“Thus passed the last kingdom of our kind from these lands,” said Akhenabi, “—the last, that is, but for our home, this mountain of Nakkiga. Ineluki’s Zida’ya kinsmen scattered to the woods and other hiding-holes. We Hikeda’ya sealed ourselves behind our great gates as the tide of mortal men swept across all we had known and loved. But Ineluki, though his earthly shell had died, was not truly gone. His anger was so strong that he lingered in the Places Between as a spirit of helpless rage—until our queen found him again.” He bowed and made an elaborate gesture of gratitude toward silent Utuk’ku. Most in the crowd imitated him. “Yes,” he went on, louder now, “our queen risked her own precious life to search for him in those dark regions where life itself is the enemy. And when she found what remained of him—a small, deathless flame of rage—she brought him to sanctuary in the endless corridors of the Breathing Harp. Together, our queen and Ineluki Storm King summoned back the spirits of the Red Hand as well.”
We thwarted the true death for you! The queen’s thoughts were ragged, but so powerful that many of those listening cried out to hear them. All for you! And now that death stalks me in turn! Some of the Hikeda’ya were slack-mouthed and moaning.
“And so we prepared to strike at the mortals once more, and the War of Return continued,” said Akhenabi. “But again treachery overcame us! This time those of our own race—Ineluki’s own cowardly kinsmen—sided with the mortals. The turncoat House of Year-Dancing led the remaining Zida’ya against us, and less than half a Great Year ago we were defeated at the very gates of Asu’a. Ineluki Storm King, that great heart, that sacrifice for his people, was delivered to Unbeing and is forever lost to us—one of the bravest of all our kind, unmade. And when Ineluki and the Red Hand failed this time, our beloved queen was also nearly destroyed.”
Some of the gathered Hikeda’ya cried out in fury and shook their fists in the air, as if the treacherous Zida’ya were here with them in the depths of Nakkiga and could be punished.
“Futility!” cried Akhenabi. “Ah, such a bitter taste! There is no poison to match it. But do not underestimate our queen, who loves and protects us always. Because in the grim aftermath of that failure, as she wandered lost in the keta-yi’indra, great Utuk’ku was still searching for a way to destroy our treacherous enemies. And she found one.”
The cries of anger ceased. The great chamber fell silent. Even the Lightless seemed to pause and listen.
“Ineluki was gone, and most of his Red Hand, too,” the Lord of Song continued, “but one who had sacrificed all for us and for the queen still lived! And Utuk’ku, the Mother of All, found that fearless spirit in the lands where sleep and death meet.”
Although it was Akhenabi who spoke, all eyes were now on the motionless queen.
“Yes, for despite all the mortals could do,” Akhenabi declared, “Ommu the Voiceless, one of the greatest of all our kind, had not entirely perished in the Storm King’s destruction. Try to imagine such devotion, Hikeda’ya,” Akhenabi cried. “Already murdered once by mortals, returned from death to fight again for our kind, and then murdered once more by those same cruel mortal hands—and yet still Ommu of the Red Hand would not die!” Murmurs of horrified wonder rose from the crowd. “Full of secrets from the Places Between, still burning for the vengeance that has been denied us, Ommu the Whisperer did not surrender. And even as I speak, she still clings to existence in the dreadful lands beyond life! And in this very hour—but only with your help—the queen will bring Ommu back to us.”
Although he was as stunned by this as the rest, Viyeki was also full of doubt. Even if the bizarre tale of Ommu’s survival was true, what could death have taught the undead Singer that it had not already shown her the first time she died? How would bringing back one of the Red Hand change the Hikeda’ya’s fortunes when the queen and Ineluki themselves had not managed it? And why had Viyeki and the rest of Nakkiga’s elite been brought here to the Chamber of the Well?
“We will prepare for her return,” Akhenabi announced.
As he spoke, a squadron of Queen’s Teeth appeared from one of the chamber’s outer archways. Four of them carried an open ceremonial litter with a young woman of the Hikeda’ya swaying inside it. She was dressed in a robe as rich as one of Utuk’ku’s own, an ornate masterpiece of patterned spinsilk, and her jet hair was elaborately curled and pinned as if for a wedding, but despite her rich clothes and considerable beauty, Viyeki did not recognize her. As the guards set the litter down by the edge of the Well, her head wobbled. She did not seem to see anything around her—not the assembled nobles, not the Breathing Harp, not even the queen herself.
She has been given kei-vishaa, Viyeki realized. She walks in dream. But why? Who is she and what is happening here?
“Bow your heads, Hikada’yei!” commanded Akhenabi. “Lend your queen the strength of your hearts, and today the Mother of the People will bring back one whom the mortals could not unmake, for all their trying.” His voice grew softer; Viyeki thought the Lord of Song mimicked regret. “But that return is not without cost, and Ommu’s passage will not come without pain to us all. Praise loudly loyal Marshal Muyare, High Magister of the Order of Sacrifice, who at our queen’s request gives Ya-Jalamu, his own granddaughter, to be the Opener of the Way.”
“Praise Muyare!” someone shouted. “May the Garden remember and bless him always!”
“Praise the queen!” cried someone else. “Praise the mother of us all!”
Viyeki could feel everything the others felt, the fear and exhilaration of the queen’s struggle on their behalf, but some of his doubts remained. The girl might only be one of Muyare’s several granddaughters, and part mortal at that—Viyeki had heard her mother was a human slave, like his own Tzoja—but it seemed hard to believe that the marshal had surrendered her willingly to such a terrible fate, no matter how exalted the purpose. Muyare was a powerful man, with all the armed might of the Order of Sacrifice at his command: only an order from the queen herself could have made him do it.
“Respect this noble gift of the high magister!” Akhenabi proclaimed. “Revere Muyare’s loyalty and his granddaughter’s honorable sacrifice, which will open the door for Ommu’s return to us. The queen declares that in Ya-Jalamu’s name, an entire new league of the Order of Sacrifice will be created—the League Seyt-Jalamu!”
A shout of approval and gratitude went up from the assembled nobles, but Muyare still gazed steadily at the ground before him, as if the sacrifice Akhenabi was praising brought him only pain. He clearly could not bear to look at his granddaughter’s face, though she would not have known him in her kei-vishaa dream.
“Now our queen needs your silence!” Akhenabi announced, and the chamber grew quiet. Even the throbbing of the air seemed to diminish. Only the Lightless Ones continued as they had been, their distant song droning and echoing beneath the great chamber. “She also needs your hearts and your thoughts,” said the Lord of Song. “Only with the return of great Ommu can our queen resist those who would attack and destroy us. If our people are to survive, we must bring the Whisperer back from death to help our beloved queen fight for our survival.
“It is time for the Opening of the Way.”
Now Viyeki heard another note join the music of the Lightless, soft at first, but rising in pitch and volume until it wound through their croaking hymn like a single bright thread in a dark-hued tapestry: it was one of Akhenabi’s Order of Singers, kneeling beside Ya-Jalamu’s litter. More Singers joined, and it sounded as if the icy mountain winds had all been given tongue, each syllable so sharp and cold that they seemed to pierce the bodies of all those listening and turn their inner organs to frost.
Why perform such a ritual in front of us all? Viyeki wondered. The Order of Song never display their powers this way. Why now?
The answer came when he felt something touching his thoughts, a probing pressure that soon became an altogether more commanding intrusion. It was the queen, he realized, taking control of his mind and the minds of his fellow nobles, weaving them into one thing, using their strength and her own together to pierce the veils that bounded life. The magister resisted from pure reflex, but only for a moment—his strength was nothing against the queen’s. Within moments he and the others were no longer individual Hikeda’ya, but were being shaped into a single tool in Utuk’ku’s matchless grip. He could feel something of the queen’s emotions, her fixed determination and even her chilly satisfaction as she caught them all up and wove them together.
“Do not resist the Mother of All!” Akhenabi declared as if he had sensed Viyeki’s unwillingness. “Now, silence. Silence for the Word of Opening.”