by Larry Niven
A bench ran all around the walls, broken only by the entrances. There were two entrances, steep stairways barely wide enough for two abreast to enter or leave.
Down on the floor of the kiva, ornate tables and chairs stood in the bright sun. Servants held umbrellas, and despite the blazing sun, the guests felt cool when they sat at the tables in the shade. More servants brought stone cups of fruit juices.
“Ice,” Clever Squirrel said. “Ice.”
“You sound impressed,” Regapisk said.
“I am impressed. Do you know how much manna is needed to make ice here?”
Regapisk nodded sagely.
Servants came and bowed. A great gong sounded from deep inside the palace. The umbrellas were lowered, and another gong sounded.
The kiva filled with thick white smoke, so thick that Sandry could barely see his drink on the table, but the smoke had no smell and did not sting his eyes. More like fog than smoke, he thought.
Shapes appeared, and as the smoke cleared, the guest saw masked priests. When the cloud was gone, the priests spread their arms high above their heads to the great cheers of the crowd behind them. Sandry wondered just how many of the people could see into the kiva. Enough, he supposed.
“The stairs aren’t wide enough,” Regapisk muttered. It took Sandry a moment to understand. Then he nodded. He counted sixteen priests plus attendants. That many priests could not have come in by the stairs. There hadn’t been enough time. There was another way into the kiva.
A secret entrance, or else magic, Sandry thought.
The priests bowed to their guests, then took places at the tables. When they were all seated, servants brought food.
Clever Squirrel regarded the array of priests and tried to pick them out. Turkey was easily recognized. And Bison Woman, looking very much the same here as back on the Hemp Road. As Squirrel watched, Bison Woman came over to them and bowed to Burning Tower.
“Welcome to Aztlan. You are to be married here. Is this the fortunate man?”
Burning Tower blushed. “Yes.”
“We have our customs and requirements, of course, and anyone married by the Emperor is married indeed throughout all the worlds, but the Supreme One commands that all be done according to your customs as well as ours,” Bison Woman said. “And we have little time. Would you come with me to speak of the necessary details?”
“Of course.” Burning Tower stood.
Bison Woman smiled thinly. “And you as well, Lord Sandry. If you please.”
Clever Squirrel chuckled to herself and regarded the other priests. Road Runner’s priest had escorted them to Aztlan in a flying basket. That gorgeously dressed bareheaded man was another of the four priests who had come to Sunfall Crater; she’d wondered if he was Terror Bird’s priest. That—her heart leapt. The man who stepped to meet them wore Coyote’s mask. She knew it, however unfamiliar. It felt like coming home.
The mask exposed his mouth, and she could see his grin. “I am Coyote’s priest,” he said. Confronting Regapisk and Clever Squirrel, he did not bow.
Regapisk made introductions. Coyote’s priest said, “Coyote’s daughter? Clever Squirrel, I’ve been eager to meet you. Have you seen Coyote yourself?”
“Not seen. Sometimes I feel him in my mind. He was in my father’s mind the night I was conceived.”
“I don’t see him either. I sense him in my thoughts when matters around me become most amusing or most confusing.”
“Such as?”
Regapisk had moved down the table and was eating ribs. Sandry and Tower had been led away. Squirrel was effectively alone with Coyote’s priest. He said, “Things have turned wonderfully active since you people turned up. A dozen priests are all in detention, awaiting the coronation ceremony on Mesa Fajada with no great eagerness. The Emperor is not expected to appear in his formal cloak, the one covered with terror bird feathers. There’s speculation and rumor. Can you tell me—”
Squirrel nodded. “The cloaks at the crater all turned to hummingbird feathers. Enough to cover a small blanket.”
“Then the Emperor’s great cloak must have too!” Coyote’s priest barked laughter. “Try this—it’s rattlesnake. Chili for dipping. What can you tell me about the war against the birds?”
Squirrel described the battle at Sunfall and its end at the sweatbath. “And a hummingbird tried to kill me. It must have been possessed.” It wouldn’t be good if the Emperor’s servants learned too much of Sandry’s tactics, she thought; but what would a shaman know about that? Squirrel could sense a watching presence behind her eyes. Coyote was with her. Was the god with his shaman too?
Coyote’s priest asked, “Have you questions, Clever Squirrel?”
“To ask a question, one must know most of the answer. We just got here.”
“Start somewhere. Ask a bad question.”
“We’re sleeping three in a room. Is that normal?”
“I expect the concierge thought you’d want to guard each other. Besides, three in a room makes a visitor welcome, because four is lucky. Would you prefer your own rooms? Something about your marriage customs?”
“Exactly. Sandry has enough to put up with without that!…Tell me about the priest with no mask.”
“He stands in for all the forgotten gods. You thought he stood in for Left-Handed Hummingbird? No, that one waits with the rest of the bird’s priests. We must have four fours of gods, though, and some entity must be chosen to replace the bird. Ask again.”
“The wall,” she said, “What’s it for?”
For an instant, she glimpsed an answer; and then Coyote’s priest said, “For the hearts of the enemies of the Empire, and certain heroes too. Ask again.”
He’d slipped aside from something important; she knew that. It struck her that she was being invited to display her ignorance. Change directions? “When do you take off your mask?”
He grinned. “Do you really want to know?”
She grinned in return. Then the gongs sounded.
“Follow me,” Coyote’s priest said urgently. “Watch me and be careful.”
“But—”
“Come.”
Everyone rose, quickly, and climbed the stairs to the plaza level, where they stood facing Mesa Fajada. Sandry, Tower, and Buffalo Woman hurried across the plaza to join them. They all stood, waiting, and Squirrel didn’t dare turn to see, but she thought that all those in the stands behind them, hundreds, perhaps thousands, were standing also. The silence was awesome.
The sun burned hot, and there was no wind. Squirrel lost track of time. Then the gongs, and now trumpets, sounded from all around them, from in the kiva and from the plaza itself, although there was no sign of musicians or instruments. The gongs and trumpets rose to a crescendo.
Brilliant fire flashed from the top of Mesa Fajada. All looked up. A man stood there, a big man on a tiny balcony jutting out from the big circular balcony. He wore a cloak of fine black fur and a long, wonderfully embroidered kilt. He was bareheaded and shirtless and scarred along chest and belly. She squinted to see him. He was terribly far away.
“Welcome, our guests from afar!” His voice rang; it filled the plaza and the city beyond. It might have filled the whole earth, Squirrel thought, and knew she was being silly. But the Empire threw magic around as if there were no tomorrow. Squirrel remembered an argument out of a dream. The priests of Terror Bird did have a point.
“People of Aztlan, we welcome Lord Sandry of Lordshills and the City of Yangin-Atep. Welcome, Burning Tower, heiress of the House of Feathersnake, a great one of the far lands of the Hemp Road. Welcome, Clever Squirrel, Daughter of Coyote.”
The crowd stirred at that announcement, a short sound that might have been pleasure and might have been amazement, cut off quickly as the great voice continued to boom. “Welcome, Lord Regapisk of Lordshills and companion to our new king, Arshur. Welcome all!”
There was a short pause, then the priests began to cheer. The cheers were taken up by the crowd behind them. “Hail
and welcome! We greet you, guests from afar! Welcome to the king and his companion. The king! The king!”
Squirrel looked up. There was another man standing with the Emperor, blond and taller even than the Supreme One. Arshur the Wanderer, at home at last.
“The king!”
“I would come to be among my people this night, but that the king has laid massive obligations on me,” the great voice boomed. “And now we prepare the coronation feast, and other wonders for my people.”
“I can barely see him,” Squirrel whispered. “He’s glowing like the sun in my eyes!”
And suddenly the Emperor was not far away at all. His image grew and grew until he was nearly as large as Mesa Fajada. His presence was immense.
Tower winced. He looked like he’d been gutted like a trout.
Sandry’s look spoke for him: grim, and a little sick. “Those scars!”
The priests looked at Sandry with alarm, and Squirrel felt fear. Her eyes pleaded with Sandry, but he didn’t need the reminder. He fell silent and waited.
There was a long pause as the enormous image showed itself to the people of Aztlan. Then the gongs sounded, the image faded, and the balcony was empty.
They were silent as they went down the stairs to the stables under the plaza, and there was little conversation as they returned to the king’s palace. The banqueting hall seemed small and familiar compared with the glaring open plaza and the great mesa above.
“Are you all right?” Burning Tower asked.
Squirrel smiled without warmth. “He was—impressive.”
“Frightening, you mean,” Tower said.
“Very.”
“But very generous,” Tower said.
Squirrel could hear the excitement in her sister’s voice. And why not? She was to be married soon, and unlike Coyote’s daughter, Tower would mate for life, coupling with a man she loved. “Are your wedding plans set?”
“No, we are to meet with Bison Woman again. And Jaguar’s priest, and of course Coyote’s—they’ll all take part.” She turned serious. “I’m going to miss Spike.”
“Nothing you can do about that,” Squirrel said.
“No. I do want to be married. But it will be hard saying good-bye to him.” Her mood brightened. “Bison Woman says we can go anywhere we like in the domains of the Emperor. There are wonderful places here. Maybe we’ll see some of them, but mostly, I want to go home with my new husband.”
Squirrel smiled agreement.
Bison Woman came to collect Burning Tower for another conference. Tower and Bison Woman and Sandry went to a table in the far corner of the room, where they were instantly surrounded by a host of scribes.
Squirrel felt lonely. Then she felt a presence behind her.
“He is awesome,” Coyote’s priest said. “Even to you and me. Think of how he appears to those not blessed with Coyote’s vision.”
Night came. The walls glowed with soft light, and the banquet tables were filled again with food. Regapisk sat at one place from the center of the high table, to the right of where Arshur would be, only Arshur wasn’t there.
“Lord Regapisk, may I join you?”
Regapisk grinned. “Certainly, Cousin. And welcome. Has Bison Woman done with you?”
Sandry poured a cup of wine and sipped. “Yes. Her scribes wrote out the contracts, and they’ll be witnessed and signed in multiple copies, so Quintana and Aunt Shanda will be satisfied. They’ll have to be.”
“But not through with Tower,” Regapisk said. He pointed to the corner table where the scribes were writing furiously.
Sandry laughed. “And never will be, I think. She keeps coming up with other details, things she remembers from some other girl’s wedding, or things her mother told her, and she wants it all.”
Regapisk grinned. “The Supreme One can afford it.”
“That he can,” Sandry said. “How’s the king holding up?”
Regapisk laughed. “He’s still Arshur. He likes everything about being king but the work itself.”
“What work is that?”
“The king is the only bearer of bad news,” Regapisk said. “No one else can tell the Emperor anything bad, because he might be blamed, or he might be sent to the gods as a messenger to tell them.”
“Sent to the gods. You mean his heart goes in the wall?”
Regapisk nodded. “So everyone tells things to the king and the king tells the Supreme One. Only there hasn’t been a king for so long that a lot of bad news piled up.” Regapisk shrugged. “So far it’s gone well, though. King Arshur has sent off half a dozen expeditions to deal with minor tax revolts. He said something about asking your advice, maybe asking you to take charge of something.”
Sandry grinned. “I’m getting married, Cousin, and I will have more pleasant things to think about than leading an army to beat up tax delinquents. And then I’m going home.”
Regapisk nodded.
“Sorry. I guess that’s a delicate subject,” Sandry said.
“Yeah. Okay, I figured out why you didn’t buy me loose from the ship. It was because I talked about going back, wasn’t it?”
Sandry nodded.
“I know better now.” Regapisk grinned. “But I’m still a Lord, and I’m rich, I can make my home anywhere I want except Lordshills, and who needs that place anyway?”
“That’s the spirit.”
Regapisk watched Coyote’s priest and Coyote’s daughter. He said, “It looks something like a seduction and something like a duel. Sandry, what do you think?”
“Something like a game of solitaire too,” Sandry said. “They serve the same god, but one serves the Emperor. They may not know themselves what they’re looking for. Ah. They are finished with Tower.” He stood.
Burning Tower came over, her eyes blazing with excitement. “It’s going to be wonderful,” she said. “They are making a wedding robe. I think I’ll look beautiful!”
Sandry smiled. “You will always be beautiful.”
“I hope so.”
“Doubts? Misgivings?”
“No, not really.” She looked around the banquet hall. “Who are the girls?” she asked.
“They serve the king for the evening,” Sandry said.
“You sound wistful.”
“No, my love. Impatient, but not wistful.”
Tower looked again. “Pretty. But eight? Arshur is magnificent, but he’s a bit old.”
Regapisk blushed.
“Oh. They reward both the king and his companion, then.” Tower picked at her dinner. There were a dozen dishes, enough food for a hundred, delicacies that few Lords and no Lordkin or kinless could ever afford to taste, all set out for the visitors and the priests. “All this,” Tower said. “What will happen to it all?”
Regapisk and Sandry looked at each other and smiled. “Servants always dine well,” Regapisk said.
“Oh. Yes, I suppose they do,” Burning Tower said. “We have servants at home at New Castle, of course I knew that. I guess I got used to being on the roads with the wagon trains.”
“It has been pleasant, but I will be glad to go home again,” Sandry said.
“Will we be welcome?”
Sandry smiled thinly. “Lord Quintana was ready to welcome us both if we returned alive from Condigeo. Now—”
“Now,” Regapisk said, “you will stand so high that you can ask any favor you like of the Congregation of Lords Witness.”
“Not any favor,” Sandry said.
Regapisk tried to smile. “No? I bet you could. We can talk another time.”
The chief servant of the king’s palace came to their table and bowed. “The king asks in what rooms you wish your beds.”
“I’ll stay with Clever Squirrel. Put our beds in one room, and Sandry’s in another. I think.” She looked down the table to where Clever Squirrel was still lost in conversation with Coyote’s priest. “We won’t disturb her. Yes, put her bed in a room with mine.”
The majordomo bowed. “When you are ready
, I will send a maid with a light to guide you to your rooms. This palace can be confusing.”
“I’ll go now,” Tower said. “It has been a very long day.”
“As you wish, mistress,” the majordomo said. “I will send the maid.”
The servant had one of the ever-burning torches that gave no smoke. Tower stood.
“Good night, love,” Sandry said.
She smiled dreamily. “Good night. Not long now!”
“No.”
She lifted her face to be kissed. Sandry made their good night a lot shorter than he wanted it to be and noted Regapisk’s barely concealed amusement. He wasn’t the only one. Why did people always think it was funny to watch two people before they were married? But they did.
“How’s the arm?” Sandry asked.
Regapisk winced. “The feathers, you mean.”
“Well, yes.” Sandry grinned.
“They itch,” Regapisk said. “And so far, no one has been able to cure them. The Many Gods priest thinks he has cast a spell that will get rid of the damn things if I ever get to a place with no manna. It takes a lot of manna to make feathers grow on a man. Or so they say.”
“So you can take a chariot and go off into the desert for a while,” Sandry said.
“Maybe. King Arshur is talking about sending me off with an army.” Regapisk laughed. “Me. The only guy to flunk out of military class!”
“Well, not the only one,” Sandry said. “But you didn’t last long.”
“And I still know more than anyone else here! They have so much manna that they never learned how to fight. That’s what I think, anyway. They use magic because they can, and they don’t need to know anything else.”
Sandry nodded agreement. “Sounds right to me. But it’s not my problem.”
“No, you can go home again,” Regapisk said. “I can’t, so maybe it is my problem.” He put his hand inside his robe. “Cursed thing wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t itch. Women find feathers fascinating.”