CHAPTER SEVEN

Resonances

IT HAD BEEN such a relief to sleep in a bed again.

It was hardly a typical bed—a niche carved out of the stone wall and stuffed with cushions. But after days of sleeping on a rock floor, it was heavenly. And Lily was so tired that she did sleep, despite the aches and pains, and despite the fact that it was never quite dark in the Conductor’s rooms.

As she awoke, slowly and heavily, this was the main thing that occupied her sluggish thoughts—the people of Naru lived in constant half-light. Glowing lumps of crystal, like smaller versions of the Hub, were set in every wall, the light dancing in their smoky depths and rippling over their faces like watery reflections.

She had wanted to keep on sleeping. She had been dreaming that she was back in Agora, with her friends. And Mark had been embracing his father, and Ben and Theo were dancing, and Laud had smiled and taken her by the hand. She would never have thought that she would long for Agora’s crowded streets and corrupt, grasping people. But at least there, she understood how people behaved—what drove them, and made their lives complete.

Down here, it was like staying in a madhouse.

But the Choir had begun to sing again, a harsher melody this time, with loops and whirls, and sudden piercing top notes. She couldn’t sleep through that. So instead, she had risen, and put on her freshly washed dress and apron. She was glad that she had talked the Conductor out of giving her Naruvian robes to wear, although she was beginning to see why they might dress in this way—in a world of stone and dim light, only the brightest colors stood out at all.

Thoughtfully, she looked over to where she had dumped her pack, and then knelt down to open it. It was nearly empty—her food had been eaten long ago, and the hunting knife that she had taken from Wulfric, her Gisethi guide, was still sheathed and untouched. But among the few strips of cloth that would have served as bandages, she found what she was looking for—the letter from her father, rolled and tightly bound with ribbon, a tiny pair of brass scales, and a small, irregular crystal made of the same smoky material as the resonant crystals that dotted the walls. She stared at this last object for a moment.

“Maybe…” she murmured to herself. As an experiment, she held it close to her mouth and began to quietly attempt a tune. She hadn’t sung anything since her days as a tiny girl in the orphanage, and her voice was still croaky from lack of sleep, but after a moment or two, she managed a passable few notes. But no hidden voices emerged—this crystal was definitely Naruvian, but it held no resonance.

“Well, that would have been far too easy,” she said to herself, slipping the crystal and letter into her apron pocket as she got up. She paused before putting the scales away, feeling the shapes of the two symbols carved onto the pans of the scales. One, a lily flower growing out of an open book, was a symbol she knew very well. It was also carved onto the brass ring that she wore on her finger—her signet ring, her personal sign. The one thing about her that still marked her out as an Agoran. The other, a starfish, was Mark’s symbol.

Mark …

Lily felt a stab of sadness. She hadn’t seen Mark for nearly a month now, ever since the Order of the Lost had spirited him away. She’d traveled a long way to get him back, but she was no closer now than she had been before.

With a resolute sniff, Lily dropped the scales into her apron pocket and pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain at the mouth of the cave that acted as the Conductor’s home. There was no more time for dithering. She still had no idea where Mark could be, but if this Oracle really did know as much as Septima and Tertius seemed to think, then she must be the best person to start asking.

Although she couldn’t help but wonder what someone who impressed the inhabitants of a realm like Naru would be like.

*   *   *

The last notes of the Choir’s song were fading away as Lily emerged. Already the choristers were wandering down from their platforms, chatting in groups of two or three. As they all kept their distance from each other, this hubbub was loud, each conversation trying to drown out the next, without any thought for privacy.

More surprising, though, was their reaction to her. These Naruvians were supposed to be obsessed with knowledge, with new things, and she must have been the most extraordinary person to walk among them for years. Yet they seemed determined to ignore her, scattering if she attempted to get their attention. Their shimmering clothes—simple robes and tunics, glimmered in the undulating light from the Hub. As Lily walked among them, fragments of their conversations emerged out of the noise.

“It can’t be true, can it? No, not possible…”

“You’d better believe it. This is top-quality knowledge! So what will you give me for it?”

“… So she thought no one else would turn up, just wasn’t her lucky day!”

“Everything I know about the village is worthless! I’ve nothing but old news … this is the worst day of my life! Why did they have to go and get a new Speaker?”

“Well, he had been dead for several days…”

“… that’s no excuse!”

Every time she caught a hint of something familiar, it dissolved into a sea of nonsense. The Choir began to move faster around her, rushing over to greet new people and spurn others. It was like no crowd she had ever been in, so loud and yet so separate, as though each person wanted to be everywhere and nowhere at once. Lily began to feel quite disoriented, stumbling from one group to another, trying to pick out the Conductor. She was so absorbed in this that she hardly noticed Tertius and Septima until they were almost face-to-face.

The pair stopped in front of her. For a second, they glanced at each other, and back at Lily, in a slightly puzzled way, as though she had been someone they had met once, a few years ago. And then, Septima turned back to Tertius, and resumed their conversation.

“You’ll never believe it,” she continued, her eyes wide and excited, her hands fluttering. “She’s going to stay with Crede! What do you think he’ll do now?”

“Who cares?” Tertius grunted, stepping around Lily as though she were invisible. “Why are you always listening to the Agoran echoes anyway? I heard something really good from Giseth last night. One of the monks is missing. His Speaker is frantic.”

“Really? That’s amazing!” Septima gasped in delight as she trailed after him. “Um … what’s a monk, again?”

And then Septima and Tertius were gone, vanished into the chatter. Lily stared after them, mouth agape. Had it really been only yesterday they had been screaming at each other as they betrayed her to their “enemy”? And had they really been talking about Agora? For a moment, she thought about running after them, to ask what they had heard—did they have any news of her far-off home? But then, all they would be able to offer her were meaningless fragments, bald facts without understanding or experience. They’d probably been listening to voices from Giseth for years, and yet Septima still had no clear idea of what a monk was. Just like she had known a hundred details about Agora, but could not picture a city.

Then again, Lily thought, as she continued on her way, was it that surprising? No one in Giseth needed to explain the monks to each other because they saw them every day. Lily shook her head, trying to imagine what it would have been like to be brought up a Naruvian, to know so much, and understand so little. It seemed like only the Conductor talked sense around here.

At least, he had yesterday. With a shiver, Lily wondered if the Conductor would remember her when she found him. He had seemed more sensible, but age was no indication of stability here. A pair of old men had already passed her, squabbling like schoolboys over whether sheep or goats would make the best pets. Lily wondered if they had ever seen either.

To her relief, when she did see the Conductor, lingering near his podium, he returned her gaze, and even raised one chubby hand to give a little wave. It wasn’t a particularly friendly greeting; he looked more nervous than anything else as she approached. But here, that was more than enough.

“You’re early,” he observed, nervously twirling his baton. “I hope you were not unsettled as you approached—I have told the Choir not to bother you with questions, but I fear they were not terribly subtle.”

Lily nodded, thoughtfully, as the choristers filed out of the Hub chamber, until only the two of them were left beneath the eerie glow of the crystal spire.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Lily wondered what passed for small talk down here.

“Um…” she glanced around. “The Hub is very bright today,” she ventured. The Conductor nodded, distractedly.

“A lot of knowledge was brought to it, and has yet to be taken by the Oracle,” he mused. “Many have called knowledge a light in the darkness—in Naru, this is the literal truth.” He paused. “But I am not the one to explain such things to you. Do you want to see the Oracle now? We can wait; she is very patient…”

“I’d like to see her now, if that’s all right.” Lily said, eagerly. After traveling for so long, she didn’t want to delay a second longer. The Conductor nodded, still oddly reluctant.

“It’s not far.”

The Conductor shuffled toward the Hub, and Lily followed. As they drew nearer, Lily began to hear something. It felt like a low buzzing in her ears, but the closer she got to the Hub, the more pronounced it became, vibrating through her whole body. Not painful exactly, though uncomfortable. But the strangest thing about it was that it was oddly familiar; it seemed to peak and flow just like the song the Choir had been singing as she awoke.

She turned to ask the Conductor about this, but he was already disappearing down a set of stone steps, hidden behind one of the choir platforms. Lily hurried after him.

The light of the Hub was soon replaced by a blue-tinted gleam, cast by smaller crystals set into the walls of a descending tunnel.

“Watch your step,” the Conductor warned her, turning back, his dark eyes like mirrors in the strange light. “I can guide you part of the way, but you must approach the Oracle alone.”

“You won’t be coming with me?” Lily asked, surprised. The Conductor shook his head.

“It is not right to visit the Oracle without being summoned.” He tucked the baton behind his ear. “And I do not care to visit the Resonant Throne. It is not a comfortable place.”

“But, if the Oracle is your leader, why does she stay there?”

The Conductor sighed.

“She does not sit there out of choice. It is the only place that she can hear all of the echoes—beneath the Hub, where every secret it absorbs is released.”

They walked on a little, in silence. Something was nagging at the back of Lily’s mind.

“So, the Oracle hears everything said in the world above?” she repeated, slowly. “Millions of voices, all at once? Wouldn’t that make it just a meaningless babble?”

“For most, yes,” the Conductor said. “I am sure you have seen that for the choristers, the sense of the whole truth is less important than the fragments they can call their own. But the Oracle is the most gifted of us all—she truly listens. She remembers. She can bring our secrets together into sense. That is why she rules. And of course, the Oracle does not just hear simple echoes.” The Conductor grew somber again. “There are more secrets in the world than those that are spoken aloud.”

The stone steps came to an end, to be replaced by a rough-hewn corridor. The glowing crystals were becoming more sparse, and the Conductor walked ahead into the gloom. Lily wanted to reply, but she found all her attention was required to feel her way, and not trip.

“That is why we sing,” the Conductor continued, half to himself now, so Lily had to strain to hear him. “We spend our days in search of trivia, disjointed pieces of information, and we bargain with them among ourselves. But in the end, their true purpose is to make the Song. We take the secrets we have discovered and weave them into a harmony, as an offering to our ruler. The Hub then focuses everything down to the Resonant Throne, where the Oracle directs its flow. She banishes worthless babble to the Cacophony in the Outer Caverns, and absorbs our songs, rich in true knowledge and wisdom. Nothing is hidden from her. Nothing.”

Lily was silent. The more she heard about the Oracle, the less she liked the thought of meeting her. How many times had she shouted in frustration through her short life? How many words of bitterness and rage, how few words of love and friendship? She hoped that the scales balanced in her favor, but to meet someone who would know every word she had ever uttered was an unsettling prospect.

“But, if she knows everything, why does she need you?” Lily asked, hoping she didn’t sound too tactless. The Conductor frowned.

“I and the Choir have our purpose, set down by ancient laws. We preserve her harmony, keep the song flowing, and protect her physical form. In return, we are fed, we are comfortable, and we have endless truths to find. We know our duties; there is no unrest in our land. We have little need of strong feelings, they are … dangerous.” The Conductor turned away a little, his voice softer—more contemplative. “And it will remain this way, until the Day of Judgment.”

Lily was about to ask him what he meant, when he came to a sudden halt, and gestured down the tunnel.

“No more questions,” he said. “We have arrived.”

Up ahead, Lily saw a stone archway, set into the wall. A thick curtain of dark velvet stretched across it, and at one side hung a tasseled rope. The curtain pulsed and waved, as though there was a strong wind beyond it, though on this side, as ever, the air was still and dead.

“Go and meet the Oracle, my young wonder,” the Conductor said, as he reached the arch. “But be aware, she will know everything about you.”

Lily faced the curtain, fighting the urge to put it off, to run back to the Hub, and the madness that she almost understood. A strange shiver passed through her, and she felt herself tense.

“She doesn’t know my thoughts,” Lily said, with more bravado than she felt. “I’ll have something to surprise her.”

The Conductor met her gaze. Not for the first time, she was struck by something deeply sad behind those nervous eyes.

“No, Lily. Even your thoughts are not your own. She will know those too. She has always known them.”

Lily took a step back, involuntarily.

“How?” she breathed. “That’s impossible. Has she ridden the Nightmare? Has she been spying on me?”

The Conductor shook his head.

“No, child, she listens to the Canticle.”

Lily felt her fists clench. Every time she thought that she understood what was going on, the Conductor pulled out another story. She gritted her teeth.

“And what’s ‘the Canticle’?” she asked, pointedly. “Capital c, presumably? Are you ever going to tell me what’s really going on here?”

The Conductor pulled back, in alarm. Lily looked down at her own hands, her knuckles white with tension, no less shocked. Where had that outburst come from? She must have been more on edge than she thought.

“I … I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “You’ve told me so much, and all for free. It’s just … it’s a lot to take in…”

The Conductor nodded, mollified.

“I understand. Even I find it hard to believe in the Canticle of Whispers, and I have heard it myself. It is the quietest song, but the most potent. It can be found only in the deepest caverns, its music composed of hidden thoughts, desires, and dreams. Even thoughts, it seems, leave an echo.” He paused, rubbing the side of his nose. “We all take our turn to listen. It is not a pleasant experience. Even the most curious return eagerly to the Hub after a few hours. There is something in it that unsettles our souls. Only the Oracle has the strength to spend every day in intimate communion with the souls of millions, to have her whole being filled with the music of humanity.” The Conductor wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “It takes its toll even on her. Even she cannot listen to every mind at once. Remember that.” He reached for the rope to pull back the curtain. “Oh, and one other thing. If you approach her throne, then do so on your knees.”

Lily frowned, her anger not quite cooled.

“Why does she demand that? She’s not my ruler.”

“It’s nothing to do with what she wants,” he said, quietly. And then, to Lily’s surprise, she saw him smile, rather wistfully. “She wants for nothing. Except perhaps for one thing. And I doubt that you’ll be the one to give it to her.”

He pulled on the rope. Beyond, Lily could see a stone corridor, smoother than most, and filled with an odd, milky light.

For a moment, Lily turned to the Conductor, not knowing whether to thank him for his guidance, or blame him for sending her in so unprepared. But the Conductor had turned away, averting his eyes from the corridor. Whatever was beyond, he didn’t want to see.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded, once.

Lily stepped into the corridor.

*   *   *

Lily felt a sudden, unexpected breeze. Maybe it was just a vibration, but the air in this corridor was moving, going in and out like the breathing of a great beast. The light, too, was odd, coming from some source up ahead, but seeming to fill the air all around her.

Lily’s only company was the sound of her boots on the stone. She tried to plan what she would do, how she would approach the Oracle, but every time she tried, the Oracle’s omniscience rose up like a barrier. She couldn’t introduce herself; the Oracle would know. She couldn’t say she was looking for Mark; the Oracle would know that too. It felt as though everything she could do had been decided for her already. For Lily, who prided herself on her independence, it was a crushing feeling.

But still, she walked on. Up ahead, she could see the passage reach its end, and beyond it, something shone. She stepped forward, trying to see what it was, shielding her eyes as the light grew in power and intensity.

And then, with a lurch, she was at the mouth of the tunnel, and all her senses deserted her.

The cavern was larger even than the Hub chamber, and filled with weird light that flowed over the walls, dazzlingly bright. She could barely make out the stone walkway at her feet, but she could see enough to know that it was narrow, and that it stretched out over a vast chasm, a sheer drop onto wickedly sharp spars of rock. Above, the measureless height of the chamber took her breath away. She tried taking a step forward, but as she did, that dreadful buzzing from the Hub returned to her ears, hitting her like a wall. It was louder now—no longer musical, but pulsing like a heartbeat. Lily gasped, feeling a splitting pain through her head as the light grew more intense.

“Speak.”

One word. One single sound, but it cut through the noise like a knife—cold and sharp. Lily felt her mouth fly open, almost beyond her control.

Ahead, the light faded, the buzzing vanished. And Lily saw the Oracle.

She saw only glimpses, at first: the edge of her granite throne, on a high spar of rock, directly beneath the point of an immense, inverted spire of glowing crystal that plunged down from the roof of the cavern, and was clearly the base of the Hub; the tip of a headdress, sparkling like a star; the shifting jewels on her cape picked out like the night sky. Then, gradually, these points resolved themselves into a woman.

At least she assumed it was a woman. The voice that she had heard had been female, and not especially old or young. But that was the only clue. Every inch of her body was swathed in a jeweled robe, headdress, and mask. No, not jewels—resonant crystals, each one dancing with light.

The Oracle sat so still, in all her finery, that for a moment, Lily thought that she must be a statue. Then, the figure moved its head, and that same voice resonated through the cavern.

“Speak, Lilith.”

This time it was louder, but no less cold. There was not a spark of interest there, no warmth, but no dislike either. She had never heard a voice that seemed so commanding, and at the same time so indifferent.

Lily found her thoughts had quite deserted her. Instead of speaking, she walked a little closer, slowly growing accustomed to the odd, distorting light. She was nearly halfway to the throne now, halfway across the narrow stone walkway that stretched over the chasm. Her footfalls rang unnaturally, the echoes whirling over her head, until her own approach felt like an army drumming in her ears. Her head spun. Involuntarily, she reached out her arms to keep her balance. The rock bridge beneath her seemed thin and precarious, and she felt herself beginning to topple toward the edge. In a flash, she remembered the Conductor’s warning, and sank to her knees. Here, with the stone beneath her hands, she felt a little better, and crawled forward, until she was nearly at the throne.

“Why … why am I feeling like this?” her speech came out thick and slurred, not really expecting a response.

“The resonance in this chamber is dangerous,” came the reply, clipped and polished. “You are growing used to it. Lie down. It will pass.”

Unsteadily, Lily did as she was told, resting her cheek against the cool stone. Gradually, the vibrations stopped, and Lily risked a look up. From down here, the light from the Hub above refracted through the crystals on the Oracle’s crown, creating a shifting halo of light.

Lily raised her head.

“I’m here,” she said, to the Oracle.

There was a pause; Lily struggled up onto her knees, but didn’t try to move any farther. She didn’t want to fall down again; if she slipped from the stone bridge, it was a long way down.

“I can see,” the Oracle said, without a trace of sarcasm or irritation. “You wish answers. Ask your questions.”

Lily looked up, amazed.

“Just like that?” she said. “No objections? No speech telling me I am not ready to know?”

“My being is truth,” the Oracle replied. “Ask.”

Lily staggered to her feet.

“Who am I?” she asked, softly. “Why did my father send me away? Where is Mark? Is he all right? Is he hurt?” Her voice grew louder, her questions coming fast. “Why does everyone say we’re important? What is in the Midnight Charter that makes us so special? What are these secrets that everyone is keeping from us? Why…?” Lily faltered, growing quiet again. “What is our role, Oracle? Our place? Can you tell me?”

There was a long silence. Lily heard her own words disappear into the shifting sounds of the Resonant Throne, joining the buzz of a million other words that hovered around the Oracle like a miasma. And then, the Oracle spoke.

“All this I can say.”

Lily felt an overwhelming wash of relief. She felt like laughing, like jumping for joy. Already, she pictured herself reuniting with Mark, with her other friends, of the Midnight Charter’s prophecy torn up and trampled in the streets. For one, blissful moment, everything was wonderful.

Then, the Oracle raised one gloved hand.

“But first, the price,” she said. “Truth begets truth; no knowledge is free. That is the way of Naru.”

Lily nodded, hastily.

“Yes, yes, of course. What would you like to know? I’ve traveled all over the worlds above. There must be so much that I can tell you.” She racked her brains. “You’ve heard about Giseth, I’m sure, but do you know what it feels like to see a spring dawn? Crisp and clear, and bright…”

“I know,” came the reply, hard and final.

Lily was startled. She tried again.

“Do you know about the Nightmare? About all the things I saw in my dreams when it had me in its grasp? You know, my friend Laud turned up all the time, he had eyes that shone and…”

“I know.”

“Oh…” Lily faltered. The Canticle could even see into dreams? That hardly seemed fair. She thought back, far back, trying to think of something that wouldn’t be remembered, something totally unimportant. Unless, of course, you were trying to please someone who thought they knew everything. “When I was a little girl,” Lily began, “back at the orphanage, there was this corner. We were all crowded into these tiny rooms, but none of us would sit in that corner. I never knew why, never thought about it until now, it was as though we were frightened of it…”

“I know.” The voice was not annoyed, or weary, it was simply stating a fact. “I know everything spoken in the lands above, and everything thought, and felt, and dreamed. The Choir sings that which is revealed to the world, and the Canticle whispers all that is hidden.”

Lily stopped, feeling the force of the Oracle’s eyes from behind her silvery mask. She dropped her head, her confidence draining away.

“Then, what can I give you?” she asked, quietly.

“One thing,” the Oracle said, her tone as icy and impersonal as ever. “One fact. One secret, something tiny, but something that has been hidden from me. Taken from my mind. The Canticle refuses to show me, unless I am told directly, and I must know.” The Oracle moved her head, and though Lily could not see her face through the glittering mask, she felt the power of the Oracle’s stare.

“Of course!” Lily said, spreading her arms. “What is it? What don’t you know?”

The Oracle didn’t reply. Lily’s words echoed around the chamber, coming back to her distorted and mocking. Don’t you know? Don’t … know … you … don’t … know.…

There was something wrong here. The Oracle was silent again, implacable, more still than any human being had a right to be. Lily remembered the corpse of the Bishop of the Lost, forever sitting on his throne. If she hadn’t heard her speak, Lily would have wondered if there was anything at all behind that crystal mask.

And then, it struck her.

“You don’t know, do you?” she said, amazed. “You don’t know what this secret is. And you expect me to find it anyway?”

“Tell me.” The Oracle leaned forward, and for a brief moment, Lily heard a quaver in that hard, clinical voice. A tremor of emotion, though which emotion was impossible to say. “Truth begets truth. Tell me! Tell me!”

The Oracle’s voice rose higher, an imperious command. The walls of the chamber echoed it back, the Hub flared with light, sparking off the Oracle’s headdress. Lily felt another wave of nausea pass through her, as the vibrations from the Oracle’s voice shook the stone walkway. She collapsed onto her hands and knees.

“My lady, I don’t know where to start! Please, can’t you tell me anything?”

“One truth,” the Oracle said, no less firmly, but perhaps with more resignation. “One truth, one fact is the key. Most important…” she paused, and then, in a softer voice, almost human, she continued. “Most important to who I was.”

“But what is it?” Lily tried again, desperately. “What is the secret?!”

Lily’s voice echoed through the chamber, reverberating, coming back to her loud and shrill, hurting her ears. And the Oracle’s mask stared. As the echoes mixed and bounced and faded, she stared.

“I can’t remember,” she said.

After that, the Oracle spoke no more. By the time Lily left her, she had not moved again.

*   *   *

Later, as she returned to the Hub, with the Conductor leading the way, she told him all that had happened. Strangely, he seemed almost relieved.

“Perhaps it is a blessing, child,” he reassured her. “It is dangerous to go to the Oracle without some idea of what you are looking for. Truth is a powerful thing. This way, as you search for her answer, you may find your own.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Lily replied, distantly.

“And I might be able to assist you,” the Conductor fussed. “I can show you the best resonance stones … or I could take you to the Canticle itself. Even the Oracle will not have been able to listen to it all. There is still hope, child, and I for one would be sorry to have you go just yet, when there is so much we can learn from each other…”

Lily was nodding, but she wasn’t really listening anymore.

After everything she had been through. After the horrors and the weariness, and the years of not knowing, she was so close. This secret, whatever it was, was the key to everything. The Oracle knew the truth; Lily knew that as deeply and fundamentally as she knew her own name. Once she knew what was happening to her, really knew, everything would be clear. She could find Mark. She could return to Agora. She would defy them, turn the tables on these shadow men and women who took titles instead of names and thought in prophecies and visions. She would win, and could have a life of her own again.

This secret would solve everything.

And she was going to find it.