by Pearl North
“Yes. I was very happy.” Thela smiled. “I grew up in the palace. My mother, even though she was the queen, always had time for me. We played together every day. And when she made me her heir, I worked at her side. You know, she was every bit as wise and kind as everyone thinks.”
All Po could think of was that gown floating in the water. “You can tell me anything, you know,” he said, the words coming unbidden once again.
Thela stared at him a long time before saying, “I know. And I know that everyone thinks I killed her.”
He waited.
“I did.” She lay back and was silent. Her eyes were closed, but wetness glimmered in her lashes. When she spoke again, it was in a rough whisper. “She had the little lion inside. The cancer spread to her brain and the adepts could do nothing about it. Though she’d always been kind, she’d never been stupid; those who thought they could take advantage of her good nature never got very far. But she changed. Everything changed.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if she had understood what was happening to her. If she’d known, if she’d still been herself, she’d have stepped down immediately. But no matter how many times I explained it to her, she forgot. She would not relinquish the throne, and she became suspicious of me. Others took advantage of the situation. Ilysies was in jeopardy because of her impairment. When she signed a disadvantageous trade agreement with Shenash, and had it delivered in secret, I knew that was only the beginning. I had to act.
“In her condition, the public spectacle of a challenge was unthinkable.” Thela rested her head on his shoulder. She pulled him close and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He was shocked to feel her tremble. Tears dampened his skin. Mother.
Thela lifted her lips to his ear. Her voice was barely audible. “No one else knows this. I used Ease. She drifted off as if she were floating out to sea.”
Outwardly, Po stroked her back, and said, “You did what you had to do.” Inwardly, he felt frozen with fear. If she ever thought there was the slightest chance he might divulge this secret, he’d be dead. The control she’d exerted over him with the pen was both what enabled this disclosure and what protected him. But if she ever lost confidence in the words she’d written …
He continued to soothe her as his mind raced. Thela had killed her own mother, whom she appeared to have loved. And she’d nearly caused Selene’s death as well. A mother, a daughter. What was a consort?
* * *
The next time Po went into the yard, the other consort was there again. “What’s your name?” Po asked him, to preempt his threats and bragging.
“Myr.” He stared at Po, apparently thrown.
“I’m Po.”
Myr gripped the wall. “Sleep lightly, Po.”
He sighed. “They want us to be rivals, you know.”
“They? Who’s they?”
Po had to think about that. “The women. They want men to fight each other because it makes it easier to control us.”
Myr wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something funny. “You’re even weirder than everyone says.”
“Who says?”
“The other bull dancers. Everyone says you used to be an apprentice to Adept Ykobos. Is it true?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why the queen favors you? You have special skills?”
“I guess so.”
“But you’re ugly.”
Po couldn’t help himself. “That’s not what Thela thinks.”
The other male did his best to hide his reaction but Po caught that first twitch of his mouth. It was true then; Thela’s frequent visits were cutting into his competition’s time with her.
“I should climb over this wall and kill you.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Now Myr looked sullen.
“Thela would be displeased if you did away with me, wouldn’t she?”
He looked like he’d bitten into a rotten lemon. “I should have been given the opportunity to best you before all the court.”
“It seems the queen is less than conventional.”
Myr narrowed his eyes. “Others besides myself may not be pleased by that.”
“What have you heard?” Unlike him, Myr got out every day for practice in the arena.
“Nothing. Not that I’d tell you, anyway.”
“You’d do well to,” said Po. “Both our fortunes rest with Thela.”
“If I have something to tell her, I’ll do it myself.”
“But you have to see her first.”
Myr pounded a fist against the wall. “Your cock will wither and snap off like a dry twig.”
“I don’t believe in curses from jealous males,” said Po. “But if you change your mind and decide to cooperate with me, I may be able to help you.”
“Go stab your mother while you’re at it.”
Po’s gut churned. He took half a step forward before mastering himself. It made no difference. Myr had already gone inside.
6
Vanishing Point
The discovery of The Song That Changed Us created a great stir. The Great Hall, always a hub of activity, now bustled night and day as people ran to and fro with notes and books, showing one another passages and arguing points of interpretation.
Haly was in the midst of an argument with Peliac over the possibility of uploading human consciousness into a silicon-based computer processor when the hall suddenly fell silent.
“It would be worth it, just to never have to eat pickled turnips again,” said Peliac, her voice ringing out clear and true. And then that, too, faded to silence and they all stared at the newcomer standing in the archway.
Haly remembered him. His green livery was faded now, but his regimental bearing remained the same. His standard hung limp with no wind to unfurl it but she knew it bore the boar of Thesia just the same.
Haly quickened her pace until she stood before the Thesian envoy. “Welcome to the Redeemed Community of the Libyrinth,” she said.
He stared at her. Haly wondered if he recognized her as the shy young girl who had handed him a letter—how long ago?
It seemed ages, but it had only been a year or so.
“Greetings,” he said. “I bear a message for the Redeemer, from the first administrator of the New Republic of Thesia.”
“I am the Redeemer,” said Haly. It surprised her how naturally those words came now.
The envoy produced a scroll, and presented it with a bow. “I have been instructed to await your response, Holy One.”
Haly took the missive in her hand. The parchment was smooth. She refrained from listening to the letter. “Come to my office,” she said.
Gyneth joined her and they all sat down in Haly’s little office. She made tea. When they were all settled with a steaming cup, she broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it.
The handwriting was neat and close-spaced.
Dear Holy One,
Felicitations on the Redemption. We regret our tardiness in offering our congratulations but the last eighteen months have been eventful ones for the New Republic, as we are confident they have been for you as well.
Recent events of an anomalous nature have caused us to regret our unintended isolation from the communities of the Plain of Ayor, and in particular, from the Libyrinth. Thesia and the Libyrinth have a long-standing tradition of cooperation. Though both communities have recently undergone transformative changes, we see no reason that tradition cannot continue.
In fact, it is in hope of renewing our long-standing ties that we write to you now. A strange storm has appeared near our southern border, in the region commonly known as the Tumbles. The phenomenon is persistent and appears to be growing. We respectfully request, nay, implore, the Redeemer’s presence at her earliest convenience.
In return for such consideration, the New Republic of Thesia is prepared to be generous with its mineral resources. Since time is short and the future ever more uncertain, we hope to make negotiations unnecessary with the fo
llowing formal offer:
50 metric tons gold
200 metric tons iron
200 metric tons copper
200 metric tons nickel
1,000 metric tons aluminum
20,000 metric tons other assorted minerals of recipients’ choosing, excepting gold
If this is not agreeable, pray bring your counteroffer with you. All reasonable requests will be entertained.
Yours Sincerely,
The First Administrator of the New Republic of Thesia, on behalf of all citizens of Thesia
Without a word, Haly handed the letter to Gyneth and watched as he read it. She knew exactly when he got to the part about payment. His eyebrows crept up his forehead, nearly disappearing beneath his bangs. But by the time he’d finished reading, he’d carefully schooled his features to neutrality again. “The letter does not state the cause of the storm,” he told the envoy.
“That is because we do not know the cause. It is the first administrator’s hope that the Redeemer, with her special relationship with the Song, may be able to provide us with a clearer understanding of the anomaly.”
Haly and Gyneth exchanged a look. She remembered her conversation with Burke. The physician had more or less given her leave to take a break from the Libyrinth, and Haly had been wanting to visit Thesia since she’d recovered from the famine. “Will you excuse us, please?” she asked the envoy. “I need to discuss this with my advisor. You may wait in the Great Hall, or take some refreshment in the dining hall if you’re hungry.”
The envoy departed.
“Well,” said Gyneth. “If you wanted to visit Thesia, here’s your excuse.”
“But things are so up-in-the-air here right now. Po and Clauda are missing, the pen … Not to mention Hilloa, Baris, and Jan taking off.”
“You’re not the only one who can handle those things, you know.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But the first administrator seems to think you are the only one who can deal with this strange new storm. And besides…”
“That’s a lot of metal,” they both said in unison.
* * *
Haly thought carefully about which books to take with her on the journey to Thesia. The Book of the Night, most definitely, and the Dhamapada. Quantum Theory by David Bohm, The Diary of Anne Frank, and Shakespeare’s sonnets.
She stacked them all neatly and tied them up with a thick silken sash that Palla had given her when she left the crèche.
There. She looked about her at the satchel that contained a few changes of clothes, for herself and Gyneth, their bedrolls, and her books. That was about it.
She turned at a footstep behind her to find Gyneth entering. “Ready?” he asked her.
As she nodded, excitement tingled in her stomach. She thought of the last time she had left the Libyrinth. In secrecy and urgency. That journey had changed everything. “What will Thesia be like now, do you think?” she wondered aloud.
Gyneth shook his head. “We won’t know until we get there.” He picked up the satchel and the books, and she took their bedrolls. They went downstairs. A lot of people were gathered in the Great Hall to see them off.
Haly hugged Burke, Ock, Peliac, and Rossiter. Despite the undercurrent of worry among them; despite the unsolved mysteries of Po, the pen, and this new storm, Haly could not shake a feeling of freedom. She felt as if she were embarking on a vacation. “I managed the last time,” she told Peliac in answer to the habitually dour woman’s intense frown.
Peliac drew a deep breath, and expelled it. “See that you do the same. And try not to change everything this time. I’m just getting used to the way things are now.”
The crowd followed them into the stable yard, and helped them load two large baskets full of provisions into their wagon. Then she climbed up into the seat and Gyneth climbed up beside her. She was just about to flick the reins when there came a screech from the far end of the stables, where they joined with the Libyrinth. People shuffled aside as a tiny red form came hurtling through the crowd and launched himself at the wagon.
“Where does she go? Where does she go?” shouted Nod, climbing up the side of the wagon and onto Haly’s shoulder. The little creature clung to her neck.
“Nod. I think you should stay here, and take care of the Libyrinth. Don’t worry, Peliac will read to you.”
The dour Libyrarian frowned at her. Haly grinned, gently detached Nod from her neck, and handed him to her.
Gyneth flicked the reins and they were off.
* * *
The morning of their third day out, Haly awoke to find the envoy already packed and mounted. “I have other stops to make,” he said. “Just keep traveling north until you reach the mountains. From there, the road heads straight to Thesia. You can’t miss it.”
“What? You’re leaving us?” Haly took a good look at him. His clothes were dusty and worn, his face lined. He sat on his mount as if he grew out of it. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
His mouth twitched and he looked out to the horizon. “Not that long, but everything is different there now.”
“You mean since the uprising?”
“No. Since about a month ago, only … it’s been much longer than that, in a way.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
He looked at her and she saw anguish in his eyes. “I suppose not. But I’m just supposed to deliver the messages, you see. Regardless of whether or not those who sent them are still—I have to go.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He nudged his horse into a trot. Gyneth ran after him, but he couldn’t catch up.
* * *
For over a week, Haly and Gyneth traveled the plain. They stopped in villages from time to time, where they were greeted warmly and offered embarrassingly generous hospitability. More often they camped out under the sky, sitting around a fire at night, and later making love underneath the stars. It was the first time they’d ever had more than a few hours alone together.
“Come with me, my love, come away. For the long wet months are past, the rains have fed the earth and left it bright with blossoms. Birds wing in the low sky, dove and songbird singing in the open air above. Each nourishing tree and vine, green fig and tender grape, green and tender fragrance. Come with me, my love, come away,” Haly recited from The Song of Solomon one night when there was only the barest sliver of moons and the stars crowded in on them from above, the way the voices of the books used to do, before the Song came and encompassed them all.
Gyneth sighed and rested against her, then slid down further to lay his head in her lap and gaze up at her. The stars reflected in his eyes were a haze of distant brilliance. “Remember that first day, when I tried to put the salve on your wound?” he said.
She nodded. “I’ve never been so violent in all my life.”
He lifted his hand to trace her scar. “I don’t blame you.”
She shook her head. “But it was misdirected. You were trying to help me.” She ran a hand through his hair and smiled as he leaned into her touch. “It’s strange now, to think of how we were then, so divided.”
“I was certain you were damned.”
She grinned. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when I asked you what the Song was.”
Gyneth sat up, eyes sparkling. “Oh, I was appalled! Quite scandalized by you. But that was nothing compared to when you tricked me into looking at printed words.”
“Tricked? I didn’t…” She paused. “Okay, yeah, I definitely tricked you. But it all worked out, didn’t it?”
Gyneth drew her to him and kissed her. “Yeah. It all worked out.”
Neither of them spoke for a little while, but later, lying in each other’s arms with the embers of the fire burning low, Haly said, “And now we’ve survived the famine.”
Gyneth, his head resting on her chest, drew the blankets up over both of them and nodded. “Yeah.”
“What do you think we’ll find in Thesia?”
�
��I don’t know.”
“Me neither. And I don’t know what’s going to happen with this pen business, either, or with Thela in general.”
“Nobody does. Not even Thela.”
“Gyneth, if things ever … when all of this is over, when the fires are all put out and we’re left to our own devices, what do you think we’ll do?”
“Mmm.” Gyneth lifted himself up on his elbows and peered down at her. “We’ll be so very, deliciously bored,” he said. “And then, we’ll sing in the morning.” He kissed her. “Read in the afternoon.” He nibbled her ear. “And make love all night long.” He let his weight settle on her and the solidness of him felt good. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. It might never happen, she realized. This might be as much of not-putting-out-fires as they’d ever have. She didn’t want to waste it.
* * *
As they traveled northward the land became hilly and more and more trees began to appear—large silverleaf, taller than any she had ever seen except for when Po had used the pen, and other species as well, poplars and birch.
Travel became more difficult as the land grew more mountainous and thickly forested. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the road, they would have had to abandon the wagon entirely.
Running as straight as an arrow through hills and valleys, the road was crafted of massive blocks of stone—the same gray stone the Corvariate Citadel was built from. On either side of it was a steep bank, and Haly and Gyneth had to get out of the wagon and push in order to get it up the incline. But once they were on the road, it proved to be amazingly well preserved, smooth and even. Their pace picked up dramatically.
“This is the way we experience time,” said Gyneth as they rode along.
“Hmm?” said Haly. She was watching the trees go by, wondering when or if they would see any people. It had been days since they had passed a village, and that had been still in the plain. They were in Thesia now, the road was proof of that. Where was everybody?