“Now one day when her father was off to his work, the girl took a jar to the spring that bubbled some ways from their hut. She had gone but three steps times three when she heard a peeping sound. She looked, and there was a nestling bird on the ground, a tiny sad scrawny thing that had fallen out. Soon it would die miserably, unless a fox or a badger found it first. The girl felt sorry for it. She picked it up. Looking about, she saw the nest high overhead—”
Bodilis stopped, for Fennalis had closed her eyes and was breathing evenly. “Are you awake yet?” Bodilis asked low. No answer came. After a minute or two, Bodilis was sure the woman had fallen to sleep.
Weariness dragged at her. She yawned, blinked, decided she too might find some oblivion. From the holder she took a candle to light her way.
—She woke. Moonlight streamed steeply through a window to make a pool on the floor. The candle guttered low. Hours must have passed, more than she had intended. Sighing, she rose and shuffled in to see how her patient was.
When she got there, Fennalis opened eyes. As Bodilis watched, the pupils dilated. Sweat broke forth. Breath rattled shallow.
An instant, Bodilis stood motionless. “Were you waiting for me?” she murmured. She sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned over to embrace Fennalis. Sometimes she prayed, sometimes she crooned, while the death struggle ebbed out.
Finally she could stand up, close the eyes, bind the jaw, kiss the brow. Thereafter she groped to the window and stood long staring into the white inexorable moonlight.
6
Sleep had altogether evaded Dahut. At last she wandered forth.
She stood in Lost Castle, Cargalwen, at the outer verge. Behind her hulked mounds that were crumbled houses, ridges that were fallen walls. Darkness lay thick in between, but hoarfrost on grass and stones glimmered along the tops. Beneath her the cliff dropped nearly sheer. Surf boomed and snarled, an incoming tide. Light from the westering moon sheened across black surges, exploded white where waves burst over rocks. In that direction it dimmed stars, but above the hills they were many, Auriga, Gemini, ever-virgin Pleiades, bloody-eyed Bull. A wind wandered, bearing the first bite of autumn. Dahut’s garments fluttered. She never noticed that, nor the chill. She had bided thus for a time outside of time.
A flame passed through her, above the cleft of her breasts. She cried out. Then: “A-a-ah. Now, now.”
With shaky fingers, she unlaced the bosom of her dress and pulled the cloth aside. By straining her neck backward, she could1 see what had appeared. Under the moon, the crescent showed not red but black.
She swung about, raised her arms, shouted into the moon: “Belisama, I am ready! Gods, all Gods, I thank You! I am Yours, Belisama, You are mine, we are One!”
The wind strewed her call across the sea.
She stripped the clothes from herself. Naked, yelling aloud, she danced beneath the stars, before the Gods of Ys.
IX
1
“O-o-oh,” Tambilis moaned. “Oh, beloved, beloved, beloved!” By the first faint dawnlight Gratillonius saw her face contorted beneath him, nostrils flared, mouth stretched wide, yet ablaze with beauty.
He never quite lost awareness of Forsquilis’s caresses, they were in the whole of the tempest, but it was Tambilis whose hips plunged to meet his, whose breasts and flanks his free hand explored, until he roared aloud and overleaped the world with her.
Afterward they lay side by side, she dazedly smiling from a cloud of unbound hair. Her body glimmered dim against the darkness that still filled most of the chamber. Her heartbeat slugged down toward its wonted rhythm.
Forsquilis raised herself to an elbow on his left side. Her locks flowed to make a new darkness and fragrance for him as she lowered her head and gave him a kiss. It went on, her tongue flickering and teasing, before she said from deep in her throat: “Me next.”
“Have mercy,” he chuckled. “Give me a rest.”
“You’ll need less than you think,” Forsquilis promised, “but take your ease a while, do.”
She crouched over him. Hands, lips, erected nipples roved. He lay back and savored what she did. Not for a long time had he brought more than a single Queen to the Red Lodge. Indeed, the last few months he had stood his Watches alone, save for men with whom he did business or practiced fighting, as troublous a year as this had been. Now, though, he had his victories. Of course a difficult stretch was ahead; but he felt confident of coping. Let him celebrate. Let him, also, affirm to Ys that King and Gallicenae were not estranged. Vindilis alone—but he suspected she had largely been glad of an excuse to terminate a relationship they both regarded as mere duty. If anything, she ought in due course to feel more amicable toward him than erstwhile. The fears that Lanarvilis and Innilis nursed would dwindle away when nothing terrible happened. As for the rest of the Nine—
Forsquilis straddled his thighs and rubbed his organ against her soft fur. By the slowly strengthening light he saw her look at him through slitted eyes and her tongue play over her teeth. Eagerness quickened in him. He reached to fondle her. Tambilis, having gotten back some control over her own joints, rolled onto her belly and sprawled across the great bed, watching with interest. There was no jealousy among the Sisters.
Astonishingly soon, even for a King of Ys, Gratillonius hardened. Forsquilis growled, raised herself, moved forward and down again, slipped him in. She undulated. Presently she galloped. Tambilis slid over to lie across him, give him herself to hold close while he thrust upward. Forsquilis’s hands sought her too.
In the end they rested happily entangled and let the sun come nearer heaven. He wondered if his sweat smelled as sweet to them as theirs to him. The chill of its drying was pleasant, like washing in a woodland spring. Well, he should soon be free again to range the woods, far into Osismia, riding, hunting, or simply enjoying their peace. The peace for which poor Corentinus yearned. How Corentinus would regard the scene here! Wicked, damned Ys. Gratillonius smiled a little sadly. He had grown fond of the old fellow. And grateful to him for counsel and help over the years. A strong man, Corentinus, and wise, and in touch with Powers of his own; but this he would never allow himself to understand….
“When shall we start anew?” asked Tambilis from Gratillonius’s right shoulder.
“Hold on!” he laughed. “At least let’s break our fast.”
Forsquilis took her head off his left shoulder. “Aye,” she said, “we may start getting visitors, insistent dignitaries, early from the city. ’Twould disadvantage us did our stomachs rumble at them.”
They sought the adjacent, tiled room. Its sunken bath had been filled but not yet heated. They frolicked about in the bracing cold like children. Having toweled each other dry, they dressed and went out into the hall. Servants were already astir, hushed until they saw that the master had awakened. The carvings on the pillars seemed sullenly alive in the gloom, which hid the banners hung overhead.
“We will eat shortly,” Gratillonius told the steward. To the Queens: “Abide a span, my dears.” That was needless. They had their devotions to pay, he his.
He went outside. Dew shimmered on the flags of the Sacred Precinct, leaves of the Challenge Oak, brazen Shield. A few birds twittered in the Wood. He walked forth onto Processional Way, where he had an unobstructed view of the hills. Streamers of mist smoked across the meadow beyond. The sky was unutterably clear. Between its headlands, Ys gleamed, somehow not quite real—too lovely?
Gratillonius faced east. The sun broke blindingly into sight. He raised his arms. “Hail, Mithras Unconquered, Savior, Warrior, Lord—”
Praying, he began through the silence to hear footfalls draw near, light, a single person’s, likely a woman’s. Abruptly they broke into a run, pattering, flying. Did she seek the King to ask justice for some outrage? She must wait till he was done here. He ought not think about her while he honored his God.
“Father! Oh, father!”
She seized his right arm and dragged it down. Dumbfounded, he turned. Dahut cast herse
lf against him. Embracing him around the neck, she kissed him full on the mouth.
He lurched. “What, what?”
She stepped back to shiver and skip before him. Her gown was dew-drenched, earth-stained, her tresses swirled tangled, her cheeks were flushed and radiance was in her eyes. “Father, father,” she caroled, “I am she! I could wait no longer, you had to know it from me, father, beloved!”
For a moment he could not feel the horror. It was like being sworded through the guts. A man would stare, uncomprehending. He would need a few heartbeats’ worth of blood loss before he knew.
“Behold!” Dahut took wide-legged stance and tugged at her dress under the throat. The lacing was not fastened. The cloth parted. For the first time he saw her breasts bared, firm, rosy-tipped, a delicate tracery of blue in the whiteness. They were just as he remembered her mother’s breasts. The same red crescent smoldered between them.
Whatever was on his countenance sobered Dahut a trifle. She closed the garment and said, carefully if shakily, “Oh, ’tis sorrow that Fennalis is gone, but not sorrow either, she suffered so and now she is free. The Gods have chosen. Blessed be Their names.”
Again joy overwhelmed her. She snatched both his hands. “’Tis you will be my King, you, you! How I have dreamed, and hoped, and prayed—I need not lose you. Ys need not. Nay, together we’ll make the new Age!”
The ice congealed within him, or the molten metal, it did not matter which. “Dahut,” he heard himself say, word by dull word, “daughter of Dahilis, I love you. But as any father loves his child. This thing cannot be.”
She gripped his hand harder. “I know your fear,” she answered fiercely. “I’ve been awake all night, and—and earlier I’ve thought about it, oh, how often. You recall what happened to Wulfgar. But you’re no ignorant Saxon. You know better than to cringe before a, a superstition. The Gods chose you too, you, father, King, husband, lover.”
Was she Dahilis reborn? Dahilis had been almost this same age. No, he must win time for himself. “Go,” he said. “Into the house. Two of your—two Gallicenae are there. Is it not seemliest you declare it first to them? There are rites and—Meet me later this morning, you Sisters, and well talk of what’s to be done.”
He pulled free of her and shoved her toward the Sacred Precinct. She seemed bewildered at his action. Before she could recover he was striding off, as fast as might be without running, to Ys. Abandoning the Wood before the three days and nights of full moon were up was mortal sin, unless urgency arose. He must assemble the legionaries at once, and any other men he could trust.
2
The barge that carried Maldunilis back from Sena had not brought Innilis to replace her. Instead, the Nine forgathered at the Temple of Belisama. “Aye, the Nine,” said Vindilis grimly.
Summoned, Gratillonius arrived about noon. He came alone, onto the Goddess’s own ground, but in red robe with the Wheel emblazoned on his breast and the Key hanging out of sight. A hush fell wherever his big form passed along the streets. None dared address him. Rumors buzzed through Ys like wasps from a nest kicked open. He hailed no one.
Elven Gardens lay deserted under the sun. The blossoms, hedges, topiaries, intricate winding paths where sculptures sprang forth, were outrageously beautiful. The towers of Ys gleamed athwart the horns of land, the sea reached calm and blue save where it creamed over skerries or among the rocks around the distant island. Hardly a sound arose other than his tread on the shell and gravel.
He climbed the steps to the building that was like the Parthenon though subtly alien to it. Between the bronze doors he passed, into the foyer adorned with mosaics of the Mother’s gifts to earth. Under-priestesses and vestals waited to greet the King. Their motions were stiff and those that must speak did so in near-whispers. Fear looked out of their pale faces.
Gratillonius followed the corridors along the side, around the sanctum to the meeting chamber at the rear. Gray-green light from its windows brought forth the reliefs in stone that covered the four walls: Belisama guided Taranis back from the dead to make His peace with Lir; amidst bees and airborne seeds, She presided over the act of generation; She stood triune, Maiden, Matron, and Crone; She rode the night wind on the Wild Hunt, leading the ghosts of women who died in Childbed. Almost as phantomlike seemed the blue robes and high white headdresses of the Nine who sat benched before the dais.
The door closed behind him. He mounted the platform.
No word was spoken. He let his gaze seek left to right. Maldunilis, fat and frightened. Guilvilis, onto whose homely visage a smile timorously ventured. Tambilis, taut with woe. Bodilis, hollow-eyed, slumped in exhaustion. Lanarvilis, poised aquiver. Dahut. Vindilis, stiff, glowering. Innilis, huddled close beside her, striving not to shudder. Forsquilis, who had been aflame this dawn, a million years ago, gone altogether enigmatic.
Dahut could scarcely sit still. It was as if she were about to leap up and speed to him. Her fists clenched and unclenched. He saw her robe swell, wrinkle, swell to her breathing.
Six of those women had lain in his arms, again and again and again, from the first year of his Kingship; one since the end of that year; one, in shared pain, eleven years ago, then for the past eight years in joy. They had walked at his side, talked gravely or merrily, dealt food and wine and worship with him, quarreled and reconciled and worked with him for the guidance of Ys and the raising of the children they had given him. Now, because of the last and loveliest, they had become strangers.
“Greeting,” he said finally.
“Oh, greeting!” piped from Guilvilis. Lanarvilis frowned and made a hushing gesture.
She would force Gratillonius to speak first. So be it. He braced himself. His back arched between the shoulderblades. That was no way for a soldier, tightening up, but this was no battle such as he had ever fought before. His mouth felt dry. He had, though, marshalled some words beforehand, as he had marshalled his fighting men—Christians, Mithraists—who stood by at the palace. Let him deploy them.
“We’ve a heavy matter on hand,” he said. His voice sounded harsh in his ears. “I do not weep for Fennalis, nor suppose you will. She was a good soul who lay too long in torment. We can be glad she is released, and hope she is rewarded. Many people will miss her, and remember how she served them.”—in her cheerful, bustling, often awkward, always loving way.
Vindilis’s countenance showed scorn. He could well-nigh hear the gibe: Are you quite done with your noble sentiments?
“Because I respect you, I’ll come straight to the point,” he told her and her Sisters. “YTour Gods have seen fit to lay the Sign upon my daughter Dahut. They surely know—as you do who’ve known me this long—that I cannot and will not wed her. My own God forbids. It is not a thing on which I may yield or compromise. If we all understand this at the outset, we can go on to understand what your Gods intend. You yourselves have found portents of a new Age coming to birth in Ys. This must be its first cry. Let us heed, and take counsel together.”
Dahut snatched for air. Tears brimmed her lapis lazuli eyes. “Nay, father, you cannot be so cruel!” Her anguish was a saw cutting him across. He held himself firm between the sawhorses.
Lanarvilis caught the girl’s hand. “Calm, darling, calm,” the Queen murmured. To Gratillonius, coldly: “Aye, we foreknew what you would say, and have already taken counsel. Now hear us.
“What the Gods ordain for Ys, we dare not seek to foresee. Yet the purpose of this that has happened is clear. It is to chasten you, traitor King, and bring you back to the ancient Law.
“In your first year you broke it, you sinned against each of the Three. You refused the crown of Taranis. You buried a corpse on Lir’s headland. You held a rite of your woman-hating God in water sacred to Belisama. Patient were They—though little you ken of what the Gallicenae underwent to win Their pardon for you.
“Your behavior could have been due to rashness, or ignorance; you were young and a foreigner. Likewise, one might overlook your contumacies throughout the ye
ars that followed. There were necessities upon you, Rome, the barbarians, even the requirements of that God you would not put from you.
“But thrice again have you sinned, Gratillonius. Against Taranis—aye, ’twas years ago, but you denied Him His sacrifice when you spared your Rufinus—Taranis, Whose own blood was shed that earth might live. The chastisements that came upon you, you shrugged off.”
“I should think Taranis wants manliness in men,” Gratillonius interrupted. “If we had a dispute, ’tis been composed.”
Vindilis took the word: “The Gods do not forget. But They kept Their patience. Lately you defiled Lir’s grounds with your bullslaying, in the teeth of His storm. Still the Gods withheld Their wrath. Now, at last, They require your obedience. This maiden They chose for the newest queen of Ys—and belike the brightest, most powerful, since Brennilis herself. Dare you defy Belisama too?”
“I seek no trouble with Gods or men,” he protested.
“You’ll have it abundant with men also,” Lanarvilis warned. “The city will tear you asunder.”
Gratillonius hunched his shoulders, deepened his voice: “I think not. I am the King, civil, martial, and sacral.” Quickly, he straightened where he stood and mildened his tone. “My dears—I dare yet call you dear to me—how can you know this is true what you’ve said? Why should the Gods force a crisis that splits us, just when we need unity as seldom erenow? For the dangers ahead are nothing as simple as a pirate fleet or a brigand army. I say Dahut is indeed the bearer of a new Age; but ’twill be an Age when Ys puts aside the savage old ways and becomes the Athens of the world.”
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