Anais did not react to his choice of words. They were intended to provoke.
‘But this is a matter greater than your feelings, Empress,’ he continued, his voice lowering in tone. ‘Greater even than ours, here in this council. The
people
are the issue here. The people of Saramyr. And I tell you they
will not bear
an Aberrant to sit on the throne. She might have the potential to be a great ruler - I’m sure no mother would think any less of her child - but how long will she rule, how effectively, when she is reviled by the people beneath her?’
Anais kept her face calm. ‘Barak Sonmaga, the people have a long time to get used to her. By the time she sits the throne, they will have learned to accept. They, like many of the honourable Baraks and Barakesses in this chamber, will find their opinions changed upon seeing my daughter, and witnessing her nature.’
Sonmaga opened his mouth to speak again, but Anais suddenly remembered another point she had meant to make, and got in first. ‘And never forget, Barak Sonmaga, the lessons of the past. Our people have suffered tyranny under the madness of Emperor Cadis tu Othoro. They have been brought to famine and ruin by the
ineptitude of Emperor Emen tu Gor; and then suffered terrible and entirely preventable plagues under his successor, because he refused to clean up the cities. None of these brought the people to revolution. I offer a child with extraordinary intelligence, impeccable sanity and a kind nature, and the only count against her is that she is unusual. I hardly think the people will take up arms at that. I say you exaggerate, Barak Sonmaga tu Amacha. It is no secret that you have your own preferences as to who should sit on the throne.‘
Sonmaga’s eyes blazed. Such a direct accusation was a hair’s breadth from insult, but it was also inarguably true. Blood Amacha had never been a ruling family, and they had always coveted the throne. He knew it well enough, so he could not take umbrage without weakening his own position. Anais, for her part, gazed coolly around the chamber. She did not glance at the representatives of Blood Gor, whom she had regrettably reminded of their past failures. Blood Othoro had thankfully dwindled long ago, and taken its madness with it. Her gaze passed across Barak Zahn and lingered there for a moment, but he was as impassive as before. His letter had unnerved her considerably; she had no idea if she could count on his support or not. The deal they had made could be in tatters if he suspected that Anais had tried to kill him or his Weaver… but why should he think such a thing? They were allies, weren’t they?
An elderly Barak stood up then, his lean body draped in heavy robes.
‘Barak Mamasi tu Nira,’ the Speaker announced.
‘I beg that you consider this matter well,’ said Mamasi. He was a neutral, as far as Anais knew. He disliked getting his family involved in disputes of any kind if he could help it. ‘To force a council vote on this matter can only bring ruin. Opinion among the Baraks is deeply divided: you know this. Abdicate, Empress, for the good of the land and for your daughter. If you stay, civil war must follow, and Lucia’s life would be in great danger were you to lose.’
‘Barakess Juun tu Lilira,’ said the Speaker, as she stood and made a sign that she wished to speak in support of Mamasi.
‘Now, of all times, we must remain united,’ declared the ancient Barakess. ‘The very land turns against us. Evil things haunt the hills and forests, and grow bolder by the day. My villages are besieged by ill spirits; the earth sickens and crops fail. A civil war now would
only add to our misery. Please, Empress, for the good of your people.‘
‘I say no!’ Anais cried. ‘I say my abdication would weaken the country more than Lucia ever could. There are at least three houses who hold power enough to challenge for the throne. I will name no names, and I do not presume to know their intentions, but a war of succession would follow should Blood Erinima relinquish their claim on the throne, and all of you know it!’
Silence again. She spoke the truth. Blood Batik claimed rights by marriage, but there was no way Anais would pass the responsibility for Saramyr into the hands of her wastrel, womanising husband. Blood Amacha claimed rights by sheer power; they owned the most land, and a large private army. And Blood Kerestyn were most powerful of all; they had been the ruling family before Erinima, and they had never lost the desire to reclaim the throne.
‘I know the horror that the word “Aberrant” awakens in all of us,’ she continued. ‘But I know also that there are many interpretations of that word. Not all Aberration is bad; not all Aberrants are evil. It took the birth of my child to make me see that, but I see it now. And I would have all of you see it, too.’
She raised her hand to forestall another of her antagonists. ‘I ask for the vote of the council in support of my daughter’s claim to the throne.’
‘The council will vote!’ the Speaker called.
Anais stood where she was, her hands laid across each other, clammy with sweat. She could feel herself trembling inside. If the council approved by a majority, she could consider herself safe for a time. As the Barakess had said, nobody wanted a civil war now. But if her support was lacking, then she was in terrible danger. Would she truly abdicate, even for the sake of her child? At least, that way, Lucia might live…
‘Blood Erinima, family of my heart. How do you say?’ she asked.
‘We support you as always, Empress,’ said her great-aunt Milla. As eldest, she was the head of the family, even though her niece was Empress.
Anais looked about the chamber, scanning the grandiose tiers. She would have to ask each of the thirty families in turn, and the order that she chose them was crucial. Some families who were wavering might be swayed if a more powerful ally took the lead. Blood Erinima was easy. She asked then three other families, all
certainties, who assured her of their support. A fourth one, whom she had thought she could rely on, decided to remain neutral.
Then, reasoning that it was best not to use up all her support this early in the vote, she chose an obvious enemy: Blood Amacha.
‘We oppose you, Empress, with all our strength and vigour,’ Barak Sonmaga replied, somewhat unnecessarily.
She asked several other families, receiving mixed reponses. The powerful Barak Koli voted against her; his daughter Mishani was noticeably absent. Blood Nabichi threw unexpected support behind the Empress. But there was one to whom many of the lesser families were looking: Blood Ikati. Anais took a breath; their support was vital for snaring in some of those who sat on the fence.
‘Blood Ikati,’ she said, her voice echoing across the chamber. ‘How do you say?’
Barak Zahn tu Ikati unfolded his lean, rangy body from behind his stall. He regarded Anais carefully. Anais met his gaze with her own, unfaltering.
/
have done him no wrong
, she told herself. /
have nothing to fear
.
‘Blood Ikati supports your daughter’s claim, Anais tu Erinima,’ the Barak said, and as he sat down Anais felt herself weaken at the knees.
The ritual of asking each family was a nerve-racking affair, and by the time it had concluded there was no clear majority. Her supporters and opponents were evenly matched, and there were few who abstained. The council was divided, split down the middle.
Anais felt a thrill of mixed relief and trepidation. If the council had voted heavily against her, she would have been tempted to consider abdication, whatever the cost to Blood Erinima. Her daughter’s life would surely be forfeit if Anais tried to put her on the throne with no support. But now her course was set. Though it was risky, she had enough strength behind her to dare this, even if she was sorely tempting the prospect of civil war. When they left the chamber, Blood Amacha would be gathering their allies and Blood Kerestyn theirs. The only comfort she took was that the opposition was divided, whereas her support was as solid as she could hope for.
‘My daughter sits the throne,’ she said. ‘I bid you all a safe journey.’ And with that, she left, her composure threatening to break as she stepped from the dais; but she did not allow herself to cry until she was alone in her chambers.
*
It was perhaps an hour later when Barak Zahn tu Ikati came to her chambers.
Ordinarily, Anais would not have received visitors after council; but for him she made an exception. They had known each other long enough that formality was unnecessary, so she had Zahn shown into a room with plush chairs and gently smoking scented braziers, and she appeared wearing a simple dress and her hair, freshly brushed, worn loose. The decor was relaxed and homely, calculated to put him at his ease. Here some concession had been made to luxury over aesthetic beauty, and the room had a cosy air about it, with rugs on the
lach
floor and curtains of coloured beads hanging over the tall, narrow window arches.
‘Zahn,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘I’m glad to see you.’
‘You too, Anais,’ he said. ‘Though I wish the circumstances were somewhat different.’
She gestured him to a chair and sat opposite him. ‘Troubled times indeed,’ she said.
‘I cannot stay, Anais,’ said Zahn, scratching his neck with his thumb absently. ‘The afternoon is drawing on, and I have to journey back to my estate. I came to bring you a warning.’
Anais adopted an attentive posture.
‘A servant found my Weaver, Tabaxa, as he lay dying,’ Zahn said, frowning slightly. ‘He was struck down very suddenly, it seems, and was bleeding from the ears and eyes; yet there was not a mark on him.’
‘It sounds like another Weaver did it,’ Anais said. ‘Or perhaps poison.’
Zahn made a negative grunt. ‘Not poison, the servant removed Tabaxa’s mask, and he said a word before he died. Very clearly.’
Anais suddenly pieced together the puzzle: why Zahn had sent that letter; why he had seemed so cold in the council chamber. ‘Vyrrch,’ she said.
Zahn did not reply, but his eyes told her she was right.
‘Then why… ?’
‘Did you know of it, Anais?’ Zahn demanded, suddenly lurching forward towards her.
‘No!’ she replied instantly.
Zahn paused, half out of his chair, and then sank back with a sigh. ‘As I thought,’ he said. ‘A single word is a slim rope to hang so
much weight on, Anais. But you must watch him, your Weave-lord. Perhaps he seeks to undermine you. Have you thought what it might mean for the Weavers if Lucia sits the throne and there
isn’t
a revolution?‘
Anais nodded grimly. ‘She is a mockery of all their teachings about Aberrants. They have killed Aberrant children for so long, and so young… Lucia is living proof that they do not always turn out evil, if at all. If she becomes Empress, they fear what she will do.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Zahn, ‘it is something that needs to be done.’
Anais nodded slightly, her gaze turning to the windows, where Nuki’s eye watched benevolently over Axekami from behind the bead curtains.
‘Why did you vote for me, Zahn, if you thought I had sent Vyrrch to spy on you?’
‘Because I trust you,’ he said. ‘We have been allies and opponents by turns for a long time now, but you have never broken a deal with me. Also, I confess, I wanted to see how you reacted when you saw me; I would have been able to tell, I think, if you had been guilty.’
‘Maybe you would,’ said Anais with a faint smile. ‘Still, I am grateful for your trust.’
‘I must go now,’ said Zahn, standing up. ‘I shall see myself out. Please, Anais, take warning. Do not turn your back on Vyrrch. He is evil, and he will kill your child if he can.’
‘And I can do nothing to him without proof,’ she replied sadly. ‘And perhaps not even then. Goodbye, Zahn. I hope we meet again soon.’
‘Indeed,’ said the Barak, and he left Anais alone in the muggy warmth of the afternoon, thinking.
Eleven
The morning sun dawned red as blood behind the barge as it lumbered westward into Axekami. They called it the Surananyi - the fury of Suran. Somewhere in the eastern deserts of Tchom Rin, great hurricanes were tearing across the desolate land, flinging the red dust into the sky to mar the light of Nuki’s single eye.
Legend told how Panazu, god of rivers and rain, had been so besotted with Narisa, daughter of Naris, that he had asked a wise old apothecary to make him a potion that would cause her to fall in love with him. But the old apothecary was none other than Shintu the trickster in disguise, and Shintu put a feit on Panazu so that he would think the first woman he saw was his beloved Narisa. So it came to pass that he returned to his home, and the first to greet him was his sister Aspinis, goddess of trees and flowers. Panazu, thinking his sister was Narisa, chose the moment to slip his potion into Aspinis’s drink, and she fell under its influence. And so they coupled, and when the morning came and their eyes were cleared they were horrified at what they had done.
But worse was to come; for they were the son and daughter of Enyu, goddess of nature and fertility, and from their coupling grew a child. They dared not tell their mother, for the child was not natural, conceived as it was of incest; and they knew well how their mother could not condone anything that was not complicit with her laws. Aspinis fled, hiding her shame. But she was beloved of the gods, and sorely missed; and so Ocha and Isisya ordered that all should search for her until she was found.
So began the Year of the Empty Temples, when the people of Saramyr suffered greatly, for the gods turned their faces away from
the land and hunted through the Golden Realm for their lost kin. Crops failed, cruel winds blew, famine struck the land. Even Nuki turned away from them, and the sun was dim that year. And though the people thronged to the temples to pray for deliverance, their gods were not present.
Then, joy. Aspinis returned from the wilderness, and all the Golden Realm celebrated. In Saramyr the crops flourished, the fish were plentiful and the livestock grew fat once again. Aspinis would not speak of where she had been; but Shintu, who had guessed what had happened, threatened to tell her mother Enyu unless she revealed to him where the baby was. Aspinis - who had no inkling of Shinru’s hand in the affair - told him that the baby was in a cave deep in the desert, where she would have long died.