[UPDATED: October 2009]

VOIDBRINGER

Author/Co-creator: Rose Zemlya

Editor/Co-creator: KA Harchak

Book Two

DECEIT

6

He knew – through the presence – that the room had once been a chapel, and in fact he could still see the evidence of that. Intricately worked jade was set into the wall, depicting both Zasi and the Unyielding, standing at the ready. The image of the Great Jackal’s face was carved into the floor, staring up at the entire room with wise, impassive eyes. Ordinarily there would be seats set over it – he could still see the settings for them – but these had been removed, replaced with a single stone block near the front and in the centre of the room, just before the dais on which an altar should sit. Apparently intent on removing all trappings of the chapel, even this was gone; in its stead, seven ornate seats had been set in a shallow arc.

Ranged in these seats, sitting straight and tall and intimidating, were the Circle of Seven. Despite himself and the warm encouragement from the presence, Anubis hesitated, acutely aware of his place compared to them within the temple’s hierarchy. These were the leaders of the entire Priesthood – the men and women on whose word Anubis and his colleagues were expected to act immediately and without question. The men and women for whose word Anubis and his colleagues were expected to die and rise again if need be. These were the ones who dictated the tenants of his religion, who spoke for his god, who were the very eyes and ears and voice of Zasi in the world. Though he was not a man much concerned with rank, real, legitimate power he recognized, and there was enough of it seated on the dais to stay his steps.

The presence, recognizing his hesitation, inundated him with a barrage of nauseating flashbacks, reminding him pointedly that these, too, were the men and women who stood over still living kin and long dead corpses, wielding needle and thread and magic in blood soaked rooms and too-silent halls. Bile rose to the back of his throat, but it was enough to move him forward.

In a sudden flash of comprehension, he understood the purpose of the stone block in the centre of the room. As he realized it, so did the presence, and though it still refused to leave the corners of his consciousness, its anger grew until Ani suspected that had it been a living, physical thing it would have trembled with the force of it. Were it not for the company of seven hierophants (the red sashes around their waists a bright and vivid reminder of their rank and role) Anubis would have reacted much the same; as it was, he kept his anger in check and swallowed his pride as he crossed the floor.

He bent to his knees on the rough stone block, supplicating himself before the Circle, and bowed his head. “Anubis, son of Voidbringer, presents himself before the Circle of Seven,” he said without raising his head. “What would you ask of me?”

For a long moment, his question was met with only silence, and he wasn’t sure he dared to look up to see if they had heard him. At last the man seated in front of him cleared his throat with a significant effort and spoke. “Do you know why we have summoned you here, son of Voidbringer?” he asked, and his voice was thick and grated, as though a cough lurked perpetually in the back of his throat. He recognized the peculiar quality from Aase’s description of Jinthar Deathtongue.

“I do not,” Anubis admitted without looking up.

“Guess,” suggested Wrana Emberaxe, two seats to Deathtongue’s right; Anubis recognized her voice, having once had the pleasure of watching Aase summarily dismiss the woman from her office. She had hard, beady eyes and a face as sharp and friendly as the weapon for which her family was named, though it was hidden now behind her mask.

A thousand sarcastic and inappropriate remarks immediately sprang to mind, but he was careful to keep his irritation from his voice when he responded. “I am afraid I could not begin to,” he said evenly. “I have done nothing that I can remember worth the attention of the Circle.”

“You crossed over recently, did you not?” a male immediately to the left of Deathtongue pointed out. His voice was sonorous and rang clearly even beneath the thick mask; any priest worth his salt would recognize it. He was Tolstov Singleson, and was usually the one chosen to act as the voice of the Circle if there was a message it wished to impart. He was a wonderful orator, though there was little sign of his art now. “This is of great interest to the Circle.”

Anubis resisted the urge to shift nervously, conscious of the fact that he was being watched like a hawk. “I was not aware,” he responded carefully, mind racing as he tried to determine if and how he had been caught, and at what. The presence grew still and intent, paying close attention to the events. “Is there an issue of particular importance you would like me to discuss regarding my trip?”

“You failed to inform your Superior that you were leaving,” noted Emberaxe, and he could picture the hungry gleam in her eye – he pulled himself away from his thoughts long enough to direct an intense wave of hatred toward her. The woman was a vile, contemptuous witch, and it killed him to kneel as he did before her. “Even last minute requests from the Creed for the accompaniment of a priest have to be approved; this is as much for your protection as for the sake of keeping order.”

“It was not a request for the accompaniment of a priest,” Anubis answered simply. “It was related to family business and a direct request to me from my brother – not from the Creed to the Priesthood. Regardless,” he continued before she could interject, “I should have informed my Superior I was going, and I regret that I did not; there was not much time between my brother asking it of me and the ship leaving, and in the unexpected rush I’m afraid it slipped my mind. I did,” he added, again before she could respond, “mention it to Administrator Sleepingvow, who posed no argument and in fact urged me to go. That my Superior was not informed is my mistake, but in essence the trip was approved.”

For a moment there was silence as the Circle considered that, and Emberaxe hissed her irritation into it – though Aase was not a member of the Circle, she was still a Hierophant, and technically speaking her word was as good as theirs. “There is a good deal of difference between the essence of something and the actuality of it,” Emberaxe snapped, a sour note in her voice.

Anubis raised his eyes without lifting his head and glanced at the collection of chairs where an altar should have stood. “Indeed,” he said in a mostly neutral tone. The irony of the statement was not as lost as he had hoped it would be. He earned himself an approving push from the presence, and a sudden stiffening of backs and hands from at least three of the Circle members, Deathtongue among them. He winced inwardly and lowered his eyes again.

“We would have the details of your trip,” Deathtongue said sharply, his tone suddenly hard and unforgiving. He coughed loudly and continued. “The why and where of it.”

“Ah,” said Anubis, and hesitated; his imminent refusal brought into stark relief the fact that if they wanted any member of the Circle could kill him where he knelt and that would be the end of it. “Would that I could comply, Hierophant Deathtongue,” he said carefully, and the atmosphere in the room grew even tenser as the Circle realized he was saying ‘no’, “but I’m afraid that report is not mine to give—.”

“Are you or are you not a priest of Zasi?” Singleson demanded, almost before Anubis was done speaking. His tone was incredulous. “Are we, or are we not the Circle of Seven? You will answer the questions we ask. This is our right, and your duty.”

“I regret that I cannot answer your question,” Anubis replied firmly, though his palms had begun to sweat, and irritation and fear mingled equally in his breast. “I have mentioned that it was a family matter that sent me away from home, yes? Family business is not necessarily religious business. And the rest of the details belong to the Creed, not to the priesthood. I was not there in an official capacity, and therefore I have nothing official to report.”

There was a momentary pause, and then a rustle of cloth as the woman directly to Deathtongue’s right leaned forward and gestured in a conciliatory fashion. “Then perhaps you could tell us, unofficially, what happened,” she suggested; he didn’t recognize her voice, but her tone was gentle and cajoling, carrying an unspoken promise of reward if he complied. She didn’t need to explain what would happen if he did not – he could feel Emberaxe’s malignant glare.

The unknown woman meant to inveigle him, but he was affronted by the attempt. He understood they were the Circle and he was an acolyte, but there were certain things one simply did not do. It was bad enough they had asked it of him at all, but it was worse that they expected him to comply simply because they now offered a reward. Their continued insistence that he betray the various trusts involved grated heavily on his nerves, and that, combined with the stress of the entire meeting, frayed at his temper. The presence was no help; it was feeding his anger with its own, bolstering it against his fear; if he didn’t know better, he would have thought it wanted him to lose his temper. He struggled valiantly to maintain his composure, and reminded the presence sharply that he was of little use lying dead on the stone block.

“Unofficially,” he said, trying and failing to keep his anger from his voice, “at the request of my brother, I got on a boat and went to a desert. We fought, I got lost, I nearly died, we fought some more, and then I came home.” He paused a moment and ground his teeth, then started again with a more moderate tone, injecting cool politeness into his voice, and keeping it even, if slightly harassed. “I confess I don’t know what other information you’re hoping for. The entire business was family business and therefore you know that I can’t discuss it, nor does the Circle have a right to that information. I regret that this is the case, but this is the case. Please believe me when I say it doesn’t affect the priesthood. Ask me something else – anything else – and I will answer as best I can, but I cannot and will not give you answers that are not mine to give.”

Silence fell in the wake of his pronouncement, and he brutally beat back his panic. One did not address the Circle like this. One did not refuse an order from a Hierophant. Though what respect he might have once had for the men and women in front of him had died with their victims the first time he’d been down to this level, he was still startled at his own defiance. Direct insubordination was not something that came naturally to Anubis, and he was uncomfortable wearing it.

More concerning, however, was the fact that they cared at all what he had done on his trip. Obviously their interest wasn’t in his failure to report his absence, and they continued to demand information they knew he couldn’t give – not without betraying his family. They wanted something specific from him, and as the silence stretched until he felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, he wracked his brain to try to think of what. The obvious answer had to do with Galen, but there was no way the Circle could know that he—

“The eldest son of Voidbringer lives in the desert to the east of the sea, does he not?” Deathtongue asked, shattering the silence. Despite himself, Ani’s head snapped up and his heart leapt into his throat. Seven jackal masks stared imperiously back at him, and if he could have killed them all where they sat he would have.

“I don’t know where he lives,” he answered instead. “Or if he lives. It doesn’t matter. He broke his oaths and is dead to me and to Qirast.”

“He was the head of a rebellion, was he not?” Emberaxe asked bluntly.

“Against the Order, yes,” Anubis responded, impressed at how calm he was able to keep his voice given that he was once again forcing back his panic. They couldn’t know about Galen, but obviously they did. The question now was how much? Did they know he’d returned? Did they know he’d spoken to him? Or did they just suspect it? “It was not successful. May I ask why this is pertinent? Galen Voidbringer is no threat to Qirast, and certainly not to the priesthood. He can no more return than can the dead be brought back to life. The Unyielding would tear him limb from limb as any other outsider.”

“One would hope,” Singleson noted, shifting in his chair; he leaned his elbow on the arm of it, and set his cheek against his hand, gesturing in a bored fashion with his free hand – the gesture was surprisingly incongruous with the fierce, intimidating display they had been putting on only seconds before. “But perhaps we are being unfair. These are personal matters we’re prying into, and we haven’t given you a reason.” As one, the heads of his colleagues whipped around from Anubis to Singleson, startled. Ani straightened slightly; the tension in the room was still there, but something had shifted within it. It was no longer directed entirely at him, and he suddenly found he could breathe a little easier. He took the opportunity to shift slightly on the hard stone and relieve some of the pressure on his knees without taking his eyes off the Hierophants.

“The Circle is not required to provide reasons,” Deathtongue pointed out, poison in his voice and anger in his posture. “Our acolytes—” he was forced to pause due to a coughing fit. Once it was done, he cleared his throat and continued. “Our acolytes should not need them. His mistrust is unwarranted.” He gestured at Anubis.

“But it exists nonetheless,” Singleson replied, and there was a sudden edge in his voice. “I tire of subtlety Jinthar – especially in this case. Tell him. Perhaps it will loosen his tongue, and, honestly, what harm could it possibly do?” For a moment the two men glared at each other, as the rest of the Circle watched with rapt attention. Anubis studied the situation carefully, and stored the moment away for future reference. Perhaps the Circle was not as united a front as they claimed to be.

“Fine,” Deathtongue said at last, heaving a great sigh which prompted a brief, hacking cough. He turned back to Anubis and settled back in his chair in a subtle but unmistakeable slouch. “What I tell you now does not leave this room, do you understand?”

“Indeed, Hierophant Deathtongue,” Anubis responded immediately.

Deathtongue studied him for a moment, then continued. “We – all seven of us – have had a dream in which Zasi spoke to us. He warned us of a great danger to our way of life, and told us it would come from two places – both without and within.” He gestured negligently. “It was more detailed than that of course, but that is all you need know. Thus you see why an acolyte spontaneously leaving Qirast for unknown reasons, and returning within a relatively short period of time for equally unknown reasons seems suspicious to us.”

“And not just any acolyte,” Emberaxe added, her mask turned directly toward him. “The son of the Grand Crusader, and the next-in-line to be head of one of the most powerful families patroned by Amen.”

Anubis was stunned. “You’re questioning my loyalty?!” he demanded before he could stop himself.

“Says the man who refuses to answer the questions of those he swore to follow,” Singleson pointed out dully. Anubis barely managed to bite back a response to the effect of having sworn to follow Zasi, not those who claimed to speak for him.

Deathtongue continued. “In addition, your brother was a rebel; his success matters not, but his ideologies do – you were young at the time, and if I recall correctly greatly influenced by him. It has not escaped our notice that you joined our ranks shortly after his rebellion began – this does raise certain questions.”

“I joined the Priesthood because—” Anubis started, but Emberaxe cut him off.

“We have also noted that you continue to spend much of your time with other people like your brother – people of questionable philosophy and intention.”

Anubis started to deny it, but stopped immediately. They were talking about Aase, and he would do her no favours if he dragged her into it. He lowered his head and took a moment to formulate his thoughts. Much to his surprise, the Circle allowed it.

“I joined the Priesthood because I believed in it,” he said at last. “In doing so I lost my home, I lost most of my family, I lost many friends. I lost power, respect, and my place in the city. I knew, when I made that choice, that I would have to give up those things and it did not stop me. I did so willingly, happily even, because it was worth it to swear my life over to Zasi.” He paused again, swallowing, then continued. “My oaths are not those of my family. My mistakes are not those of my brother. My philosophies are my own and always have been. What have I done to cause you to question my loyalty?”

“You abandoned your duties to cross over and refuse to tell us why,” Deathtongue said flatly.

“I have explained my refusal,” Anubis responded, “and assured you that it is nothing that will affect the Priesthood.”

“We do not believe you,” said Deathtongue, and his tone was damning.

“Then we are at an impasse,” Anubis returned. “I will not betray my family’s secrets, and you do not trust me enough to take my word for it. Unfortunate.”

“Indeed,” said Deathtongue. “You are dismissed, son of Voidbringer, but we will call on you again in the near future. See that you are available.”

“Yes, Hierophant,” Anubis said slowly, puzzled by the dismissal. He rose to his feet, unable to keep from wincing as he straightened his knees, and bowed low before the Circle, then turned and left the room.

7

Rysson awaited him outside, seated on a thickly padded bench against the wall, staring at the two Unyielding standing at attention opposite him. At the sight of the solemn skeletons, the presence sprang forward in Anubis’ mind once more, howling with wordless, impotent rage. The reaction startled Ani so badly he stopped in his tracks and released the door to the High Chamber in surprise. It swung back into place swiftly without a hand to slow its fall, and the subsequent bang jolted Rysson from his thoughts and his staring, and startled the presence from its aggression.

Rysson turned quickly toward Anubis and seemed to take a moment to bring himself back to the present. “Ah, hello,” he said with a nod of acknowledgement. “Forgive me for prying, but I do hope it went well.”

Anubis offered him a shrug as he came to stand beside him. He gave the Unyielding a wide berth but a close look. Apparently embarrassed by its outburst, the presence receded to the back of his mind once more, but it remained focussed on the skeletons, making it clear to Anubis over and over and over again that they were a threat; that something was wrong with them. Though, from where he was standing, he couldn’t see what. There was nothing out of the ordinary with their armour or weapons, they appeared to be good, strong bones, knitted together neatly with the appropriate spells. They stood straight and silent, though he was willing to admit their attention didn’t seem as keen as one might expect, but that could simply be because whoever raised them was still inexpert at his craft and had not bound the soul to the oaths tightly enough, or else had allowed the kin they had once been to choose an imperfect memory for the binding ritual. It was sloppy, but it happened.

But the presence remained flatly unconvinced.

Anubis turned his attention to his guide and the question he had asked. “Having no idea what they wanted to get out of the affair I can’t say I know how it went,” he reported simply. “I am in one piece and I haven’t been excommunicated, so I suppose it went well enough.”

“Indeed,” Rysson responded, and there was something troubled in his voice. He held a hand out to Ani, who took it gently and helped the old man to his feet. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, carefully arranging his robes and mask. “I am feeling my age today, I’m afraid. Forgive me if I walk slowly.” Anubis shook his head in a dismissive gesture and Rysson folded his hands into his voluminous sleeves and started on his way. As the younger priest stepped beside him, the Unyielding moved away from the wall at last and fell in a few paces behind them. Anubis downgraded his opinion of their maker. The skeletons were entirely too stiff in their movements to have been created by someone who knew what they were doing. Given their approximate age, their movements should have been as fluid as when they lived, not these halting, jerky steps.

For a moment he felt a stab of pity for the two men who had been short changed by whoever raised them, and a sting of shame that he lacked the ability to cast the spells that would fix the problem. For no reason that he could determine, the presence paused in its intense focus on the skeletons to project a silent apology at him.

They had been walking in silence for what must have been thirty minutes, moving through the sharp and labyrinthine halls of the temple, when Rysson finally spoke. “You know,” he said distantly, “I have something of a gift for knowing when something’s not quite right.” He didn’t look at Anubis, and the younger priest was unsure as to whether or not he was actually being addressed. “Sometimes it’s little things – like a story someone’s told me that I’m not quite convinced of – and sometimes it’s bigger things – like yourself, for instance.” He gestured at the younger man with a gnarled hand.

“Pardon?” Anubis asked, startled.

“There’s something not quite right about you,” Rysson continued, presumably without having heard Anubis at all. “And I don’t mean that to be offensive, please don’t take it that way. I don’t mean to say that I think you’re crazy.” He turned his masked face to look at Anubis who returned the expectant gaze with a puzzled one.

“Ah,” he replied uncertainly.

Rysson pulled his hands from his robes and folded them behind his back into a knot of time-scarred flesh and gnarled bone. “I just mean that there’s something about you that isn’t the way it should be. Or else, that’s different than everybody else. I know I’m not being particularly clear, and as a man that prides himself on his vocabulary that’s a puzzle in and of itself, but I can’t quite find the words to describe it. I’ve been wondering about it since I brought you down here.” He shook his head and snorted bluntly. “Let’s try this from a different angle. It seems to me that in the last little while, things have slowly changed from what they were, to something else. And the something else is not something I like. No few of this temple’s secrets are mine, and just between you and me they aren’t exactly helping me sleep at night. Even without that, though – there’s a subtle…a sort of…just a wrongness in the air. About everything, around everyone. Everyone but you. You’re…different, somehow.”

“I’m sorry?” Anubis offered, confused. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, but—.”

“Oh, you haven’t,” Rysson said, waving him off negligently. “It’s refreshing, actually; after much deliberation I’ve decided it actually gives me a little bit of hope. It’s a good thing, it’s just different. It means you stand out, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, you’ll realize soon enough that that’s not always the blessing it seems to be.”

“Indeed,” Anubis said, and briefly wondered if the priest’s words were true, or if it was simply the lunatic ranting of an old man. But the presence pushed softly at his thoughts; Rysson was no lunatic, and his words were worth considering.

“I suppose,” Rysson said after a moment, changing the subject, “you’re probably wondering about the Unyielding who’ve been so diligently following us.”

“I was,” Anubis admitted.

“Do you notice anything in particular about them?”

“Nothing extraordinary,” he replied, glancing at the skeletons from the corner of his eye. “They are not well made, but—”

“Aye,” said Rysson, voice grim, “and they can’t be fixed; at least not by me. I tried while you were in with the Circle.”

“At the risk of sounding condescending,” Anubis said, “did you ask them what their memory is? Perhaps they were raised on a weak memory.”

“I did,” Rysson answered, stroking his beard in a thoughtful manner. “And do you know what they said?” Anubis shrugged to indicate he did not. “Nothing. They said nothing.”

Anubis’ eyebrow shot up behind his mask. “They didn’t answer you?”

“No,” Rysson replied. “And they haven’t spoken a word to me one way or the other since they were sent to join me.”

“Who sent them?” Anubis asked.

“The Circle,” Rysson answered, and something in his voice was troubled again.

“Why?” Anubis couldn’t help but ask, rolling his eyes beneath his mask. “Are they afraid I’ll attack you? Do they honestly think I’m that dangerous?”

Rysson chuckled briefly, but humourlessly. “No, not quite,” he replied. “Truth be told, I think they’re afraid that I won’t attack you.” He didn’t look at Anubis, but he knew his words had sunk in once the younger priest came to a slow stop behind him. “Or more accurately,” he added, ceasing his own steps a moment later, “that these old bones aren’t strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

Anubis’ mind raced as he stared at the old man’s back. He could hear the Unyielding behind him, shifting their weight as they drew their swords and levelled them at him. Something in his chest clenched uncomfortably and he was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was without his scythe.

“So am I to assume, then,” he said at last, and his voice was strained, “that I did not escape that meeting as unscathed as perhaps I thought I had?”

Rysson did not turn to look at him, nor did he speak immediately. He stood where he was, back turned to Anubis, his hand still upon his long grey beard. Behind them the Unyielding stood stiff and threatening, silent as the grave from which they’d come.

“I had a dream,” Rysson said into the silence, and his voice once again had the cadence of a story-teller. “Just two nights ago, as a matter of fact. In the dream you had returned from your travels and had brought with you a plague. You were immune to it, but you carried it like a weapon and it spread from you to everything in Qirast – the kin, the Unyielding, even the trees. As I watched, everything – all of it – died, writhing and screaming. Everywhere you went, the land around you grew dead and cold, until at last Qirast was no more an island of tombs and crypts, but had become a grave itself. I fell to my knees and I wept.” He paused, whether lost in his own thoughts or allowing the words to sink in, Anubis didn’t know. “As I knelt on the edge of what had once been Qirast, crying until my voice was hoarse and my lungs burned at the effort, the Great Jackal appeared before me. He walked through the ruins of everything that was our people. And he came to me, and he spoke to me. He said that his words were a gift. He said that what I had seen was a prophecy – that he had granted me a vision. He told me that it could all be prevented – that I could prevent it. He said that if Anubis, son of Voidbringer, was not allowed to survive his return to Qirast, Qirast would survive his return. But if this man was allowed to live, everything that I had seen would come to pass, and Qirast would pass from the memory of the world as though it had never been. He opened his mouth and he said these things to me, and still I wept, but for joy because he had told me how to prevent it. He had told me how to save Qirast.”

Anubis swallowed thickly, his heart sinking. On the one hand, he had no intention of dying here, so far below the surface of Qirast that no one would ever find him; or of joining the ranks of the Circle’s abominations when he did. But by the same token, if what Rysson was saying was true….

Ani would never – never – consciously choose to bring Qirast to harm, but if Zasi had in fact granted the old man a vision…if any of that really would come to pass….

“Are you sure it was…that it wasn’t just a dream?” he asked at last.

“Oh yes,” Rysson answered. “I did what any good priest would do in such a case. I went to the Circle. I told them of my dream, and they, in turn, told me of theirs. The Great Jackal had spoken to them as well, gifted them with words very similar to my own.” His hand resumed its stroking motion against his beard. “It was determined that in all cases the dreams were messages from Zasi, and that any instructions received should be acted upon. I was told that upon your return, I should bring you to the Circle. When they were done with you, I was to kill you. The Unyielding – if Unyielding, they are, and I have my doubts – were sent to ensure that I could – as I’ve said, I’m feeling my age today, and you are a strapping young thing in the prime of your life.” He sighed. “One would presume that if the Great Jackal told me I could kill you, we might have a little faith in that, but I suppose it is doubtful, under the circumstances.”

Anubis tensed and waited. He was trapped between Rysson and the Unyielding; the old man had no physical weapons, but he had his spells, and Anubis had neither. He would have to make a run for it – if he could push his way past Rysson, upset the old man’s balance, he might have a chance. The only question was should he wait until they made a move, or take the initiative himself?

But then it occurred to him that despite the fact they should have by now, they had not actually made a move yet. They remained as they were, the Unyielding with their swords at his back, Rysson standing in front of him, not facing him. He hesitated, his hands stiff at his sides and it occurred to him that Rysson was waiting on something – was waiting on him. He frowned. “Well?” he demanded. “If the Circle told you to kill me – if Zasi told you to kill me – why haven’t you?”

“A good question,” Rysson replied, turning around to face him at last, “but not the right one.” He held out a hand, palm up in a gesture that was almost like begging. “Think, son of Voidbringer.” His voice rasped with urgency. “Think.”

Anubis opened his mouth to ask about what, but the presence pushed at him to be silent and do as he was instructed. Bewildered and desperate, Anubis put his brain to the task and thought. He replayed everything that had happened since he’d returned to the Temple. He thought about Aase’s statement about plotting her own downfall, and about Rysson finding him so quickly; he thought about the long descent into the Temple’s depths, and the tapestry with Fate and the dragon; he thought about the story Rysson had told him, about what the Brother Gods’ had sacrificed for each other; he thought about his meeting with the Circle, and about the presence and its reaction to the Unyielding, and how – but abruptly his thoughts went back to the story Rysson had told. His breath caught in his throat.

“Rysson,” he managed, and the older man nodded as though he already knew what Anubis was going to say. “Rysson, Zasi spoke to you. You said he spoke to you?”

“Aye,” Rysson confirmed. “I did. And so he did. As I am speaking to you.”

“The Circle said the same thing – that Zasi spoke to them. But he can’t have!”

“Why not?” Rysson asked, a triumphant note in his voice. “Why not, son of Voidbringer?”

“Because he has no tongue,” Anubis replied, understanding at last the purpose for Rysson’s story; the reason Rysson had taken him past the tapestry in the first place. The old man must have reasoned this all out days ago and Ani felt like an idiot for not having put it together immediately. “Zasi can’t speak; he sacrificed his words for his brother. You said so.”

“Aye,” Rysson said again. “I did. According to the Lore – forbidden lore, now, I might add – Zasi speaks words only through his Unyielding.”

“So your dream wasn’t from Zasi,” Anubis said, fighting back a wave of relief in case it was premature. The Unyielding had not lowered their weapons.

“I do not believe so, no,” Rysson confirmed.

“So the Circle isn’t—,” he cut himself off before he could finish. It was blasphemy to even think it, but he met Rysson’s eyes through their masks, and he knew they were both thinking it.

“Aye, son of Voidbringer,” was all Rysson said, grimly. “You have it now. And perhaps you have answered your own question, hmmm? Of why I haven’t killed you yet?”

Anubis nodded, then asked: “Are you going to?”

Rysson drew himself up and folded his hands once more behind his back. “I am of the opinion,” he said, “that a man’s faith is not a thing to be trifled with. I will not pretend to understand what’s going on; I will not pretend to understand why or how someone is impersonating the Great Jackal in my dreams. But I think, son of Voidbringer, that I was ill-advised when I was told to act on words that were a gift from a god who has no words to give.” He shifted his weight subtly and slipped his hand into one of the pouches at his waist. “I don’t know what you’ve done to get caught up in all of this, but I do not count myself among your enemies. It’s all related somehow – what I told you before, about you being different than the others, these strange dreams, and even the fact that these Unyielding don’t speak when they should, and don’t move like they should.” He lowered his voice to the barest of whispers. “I regret that I can do no more than aid your escape. I would buy you more than time if more than time I had. Alas, I am running low on even that. God speed and good luck, son of Voidbringer, and may the real Jackal walk with you, wherever your steps may lead.” His voice was fierce and fervent and for a moment Anubis could see the man he had been in his youth; strong and fiery and ardently faithful, and it grieved him that he had never known the man until now.

“May the Jackal walk with you,” he returned, bowing low.

“Take the staircase on the left when you round the corner. It will take you straight to the upper levels. Now run, Anubis, for I am about to make a good deal of noise and trouble and they will be hunting you before long, if they are not already.”

For a moment Anubis stayed stubbornly where he was, comprehending the entirety of the man’s intentions at last; he understood the necessity of Rysson’s determination, the magnitude of the gift, but he was violently opposed to the idea that the old man should sacrifice his life. Rysson, however, was already chanting the words to his spell, pulling the components from his pouch, and the presence pressed in on Anubis’ mind so hard that he was running before he could stop himself.

He flew past the old man as his spell went off, filling the hall with a gout of frozen blue flame, engulfing the Unyielding that had tried to follow Anubis when he ran. Their stiff joints made stiffer yet from the cold, they changed their target, turning on Rysson and advancing as he began casting again.

Anubis rounded the corner and threw himself at the stairwell, ascending two steps at a time. Somewhere behind him he heard a sharp cry, and the old man’s chanting ceased.

The presence howled with wordless grief, as Rysson, son of Tomeslight, passed into Zasi’s realm for once and for all.

8

On most days, Cattie-Shai enjoyed her duties as Spirit-Caller. It wasn’t nearly as hard as everyone had said it would be, but that was perhaps because the Spirit she had called was her sister’s, and they had always been of one mind about everything anyway. It wasn’t that much different than when she’d lived; they ran together, sang together, fought together, just in a different way. Even now, they were of one mind – not even Zasi himself could split that bond – and they were of a mind to suspect that something was going on that they were not privy to.

And as Spirit-Caller, and as Fury, there was nothing they were not privy to.

She stood on the rise and surveyed her camp, eyes narrowed at the women below as they went about their day, trying to pinpoint exactly what the issue was, or where it lay. Nothing on the surface seemed out of the ordinary. The patrols went out and came back on schedule; the hunting and fishing went well and food stores were good; the Order had not yet moved against the Fury as they had some of the other tribes, and the Fury had not gone feral like many of their counterparts in the third ring. There had been more skirmishes, lately, over territory and hunting grounds, and the others seemed to require less and less provoking, but the Fury had come out on top, as always, and had suffered few injuries, and less casualties.

She didn’t think it was anything in the environment, which meant it was something in the camp. But if it was something in the camp, it was something in the Fury, and that was inconceivable. The Fury were a unit, a single living, breathing entity. If there were a problem with any of its members she would know – she was Spirit-Caller, she would know.

There is something, though, said her sister, standing at her shoulder as always. The other Spirits feel it as well. It disturbs them. They are angry and hard to listen to. It’s hard, sometimes, for me to hear them and you at the same time, and it shouldn’t be.

“No,” she agreed, “it shouldn’t be. Do they have any ideas?”

No, her sister replied with a heavy sigh. They don’t. I think that’s why they’re so upset. It’s a problem in and of itself if the Spirits know there’s a problem but can’t tell what it is. It means there’s a disconnect.

“Can you tell where it is?” she asked.

“Tell where what is?” said a voice from behind her. The maleness of it startled her at first, and she whirled around, a snarl already on her face before she recognized him.

“Galen!” she gasped. “Don’t sneak up on us like that! You’re lucky I didn’t have my spear!” He offered her a warm smile that didn’t quite cut into the tension around his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of a little girl and her stick,” he said, teasing, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture, but his smile was already fading as his tension reasserted itself. “Listen,” he said seriously, “I need to talk to you, but I’m afraid I’m going to sound crazy.”

She raised a golden brow at him. “You’re a man hiding among the Fury. We’d say crazy about sums it up.”

He shrugged at that. “They’re my ancestors too, right? Anyway, I mean it, Cattie-Shai.”

“So talk,” she said, gesturing openly. “We’re alone here except for my sister.”

“She’s here?” he said, blinking in surprise.

Cattie-Shai laughed. “Of course she is! She’s always here. Am I, or am I not Spirit-Caller?”

He grinned ruefully at her. “Right,” he said. “Maybe I should stop calling you little girl, then.”

Tell him we should start calling him old man, her sister said, grinning broadly.

“Or maybe we should start calling you old man,” she repeated, wearing an identical grin, but waved him off before he could respond. “Anyway, you wanted to talk? I can see in your eyes it’s serious. Would it help if I told you whatever it is we believe you?”

“Um,” he said, “yes, actually. Faustus is in trouble – don’t…ask me how I know that, I don’t know that I can explain – I think he’s been captured.”

“Captured?!” she cried, the exclamation echoed internally by her sister. “By who?”

“The Order,” Galen answered. “I think. He needs help. We need to get him out of there before they do something stupid. More stupid, I mean. Or before he does.”

Cattie-Shai’s face twisted with guilt. “We shouldn’t have let him go.”

See? Galen couldn’t help but say inwardly at the voice. Logic’s not involved.

I believe I acceded the point, the voice pointed out. In fact, I’m sure I did.

“Should or shouldn’t have, we did,” Galen responded. “But we can’t leave him there. I don’t know if you’re in a position to go, but—”

She cut him off with a wave. “We are Fury, but we are also Voidbringer. You can’t trade one name for another. We won’t leave our brother in the den of his enemies, and the tribe will live if we are absent for a few days.”

We hope, anyway, he sister added grimly.

“What choice do we have?” she responded.

None, responded her sister with a shrug. As you say, we are Voidbringer as well as Fury. We must do what we must do.

“Then it is decided.”

“Are you…talking to me or our sister?” Galen asked uncertainly.

“Our sister,” Cattie-Shai responded with a grin. “You aren’t the only one who sounds crazy sometimes. Come on. I need to go make sure everything’s in place before we go, and I’ll have to pass guardianship of you over to someone, lest some of my more…fervent sisters take it upon themselves to deal with the male among us in my absence.”

“Don’t bother with that last part,” Galen said, falling into step beside her as she started back down the rise. “I’m going with you.”

She stopped short to frown at him. “No you’re not,” she responded flatly. “You’re staying here.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and she could see that he’d expected this argument and recognized that for the bad sign it was. A Galen who was off-balance and startled was easy to manage. A Galen who’d had time to think and decide was impossible. “No, I’m not,” he responded evenly. “I’m not leaving Faustus captured, and I’m not letting you go alone. So I have to come.”

She scowled at him. “Ani said—”

“Ani’s not here,” he countered immediately. “And that aside, he’s not in a position to say anything, is he?”

“Yes he is,” she argued. “If Dad’s not here, then Ani’s…,” but she cut herself and blinked in surprise.

Galen was unable to resist a smirk. “Exactly,” he said. “If Dad’s not here the eldest is considered Head for the purposes of family business, and Ani’s not the eldest any more.”

Cattie-Shai frowned at him. “I don’t care if he’s not the eldest,” she argued, irritated. “He’s still Ani. And he said—”

“I’ll take all the heat, I promise,” Galen said, correctly guessing the reason for her hesitation. He crossed his heart. “He won’t blame you anyway, because you can’t really stop me.”

“I could,” she pointed out. “All I have to do is tell the Fury you’re not to leave, and you won’t. They’d kill you before they’d let you go.”

“All the more reason,” he suggested gently, “that I should go with you. Did Ani leave me in the care of the Fury, or in the care of Cattie-Shai?”

“Galen, you can’t go to the city,” she said, changing her tactics. “They’ll arrest you.”

“Good,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe they’ll throw me in with Faust and we can work our way out from there.”

“They won’t throw you anywhere, they’ll kill you,” she said, clearly not in the mood for joking. “We didn’t just get you back to throw you away again.”

“Well I didn’t come back to throw Faust away,” he responded. His expression was unflinching steel and she hated him for it. It was an expression he’d learned from their father, and like their father there was no convincing him of the stupidity of a given idea when his face set like that. “Or you. The city’s not much safer for you, these days, and everyone knows you besides. They’ll know you’re there for Faust and that’s the same as painting a great big target on your head. You’ll need help. Neither of us can do this alone, which is the only reason I came to talk to you about it at all, otherwise I’d already be gone.”

For a moment it hung between them; not a question of whether or not his mind could be changed, simply a question of how difficult she was going to make it. She pursed her lips.

“All the heat?”

“All of it,” Galen repeated. “I’ll tell him the whole thing was my idea and you tried to stop me and I refused to listen to reason. It’s not entirely untrue, is it?”

At least, her sister said with a defeated sigh, it’s good to know that his exile hasn’t changed him that much.

“Fine,” said Cattie-Shai, and continued on her way. “Let’s go.”

She’d never much been a fan of making things difficult anyway.