Im-lo-Torim and his sister knelt, still touching palms. Kor-li-Zynak, alone by the altar, saw them through a haze of shadows. His skin burned as though he had a fever and there was something wrong with his eyes. The moonlight thickened and there were dark, threatening shapes drifting through the blue smoke. Kor-li-Zynak longed to run away but did not dare.
“Come, son and daughter of the Godborn,” commanded the High Priest, “join with those who are the shadows of Zeldin and Imarko.”
Zyrindella rose from her throne and took her husband firmly by the wrist.
Li-Kroch was frightened and did not understand what they meant him to do but he obeyed his wife's hissed commands. They came slowly forward and moved around the edge of the silver circles till they faced each other. The zeloka now crouched in the shadows behind Li-Kroch. He longed to turn his head, to keep it in view, but he did not dare look away from Zyrindella's face.
“Behold, oh Zeldin,” intoned the High Priest, “these thy children who were united before your altar twelve years ago. As of Zeldin and Imarko was born Mikeld-lo-Taan, so of Li-Kroch and Zyrindella is born Kor-li-Zynak.”
The crowned shadows wavered. Kerish felt a faint tremor run through the temple, a tremor which instead of dying away, gradually grew stronger until the floor hummed beneath his feet. No one else seemed to notice. No one but Ka-Metranee, who shook and swayed beneath her veils.
Li-Kroch and Zyrindella knelt and joined hands with Im-lo-Torim and Ka-Metranee. Together they recited the marriage vows they had sworn to obey. Zyrindella spoke clearly and surely; Li-Kroch with many stumblings and hesitations.
“As our blood is mingled so are our souls,” finished Zyrindella.
The High Priest bade them rise and hand in hand they walked forward. For the first time, Li-Kroch noticed his son. He smiled sweetly at him and spoke his name. Bright-eyed and flushed, the child did not seem to hear.
Once more Li-Kroch and Zyrindella knelt, this time before the image of Zeldin. The High Priest stood behind them and laid his long beautiful hands on their heads. “Now,” he said softly, “swear the oath.”
Zyrindella's nails dug into her husband's hand but her face was calm.
“Speak after me,” began Izeldon, “in one voice as you share one heart. I, the son or daughter of Zeldin, do swear that I have kept the holy law. I swear that the Bird of Truth still lodges in my house. I swear that I am true in marriage and in faith and that Kor-li-Zynak is the true born son of our marriage.”
Li-Kroch began to mouth the words without understanding but Princess Zyrindella spoke them clearly and proudly. “I, the daughter of Zeldin, do swear that I have kept the Holy Law.”
The hall of the temple throbbed as if it was a drumskin, stretched too tight, on which some giant hand was beating. The priests and priestesses stopped their chanting and Im-lo-Torim ran forward.
“Go on!” commanded the High Priest.
“I swear,” whispered Zyrindella, “that the Bird of Truth still lodges in my house. I swear that I am true in marriage and in faith.”
The temple shook. Dark cracks appeared in the alabaster and the crystal dome shivered. Zyrindella screamed in defiance, “And I swear that Kor-li-Zynak is the true born son of our marriage.”
As suddenly as the damping of a taper, moonlight became darkness. The very rocks beneath the temple moved. The alabaster pillars swayed, the walls groaned. The air seemed to press against Zyrindella until she thought her skull would crack. It was impossible to breathe, for there was no emptiness left in the great hall.
In the blackness, Gankali screamed again and again and the Crown Prince could not quiet her. Yxin and Jerenac sprang to their feet and Im-lo-Torim raised his voice in wailing prayer. Kerish alone sat calm and still and Forollkin clung to his chair. Nine times the temple shuddered. Then above the tumult rang out the High Priest's voice, speaking in the ancient tongue.
There was silence and stillness and very slowly the moonlight flooded back into the hall. It revealed no scene of devastation. The cracks in the smooth floor had closed. The crystal dome was intact and the statue of Zeldin smiled as serenely as ever.
Among the alabaster thrones huddled Gankali, crying hysterically. Kerish, Forollkin, Yxin and Jerenac had stayed where they were, unharmed, but in the darkness and confusion the Crown Prince had fled from the hall. Im-lo-Torim and the priests and priestesses had prostrated themselves before the altar. Ka-Metranee alone stood upright within the silver circles.
“Hear, all you of the Godborn,” cried Izeldon. “A lie has been offered before the very altar of Zeldin!” He looked down at Zyrindella, and she cowered before him. “You are false to your vows, to your husband and to yourself. Be gone, daughter of lies. Zeldin has spoken and I banish you both from the temple and the court. Go!”
Zyrindella gathered up her jewelled robe and fled from the hall. Izeldon strode after to give orders for an escort to take her north to Morolk.
At the feet of Zeldin's statue lay the small, crumpled figure of Kor-li-Zynak. While the temple shook his eyes had seen terrible shapes among the shadows. With a voiceless scream he had fallen unconscious. The strength of the irandaan had overwhelmed him. Li-Kroch understood nothing of what had happened, not even that Kor-li-Zynak was not his son. He saw the child fall and ran to him. Li-Kroch cradled the little boy in his arms, rocking him and soothing him.
“Little one wake up, the darkness is all gone.”
The child lay still and his skin burned to the touch. Li-Kroch tried again to rouse him and then cried out, “The birds have torn my little one with their claws. They have eaten his soul. The bright birds.”
He gently laid the child down and picked up the empty chalice from the altar steps.
“The birds,” he hissed, “the birds who laugh at tears. I will kill them, everyone.”
Too late, Kerish sprang from the chair and ran forward. Before the Prince could reach him, Li-Kroch had thrown the heavy chalice at the zeloka. The sacred bird was knocked from its niche. As it hit the floor the frail wood shattered into gilded splinters. Li-Kroch laughed in triumph but Ka-Metranee, High Priestess of Imarko, screamed and threw back her purple veil.
“Sacrilege!” she cried. In her gaunt face blazed huge, inhuman eyes. “Sacrilege! Sacrilege!”
The cry echoed round the temple. The Godborn stood silent, aghast, staring at the fragments of the holy bird. Only Gankali still crouched by the thrones.
Li-Kroch's wild laughter died on his lips as he saw the Godborn turn one by one to look at him. He whimpered with fright at the expression in Ka-Metranee's eyes. “The birds, the bright birds...”
Huddled by the altar, Li-Kroch lifted the child in his arms again.
The High Priestess knelt among the splinters and picked up the golden chalice. She clasped it to her breast and gave a low cry of agony.
“Sacrilege!” she whispered. “The Bird of Wisdom shall fly no more in Galkis, the Bird of Truth is dead, murdered in Zeldin's temple.”
She walked to the centre of the circles and stood beneath the dome, pale as a drowned corpse in the moonlight.
“From this chalice,” said Ka-Metranee, “you have drunk the irandaan, the gift of Zeldin. I tell you, when you drink from it again, it shall be of your own blood. For the blood of the Godborn shall run like rivers. Murder!” Her voice rose to a scream. “Murder and war in the Holy City. The Godborn shall tear out their own hearts and the throne of Galkis shall be stained with their blood. Death and darkness come to the Golden City. The Empire shall fall and the nine cities crumble. Weep, oh weep, for the glory of Galkis is dimmed for ever!”
The priestess, her long, black hair trailing the ground, turned on those who stood nearest to her. “Death, I see only death.” She pointed to Jerenac and Yxin. “To you a sword, and to you a dagger, forged by your own hands.” She faced Im-lo-Torim and Gankali. “For the cowardly, a coward's death. For you who killed the Bird of Truth, you shall be starved of more than wisdom.” Li-Kroch cowered before her.
&nb
sp; Lastly, she turned on Forollkin and Kerish. To the young soldier she said, “Yours is a long road, the hard road of sorrow, and you...” Looking at Kerish, for the first time she faltered. `Your death is strange and distant and I cannot see it clearly. For the rest of you there shall be murder. Cursed are the rulers and cursed are the ruled. Cursed is Golden Galkis and cursed are the Godborn!”
“No,”cried Lord Izeldon, “No!”
He strode the length of the hall until he stood before the priestess of Imarko.
“All may come to pass as you prophesy, but in Zeldin the Compassionate there is hope. What is promised will be given. If we ask, if we seek.”
The fire of prophecy died from Ka-Metranee's eyes. Her face became gentle, her voice meek.
“You speak of the Promised One?”
“I do.”
The High Priestess began to weep.
“But who will seek him out? Who will free him from his prison?”
“Sister, the moon has waned, the ceremony is over. Go now and pray to our Lady Imarko for mercy.”
Ka-Metranee curtsied low and cast her veils back over her face. She called gently to her cowed priestesses and left the hall.
Kerish was kneeling by Li-Kroch and the child, trying to comfort them. Izeldon came and took the child's hand and felt his brow.
“Will he live my Lord?” whispered Kerish.
“Yes,” sighed Izeldon, “but I fear that after tonight he may seem like Li-Kroch's son indeed.”
The High Priest would have taken the child in his arms but Li-Kroch would not let him go. So Izeldon called his trembling priests and ordered them to take Li-Kroch and the child to the temple Healers.
Im-lo-Torim had controlled his face again and was longing for a draught of Tryfanian wine to cool his seared nerves. He hurried forward when the High Priest beckoned him.
“Take the Princess Gankali to her chambers and see her tended. If you find the Crown Prince there tell him to visit me in the morning.”
Smiling at that, Im-lo-Torim led the still sobbing Gankali from the hall.
“Lord Priest,” Jerenac laughed uneasily, “perhaps your god is not so gentle as I thought.”
“Lord Commander, the anger of Zeldin is turned against us, not our enemies. Your prayers are needed.”
Jerenac bowed and strode out.
Yxin turned to follow him but asked, “Your Holiness, now the Princess is banished from court, will she lose her province too?”
“Child,”said Izeldon gravely, “I judge her only for sacrilege. The Emperor may punish her other crimes if he chooses. That is his burden.”
When Yxin had gone, the High Priest spoke to Kerish.
“My dear, thank you for your help this night. In the morning, come to me early and we will talk. Now both of you, sleep peacefully. I know you are tired.”
He watched Kerish and Forollkin go, and then knelt wearily before Zeldin's statue.
* * *
In their quarters Kerish and Forollkin disrobed in silence. When their attendants had gone Kerish sank into the drowsy calm that comes after extremes of emotion but Forollkin said suddenly, “Kerish, I'm sorry I can't stay. I must get away.”
He was white and trembling with delayed shock.
The Prince poured out a cup of strong red wine and gave it to his half-brother.
“It's all right now. Zeldin would never harm you. You're a truth speaker if ever there was one.”
“I can't stay,” insisted Forollkin. “The palace chokes me, and the temple...”
Kerish laughed unkindly. “I'll protect you from the wrath of Zeldin, my brave soldier.”
“You don't understand,” cried Forollkin. “How can you protect yourself from something you can't even see. How do you fight it?”
“I don't know,” said Kerish-lo-Taan.
Chapter 5
The Book of the Emperors: Wisdom
A man enters life by the Gate of Birth and leaves it by the Gate Of Death. Between stand many gateways, some open, some shut, some locked fast. The end of wisdom is to open the closed gates, to find the keys of those that are locked and to know what lies beyond them.
Kerish had slept for barely six hours when the High Priest's messenger woke him. To his alarm, Forollkin was already gone from his hard couch and his travelling cloak was missing. Uneasily, the Prince dressed. The High Priest's ointment soothed his bruises but his arm was stiff and sore.
The messenger led him to an unfamiliar part of the temple, the place to which the grievously sick or wounded were carried in litters up the mountain road from Galkis. Kerish found the High Priest sitting by Kor-li-Zynak's bed. The child was still unconscious but there was natural colour in his cheeks and his skin no longer burned. Izeldon had sat with him all through the night, trying to call him back from the darkness into which he had fled.
As the Prince entered the chamber, Izeldon looked up and smiled but Kerish thought for the first time that the High Priest showed his eighty years. His serene face was giving way at last to the attacks of time.
“Good morning, Kerish. I hope I have not summoned you too early?”
Kerish stifled a yawn. “No, my Lord. How is the child?”
“At rest now. The damage to his mind is not so great as I feared but the irandaan will leave shadows.”
“Holiness,” Kerish looked down at the small form of Kor-li-Zynak, “you knew, I think, that he was not Li-Kroch's son and yet you let him drink a double dose of irandaan. You must have guessed what would happen to him. Why should he suffer for his mother's sins?”
“I guessed, Kerish, but I was not certain. No one could be, until it was tried before Zeldin's altar. If Zyrindella were no more than an adulteress I should be little inclined to blame her. Such a marriage, however much her own choice, must be bleak and bitter, but I have read murder in her eyes. I had to prove her false to protect us all. Yet you are right, to risk an innocent child was wrong and I must carry my sin till Zeldin has mercy.”
“I understand,” said Kerish. “Truly I do. You look so tired. Can't you rest now?”
“That is a kind thought, Kerish, and you have an aching arm. Let us have breakfast together and see which of our ills may be mended.”
Izeldon gave the Healers orders about the tending of Kor-li-Zynak and then took Kerish to his quarters. There the High Priest examined Kerish's arm, which was healing cleanly, and bathed it again. While he did so the Prince asked after Li-Kroch.
“He is bewildered still,” answered Izeldon. “Since he loves the child it is better that they remain together and away from Zyrindella. I will ask the Emperor's permission for them to live in the Royal Lodge. There now, fasten your tunic and we will drink together.”
Izeldon fetched a flagon and poured a thin golden liquid into two alabaster goblets. They sat down together on the window sill.
“Sip slowly, Kerish. This wine is called the Blood of the Sun and it will give you strength. It was a gift from Elmandis, the King of Ellerinonn. Have you heard stories of the Seven Sorcerers?”
Kerish nodded.
“He is one of them,” continued Izeldon, “perhaps the greatest. Beautiful Ellerinonn is ringed by his power and protected from all harm. I suppose your tutors have taught you almost nothing of foreign lands?”
“They have taught me about our Empire. Surely that is enough?”
“No, it is not! Too often we think of Galkis as the heart of Zindar, but there is a world beyond our borders. Different countries, peoples, gods.”
“False ones?”
“That you must judge for yourself,” said Izeldon, with a curious half smile. “Though do not tell your tutors I said so. Always remember, Kerish, that you are only partly Galkian. Your mother came from Erandachu.”
“Dragged from it as a slave.”
“That was our shame, not hers,” said Izeldon sternly. “In her own country, she was the daughter of a great chieftain and you must not be denied half of your heritage. You should learn about her people: the Erandachi,
the Children of the Wind, and about many others. Beyond Galkis lie Lan-Pin-Fria, the Land of Four Rivers; Everlorn, the secret forest; fair Seld, where Kelinda's sister is Queen; the jewelled deserts of Kolgor; Gannoth the Isle of Enchantments, where your grandmother was born.”
“And the Five Kingdoms,” murmured Kerish.
“Yes, there are dark places, too, beyond Galkis,” agreed Izeldon. `The slave quarries of Proy; the pleasure gardens of Losh; the dead kingdom of Roac; the black temple of Azanac, but in truth no land is wholly good or bad.”
Prince of the Godborn (Seven Citadels) Page 6