Paul Mcauley: Ancients of Days

Yama knew these suras by heart, and had been paying little attention to the praise-singer. But now the man paused, and began to recite a sura from the last pages of the Puranas.

The world first showed itself as a golden embryo of sound. As soon as the thoughts of the Preservers turned to the creation of the world, the long vowel which described the form of the world vibrated in the pure realm of thought, and re-echoed on itself.

From the knots in the play of vibrations, the crude matter of the world curdled. In the beginning, it was no more than a sphere of air and water with a little mud at the center.

And the Preservers raised up a man and set on his brow their mark, and raised up a woman of the same kind, and set on her brow the same mark.

From the white clay of the middle region did they shape this race, and quickened them with their marks. And those of this race were the servants of the Preservers.

And in their myriads this race shaped the world after the ideas of the Preservers.

Yama’s blood quickened. It was a description of how the Preservers had created the first bloodline of Confluence: the Builders, his own bloodline, long thought to have vanished with their masters into the black hole at the heart of the Eye of the Preservers. He saw that Syle was watching him, and knew that Syle knew. Knew what he was.

Knew why he was here. The sura had been chosen deliberately.

Luria rang her little bell. The attendants cleared away the bowls of rice and the dishes of sauces, and sprinkled the diners with water perfumed with rose petals.

“You will watch the exercises tomorrow,” Luria told Syle. “I want to know how the training of our defense force is proceeding.”

Without looking away from Yama, Syle said, “I am sure that it is in capable hands, pythoness.” Yes, he knew.

But what did he want?

Tamora said loudly, “Well, we didn’t kill anyone today, and I believe my friend’s wound is healing.”

She had spoken out of turn. Luria took no more notice than if she had belched.

Syle said, “I watched the exercises yesterday, pythoness, but I will do so again tomorrow. It is very diverting. You should see how well the thralls march.”

“It’s a pity they can’t fight,” Tamora said.

“I have had a presentiment,” Luria told Syle. “You will see to it that all is well.”

Tamora said, “If you’ve seen something with your cards or dice, perhaps you could share it with us. It could help our plans.”

There was a silence. Syle turned very pale. At last, Luria said in a soft croak, “Not dice, dear. Dice and cards are for street performers who take your money and promise anything they think will make you happy. I deal in the truth.”

Syle said, “The pythoness entered a trance today. If she has said little to you, it is because she is exhausted. You will see how hard divination is in two days’ time, at the public inquisition.”

“Syle likes to explain things,” Luria said. “You will show him the progress you have made. He will then explain it to me.”

“Oh, pythoness, you should see how the thralls march!” Syle said again, and began to describe the precision of the martial drills at length, falling silent only when the last course, iced fruits and sweet yellow wine, was served.

Luria ate a token mouthful, then rang her bell. The praise-sayer fell silent. The meal was over. Luria’s chair arrived and she was helped into it by two tall strong attendants and carried away. Another attendant took Daphoene’s arm, and she rose and followed him with the childlike trust of a sleepwalker. Her mouth hung open and there was a slick of drool on her chin.

As the thralls began to move out of the hall, followed by flocks of faint fireflies, Rega told her husband, “You are kinder to Luria than she deserves. Certainly kinder to her than she is to you, who works so hard for her.”

Syle said mildly, “She worries all the time about the quit claim, and of course about the public inquisition. We are all a little short of patience, these days.”

Rega said, “Luria has her fine troops, who can march in formation all day long without missing a step. Why should she worry about the quit claim?” She smiled sweetly at Tamora and said, “You’re doing your best, I’m sure, but you must wish for proper soldiers.”

“We only have what we have,” Syle said, again gazing at Yama. “I’m sure the thralls will fight to the death.”

“I’m sure they will,” Rega said. She held out her hand, and her husband helped her to her feet. Her round belly swayed, stretching the panels of her satin dress. She added, “A very quick death it will be, too. Yama, Tamora, I don’t blame either of you. Our good pythoness has said that there will be victory, and so she does not trifle to provide the means to ensure it. Of course, it isn’t possible to sell even one tenth of her jewels and trinkets. Although she does not wear or use any of them, they are heirlooms and cannot be sacrificed for anything as trivial as the defense of the Department. And so we must make do, with the fate of the Department in the balance.”

Tamora drew herself up. She was very angry. She showed her sharp white teeth and said, “If you find anything I have done that does not satisfy you, then I will resign at once.”

Syle made fluttering motions with his hands. “Please. Nothing of the sort is intended. I myself have seen how well you have drilled our thralls. A thrilling sight, to see them march!”

“Then perhaps your reports have been misunderstood,” Tamora said. “Excuse me. I have work to do.”

Syle caught Yama’s arm and said quietly, “Walk with me, if you will.”

Yama looked after Tamora, but she had leapt from the platform and was already halfway across the refectory, the crowd of thralls parting before her as rice parts before the scythe. He said, “Of course.”

Syle’s touch, its implication of familiarity, excited him.

He felt the same quickening nervousness which had possessed him whenever he had attempted a dive off the end of the new quay into the strong river currents in which the children of the Amnan sported so easily. Not precisely fear, but an anticipation that heightened his senses. He liked Syle too much to be afraid of him, and not only because the tall, slightly built man, with his delicate bones, fine features, and white, feathery hair, reminded him of his sweetheart, Derev.

Syle had taught him much about the history of the Department of Vaticination and of its trade of prognostication. There were very many ways of gaining foresight, Syle said, but almost all of them were false, and those that remained could be divided into no more than three types. The least of these was sortilege, the drawing of lots, or astragalomancy, the use of dice or buckle-bones or sticks, neither of which, as Luria had pointed out, were practiced in the Department, although they were much abused by charlatans. Of more merit were those methods classed as divination, in which signs were scried in the client’s physiognomy, as in metascopy or chiromancy, or in the landscape, or in dust cast on a mirror (Syle said that gold was best, but the filings of any metal were better than ordinary dust or the husks of rice grains used by village witches). The form most often performed by the Department was rhabdomancy, or dowsing, used to find lost property or to find the best place for the site of a house or to locate a hidden spring. Finally, there was true foresight obtained through visions, either in dreams or in waking trances. It was the most difficult and most powerful method of all, and it was by custom what the pythonesses would attempt in two days’ time at the public inquisition, although these days most clients wanted answers to trivial questions, to find things that were lost or hidden (wills were a perennial favorite, for many slighted by the wishes of rich, dead relatives came to believe that, hidden somewhere, there was a true will which would favor them), to speak with the dead, or to gain assurance of the success of a new business or a marriage.