The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [200]
“That would help to explain the chaos in the Etherion,” Lirith said, thinking over Melia’s words. “It sounds as if the priests aren’t receiving any guidance from their gods. That makes them frightened. And fear tends to make people angry and defensive.”
Melia smoothed the folds of her white shift. “I believe you’re right, dear.”
Falken let out a sound like a low growl. “So, not only is someone murdering gods, they’re also making sure none of the other gods do anything about it by casting them under some sort of spell that entangles them in dreams of the past. But who could do such things?”
Melia moved toward the bard. “I don’t know, but this has gone on quite long enough without any comment from the emperor. I don’t care whom I have to tamper with, I am getting into the First Circle to see him today.”
They found Aryn and Durge in the main room. Madam Vil had sent up a pitcher of chilled margra juice, and by his pink lips Durge had drunk most of it himself.
“What’s going on?” Aryn said, blue eyes startled.
Falken shot the young baroness a wolfish grin. “I believe we’re going to see the emperor.”
Minutes later they walked through the crowded streets of the Fourth Circle, making their way to the city’s main avenue. Melia moved with swift purpose, and people scrambled to get out of her way. Lirith couldn’t blame them. Better to stand in the path of a herd of wild horses, she reasoned.
“How peculiar,” Aryn said next to her.
Lirith gave the young baroness a questioning glance.
“Over there, in the fountain.”
Lirith followed Aryn’s gaze. Across the plaza, in the bubbling waters of a large, tiled fountain, an elderly man and woman splashed about, robes hiked up above their knobby knees, laughing with glee. Two small children stood outside the fountain, arms crossed, frowns of displeasure on their round faces.
Lirith stopped to stare. “But that doesn’t make sense.”
“I know,” Aryn said with a laugh. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I think they’ve gotten things mixed up.”
For some reason, Aryn’s words troubled her. Where had she heard them before? Then she remembered the wine vendor, his eyes confused as he looked at the wine he had poured on the street.
I keep mixing everything up, I do.…
Energy buzzed through Lirith. Something was going on here, something important.
A shadow touched Aryn’s brow. “Sister—what is it?”
Lirith started to answer, then movement caught her eye. Two men stood in the dim mouth of an alley. There was a flash as coins were exchanged, then one of the men stepped onto the street, a wooden cup in his hand. The man downed the contents of the cup, then let it fall from his fingers as he moved across the plaza. He leaned against a wall and slid to the ground to sit, joining a score of men and women who had done the same.
Lirith bent and snatched up the cup the man had discarded—the cup she was certain had contained a draught of the Elixir of the Past. She sniffed the residue, then coughed and tossed the cup back down. Her nose had detected cheap wine and a handful of common, bitter herbs—nothing else. There was no magic in this potion, nothing that could cause people to see visions of things that were no more.
But if that’s true, sister, then what is causing them to drift in the past?
Her eyes moved again to the wall. Like the others, the man now stared at the sun with empty eyes, flies crawling on his face, a smile on his purple-stained lips.
A touch on her arm drew Lirith’s gaze around. Aryn wore a confused expression. However, before she could speak, Durge drew close to them.
“My ladies, Melia and Falken continue on. We should not fall behind.”
“Aryn, Durge,” Lirith said, her words urgent, “have