The audience hushed when they watched the women enter. Each of them had heard the Celestials’ decision to postpone the proceedings for the sake of these strangers, and each wondered what could news could possibly be so important from outside the city. As the messengers reached the center of the great hall, it began to resonate with the itching whispers of speculation and suspicion. The faces of the four Alvina looked down from tall thrones at each side of the square room. They were the size of humans, and yet somehow larger; the minds behind their eyes knew so many things, and so little.
“Here,” Skerr offered, and there was a smile in her voice. She read each message as it was presented to her, then passed it to a runner, who delivered it to the next. The ceremony continued in much the same silence, rolling with the low murmur of impatient observers, until each of the four knew the contents of each message. Moving sunwise, they ended with Laat, who read them to the populace with a businessman’s diction.
Exclamations rose like thunder from the commons, falling in on the messengers with fear and disbelief, accusations and suggestions and hatred. As the rabble roused, their leaders remained silent for a time. There was no link shared between them save the association of generations, and yet the glances they exchanged were a discussion. They knew what it meant, the power that would be unleashed by these storms, the chaos that would rise from their exposure to the Heart of the World. They acknowledged the potential in it, and knew it was not theirs to seize.
“Silence!” Uphis bellowed.
“Precautions will be taken,” Laat lisped, even before the echoes of his fellow had wholly dissipated. His words were quick, and he was visibly weary of the level of alarm displayed by his people. “I propose that on the night of Winter’s final day, all will remain indoors, accounted for, and out of the shadows, of course. Shops should be closed, and the streets patrolled as they would be at night.”
“We have faced these dangers before,” Xannos observed, waving a dismissive hand. “We are well prepared to do so again.”
“Agreed,” said the Blades Alvina, unafraid and impatient. “All forces will be directed towards the monsters which would spill our city’s blood, as the Seer would have us believe. To each his own Quarter, as if it were night.”
Skerr lifted a hand and urged softly, “We must unite against this prophecy. We cannot control the promise of an attack separately. I will focus my forces on the Aperture, as well as the Gates and the Docks, with your leave.”
Uphis shrugged. “I will command your forces, if you will give them to me. You should focus on your fields, and the tolls the land will pay.”
“I did not mean to say—”
“Your farmers have been given ample time to prepare,” Laat interjected, stilling the tension if only for a moment. “Harvest early, stock well, waste no seed. Cast your Season’s blessing a day late.”
“That I will,” Skerr declared, clearly furious.
“The aftermath is more controllable than the onslaught.” Xannos sang, diverting the flow of conversation to more important matters. “If we cannot prevent the city from falling, we can prepare to rebuild. If our hard work must be ruined, we will rise up with even greater structures. We will defeat the storms of destruction in spirit, as well as blood.”
“That is all very well, but what of our people? We cannot hope to rebuild them. The Infirmary will be busy, on Winter-Two. What of the healers they have sent?”
“I will keep them.” Skerr answered.
“And I.” Xannos said.
Ever the diplomat, Laat suggested, “They have offered five. One for each quarter and one for the Square.” He glanced at Uphis.
“Very well,” he spat. “It is decided. You may leave.”
The four of them fidgeted as the hall held its breath. The Konti were allowed to say their piece, if they so desired, and then were escorted briskly away, to be tucked out of sight and out of mind. Eyes followed them just as they had before, without the awe or gratitude they deserved. There was only the same distrust, the old distaste. Their message would fade by fifty days’ end, but the truth of it would not. And Nyka would be ready, even if her people were not. |
