Ahtarrath, it was clear, would not disappear without a battle of titanic proportions. At the moment she could not decide whether to exult in that defiance or to whimper in fear.
A movement in the distance caught her eye – above the trees that surrounded the House of the Falling Leaves she saw one of the gleaming gold towers shiver, then topple. As it vanished from sight, a tremor like another earthquake shook the ground. She winced at the thought of the devastation that now lay beneath it. In the next moment the sound of a crash from the other side of the city reached their ears.
‘The second tower…’ whispered Damisa.
‘The city is already half deserted. Perhaps there were not too many people there—’
‘Perhaps they were the lucky ones,’ Damisa replied, and Tiriki could not find words to disagree with her. But for the moment at least, it appeared that everything likely to fall was already on the ground.
‘Someone get a broom,’ muttered Aldel; ‘we should get the rubble off of this floor—’
‘And who will sweep the rubble from the streets of the city?’ asked Iriel, her voice trembling on the edge of hysteria. ‘The end is upon us! No one will ever live here again!’
‘Control yourselves!’ Tiriki pulled herself together with an effort. ‘You have been told what to do when this moment arrived. Get dressed and put on your strongest shoes. Wear heavy cloaks even if it grows warm – they will protect you when ash and cinders fall. Take your bags and get down to the ships.’
‘But not everything is loaded,’ exclaimed Kalaran, trying to control his fear. ‘We were not able to get half the things we were supposed to take. The shaking has stopped. Surely we have a little time—’
Tiriki could still feel tremors vibrating through the floor, but it was true that for the moment the violence had passed.
‘Perhaps…but be careful. Some of you are assigned to carry messages for the priests. Do not enter any building that seems damaged – an aftershock might bring it down. And don’t take too long. In two hours you should all be on board. Remember, what men have made they can make again – your lives are more valuable now than anything you might risk them for! Tell me again what you are to do—’
One by one they listed their duties, and she approved or gave them new instructions. Calmer now, the acolytes scattered to gather their things. The architects of the House of the Falling Leaves had built better than they knew –though ornamentation littered the floor, the structure of the house was still secure.
‘I must return to the palace. Damisa, get your things and come with me—’
Tiriki waited at the door until her acolyte returned, watching the steady fall of cinders into the garden. Now and again a bit that was still glowing would set one of the plants to smoldering. New smoke was billowing from the city. Numbly she wondered how long before it was all afire.
‘I thought the sun was rising,’ said Damisa at her elbow, ‘but the sky is dark.’
‘The sun has risen, but I do not think that we will see it,’ answered Tiriki, looking up at the dark pall rolling across the sky. ‘This will be a day without a dawn.’
Cinders were still falling as Tiriki and Damisa set forth from the House of the Falling Leaves, adding danger from above to the hazards of navigating streets whose pavements were buckled by the earthquake and littered with fallen debris. When a particularly large piece of lava barely missed Tiriki, Damisa dashed into an abandoned inn and came back with two large pillows.
‘Hold it over your head,’ she said, handing one to Tiriki. ‘It will look silly, but it may protect you if something larger falls.’
Tiriki caught the note of incipient hysteria in her own answering laughter and cut it short, but the thought of what they must look like, scuttling through the shadowed streets like mushrooms with legs, kept a weird smile on her lips as they picked their way toward the palace.
It was the only amusement she was to find during that journey. Shocking as the devastation from yesterday’s quakes had been, she had at least been able to recognize the city. Today’s jolts had transformed the skyline into a place she did not know. She told herself that this morning’s tremor was only an aftershock, bringing down structures already weakened, but she knew that this time the earth had been wrenched in a different direction, and with every step she became more aware that what she felt beneath her feet now was not equilibrium, but rather a tenuous balance that at any moment might fail.
The chains that bind the Man with Crossed Hands are breaking…she thought, shivering despite the warmth in the air. One more effort will snap the last of them and he will be free…
The palace was deserted. When they reached her rooms, she saw that both Micail and his bag were gone. He will be waiting for me at the docks, she told herself. Snatching up her own satchel, she followed Damisa back out to the street and started down the hill.
The House of the Healers had collapsed, blocking the road. Tiriki paused, listening, but she heard nothing from within. She hoped that everyone had gotten out safely. Indeed, it was some time since she had seen anybody at all. Obviously, she told herself, the priests and city functionaries who lived and worked here had taken the warning to heart and were already seeking safety on the docks or the hills, but she could not quite suppress the fear that everyone was dead, and that when she and Micail sought Captain Reidel’s ship at last they would find the harbor empty, and have only ghosts for company as they waited for the island to fall.
Guided by Damisa, whose experience as a messenger had taught her the back ways of the upper city, they retraced their steps, turning toward the House of the Priests just up the hill.
As they ascended the Processional Walk, littered with fallen statues and the ruins of archways, Tiriki caught sight of a hurrying figure in sea boots and a brown traveling cloak.
‘Chedan!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here? Are the priests—’
‘Those holy fools! They claim to command spirits, but they cannot control themselves. Your husband is there now, trying to talk some sense into those who remain. Some have gone down to the ships as they were bid, and others have fled, the gods alone know where. They’re all half-mad, I think, begging him to use his powers to make it stop—’ He shook his head in disgust.
‘But Micail stretched himself to the utmost yesterday, and a little beyond. He can do no more. Can’t they understand?’
‘Can’t, or won’t—’ Chedan shrugged. ‘Frightened men are strangers to reason, but that husband of yours will sort them out. In the meantime, those of us who can still think straight have work to do. And who still survive—’ he added grimly. ‘The man who was to have led the team to load the Omphalos Stone was killed by a falling wall. I told Micail I’d take care of it, but there’s no one left here, or no one that is of any use, anyhow.’
‘There’s us,’ Damisa said stoutly, ‘and the other acolytes will be all right if they have something definite to do!’
For the first time, Chedan smiled. ‘Then lead us, if you can still find your way in this chaos, and let us find them!’
They met Aldel surveying the House of the Healers in disbelief, having found no one to whom he might deliver his message, and Kalaran beside him, clutching an empty sack. Speechless,
