Curt Benjamin - [Seven Brothers 03] - The Gates of Heaven

by Curt Benjamin

  “The same,” Menar confirmed.

  “Then our brother is dead?” Llesho couldn’t believe that he had come so far to find his brother gone and his quest come to an untimely end, but Menar shook his head, to dispel the idea.

  “Not dead, but very good at hiding, until he strikes at his Harnish invaders as they go about their ruinous business. There are many stories of his exploits. They say his lair is hidden within the very walls of the Golden City of Kungol, that he preys upon the raiders and escapes before they can catch him.”

  Ghrisz was alive! Llesho grew light-headed with relief. He hadn’t dared to hope that he might actually succeed. There was, for one thing, a dreadful enemy to meet at the end of that road, and a more desperate demon if they succeeded that far. For a moment, discussion went on above his head while he tried to settle the piece of the puzzle that was Ghrisz in its place in his heart.

  Time had passed and the corners that had fit so well when he was a child had grown chipped with wear. Even so, he felt a lack that all his brothers did not fill. Ping, their sister, dead after just two cycles of the seasons on the mortal world. He hoped for his own sake that she returned quickly to the mortal world. He wanted to meet her in her new form and know that she would grow up happy and safe in this life with all the joy and laughter that she’d lost to early death in the last—

  But Habiba was nudging his elbow, and he became aware again that Menar had continued speaking.

  “The tales also speak of a beautiful woman, who is called the Sapphire Princess because she is as priceless to the Ghost-Warrior’s cause as the greatest jewel. I’ve made some of the stories into poems suitable for an audience myself, so I know that not all said of him is true. But it seems well known that he exists. His presence is felt wherever he leaves the wounded and the dead among his enemies.”

  Ghrisz, a legendary hero, and with a beautiful consort, it seemed. Such a pair might not welcome a younger brother returning to supplant them at what must seem the end of their long battle. Still, if the prophecy had reached even to the Harn, Ghrisz must have heard it as well. What if he believed the prophecy was meant for him? It struck Llesho that he might be bringing civil war to a country already devastated by invasion. He didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be king, for that matter, but saw no way out, not even for a brother ready to take on the job. He already had one of those in Lluka, he reminded himself sourly. Why couldn’t anything be easy?

  Master Numerologist had made a bow to the Apadisha, however, and Llesho brought his thoughts back into line. He knew better than to wander in the presence of emperors and sultans.

  “So the seven princes are accounted for in the prophecy,” the numerologist counted off. “And the blind poet, Menar, has told us in council that the six heads crowned with stars must be the mountains that surround the city of Kungol.”

  “I would agree,” Llesho said. “In the grasslands, many riddles are phrased like this prophecy. Bolghai could tell you better than I, but heads crowned with stars would seem to mean the mountaintops crowned with glaciers that glitter like stars in the sunlight.”

  “Five armies, like one hand.” The Apadisha held out his fingers, then closed them into a fist. “Where are these armies?” So coolly did the question float on the air that one might almost have missed the menace in it. Llesho had entered Pontus as a wounded slave, with no armies at his back but his small band of guardsmen. The sultan must wonder, did his armies follow to attack once the beggar-king had allayed suspicion? Or, equally possible, was this exiled prince who washed up on his shores a madman whose accidental relationship with the poet had caused the sages to interpret the prophecy around him by mistake?

  Llesho knew the answer, as did all of his advisers, who waited for him to speak. With a little smile, and an almost imperceptible bow to show that he meant no threat by it, he did.

  “In Durnhag,” he said, “or they were when I put to sea. I expect by now they are on their way to Thebin. A difficult run, but not so far as the Long March, and they carry no children into battle. Well, if you don’t count us.”

  With that he showed he understood one part of the Apadisha’s concerns, that they were too young, too inexperienced. Llesho could have told him of all the battles that stood between Pearl Island and Pontus, all the dreams and nightmares and deaths, the wounds that still pulled over his heart and the wounds that his companions carried as well. Having the experience, they could scarcely be counted as too young. Though he said nothing of this, some of his reflections must have shown in Llesho’s eyes, because the Apadisha’s expression grew more narrowly considering.

  “Still, a distance to travel,” the Apadisha noted, “with many enemies between there and Kungol, which I believe is your goal?”

  “Not so many enemies as there were a season ago,” Llesho demurred. “And an army suitable to meet them.”

  “An army of children.” The Apadisha allowed a smile to show as if he tried to suppress it.

  Llesho had expected no less. He returned the smile, felt the clash as steel met steel in the duel of wits. “The children have all washed up on your doorstep, Excellency. But the emperor of Shan sends his regards to the raiders who have enslaved Thebin, and among their number the Dinha of the Tashek people has sent her Gansau Wastrels, great warriors all.” He paused, lost for a moment in grief for the absent Harlol and his companions murdered by the stone monsters of the grasslands. “My brother, Prince Shokar, leads a band of Thebin recruits to make the second. Mergen-Khan of the Qubal people has brought the clans under his rule to join us, for three. And the Tinglut-Khan himself sends a party of his warriors to observe in the field and seek the answer to a puzzle that troubles the Tinglut clans. I count our armies as four. Discovering the prophecy in Pontus, I thought to find the fifth army here as well.”

  “Or, if not, your princely outlaws in Kungol will do to fill out the numbers, eh, Master Numerologist?”

  The sage dithered, hoping that his sovereign spoke in jest, but the Apadisha waited, one eyebrow cocked, for an answer.

  “That is for the future to tell.” Master Numerologist gave as vague an answer as Llesho had ever heard. Did the Apadisha’s advisers ever offer useful interpretations? Which was unfair, he chastised himself. His own presence was a dangerous enough answer.

  “So.” The Grand Apadisha waited long enough to make the Master Numerologist wish himself far away, and then he turned his dark and piercing gaze on Llesho. “Is it as easy to gather up four fire-breathing worms as to gather a hand of armies?” he asked mockingly. Llesho would have wondered if the sultan believed in the prophecy at all, except for a glint of desperation deep in his eyes. The condescending smile meant nothing, then. What had he seen in his dreams to terrify him so? This wasn’t the place to ask. Maybe, if they met inside a dream . . .

  But he hadn’t answered the question yet. As it happened, he didn’t have to. Marmer Sea Dragon gave a little bow, but let the green fire light his eyes to show that he was more than the man he might have seemed.

  “The Holy King of Thebin has met four of my kind, all of whom have urged him on his way in hope and trepidation. We don’t well understand the notion of cooperating toward a common goal. It is more our way to divide this world into our separate realms and abide where we rule, finding peace and harmony by ignoring our neighbors. The coming battle, however, may devour us all, and so we throw our lot in with the young king’s armies. If the prophecy calls upon four of our kind, then they will be Pearl Bay Dragon, and Golden River Dragon, and Dun River Dragon. I am myself the dragon-king of the sea which you have lately claimed as your own,” he added his own identity for the gathered sages and their Apadisha, as much a warning off his territory as a polite introduction. “Though I have my own sworn vendetta against the young king’s supernatural guide, to free my son from the unholy embrace of the false magician, I shall aid his battle as well.”

  “Wonder upon wonder comes before me today,” the Apadisha remarked with an acid tartness in his voice. �
�What am I to make of it all?”

  Llesho couldn’t tell whether Marmer Sea Dragon’s revelation came as a surprise, or even if the sultan believed any part of the tale they related. He had little time to ponder the matter, however.

  “Three gifts?” the Grand Apadisha prodded, stroking his beard with one jeweled hand. It might almost have been a nervous gesture.

  “I have those gifts, but with discretion I may not mention them here.” Llesho bowed to show respect but his jaw was set, his eyes cool. He shared the knowledge of his blessed gifts only with his closest companions and advisers—the Apadisha was not yet even an ally. And then there was the other matter, that gifts of goddesses and spirits must offend the Bithynian religion. He would not budge on this one thing.

  “Two paths?” the Apadisha asked instead, and Llesho had to ask himself how much he already knew from his dreams.

  “I have no answer to that part of the prophecy,” he admitted. “Since I left Pearl Bay I have followed just one path, the Way of the Goddess, though it may displease you to hear it. It would dishonor my lady wife to deny her place in the heavens and in my heart. If there is another path, I don’t know what it is, and wouldn’t choose it if I did.”

  “Foolish to reject what you do not see,” the Apadisha warned, and for a change even Habiba looked concerned about his answer.

  “Two paths lay before the young king,” Habiba said. “At the behest of my mistress and with the aid of his many advisers, including the emperor of Shan, I have endeavored to guide him upon the path the gods of Thebin and Bithynia have set for him.”

  The magician carefully skirted the fact that he served two sets of gods. The Bithynian school of magicians, of which he was a part, honored the Father and the Daughter. The Way of the Goddess, on which he served the mortal goddess of war, promised the heavenly gardens of the Great Goddess at the end of struggle. From what Llehso had heard about the Daughter of the Sword, he thought the paths of gods must cross. In his own world, the Lady SienMa might be this warrior daughter who stood with weapon drawn at the right hand of her father. But Dognut bore no resemblance to the father that the Bithynians wor shiped, and neither did Master Den. The Apadisha didn’t mention this careful blurring of the magician’s loyalties, but nodded for Habiba to go on. “Another, darker path awaits at the call of the false magician, Master Markko,” Habiba explained with a sign to ward against evil. “It is to his credit that the young king sees no path at all down that dark way. The Daughter teaches, however, that sometimes we can only reach the light by passing through the darkness.”

  That was disturbing. Did Habiba mean for him to fall under Master Markko’s spell after all? It hardly seemed likely, given all the efforts they had taken to free him from Markko’s clutches in the past. But there was no time to argue the point. He resolved to consider what Habiba might mean later, when he was free of the Apadisha’s scrutiny.

  “So, we come to this one jewel, to each of seven brothers.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Llesho admitted. “My mother had jewels, but she took no interest in adornment for its own sake, and I can think of no ring or bead or necklet with special meaning.”

  “It wasn’t our way,” Menar agreed. “Jade objects, and bronze and silver and gold, brightly colored ribbons and precious embroideries were valued at court. But our mother had a saying, that Great Moon was her pendant, and Great Sun the only crown our father needed.”

  Master Numerologist considered the lack of a jewel with the rest of them. Then, tentatively, he offered a solution. “If we look to Kungol for this jewel, then perhaps it is no frozen gemstone at all. Didn’t you say, holy poet, that the tales speak of a beautiful woman whom the people call the Sapphire Princess? Perhaps she is the jewel mentioned in the prophecy.”

  It seemed unlikely that the gods would burden Llesho’s prophecy with his brother’s consort. Unless the poem referred to Ghrisz all along, of course. He tried to fit the label on his relationship with the Great Goddess, but when he thought of her, it was the beekeeper who came to mind, easing his soul like a caress. Llesho couldn’t come up with any better answer, so he let Master Numerologist’s solution to the riddle stand.

  The Apadisha, too, seemed less than convinced with the final part of the puzzle, but he passed over it with a wave in Llesho’s general direction.

  “So we are left with a king. I don’t suppose you know what the sacred key is?”

  “A metaphor, no doubt,” Llesho guessed. “I’ve always found prophecies to be most helpful after the fact. The pieces all seem obvious in hindsight. Unfortunately, no one has handed me a key with ‘gates of heaven’ engraved on the shaft.”

  “No key at all, I suppose.” The Apadisha looked hopeful, but not surprised when Llesho respectfully denied all knowledge of such a key.

  “None whatsoever, except as knowledge may be a key. But even that comes slowly, and at cost.”

  The Apadisha’s eyes seemed to grow darker, the irises consumed by the dark fire at the core of his inner vision. Llesho couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide anything. Discovered that he couldn’t even move until, released from that intense focus, he felt the muscles in his shoulders ease back into his control.

  “No small cost,” the Apadisha agreed. “The mark of your struggle is there for all to see. But what knowledge has it bought, I wonder?” He gave Llesho a sardonic smile. “I doubt you could tell me even if you wished to. Soon, though. Very soon.

  “Justice brings light and darkness?” He emphasized each word like pronouncing a spell.

  Justice.Llesho felt the word like a cry right to his soul.I should know this, he thought. Like the word that fails the tongue, or the book just out of reach. It teased at his awareness until he tried to look at it, then skittered away just as it seemed he must catch it, there. But Light and Darkness, that he had carried with him since he left Pearl Bay.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said as he slipped a hand beneath his shirt.

  Guardswomen he hadn’t noticed until then came to attention, spears at the ready, but Llesho kept his eyes on the Apadisha, who watched him with eyes dark and hungry as a crow’s. Llesho bowed his head and drew the thong from around his neck. He left the silver chain in place, willing Pig to keep quiet and out of the way, though he’d never had to worry about the Jinn in the waking world.

  From the pouch that hung from the thong, however, he drew the pearls that he had gathered during his journey. One from Lleck’s ghost, stolen from the Pearl Bay Dragon. She would have given it to him as her parting gift anyway, she had told him. One from her Ladyship, SienMa, the mortal goddess of war, who had plucked him from the arena and set him on his path. One from Mara the healer, Carina’s mother, who aspired to be the eighth mortal god. Pig, who might or might not be part of the Great Goddess’ necklace, he did not reveal.

  His Wastrels, dead on a Harnish battlefield, had yielded the remaining three and he looked on them with grief and yearning. He would not have given up a single life to regain a trinket, not even for the Great Goddess. But to restore the balance of heaven, he would sacrifice many. All who followed him, he would give, for the lives of the millions who slept unaware, and for all the realms of heaven and earth and the underworld which would fall in the coming chaos if he didn’t win.

  The Apadisha’s crow’s eyes gleamed with the reflected light of the six black pearls, darkness shining on darkness, giving back black light. “Master Astrologer?” By the question, he signaled that he knew what he looked upon.

  Pale and shaking, Master Astrologer stepped forward with a warding sign to protect herself from heresy. “So many,” she said with a quaver in her voice. “I dare not speak. The heavens do not fit in the palm of a young man’s hand. Such things do not exist. If they did, I dare not speak the consequences.”

  It seemed that words did fail her. “Beg pardon, Excellency. Beg pardon.” Though a scientist of the heavens, she did not in all the time of her protestations reach out to touch the pearls in Llesho’s palm. Rath
er, she curled her fingers in on one another and tucked her hands into the deep pockets of her magician’s robes.

  It was enough for the Apadisha, however. “Master Geomancer,” he called, and a short, round woman came forward with more confidence than the Master Astrologer, but some hesitancy nonetheless. “Can you tell me where each of these was found?” she asked. “The pattern they scattered on the earth may tell us much to further our studies.”

  “Shan,” Llesho told her, “Far to the south. Pearl Bay, and Farshore Province, and Thousand Lakes Province, perhaps. And the grasslands, halfway to Durnhag.”

  The geomancer’s eyes grew distant with mathematical calculations, and Llesho guessed that she saw maps behind her eyes, as he did himself sometimes when plotting the course of a journey in his head.

  The Grand Apadisha permitted her to disappear into her own head only briefly, however. “Do you have that which you have been studying these last three cycles of the seasons?” he asked.

  Master Geomancer bowed, and drew from her ample robes a small carved box. Opening the puzzle catch, she held out the contents to the sultan, who took them in his hand and held them out to Llesho. Two perfect black pearls.

  “They were found in a copper mine outside of Iznik after a night of storms that drowned a work crew and set fire to a quarter of the town. Accordingly, the overseer took them for an omen, and had them sent to the school at Pontus. Can you explain how they came to be where they were found, and what caused the terrible storms that accompanied them?”

  “Heaven is under siege,” Llesho answered. “Day and night no longer come to her gardens.” The Apadisha might decide to have him beheaded for heresy, but he doubted it. The man knew too much.

  “As I thought,” the Apadisha agreed. “As did my Master Astrologer, who would not offend me with the truth.” He put the two black pearls back into their box with a heavy sigh and handed them over to Llesho. “An unlucky number, eight, young king. I hope I do not damn your quest with this gift.”