Author: Kate Elliott
Category: Science
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Henry strode in like fire, and Adelheid rose to greet him with an answering strength of will. Theophanu waited to one side with inscrutable patience as the king made a show of greeting his fair, young queen. But he did not neglect his daughter. He kissed her on either cheek and drew her forward so that every person, and by now quite a few had crowded into the chapel, would note her standing at his right side.
“Theophanu, you will remain in the north as my representative.” He spoke with the king’s public voice, carrying easily over the throng. The news carried in murmurs out the door and into the palace courtyard, where people gathered to see how Henry would react to the news of Sanglant’s departure.
What Theophanu’s expression concealed Rosvita could no longer guess. Was she glad of the opportunity or angry to be left behind again? She only nodded, eyes half shuttered. “As you wish, Father.”
Henry extended an arm and took Adelheid’s hand in his, drawing her forward to stand by his left side, as he would any honored ally. “Tomorrow,” he said, addressing the court with a sharp smile, “we continue our march south, to Aosta.”
3
LIGHT lay in such a hard, brilliant sheen over the abandoned city that Liath had to shade her eyes as she and Eldest Uncle emerged out of the cave into heat and sunlight. The stone edifices spread out before her, as silent as ghosts, color splashed across them where walls and square columns had been painted with bright murals. She retrieved her weapons from the peace stone and the water jar from the pyramid of skulls. Her hands were still unsteady, her entire soul shaken.
She and Da had run for so many years, hunted and, in the end, caught. She had been exiled from the king’s court, yet had not found peace within her mother’s embrace. Now this place, too, was closed to her. Was there any place she would ever be welcome? Could she ever find a home where she would not be hounded, hunted, and threatened with death?
Not today.
The huge carved serpent’s mouth lay empty, although she heard the incomprehensible sound of the councillors’ distant conversation, muted by the labyrinthine turnings of the passageway, each one like a twist of intrigue in the king’s court, muffling words and intent.
“I have been given a day and a night,” she said to the old sorcerer. She had learned to keep going by reverting to practical matters. “Can I walk the spheres in that length of time?”
“Child, the span of days as they are measured on Earth has no meaning up among the spheres. You must either return to Earth, or walk the spheres.”
“Or wait here and die.”
He chuckled. “Truly, even with such meager powers of foretelling as I possess, I do not predict that is the fate which awaits you.”
“What fate awaits me, then?”
He shrugged. Together they walked back across the city toward the bank of mist. “You are new to your power,” he said finally. “The path that leads to the spheres may not open for you.”
“And the burning stone may remain hidden. What then? Will Cat Mask choose to hunt me down?”
“He surely will. Given the chance.”
“Then I must make sure he is not given the chance.” The silence hanging over the abandoned city made her voice sound like nothing more than the scratch of a mouse’s claws on the stone paving of a vast cathedral. “I could return to Earth.”
“So you could,” he replied agreeably. He whistled, under his breath, a tune that sounded like the wandering wind caught among a maze of reed pipes.
“Then I would be reunited with my husband and child.”
“Indeed you would, in that case.”
“My daughter is growing. How many days are passing while we speak here together? How many months will pass before I see her again?” Her voice rose in anger. “How can I wait here, how can I even consider a longer journey, when I know that Sister Anne and her companions are preparing for what lies ahead?”
“These are difficult questions to answer.”
His calm soothed her. “Of course, if this land does not return to its place, there might be other unseen consequences, ones that aren’t as obvious as a great cataclysm but that are equally terrible.”
“So there might.”
“But, in fact, no one knows what will happen.”
“No one ever knows what will happen,” he replied, “not even those who can divine the future.”
She glanced at him, but could not read anything in his countenance except peace. He had a mole below one eye, as though a black tear had frozen there. “You’re determined to agree with me.”
“Am I? Perhaps it is only that you’ve said nothing yet that I can disagree with.”
They walked a while more in silence. She pulled one corner of her cloak up over her head to shade her eyes. The somber ranks of stairs, the platforms faced with skull-like heads and gaping mouths or with processions of women wearing elaborate robes and complicated headdresses, the glaring eye of the sun, all these wore away at her until she had an ache that throbbed along her forehead. The beat of her heart pulsed annoyingly in her throat. When they came to the great pyramid, she sank down at its foot, bracing herself against one of the monstrous heads. She set a hand on a smooth snout, a serpent’s cunning face extruding from a petaled stone flower. Sweat trickled down her back. Heat sucked anger out of her. She would have taken off her cloak, but she needed it to keep her head shaded. The old sorcerer crouched at the base of the huge staircase, rolling his spear between his hands.
“Did you use magic to build this city?” she asked suddenly.
His aged face betrayed nothing. “Is the willingness to perform backbreaking labor a form of magic? Are the calculations of priests trained in geometry and astronomy more sorcery than skill? Perhaps so. What is possible for many may seem like magic when only a few contemplate the same amount of work.”
“I’m tired,” said Liath, and so she was. She shut her eyes, but under that shroud of quiet she could not feel at peace. She saw Sanglant and Blessing as she had seen them through the vision made out of fire: the child—grown so large!—squirming toward her and Sanglant crying out her name. “I’m so tired. How can I do everything that is asked of me?”
“Always we are tied to the earth out of which we came whether we will it or not. What you might have become had you the ability to push all other considerations from your heart and mind is not the same thing that you will become because you can never escape your ties to those for whom you feel love and responsibility.”
“What I am cannot be separated from who I am joined to in my heart.”
He grunted. She opened her eyes just as he gripped the haft of his spear and hoisted himself up to his feet. A man ran toward them along the broad avenue with the lithe and powerful lope of a predator. As he neared, she felt a momentary shiver of terror: dressed in the decorated loincloth and short cloak ubiquitous among the Aoi males, he had not a human face but an animal one. An instant later she recognized Cat Mask. He had pulled his mask down to conceal his face. In his right hand he held a small, round, white shield and in his left a wooden sword ridged with obsidian blades.
She leaped up and onto the stairs, grabbed her bow, slipped an arrow free, and drew, sighting on Cat Mask. Eldest Uncle said nothing, made no movement, but he whistled softly under his breath. Oddly enough, she felt the wind shift and tangle around her like so many little fingers clutching and prying.
Cat Mask slowed and, with the grace of a cat pretending it meant to turn away from the mouse that has escaped it, halted a cautious distance away. “I am forbidden to harm you this day!” he cried. The mask muffled his words.
“Is that meant to make me trust you?” She didn’t change her stance.
After a moment he wedged the shield between arm and torso and used his free hand to lift his mask so that she could see his face. He examined her with the startled expression of a man who has abruptly realized that the woman standing before him has that blend of form and allurement that makes her attractive. She didn’t lower her bow. Wind teased
her arrow point up and down, so she couldn’t hold it steady. With an angry exclamation she sought fire in the iron tip and let it free. The arrow’s point burst into flame. Cat Mask leaped backward quite dramatically.
Eldest Uncle laughed outright, hoisting his spear. The bells tied to its tip jangled merrily. “So am I answered!” he cried. He frowned at Cat Mask. “Why have you followed us, Sour One?”
“To make you see reason, Old Man. Give her over to me now and I will make sure that she receives the fate she deserves. Humankind are not fit for an alliance with us. They will never trust us, nor any person tainted by kinship to us.”
“Harsh words,” mused Eldest Uncle as Liath kept Cat Mask fixed in her sight while the arrow’s point burned cheerfully. “Is it better to waste away here? Do you believe that your plans and plots will succeed even if nothing hinders our return? Have we numbers enough to defeat humankind and their allies, now that they are many and we are few?”
“They fight among themselves. As long as they remain divided, we can defeat them.”
“Will they still quarrel among themselves when faced with our armies? Do not forget how much they hated us before.”
“They will always hate us!” But even as he said those words, he glanced again at Liath. She knew the expression of men who felt desire; she had seen it often enough to recognize it here. Cat Mask struggled with unspoken words, or maybe with disgust at his own susceptibility. Like Sanglant, he had the look of a man who knows how to fight and will do so. He was barely as tall as Liath but easily as broad across the shoulders as Sanglant, giving him a powerful, impressive posture. “And we will always hate them!”
His expression caught in her heart, in that place where Hugh still presided with his beautiful face and implacable grip.
“Hate makes you weak.” Her words startled him enough that he met her gaze squarely for the first time. “Hate is like a whirlpool, because in the end it drags you under.” With each word, she saw more clearly the knots that bound her to Hugh, fastened first by him, certainly, but pulled tighter by her. “That which you allow yourself to hate has power over you. How can you be sure that all humankind hates your people still? How can you be sure that an envoy offering peace won’t be listened to?”
He snarled. “You can never understand what we suffered.”
The flame at the tip of the arrow flickered down and snapped out, leaving the iron point glowing with heat. With deliberate slowness, to make it a challenge, she lowered the bow. “You don’t know what I can or cannot understand. You are not the only one who has suffered.”
“Ask those who are dead if they want peace with humankind. How can we trust the ones who did this to us?”
“The ones who did this to you died so long ago that most people believe you are only a story told to children at bedtime.”
He laughed, not kindly, and took a step forward. “You are clever with words, Bright One. But I will still have your blood to make my people strong.”
Resolve made her bold and maybe reckless as she gestured toward the heavens with Seeker of Hearts. “Catch me if you can, Cat Mask. Will you walk the spheres at my heels, or do you prefer to face me after I have returned from the halls of power, having learned the secret language of the stars?”
Cat Mask hissed in surprise, or disapproval. Or maybe even fear.
Eldest Uncle set down his spear with a thump. “So be it.” He raised the spear and shook it so the bells rattled, as though to close the circle and end the conversation. “Go,” he said to Cat Mask. It was a measure of the respect granted him as the last survivor, the only Ashioi who had seen the great cataclysm personally, that when he spoke a single command, a warrior as bold as Cat Mask obeyed instantly.
They watched him jog away down the length of the avenue. When he was distant enough that he posed no immediate threat, Eldest Uncle set foot on the stairs. Liath followed, using her bow to steady herself as they climbed higher on those frighteningly narrow steps. She caught her breath at the broad platform that defined its height before they descended the other side and passed into the mist, traversing the borderlands quickly and emerging at the lonely tower.
The unnatural silence of the sparse grassland, with its thorny shrubs and low-lying pale grasses, tore at her heart. Like a mute, the land could no longer speak in the many small voices common to Earth. The stillness oppressed her. Light made gold of the hillside as they walked up and over the height, bypassing the watchtower. She was grateful to come in under the scant shade afforded by the pines. Even the wind had died. Heat drenched them. A swipe of her hand along the back of her neck came away dripping.
She halted at the forest’s edge, such as it was, breaking from pine forest into scrub and giving way precipitously to the hallucinatory splendor of the flowering meadow.
Under the shadow of the pines she slid her bow back into its case and let the spray of color ease her eyes. Eldest Uncle stood beside her without speaking or moving, beyond the thin whistle blown under his breath and an occasional tinkle of bells as he shifted the haft of his spear on the needle-strewn ground.
“How do I walk the spheres?” she asked finally, when Eldest Uncle seemed disinclined to move onward or to say anything at all. “Where do I find the path that will lead me there?”
“You have already walked it.” He gestured toward the flower trail that led down to the river. “Why do you think I bide here, out of all the places in our land? This place is like a spring, the last known to us, where water wells up from hidden roots. Here the land draws life from the universe beyond, because the River of Light that spans the heavens touches our Earth at this place.”
Wind stirred the flowers. Cornflowers bobbed on their high stalks, and irises nodded. The breeze murmured through crooked rows of lavender that cut a swathe of purple through tangles of dog roses and dense clusters of bright peonies. Marigolds edged the trail, so richly gold that sunlight might have been poured into them to give them color.
The view humbled her. “I thought you camped here because of the burning stone.” She gestured toward the river, and the clearing that lay beyond it, where she had first crossed into this land.
“There are many places within our land where a gateway may open at intervals we cannot predict. It is true that the clearing in which I wait and meditate is one of those. But it is this place that I guard.”
“Guard against what?”
“Go forward. You have walked this trail many times in these last days.”
Wind cooled the sweat on her forehead and made the flowers dance and sway in a delirious mob of colors. Why hesitate?
Reflexively, she checked her gear, all that she had brought with her, everything and the only things she now possessed: cloak and boots, tunic and leggings; a leather belt, small leather pouch, and sheathed eating knife; her good friend Lucian’s sword; the gold torque that lay heavily at her throat; the gold feather that Eldest Uncle had once given to her, now bound to an arrow’s haft; the griffin quiver full of strong iron-pointed arrows and her bow, Seeker of Hearts; the lapis lazuli ring through which Alain had offered her his protection. The water jar did not belong to her, so she set it down on the path. When she stepped forward, crossing from shadow into sun, the blast of the sun hit her so hard she staggered back, raising a hand to shield herself.
Something wasn’t right. Hadn’t she learned more than this, even in her short time here in the country of the Aoi? Every spell, drawn out of an interaction with the hidden architecture of the universe, must be entered into correctly and departed from correctly, just as all things have a proper beginning and a proper ending.
By what means did a sorcerer ascend into the spheres? How could any person ascend into the heavens in bodily form, because the heavens were made up of aether, light, wind, and fire? Mortal substance was not meant to walk there.
Would she have to study many days and weeks and even months more, before she could walk the spheres and seek out her true power? Even if she ought to, she could not wait.
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On Earth, days and weeks passed with each breath she exhaled here in this country. In the world beyond, her child grew and her husband waited, Anne schemed and Hugh flourished and Hanna rode long distances at the mercy of forces greater than herself. What of the Lions who had befriended her? What of Alain, whom she had last seen staggering, half dead, through the ruins of a battlefield? Where was he now? How could she leave them struggling alone? How much longer would she make them wait for her?
In one day and one night, as measured in this country, Cat Mask and his warriors would come hunting her.
It was time for her to go.
Yet how did one reach the heavens?
With a ladder.
She shut her eyes. Wind curled in her hair like the brush of Da’s fingers, stroking her to sleep. Ai, God, Da had taught her exactly what she needed, if she had only believed in him.
She knelt to set her palm against the earth. As she rested there for the space of seven breaths, she let her mind empty, as Eldest Uncle had taught her. Dirt lay gritty against her skin. When she let her awareness empty far enough, she actually felt the pulse of the land through her hand, thin and fragile, worn to a thread. But it was still there. The land was still, barely, alive.
With a finger, she traced the Rose of Healing into the dirt, brushing aside dried-up needles and desiccated splinters of pine bark so that the outline made a bold mark on the path. Heat rose from that outline, and she stood quickly to step over it and into the sunlight.
At first her voice sounded hesitant and weak, a frail reed against the ocean of silence that lay over the land.
“By this ladder the mage ascends: First to the Rose, whose touch is healing.” She took two more steps before bending to trace the next sigil into the dirt. “Then to the Sword, which grants us strength.”
Three steps she forged forward now, and either perhaps the heat had increased or maybe only the strong hammer of the sun was making her light-headed, because some strange disturbance had altered the air around her so that the air resisted her passage as porridge might, poured down from the sky.