Wheel of the Infinite (34 page)

“Damn it,” Maskelle whispered. She didn’t need the distraction.

“Maskelle?‘” Killia’s voice invaded her trance. “We found him.”

She opened her eyes and stood, shaking out her robes. The Ariaden and Karuda were standing just inside the curtain. Maskelle said, “The flying things are coming back. We’ll have to hurry.” She had sent Killia and the other Ariaden to find Karuda, who had been directing the search for Gisar and seeing to the temple’s defenses.

Karuda stared at her. “Another attack?” he asked sharply.

“I’ll let you deal with them in a moment. I only need you to tell me one thing.” She pushed past them out into the gallery, telling Killia, “Warn the Temple Master there’s an attack coming.”

As she hurried away, Maskelle started across the court to the central tower. Karuda followed, his expression baffled. “That wasn’t why you summoned me?”

“No. I need to ask you something.” She led him under the arch into the central tower, and Karuda, suddenly realizing she was leading him to the inner chamber, halted abruptly in the foyer.

Maskelle turned impatiently and he gestured at the carvings on the wall. “Are you sure—”

“Come on,” she snapped.

Just inside Vigar waited. The other Voices were arrayed around the Wheel of the Infinite in meditation positions, their concentration and the soft low murmur of their chant forming a second barrier around the Wheel. The final repair had been completed on the Rite late last night, and since then it waited only for the destruction of their enemies’ Wheel before it could be initiated.

Maskelle met Vigar’s skeptical gaze as she stepped aside and motioned for Karuda to enter the chamber. She had had only a few moments to tell Vigar her theory, impatient as she was to get back to Rian and Rastim. Vigar had thought she was wrong.
Not the first time for that
, she thought.

Karuda stopped again, this time struck by the effect that the Wheel had even on those not well attuned to the Infinite. Maskelle looked closely at him and what she saw on his face made her heart clench. The Wheel of the Infinite wasn’t kept deliberately concealed, but its fragility meant that few besides the Voices and the others attached to the Marai ever saw it.

Karuda’s expression in the candlelight was more startled than awed.

Certain she was right, Maskelle took his arm and drew him nearer, past Vigar, almost to the edge of the invisible barrier formed by the other Voices. She remembered Rian saying that they should discover who had chosen that house for Marada, so advantageously placed near the canal that formed the direct line between the Baran Dir and the Marai. She had assumed it had been Raith. One wrong assumption which had led to disaster. “Have you ever seen the like of this before?” she asked.

Karuda nodded and Vigar hissed under his breath in shock and deep anger. His eyes met Maskelle’s and she knew the chief Voice was her ally in this, whatever came next. Maskelle looked at Karuda again and asked quietly, “Where?”

The sky was starting to take on that tinge of dark purple that had marked the arrival of dusk yesterday, when they reached the avenue that led up to the horned building. Rian leaned around the corner for a cautious look. It was about as wide as one of the Kushorit processional avenues, and was lined with tall imposing structures with many balconies and galleries on their upper levels. There was a huge doorway in the bottom of the horned building, large enough for an animate manifestation of one of the giant Kushorit statues to comfortably stroll through, but Rian didn’t want to approach it so directly. They would have to work their way down behind this row of structures and come at it from a side or back entrance.

It wasn’t that far from the Marai, so they wouldn’t have a long trip back. He glanced around at the others. Rastim looked weary and a little white around the eyes and the others appeared exhausted as well. Rian was too accustomed to long days of travel or hunting to be very tired, but walking on the unyielding stone for so long was making his feet hurt.

He moved back to where the others waited and motioned them to follow. They made their way down behind the row and finally to a round structure that flanked the horned building. The wind whipped around the curving wall, blowing dust into Rian’s eyes and tearing at his hair. Rian winced away and Rastim coughed and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.

As they cleared the wall, Rian saw the side of the horned building was badly damaged. There was a great crack in the dark stone that had torn an opening at street level. It looked as if it had been struck by lightning, or a siege engine.

The opening was almost choked with rabble, but there was just enough room for them to scramble through. Rian paused as his eyes adapted to the dark, then he froze, a cold prickle creeping up his spine.

At the far end of the ruined chamber was a doorway into a corridor, apparently unharmed by whatever had collapsed this side of the
building. Along the wall was a series of bowl-shaped lamps with flames burning in their center. “I think we found the right place,” someone muttered from behind him.

There was a general murmur of agreement. “I want a look down that corridor,” Rian said. “Then we’ll take the word back to the others.”

“Good,” Rastim said under his breath.

They started to work their way across the ruined chamber. A low, mournful howl echoed from somewhere. It sounded like wind moaning through a cavern, but here there was no telling.
I hope it’s the wind
, Rian thought, taking a deep breath.

“I’m going to write a play about this,” Rastim declared, keeping his voice low.

From his tone Rian could tell he had heard the sound, too. But he only said, “Good for you. Are you going to include the part where you almost wet yourself when the flying creatures went by overhead?”

Rastim snorted. “What do you mean ‘almost’?”

Rian bit his lip to keep from laughing. They were keeping their voices low from instinct; he didn’t think anything would be able to hear them over the hiss of the dust against the stone.

“Is she back yet?” Rastim asked, serious now. “I haven’t heard her.”

“I haven’t either,” Rian admitted. He didn’t know who he was more worried about, them or Maskelle and the others back at the temple.

“I hope it’s nothing . . .” Rastim began, then shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out later. It can’t be too important to us right now.”

Then somewhere across the chamber Rian heard the distinct sound of a foot knocking against a loose stone.

One of the flying things wouldn’t make noise.

Rastim bounced agitatedly and Rian waved him and the others back behind a pile of rubble. The Ariaden managed to creep back behind it quietly enough and Rian started to advance cautiously toward the sound.

Rian heard that whisper again, a faint scrape against the gritty stone, and this time he could tell where it was coming from. Whatever it was, it was waiting for them to come through that next doorway.

The other men were watching him alertly from the cover of the pile of rubble. Rian motioned for them to stay where they were. He looked at Rastim to make sure the Ariaden was paying attention, then gestured for him to head across the room, toward the outer door.

Rastim nodded sharply then stood and moved briskly toward the door. Their opponent took the bait as soon as the Ariaden broke cover, stepping into the doorway and levelling a crossbow at Rastim.
It’s a man
, Rian had time to realize,
just like us
. He threw himself forward and the man sensed him at the last instant, swinging the heavy wooden weapon around to strike Rian in the shoulder.

They hit the ground and Rian tore the bow away, slamming his opponent in the head with the stock. Rastim was bouncing around them, bori club upraised, shouting, “Get him, get him!”

Rian rolled off the man and came to his feet, handing Rastim the crossbow as the Ariaden scrambled back out of the way. When the man staggered to his feet, he was facing Rian’s siri. He stared at them, panting. He looked Kushorit, even as Marada had, and he was dressed in trousers, an open vest, and sandals that wouldn’t have gotten a second glance on any street in Duvalpore.

“Who are you?” Rastim demanded. As the others joined them, Aren the monk gaped in surprise. “That’s Vanthi. He’s with Chancellor Mirak’s party.”

The man grimaced in contempt and looked away.

“He’s one of them,” Rian said. In Mirak’s party. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this. “Taken over by Marada, like her servants.”

That name got his attention. The man glared at them, eyes narrowed. “You killed her, but your tricks won’t stop us,” he said, his voice low and grating.

“We’ve got more tricks in our bag than we know what to do with,” Rastim said archly, “so you just better talk while you can.”

Whatever that meant
, Rian thought. “Tell us where the Wheel is. It’s nearby, or you wouldn’t have bothered to try to stop us.”

A sudden howl of wind nearly burst their eardrums and the others ducked and scattered. The man used the instant of distraction and charged them. He bowled Rian over, but Rian threw him off and rolled away, coming to his feet again. Ducking a wild blow, he stabbed the man in the stomach, freeing the weapon with a jerk that turned the thrust into a disemboweling stroke. He didn’t bother to watch the man fall, his attention caught by the wind rushing into the chamber, its force almost enough to knock him off his feet. The whirlwinds must be returning. They couldn’t get out the way they had come in. Further into the building was their only chance.

Rastim had already come to that conclusion and was pulling at his arm. They bolted back through the archway and into a high-ceilinged hall. Running down it, they could see other corridors leading off. They came to an intersection of another, larger hall and Rian saw fading daylight at the end of it. “That way.” He pointed and there were cries of relief from the others. They started toward it when Rastim grabbed Rian’s arm.

“Look, that light,” the Ariaden said, wondering. “That must be something.”

Rian looked at the opposite end of the corridor where Rastim was pointing. There was a strange murky light, not flickering like firelight at all. Whirlwinds or not, Rian realized, they had to investigate it.

Rastim glanced back, then yelled something incoherent, and pointed back down the corridor, eyes wide.

Rian turned. A miniature whirlwind was coming down the corridor toward them. It was grey-white with dust and a strange white mist, and this close he could hear the pebbles and other debris trapped within it scraping and striking the walls. “Run!” he shouted to the others just as it surged forward, cutting him and Rastim off from the branch corridor.

Rian turned to run down the other passage after Rastim, but the thing was too fast, and before he reached the archway he felt a freezing cold dampness on the back of his neck. A force struck him from behind, shoving him forward into the wall with a stunning impact. He remembered sliding down to the corridor floor, then nothing.

Maskelle stood in the doorway, watching the Chancellor. Mirak had made his camp in the second level of the east corner tower, in a large square room with an offering block in the center. The carving in this room represented the watery chaos of creation; the walls were covered with waves, churning waters, and every kind of sea creature. Monsters that were part crocodile and part bird loomed out of the corners. Mirak faced the window that looked out over the second outer court. He was staring into darkness, motionless, his face deeply shadowed by the single lamp.

He turned suddenly and saw her, his face going still and grim. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to let you know how the search was progressing.”

“Ah.” His voice sounded reassured, but the suspicion in his eyes didn’t alter. “Have they found anything?”

“No. But, you already know that.” She stepped further into the room. Raith had made few provisions for his comfort in his makeshift quarters, but Mirak had done nothing. The room was bare, without even a pallet or a brazier. The only luxury was a lamp set atop the jutting head of a water monster.

“What do you mean?”

“You were Marada’s patron, not the Throne.” She met his eyes, but his expression of wary inquiry didn’t change.

He said only, “Who told you that?”

“Raith himself.” She shook her head slowly, smiling. “The Throne is isolated from all but his closest companions and advisors, especially around this time of year, with so many rituals to attend, so much preparatory fasting and vigils. If he heard the rumors that the noblewoman from the Garekind Islands had become his new favorite, he wouldn’t have cared anyway. There are always rumors.”

Mirak stepped toward her. “Speculation.”

“Marada had the woman from the village in Iutara to make death magic for her, and you knew the Celestial One had sent for me, and where I was likely to stop on the Great Road.”

“You’re under a curse. Death magic and dark spirits follow you everywhere.” He stopped a bare pace away from her.

She could smell his sweat. His eyes were dark and opaque. She felt the tension gather in her muscles, her throat tighten with growing anger. “You weren’t in the Marai when the change occurred, you were on the causeway. Rian and Karuda were closer to the temple than you, and they were both hurt when the wave knocked them against the wall. But when everyone assembled in the central court, there you were, uninjured. Last night, when Marada’s people sent their creatures to attack, you said, ‘Take human shape.’ How do you know what they look like?”

“None of that means anything.”

“And then Karuda saw the second Wheel.”

Mirak’s expression didn’t change.

“Festival Eve, when you didn’t give the banquet that you always give for the Equinox. He went to your palace quarters because he thought you should be there when we questioned Marada’s servants. He didn’t realize that you already knew all there was to know about them.” Karuda had only caught a glimpse of the Wheel through a doorway, but it had been enough. In all the confusion that Marada’s failure and the death of the body she had possessed must have caused, Mirak hadn’t realized the noble had seen the Wheel at all, which was undoubtedly the only reason Karuda was still alive. It also explained how the creature that had tried to attack Maskelle in the palace had gotten in, and where Marada’s other companions had hidden.

Mirak’s eyes changed, the dark opacity giving way to something raw and powerful. Something alien, like Marada. His lips moved in a slight smile, and he said, “You shouldn’t have come alone.”

He grabbed her throat with snakelike quickness, his grip crushing. Maskelle didn’t break eye contact, though she felt the last gasp of air leave her lungs and the pressure on her throat was terrifying. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and reached for the Marai’s distant heartbeat. Unexpected strength surged up from it, laced with hot rage and predatory greed. It filled the room like oil poured into a bowl and the lamp flickered, the light taking on an unnatural cast. It was a spirit presence so strong that she felt its breath on the back of her neck. For an instant she thought it was something as alien as the thing that had taken Mirak’s soul, something from this dying world, but it was in the bones of the Marai itself. The temple had no defense against it because it was part of it.

Her hand tightened on Mirak’s wrist and he released her, stumbling backward, catching himself awkwardly on the offering stone. Maskelle gasped a breath, managing to stay on her feet only because that power, familiar as her own, willed it.

“I’m never alone,” she said hoarsely, and heard the Adversary in her voice.

Mirak looked up at her, and she saw in his eyes that he wasn’t trapped, like Veran and the unfortunate villagers had been. He wasn’t there anymore at all. “You used us!” he spat. “For what? Why? You destroyed your own world.”

Maskelle stared at him, horror growing in the pit of her stomach. He wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to the Adversary. She was laughing at Mirak without conscious volition. The Adversary had never been much for chat with its prey.

“Whatever it is, you can’t succeed. If you try to stop us again, we’ll destroy you,” Mirak said desperately.

The Adversary didn’t understand threats; it either killed cleanly or it allowed the prey to live, there was nothing in between. She heard herself say, “You’ll be dead.”

Mirak drew a shaking hand across his mouth; the thing inside him had been pretending to be human so long, the gestures came naturally to it.
How long
? Maskelle wondered. How long had Mirak been dead? Since Marada had come to Duvalpore and been introduced at Court? Or before, and it was actually the knowledge torn from Mirak’s unwilling mind that had allowed her to pose as a noblewoman from Garekind. He said, “Is it another bargain? What do you want?” He tried another smile, albeit a desperate one. “You have us at a disadvantage. Ask for anything you want.”

He said a “bargain
,” Maskelle thought. The shock of it was almost too much.
They made a bargain with the Adversary
.

“I don’t need you to give me what I want,” the Adversary said through her voice.

Mirak’s face worked, from rage to terror and back again. He surged to his feet, coming at her, just as something dropped through the window behind him.

Maskelle flung herself back against the wall. It was Gisar, grown larger and more horrible, its mottled wooden flesh stretched to cover its new size. Mirak whirled around, faster than a man his age should be capable of, but Gisar was faster still. It ducked a wild blow and seized Mirak’s head, snapping his neck.

It stepped back and let the body drop.
A cat with a vermin
,

Maskelle thought, watching it. A born predator, killing with stark efficiency and not a little glee at its own prowess.

Mirak twitched, blood bubbling up past his lips, and impossibly managed to wrench his head around to look up at Gisar. “Destroy . . . you . . .” it gasped.

“Try,” Gisar said in its hollow wooden voice. It didn’t laugh. Dead prey was dull.

Mirak went limp. Gisar stood where it was, then suddenly wooden pieces were hitting the stone floor, the head, the arms and legs, the metal wires that held it together. It was ordinary painted wood, from a puppet only a few feet in height. Gisar as he had been, before the curse and the demon.

Something else stood in its place. It looked like Rian, but Maskelle knew the Adversary by its eyes. In her voice, hoarse but her own once again, she said, “You brought us here.” It was too raw a truth to understand. “You did this.”

“To destroy our enemy.”

It sounded pleased with itself. Maskelle shook her head, baffled and aghast. Had it thought it was doing the right thing? “You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to show the way.”

“This is the way.”

She couldn’t fathom it. “You can’t make those decisions for us. You’re supposed to advise me and—”

“You weren’t there,” it shouted at her, suddenly furious. “Why did you leave?”

She stared at it, as it stood there quivering with rage. She said slowly, “You sent me away. I was cursed, because of the vision. The false vision. That you gave me.”
That you gave me. Ancestors, no wonder you wouldn’t. . . couldn‘t talk to me
. She had heard the whisper of their Voices, but never clearly. Had they tried to warn her? Had the Adversary prevented them, making sure she only knew what it wanted her to know?

It blinked, the confusion crossing its face all too human. “When was this?”

“When? You’re not supposed to understand time.” Her voice broke. It was too much to take in. The Adversary was insane. “What happened to you?”

“I had to change. I have to change.” It looked down at Gisar’s pieces and nudged the wooden limbs with a boot. It frowned, biting its lip. “That didn’t work out like it was supposed to.”

“What happened to you?” she repeated.

It showed her. They knew the Adversary was not like the other Ancestors. It hadn’t been born, lived, and died as a human before it melded with the Infinite. It was part of the world, possibly older than the world, an integral part of it.

“All of it,” it said, looking at her with familiar eyes. “Including Sakkara and the Aspian Straits.”

Her breath caught. She had told Rian the old story the day they arrived in the city, about the decision by the Voices to prevent the invasion from Sakkara by closing the Aspian Straits. “They changed the world, and it changed you,” she said.

It nodded, looking down at Gisar again. “Pieces.”

Maskelle turned away, leaned unsteadily against the wall. “Don’t panic, not yet,” she muttered.

“All right,” it agreed helpfully.

“I was talking to myself.”
I am not going to scream
. She looked back at it, trying to understand. “You bargained with them, told them you’d give them our world, helped them build the second Wheel. Why?”

“I needed to be here.” It looked around and she knew it was seeing through the walls of the temple, out at the city. “There’s something I have to do here.”

It said “I.” Had she ever heard it call itself “I” before?

“I need to kill them,” it added.

It wasn’t the concept she found horrifying, but the fact that it was the Adversary advocating it. “They’re our enemies, but they’re still people. You trapped them into this.”

“I need to kill them.” The predator again, nothing else.

“They are people,” she insisted desperately.

It paced toward her, braced one hand on the wall near her head, and leaned close. She could feel the anger radiating from it like heat. It said deliberately, “They aren’t my people.”

Maskelle held its eyes, though it was an effort. “The
Book of the Adversary
says, ‘Those who are pleased to hurt living beings are to be punished without mercy,’ ” she quoted.

An expression flickered across its face, too quick to read. It said, “We remember.” It stepped back from her slowly, then turned and walked away through the outer wall.

Maskelle stood there, feeling cold, staring at the place where it had vanished. Karuda burst in suddenly, stopping abruptly when he saw Mirak’s body. The Temple Master pushed in behind him and came to take her arm.

Karuda looked at her, aghast. “We couldn’t get in. There was a wall, invisible—”

“It was the Adversary,” the Temple Master said quietly. He shook his head and looked away. “It was the first time I’d ever felt it.”

Maskelle nodded. “It was in Gisar.” She gripped his arm and straightened up, taking a deep breath. “Did the search parties come back yet?”

Karuda shook himself slightly, looked at Mirak again. “All but one. Rian’s.”

Maskelle swore and ran her hands through her hair.
Rian found it. I knew he would. Damn it
! “Keep everyone inside the Marai.” She looked at the Temple Master. “Tell Vigar to give me until dark, then initiate the Rite. I’ll destroy the second Wheel.”

“You know where it is?” Karuda stared at her. “How could you?”

She nodded. “You told me.” At his blank expression she explained, “This is still our world. The second Wheel was in Mirak’s quarters at the palace. That’s straight out the south gate of the Marai to the Baran Dir, then west. It’s still there.”

Someone called out from down in the court. Maskelle stepped back out from the gallery and saw it was the nun Tiar. She waved her arms excitedly and called again, “Revered, the Celestial One is waking! He lives!”

Maskelle pushed past a startled Karuda and the Temple Master and ran for the stairs. When she reached the room where the Celestial One had lain so quietly, she found most of the nuns dancing about in joy outside. She pulled the curtain aside and saw Mali kneeling by the old man, bathing his face with a cloth. Maskelle could see from here that he was breathing.

She knelt beside him, thankful for this one thing. The old man’s face was sallow and pinched, but he was alive.

“Does this have something to do with . .. what happened up there?” the Temple Master asked her. He had followed her into the room, though Karuda had stayed outside.

She nodded. “Oh, yes.”
The Adversary doesn‘t need me to stay at the temple anymore, so it releases the Celestial One. It thinks its plans are too far advanced for me to stop
. She buried her face in her hands, hoping the Temple Master would mistake it for a gesture of profound relief at the Celestial One’s return.

Karuda argued, but Maskelle insisted, and told him that the Adversary would not let anything happen to her. She didn’t know if that was still true or not. There was nothing in the Koshan wisdom to say what happened when a spirit went mad. But she couldn’t afford to bring anyone with her. Anyone outside the boundary of the Marai risked being left behind when their Rite was initiated. If the Adversary allowed them to initiate it at all.

She set out from the south gate of the Marai, carrying nothing but her staff. Firac and Killia were the only ones to see her off, as all the Koshans were scrambling to prepare for the Rite. She didn’t look back at their anxious faces as she wove her way through the protective barriers; she knew they were afraid for Rastim.