Perhaps she had been too young at the time, Baracha reflected, to remember how her own mother had lain like this, unconscious for a week, before she had passed away.
And perhaps, said an echo in his mind, she remembers it only too well, and is simply stronger than you.
And Baracha recoginzed it for truth, and felt lessened by the realization, and looked away.
The days turned into weeks. They were restless and tense and suffering from grief, all of them, in their own way. They began to snap at each other. Often, they had to hush their sudden arguments for fear of betraying their presence. They wrangled over who was eating the most food, drinking the most water; they fought over who should empty out the bucket of slop at night, or keep watch for unexpected visitors, or cook, or wash up, or who should sleep where. They even argued over their daily card games of rash, using chores and food instead of coins to place bets, until at times they almost came to blows over these games, hurling accusations of cheating or collusion, everyone disgusted, the loser skulking off feeling sore.
It was in the middle of one of these heated debates, right at the very end of the second week, all three of them shouting red-faced at each other, when a voice sounded from the far corner of the room and asked them all to kindly shut up.
It was Ash, sitting up in his pallet, his eyes screwed in annoyance.
'Master Ash!' exclaimed Aleas.
'Yes,' replied Ash, as though agreeing that it was, indeed, he.
*
With the ports still closed and no ships allowed to leave, fewer captains were willing to approach to the island of Q'os with their cargos, and those that did sail into the harbour inevitably sold their goods at exorbitant rates.
As a consequence, food prices in the city rose to levels that only the wealthy could afford. By the fifteenth day of the self-imposed blockade, riots broke out over the desperate shortages of food. A warehouse district in the north was razed to the ground. Elsewhere fires raged throughout the city, and streets were barricaded. In Punishment Square a cavalry charge cut down two hundred people demanding bread: the majority of them hungry women and children.
The ports were reopened the next day.
*
The temple of the Sentiates was deserted today save for those who lived within its walls, for it had been shut down like all other entertainments in Q'os while the city properly mourned the loss of the Matriarch's son.
Che, for his part, did not consider Kirkus much of a loss. He knew the young man's form only too well. Kirkus had been a spoiled lout with delusions of greatness, wreaking havoc wherever he went while he waited for his mother to move aside and allow him to assume the throne. Who knew what monstrosities he might have unleashed on the world, had he ever attained the position of Holy Patriarch? If he had lived to achieve such a position, he would have been the first Patriarch born and raised for the role – all previous rulers having clawed their way to the top, and having clung there by tenacious fingertips for as long as they could. None yet had survived long enough to pass on the throne to any descendants. Such was the constant dogfight for the throne.
Che had been stunned by the news of the young man's death, on finally returning to Q'os – not by the death itself, but the success of the Rshun in achieving such a feat. Professionally, he could not help but admire them: a direct frontal assault on the Temple itself? He had marvelled at the sheer audacity of it upon hearing the reports. No one had foreseen it, certainly not Che himself. The imperial Diplomats were trained in more subtle methods; they did not plan in such direct terms.
Here at the Temple of Sentiates, Che's mother had been aghast at what she considered a tragedy for the Empire. In some odd way she considered herself to be personally involved in the affairs of the Temple of Whispers, especially when they involved the Matriarch herself. No doubt it was a result of the pillow talk she so often engaged in with priests from the Temple. Che knew that she attracted a higher class of customer than most.
'Your skin looks terrible today,' she admonished, as they sat by the fountain on the seventh floor of the Sentiate temple.
'Thank you for reminding me, mother.'
'You haven't been taking care of yourself. You look exhausted.'
He leaned his face away from the soft play of her fingers. 'I've been away,' he said, 'on a matter of diplomacy. It proved difficult.'
'Yet you have been back for days, for I have my sources. You should be well rested by now, surely?'
The air was cool here, freshened by the gentle cascades of the fountain. Che could see a reflection of himself upon the surface of the pool, but it was dim, shadowy, without detail. He trailed the tips of his fingers through the rippling water, scattering himself.
'I've not been sleeping well,' he confessed.
She studied her son more closely. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze, and refused to meet it.
'Something troubles you?'
Che looked up. On the other side of the chamber a group of eunuchs sat gossiping amongst themselves. He could barely hear their words over the splashing of the fountain, but he still lowered his own voice as he spoke.
'Mother…' he began, and paused, struggling with the words he wished to say. 'Have you ever thought of leaving this place?'
'Leave the temple?' She blinked in surprise.
'Q'os, mother, and the order of Mann. Have you never thought, perhaps, that we might leave it all behind and make a life for ourselves that is of our own choosing?'
She glanced quickly towards the eunuchs. 'Have you lost your mind?' she hissed, leaning closer. 'Leave the order? What would possess you to say such a thing? Why would I wish to leave my home, my friends?'
Che turned away from her eyes blazing with indignation. She composed herself.
'My son, whether you like it or not, this life suits me. I feel safe here. Whatever I desire, I may have. And in return, I can contribute in my own small way to the greater good of Mann. I'm needed here. I am considered of worth.'
'You are a whore,' he replied, before he could stop himself.
He felt the sting of her hand across his face. The eunuchs stopped their chatter to stare at them across the playing of the fountain.
'Mind your own,' Che warned them, and they looked away quickly.
'Mother,' he tried again, even more quietly. 'You're in danger here. Surely you must know that. You are the means by which they keep a leash on me.'
'Nonsense. I have made many friends over the years, Che – people in high positions. They know my loyalty to Mann. They would not allow any harm to visit me.' She paused, narrowing her eyes. 'But why? Do you plan something that may anger your superiors?'
Che saw the danger he was in then, and held his tongue.
He scooped a handful of water over his face. It helped revive him, though the liquid tasted oddly sour against his lips.
'I'm merely tense,' he said at last. 'Perhaps I need to find a more peaceful line of work.'
He stood up, his chin still dripping water. 'I must leave you now.'
All trace of suspicion fell from his mother's features. 'So soon? You have only just arrived!'
Che nodded. For an instant he wanted to reach down to her and rest a hand against her face – to touch, connect, feel close to this woman who remained a stranger to him, even now. But he knew she would find that gesture strange, and that it would only betray him further.
'I shall see you soon, mother. Take care.'
*
The voice reeked of spices today. It was not the same high-pitched, whining voice that had spoken to Che just before he departed for Cheem, nor the brusque baritone one he had delivered his report to upon his return. This was a female voice, the one he heard least frequently of all.
Even so, he did not like this voice. He did not like any of them, but especially not this one. Che was always unsettled when he heard it come drifting through the wooden panel facing him in the wall of the shadowy alcove – muffled as it was, it sounded dark and ancient, like death.
