollified.

“I understand. Even I find it hard to believe in the Canticle of Whispers, and I have heard it myself. It is the quietest song, but the most potent. It can be found only in the deepest caverns, its music composed of hidden thoughts, desires, and dreams. Even thoughts, it seems, leave an echo.” He paused, rubbing the side of his nose. “We all take our turn to listen. It is not a pleasant experience. Even the most curious return eagerly to the Hub after a few hours. There is something in it that unsettles our souls. Only the Oracle has the strength to spend every day in intimate communion with the souls of millions, to have her whole being filled with the music of humanity.” The Conductor wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “It takes its toll even on her. Even she cannot listen to every mind at once. Remember that.” He reached for the rope to pull back the curtain. “Oh, and one other thing. If you approach her throne, then do so on your knees.”

Lily frowned, her anger not quite cooled.

“Why does she demand that? She's not my ruler.”

“It's nothing to do with what she wants,” he said, quietly. And then, to Lily's surprise, she saw him smile, rather wistfully. “She wants for nothing. Except perhaps for one thing. And I doubt that you'll be the one to give it to her.”

He pulled on the rope. Beyond, Lily could see a stone corridor, smoother than most, and filled with an odd, milky light.

For a moment, Lily turned to the Conductor, not knowing whether to thank him for his guidance, or blame him for sending her in so unprepared. But the Conductor had turned away, averting his eyes from the corridor. Whatever was beyond, he didn't want to see.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded, once.

Lily stepped into the corridor.

*   *   *

Lily felt a sudden, unexpected breeze. Maybe it was just a vibration, but the air in this corridor was moving, going in and out like the breathing of a great beast. The light, too, was odd, coming from some source up ahead, but seeming to fill the air all around her.

Lily's only company was the sound of her boots on the stone. She tried to plan what she would do, how she would approach the Oracle, but every time she tried, the Oracle's omniscience rose up like a barrier. She couldn't introduce herself; the Oracle would know. She couldn't say she was looking for Mark; the Oracle would know that too. It felt as though everything she could do had been decided for her already. For Lily, who prided herself on her independence, it was a crushing feeling.