by Jaine Fenn
As they walked through the Tyr, Kerin kept reminding herself that this place was designed to inspire reverence and wonder. She must not let herself be overawed; the priests were just people, and the cold, fireless lamps merely clever devices, not miracles.
Yet still she felt terror such as she had never known, not for her life, nor even for the life of her son or her new husband, but for her very soul. She had entered the holiest place in the land, prepared to believe it was founded on a lie and willing to disobey the authority it represented. She wanted nothing more than for her boy to assume his rightful place in Heaven, but she could not take the risk that Sais was right. She would not allow Damaru to be used as part of some great and terrible deception - but nor would she stand against the will of the Skymothers, unless she discovered for herself that the deception was real.
When Damaru’s petulance exploded into anger after she refused him the cake, she felt a different set of emotions: that strange heated mix of irritation, guilt and love for her ungrateful child, who took and never gave, who might not even love her as other children loved their mothers, but who relied on her utterly, and who she would not, could not, let come to harm. Soon he would be gone, and she would be free of the constant worry over him. And she would bear that alone, for even if Sais had loved her as she had hoped, the bond to her child was a unique one, and the hole his loss would tear in her heart would never heal.
Finally the door opened and the same pair of guards returned. Sais took that to mean there would only be these two for the duration of their stay. Good.
Kerin crouched down and took Damaru’s hands in hers. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘you have to come with us now. I promise I will not let anyone hurt you.’ He let her drag him to his feet. She kept hold of one of his hands and led him out. Sais caught Kerin’s free hand. From the look she gave him she was glad of the support.
Without Rhidian in front of him, he got a better look at the guards. They wore the standard monitor’s armour: midnight-blue hardened leather strips, more ceremonial than practical, but probably enough to stop a bronze knife. They had short blades on their belts and small, intricately crafted crossbows on straps across their backs.
Their escort led them to a tall double-door made of what looked like bronze banded with iron, although a closer look revealed that the bronze was a beaten sheet, no doubt covering ordinary wood. The guards pushed the doors open and indicated that the three of them should enter.
They walked into a huge circular cavern, lit on their side by light-globes around the wall that left the high ceiling and the far side in darkness. What Sais initially took to be a shadow on the floor turned out, on a second look, to be a chasm, a straight-cut pit four metres wide that stretched across the centre of the room from wall to wall, dividing the light and dark sides. The gap was bridged by a flat, rail-less bridge wide enough for two people to cross comfortably.
Their escort peeled off to stand on either side, about four or five steps away. He checked over his shoulder and saw another two guards closing the door. Four in all. Not good odds. As the guards by the door took their places in front of it, he noticed what looked like a primitive neural-interface helmet on a stand beside them.
The light level increased abruptly as a golden glow bathed the far side of the room, illuminating a dais in the centre of which, sitting on a high-backed throne, was a woman dressed in heavy black robes encrusted with sparkling white gems. She wore a high, horned headdress with a black veil hanging from it that obscured her face. She was flanked by two men in almost equally ornate metal-encrusted robes, one in orange, one in yellow. Sais barely registered them, for the Cariad’s presence dominated the room. Her eyes were invisible behind the veil but she would be looking at him, maybe picking up his mood, his surface thoughts, ready to dive deeper if she suspected he was anything other than the guardian of a candidate skyfool.
Sais tried to fill his head with memories of Dangwern, of Kerin’s hut, of mud and ordinariness and things entirely of this world. He hoped she would read his fear as religious awe.
The worst of it was that he might not even know she was reading him; Sidhe could be subtle as well as brutal. Hell, he had thought that, thought the word ‘Sidhe’. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Sweat prickled his skin and his heart caught in his chest.
The Cariad shifted slightly in her seat, sending dazzling reflections dancing round the room.
Sais braced himself for pain.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Despite Kerin’s resolve not to be taken in by the Tyr, the testing chamber still amazed her: you could fit Ebrilla’s entire house in here! Then, in a wondrous, instant transformation, the darkness was banished, and there, before her, was the Beloved Daughter of Heaven. And only two Escorai - those of Medelwyr and Mantoliawn. She knew of the missing Escori of Carunwyd, but what of the other two, who served Frythil and Turiach?
Even as she thought this, she dropped to her knees. Sais still stood, his face full of fear. ‘You must kneel,’ she whispered self-consciously.
He looked over to her, his expression relaxing a little, then fell forward onto his knees.
For a while there was silence, save the thudding of her heart. Then the Cariad spoke, her voice soft yet penetrating.
‘Arise, Chilwrau.’
Kerin climbed to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sais stand. Damaru was staring at the Cariad, his head on one side.
‘Approach the bridge.’
Kerin led Damaru forward. Sais followed. When they got about half way the Cariad raised a hand. They stopped. She pointed to Sais, who flinched.
‘Who is this man?’ asked the Cariad.
Kerin answered, her voice quavering, ‘He is my husband, Divinity. He stands in the place of Fychan am Dangwern.’
‘So be it.’
Kerin could have sworn the Cariad sounded upset. Surely that could not be. And what need would a goddess have to ask such a question? Surely she would know?
The Cariad continued, ‘The test requires that the child be blindfolded. It is the responsibility of the guardians to ensure that the skyfool accepts this, and all other requests that are made of him. Do you understand?’
‘Aye, Divinity,’ said Kerin.
Sais cleared his throat. ‘We do,’ he said.
Guards approached, one of them carrying a helmet like a larger version of those worn by some of the monitors, with a shining plate over the eyes.
Kerin turned Damaru to face her. ‘Damaru, you must let this man put this . . . special hat on your head. You will not be able to see, but I will still be here beside you.’
Damaru looked unhappy.
‘He will show it to you first.’ Kerin nodded to the guard who obliged by holding the helmet up so Damaru could see it.
‘He is going behind you now, and he will put it on you.’
The guard lifted the helmet over Damaru’s head. As he began to lower it Damaru twitched his head out of the way.
Kerin felt her composure slip. She must keep her boy calm, allow things to take their course and hope all would be well. Aye, hope - when not so long ago she would have prayed, trusting to the Mothers. She swallowed hard, striving to keep her voice even. ‘Damaru, please. You have to let him do this. All will be well.’
Damaru squirmed, but he kept his head still enough for the guard to put the helmet on him.
For a moment, he stood unmoving. Then he reached up, trying to pull the thing off. When it would not move he started to keen.
‘Calm him!’ muttered the guard.
Damaru fell to his knees and Kerin threw her arms around him, holding him to her breast.
The Cariad said, ‘Do not worry, he will adjust soon.’
Damaru’s keens subsided into whimpers, then died away. Kerin helped him to his feet.
When he was standing up again, the Cariad said, ‘Now lead the boy to the bridge. When he reaches it he must cross alone.’
This was the moment he had been born for. Yet Kerin could not move
. She looked at her hands, holding onto her son’s.
Almost gently, the Cariad said, ‘This is the final test. It cannot be refused. He must come to me.’
Kerin raised her head. ‘Damaru,’ she murmured, ‘I love you. I will never stop loving you. But you must go. You have to obey her. We have no option.’ How she wished she were wrong, how she wished she had taken any one of those paths in the last weeks that would not have brought them to this point!
A guard had come to stand next to her: if she did not accompany Damaru, the guard would. She dropped one of Damaru’s hands. Compliant under the shiny helmet he shuffled forward beside her as they walked up to the chasm. The guard shadowed them.
Her steps faltered before they reached the bridge. Though she knew she must do this, she could not make him go through with it.
To her surprise, Damaru did not stop. Kerin, still holding onto him, tried to follow. The guard put a restraining hand on her arm. Damaru took a second step. His hand pulled free of Kerin’s. The loss of his touch felt keen as a blow. She covered her mouth with her hand, rather than cry out.
Damaru took another step. He was on the bridge now. He walked slowly, as though in a daze. In another couple of steps he reached the centre of the span.
With a barely audible hiss, the bridge disappeared.
So did Damaru.
Shock grabbed Kerin by the throat. Then everything twisted.
In that moment Kerin knew that Damaru had succeeded, and where he was now. She spun round in time to see him collapse to the ground behind her. She shook off the dazed guard and ran to her boy. She felt like she was sinking into the mere, though by the time she reached him everything had begun to settle back into place.
She crouched next to him, calling his name. He made no response, just kept shaking his head. When a shadow fell across her, Kerin looked up to see the guard. ‘Get this thing off him!’ she hissed.
The guard nodded and bent down, fumbling with the helmet. Another guard held out a beaker to her, but she waved it away.
The Cariad spoke, her voice distant and unreal. ‘The boy is found worthy.’
Sais knew what the Sidhe wanted the skyfools for.
The first time he’d felt reality take that crazy sideways step, back during the reivers’ attack, he hadn’t been able to pin down the feeling. The second time, he’d been about to come down with the falling fire, and hadn’t even realised what had happened until much later. Now, with his memory back, he recognised the sensation - as well he should. It was one he’d experienced a lot.
Shiftspace.
Damaru could create shiftspace portals, to bypass normal space-time, moving himself - or others - instantaneously between two points.
Just as Sais did in the Judas Kiss when he travelled between the stars.
Everyone - everyone who didn’t live on an isolated world like this, anyway - knew that the engines that allowed interstellar travel were stolen Sidhe technology. It was part of the legend of humanity’s fight-back against the Sidhe Protectorate: humans taking control of the stars for themselves. Or so people thought. But what if the transit-kernel at the heart of every shiftship wasn’t just black-box technology the average spacer knew better than to tamper with? What if the power to move ships across space without obeying the usual laws of physics came from minds like Damaru’s?
He remembered the first time Nual had experienced a shiftspace transit. She had descended into a temporary insanity far worse than the usual hallucinatory weirdness anyone who stayed conscious for a transit had to endure. When he’d tried to help her, one of the things she’d ranted about was darkness in the heart. At the time he’d put the comment down to her disturbed state of mind - he’d just saved her life, and she was in shock. Now he saw how her reaction could have been due to her mind touching the mind hidden aboard his ship, the one he had known nothing about, the one imprisoned in the ship’s drive.
This whole culture had been created and maintained in order to breed minds capable of entering shiftspace.
He had to get the news out.
The guard finally got the helmet off Damaru’s head and Kerin bent over him. His eyelids fluttered and he began to stir. She pulled him close. She heard someone speaking nearby, but she ignored them. Damaru was quivering like a wild creature, breathing harsh and fast. She helped him sit up, supporting him in her arms.
Above her she heard Sais say, ‘She is very upset, but I will persuade her.’
He bent down next to her. ‘Kerin my love, the guard says Damaru must drink this.’
Sais was pressing a beaker into her hand; drugged, no doubt. Sais positioned himself so he blocked the guard’s view. Kerin murmured, ‘Of course, husband.’
She took the beaker and pressed it to Damaru’s lips. He drank a little, but then, after checking the guard could not see, she pulled the drink away, letting the rest trickle over her skirt where the liquid would not show against the dark fabric.
The Cariad said, ‘You must say your last farewell now.’ She did not sound imperious so much as regretful.
Damaru’s eyes opened. Kerin looked up at Sais. Seeing his expression, she whispered, ‘This is wrong, is it not?’
Sais murmured, ‘As wrong as it gets.’
She put her arms around Damaru and buried her face in his neck.
‘Do not be concerned, mistress,’ said the Cariad. ‘Your child will ascend to Heaven to take his place amongst the stars. All will be well.’
Despite the Cariad’s gentle tone, and Kerin’s desperate desire to believe, she knew she could not trust the Beloved’s words. She tightened her grip on Damaru. He wriggled in her grasp - even now, he disliked feeling smothered by her love.
From above her she heard a guard say, ‘You must persuade your wife to release the boy.’
Sais said evenly, ‘You have to let him go, Kerin.’ Then, in a whisper, he added, ‘If we fight now, we’ll lose. But we’ll get him back, I promise.’
Kerin shook her head, not sure what she was denying.
Someone took her arm, and a moment later Damaru was pulled out of her grasp. ‘No!’ she shouted, trying to break free. The guard got his other arm round her shoulders. He pulled her against his chest and pinioned her arms.
Damaru struggled in the other guard’s grasp, his vague gaze searching for reassurance. A third guard came up to help and two of them began to half-drag, half-carry Damaru towards the bridge which, Kerin noted dully, was back in place. She glanced at Sais, who was looking round in desperation. Do something! she thought. Stop them! But what could they do?
She had no choice but to watch her child being taken from her. Nothing else in the world mattered, save the growing distance between them.
Damaru’s struggles became more frantic when the guards stepped onto the bridge. The guards lifted him off his feet and crossed the bridge with a careful sideways shuffle.
As soon as they reached the far side, the bridge disappeared again.
The Cariad stood and said, ‘Blessings of Heaven upon you all.’
With the bridge gone and Damaru out of reach, Kerin felt something, hope perhaps, drain out of her. Her eyes did not leave her son as the guards carried him after the Cariad. The two silent Escorai brought up the rear.
Finally, when the procession had disappeared into the darkness behind the dais, she dropped her head. The worst had happened. She cursed the Mothers, naming them in her head, demanding that if they existed, they should strike her dead now, as then she would at least know the truth as she died.
The guard holding her loosened his grip and turned her round. She did not resist. He began to steer her out, one arm around her shoulders.
Sais walked beside her. She realised, as she stumbled along, that he was trying to attract her attention. She blinked back tears and looked over at him. He gave a tiny nod, as though asking her something. Or . . . telling her something. Telling her it was time to fight. She was as good as dead already - what did she have to lose?
Keeping her head
down, she nodded in response. Looking over at Sais from under her hair she saw him check round, then look back at her and mouth one word:
Now.
With a groan worthy of a star-season actor, Kerin collapsed to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sais charge the other guard.
Kerin’s guard grabbed for her with a curse. She ducked, and he missed. She wanted to fight, to tear into the guard with her bare hands, putting all the fury and frustration of her loss into the attack, but she was on the floor, and he was standing up.
The guard grabbed her hair. She screamed - and, ignoring the pain, turned in his grasp, surprising him into dropping her. She lashed out and up. Her hand hit hard leather. The guard caught hold of her arm and jerked upwards and she found herself suspended painfully by one wrist. The guard shifted his grip, pulling her round until—
‘Let her go or I’ll cut your friend’s throat.’ Sais had his knife pressed against the other guard’s neck.
Her guard paused. If she could use her free hand to get to her own knife, she might even the odds. She began to fumble at her waist.
Sais’s guard said, ‘What do you hope to achieve by this sacrilege? ’ He did not sound afraid or angry.
Kerin managed to get a hand inside her skirt, where the knife was hidden. Before she could get it out, the guard pulled her to her feet. As she straightened she felt a sharp point prick her ribs. She froze.
Sais’s guard said, ‘Now let me go, you foolish peasant. Unless you wish my corporal to gut your wife, after which time he will be free to help me.’
They had lost everything: Damaru was gone and their ill-conceived ploy had failed.
The door flew open, knocking Sais and his guard to the floor. In the doorway stood a tall man in brocaded robes of green and white. He spoke with an easy authority. ‘What in the name of Heaven is going on here?’