David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Mejana sat on a wooden bench, her large frame wrapped in a pale blue shawl over an elegant, though voluminous, white gown. Gold bands glittered on her wrists, gold rings shone on every finger, and she wore a gold torque upon her neck. Beside her sat Boru, the agent of Ammon.

'You cannot stay here, Mejana. She will bring Avatar soldiers.'

'Where would I go?' replied the middle-aged woman. 'And, besides, had she wished me to be captured she would have held my men captive. No. I will see her.'

'I cannot be here when she comes,' said Boru, glancing up at the sky. The sun was nearing noon. The burly man rose and leaned in to kiss the fat woman's cheek. As he did so he produced a dagger from behind his back and plunged it into her chest. She gasped and fell back. 'I am sorry, lady,' he told her. 'But I cannot risk your capture.' Dragging his knife clear and wiping it clean on the dying woman's shawl, he strode from the garden.

Mejana slid sideways, then fell from the bench. She was lying on her back now and looking up at the clear blue sky. Three gulls flew high overhead, and she watched them bank and head back over the sea. There was little pain from the wound, but she felt her mind swimming, losing focus.

She had always known that once she took on the might of the Avatar her life would be at risk. But she had never dreamed the death blow would come from an ally. In that moment she knew with certainty that the Erek-jhip-zhonad were never truly allies. I have been used, she thought, sadly. Images crowded her mind, vying for attention. Her grandson Pendar, her nephew Baj, her daughter Lari. So beautiful. Lari had been crystal-drawn twenty-two years ago for the crime of loving an Avatar. One of her twins had also been killed. Pendar had escaped that fate, for he had been ill and was in the house of a neighbour. The Avatars had not killed Lari but they had robbed her of youth and middle age, releasing her the same day as a withered crone. That had been hard. So hard. So savagely against what nature intended. Mejana had been in her late thirties, still attractive and supple. Now she nursed her aged, almost senile, daughter. Mejana had used her considerable wealth to try to buy back those lost years, She had bribed officials, sent gifts, petitioned the Questor General. She had begged and pleaded for Lari to be given a second chance at life. Then Lari died.

Mejana groaned. Now there was pain. The wound in her chest was hot and prickly and deep inside Mejana could feel blood filling her lungs. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Lying very still she thought again of Lari. After the funeral Mejana had been inconsolable. For days she sat in her house, organizing no parties for rich Vagars, arranging no orgies. Her girls had come to her, beseeching her to allow them to work.

Slowly her grief turned to anger, then to hot rage, and finally to a cold impenetrable fury. The Avatars were the enemy, and Mejana knew she would devote the rest of her life to bringing them down. Once arrived, the thought stayed with her. She brought in builders to work on the house. The twenty rooms used by her entertainers were made a little smaller, creating narrow gaps between the walls, and spy holes were set along them. Now when the rich men and women arrived for their pleasure they could be observed and heard. Her entertainers, both male and female, were urged to get their clients to talk about themselves. 'It will make them relax,' she said. 'Everyone loves talking about themselves and what they do. They will enjoy your company all the more, and will pay you even more handsomely.'

Once the house had reopened Mejana took to creeping down the hidden gaps, listening and noting. Day by day, week by week, Mejana gathered information. Infinitely patient she wrote everything in a huge ledger. For two years she did nothing more than gather information. Then she contacted the ambassador to the Erek-jhip-zhonad. His name was Anwar, and he was a trusted adviser to the old king. She gave him information concerning troop movements near the borders and kept him apprised of regiment strengths. Closing her house she wintered in Morak, the Erek-jhip-zhonad capital. Anwar taught her many things — ciphers and codes — and schooled her in the arts of information retrieval.

'It is unlikely, in the immediate future,' said Anwar one day, 'that the Avatar will be overthrown by an outside force. The seeds of destruction must be sown from within. There are hundreds of thousands of Vagars. If they should rise, not all the power of the Avatar can stop them.'

Mejana returned to Egaru with a new brief: to recruit and train an army of freedom fighters from within the cities. A secret army that would, one day, take control. Slowly, over the next ten years, she built such a force.

And now the Pajists had sympathizers in every aspect of government, including the Vagar army. Mejana's work was perilous. Mostly she stayed in the background, using others to relay information or to seek sympathizers.

But on three occasions in the last four years agents of the Erek-jhip-zhonad had been arrested and crystal-drawn.

Each of them could have betrayed her. None did.

When the old king died and his son Ammon succeeded him Mejana had wondered what level of support she would continue to receive. Anwar, old now but still possessed of great cunning, was promoted to First Councillor, and with increased funding the Pajists grew in strength.

Earlier this year Mejana had authorized a daring plan.

Attacks were made on prominent Vagars who supported the Avatar regime. Three were killed, one paralysed when he tried to flee and fell from his balcony. Now the work of the Pajists became an open secret. Wherever people gathered they would talk about the attacks and what they meant. Through this Mejana's agents were able to gather more information and recruit still more fighters to the cause.

But the most important breakthrough came when Mejana ordered the kidnapping of Questor Baliel. The youngest of the Avatar High Council, Baliel was considered by Mejana to be less than courageous. He had attended private orgies at her home and she had observed him closely. He was filled with petty ambitions and believed his lack of political success could be laid at the door of those envious of his wit and intelligence. Like most stupid people he regarded himself highly, and when faced with superior men branded them 'intellectual' or 'lacking in common sense'.

Four Pajists had grabbed him as he left the house. Throwing a grain sack over his head they had beaten him unconscious and carried him to a warehouse close to the dock. Here Mejana had visited him. The Avatar was locked in a dark and windowless cellar. When Mejana entered he had thrown himself at her feet, begging her to help him.

'I am surprised and saddened to find you like this, lord,' she said. 'The evil men who have captured you have asked me — as a friend of yours — to tell you their demands.'

'Demands?' he said, from his knees. 'I will pay them anything. Anything!'

'They do not require money, lord. They require information.'

'What information?'

'They told me to tell you that you must teach the Six Rituals to a young man. They want a Vagar to learn to use the crystals.'

'Sweet Heaven! I can't do that. No Vagar could master the art. Please help me, Mejana.'

'I can do nothing, lord. They have me locked in a cell close by. They say they will kill me if you do not obey them. And they will certainly kill you.'

'Kill me? I cannot die. Oh Mejana, what must I do?'

Crouching down beside the whimpering man she stroked his long blue hair. 'If, as you say, no Vagar can learn the rituals, then what harm is there in teaching them? It will keep you alive. And they have promised to move you to a better room, with lanterns and good food. Also,' she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, 'they have promised that I can go free. Once I am clear of them I can alert the Watch and you will be rescued.'