‘You are asking for a lot of trust,’ said Rael. ‘Both from me – and from the men who will toil for twenty years.’
‘Much could go wrong,’ admitted the old man. ‘But I must not fail, my friend. You have no idea how important this is.’
‘I am sure you will tell me in your own good time, my friend,’ said Rael, rising to leave. ‘By the way, Mirani sends her love.’
Anu relaxed and smiled. ‘She is a good woman – too good for you, I fear.’
‘Who could disagree,’ replied Rael, returning the smile. ‘She will not return to the Council. She spends her time now Grafting pots and painting them.’
‘There will still be potters when we are a fading memory,’ said Anu.
Chapter Nine
And he was called Old One Young, for he was born ancient and grew younger with the seasons. His wisdom was very great, for the hand of the All Father rested upon his shoulder. He knew the numbers of the stars, and the circle of the world. No secret could be hidden from Old One Young. Not a secret of the past, nor a secret of the soon to be. One day he began to weep, and the tears from his eyes made a terrible rain that flooded the land. The other gods came to him and asked him the reason for his tears. But he would not tell them.
From the Noon Song of the Anajo
The following morning Anu, with the aid of his favourite acolyte Shevan, made his slow way up three nights of stairs to the tower rooms. High arched windows had been set into the four walls, and Anu moved to the eastern window. Sunlight was glittering on the estuary of the Luan River, and from here, on the opposite coast, he could see the marble towers of Pagaru.
‘Do you regret your decision, sir?’ Shevan asked him.
‘I regret many things,’ said Anu, his gaze scanning the city on the opposite shore. ‘Built too fast,’ he
‘What was too fast, sir?’ asked Shevan.
‘Pagaru was the foothold city, the fortress. When we
first came here six hundred years ago the tribes were all at war and we needed to build fast, before they perceived the threat we posed. The walls were in place within two weeks. Too fast. They are not as strong as they might be, nor as aesthetically pleasing. A hundred years later we built Egaru. Far stronger. The others followed, strung out like pearls along the shoreline. Boria was my favourite city for a long time. Many artists and poets lived there, gentle men. Aye, and philosophers. I spent many a happy evening sitting upon the white beach debating the meaning of life. Have you been to Boria?’
‘Of course, sir. I was trained there.’
‘Ah yes. I had forgotten. Did you know it was the last city built with the Music?’
‘Yes, sir. You have told me. Many times.’
‘I have never visited Pejkan and Caval. I am told they are ugly and squalid.’
‘They are merchant cities, sir, and few Avatars live there. But, yes, they are not attractive.’
Moving to the western window Arm squinted against the setting sun, which turned the sea to blood. ‘That is where the future lies, Shevan,’ he said. ‘The unknown hinterlands of the western continent. We charted the coastlines, but never ventured far inland. It was a mistake, I fear.’ He sighed. ‘We have made so many mistakes.’
Shevan waited until the old man had moved to the southern window. Here he fell silent, his grey eyes spanning a distance no rule could measure. ‘It could have been so beautiful. No diseases, no hunger, no death.’
‘We have conquered these things, sir,’ Shevan pointed out.
‘Yes, we have. We five hundred. Much of the world shivers under a blanket of ice, thousands starve, millions die prematurely. But we five hundred hold the keys
to immortality’s gates. And we guard our knowledge so well.’
‘We have no choice,’ said Shevan. ‘The barbarians are not ready for such knowledge.’
The old man chuckled and sat down in a wide leather chair. ‘Not ready? Indeed they are not. But then we make sure they are not. We have made no effort to prepare them for the journey. Quite the reverse. We encourage them to believe in our divine right to eternity.’