Warbreaker Part 16

Seeing her sister treated that way roused every protective instinct Vivenna had, irritating her already swollen feelings of guilt. What I'm doing is right, Vivenna thought. Coming to Hallandren was the best thing to do. Lemks might be dead, but I have to press onward. I have to find a way.

I have to save my sister.

"Vivenna?" Parlin said.

"Hum?" Vivenna asked, distracted.

"Why is everyone starting to bow?"

Siri played idly with one of the ta.s.sels on her dress. The final G.o.d was seating himself in his pavilion. That's twenty-five, she thought. It should be all of them.

Suddenly, out in the audience, people began to rise, then kneel to the ground. Siri stood, searching anxiously. She didn't see anything. What was she missing? Had the G.o.d King arrived, or was this something else? Even the G.o.ds had gone down on their knees, though they didn't bow themselves down as far as the people.

And they all seemed to be bowing toward Siri. Some sort of ritual greeting for their new queen? Then she saw it. Her dress exploded with color, the stone at her feet gained l.u.s.ter, and her very skin became more vibrant. In front of her, a white serving bowl began to s.h.i.+ne, then it seemed to stretch, the white color splitting into the colors of the rainbow.

A serving women tugged on Siri's sleeve from where she knelt below. "Vessel," the woman whispered, "behind you!"

Chapter Fifteen.

Breath catching in her chest, Siri turned. She found him standing behind her, though she had no idea how he had arrived. There was no entrance from behind, just the stone wall.

He wore white. She hadn't expected that. Something about his BioChroma made the pure white split as she'd seen before, breaking like light pa.s.sing through a prism. She could finally see this properly, during the light. His clothing seemed to stretch, forming a robe-shamed rainbow in a colorful aura around him.

And he was young. Far younger than her shadowed meetings had prepared her for. He had supposedly reigned in Hallandren for decades, yet the man standing behind her couldn't be more than twenty. She stared at him, awed, mouth opening slightly, and any words she had thought to say escaped her. This man was a G.o.d. The very air distorted before him. How could she have not seen it? How could she possibly have treated him as she had? She felt like a fool.

He regarded her, expression flat and unreadable, face so controlled that he reminded Siri of Vivenna. Vivenna. She wouldn't have been so belligerent. She would have deserved marriage to such a majestic creature.

The serving woman hissed quietly, tugging again at Siri's dress. Belatedly, Siri dropped to her knees on the stone, long dress train flapping slightly in the wind behind her.

Blushweaver knelt obediently on her cus.h.i.+on. Lightsong, however, remained standing. He looked across the stadium toward a man he could barely see. The G.o.d King wore white, as he often did, for dramatic effect. As the only man to have achieved the Tenth Heightening, the G.o.d King had such a strong aura that he could draw color even from something colorless.

Blushweaver glanced up at Lightsong.

"Why do we kneel?" Lightsong asked.

"That's our king!" Blushweaver hissed. "Kneel, fool."

"What will happen if I don't?" Lightsong said. "They can't execute me. I'm a G.o.d."

"You could hurt our cause!"

Our cause? Lightsong thought. One meeting and I'm already part of her plans?

But, he wasn't so foolish that he would earn the G.o.d King's ire. Who was he to risk his perfect life, full of people who would carry his chair through the rain and sh.e.l.l his nuts for him? He knelt down on his cus.h.i.+on. The G.o.d King's superiority was arbitrary, much like Lightsong's divinity. Both were, in his view, part of a grand game of make-believe.

But he'd found that imaginary items were often the only things of real substance in people's lives.

Siri breathed quickly, kneeling on the stone before her husband. The entire arena was hushed and still. Eyes downcast, she could still see Susebron's white-clothed feet in front of her. Even they gave off an aura of color, the white straps of his sandals bending out colorful ribbons of light.

Finally, two piles of colorful rope hit the ground on either side of the G.o.d King. Siri glanced up as the ropes twisted with a life of their own, wrapping around Susebron and pulling him into the air. His white robes fluttered as he was towed up through the s.p.a.ce between the canopy and the back wall. Siri leaned forward, watching the ropes deposit her husband on a stone outcropping above. He sat back into a golden throne. Beside him, a pair of Awakener priests commanded their living ropes to roll up around their arms.

The G.o.d King outstretched his hand. The people stood up-their chatter beginning again-and reseated themselves. Frowning to herself, Siri rose. So... he's not going to sit with me, she thought. A part of her was relieved, though an equally strong part was frustrated. She'd been getting over her awe of being in Hallandren and being married to a G.o.d. Now, he'd gone and impressed her again.

This time it was different. Before, she'd been quelled by the G.o.d King's reputation. Now that she'd seen him, she could tell that he was majestic. Troubled, she sat and stared out over the crowds, barely watching as a group of priests entered the arena below.

What was she to make of Susebron? He couldn't be a G.o.d. Not really. Could he?

She'd always been taught of Austre. He was the true G.o.d of men, the one who sent the Returned. The Hallandren had wors.h.i.+ped him as well, before the Manywar and the exile of the Royal family. The Hallandren had fallen to become pagans, wors.h.i.+pping the Iridescent Tones: BioChromatic Breath, the Returned, and art in general.

And yet, Siri had never seen Austre. She'd been taught, and she'd learned, but what was one to make of a creature like the G.o.d King? That divine halo of color wasn't something that she could ignore. She began to understand just how the people of Hallandren-after nearly being destroyed by their enemies, then being saved by the diplomatic skills of Peacegiver the Blessed-could look toward the Returned for divine guidance.

She sighed, glancing to the side as a figure walked up the steps toward her box. It was Bluefingers-hands stained with ink, characteristically scribbling away on a ledger even as he entered her pavilion. He glanced up at the G.o.d King, nodded to himself, then made another annotation on his ledger. "I see that the G.o.d King is positioned and that you are properly displayed, Vessel."

"Displayed?"

"Of course," Bluefingers said. "That is the main purpose of your visit here. Most of the Returned didn't get a chance to study you when you first came to us. You need to be presented before them."

Siri s.h.i.+vered at the thought, trying to maintain a better posture. "Shouldn't they be paying attention to the priests down there? Instead of studying me, I mean."

"Probably," Bluefingers said, not looking up from his ledger. "In my experience, they rarely do what they're supposed to."

Siri let the conversation lapse. There was something she'd been meaning to ask Bluefingers. He'd never explained his odd warning the other night. Things are not what they seem. She glanced at the scribe. "Bluefingers," she said. "About the thing you told me the other night. The-"

He immediately shot her a look-eyes wide and insistent-cutting her off. He turned back to his ledger. The message was obvious. Not right now.

Siri sighed, resisting the urge to slump down. Below, priests of various colors stood on short platforms, debating. She could hear them quite well. Yet, little of what they said made sense to her-the current debate appeared to have something to do with the way refuse and sewage was handled in the city.

"Bluefingers," she asked. "Are they really G.o.ds?"

The scribe hesitated, then finally looked up from his ledger. "Vessel?"

"The Returned. Do you really think that they're divine? That they can see the future?"

"I... don't think I'm the right one to ask about these things, Vessel. Let me fetch one of the priests. He can answer your questions. Just give me a-"

"No," Siri said, causing him to stop. "I don't want a priest's opinion-I want the opinion of a regular person, like you. A typical follower."

Bluefingers frowned. "All apologies, Vessel, but I'm not a follower of the Returned."

"But you work in the palace."

"And you live there, Vessel. Yet neither of us wors.h.i.+p the Iridescent Tones. You are from Idris. I am from Pahn Kahl."

"Pahn Kahl is the same as Hallandren."

Bluefingers raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. "Actually, Vessel, it's quite different."

"But you're ruled by the G.o.d King."

"We can accept him as king without wors.h.i.+pping him as our G.o.d," Bluefingers said. "That is one of the reasons why I'm a steward in the palace instead of a priest.

His robes, Siri thought. Maybe that's why he always wears brown. She turned, glancing down at the priests upon their pedestals in the sand. Each wore a different set of colors, each representing-she a.s.sumed-a different one of the Returned. "So what do you think of them?"

"Good people," Bluefingers said, "but misguided. A little like I think of you, Vessel."

She glanced at him. He, however, had already turned back to his ledgers. He wasn't exactly the easiest man with whom to have a conversation. "But, how do you explain the G.o.d King's radiance?"

"BioChroma," Bluefingers said, still scribbling, not sounding at all annoyed by her questions. He was obviously a man accustomed to dealing with interruption.

"But the rest of the Returned don't bend white into colors like he does, do they?"

"No," Bluefingers said, "indeed they do not. They, however, don't hold the wealth of Breaths that he does."

"So he is different," Siri said. "Why was he born with more?"

"He wasn't, Vessel. The G.o.d King's power does not from the inherent BioChroma of being a Returned-in that, he is identical to the others. However, he holds something else. The Light of Peace, they call it. A fancy word for a treasure trove of Breath that numbers somewhere in the tens of thousands."

Tens of thousands? Siri thought. "That much?"

Bluefingers nodded distractedly. "The G.o.d Kings are said to be the only ones to ever achieve the Tenth Heightening. That is what makes light fracture around him; it is less a symbol of divinity, and more a simple function of holding so much Breath."

"But where did he get it?"

"The largest bulk of it was originally gathered by Peacegiver the Blessed," Bluefingers said. "He collected thousands of Breaths during the days of the Manywar. He pa.s.sed those on to the first Hallandren G.o.d King. That inheritance has been transferred from father to son for centuries-and has been enlarged, since each G.o.d King is given two Breaths a week, instead of the one that regular Returned receive."

"Oh," Siri said, sitting back, finding herself oddly disappointed by the news. Susebron was not a G.o.d, he was simply a man with far more BioChroma than normal.

But... what of the Returned themselves? Siri folded her arms again. She'd never been forced to look objectively at what she believed. Austre was simply... well, G.o.d. You didn't question people when they talked about G.o.d. The Returned were usurpers, who had cast the followers of Austre out of Hallandren.

Yet the Returned themselves were so majestic. Why had the Royal family been cast out of Hallandren? She knew the official story taught in Idris-that the Royals hadn't supported the conflicts that led up to the Manywar. For that, the people had revolted against them. That revolt had been led by Klad the Usurper.

Klad. Though Siri had avoided most of her tutorial sessions, even she knew the stories of that man. He was the one who had led the people of Hallandren in the heresy of building Lifeless, the one who had taught them how to reanimate a body using a single BioChromatic Breath. Before that, Lifeless had been far more expensive. After Klad's discovery, each person could effectively become two soldiers: a man with a sword in his own hand, and a Lifeless bearing his Breath.

She hadn't, at least, seen any Lifeless in the palace.

Klad had created a powerful army of the creatures, one the likes of which had never been seen in the land. She didn't know a lot about it. Klad's Lifeless had been more dangerous somehow, but that was all she remembered. He'd eventually been defeated by Peacegiver, who had then ended the Manywar through diplomacy. Yet, Peacegiver had not restored Hallandren to its rightful rulers. Idris histories claimed betrayal and treachery. The monks spoke of heresies that were too deeply ingrained into Hallandren.

Surely the Hallandren people had their own story of events. Watching the Returned in their pavilions made Siri wonder. One fact seemed obvious: things in Hallandren were a whole lot less terrible than she had been taught.

Vivenna s.h.i.+vered, cringing as the people in their colorful outfits crowded around her.

Things here are worse, even, than my tutors said, she decided, wiggling in her seat. Parlin seemed to have lost much of his nervousness about being in such a crowd. He was focused on the arguing priests on the floor of the arena.

Vivenna found herself feeling annoyed at him. She still couldn't decide if she thought the Breath she held to be horrible or wonderful. More and more, she was coming to realize that it was horrible because of how wonderful it felt. The more people that surged around her, the more overwhelmed she felt. Surely if Parlin could sense the sheer scope of all those colors, he wouldn't gawk so dumbly at the costumes. Surely if he could feel the people, he would feel boxed in like she did, unable to breathe.

That's it, she thought. I've seen Siri, and I know what they've done with her. It's time to go. She stood, turning, and froze.

A man was standing two rows back, and he was staring directly at Vivenna. She normally wouldn't have paid him any attention. He was wearing ragged brown clothing, ripped in places, his loose trousers tied at the waist by a simple rope. He wore facial hair that was half-way between being a beard and scruff. His hair was unkempt and came down to his shoulders.

And he created a bubble of color around him so bright that he had to be of the Fifth Heightening. He stared at her, meeting her eyes, and she had a sudden and awful panicked sense that he knew who she was.

She stumbled back. The strange man didn't take his eyes off of her. He s.h.i.+fted, pus.h.i.+ng back his cloak and exposing a large, black-hilted sword at his belt. Few people in Hallandren wore weapons. This man didn't seem to care. The people to the sides gave him a wide berth, and Vivenna swore she could sense something about that sword. It seemed to darken colors. Deepen them. Make tans into browns, reds into maroons, blues into navies.

"Parlin," she said, more sharply than she'd intended. "We're leaving."

"But-"

"Now," Vivenna said, turning and rus.h.i.+ng away, head bowed. Something about her newfound BioChroma whispered to her that the man's eyes were still upon her. Now that she realized it, she understood that his eyes on her were probably what had made her so uncomfortable in the first place.

The tutors spoke of this, she thought as she and Parlin made their way to one of the stone exit pa.s.sages. Life sense, the ability to tell when there are people nearby, and to tell when they're watching you. Everyone has it in a small amount. BioChroma enhances that.

As soon as they entered the pa.s.sage, the sense of being watched vanished, and Vivenna let out a relieved breath.

"I don't see why you wanted to leave," Parlin said.

"We've seen what we needed to," Vivenna said.

"I guess," Parlin said. "I thought you might want to listen to what the priests were saying about Idris."

Vivenna froze. "What?"

Parlin frowned, looking distraught. "I think they might be declaring war. Don't we have a treaty?"

Lord G.o.d of Colors! Vivenna thought, turning and scrambling back up into the open theater.

Chapter Sixteen.