Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“The gods are too divine to be captured by a mortal hand, in word or in stone.”

She frowned at his tone, hearing a faint echo of the priestʼs rantings in the terse note it held. “These are the Tyrants,” he went on, gesturing at the three figures. “Progenitors of the Dermos. Once they ruled all the world with vile magics, casting down any who dared speak against them, a triumvirate of tyranny. In time the gods brought them down, banishing them to the fire pits beneath the earth where they spawned the Dermos. No, these are not the gods.” He moved away, going to a wall to play the lamplight over the stone. “This is where youʼll find them.”

Reva moved to the wall, finding the stone to be rough, shaped by unskilled hands into a vaguely flat surface, and marked with tiny indentations from end to end. Peering closer she saw the indentations were symbols of some kind, arranged into clusters, neat at first but becoming more irregular as they progressed along the wall.

“Scripture?” she asked Varulek.

“Only a few in every generation are chosen,” he said. “Those with the strength and will to contain the essence of the gods, their hands guided to impart their wisdom and guidance, chipped into stone whilst life and strength remain. Though, inevitably, a blessing of such power has a price.”

He moved along the wall, the light revealing yet more scripture, every cluster and symbol becoming less uniform until they were nothing more than vague scratches on the stone. The work of a madman scrawling in the dark, Reva concluded, deciding it best left unsaid for the moment. As he moved past her she noted again the tattoos covering Varulekʼs hands, finding an unmistakable similarity to the wall markings.

“What does it say?” she asked. “You can read it canʼt you?”

He nodded, eyes still fixed on the wall. “Though I doubt there is another soul in all the world who could.” He moved to the far end of the wall, where the markings were most coherent. “‘The Tyrants return,ʼ” he read, finger tracking over the first cluster. “‘Hidden behind the face of a hero, unseen Dermos, set free upon the earth. Even this refuge will be lost to the gods.ʼ”

This refuge. “The arena,” she said, “it remained a shrine, even after they banished the gods.” Her gaze returned to his hands. “You are a priest.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging her insight. “Perhaps the last. The secret charge of my family for generations, as is this arena. My ancestors had charge of this temple long before the Council rose with its pestilent notions of rationality. We were wise enough to make a show of throwing off our piety, amongst the first to swear loyalty to Council and empire, the first to accuse others. Building trust that lasted all the ages. So complete was the destruction of the gods we were able to reclaim the symbol of our true allegiance.” He held up his hand, splaying the fingers to display the tattoos. “The Council thinking it no more than a tradition of those charged with maintaining the arena. She knew differently of course.”

“The Empress knows what you are?”

“She knew long before her ascension. She came here years ago, when she wore a different body. ‘You have a secret,ʼ she told me, commanding that I bring her here or face denunciation. Knowing one word from her would be enough to secure my execution, I complied. And she laughed.” His mouth twisted in rage and shame. “She mocked this divine place.” He calmed himself with an effort, pointing to the plinth between the three statues. “But she stopped when she saw that.”

Reva angled her head to study the plinth once more, finding little remarkable in it save for the precision of its construction. It was free of any markings, anything that might indicate its purpose. She moved towards it, stepping between the woman and the bearded man. A font, perhaps? She leaned closer, extending a hand towards the indentation in the centre.

“Do not touch it!” His voice was barely more than a whisper but held such a depth of warning her hand instantly froze.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I do not know. Nor did any who came before me. But it is the most implacable commandment instilled in every member of my family since we undertook our divine duty: do not touch the stone.”

“Did she touch it? When she came here?”

He shook his head. “I had hoped she might, but no. She knows too much. But she was not alone when she came here. There was a young man, red-clad, barely older than you. Also, plainly besotted with her. ‘If you love me,ʼ she told him, ‘touch the stone.ʼ And he did.”

Varulek moved closer, playing the torchlight over the surface of the plinth; the black surface gleamed. Centuries down here and not a speck of dust, Reva saw. “What happened to him?”

“She didnʼt want me to see, commanding me to stand at the door. But I saw the boy shudder, crying out as if in both pain and pleasure. She leaned close to him, whispering some question I couldnʼt hear. The boyʼs reply was faint but filled with awe, holding his hands up, hands that glowed with some strange light, flickering like lightning. She told him to touch it again, ‘see what other gifts it brings,ʼ she said. And he touched it once more. This time, he gave no cry, becoming very still the instant his hand touched the stone, as still as these statues, giving no answer to any whispered question. I saw her smile, a smile of great satisfaction… then she killed him, stepping closer to break his neck. ‘Give that to your beasts,ʼ she told me, pointing to the corpse. ‘I shall come back one day, some years from now I expect. Or much sooner if I learn your tongue has been loose.ʼ”

“No other has seen it?” Reva asked. “None of her… fellow creatures.”

Varulek shook his head. “Only her.”

Keeping secrets of her own. Reva remembered the Empressʼs whispered offer, When my beloved comes to me, we will bring down the Ally and all the world will be ours… What is she plotting? Reva sighed in frustration, wishing she could ask for Velissʼs counsel, she would reckon this in an instant. As would the queen.

“I can offer no insight here,” she told Varulek. “But if you can somehow convey a message to my queen…”

“An impossibility. I am bound to this place by more than duty. To stray outside the precincts of the arena by a single step would mean the three deaths.”

“Then why show me this?”

“This is not what I want to show you.” He returned to the wall, holding the torch close to a barely discernible cluster of symbols near the end, just before they dwindled into utter obscurity. “Here,” he said, beckoning her closer, his finger tracking over the marks. “‘Livella will be made flesh when the Fire Queen rises.ʼ”

“Livella?” She remembered Lieza saying the name that morning, in a voice laden with fear. She found herself drawing back from the sudden intensity of Varulekʼs gaze.

“A great warrior of legend,” he murmured. “Favoured by the gods with skill and strength beyond that of any woman. She journeyed into the pits and fought the Dermos themselves, killing three. One with a sword, one with a spear, and one…” He handed her the torch and moved away, going to a shadowed corner of the cavern and returning with something wrapped in a threadbare cloak. She saw how his hands trembled with excitement as he drew back the cloth, revealing a stave little under five feet in length, the wood pale and shiny from use, decorated on either side of the central span, one side showing crossed swords, the other crossed axes.

“And one,” Varulek went on, breathless now with mingled awe and fear, eyes shining in the torchlight. “One she killed with a bow fashioned from wych elm.”