The Canticle of Whispers (12 page)

But still, she walked on. Up ahead, she could see the passage reach its end, and beyond it, something shone. She stepped forward, trying to see what it was, shielding her eyes as the light grew in power and intensity.

And then, with a lurch, she was at the mouth of the tunnel, and all her senses deserted her.

The cavern was larger even than the Hub chamber, and filled with weird light that flowed over the walls, dazzlingly bright. She could barely make out the stone walkway at her feet, but she could see enough to know that it was narrow, and that it stretched out over a vast chasm, a sheer drop onto wickedly sharp spars of rock. Above, the measureless height of the chamber took her breath away. She tried taking a step forward, but as she did, that dreadful buzzing from the Hub returned to her ears, hitting her like a wall. It was louder now—no longer musical, but pulsing like a heartbeat. Lily gasped, feeling a splitting pain through her head as the light grew more intense.

“Speak.”

One word. One single sound, but it cut through the noise like a knife—cold and sharp. Lily felt her mouth fly open, almost beyond her control.

Ahead, the light faded, the buzzing vanished. And Lily saw the Oracle.

She saw only glimpses, at first: the edge of her granite throne, on a high spar of rock, directly beneath the point of an immense, inverted spire of glowing crystal that plunged down from the roof of the cavern, and was clearly the base of the Hub; the tip of a headdress, sparkling like a star; the shifting jewels on her cape picked out like the night sky. Then, gradually, these points resolved themselves into a woman.

At least she assumed it was a woman. The voice that she had heard had been female, and not especially old or young. But that was the only clue. Every inch of her body was swathed in a jeweled robe, headdress, and mask. No, not jewels—resonant crystals, each one dancing with light.

The Oracle sat so still, in all her finery, that for a moment, Lily thought that she must be a statue. Then, the figure moved its head, and that same voice resonated through the cavern.

“Speak, Lilith.”

This time it was louder, but no less cold. There was not a spark of interest there, no warmth, but no dislike either. She had never heard a voice that seemed so commanding, and at the same time so indifferent.

Lily found her thoughts had quite deserted her. Instead of speaking, she walked a little closer, slowly growing accustomed to the odd, distorting light. She was nearly halfway to the throne now, halfway across the narrow stone walkway that stretched over the chasm. Her footfalls rang unnaturally, the echoes whirling over her head, until her own approach felt like an army drumming in her ears. Her head spun. Involuntarily, she reached out her arms to keep her balance. The rock bridge beneath her seemed thin and precarious, and she felt herself beginning to topple toward the edge. In a flash, she remembered the Conductor's warning, and sank to her knees. Here, with the stone beneath her hands, she felt a little better, and crawled forward, until she was nearly at the throne.

“Why … why am I feeling like this?” her speech came out thick and slurred, not really expecting a response.

“The resonance in this chamber is dangerous,” came the reply, clipped and polished. “You are growing used to it. Lie down. It will pass.”

Unsteadily, Lily did as she was told, resting her cheek against the cool stone. Gradually, the vibrations stopped, and Lily risked a look up. From down here, the light from the Hub above refracted through the crystals on the Oracle's crown, creating a shifting halo of light.

Lily raised her head.

“I'm here,” she said, to the Oracle.

There was a pause; Lily struggled up onto her knees, but didn't try to move any farther. She didn't want to fall down again; if she slipped from the stone bridge, it was a long way down.

“I can see,” the Oracle said, without a trace of sarcasm or irritation. “You wish answers. Ask your questions.”

Lily looked up, amazed.

“Just like that?” she said. “No objections? No speech telling me I am not ready to know?”

“My being is truth,” the Oracle replied. “Ask.”

Lily staggered to her feet.

“Who am I?” she asked, softly. “Why did my father send me away? Where is Mark? Is he all right? Is he hurt?” Her voice grew louder, her questions coming fast. “Why does everyone say we're important? What is in the Midnight Charter that makes us so special? What are these secrets that everyone is keeping from us? Why…?” Lily faltered, growing quiet again. “What is our role, Oracle? Our place? Can you tell me?”

There was a long silence. Lily heard her own words disappear into the shifting sounds of the Resonant Throne, joining the buzz of a million other words that hovered around the Oracle like a miasma. And then, the Oracle spoke.

“All this I can say.”

Lily felt an overwhelming wash of relief. She felt like laughing, like jumping for joy. Already, she pictured herself reuniting with Mark, with her other friends, of the Midnight Charter's prophecy torn up and trampled in the streets. For one, blissful moment, everything was wonderful.

Then, the Oracle raised one gloved hand.

“But first, the price,” she said. “Truth begets truth; no knowledge is free. That is the way of Naru.”

Lily nodded, hastily.

“Yes, yes, of course. What would you like to know? I've traveled all over the worlds above. There must be so much that I can tell you.” She racked her brains. “You've heard about Giseth, I'm sure, but do you know what it feels like to see a spring dawn? Crisp and clear, and bright…”

“I know,” came the reply, hard and final.

Lily was startled. She tried again.

“Do you know about the Nightmare? About all the things I saw in my dreams when it had me in its grasp? You know, my friend Laud turned up all the time, he had eyes that shone and…”

“I know.”

“Oh…” Lily faltered. The Canticle could even see into dreams? That hardly seemed fair. She thought back, far back, trying to think of something that wouldn't be remembered, something totally unimportant. Unless, of course, you were trying to please someone who thought they knew everything. “When I was a little girl,” Lily began, “back at the orphanage, there was this corner. We were all crowded into these tiny rooms, but none of us would sit in that corner. I never knew why, never thought about it until now, it was as though we were frightened of it…”

“I know.” The voice was not annoyed, or weary, it was simply stating a fact. “I know everything spoken in the lands above, and everything thought, and felt, and dreamed. The Choir sings that which is revealed to the world, and the Canticle whispers all that is hidden.”

Lily stopped, feeling the force of the Oracle's eyes from behind her silvery mask. She dropped her head, her confidence draining away.

“Then, what can I give you?” she asked, quietly.

“One thing,” the Oracle said, her tone as icy and impersonal as ever. “One fact. One secret, something tiny, but something that has been hidden from me. Taken from my mind. The Canticle refuses to show me, unless I am told directly, and I must know.” The Oracle moved her head, and though Lily could not see her face through the glittering mask, she felt the power of the Oracle's stare.

“Of course!” Lily said, spreading her arms. “What is it? What don't you know?”

The Oracle didn't reply. Lily's words echoed around the chamber, coming back to her distorted and mocking.
Don't you know? Don't … know … you … don't … know.…

There was something wrong here. The Oracle was silent again, implacable, more still than any human being had a right to be. Lily remembered the corpse of the Bishop of the Lost, forever sitting on his throne. If she hadn't heard her speak, Lily would have wondered if there was anything at all behind that crystal mask.

And then, it struck her.

“You don't know, do you?” she said, amazed. “You don't know what this secret is. And you expect me to find it anyway?”

“Tell me.” The Oracle leaned forward, and for a brief moment, Lily heard a quaver in that hard, clinical voice. A tremor of emotion, though which emotion was impossible to say. “Truth begets truth. Tell me! Tell me!”

The Oracle's voice rose higher, an imperious command. The walls of the chamber echoed it back, the Hub flared with light, sparking off the Oracle's headdress. Lily felt another wave of nausea pass through her, as the vibrations from the Oracle's voice shook the stone walkway. She collapsed onto her hands and knees.

“My lady, I don't know where to start! Please, can't you tell me anything?”

“One truth,” the Oracle said, no less firmly, but perhaps with more resignation. “One truth, one fact is the key. Most important…” she paused, and then, in a softer voice, almost human, she continued. “Most important to who I was.”

“But what
is
it?” Lily tried again, desperately. “What is the secret?!”

Lily's voice echoed through the chamber, reverberating, coming back to her loud and shrill, hurting her ears. And the Oracle's mask stared. As the echoes mixed and bounced and faded, she stared.

“I can't remember,” she said.

After that, the Oracle spoke no more. By the time Lily left her, she had not moved again.

*   *   *

Later, as she returned to the Hub, with the Conductor leading the way, she told him all that had happened. Strangely, he seemed almost relieved.

“Perhaps it is a blessing, child,” he reassured her. “It is dangerous to go to the Oracle without some idea of what you are looking for. Truth is a powerful thing. This way, as you search for her answer, you may find your own.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Lily replied, distantly.

“And I might be able to assist you,” the Conductor fussed. “I can show you the best resonance stones … or I could take you to the Canticle itself. Even the Oracle will not have been able to listen to it all. There is still hope, child, and I for one would be sorry to have you go just yet, when there is so much we can learn from each other…”

Lily was nodding, but she wasn't really listening anymore.

After everything she had been through. After the horrors and the weariness, and the years of not knowing, she was so close. This secret, whatever it was, was the key to everything. The Oracle knew the truth; Lily knew that as deeply and fundamentally as she knew her own name. Once she knew what was happening to her, really knew, everything would be clear. She could find Mark. She could return to Agora. She would defy them, turn the tables on these shadow men and women who took titles instead of names and thought in prophecies and visions. She would win, and could have a life of her own again.

This secret would solve everything.

And she was going to find it.

 

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

The Page

V
ERITY SHOULD HAVE
been terrified.

As she sat at her desk, she could hear the sounds of the visitor, shouting and raging in the next room. He had done little else since he arrived. The New Director had told her that he was normally a quiet man, that he had taken a vow of silence, but she wasn't surprised. She had met men like him before, so repressed by tradition and beliefs that when they finally broke free, there was a lot to say.

But that meant nothing.

The New Director was also not in the best of moods today, although it was not obvious. He smiled as easily as ever, and never spoke without calm and consideration. But there were little signs that, as his secretary, she had already started to notice. He hadn't called her in yet to offer the visitor wine. He always did that. He liked to present a mood of conviviality, to be the perfect host. He was keen on perfection, generally.

But that meant nothing.

She nodded to Chief Inspector Greaves as he waited with her in her office, sitting very still and upright. The Chief Inspector was never loud, and the hardest to understand of all. He wore the golden braid of his rank uncomfortably. She was sure that he would rather be out, chasing down criminals—making Agora a safer place.

But that meant nothing.

She glanced at the fireplace and remembered the letter that she had burned there that morning. Only the stars knew how Pete had managed to smuggle it to her. Maybe none of the clerks wanted to check through the fifty-page report on the well-being of prisoners that had arrived on her desk yesterday afternoon. It wasn't a long letter, and at first, she had been so relieved to hear that Mark had returned to Agora without her assistance. She was sure that Pete was just writing to thank her. But as she had scanned the rest, her mood darkened. He still wanted her help, to find Lily this time. How could she know where Lily was? Hadn't she watched over her for years? Hadn't the Director forced her to let Lily go, even though it broke her heart? Pete had his son back; he had no right to worry about Lily as well. She wasn't part of his family.

No, Lily belonged to her. Lily was Verity's brother's daughter.

Verity's brother was dead.

And that—that meant
everything
.

Verity hadn't been planning to reply. If the visitor hadn't come, she would have been the Director's secretary still, in mind and deed—quietly doing her duty. Then, that morning, everything had changed.

It had all begun a few hours ago. The Director had sent her down to the tunnels, to welcome a guest from the world outside. Verity had tried not to think of Lily as she walked those ancient corridors. Tried not to remember leading Lily to the door—the only way out of the city by foot. She had hoped that the old Director would let Lily travel by boat, and leave by the secret locks used by the riverboat captains. But the old Director was firm—Lily was to have no companions except for the boy, no help at all.