Ansset shuddered with memories he couldn't quite grasp.
I? Ansset asked, surprised, and then not surprised at all. The Chamberlain held out the full bottle and the empty goblet.
For the Lord Mikal, the Chamberlain said.
Ansset shouted and dashed the bottle to the floor. Make him keep silent!
The suddenness of Ansset's violent action brought Riktors's laser out of his belt and into his hand. Riktors had come armed into Mikal's private room, Ansset realized with relief. Don't let the Chamberlain speak, Ansset cried.
Why not? Mikal asked innocently, and the laser sank in Riktors's grasp; but Ansset knew there was no innocence behind the words. Mikal was pretending not to understand. Ansset wanted to fly through the ceiling and escape.
But the Chamberlain had not stopped. He said quickly, almost urgently, Why did you do that? I have another bottle. Sweet Songbird, let Mikal drink deeply!
The words hammered into Ansset's brain, and by reflex he whirled and faced Mikal. He knew what was happening, knew and screamed against it in his mind. But his hands came up against his will, his legs bent, he compressed to spring, all so quickly that he couldn't stop himself. He knew that in less than a second his hand would be buried in Mikal's face, Mikal's beloved face, Mikal's smiling face-
Mikal was smiling at him, kindly and without fear. For years Control had come to Ansset to contain emotion. Now it came to express it. He could not, could not, could not hurt Mikal, and yet he was driven to it, he leaped, his hand struck out-
But it did not sink into Mikal's face. Instead it plunged into the floor, breaking the surface and becoming immersed in the gel that erupted from the floor. The impact broke the skin in Ansset's arm; the gel made the pain agonizing; the bone ached with the force of the blow. But Ansset did not feel that pain. All he felt was the pain in his mind as he struggled against the compulsion that still drove at him, to kill Mikal, to kill Mikal.
His body heaved upward, his hand flew through the air, and the back of Mikal's chair shattered and splashed at the impact. The chair shuddered, then sealed itself. But Ansset's hand was bleeding; the blood spurted and splashed and skitted across the surface of the gel spreading across the now-lax floor. But it was his own blood, not Mikal's, and Ansset cried out in joy. It sounded like a scream of agony.
In the distance he heard Mikal's voice saying, Don't shoot him. And, as suddenly as it had come, the compulsion ceased. His mind spun as he heard the Chamberlain's words fading away: Songbird, what have you done! Those were the words that had set him free. Exhausted and bleeding, Ansset lay on the floor, his right arm covered with blood. The pain reached him now, and he groaned, though his song was as much a song of triumph as of pain. Somehow Ansset had had strength enough, had withstood it long enough that he had not killed Father Mikal.
Finally he rolled over and sat up, nursing his arm. The bleeding had settled to a slow trickle.
Mikal was still sitting in the chair, which had healed itself. The Chamberlain stood where he had stood ten seconds before, at the beginning of Ansset's ordeal, the goblet looking ridiculous in his hand. Riktors's laser was aimed at the Chamberlain.
Call the guards, Captain, Mikal said. I already have, Riktors answered. The button on his belt was glowing. Guards came quickly into the room. Take the Chamberlain to a cell, Riktors ordered them. If any harm comes to him, all of you will die, and your families, too. Do you understand? The guards understood. They were Riktors's men, not the Chamberlain's. There was no love there.
Ansset held his arm. Mikal and Riktors Ashen waited while a doctor came and treated it. The pain subsided. The doctor left.
Riktors spoke first, Of course you knew it was the Chamberlain, my Lord. Mikal smiled faintly.
That was why you let him persuade you to call Ansset back here. To let him show his hand. Mikal's smile grew broader.
But, my Lord, only you could have known that the Songbird would be strong enough to resist a compulsion that was five months in the making.
Mikal laughed. And this time Ansset heard real mirth in the laughter.
Riktors Ashen, Mikal said. Will they call you Riktors the Great? Or Riktors the Usurper?
It took Riktors a moment to realize what had been said. Only a moment. But before his hand could reach his laser, which was back in his belt, Mikal's hand held a laser that was pointed at Riktors's heart.
Ansset, my Son, will you take the Captain's laser from him?
Ansset got up and took the Captain's laser from him, He could hear the song of triumph in Mikal's voice. But Ansset did not understand. What had Riktors done? This was the man that Esste had told him was as much like Mikal as any man alive-
And Mikal had conquered the galaxy. Oh, Esste had warned him, and he had taken only reassurance from it! Only one mistake, Riktors Ashen, Mikal said. Otherwise brilliantly done. And I really don't see how you could have avoided that mistake either.
You mean Ansset's strength? Riktors asked, his voice still trying to be calm and succeeding amazingly well.
Not even I counted on that. I was prepared to kill him, if I needed to. The words did not hurt Ansset, He would rather have died than hurt Mikal, and he knew that Mikal knew that.
Then I made no mistakes, Riktors said. How did you know?
Because my Chamberlain, unless he were under some sort of compulsion, would never have had the courage to argue with me, to insist on taking Ansset on his stupid military expedition, to dare to suggest your name when I asked him who ought to become the new Captain of the guard. But you had to have him suggest you, didn't you, because unless you were Captain you wouldn't have been in a position to take control when I was dead. The Chamberlain would be the obvious guilty one, while you would be the hero who stepped in and held the empire together. The best possible start to your reign. No taint of assassination would have touched you. Of course, half the empire would have rebelled immediately. But you're a good tactician and a better strategist and you're popular with the fleet and a lot of citizens. I'd have given you one chance in four of making it. And that's better odds than any other man in the empire.
I gave myself even odds, Riktors said, but now Ansset could clearly hear the fear singing through the back of his brave words. Well, why not? Death was certain now, and Ansset knew of no one, except perhaps an old man like Mikal, who could look at death, especially death that also meant failure, without some fear.
But Mikal did not push the button on the laser. Nor did he summon the guards.
Kill me now and finish it, Riktors said, pleading for an honorable death, though he knew he did not deserve it.
Mikal tossed the laser away. With this? It has no charge. The Chamberlain installed a charge detector at every door to my chambers over fifteen years ago. He would have known if I was armed.
Immediately Riktors took a step forward, the beginning of a rush toward the emperor. Just as quickly Ansset was on his feet, despite the bandaged arm, ready to kill with the other hand, with his feet, with his teeth. Riktors stopped cold.
Ah, Mikal said. You never had time to learn from the man who taught Ansset? What a bodyguard you gave me, Riktors.
Ansset hardly heard him. All he heard was Mikal's voice saying, It has no charge." Mikal had trusted him. Mikal had staked his life on Ansset's ability to resist .the compulsion. Ansset wanted to weep in gratitude for such trust, in fear at such terrible danger only barely averted. Instead he stood still with iron Control and watched Riktors for any sign of movement,
Riktors, Mikal went on, your mistakes were very slight. I hope you've learned from them. So that when an assassin as bright as you are tries to take your life, you'll know all the enemies you have and all the allies you can call on and exactly what you can expect from each.
Ansset looked at Riktors's face and remembered how glad he had been when the tall soldier had been made Captain. Let me kill him now, Ansset said.
Mikal sighed. Don't kill for pleasure, my Son. If you ever kill for pleasure, you'll come to hat
e yourself. Besides, weren't you listening? I'm going to adopt Riktors Ashen as my heir.
I don't believe you, Riktors said, but Ansset heard hope in his voice.
I'll call in my sons-they stay around court, hoping to be closest to the palace when I die, Mikal said. Ill make them sign an oath to respect you as my heir. Of course they'll sign it, and of course they'll all break it, and of course you'll have them all killed the first moment you can after you take the throne. If any of them is smart at all, he'll be at the other end of the galaxy by then. But I doubt there'll be any that bright. When shall we have you crowned? Three weeks from tomorrow is enough time to wait. I'll abdicate in your favor, sign all the papers, it'll make the headlines on the newspapers for days. I can just see all the potential rebels tearing their hair with rage. It's a pleasant picture to retire on.
Ansset didn't understand. Why? He tried to kill you.
Mikal only laughed. It was Riktors who answered. He thinks I can hold his empire together. But I want to know the price.
Price? What could you give me, Riktors, that you wouldn't take as a gift for you yourself anyway? I've waited for you for sixty years. Seventy years, Riktors. I kept thinking, surely there's someone out there who covets my power and has guts and brains enough to come get it. And at last you came. You'll see to it that I didn't build for nothing. That the wind won't tear away everything the moment I'm not there to hold it up. All I want after you take the throne is a house for myself and my Songbird until I die. On Earth, so you can keep an eye on me, of course. And with a different name, so that I won't be plagued by all the bastards who'll try to get my help to throw you out. And when I'm dead, send Ansset home. Simple enough?
I agree, Riktors said.
How prudent. And Mikal laughed again.
21
The vows were made, the abdication and the coronation took place with a great deal of pomp, and Susquehanna's caterers and hotelkeepers became wealthier than they had ever dreamed. All the contenders and pretenders were slaughtered, and Riktors spent a year going from system to system to quell all the rebellions with his own mixture of brutality and sympathy. After the first few planets were at peace, the populace happy and the rebels butchered, most of the other rebellions quelled themselves.
It was only the day after the papers announced that Riktors Ashen was coming home when the soldiers appeared at the door of the little house in Brazil where Mikal and Ansset lived.
How can he! Ansset cried out in anguish when he saw the soldiers outside. He gave his word!
Open the door for them, my Son, Mikal said.
They're here to kill you!
A year was more than I hoped for. I've had that year. Did you really expect Riktors to keep his word? There isn't room in the galaxy for two heads that know the feel of the imperial crown.
I can kill most of them before they could come near. If you hide, perhaps--
Don't kill anyone, Ansset. That's not your song. The dance of your hands is ugly without the song of your voice, Songbird.
The soldiers began to beat on the door, which, because it was steel, did not give way easily. They'll blow it open in a minute, Mikal said. Promise me you won't kill anyone. No matter who. Please. Don't avenge me.
I will.
Don't avenge me. Promise. On your life. On your love for me.
Ansset promised. The door blew open. The soldiers killed Mikal with a flash of lasers that turned his skin to ashes. They kept firing until nothing but ashes was left. Then they gathered them up. Ansset watched, keeping his promise but wishing with all his heart that somewhere in his mind there was a wall he could hide behind. Unfortunately, he was too sane.
22
They took twelve-year-old Ansset and the ashes of the emperor to Susquehanna. The ashes were placed in a huge urn and displayed with state honors. Everyone was told that Mikal had died of old age, and no one admitted to suspecting otherwise.
They brought Ansset to the funeral feast under heavy guard, for fear of what his hands might do.
After the meal, at which everyone pretended to be somber, Riktors called Ansset to him. The guards followed, but Riktors waved them away. The crown rested lightly on his hair.
I know I'm safe from you, Riktors said.
You're a lying bastard, Ansset said softly, so that only Riktors could hear, and if I hadn't given my word to a better man than you, I'd tear you end to end.
If I weren't a lying bastard, Riktors answered with a smile, Mikal would never have given the empire to me.
Then Riktors stood. My friends, he said, and the dignitaries present gave a cheer. From now on I am not to be known as Riktors Ashen, but as Riktors Mikal The name Mikal shall pass to all my successors on the throne, in honor of the man who built this empire and brought peace to all mankind. Riktors sat amid the applause and cheers, which sounded like some of the people might have been sincere. It was a nice speech, as impromptu speeches went.
Then Riktors asked Ansset to sing.
I'd rather die, Ansset said.
You will, when the time comes. Now sing-the song Mikal would want sung at his funeral.
Ansset sang then, standing on the table so that everyone could see him, just as he had stood to sing to an audience he hated on his last night of captivity in the ship. His song was wordless, for all the words he might have said were treason, and would have stirred the audience to destroy Riktors on the spot. Instead Ansset sang a melody, flying unaccompanied from mode to mode, each note torn from his throat in pain, each note bringing a sweeter pain to the ears that heard it.
The song broke up the banquet as the grief they had all pretended to feel now burned within them. Many went home weeping; all felt the great loss of the man whose ashes dusted the bottom of the urn.
Only Riktors stayed at the table after Ansset's song was over.
Now, Ansset said, they'll never forget Father Mikal.
Or Mikal's Songbird, Riktors said. But I am Mikal now, as much of him as could survive. A name and an empire.
There's nothing of Father Mikal in you, Ansset said coldly.
Is there not? Riktors said softly. Were you fooled by Mikal's public cruelty? No, Songbird. And in his voice Ansset heard the hints of pain that lay behind the harsh and unmerciful emperor.
Stay and sing for me, Songbird, Riktors said. Pleading played around the edges of his voice.
I was placed with Mikal, not with you Ansset said. I must go home now.
No, Riktors said, and he reached into his clothing and pulled out a letter. Ansset read it. It was in Esste's handwriting, and it told him that if he was willing, the Songhouse would place him with Riktors. Ansset did not understand. But the message was clear, the language unmistakably Esste's own. He had trusted Esste when she told him to love Mikal. He would trust her now.
Ansset reached out his hand and touched the urn of ashes that rested on the table. I'll never love you, he said, meaning the words to hurt.
Nor I you, Riktors answered. But we may, nonetheless, feed each other something that we hunger for. Did Mikal sleep with you?
He never wanted to. I never offered.
Neither will I, Riktors said. I only want to hear your songs.
There was no voice in Ansset for the word he decided to say. He could only nod. Riktors had the grace not to smile. He just nodded in return and left the table. Before he reached the doors, Ansset spoke to him.
What will you do with this?
Riktors looked at the urn where Ansset rested his hand. The relics are yours. Do what you want. Then Riktors Mikal was gone.
Ansset took the urn of ashes into the chamber where he and Father Mikal had sung so many songs to each other. Ansset stood for a long time before the fire, humming the memories to himself. He gave all the songs back to Father Mikal, and with love he reached out and emptied the urn on the blazing fire.
The ashes put the fire out.
23
The transition is complete, Songmaster Onn said to Songmaster Esste as soon as the door
to the High Room was closed.
I was afraid, Esste confided in a low melody that trembled. Riktors Ashen is not unwise. But Ansset's songs are stronger than wisdom.
They sat together in the cold sunlight that filtered through the shutters of the High Room. Ah, sang Song-master Onn, and the melody was of love for Songmaster Esste.
Don't praise me. The gift and the power were Ansset's.
But the teacher was Esste. In other hands Ansset might have been used as a tool for power, for wealth. Or worse, he might have been wasted. But in your hands--
No, Brother Onn. Ansset himself is too much made of love and loyalty. He makes others desire what he himself already is. He is a tool that cannot be used for evil.
Will he ever know?
Perhaps; I do not think he yet suspects the power of his gift. It would be better if he never found out how little like other Songbirds he is. And as for the last block in his mind-we laid that well. He will never find his way around it, and so he will never learn or even search for the truth about who controlled the transfer of the crown.
Songmaster Onn sang tremulously of the delicate plots woven in the mind of a child of five, of six, of nine; plots that could have unwoven at any time. But the weaver was wise, and the cloth has held.
Mikal the Conqueror, said Esste, learned to love peace more than he loved himself. So will Riktors Mikal. That is enough. We have done our duty for mankind. Now we must teach other little singers.
Only the old songs, sighed Songmaster Onn.
No, answered Songmaster Esste, with a smile. We will teach them to sing of Mikal's Songbird.
Ansset has already sung that song, better than we could hope to.
They walked slowly out of the High Room as Song-master Esste whispered, Then we will harmonize! Their laughter was music down the stairs.
JOSIF
1
Kya-Kya's arms were too thin. She noticed it again as she touched the keys on her computer terminal; if she ever had to use her arms to lift something quite heavy, they would break. I am not meant to bear burdens, Kya-Kya reminded herself. I don't look like a substantial person, which is why I am forced into such insubstantial work.
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