‘We do not wish to join your Empire,’ Tayan said when she paused for breath, and his voice was as smooth as polished jade. ‘But let us not try to solve everything in one day. A peace-weaving traditionally lasts for thirty days, so we have plenty of time to—’
Enet threw back her head and laughed, genuinely amused. ‘Thirty days?’ she gasped, one hand pressed to her chest. ‘You expect me to sit here and listen to such nonsense for thirty days? Only because you arrived unexpected and unasked-for at my home have I done you the courtesy of listening so far. But do not forget: you are in my home, and you are here unannounced. You come in spouting traditions and waving around herbs and you demand my attention and time – and then you demand thirty days of it? No, honoured guests, no. I am curious, and so I will grant you seven days of my valuable time. You will stay in my home and I will show you the city and Pechaqueh ways and all that might be yours upon joining the Empire of Songs.’
She stood and they stared up at her, dumbstruck. Enet snapped her fingers and the slave kneeling behind the peace-weavers rose, collecting their bags.
‘I’m sure that by the end of our time together you will be eager to return home to tell your people of the virtues of laying down their weapons and surrendering. We will speak again tomorrow. You, show them to a room and feed them.’
‘You subjugate your neighbours and keep them as property,’ Betsu said, her voice heavy with scorn as she rose. ‘You worship the Drowned. You steal from the balance and the Ixachipan you profess to love suffers as a result. Ancestors’ bones are disturbed, spirits forced from their resting places in tree and rock. That is not balance; it is sacrilege against Malel – against the world. And you say we will beg to join you in this wholesale slaughter?’
‘Betsu, peace,’ the shaman snapped, his eyes flashing with an uneasy mix of anger and pleading. ‘This is not how to begin a peace-weaving.’
‘How much land is enough land?’ Betsu demanded, strident.
Enet put her head on one side and gave them a quizzical smile that masked her seething outrage. ‘That is for the Singer to decide. The song is a glory to all who hear it – as you know. We wish only for as many peoples as possible to live within the joy of the song. We do not steal; we bring a gift of immeasurable bounty to those who join our Empire. This is something you will come to understand.’
‘Join your Empire?’ Betsu mocked. ‘You mean be enslaved by it. Stolen from our homes and our ancestors. Turned into things.’
Enet shrugged. ‘What better way to learn how our society works than from the bottom? With faithful service, slaves are made servants who receive compensation. Servants save up enough to pay off their debt and become free. The free live and farm and make babies and raise livestock under the glory of the song. Peace, peace-weavers,’ she added with another smile. ‘That is what we offer the world.’
Betsu’s face reddened, veins standing out in her throat.
‘Betsu,’ the shaman warned in a low voice. ‘We are guests—’
‘Your Singer has ordered you to flood over the land like locusts, conquering all in your path and forcing them to serve you like dogs, but it was not always so. This noise you call a song is poison and it has poisoned you all. We will never—’
Enet’s polite mask fell from her face. Her slave knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor. The guards rushed forward from their places around the walls. ‘The Singer is a living god and the song is his grace spread across us,’ the Great Octave said in a soft, deadly voice. ‘It unites us in one great, glorious purpose, a purpose every Pecha believes in. And our free, our servants and our slaves all hold that purpose in their hearts alongside the glory of the song.’ She gestured to the slave. ‘You. You’re happy, aren’t you?’
The man bobbed his head and raised it just enough to speak. ‘Of course, high one.’
‘Do you even know his name?’ Betsu demanded.
Enet didn’t so much as glance at her. She wouldn’t be able convince Betsu, but the shaman. Oh, the shaman was promising. ‘The song would light up your lives,’ she said, soft and coaxing now. ‘It would take your small, sad world and polish it like jade. Like pearls from the ocean. It would enhance everything you did and saw and ate and smelt, every feeling, every decision. The song is the world, Tayan.’
She stepped between her guards and put her hand on the shaman’s chest, felt his heart thudding against his ribs, and looked deep enough to see his spirit burning in his eyes. ‘It has been inside you for weeks now, brightening you, glorifying you; I see its light in your face. When you reach the border you will no longer hear it. You will be lost. Bereft. Don’t throw it away. Don’t discard the glory inside you and condemn your thousands of brave warriors to pointless death.’
‘She is a scorpion, Tayan. Her words are venom.’
‘Betsu, peace,’ the shaman said, but he neither looked at her nor moved away from the pressure of Enet’s hand on his chest. They stared into each other and she felt him waver, she felt him teeter on the edge of surrender. And step back. ‘May we speak again tomorrow, Great Octave?’ he asked formally.
‘I have duties in the source, with the Singer,’ Enet said. ‘But I will find some time to show you the city.’ She walked to the door and looked back over her shoulder. ‘You are lucky you arrived when you did,’ she added as if it was an afterthought. ‘The new moon will come before you leave. You can take part in our ritual offerings to the holy Setatmeh.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Betsu demanded, clenching her fists.
Enet only smiled. ‘Under the song.’
THE SINGER
The source, Singing City, Pechacan, Empire of Songs
The song is eternal. My song shall be eternal, spreading across Ixachipan and then the world until all know my strength and the Pechaqueh power.
I, Xac, 174th Singer of Pechacan, wielder of the magic that binds the Empire, will be the once, last, and only Singer, walking at the world spirit’s side for eternity.
I honour my ancestors, who have brought the Empire so close to its final glory. Because of them and the grand work of expansion they began, I shall wake the world spirit.
Because of myself and all the reverence I am owed, I shall achieve greatness so radiant it will reflect back through the years to burnish their legacy brighter.
Through me Ixachipan will be brought to harmonious glory. Through me will be an end to war and division. Through me will the Pechaqueh rule supreme and the Empire be prosperous. Through me the world spirit will awaken.
And with that awakening, I shall wax into my full power. None shall withstand us. None shall want to withstand us. The world spirit and I will make a garden of the world, and a music of living. All shall know my name. All shall know me.
For I am the Singer, and my will is stone.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
