Warbreaker Part 15

"I strive for nothing if not mediocrity, and mediocrity is hardly original. If it were, I believe that the universe should find the word far too ironic to exist."

"You bow before the whims of the universe, then?" Blushweaver said, stretching back, tips of her fingers wiggling as she sighed in contentment.

"What else would I do?"

"Fight it," Blushweaver said, finis.h.i.+ng her stretch. She narrowed her eyes, absently reaching to take one of the grapes from Lightsong's hand. "Fight with everything, force the universe to bow to you instead."

"I don't know if I can do that, Blushweaver."

"You're a G.o.d."

"A G.o.d who can't even make it stop raining."

"I want it to storm and tempest. Maybe this drizzle is the compromise between us."

Lightsong popped another grape in his mouth, squis.h.i.+ng it between his teeth, feeling the sweet juice leak onto his palate. He thought for a moment, chewing. "Blushweaver, dear," he finally said. "Is there some kind of subtext to our current conversation? Because, as you might know, I am absolutely terrible with subtext. It gives me a headache."

"You can't get headaches," Blushweaver said.

"Well I can't get subtext either. Far too subtle for me. It takes effort to understand, and effort is-unfortunately-against my religion."

Blushweaver raised an eyebrow. "A new tenet for those who wors.h.i.+p you?"

"Oh, not that religion," Lightsong said. "I mean the one that I'm going to convert to. I'm thinking of becoming a wors.h.i.+pper of Austre. His seems a rather blunt theology-black, white, no bothering with complications. Faith without any bothersome thinking."

Blushweaver stole another grape. "You just don't know Austrism well enough. It's complex. If you're looking for something really simple, you should try the Pahn Kahl faith."

Lightsong frowned. "Don't they just wors.h.i.+p the Returned, like the rest of us?"

"No. They have their own religion."

"But everyone knows the Pahn Kahl are practically Hallandrens."

Blushweaver shrugged, watching the stadium floor below.

"And... how exactly did we get onto this tangent, anyway?" Lightsong said. "I swear, my dear. Sometimes our conversations remind me of a broken longsword."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Sharp as h.e.l.l," Lightsong said, "but lacking a point."

Blushweaver snorted quietly. "You're the one who asked to meet with me, Lightsong."

"Yes, but we both know that you wanted me to. What are you planning, Blushweaver?"

Blushweaver rolled her grape between her fingers. "Wait," she said.

Lightsong sighed, waving for a servant to bring him some nuts. One placed a bowl on the table, then another came forward and began to crack them for him.

"Wait?" he asked. "First you imply that I should join with you, now you won't tell me what you want me to do? I swear, woman. Someday, your ridiculous sense of drama is going to cause cataclysmic problems-like, for instance, boredom in your companions."

"It's not drama," she said, huffing slightly. "It's respect." She nodded directly across the arena, where the G.o.d King's box still stood empty, golden throne sitting on a pedestal above the box itself.

"Ah. Feeling patriotic today, are we?"

"It's more that I'm curious."

"About?"

"Her."

"The queen?"

Blushweaver gave him a flat stare. "Of course, her. Who else would I be speaking about?"

"Dear, they call me Lightsong the Brave, not Lightsong the Clever. Don't expect me to figure things out on my own. The queen's period of isolation is over, then?"

Blushweaver nodded.

"So soon?"

"It's been a week."

Lightsong counted off the days. It had been a week. "Huh," he said to himself.

"You really should pay more attention, Lightsong."

He shrugged. "Time tends to pa.s.s you by more quickly when take no notice of it, my dear. In that, it's remarkably similar to most women I know." With that, he accepted a handful of nuts, then settled back to wait.

Apparently, the people of T'Telir weren't fond of carriages-not even to carry G.o.ds. Siri sat, a little bit amused, as a group of serving men carried her chair across the gra.s.s toward a large, circular structure at the back of the Court of G.o.ds. It was raining. She didn't care. She'd been cooped up for far too long.

She turned, twisting in her chair, looking back over a group of serving women who carried her dress's long golden train, keeping it off the wet gra.s.s. Around them all walked another group of women who carried a large pavilion, using several poles to keep it up and shade Siri from the rain.

"Could you... move that aside?" Siri asked. "Let the rain fall on me?

The serving women glanced at each other.

"Just for a little bit," Siri said. "I promise."

The women shared frowns, but slowed, allowing Siri's porters to pull ahead and expose her to the rain. She looked up, smiling as the drizzle fell on her face. Seven days is far too long to spend indoors, she decided.

She basked for a long moment, enjoying the cool wetness on her skin and clothing. The gra.s.s looked inviting. She glanced back again. "I could walk, you know." Feel my toes on that blades...

The serving women looked very, very uncomfortable about that concept.

"Or not," Siri said, turning around as the women hurried up, again covering the sky with their pavilion. They were probably right-walking was a bad idea. Particularly since Siri had eventually chosen a dress with such a long train. Despite her hesitance back in the palace, she'd eventually chosen a dress far more daring than anything she'd ever worn. The neckline was a bit low, and it had no sleeves. It also had a curious shape that covered the front of her legs with only a short skirt, yet had a long dress in the back. She'd picked it half because of the novelty, though she blushed every time she thought of how much leg it showed.

They soon arrived at the round building and her porters carried her up into it. Siri was interested to see that it had no ceiling and had a sand-covered floor. Just above the floor, a colorful group of people were gathering on a series of benches. Though some of them carried umbrellas, many were heedless of the light rain, chatting amiably amongst themselves. Siri smiled at the collection; a hundred different colors and as many different clothing styles were represented. It was good to see some variety again, even if that variety was a little garish.

Her porters carried her up to a large stone cleft built into the side of the building. Here, her women slid the pavilion poles into slots in the stone, letting it stand freely to cover the entire box. Servants scuttled about, getting things ready, and her porters put her down. She stood, frowning. She was finally free of the palace. And yet it appeared as if she were going to have to sit above everyone else. Even the other G.o.ds-which she a.s.sumed were in the other pavilioned boxes-were distant from her, separated by walls.

How is it that they can make me feel alone, even when surrounded by hundreds of people? She turned to one of her serving women. "The G.o.d King. Where is he?"

The woman gestured toward the other pavilions set into boxes like Siri's.

"He's in one of them?" Siri asked.

"No, Vessel," the woman said very, eyes downcast. "He will not arrive until the G.o.ds are all here."

Ah, Siri thought. Makes sense, I guess.

She sat back in her chair as several servants prepared food. To the side, a minstrel began to play a flute, as if to drown out the sounds of the talking below. She would rather have heard the people. Still, she decided not to let herself get into a bad mood. At least she was outside, and she could see other people, even if she couldn't interact with them. She smiled to herself, leaning forward, elbows on knees as she studied the exotic colors below.

What was she to make of T'Telir people? They were just so remarkably diverse. Some had dark skin, which meant they were from the edges of the Hallandren kingdom. Others had yellow hair, or even strange hair colors-blue and green-that came, Siri a.s.sumed, from dyes.

All wore brilliant clothing, as if there were no other option. Ornate hats were popular, both on men and women. Clothing ranged from vests and shorts to deep robes and gowns. How much time must they spend shopping! It was difficult enough for her to choose what to wear, and she only had about a dozen choices each day-and no hats. After she'd refused the first few, the servants had stopped offering them.

As she watched, entourage after entourage arrived, each bearing a different set of colors-a hue and a metallic, usually. She counted the pavilions. There were room for some fifty G.o.ds, but the Court only had a couple dozen. Twenty five, was it? In each procession, she saw a figure standing taller than the others. Some-mostly the women-were carried on chairs or couches. The men generally walked, some wearing intricate robes, others wearing nothing more than sandals and skirt.

They stood out. It wasn't just their height. There was a... radiance to them. Not a glow like the sun or a lantern; the colors around them just seemed more vibrant, the people near them more healthy. Siri leaned forward, studying one G.o.d as he walked right by her box. His bare chest made her blush, but it let her see his well-muscled body and toned flesh.

He glanced at her, then nodded his head slightly in respect. His servants and priests bowed almost to the ground. The G.o.d continued on, having said nothing.

She sat back in her chair, shaking her head to as one of the servants tried to bring her food. There were still four or five G.o.ds left to arrive. Apparently, the Hallandren deities weren't as punctual as Bluefingers' schedule-keeping had led her to believe.

Vivenna stepped through the gates, pa.s.sing into the Hallandren Court of G.o.ds. She hesitated, and small groups of people pa.s.sed through on either side of her, though there wasn't much of a crowd.

Denth had been right; it had been easy for her to get into the Court. The priests at the gate had waved Vivenna through without even asking her ident.i.ty. She turned back, glancing at the men in their blue robes. She could see bubbles of colorfulness around them, indications of their strong BioChroma.

She'd been tutored about this. The priests guarding the gates had enough Breath to get them to the First Heightening, the state at which a person gained the ability to distinguish levels of Breath in other people. Vivenna had it too. It wasn't that auras or colors looked different to her. In fact, the ability to distinguish Breath was similar to the perfect pitch she had gained. Other people heard the same sounds she did, she just had the ability to pick them apart.

She saw how close a person had to get to one of the priests before the colors increased, and she exactly how much more colorful those hues became. This information let her know intrinsically that each of the priests was of the First Heightening. Parlin had one Breath, as did the regular peasants who had to present papers to gain entrance to the Court. She could tell how strong that Breath was, and if the person was sick or not.

The priests each had exactly fifty Breaths, as did the majority of the more wealthy individuals entering through the gates. A reasonable number had two or three hundred Breaths, enough for the Second Heightening and the perfect pitch it granted. Only a couple had more than Vivenna, who had apparently reached all the way to the Third Heightening and the perfect color recognition it granted.

She turned away. She'd been tutored about the Heightenings, but she'd never expected to experience one first hand. She felt dirty. Profane. Particularly because the colors were just so beautiful.

She looked up. The court contained a wide circle of palaces, just like her tutors had explained. Those tutors had not mentioned how each palace was so perfectly balanced in color and hue. Each was a work of art, containing subtle color gradients that normal people just wouldn't be able to appreciate. These sat on a pure, uniformly green lawn. It was trimmed carefully, and it was marred by neither road nor pathway. Vivenna stepped onto it, Parlin at her side, and part of her wished to kick off her shoes and walk in the wet, dew-covered gra.s.s. That wouldn't be appropriate at all, and she stifled the impulse.

The drizzle was finally starting to let up, and Parlin lowered the parasol he'd bought-against her wishes-to keep them both dry. "So, this is it," he said, shaking off the parasol. "The Court of G.o.ds."

Vivenna nodded.

"Good place to graze sheep."

"I doubt that," she said quietly.

Parlin frowned. "Goats, then?" he finally said.

Vivenna sighed, and they joined the small procession walking across the gra.s.s toward a structure outside of the circle of palaces. She'd been worried about standing out-after all, she still wore her simple Idris dress, with its high neck, functional fabric, and muted colors. Yet, she was beginning to realize that there just wasn't a way to stand out in T'Telir.

The people around her wore such a stunning variety of outfits that she wondered who had the imagination to design them all. Some were as covering as Vivenna's but others had muted colors-though these were usually accented by bright scarves or hats. Modesty in both design and color was obviously unpopular, but not non-existent.

It's all about drawing attention, she realized. The whites and faded colors are a reaction against the bright colors. But, because everyone tries so hard to look distinctive, n.o.body does!

Which meant, probably, that she was safe. Feeling a little more secure, she glanced at Parlin, who seemed more at peace now that they were away from the larger crowds below. "Interesting buildings," he said. "The people wear so much color, but that palace is just one color. Wonder why that is."

"It's not one color. It's many different shades of the same color."

Parlin shrugged. "Red is red."

How could she explain? Each red was different, like notes on a musical scale. The walls were of pure red. The roof tiles, side columns, and other ornamentations were of slightly different shades, each distinct and intentional. The columns, for instance, formed stepping fifths of color, harmonizing with the base tint of the walls.

It was like a symphony of hues. The building had obviously been constructed for a person who had obtained the Third Heightening, for only one such as Vivenna would be able to see the ideal resonance. To others... well, it was just a bunch of red.

They pa.s.sed the red palace, approaching the arena, which had also been part of Vivenna's lessons. Central to the lives of the Hallandren G.o.ds was entertainment. After all, one couldn't expect G.o.ds to do anything useful with their time. Much of the time, they were entertained in their palaces or on the courtyard law. For particularly large events, there was the arena-which also served as the location of Hallandren legislative debates. Today, the priests of various G.o.ds would argue for the sport of their deities.

Vivenna and Parlin waited their turn as the people crowded around the arena entrance. Vivenna glanced to the side, toward another gateway, wondering why n.o.body used it. The answer was made manifest as a figure approached. He was surrounded by servants, some carrying a canopy. All were dressed in blue and silver, matching their leader, who stood a good head taller than the others.

And he gave off a BioChromatic aura like Vivenna had never seen-though, admittedly, she'd only been able to see them for a few hours. His bubble of enhanced color was enormous; it extended some thirty feet. To her First Heightening senses, the G.o.d's Breath registered as infinite. Undistinguishable. For the first time, Vivenna could see that there was something different about Returned. They weren't just Awakeners with more power.

The G.o.d entered the arena through the open gateway. As she watched him, Vivenna's sense of awe wore off. There was an arrogance to this man's posture, a dismissiveness about the way he entered freely while others waited their turn at a small, cramped opening.

To keep him alive, Vivenna thought, he has to absorb a person's Breath each week.

She'd let herself become too sympathetic, and she felt her former revulsion returning. Color and beauty couldn't cover up such lavish conceit, nor could it hide parasitic sins. There was nothing wrong with BioChroma and nothing evil about being a Returned. It was the way the Hallandren people used such things that was wrong.

The G.o.d disappeared into the arena. Vivenna waited, thinking for a time on her own BioChroma and what it meant. She was completely shocked when a man beside her suddenly lifted off the ground.

She jumped. The man was rose into the air, lifted by his overly long cloak. The cloth was stiff, looking a little like a hand as it held the man up high so he could look over the crowd. How does it do that? She'd been told that Breath could give life to objects, but what did 'life' mean? It seemed as if each of the threads in the cloak were taught, like muscles, but how did it lift something so much heavier than it was?

The man lowered to the ground. He said something Vivenna couldn't hear, and his BioChromatic aura grew stronger as he recovered his Breath from the cloak. "We should be moving again soon," the man said to his friends. "Crowd is thinning up above."

Indeed, soon the crowd started to progress. It wasn't long before Vivenna and Parlin entered the arena itself. They scanned the stone benches, selecting a place that wasn't too crowded. Parlin seemed nervous to be around so many people, but Vivenna ignored him. She was too busy searching the arena.

The building was ornate, but not very big. It didn't take her long to locate Siri, and when she did, her heart sank. My... sister, Vivenna thought with a chill. My poor sister.

Siri was dressed in a scandalous golden dress that didn't even come down to her knees. It had a plunging neckline as well. Siri's hair, which even she should have been able to keep a dark brown, was instead the golden yellow of enjoyment, and it had been woven with deep red ribbons. She was being attended by dozens of servants.

"Look what they've done to her," Vivenna said. "She must be frightened senseless, forced to wear something like that, forced to keep her hair a color that matches her clothing..." Forced to be slave to the G.o.d King.

Peprin's face grew hard.

Siri was being exploited, they were carrying her around and displaying her like some kind of victory trophy. It seemed to Vivenna a statement. They wanted to prove that they could take a chaste, innocent Idris woman and do whatever they wished with her.