The Promise of the Child

Part 13 (updated daily)

The Perennial who had spoken – one Christophe De Rivarol – shuffled in his seat. He looked among his contemporaries, none of whom appeared to wish to speak. 'Word was carried from the Old World by an Amaranthine pilgrim who had been visiting the aristocracy of Vilnius Second. I have it on good authority that she drowned. You must know that it was not unpleasant.'

Not unpleasant? he wondered. Sotiris could think of few more unpleasant ways to die.

'Thank you, Christophe.' He regarded the assemblage of Perennials. 'I know that you all cared for her as I did, and that she was beloved in the Utopia. It is no great tragedy that she died in a place she called home and after many, many years of life.'

A murmur of approval percolated from the seated Amaranthine.

'Will you take sluice, Sotiris?' asked De Rivarol with something like relief, directing the attention of a pantaloon-clothed Melius to the gleaming jug at his side. The Melius moved silently to take the jug and approached Sotiris. He accepted, watching the creature pour in a flamboyant yet precisely controlled manner, and took a swig of the water. It was speckled with a silt of tiny rubies cut into the shapes of mythical creatures.

'The Parliament assumes you will apply for leave to visit the Old World,' said another Amaranthine, sliding a huge bound stack of gilded papers across the table beside him.

Sotiris looked at the man, then at the stack. 'I should imagine so.'

The Amaranthine nodded briskly at the Melius, who lifted the papers and presented them to Sotiris. The giant's massive, too-many-fingered hand then flourished a long plumed pen, cut from the black feather of a Gliese magpie. Sotiris studied the copperplate script for a moment, leafing through the declarations of intent.

'The Devout are aware of your loss, Sotiris. They will gladly accommodate you during your stay if you desire it.'

He glanced back at the Amaranthine. Trang Hui Neng, fully twelve thousand, five hundred and twenty-eight years old, was third in line to the Immortal Throne by the old claims. Sotiris had never liked the man, though they had managed to remain icily cordial for many hundreds of years. It was no great secret that Hui Neng supported the Devout and their Pretender, this fabled Aaron the Long-Life, wishing to see him enthroned as the new Firmamental Emperor before the year was out. Sotiris failed to see how such a position might hasten Hui Neng's own ascent to the throne, or benefit any of the influential Perennials who shared his views. The current Emperor's mind had faded some time ago, much like that of Sotiris's own dear sister. It would surely not be long before he was taken to the Old World to live out his final days, and the ritual of succession could begin anew.

'I shall bear that in mind,' Sotiris said, touching the nib of the pen to the paper.

'Very well,' Hui Neng said, watching Sotiris sign the declarations. 'It may be prudent not to tarry in the Utopias. The pilgrims there say that the conflict brewing on the Old World is already spreading to the Upper Provinces.'

He ignored the comment for a moment, perhaps designed to stir up some detail of his plans during his time on the Old World. Hytner had been right; even with news of Iro's death they were playing him to see which way he would fall.

'You wish me to visit the Devout,' he said vacantly, 'perhaps to see my old friend Maneker – is that it?'

Hui Neng and De Rivarol smiled at each other. 'Only once your mourning is complete, of course,' De Rivarol said. The sea winds wailed for a moment somewhere within the acres of golden cloisters beneath the dome, and Sotiris smelled the tang of salt in the air.

'You have not heard from him, I suppose?' Hui Neng asked, motioning for the papers. The huge Melius muttered under his breath and strode forward again to collect them and the pen from Sotiris's hand.

'Maneker?' He shook his head. 'Have you?'

'We have not,' Hui Neng said coldly. 'There are Amaranthine who would see him captured, returned to the Firmament and perhaps humiliated for questioning the order of succession.' He spread his hands, indicating the quiet, seated figures. 'We know you do not share their views, my dear Sotiris. We know you understand the importance of hearing this Immortal's claim before judgement is made.'

He looked levelly at Hui Neng. 'I adhere to the wishes of the Most Venerable Firmamental Emperor, and those of the Satrapy Parliaments.'

Hui Neng's eyes met his, then dropped to his hands. 'You have been given the eastern sea chamber, should you wish to rest before your onward journey. We would like to extend once more our immeasurable condolences.'

'Thank you,' Sotiris said, looking among the assembled Perennials, one of whom was a radiantly beautiful female Amaranthine whose name he could barely remember. He stood, nodding to her and placing a hand on the back of the ornamental chair. 'What will become of the Melius I passed at the doors?'

De Rivarol raised his eyebrows. 'Thieves are thrown into the Orifice Sea. It is the law.'

Sotiris considered the back of the chair, nodding. 'I see. Well, I should take my leave.' He glanced with a weak smile at the Parliament. 'It has been a long day.'

Sotiris made his way alone through the long golden halls, pausing at a junction as he tried to remember the way. A Melius servant had been assigned to help him but he had sent it back, preferring to be alone. He stopped at a slanting patch of grey late-afternoon light, leaning to look through the circular open window to the shore below. Waves heaved and tore at the brown rocks beneath, hurling surf high into the wind. Sotiris gazed at the scene for some time, listening to the waves' booming sigh as he took in the haze of Vaulted Land arcing above the furious sea.

At length, he turned from the window, continuing in the dim golden light to the entrance of his chamber, where clean white linens had been stacked on a gilded footstool in anticipation that he would wish to bathe.

Sotiris pushed open the door and went to sit on the vast four-poster bed that dominated the chamber like a golden sarcophagus, dumping the linen on the blankets. As the door swung shut, his breath caught slightly. He placed a hand to his eyes, fingers tightening at his brow as he held his breath. Finally – when he was sure the sound wouldn't carry in the empty halls – he allowed it free in a trembling sigh, pressing his hands against his face as he wept.