A Shout for the Dead by James Barclay

a statement of their place in the eyes of the Omniscient. And you did. It is an enduring shame that so few seem to have listened to you and believed you.'
    'Not even my eldest son,' said Herine. 'And it is he who will succeed me.'
    Jhered chuckled. He towered above Herine and she had to hurry to keep up with his easy long stride. Here was one man at least who would never question her authority, even if he sometimes disagreed with her methods.
    'I wouldn't worry about Roberto. He'll always be a soldier at heart and he worries about their power as a battlefield weapon in the wrong hands. He doesn't know them like we do. He's been away so long. He hasn't seen them grow as we have.'
    'So he's going to be very unhappy to hear Gorian is still alive,' said Herine.
    Jhered inclined his head. 'It will feed his concern. But he's not stupid. It makes the Academy even more important.'
    'Well that depends on your point of view. An investigation of purity or a school of evil.'
    'Don't lose heart, Herine. You're the head of this religion. The people will come round.'
    'But how long will it take? Another decade, twenty years. Forty? We can't afford these divisions. God-surround-me, they should have closed by now but I actually think they are beginning to widen. Why is that, do you think?'
    'Ah well,' said Jhered. 'I think I have an answer to that.'
    'And?'
    'The Order has a House of Masks in every hamlet in the Conquord. Readers and Speakers numbering thousands teach the scriptures every day. And they are backed by almost nine hundred years of history. More if you want to trace the roots back before the Conquord. And the Ascendancy, for all your support, is effectively a guerrilla movement. They ride into towns with your seal, seek out people who would once have hidden and spirit them away. Those that are left behind have nothing but the Order to explain what had just happened. Think about it, Herine. There are only three Ascendants in adulthood.' 'Four.'
    'We don't count the other one. They are not enough to lift their deeds beyond rumour. People are yet to believe. Perhaps they never will.'
    They passed the library where all the accumulated knowledge of the Ascendancy was stored. A room that creaked with secret history. Herine felt nervous even stepping through the door. On the right, there was a reception room where those displaying signs of active or passive talent were inducted into the Ascendancy. And further on, administration and record-keeping rooms where a knowledge base was building. Over the generations, it would guide and chart the germination of the Ascendancy until, with everyone exhibiting talent sometime in the far future, it would itself become a historical curiosity.
    That, Herine had to assume, was progress. Yet there were times when she awoke, anxious at what she was nurturing. It was a feeling that wouldn't quite die.
    'So was I wrong to believe in them myself?'
    'No,' said Jhered, and Herine could feel the force of his response. 'You made a decision that history will mark as both brave and inspired. But the result is unsettled times.'
    Herine nodded and her mood eased. She smiled. 'Great. You know I had thought I might be revered while I was still alive. Posthumous deification is of no use to me.'
    Jhered laughed out loud, the sound bouncing from the walls.
    'Think yourself lucky. My legacy is one of being the thorn in the side of every citizen. What is of no use to you would be wonderful for me.'
    'I know your worth.'
    Jhered bowed. 'And in truth, that is enough.'
    They stopped outside a small classroom. Mirron was teaching five emerged Ascendants under the watchful eye of Hesther Naravny, the Mother of the Ascendancy. The students were all seventeen years old. They were the tenth strand and developing beautifully. Elsewhere, small groups of citizens, young and old, from across the Conquord were being schooled in an ancient knowledge that until recently had been submerged beneath a tide of prejudice. Most would lose