Apocalypto (Omnibus Edition)

by L. K. Rigel

  Though there were the beginnings of gray at his temples, he was vibrant. Could he be natural born, like Pala? Her heart was pounding. She must love Palada; she was so happy to see him again.

  Father and son didn’t acknowledge each other. She started to say something, but Palada put his hand on her elbow and she got the message.

  The Days gasped; he had touched her without permission.

  “Forgive my ladies.” Mal handed Beastie to Day Two. “They don’t realize you were a father to me when I was a girl.”

  They started toward Ma’s room and the entourage followed. Palada turned and said, “The priest only.”

  Lady Bron didn’t hide her irritation at being excluded. Garrick’s new Counselor might be as gorgeous as Kairo, but she could take lessons from her on humility. Saskia stood beside Lady Bron in the rested-alert pose of a Red City guard, taking in the room and analyzing its layout.

  Ma was in her bed. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open. Her hair was as white as a cloud and her skin so pale she seemed to have lost all her blood. Kneeling with his head bowed over the bed was a priest dressed like Father Jesse. Ma would have preferred the old priest of Asherah, but likely no one had asked.

  “Is she dead?”

  The priest recognized Mal with pleasure, but at the sight of Father Jesse his eyes widened with awe. “Her soul is still with us.”

  Ma stirred. She closed her mouth, made some disgusting old-person noises, and opened her eyes. “Asherah?”

  “It’s Mallory, Ma. I’ve come to see you.” She was so frail, such a wisp of nothing. How could this crepe-like bag of bones ever have threatened anybody?

  Ma seemed to see her then, to understand that Mal was truly there. Her bony fingers caressed Mal’s cheek. “So lovely.”

  The settlement priest cleared his throat. Ma shot him a furious look then said, “Mallory, my soul is soon to return to the All. You must listen to the priests of Samael, not the sisters.”

  She looked sideways. “There, I’ve told her. Now go, all of you. I will speak in private to my girl.”

  Mal wanted to laugh. Ma wasn’t dying at all. Always a wily one, she’d played the settlement priest. She had wanted to see Mal, and this death pantomime was her way to make it happen. The priest might not realize it, but there was complete understanding on Father Jesse’s face. He seemed frustrated, but he didn’t protest being sent out of the room.

  “Only you.” Ma’s fingers dug like claws into Mal’s forearm. After all this time, the insistent grasp put Mal right back into her childhood. She had to remind herself: I am free of her. I am a chalice. She can’t hurt me.

  This wasn’t even her real ma. She’d only agreed to come here to see Palada and to get away from Garrick for a day.

  Palada held the door for the two priests to leave before he stepped through. Without asking, Mal knew he would stand sentry to keep listeners away.

  Ma pulled her closer. “No priest ever did name you.”

  In contrast to her pale skin, her eyes burned hard and bright. It was as if Mal’s understanding depended upon the intensity of Ma’s gaze.

  “The woman was tore up, but she wasn’t dead yet. Her name is Mallory, she said. There was a cord tied around her wrist, and I followed it to the papoose. I opened the bundle inside, and there you were.”

  That changed nothing, but Mal’s heart pounded.

  “I have the bunting.” The corners of Ma’s mouth turned up in a smirk of victory. “After what that Emissary did to me, I wouldn’t let her have it.”

  “Ma, you should rest.”

  “There is something strange about that cloth. I never could stand to touch it. In the lower drawer there. In the back. That’s it.”

  The moment Mal touched the cloth, she knew what it was. The soft fabric was light blue-gray, pretty, and had a finer weave than the other Empani cloths. Something much better than wildlings could have produced.

  “You were a gift from Asherah. A god was bundled in with you, but I dropped it. I searched and searched, but it disappeared in the bushes.”

  “I believe you, Ma.” Thank the gods for deep interior pockets. Mal slipped the cloth into one of them, next to the stone Asherah.

  For a second time in her life, Mal didn’t know who she was or where she belonged on the Great Chain. She felt detached from the world. Out in the saloon, Palada and Pala and the company from Garrick waited for her.

  “I loved you.” The big speech had worn Ma out. She really was fading now. “I kept the sun out of your eyes.”

  “Yes, you did,” Mal said. But it was too late.

  She had been mistaken. This wasn’t play-acting. The old woman’s eyes stared into nothing, and her open mouth conveyed no breath. She was gone.

  “She has played her part.” A familiar girlish voice. “Better than I expected, actually.” Asherah stood at the foot of Ma’s bed. This time, her flimsy dress was held in place by butterflies. The gods must not feel the cold.

  “What a short, unsatisfying life she had,” Mal said.

  “You can’t know what her life was to her. And now she is at ease in Elysium.”

  Where the spirits of soulless heroes go. Mal closed the body’s eyelids. There was another mystery. Without a soul, how did Ma come to own the saloon?

  Soul or not, whatever had animated that shell had definitely fled. “She won’t return to the All then.”

  “Don’t pity her. I have saved her spirit from oblivion. And the All isn’t everything, you know.” She laughed at her own joke. “If it weren’t for the gods holding the realities apart, the material world would revert upon itself and return to nothing.”

  The butterflies at her shoulders fluttered nervously.

  “The Godhead longs for it, and the soul that lives in every human being does too.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course not, dear. None of you understands what we gods do for you. When you people nearly wiped yourselves out, where do you think all those souls went?”

  “Back to the All?” Please don’t say that’s wrong.

  “Yes, and with no human form awaiting their rebirth. The force of the implosion almost brought an end to time and space. The world must be peopled.”

  That last, she said in the exact voice of the bleeder who’d played Benedick. Asherah waved at Ma’s dead foot. It lifted off the bed then fell back with a thud.

  “The pathetic bags of skin and bone you create in your hospitals aren’t good enough. The container is one thing, but the soul finds it so hard to get into it. And even then, they don’t last very long.”

  “You mean the children?”

  “That’s why I gave you chalices the blood.”

  It was odd to hear a god speak of another god so casually, and it was making Mal nervous. What did Asherah want from her?

  “I want to save you from Samael, dear.” She reached out with her hand palm up, so close, her fingers nearly touching Mal’s chin. “So you can worship me properly, as he refuses to do.” Mal closed her eyes; the idea of being touched by the god was terrifying. How did Leda keep her composure?

  “Samael has gone mad. War is coming to heaven, and when it does, look out below. The others all act like it’s my fault, when it’s Samael who denies his nature! He can’t even control his angels.”

  For a goddess, she seemed kind of immature.

  “No one likes the Samaelii. They have no power.” The minute Mal heard her own words aloud, she wondered if they were true. “But Father Jesse does have influence over Garrick, and the cult is growing.”

  “Don’t talk to me about some desperate hybrid or his pathetic followers!” The goddess exploded. The room filled with blinding light and Mal prostrated herself.

  “Forgive me, Asherah!”

  She felt empty and abandoned, and when she opened her eyes she was alone. The door cracked open, and Palada stepped in.

  “She’s gone?”

  He meant Ma. He said nothing about Mal being on the floor. H
e went behind the curtain that hid Ma’s closet and brought out a small wooden chest.

  “The blue amber?”

  “I mean no disrespect to Ma there.” He lifted several pieces out of the chest wrapped in rough linen. “But there isn’t time.” He opened the linen on one piece and handed her a carved firebird, perfect for a dagger medallion and guard.

  “Oh, how exquisite. But how did you know?”

  He touched his index finger to his nose twice and said, “I’ll just say someone with red hair and a dress held together by pink katydids told me the firebird was your totem. I made three for your daggers.”

  “Palada, I am so ashamed of myself.” She unwrapped the other pieces. There were two more firebirds, and other amazing things. A rose, a sprig of wheat, a peregrine – how could he stand to make that? – a fabulous dragon raised up on its two legs, wings spread and fury on its face. “I haven’t given a dagger to Garrick’s Counselor yet.”

  “Of course not.” He had Pala’s smile. Or was it the other way around? “You haven’t had the proper jewel for the hilt.”

  “Oh, Palada.” She put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her like when she was a little girl. If only she could always feel so safe.

  “Come girl, it’s time to go now. They’re waiting for you.”

  “You keep one.” She opened her hands to indicate he should choose. “So you won’t forget me.”

  “Yeah, that will do the trick.” He laughed and kissed her forehead, then selected the rose.

  On the lift ascending for the return flight, Lady Bron and Father Jesse tripped over each other trying to get near her. No, no, no. She wasn’t going to talk to anyone for a while. “I don’t feel well,” she told the Days. She retired to the Eaglet’s private sleeping room and stared out the window into white undifferentiated nothingness.

  After a while, Beastie gave up trying to play with her and went to sleep. He snorted even in his dreams, with the tip of his little tongue sticking out of his fat brown face. She’d like to sleep so effortlessly, but her mind was racing.

  No one knew what Ma had told her. No one knew about the cloth. As far as the world was concerned, Garrick had created the story of the Imperial princess. The rulers of the Concord Cities went along because they were cowards or lazy or just didn’t care who controlled the bigger picture as long as their own places were comfortable.

  It didn’t mean they thought it was true.

  One thought kept pricking at her, though she tried to set it aside. What of the wildlings of the western plains? Had the Team of Inquiry’s findings been falsified? And if so, by whom? And why?

  And then there was Palada and the firebirds. If a god was talking to other people about her, that couldn’t be a good thing. But who was she to question Asherah?

  When they reached Garrick, the Angel’s Harp was sitting in the dirigidock near the Eaglet’s berth, and some of the pressure lifted from her mind. As soon as the party disembarked, Lady Bron skulked off toward Garrick’s quarters. For a moment, Mal thought about following her instead of going to find Kairo.

  “My lady.” Saskia stepped in front of her. “I’ll see you to your quarters.” There was nothing Mal could do about that. They weren’t called king’s physicians for nothing.

  Everything Dies In Garrick

  The door to her apartment was open, and the antechamber was filled with luggage and servants. “Ma-Da!” Kairo’s old insult had become an endearment. Mal put Beastie down and he bounded over to Delilah, snorting and farting, thrilled to play with his friend again.

  “Kairo!” They hugged, and Mal felt a definite firmness in Kairo’s belly. Had she even waited for her quarantine to end?

  “Harold’s meeting with Garrick. He said he’d leave us to gab and meet up again at dinner. But if I know him, he won’t hold out that long.”

  “Hold out?”

  “He’s in love! It’s disgusting.” By the twinkle in Kairo’s eyes, she wasn’t all that disgusted. “He’s breaking every rule. He told me he doesn’t care. He’s going to die soon anyway and he’s indulging himself in the pleasure of one final love in his life.”

  “How can you stand it?” I could stand it, if it were Edmund.

  “Open, my lady.” The king’s physician held out a thermometer.

  “Oh, sting me. You don’t really think I’m ill, do you?” Mal didn’t want to be examined. And she didn’t want to chit-chat with Kairo either, despite how good it was to see her.

  She wanted to know what Lady Bron was in such a rush to tell Garrick. There was no way she could have overheard what Ma had said, but Mal had to be sure.

  She reached inside her pocket to touch the Asherah and felt the cloth. From what Ma said, this cloth should have the same effect as the hydro cloth had with Nin on Corcovado. If not, she’d just look stupid in front of Saskia and Kairo. Probably no surprise to either one of them.

  She pulled it out and wrapped it around her neck, expecting an interrogation.

  Instantly, Kairo and Saskia were chatting as if no thought of Mal had crossed their minds, and she slipped out into the hallway.

  She could get used to this. The cloth felt strange on her neck. It was like there was a psychic sack over her head. Weird, but she couldn’t think of a better description. As she traveled the corridor, no one paid any attention to her.

  As long as she moved, people saw her – they didn’t bump into her, anyway. But it was as if she had become something outside their interest, a servant under someone else’s jurisdiction, no one to take note of.

  If she kept still, it seemed she became actually invisible to them. But that was more dangerous in the trafficked hall. A maid almost plowed right into her.

  This cloth must have saved her from the raptors’ notice when she was a baby. The woman who carried her could have put it around her own neck. She had risked, and lost, her life so that Mal would be safe.

  People did sacrifice themselves to save children. You heard about it all the time; the motif was prevalent in old world literature. Still, Mal felt nauseated knowing that a real human being had actually done that to save her.

  King Harold entered the corridor headed her way. She froze. That was a mistake. He nearly ran into her before she remembered to move. Farther down the corridor, the door to Garrick’s apartment was open. She passed through as unnoticed as a fly.

  “In love with his breeder.” Lady Bron pulled a purple grape from a cluster on the table and popped it into her mouth. “How pathetic.”

  “I’m in no position to question any man’s heart.” Garrick enveloped her in his arms and kissed her with unlikely tenderness. “I am a king in love with his counselor.”

  Gross. Mal took a step back as they grabbed each other with greedy desire. She’d seen Garrick only fleetingly since she’d arrived for her quarantine, and his physical presence was as startling as his groping Lady Bron. He’d bulked up. A lot. His neck was abnormally thick. And his arms – well, he might break his counselor in two if he kept going at her like that.

  Mal turned away and almost gasped. Father Jesse was on the other side of the open door, hidden from Garrick and Lady Bron. He was eavesdropping.

  So was she, but that was different.

  “So what did the old lady say?” Garrick decoupled from Lady Bron.

  “I don’t know. No one knows. The chalice saw her alone and said nothing afterward.”

  “Nothing is changed,” Garrick said. “Put it out to your contacts that the old woman made a deathbed confession. She was aware all along of the princess’ origins. At the door to the All, she had to unburden herself.”

  “And what if the chalice denies it?”

  “She won’t say anything.” Garrick spat out the words. He really hated her. “All she cares about is her sacred Triune Contract and her dog. She’s the easiest piece of the scheme to control.”

  “Tell me something, darling.” Lady Bron ran her hands over Garrick’s chest and practically purred. “What will you do with her when you�
��ve got your prince?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m afraid the delicate Imperial flower is going to die in childbirth.”

  “Not again!”

  Their heads jerked toward the voice in the doorway, but no one was there to see. Mal had grabbed Saskia and pulled her out of view. She put her finger to her lips and extended the cloth around Saskia’s neck, hoping it would shield them both.

  Highness. Father Jesse looked directly at Mal. His gaze shifted to the cloth and back to her. He knew what it was. You have to get out of Garrick.

  Mal almost answered him, but she was confused. She understood that he could see her, and she had understood his words, but she was positive that his lips hadn’t moved.

  Go. Now. There. Definitely, his lips did not move. But he was right.

  She pulled Saskia down the hallway with her, careful to keep the cloth over the back of both their necks. It was awkward going, but they were able to get away.

  Halfway to her apartment, she stuffed the cloth into her robe pocket and they started running. Turning a corner, they crashed into Harold. Before Mal could think, Saskia blurted out, “Garrick is planning to kill Mallory. We have to get her out of here.”

  “I am at your service.” King Harold didn’t seem at all surprised by the revelation. He pulled a compad out of his jacket and punched in a message. “The Angel’s Harp will be ready. I’ll get Kairo. The two of you, get to the airship. You’ll be safe there; it’s sovereign territory.”

  “I have to get Beastie.”

  Garrick was in her apartment, standing in the middle of the anteroom. Days One and Two were at their handwork, in raptures over a visit from the king. He had Beastie in his arms and was scratching him behind the ears.

  “I just thought I’d come and see what you were doing.” Garrick was cool and quiet and intense. “What you were plotting.” Beastie was so tiny in his massive arms. “You think you hold the power. You’re nothing. The kings pay to keep the game going. But it’s our game. The cities need me. They want me to be their emperor.”