Voice of the Gods

Then her arm fell to her side and pain ripped through her shoulder, and she forgot all else.

The Servants massaged her arm and shoulder until the pain eased, then dropped the shirt over her head and pushed her arm through the sleeve. Her arm was stretched out to be chained again, then they released her right arm and manipulated her into that side of the shirt. The cloth was rough and didn’t warm her hands or feet, but she could still relieve herself without soiling her “clothes.”

The Servant returned the key to Nekaun, then helped the others give her more water and feed her plain bread. When they were done she leaned back against the throne, exhausted but free of hunger and thirst for the first time in weeks. Through half-closed eyes she watched Nekaun and the Servants leave.

Let me out of the void, she thought at them. All I need to get well again is magic. She closed her eyes. Or to become a god.

Then she frowned. How can I become a god if I’m in a void? Gods are beings of magic. They can’t exist in a void. As soon as I become a god I’ll cease to exist.

She shook her head. Chaia must intend to free her first. But that wasn’t what he’d said. He’d said she could do it herself, while he was away.

Suddenly she felt a chill rush over her, colder than the water that had set her shivering before.

Unless this is a trick.

Was Chaia trying to get rid of her?

But he loves me.

There was no way she could become a god and survive.

A soft chirrup brought her attention to the throne seat. Mischief was staring toward the entrance.

“Bad man,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Gone now.”

Slowly possibilities entered her mind. If she truly had the ability to become a god he might be trying to prevent it by encouraging her to make the change in the one place where doing so would kill her, rather than risking that it would happen somewhere else.

If he wanted her dead, then something had happened to change his mind about her. Huan claimed she was dangerous. Had something happened to convince Chaia?

Suddenly she remembered Mirar telling her that the other Wilds had important secrets. Ones he did not trust her to know. She thought of his question: “Is there a god you’d like to kill?” She had assumed he was being flippant, but what if he hadn’t been? What if the Wilds could kill a god?

Then he is the threat, not me. Chaia should know that I’d never... But then again, I would if it was a choice between me dying or Huan...

She grimaced. Obviously he didn’t feel the same. Or he just couldn’t trust her not to kill the rest of the gods. He couldn’t see into her mind any more, and she had become, as he’d said, more powerful than an immortal.

He didn’t trust her. He had tried to kill her. For a long time she stared at nothing, feeling only a terrible loss and betrayal. She was too tired for anger, too tired to make up excuses. All she had energy left for was acceptance. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the last shred of her loyalty to the gods slip away.

45

:Danjin.

The voice was dreamy and sad. Danjin slowly became aware that he was no longer asleep, yet not fully awake either.

:Daaaaanjinnnnn.

He knew the voice. As recognition came, he felt a mild surprise.

:Auraya?

:Yes, it’s me. How are you?

:Asleep.

:Not quite. We’re dream-linking again.

:Are we? He felt alarm and his thoughts sharpened. Where are you?

:Still locked up. I feel better. I was sick. I think I nearly died. Obviously that’s not part of Nekaun’s plans. He had them bring me clothes and better food.

Clothes? Danjin felt a pang of horror and concern as he realized what that meant.

:I bet you didn’t expect to march into another war again so soon, she said.

A tingle of warning ran down his spine. How did she know about the war? Had the Voices told her? Of course they had.

:No, he said warily.

:I’ve been watching the army, she told him. Watching you all marching across the desert. Watching the Pentadrians preparing to meet you. I wish I had something I could tell you.

:Tell me...?

:A secret about the Pentadrians. Something vital to help you win the battle. But the White’s spies and advisers already know everything.

:How did you...?

:Mind-skimming, Danjin. There’s nothing much else for me to do - except talk to Mischief, and you know what a great conversationalist he is. I wish I could talk to you more often. We all know the Voices will kill me before they set off to meet the White. It would be nice to have someone to talk to during my last days who didn’t constantly demand scratches or shower me with bits of whatever he’s managed to catch and eat.

Danjin felt as if he were choking. How could she speak so casually of her death? Maybe that was because she was making it all up?

No, he thought. There’s something else. She’s making light of it, but really she’s desperate. He felt a wave of grief and pity. She’s alone. She knows she’s doomed. How can the amazing woman I knew end like this? I suppose the only alternative is to die in some spectacular magical battle.

:Danjin?

:I’m here.

:In case you think this is a dream, I’ll tell you this. There’s a messenger from the Sennon emperor about to enter the camp.

And then the sense of her presence vanished. Danjin opened his eyes, sat up and looked around. Grabbing his blanket to protect himself from the chill night air of the desert, he rose and left his tent.

The thought that Auraya was watching them was both disturbing and reassuring. He had to know if it were true, and the best way to do that was to go to the White’s tent and see if a messenger from the emperor arrived.

Under the light of the moon the tents of the Circlian camp looked like a great ghost army of myth. They spread in all directions, lit by lamps from within or fires from without. The army was no larger than the one that had met and defeated the Pentadrians a few years before - in fact it was smaller - but from where he stood it appeared to have no end.

The stretch of desert the army had settled onto for the night was relatively flat. With no features like rivers or hills to consider, the tents, supply carts and platten had been set down in a circular pattern: a wheel in which the White and leaders of their allies gathered at the hub and the gaps between the armies of each land formed spokes. Danjin didn’t know if there was any tactical advantage in this. Perhaps only in that many would feel reassured by such a powerful use of the symbol of the gods.

Reaching the war-council tent, he asked the guard to request permission to enter.

Do we need reassuring? Danjin asked himself. We won last time. But