A familiar figure stood before the Sanctuary flame, head bowed. Reivan approached slowly and stopped several steps away, not wanting to interrupt Imenja’s thoughts. She heard the Second Voice murmur a prayer, then saw her straighten.
“Ah, Reivan.” Imenja turned and smiled. “What do we have to sort out today?”
Reivan walked to Imenja’s side. The flame twisted and snapped like fine cloth in a wind. Its constant movement was hypnotic, and it was said the gods could steal one’s sanity if one dared look at it too long. She forced her eyes away.
“Karneya has appealed to us again to release his son from slavery. You asked me to report whenever he did.”
Imenja grimaced. “I pity him. It is hard to accept that one’s own child has committed a terrible crime.”
“In any other land his son would have been executed.”
“Yes,” the Second Voice agreed. “And we cannot grant his request, but I will write to him. What else?”
“Tiemel Steerer wants to become a Servant, but he believes his father will disapprove.”
“He’s right. This will be a difficult one.”
“His father cannot prevent him.”
“He’ll try. Even if it means having him kidnapped and sent to Jarime.”
“Does he disapprove of us that much?”
Imenja laughed. “No, quite the opposite. But Tiemel is his only son. Who will run the ships when he is too old?”
Reivan didn’t answer. Better that the business be sold than the son spend years doing what he hated, his magical Skills wasted.
Imenja turned suddenly, her gaze shifting to the distance. She frowned, then her face relaxed and she sighed.
“These matters will have to wait,” she said. “Our wayward acquaintance has returned.”
Reivan felt a thrill of hope. “Nekaun?”
Imenja nodded and smiled knowingly. “Yes.”
The Second Voice’s smile widened as Reivan felt herself blush. “Come on then. Let’s go together.”
She led Reivan away from the flame into the Sanctuary buildings. At first the Servants they saw were quiet, pausing to make the sign of the star as Imenja passed. Then a messenger raced past, his urgency making Imenja pause and frown. Closer to the entrance of the Sanctuary they encountered small groups of Servants whispering together.
“What’s going on?” Reivan asked.
Imenja sighed. “They’ve heard reports he’s bringing prisoners with him. Not ordinary men either.”
Hearing the frustration in Imenja’s voice, Reivan decided to keep her questions to herself. It was already clear her mistress hadn’t approved of Nekaun’s secrecy. If people realized the other Voices hadn’t known the reason for his disappearance they might conclude that Nekaun didn’t trust them, or value their opinions.
They reached the hall and crossed to the other side. Shar and Vervel waited within one of the arches. Imenja walked over to join them.
“Here he comes,” Shar murmured.
Following their gaze, Reivan saw that a crowd was emerging from one of the crossroads of the Parade. It spilled out into the main thoroughfare and split into two, allowing room for several open platten to approach the Sanctuary.
Inside the platten were Servants and several children, the latter tied by their wrists to the rails of the vehicles.
Reivan heard shocked gasps around her and found herself agreeing. Why had Nekaun taken all these children prisoner? What could they have done to deserve this treatment?
“Siyee,” Vervel said, his voice low and dark with hatred.
Siyee? Reivan looked closer. The faces of the prisoners were not those of children, but of adults. Memories of the war rushed into her mind. It had been hard to judge the size of the sky people when they were in the air. She had seen dead ones on the ground, however. Had even examined one of them, fascinated and repelled by the distortions of their limbs and the membrane that formed their wings. Some of her fellow Thinkers had wanted to take a few home to study, but the Voices had forbidden it.
The last platten had only one passenger, and her heart swelled to see Nekaun smiling broadly. As the platten stopped he leapt out and strode effortlessly up the stairs. He did not look at Reivan; his attention was fixed on his fellow Voices.
“How have you all been the last few days?” he asked. “I hope everything ran smoothly in my absence.”
“Smoothly enough,” Vervel said calmly. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Yes.” Nekaun turned to look at the platten. The Servants had begun untying the prisoners from the rings. The Siyee were bound together at the ankle. “The gods informed me that Siyee warriors were coming to attack Klaff and that I should deal with them and their sorceress.”
“Sorceress?” Shar repeated.
Nekaun looked up at the sky, his gaze roving about. “The former White.”
Imenja drew in a sharp breath and looked up. “Auraya?”
He looked at her and smiled. “Yes. She followed us here so I have no doubt she is somewhere close.”
“Is she a danger?” Vervel asked.
“I don’t think so. The Siyee believe her gods have forbidden her to fight us.” Nekaun smiled, then looked down at the sky people. “I had better escort our prisoners to their cells.” He took a step away. Reivan felt a pang of disappointment. He hadn’t looked at her. Not even a glance.
“There are no prison cells in Sanctuary,” Imenja pointed out.
Nekaun turned and smiled at her. “Yes there are, they just haven’t been used for a very long time.”
As he turned away, Imenja made a small stifled sound.
“The caves,” she said with obvious disgust. “What are we becoming?”
“They are our enemy and they did try to attack us,” Shar reminded her.
“The Siyee belong in the prison complex,” she said. “Outside the Sanctuary.”
“Nekaun needs to be close to prevent Auraya rescuing them,” Shar said, shrugging. “We can’t expect him to live in the prison complex.”
Imenja frowned at him, then sighed. Reivan hesitated as her mistress turned and stalked away. The Second Voice stopped and looked back. She smiled with obvious effort.
“Come, Companion Reivan,” she said quietly. “We have work to do.”
Sreil hurt all over. His arms were sore from being held in one position for so long and his wrists were red and blistered from the ropes, but that was not all. The vehicles that had carried them to the city had shaken and jerked constantly until Sreil imagined all his bones would surely be loosened from their joints. His muscles were sore from bracing himself against the rocking, and his side was bruised from knocking against the railing.
It was only the beginning. There was sure to be worse to come. He had been certain of it from the moment the net pinned him down. The Pentadrians hadn’t killed them, so they must have some other terrible plan.
The previous night, tied up in a large room covered with dried grass and in the company of the animals that pulled the vehicles, he had slept fitfully. Nightmares had taunted him, shaped from old stories of the early days of the Siyee. A time when their bodies had warped and changed. The older ones whispered these stories late at night. It was wise to remember the sacrifice and the cost of transformation, they whispered. The pain. The suffering of the failures. The deformed ones.
Those stories came back to haunt him, perhaps drawn out by the twisting of his arms. A single torch on a stand provided the only light in the enormous room they were in now, making the broad columns they had been chained to look like the trees of the Open. On a raised area to one side an enormous stone chair towered over them, crumbling with age. Perhaps one of the Pentadrian gods visited from time to time. At that thought, he could
