The door opened and a servant in livery stepped aside to allow the entrance of a man who might once have been powerfully built but had now run to fat. He was clad in a tight golden tunic and hose, and his skin was an unhealthy yellow to match. There were great pouches of flesh under eyes that wandered erratically and flickered as servants swarmed in carrying an ornate embroidered bench with golden legs.
As the chair was positioned, Alene stepped towards the man and offered a hand, palm up. ‘It is good to see you, my Lord Holder. You honour this apartment.’
This was Tarsin? Ember was shocked, in spite of everything she had heard.
His slightly bulging blue eyes narrowed at Alene’s words, as if he suspected sarcasm. There was rage in his eyes, but this seemed curiously unfocused because his gaze drifted constantly.
‘You deign to grace the citadel again.’ His voice was full of malice and he made no attempt to touch her palms with his own. ‘I thought we must bring the court to you in your hut, if we desired your presence.’
‘Had I known you desired my presence, my Lord Holder, I would have come sooner,’ Alene said, letting her hands fall gracefully. Neither of them mentioned Alene’s repeated attempts to gain an audience.
‘Rest assured that I did not desire you,’ the Holder sneered. ‘You claim it is your duty to attend me. Therefore, by your own words, you must be judged wanting. And at length when you enter the citadel, I am told you skulked into my domain …’
Alene drew herself up, but her face remained serene. ‘I wished only to see this visionweaver safely on her journey home, my Lord. She visited me in search of a cure for her illness but, sadly, it is beyond healing. I did not think this brief courtesy would be read as an insult by you.’
‘This visionweaver; how is it we were not informed of her arrival?’ He was completely ignoring Ember, but she had the feeling this was because his attention was entirely concentrated on Alene.
‘She journeyed anonymously, not wishing to excite attention. Her only desire was to seek healing and advice.’
‘Enough,’ Tarsin snapped. ‘Present her and let her speak for herself, for I weary of your bleating talk.’
Ember was astonished at his rudeness, but she was beginning to see why people behaved as they did to the soulweaver. They were only aping the treatment meted out by their ruler. It was also clear now why Alene preferred her humble hut to the luxury of the palace.
Tarsin snapped his fingers. ‘Summon my mother, since she is particularly desirous of meeting this visionweaver.’
Asa emerged from the gaggle of attendants. Ember had not even seen him enter. ‘My Lord Holder, Your mother – ah – the chieftain is with her envoy and the newly arrived honour guard. She had intended to come here later …’
‘Get her now!’ Tarsin roared. ‘Am I not Holder?’
Asa bowed so low he almost toppled over his huge belly and backed out stammering apologies. ‘Of course, my Lord …’
Tarsin made a rude noise. He made no effort to wipe flecks of spittle from his lips as he turned back to glare at the soulweaver. ‘You see what I have to contend with, Alene? This is your fault. How can the people accept my rule as they should, with awe and obedience, when my own soulweaver treats me with disinterest and disdain?’
‘My Lord, the last time I was here you sent me from the palace. You said my face sickened you …’ Alene reminded him gently.
‘And so it does still!’ Tarsin screamed. ‘You with your soft whining at us to do this and that, and your pleading mutilated eyes.’ Tarsin’s eyes flickered to where Tareed and Feyt now stood stiffly together, and his lip curled in contempt. ‘And your two manwomen; their faces make me want to vomit.’
Alene said neutrally, ‘They serve me that I might better serve you.’
‘Words!’ sneered Tarsin. ‘Prove your devotion!’
‘How?’ Alene asked reasonably. ‘If you desire my advice …’
‘Advice,’ Tarsin said. ‘You and my mother are always hungering to advise me. As if I have no means of thinking without you two. What need have I of your advice, tell me that, Alene soulweaver?’
‘It is said the wise become so by listening to wisdom. It is scribed in the Legendsong of the Unykorn that even Lanalor, who was the wisest of men, charged his youngest sister to advise him …’
Tarsin burst into raucous laughter. ‘I know the Legendsong, Alene. Have I not had it force-fed to me with every meal since my choosing? I can give such advice to myself.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Did you know there are those who say the Legendsong is a lie woven from a madman’s scribings by his sister?’
A stillness reigned and Ember sensed Tarsin’s words were shocking even to his sophisticated courtiers.
‘There are those …’ Tarsin went on purposefully, ‘who claim the Legendsong is no more than a way for Darkfall to have power over the Holder.’
‘Darkfall has no wish to rule Keltor.’
Tarsin snapped. ‘You seek to hold the Holder.’
‘That is untrue.’
‘Then what does Darkfall seek? What do you seek?’ It seemed to Ember that he was genuinely puzzled.
‘My sisters and I seek to perpetuate the pain-wrought wisdoms of Lanalor, and to maintain his Charter, which requires us all to strive for completion, and the perfection of heart and mind that is represented by the Firstmade. But our primary duty is to wait and watch for the Unraveller, who will return hope to the world,’ Alene said with quiet dignity.
‘Perhaps we can judge for ourselves what the world needs when we have heard all sides to this matter,’ came a voice.
Ember turned to see who had spoken, and was stunned to recognise the woman who had plotted murder with Asa in her vision, dressed now in a clinging gown of greenish fabric that gleamed in the light like snake or fish scales. Her sapphire eyes glittered with fury, but her mouth curved into a smile as she bowed low to Tarsin.
‘You summoned me, my Lord and son?’
This was Coralyn! Ember was astounded. She looked younger than her son!
‘I did,’ Tarsin sneered. ‘Though Asa here was certain you would prefer to remain and chatter with your envoy …’
Coralyn slanted a murderous look at the hovering emissary. ‘You are my son, Tarsin, and that is my joy, but also and more importantly, you are my Holder. Should I not obey the ruler of Keltor because he came from my body? Asa is a fool and I will punish him severely for his stupidity.’
The emissary paled to sickly grey and the Holder burst into wild laughter. ‘You would throw even your faithful Asa to the trakkerbeasts if it served your purpose, would you not, mother?’
‘If it pleases you …’ Coralyn said cunningly.
Tarsin laughed again, sounding genuinely amused, then he sobered. ‘What did you say as you came in about hearing all sides of the story?’
‘You recall the Draaka of Acantha whose chits have excited so much interest? I have invited her to attend us here so that she can explain in person the tenets of her … philosophy, which seems to question many of Darkfall’s avowed truths. She has a vast following and is revered on Acantha and Fomhika and even here on Ramidan. It is not fitting that such a power grows wild in your domain, Tarsin.’
‘Hmph,’ Tarsin grunted, unimpressed. ‘I suppose she will end up offering to give me advice, too. Is there nothing you women can offer but endless talking and advising? Why should I invite her here when her researches question my right to rule? I should have her thrown in the citadel cells for treason.’
‘She does not speak against the Holder’s choosing, my son, but against Darkfall, who presume to rule you whom they have chosen,’ Coralyn said persuasively.
‘I wonder why you are interested in the Draaka so suddenly, mother,’ Tarsin said in a mocking voice. ‘You, who have always professed to believe in nothing. Could it be that the Draaka begins to sing your song?’
He may be mad, but he’s no fool, Ember reflected.
‘I do not know why you criticise the Draaka for meddling,
when it is the Darkfall hags who choose our rulers, then presume to manipulate them,’ Coralyn snapped; then she smiled, turning to Alene. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean you by my words. All of us here mark the strength of your love for my noble son …’
Tarsin gave the soulweaver a look of naked loathing and Ember sensed currents flowing strongly between them. There was something more here, and Coralyn had known it; the very words that would evoke it.
‘Tarsin …’ There was a pleading note in Alene’s voice but he motioned her to be silent as if she were a servant who had interrupted him, his expression suddenly wiped clean of all emotion. He sat on the bench and gestured for his mother to sit by him on a low stool. She settled herself when it was brought, sinuous and graceful as a cat.
Tarsin looked directly at Ember, now ignoring Alene. ‘Come forward visionweaver, that we may see you more clearly.’
Ember bowed over clasped hands, then took two steps nearer on legs that felt as if they would not hold her for long. Coralyn leaned forward eagerly, bright eyes crawling over Ember’s face and body.
‘Welcome to our court,’ Tarsin said, blinking like a lizard. He made a motion to his mother.
‘It is not often we are favoured with a visitor from the Sheannite isles,’ she purred. ‘I hope your visit is an indication that more of your kind will come here.’
Again Ember bowed her head. ‘My sept chieftain Liad has often spoken of your beauty to us.’
Coralyn flushed with pleasure and beamed at Ember. ‘That pleases me. But it has been long since he has seen me. I have aged terribly since then.’
‘I think you must know that is not true, my Lady,’ Ember said gravely.
Coralyn looked taken aback, then she burst out laughing. ‘I forgot how fresh these Sheannites are. How disinclined to flowery court talk. But, in truth, no beauty is eternal, save that of the visioncloth,’ she added.
‘And of the Firstmade …’ Alene said in a clear cool voice.
‘You speak of a thing that does not exist, therefore you may give it whatever beauty you choose,’ Coralyn snapped. ‘Such as is woven by the talemaker’s art is surely without compare.’
‘The Firstmade is real, and no art will rival its perfection,’ Alene said sternly. ‘You speak of the beauty of a visioncloth. Whence then came the images of the Firstmade in those cloths? Do visionweavers imagine them?’
‘The visionweavers work in trances. Who knows from whence their visions come? No weaver I have ever heard claims all visions are true that are woven. Besides, if the Firstmade existed, who can say it is not as this Draaka says, and simply one of the faces of the demon Unraveller?’
There was a silence and again Ember sensed things beneath the surface: eddies and tides, treachery and old hatreds swirling beneath the light words. A pain flowed though her neck and she felt perspiration bead on her upper lip. Whatever ailed her on waking had returned.
‘My Lady, I will give Liad your greetings when I go home, which I hope may be soon, with this court’s permission, for I am ill,’ she said a little desperately.
Coralyn shifted forward on her seat. ‘Stay a while here with us in the citadel, visionweaver. You shall have the best of care and perhaps you may find something that will set in motion a sacred trance …’
Tarsin clapped a meaty arm on his mother’s silk-clad shoulder. ‘Calm your lusts, mother. Your … enthusiasm is not unlike the trakkerbeast who grunts greedily for its slops.’
There was a horrified silence and Coralyn flushed red, then paled. Then she smiled up at her son. ‘You jest at my expense.’ There was a flatness in her voice that jarred unpleasantly with the dazzling smile.
Tarsin only laughed harder. ‘How transparent you are, mother. And how you amuse me. You may think it a jest if you will. Come, let me reward you with a draught of this special brew.’ He snapped his fingers and a servant brought forward a small, heavily jewelled flask.
‘What is this?’ Coralyn asked.
‘A gift from Poverin.’
‘From Poverin!’ Coralyn echoed, a faint tinge of disbelief transforming the words into a question.
The servant poured the liquid which, Ember could now see, was the colour of molten gold.
‘It is made from the kalinda fruit, rarest cirul of all. The secret of the colour lies in the use of darklin shavings, or so said the chit that accompanied the bottle. It also suggested this brew be supped along with sips of the less rare sweet blue cirul for the full enhancement of its flavour,’ Tarsin said, flicking his fingers. A servant brought him a glass of a frost-blue liquid and he held the two cups before him, admiring the play of light in their depths.
‘Perhaps,’ Asa said delicately, ‘it might be tasted first by another.’
Tarsin grinned wolfishly at him. ‘Do you suggest Poverin would attempt to kill me so openly with a gift of poison from his son’s own hands?’ The emissary made no response. ‘He would not be such a fool.’ Tarsin sipped the blue liquid. ‘In any case, rest assured that a drop has already been wasted on a taster to ensure it is safe to consume. My mother is right, Asa, you are an idiot.’ He set down the blue cup and lifted the other, holding it to the light to admire the colour.
Suddenly the room wavered and darkened and Ember realised she was on the verge of passing out. She swayed on her feet. There was the sickening wrench as her mind seemed to surge free of her body and fly into the dark and swirling place. As before, she found herself travelling at frightening speed towards light.
She remembered Tar had said music enabled soulweavers to control their visioning flights into the Void, but before she could think how to employ it she found herself in a room dark but for the light of a single time-candle. A tanned masculine hand reached out into the circle made by the light to set down a jewelled flask.
‘You are sure it will work?’ a voice whispered.
‘I have told you so. Now listen carefully: alone, the golden cirul is completely harmless, as is the blue, but together the two make a darker brew. You might say, a killing brew.’ The speaker laughed. ‘We must contrive to make him drink the two together. Send a chit with the flask, saying that one will enhance the flavour of the other …’
Ember felt a tug and her mind was flying back to her body.
‘Are you well, visionweaver?’ Alene asked in concern, now at her side.
‘What ails her?’ Coralyn asked eagerly. ‘Is it a trance?’
‘The weaver is dying from the illness which she has already mentioned,’ Alene said with unusual bluntness. ‘With your permission, my Lord Holder, she needs to rest.’
Alene tried to draw her back to the couch, but Ember looked up to see Tarsin lifting the golden drink to his lips. She wrenched herself free of the soulweaver and staggered forward, stumbling to her knees before the startled Holder.
Her sight had gone again, and she felt herself near to unconsciousness. But she forced herself to speak.
‘Stop!’ she croaked. ‘Don’t drink! It’s poisoned!’
segue …
The watcher again allowed itself to be carried on a wave of reaction across the web to the Unraveller’s world, where a man balanced in a moment of decision felt the impact …
‘This is poisoning me,’ the man burst out softly.
He and an older policeman were in uniform, and standing on the edge of a crowd of people. The council had given permission for the public meeting to take place in the gardens, but the Mayor wanted to make sure it didn’t get out of hand because he was up for re-election in a couple of weeks. They were there more as a visible reminder that the law was vigilant, than to stop anything. The Mayor was big on keeping the streets safe. Neither of them expected any trouble because it was mid-afternoon and alcohol had been banned. Besides, the crowd was made up of crystal-adorned new-agers, into peace and non-violence, and leftover hippies from the sixties looking for a new happening.
One of the new-agers had told them the gathering was to celebrate the comet that would appear later in the month. The co
met would grant divinity to those who believed in its power. The week before, another group had walked up and down in front of the town hall with placards saying that the comet meant the end of the world had come.
‘You have to deal with it, John,’ the older man said.
‘But what do I do, is the thing? I can’t just say nothing. He’ll lie and then they’ll ask me.’
The older man’s dark eyes were watchful under thick long lashes. ‘The kid is a crim, you know that. He’s got a record a mile long.’
‘I know it. Jesus, I know it but this business oughtn’t to be judged by that. He says he didn’t pinch the car and we have no proof he did.’
They fell silent as a plump Chinese girl in a tight gold body suit danced by them. ‘Peace.’ She laughed the word into their faces and was gone without waiting for a response. John found himself remembering the Chinese who had drowned himself in the river some time back. They never had found the body, though they fished up some of his clothing. What happened to those bodies that were never found? Was there some place they were all washed up, like an elephant’s secret graveyard?
‘Sometimes you know a thing and you can’t prove it,’ the older guy murmured. ‘The courts play by the book and the crim gets away with it. You get sick of doing all the work and then it goes down the toilet.’
‘Look, maybe the kid did do it. Jack’s been around a lot longer than me and he might really be right. All I know is, there was no proof so Jack’s going to manufacture it. That’s a crime. If I lie to back him up, that’s another crime.’
The older man shrugged. ‘Yeah. Well, justice ain’t always served by what can be proven. We become cops so we can make the world safe for people to live. Shorn of all the bullshit, that’s what I swore. Sometimes going by the book means letting the bad guys go free to kill the good guys, so you pitch the book and go by your gut.’
John turned to face the older man. ‘You know something, that seems kind of simple to me. Justice and truth and saving the world. That’s Superman’s job. I can’t relate to that end-justifies-the-means stuff. How can anyone ever know what’s going to come of their actions? If a kid is about to get run over, you save him. You don’t start wondering whether he’s going to grow up into Hitler. You do what’s right now.’
Darkfall Page 37