Glenda Larke: The Heart of the mirage

– ''Ah, there you are,' I said. 'Did Aemid tell you what the Exaltarch wanted?'

He nodded. 'Yes, Domina. Or should I say, um, LegataV

A slave's existence had so instilled caution in him that his expression always had about as much animation as the standing stones of northern Tyrans. Right then, though, I suspected he was mocking me, but I couldn't tell for certain. Of all the people I had ever known, he alone was unreadable to me. I said, 'I think you know damned well that I don't care what you call me, although a little respect from time to time would be nice.'

'Of course, Domina.' The tiniest of pauses, then, 'Legata!

I resisted an impulse to throttle him. 'I do want to know what you think about the posting to Kardiastan, however.'

'Ah.' Serious now, he considered a moment before replying. 'I think the Magister Officii fears you.'

I nodded. 'And I fear you are right. I'll be a long time away. How do you feel about it, Brand?'

'Slaves don't have opinions on matters like that, er, Ligea. Where you go, I go, unless you will it otherwise.'

I gave him a sharp look, but I could not penetrate the mask he wore. He ignored my glance with unruffled urbanity. Gods above, I thought, twenty years as a slave, eighteen of them as my guard-servant, and none of it has destroyed either your dignity or your bloody pride, has it? Brand still knew his own worth, and he showed the world he valued himself. It often came as a shock to strangers when they noted his bronze slave collar. My friends warned me of the dangers of allowing helots too many liberties; I took no notice. My less charitable acquaintances spread the rumour I was besotted with my own thrall.

I was far from besotted. In fact, at moments like this, I felt more inclined to strangle the man. 'I should sell you before I go, preferably to the Domina Aurelia,' I growled, naming the highborn wife of the Prefect Urbis of.Tyr, a woman as stupid as she was frivolous. Her male slaves dressed in pink, had their hair curled and their faces plastered with cosmetics. She'd made me an offer for Brand once, after I visited her villa with him in attendance. I'd enjoyed telling him that, just for the rare joy of seeing his expression qhange.

He pretended to consider the suggestion. 'No, I don't think so, if you don't mind. However, a position as a guard in that whorehouse for the highborn in Via Dolce, now…'

I rolled my eyes. All I had heard from the slave quarters of the Villa Gayed over the years suggested Brand didn't much like to sleep alone. 'Sorry to thwart your amorous tendencies, Brand, but you are coming with me to Kardiastan. Naturally.'

'Naturally.' His tone was as dry as crumbled brick dust.

More veiled mockery, I supposed. I sighed inwardly and changed the subject. 'Something else, um, interesting happened today.'

He raised an eyebrow and waited, alert to my altered tone.

'The Oracle asked to see me.'

Everything about him stilled. When I didn't immediately explain, he said, 'As you say, interesting. From what I have heard, it is more normal for people to beg to see the Oracle, than the other way around.'

I nodded again. 'Indeed. And as I understand it, there is quite often a considerable… donation to the temple involved before the Oracle obliges.'

•»! He gave a half-smile. And you are not known for your generosity to religious cults.'

'No.'

'There was a deputation from the Meletian Temple at the door today, asking for donations for the Moon Festival. A coincidence, do you think?'

'Probably. They come every year. And are disappointed every year. They take enough from me at normal service collections.' Even as I spoke, though, I was wondering. Was this all a trick to increase my donation? Show the power of prophecy to the unbeliever in order to extract some of her wealth? I heard tales of unscrupulous temple priestesses from time to time. It was no more mad than the thought that the Oracle had the ability to predict the future. No, I thought, / won't believe that. If the gods did indeed intervene in our everyday life, if the Oracle always spoke the truth, then there would never be disasters such as the Kardiastan Uprising, or the earthquake deaths just last year in Getria, our sister city in the mountains. We would have been warned.

'So, what message was it the Oracle wanted to impart?' Brand's question abruptly grounded my thoughts once more.

'That's just it. Nothing much at all. Merely that I was going to take a journey to look for a traitor and I would be successful and rewarded as a consequence. Substantially rewarded.'

'And is that true?'

'As far as I know it, yes.'

'No details as to how you were to catch your prey? No helpful hints?'

'None.'

He had put his finger on the real puzzle of what had taken place, of course. There had been nothing in what

I was told that was useful – so why was the message necessary?

I detailed exactly what I had seen and heard, marshalling my own recollections into coherent order, dismissing the more outlandish of my hallucinations. As I recited Esme's actual words, his smile broadened into a grin. When I was a child, Brand had accompanied me to all my school lessons; these days he stood behind me at every poetry reading, musical evening, theatre performance, Academy debate. He ›

knew execrable verse when he heard it. He said, 'So, j

the Oracle is a bad poet?'

'The worst. Or else Esme is a poor translator.'

'They paint a rosy future for you. A little, um, fulsome in the promises, though, don't you think?'

'Somewhat.' I frowned. 'The whole thing is odd.'

'You know what it sounds like to me? All that talk of "rightful place" and being wreathed, feted, honoured and celebrated in epic poetry? It's as if they are saying: "You're not getting what you deserve. Go to Kardiastan and you will get that, and more." They are appealing to your sense of injustice.'

My frown deepened. 'I don't feel hardly done by!'

'They might think you do. Do you believe in the Oracle, Domina?'

'In its connection to the divine? Or in the truth of its predictions?'

'Both.'

'Well, the temple priestesses maintain that if any of the gods want to communicate, they do so through the Oracle. But if a god is divine and powerful, then why the need for an intermediary? If we are to believe the myths, in the past they spoke to people directly. So, do I believe in the connection to the divine? Probably not. I am more inclined to think none of it is true, or ever was true.'

He remained silent, so I went on to the second part of his question. 'Nowadays, people go to the Oracle because they want to know the future. They want advice on the outcome of their more momentous decisions: whether to invest money, invade a neighbouring country, marry into a certain family. From what I've heard, the advice is often couched in such obscure language it is ambiguous and therefore easily moulded afterwards to what happens. You know the sort of thing: "Marry that woman and a great commercial dynasty will be founded." No one actually says whose dynasty. The more ambiguous it is, the greater the chances the prediction will come true.'

He nodded. 'Clever. But your prediction was not ambiguous. It clearly foretold your success and rewards.'

I stirred uneasily. 'Up until today I would have said it was all a temple scam. To make money out of the gullible. Now I'm not so sure…'

'You've not become a believer, have you?' His mockery mingled with amusement.

'No,' I snapped. Vortexdamn, I thought, why is it he always has the power to needle me? I took a deep breath. 'Brand, they knew too much. About me, about my latest orders. How could they possibly have known?'

'Without supernatural means? Could be any one of a dozen ways. Magister Rathrox told them. The Exaltarch told them. Someone else who knows told them. Perhaps they have spies in the palace. More to the point, why the whole rigmarole anyway?'