City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(115)

Shara wishes she had someone to talk to about this. But the only person she’s ever really honestly talked to about the Divine was Efrem Pangyui, for the handful of days they had together.

She looks back at the white suitcase under her desk.

She walks over, pulls out the suitcase, puts it on her desk, and thinks.

Shara Komayd graduated from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs training academy with a record low number of demerits. She graduated from Fadhuri with full marks. And she has always been one of the few high-level operatives in the Ministry to actually, personally, do all of her paperwork herself—a virtue she takes pride in.

Always the good soldier. Never a toe out of line. And look at what it’s gotten me.

But she still cannot quite bring herself to open the suitcase.

Just remember, she tells herself, it’s not like you have any more of a career to throw away.

The latches click open with a snap, and the top lifts up.

Inside is a stack of papers bound together with string. The papers are covered in spidery handwriting, and she does not need to look for the slumping T or jagged M to identify the hand as Efrem’s. The first page is different from the ones below, written hastily, and slapped on the top of the stack.

She will have only today to read it, she thinks. Vinya’s people will definitely be at the embassy soon, after Urav.

Shara nestles down in her chair and cuts the string.

Hello.

If you are reading this, then you have found the safety deposit box belonging to, through a chain of aliases, Dr. Efrem Pangyui of Ghaladesh.

It seems unlikely that you would not know this already, & since the only indication of this deposit box’s existence is a message encoded in a mixture of old Gheshati, Chotokan, Dreyling, & Avranti, then the probabilities suggest that only a person with great experience in ancient translation would be able to find this box at all.

I suppose what I am saying is—Hello, Shara.

If you are reading this, then I am either dead, missing, or safely in your protection. I hope it is the latter: I hope, as you read this, I am across from you, & we laugh over this histrionic letter, & how needless it was.

But as of right now, I am not at all convinced it is needless.

What follows is my personal journal (or at least what I was able to snatch from my offices) recorded over my time in Bulikov, from the 12th of the Month of the Scorpion to the 4th of the Month of the Rat.

I hope what I am giving you is enough to complete my research. I have touched upon a truth in Bulikov perilous enough that I feel my life is in danger—but I am not certain which truth. Yet you are, in many ways, wiser & worldlier than I ever wished to be, & I hope that you may succeed where I have failed.

I hope to see you again. & if I do not, then I wish you safe studies.

Yours,

Efrem Pangyui





16th of the Month of the Rat





Journal of Efrem Pangyui

12th of the Month of the Scorpion

Bulikov

This is ridiculous.

I am looking at my notes in my office (a dingier & darker place could never be found) as well as the list from Minister Komayd’s warehouse, & I am struck by the marvel of what we have saved, what we have stored, & the enormity of the task before me.

So far I am about three-quarters of the way through just compiling a list strictly of documents: issuance of edicts from Continental priests, Divinities, or Divine agents, anything recording significant “policy changes” (I am obliged to use this execrable term for what I seek). The stack of paper now comes up to about knee height. I once jokingly predicted I would die entombed in documents, yet now that prediction seems much more possible. It is fascinating material, to be sure—I would have killed to grasp but a fraction of it months ago—yet now I feel I shall drown in treasures.

Sketches, sketches … I hope I shall find a place to keep all of these sketches. …





27th of the Month of the Scorpion


Already, a pattern emerges.

I must allow that I could be biased. I have looked at the most obvious opportunity for correlation—the Night of Convening, & the founding of Bulikov—& though I do perceive much correlation, that doesn’t mean I’m right.

But the facts remain:

In 717, while the Divinities & their peoples were still squabbling & fighting for territory, a Taalvashtani priest wrote a series of essays expounding the benefits of allying with Jukoshtan. These became exceedingly popular throughout all of Taalvashtan, being read aloud in numerous gathering places.

In 720, on the other side of the Continent, a phalanx of Voortyashtani precepts helped a wandering Olvoshtani monk return to his home, & reflected at length upon how much they had in common with their warring neighbors. This was recorded in several letters sent to the foremost Voortyashtani acolyte, who noted that he approved of the sentiment.

That same year, in Ahanashtan, a county magistrate wrote letters to his sister, describing a town meeting in which much sympathy with the Kolkashtanis was expressed, despite the ongoing six-way war.

So on, & so on … I can cite nearly thirty more instances of naked sympathy for other Divine factions, & more continue to creep out of the pile, despite the Divine war being waged at this exact same time.

Then—“abruptly”—in 723, all six Divinities felt compelled to sit down in the Night of the Convening, in the future spot of Bulikov, hash out their differences, & form what was, more or less, a pantheon of equal Divinities. … Yet all religious texts I have reviewed indicate this was decided with no consultation with their mortal followers whatsoever! This was, reportedly, a “unilateral” decision among Divinities, as one would expect, for why would a god consult with his or her followers, like a politician among constituents? Yet obviously the shift had been brewing for years, among their mortal flock!