by Pearl North
The woman beside him spotted Mab between Hilloa and Jan. “Look! They have a lit with them. They must be—”
“Loren!” shouted Ayma, releasing Po’s hand and running forward. “She’s our prisoner! Look! That’s the censor! We know because he knows. We’re with him. Loren, you know me.”
The woman Ayma called Loren hesitated. She looked at the man and nodded. But the crowd around them rumbled with uncertainty.
“Listen to me, everyone!” shouted Ayma. “You’ve won! The Lit King is dead! His people flee for their lives. Now please, put down your weapons! Any further destruction only devastates your own home. The citadel is ours!”
“Listen to her!” Loren yelled. “It’s her! The one who started the rebellion!”
A cheer went up among the crowd and people started putting out their torches.
“Thank the Tales,” sighed Selene. She stood a little back from the others, as if still uncertain about the crowd. Selene was always wary, Po thought, and she was often right to be. He stayed by her side, for mutual comfort and to enjoy the spectacle of Ayma being proud of herself. Selene smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “You did good, too, Po.”
He swallowed the gasp that this glittering moment, full of wonders, elicited. “I killed,” he admitted, not wanting to say that going against Hilloa’s command bothered him most.
She nodded. “But you saved Siblea’s life. You found the pen and kept its secret, and you helped Ayma. Because of all of that, we can give people back the food and seed grain the Lit King stole. With luck, there will be enough left over to feed the Libyrinth until the new crop comes. This is your victory, too. Because you could see past your own preconceptions.”
Po’s aches and pains seemed to fade away in the warm glow that filled him.
“I was wrong about you,” said Selene. “And I want you to know I’m sorry.”
The words stunned him so that for a moment he did not notice what was happening before his very eyes. As Jan and Hilloa turned to say something to the man at the door of the outbuilding, Mab darted straight for Selene. She snatched the pen from Selene’s hand and shoved her. Selene stumbled and fell. Po turned to block Mab’s way but she swerved around him and dashed across the courtyard, back in the direction of the temple proper.
Po ran after her, chasing her up the steps and back into the rotunda. She went behind a pillar and never came out the other side. Po searched the wall for another one of the secret panels and at last found it. He pushed it and it swung open to reveal another staircase like the one they’d been in before. He heard footsteps echoing above.
He followed.
In the dark and the silence, in the absence of Siblea’s suffering and Hilloa’s peril, Po suddenly realized how much pain he was in. His hands and feet were numb from the many mind-lancet attacks he’d sustained in the previous two days. His head ached and he was exhausted and hungry—but he forced himself onward. The staircase spiraled up and up. He thought he saw a light, warmer than what came through the skylights, far above. He strained for the sound of Mab’s footsteps, but heard nothing now.
Another couple of turns and a new sound came to his ears. A faint melody. He tried to think about why Mab would come this way. Was that her singing? No.
The light grew brighter. Warm, golden light. He hastened toward it. He heard voices now, talking, though he could not make out the words. But he recognized Mab’s voice and…was that Selene? He’d left her behind in the courtyard. Mab had pushed her to the ground. How could she have gotten up here so quickly?
At last he reached the last curve of the staircase and he could see the open door above. Something nagged at the corner of his mind but he was so tired, and in such pain, and warm light and soft singing were very like the things he craved most of all.
He tried to creep up silently and hide behind the door to get a good look at what lay on the other side, but his foot scraped on the stone, and he could not get behind the door without first crossing its opening. Po stood in the door frame, looking into a sumptuous round room decorated in the manner of an Ilysian lady’s bower. On one side of the room was a gauze-draped bed; on the other, a writing desk, lounging chairs, and a low table for refreshments. And in the middle of the room sat an ornate brass tub filled with steaming water. As he came up to the doorway, Mab turned from the woman in the tub, who stood with her back to him. The familiar, graceful form made his breath hitch and his groin tighten. Long, dark, curly hair cascaded down her alabaster back. His mind reached for the wrong name at first, before realization denied him of all breath.
She held the pen in her hand, turning it this way and that as it caught the light reflected from her bath. As she turned to face him, he saw the satisfaction in her smile.
“Hello, Po,” said Queen Thela.
27
The Queen’s Consort
Thela stepped out of the tub and walked toward him, naked and glorious. Po couldn’t stop staring, at her smile, her body. His heart hammered. What was she doing here? How long had she been here? But most of all, what would she do with the pen?
She held it in her hands like a long-stemmed rose, its graceful curve accentuating the elegant lines of her hands and arms, the languid beauty of her movements. She followed his gaze and lifted the pen, tilting it this way and that. Its burnished amber surface caught the light and sent sparkles dancing up and down its length. She tapped the bulb at the end against her palm. She turned it to examine the opposite end, which was angled like the nib of a quill pen. “This is a most interesting device. The pen, I believe it’s called, or sometimes Endymion’s rose or the Lion’s Bloom. It does rather look like a flower,” she noted. “But pen is by far the most accurate term, isn’t it?” Not waiting for an answer, she lifted the pen as if to write with it.
Po found his voice at last. “Please, Your Majesty, don’t use it. We tried, when we first found it, and the results were…Everything turned green!”
“Ah, is that what that was all about? But you undid it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but…”
She nodded. “Your point is well taken, Po. Wishes are perilous. One never knows how they will be fulfilled. A device like this must be handled with precision. Mab told me a little about it, but I think you could teach me more.”
He nodded. “Yes. I’ll show you how it works.” He held his hand out. Mother, let his face not show what was in his mind.
She tilted her head and smiled at him. “Oh, Po. That’s so cute. You’re trying to trick me.”
His stomach twisted. “No! No, I’d never—”
She crossed to the other side of the room and waved her finger at him. “Oh yes, you are.” Her tone remained playful but the look in her eyes was anything but. And then the lilt went out of her voice as she said, “And I can’t have that. Now let’s see, where to begin?” Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she contemplated. “I know,” she said, and she lifted the pen and began to write in midair. Glowing words appeared. “The door behind Po…”
Po turned. What about the door? Would she seal it? Should he leap through now, while he still could? But if he did, he’d be leaving the pen with her. He couldn’t do that. The next instant, it was too late. The door was gone, replaced by a solid wall of stone.
“There,” said Thela. “If anyone comes after you, or Mab, they will not find us. Of course, I can’t trust you to help me understand the pen now; you’ll lie.”
He put his hands on the wall and pushed, but it was useless. In panic, he pounded at it.
“Now that’s just silly,” said Thela.
Po watched as she strode to the window. Mab came to her side and they conferred.
“They’ve found the food,” said the old woman. “If they return it to the villages, the Libyrinth will have many friends in the plain.”
“But I can stop them. I can make it so this day has never happened. I can erase the Redemption from existence. I can turn the food to dust or make every rock in the plain bloom with lif
e. I can do anything I want.”
Feeling as if he were outside of his body, Po walked toward her. He had to keep her from using the pen. He had to take it away from her, and she would resist. He’d disobeyed a woman this very afternoon, but that paled in comparison to what was demanded of him now.
Thela turned to look at him, a speculative gleam in her eye. Mab stood between them. They watched him, waiting, he realized, to see just how far he’d fallen from the ideal of Ilysian manhood. If he did get the pen away from Thela, what would he do? He couldn’t get out of the room unless he used the pen to do it, and he knew her. Thela and Mab both, they wouldn’t give him time to write anything. They’d fight him and they wouldn’t stop unless he…he…The room swayed around him at the thought of what he might have to do.
Po gripped the wall for support as everything that had happened since the Libyrinth’s crop burned suddenly seemed to crowd into his head at once. It was her fault. All of it. And now, he was contemplating the unthinkable, and that was her fault, too. “You burned the crops and you set me up to take the blame for it. How could you do that to me?”
Never letting go of the pen, Thela slipped into the robe Mab held out for her. She looked at him and shrugged. “It was necessary. I’m sorry if you were hurt, but there are larger issues at stake.”
She spoke with such dispassionate conviction that for a moment, he nearly accepted her explanation. He actually found himself thinking, Of course, she knows what she’s doing, and with that thought came a flood of relief. The notion that no matter how bad things seemed, someone wise and benevolent was in charge was like a narcotic to his overtaxed spirit. It would be so easy just to accept her words.
But if he did, he’d be handing the whole world over to her, along with everyone he loved, without ever even trying to save them. “What of the Lit King?” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “My, haven’t we become the noisy rooster?”
Po ignored the insult. “You were working with him—a male supremecist.”
She shook her head. “A male supremecist, Your Majesty. His agenda here suited my purposes. Using him to turn the villages of Ayor against the Libyrinth made good sense. And you—” She pointed the pen at him. “You’ve forgotten who you are.”
If he didn’t act now, he never would. Po rushed her and grabbed the pen. They grappled for it. “The Libyrinth has ruined you,” she said.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“That’s even worse.”
He yanked the pen away from her. Mab lunged for it and he turned again. This time, when Thela dodged in front of him, he put his free hand out to ward her off. The impact was harder than he’d thought it would be. She stumbled. “Give it to me, you abomination!” she shouted.
Po backed up, stunned at what he had done. “You’ll have to be branded now,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mab, trying to sneak up on him. Would he hit her, too, if he had to? He inched away from both of them.
Thela stood. “The chorus is your family. The males will die, Selene and Hilloa will be branded.”
“By whom?”
Thela did not answer. Po lifted the pen. The pen does not exist, he thought, and he started to write.
“Stop him!” shouted Thela.
Mab charged him. Po tried to dodge her while he was still writing, but it was no good. She corrected and struck him full in the chest, pushing him backward. She brought her knee up sharply and pain rocketed through Po’s groin and abdomen. She wrenched the pen away from him as he fell and handed it back to Thela.
Po’s half-finished sentence, “The pen does…,” evaporated into thin air with no effect.
Po lay on the ground, lost to himself, to everything he’d ever known. He looked at Thela. Her cheeks were red from exertion, her hair tangled. She clutched the pen. She would not risk getting it near him again. He’d lost his chance.
Thela stared down at him. What was she waiting for? Why didn’t she kill him?
“Your Majesty, would you prefer me to execute him?”
Thela shook her head. “No. He won’t die. Not yet.”
There was a pause. Po’s breathing sounded harsh in the silence. Then Mab said, “With respect, Your Majesty, there is a great deal to be said for not leaving toys around to trip over later.”
Thela sighed. “Wise counsel. But he is an adept. A male adept. That is a rather unique and useful thing. Besides, I like him. And I do need practice with the pen. Let’s try this.” She raised the pen and wrote in the air. “Po is incapable of doing me harm.”
Po had no arms or legs. He rolled on the floor, nothing but a trunk and a head. He would have screamed, but his mouth was gone, too.
“Oh dear,” said Thela.
Mab giggled.
Po’s heart hammered so hard, it made his lungs work like a bellows. He wanted to open his mouth for more air but he couldn’t. He still had a tongue and teeth and a throat, a whole mouth, inside, but it wouldn’t open. His stomach turned and he fought the rising bilge of panic. He couldn’t throw up. He’d choke.
Thela frowned and shook her head. “No. I don’t like that. Let’s see…how about this…” She wrote, “In all but one respect, Po is as he was before I last wielded the pen. The only difference is that now, he will only do what makes me happy.”
One moment, Po lay on the floor with no arms, legs, or mouth, and the next, he was just as he’d been before. He lifted a hand to his mouth and bit his finger to stifle a whimper.
Thela tilted her head to one side and smiled with genuine affection. “It will be all right, Po. A lot of foolish people have put foolish ideas in your head and you’re confused now, but you’ll see. With the pen, I can make the whole of the land fertile, for everybody, and there need be no division between Ilysies and the Libyrinth. I can become redeemed, like you. No one need suffer ever again.”
Their eyes met. She looked so sincere. Po wanted to believe her. He was tired and hungry and he hurt, and all that he loved in the world was in the hands of the one person he was least equipped to deal with. “Please,” he said. “Your Majesty…don’t hurt them.”
Thela handed the pen to Mab, and went to him. He got to his knees and prostrated himself before her, though his tortured muscles screamed in protest. She clicked her tongue and lifted him up by the shoulders. “It’s all right now, Po,” she said, and kissed him. “Don’t worry. Anything I do with the pen will be for the good of everyone. Just as my alliance with the Lit King was. You don’t know how it would have been if I had not tempered his madness. But I’m sorry all of this has been so hard on you. And I’m sorry about that little mistake with the pen.” She ran her hands down along the sides of his face. “But don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll need to use it on you again.”
Po thought he’d have to make an effort to relax at her touch, but it came naturally. What she’d done to him with the pen…
He stroked her neck. “I missed you so much,” he said. That’s not how he felt at all, but the words just popped out of his mouth.
She smiled and ruffled his hair. “I didn’t want to leave you, my calf, but a queen has duties. What’s important is that we’re together now.”
He closed his eyes, and he didn’t have to pretend to be lost in the feel of her hand in his hair. He lifted his face and kissed her, and she drew him close. All of this was what the pen had wrought, but his thoughts were still his own, and he was beginnning to get an idea. “Now? And tomorrow?”
“Mmmm,” she said. “I have missed you, too, Po. Yes, I think you will make a fine consort now.”
At one time, he had dreamed of this. Now, with an inward lurch he realized that even if she were the kindest, most just monarch in history, the luxury and security of being a queen’s consort no longer appealed to him. He wanted the confusion and excitement of being with Hilloa. He wanted the complex joys of Ayma’s friendship. He wanted to joke with Jan and shock Baris. Most of all, he wanted the difficult puzzle of just being himself. “Oh Thela, I’m so
happy!”
“You see? Didn’t I tell you everything would be all right?”
He nodded, holding her close. Suddenly, he sat back, holding her shoulders at arm’s length. “Remember the first time we met, when I rubbed your feet?”
Her eyes widened a little and he knew that he had genuinely surprised her and made her happy. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Back then, I wanted to give you a kinesthetic massage. But I couldn’t, and later, I don’t know…there just wasn’t much time and I never did. But now…Please, Thela, let me give you a foot rub.”
Thela got a lopsided grin and then turned to look at Mab. “You see, it’s working.”
“Please.” He pulled away from her and went to one knee. The lies came so easily now. “You have made my dream come true, Thela. Please let me make you feel as I do.”
Mab rolled her eyes and Thela laughed. She went to the couch and sat down. “Mab, start packing, please. Very well then, Po,” she said, indulging him. “But don’t take forever about it. We have things to do.”
Moving slowly to conceal his weariness, Po knelt at her feet and placed his hands on the meridians at the sides of her arches. Silently he implored the Mother to give him the strength he needed for what he was about to do. He closed his eyes and breathed with Thela.
He dropped into a trance and before him lay the landscape of Ilysies. The high, snow-capped mountains, the river winding down through the foothills to the lush green lowlands and the shining city beside the sea.
But the vision was not a perfect mirror of the land that was entrusted to Thela’s care. There were differences. At the peak of the tallest mountain, a location which corresponded to the crown of Thela’s head, stood a shining golden temple. It stood out among all the organic imagery, and Po recognized it as a construct of thought. It was exquisitely beautiful, simple in its design, pristine. In other words, perfect, and therefore utterly unreal. Though not to Thela.