“That’s so,” agreed Dal. “But most of the Houses are with us-either really with us, or holding off to see what happens next, depending on their spirit. The conservative faction of the Jaldeans, the Old Believers, are also making overtures toward the Tarkin, now that it’s obvious the New Believers have lost so much of their former power. But if Tek-aKet does not regain his health, and a Ballot is demanded… ” Dal lifted his shoulders and spread his hands. He turned his eyes toward Parno, leaning against the wall within touching distance of Dhulyn.
“We would lose our leverage, our ability to act freely against the Shadow,” Parno said. “We stand in a position of strength only so long as we can be seen as acting on the Tarkin’s orders. Without him, we have no authority.”
Dhulyn looked between the two men. If it was left to Dal, she realized, there would always be a connection between them, no matter what Parno thought.
“He must be made well again,” Zelianora said. “There must be a way.”
“Gundaron of Valdomar,” Dhulyn said, turning to look down the length of the table. “Have your researches told you anything that could help us?”
The boy glanced quickly at Mar before he spoke. “I’m afraid I know of nothing that might help the Tarkin,” he said. His voice, though quiet, was trained for the lecture hall, clear and carrying. “At least-there are several indications that this is not the first time we’ve been visited by this Shadow. The very oldest texts, those which date to the times of the Caids-we always thought they were legends really, myths, but many of them speak of a time of great peril, a time when the world itself was in grave danger. Texts speak of floods and earthquakes, but there’s one of the Eshcaidath scrolls-” Here the boy sat up straighter, gaining poise and confidence from the familiarity of reporting on his researches, and looked at Dhulyn, waiting for her nod of recognition before he continued. “It speaks of an ‘undoing’, a kind of dissolving, of large areas of land where there seemed to be no land, and where beasts and men died blue, as if their breathing had stopped.”
Yes, Dhulyn thought, her heart pounding. That’s what the Shadow had meant, when it spoke of making nothing. What it had done so casually to the small bench in the Tarkina’s room, it wished to do to the whole world.
Cullen leaned forward, drawing in his attention from the distance where Dhulyn was sure he followed his Racha’s flight.
“The Dead Lands,” he said. Dhulyn found she was nodding along with the Scholar.
“But the peril was overcome?” Zelianora said.
“It was. The people called upon the Sleeping God, and the God awoke. When the peril was banished, the God slept again, or departed, or, well-again the texts differ.”
“But have the same essential meaning.” Dhulyn shifted her weight to her left leg. “Beslyn-Tor told us. The Green Shadow fears the God.”
“The New Believers said,” Bet-oTeb said, her girl’s light voice trembling, “that we are the dream of the God, and if he awakens, the world will be destroyed.”
Gundaron shook his head, his lips pressed together. “There’s just no basis for that idea in any text, book, or scroll. And the Old Believers among the Jaldeans have always denied it. The ancient stories say that the God awakened to destroy this great evil, this peril. So the God was awake, do you understand? It destroyed the peril and then…”
“Fell asleep again?” Parno’s voice was a soft rumble.
Gundaron shrugged, and nodded.
“Are we in any doubt that this is the same peril?” Karlyn-Tan asked.
“Given the use it has made of the New Believers, and its insistence that the Sleeping God not be awakened, I think not,” Dhulyn said.
“How do we awaken the God?” Strangely, it was Bet-oTeb who voiced the question in everyone’s mind, as if, childlike, she was not afraid to ask.
Gundaron licked his lips, glanced again at Mar, and seemed to draw strength from her.
“The stories don’t say how,” he said. “Just that the call went out into the world, and the Sleeping God awoke and came.”
“How can they not say?” Zelianora massaged her temples with her fingertips.
“It’s not unusual,” Dhulyn said. “It’s the reason there are so many commentaries on the old books. The writers take a certain knowledge for granted, they assume a shared understanding. They say ‘the enemy,’ without naming or describing the foe-for them, there can be only one enemy, and description is unnecessary.”
“But how could this be?” Dal slapped the tabletop with his hand.
Parno shrugged. “When you tell someone how to catch fish, do you tell them what a fish is? What it looks like? Of course not, everyone knows what a fish is. But when we were in the deserts of Mondothir, we had to draw pictures of fish in the sands, for some of the tribes there had never seen one. These texts, they would be like that.”
“So Scholars try to understand fishing, without ever having seen a fish?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“We must remember,” Gun said. “What we have in our Libraries of the times of the Caids are mere scraps of their writings and knowledge. In his Commentaries, Holderon speculates that by the time the Shadow was finally defeated, so much of the land had been laid waste, blighted by its presence, that the rule of law collapsed. There followed a long period-no one knows how long, really, but it must have been generations, not years-before the books were gathered again, and learning reestablished. It was then that the first Jaldean Shrines, the Scholars’ Libraries and the Mercenary Schools were founded, then that the Marked were first gathered into Guilds.”
“And if the method of calling the Sleeping God is in one of these lost texts?” A silence followed Zelianora’s words.
“Excuse me,” Mar said, blushing as everyone in the room turned their eyes to her. “But surely calling the Sleeping God must have something to do with the Marked?” Her voice faltered as she took in the faces of those staring at her. “Mustn’t it? The Shadow has been gathering and destroying the Marked for months, maybe years. And Tek-aKet, when Dhulyn Wolfshead-I mean, the Shadow tried to destroy her as well.”
“Wonderful,” Parno growled. “And the only trained Marks more than half a moon away.”
“Cullen?”
The Cloudman was already on his feet and heading for the door. “Let me go to a rooftop. Sometimes I can reach over greater distances if I have greater height.”
“Dhulyn Wolfshead.” Zelianora Tarkina spoke into the silence that followed Cullen’s departure. “Before I return to Tek, I must ask. I have told myself time and again that I will not, but you have saved him twice now. Have you Seen anything?” The Tarkina rubbed her forehead with a hand that trembled. “I’m sorry. I know you would have said.”
“I have Seen nothing new for days,” Dhulyn said. “And what I have Seen-” she shook her head, frustration rising yet again. By force of will she kept herself from glancing down the table at Mar and Gundaron. “Without a context, the things I have Seen mean nothing. I do not even always recognize the people I See. Are my Sights important to our dilemma? How can I know?”
Zelianora bit her lip, then nodded her head. She patted her daughter’s arm and stood.
“Send for me if there is any change,” Dhulyn said to her. “And, Tarkina, don’t release him, no matter what he says or does.”
The face that turned toward her at these words was not the face of the loving wife, but the face of a Queen’s sister, and a future Tarkin’s mother. “No fear,” that regal face said. “I will not.”
Dhulyn leaned back against the wall as the discussion went on among Dal-eDal, Gundaron, and Parno. Her Partner pulled out Zelianora’s chair and sat down. She had nothing more to contribute, they were only rechewing the same mouthful of overcooked stew. She hadn’t told the strict truth, but only Parno knew it. She hadn’t Seen anything useful. She’d had several Visions more than once, but nothing that could help them. Mar-eMar in her silver gown. The unknown man-a mage? a king?-with his magic window. Was that a way to make the Shadow disperse? Would someone else call it into a different land? Gundaron sitting at a table, looking down on something. She repressed the urge to spit, mindful of Zelianora’s clean parquet floor. Now there was useful Sight. A Scholar, seated, looking down at a tabletop. If the Marks were a creation of the Caids, as some of the stories Gundaron had been talking about alleged, she wished she had a few of those old-timers with her now. She would give them the benefit of her thoughts on the subject of the Sight.