I sneered at it. “It is life and freedom to you, demon. Whose is the greater need?”
It shifted to the form of a great serpent and hissed at me, its coils writhing among the flames. “A price worthy the name, then. Lan fruit, little human! A Ian fruit, whole, or you may summon the Nameless One and die at his hands for all we care.”
I did not laugh aloud, for that can be deadly, but in the privacy of my thoughts, behind the chant that kept it at bay, I laughed heartily at the demon. My sources had been right, it was not blood or flesh that would buy this but something far more rare. A lan fruit. Something no human could be expected to have. Until the autumn just past there had not been a Ian fruit in Kolmar for nearly three hundred years.
“Then speak up, slowly and clearly, and tell me what I wish, for here is a lan fruit, its skin unbroken, whole and perfect.”
The demon’s whole body shivered with its greed. I held the fruit just beyond its grasp.
“Behold, O starving one.” I said, waving the precious thing back and forth through the air that the creature might smell it. I leaned forward, keeping both myself and the Ian fruit out of its reach, and whispered intensely, “Paradise.”
It roared and the whispers began again, though they were now only one word, repeated a thousand thousand times.
give give give give give give give
“First the information,” I cried, for the voices were growing louder. “Tell me now or I eat it before your eyes.”
“NO!” the thing screamed, slavering, its eyes never off the ripe gold of the Ian fruit. “I will speak, I will tell you, then if you eat it I will be free to rip open your belly and take it for myself.”
“Tell me what I want to know and it is yours,” I said.
It sat back then, in its nearly human form again, and looked deeply pleased with itself. “There is only one way to be rid of so powerful a demon master,” it declared, “for before he died he ensured that if he lived again he would live forever. Still, for the great spell of the Distant Heart to work there must always be a way to destroy the wizard who casts it. The Demonlord declared that he could only be destroyed by a creature that, when cut, bleeds both Kantri and Gedri blood.”
“No such thing exists!” I cried. “It is impossible. You lie, demon! I know the strictures of that spell, the destruction must be physically possible.”
The demon shrugged. “The spell of the Distant Heart worked, so it must be possible. However, that is not my business. I have told you what you desired to know. It is truth, there is no other way to be rid of him,” the demon said smugly. “Now, prey, give give give Ian fruit.”
I threw it at him in disgust. “Take it and get thee gone, wretched slave, be damned for all the good you have been to me,” I said, but I was distracted by the news and forgot for a split second to banish it immediately.
It instantly took the chance and struck out at me, hoping to keep me off-balance long enough to free itself. In moments it had worked itself loose from half of the bindings I had laid on it, but I was racing through the exorcism and had completed it by the time it had shaken off the binding charm. I put the seal on the dismissal and banished it even as it reached for me.
I was left, shaking, alone, in the red glow from the brazier with the certain knowledge that if I called up the Demonlord I would be stuck with him.
The third task lies before me still; the final summoning of the Demonlord, the embodying of that powerful soul and the binding of it to my service. Once I have Lanen in my hands I will speak the end of the spell and set it in motion. It will work, I know it. But after the Kantri were dead? I would still have the Demonlord on my hands, striving always to free itself. Could I—
I laughed aloud. What thoughts were these, what foolishness had I been considering? Of course I could contain the Demonlord! What matter that I could not banish him? Binding spells could be reinforced easily enough. Long enough at least to find that heart of his and see whether my arts could not create such a creature as his condition demanded, or whether the physical heart he had once owned could be destroyed by simpler means. It would be a challenge, indeed.
And if all should fail? If the dragons win, if I summon the Demonlord and cannot banish him, if I cannot find Lanen, if one of a thousand things goes wrong—well, what then? I have lived now almost eighty years, and the lansip elixir has given me back fifty of them, for in the mirror and in myself I am now no more than thirty years of age.
If I am successful, I shall rule all of Kolmar until I grow tired of life and stop taking lansip. If I lose, I die. It is all one to me. Do you imagine I give the slightest damn about what happens to the world when I am gone? Not I. All is the great game. Evil is the same as good, you know, it is simply the other side of the scale. Dark and light, good and evil, life and death—it makes no difference. Only weak fools fear one or the other. I fear nothing. Not death, not demons, neither success nor failure. I am untouchable for I have no fear, and fear is the only reason that anyone ever does anything. Fear of being alone, fear of death, fear of pain. These are nothing. There is only the game, only the moving of the pieces on the great living board. And only the one without fear can win.
That is why I have spent years planning and working and waiting, like a great spider sitting quiet at the heart of my web until the prey is well caught. To see a soul helpless, begging for mercy—ah, that is true power in this world! Life and death, being or not being—and the knowledge that I do not care one way or the other is the best sauce.
I am not insane, you know. I do not recklessly kill. There is a far deeper, more exquisite pleasure in prolonged pain. To keep them on the edge, leave just enough hope for them to cling to until I am ready, then knock away the last support and let them die in despair. Ah, now, that is worth the doing, deep in the blood and the bone. Delight far beyond mortal ken, that knowledge, to watch a soul crumble in on itself. It takes me to the pinnacle of joy. For that I would cheerfully light fire to the world, could I only have the power to know the world was aware and screaming as I lit the kindling.
I was born into the wrong race. I have read what few of the Demonlord’s writings still remain, and he said the same thing of himself.
I would make a better demon than any of the Rakshasa I have ever met.
xiv
The Telling of Tales
Lanen
I woke to find myself alone and free of pain at last. I sat up, feeling cold, and realised the shutters were open. The moon was nearly set, but there was still enough light to make out a dark shape in a heap beside the low window, covered in a silver waterfall that caught the last gleams of moonlight.
I rose quietly and went to stand beside him. He had fallen asleep with his left arm on the window sill, his cheek resting on his arm and the circlet bearing his soulgem cradled in his right. Like all sleepers he looked vulnerable, but when I knelt beside him to look into his face I caught my breath. He looked—oh blessed Lady, he looked so terribly sad.
The expression on his face pierced my heart. I was not certain whence his sadness came, but the circlet in his hand spoke of the Kantri. Had he been speaking with his distant kindred? Or had sorrow turned to regret so soon? I had watched Varien working with all his strength to accept his weakness as a human. I knew, in my deep and secret heart, that had I been one of those glorious creatures, I could not have borne to give up my form for anyone, no matter how dear to me.
It was not as if either of us had been given a choice; it had just happened. We knew that somehow our very gods were behind his transformation, but that did not make it any easier for either of us to bear. No matter how great his love for me—and I did not doubt it knew that he mourned what he had lost. How could he not? When he had truly realised, that day in the Méar Hills, that he would never fly again, the sorrow on his face had torn at my heart and I had felt a desperate guilt deep in my soul. Jamie was right. I had gone across the sea to change the world and I had done it. If the price had been demanded of me I could have born
e it, but it was the Lord of the Kantri who had died.
We were come to a crossroads now, Varien and I. Now that I was safe from the threat of imminent death there was much we had to say to one another, for the words we had spoken in our fear and anger had a kind of truth behind them and would have to be faced. We had accepted the will of the gods and of fate swiftly enough when Akor was transformed, but it was as if the dream was finally done and the clear light of morning shone harsh and merciless upon us at last. We had to accept the reality of what had happened, and it was neither simple nor without cost on either side.
I didn’t mean to call to him in truespeech, but I needed to reach out to him and it seemed only natural. I didn’t know if he could hear me, or if I wanted him to hear me, and I didn’t use words. I didn’t have any. What could I possibly say? There was only one thing left to cling to in all the shifting ground that we stood upon, and it filled my mind and rang in my heart—the song we had made together. When we had flown in thought the Flight of the Devoted, while still he was one of the Kantri, we had made a song together that blended our souls, that was our love made real. That, at least, was true. Our souls, no matter what the shape of the bodies that held them, were the match of one another. When words failed me for the love I bore him, for the desperate sorrow I knew was in him, still that song echoed in me. I knelt beside him. I did not touch him, but I opened my mind to him and sang that melody softly and with all my heart, letting it take its force from my love and my understanding of his pain, sending it to him through the intimate link of truespeech that we shared.
That was when I began to realise that the song had changed, was changing. It had grown deeper and more complex, it spoke now of sorrow, of pain, in places where before had been only joy and wonder. It was—I know not how to describe it. I closed my eyes, listening even as I sang, as the voice in my mind took me places I did not expect. The melody was the same, but now it had a greater richness to it. It was deeper and more varied and somehow more real. It took unto itself all that had been happening to us, touching Varien’s sorrow and mine, weaving it into the very melody—
I looked at him then, smiling, knowing that he was awake. I could never do that with music, but the Kantri were the greatest musicians who ever lived. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, for the only light we had was starlight from the window. I guessed the gleam came from eyes bright with tears as we both rose to our feet, singing together softly now in truespeech, and he held his hands out to me, palm up. I placed my palms to cover his, lightly, shaking, as the voices of our minds blended, drifted apart, blended again, and fell away into silence at the same moment.
Together.
When the last note faded I stood unmoving, my eyes closed. I knew now that the sorrow that was come over Varien was deep in the bone and not to be kissed away like lovers’ hurts or soothed with soft words of devotion. I could not have moved if I had wanted to. I needed to know if his love was greater than his pain, if his sorrow was now become regret deep as the sea and old as time—
“Lanen. Lanen. My heart, my life, how can you think it?” he asked, his fingers closing gently around my hands. “Come, Lanen Kaelar, look at me,” he said. “Look at me,” he repeated aloud. I opened my eyes. It was very, very dark.
“I can’t see you,” I replied, my voice catching. Damn.
“You are using the wrong part of you to look,” he replied. Dear Lady, his voice was wonderful. “Look at me with your heart, my Lanen. Truespeech is only a part of the full Language of Truth, use it in its wider sense. See, my darling.”
“I can’t do it, Varien, you know that,” I said, impatient. “I’ve tried this before and—Lady keep us!”
I cannot describe to you how I saw what I did, for many kinds of sight were involved. It was most like a painting but that falls far short of the grandeur. Imagine a great swirl of red and gold over the heart against a background of pulsing green the colour of Akor’s soulgem and the shape of Varien’s body but much larger—then see the red and gold, ever moving, extend to cover the whole physical body, see a shadow in some parts, no longer denied, that adds depth and fullness. Then add in a melody, high and far, but always present—the song that rings ever in both our hearts. And then lift it all from the imagination, give it shape and weight and make it real, and you will have some faint idea.
I was astounded. “What was that?” I asked. “Varien, I saw—”
“You saw for a moment as the Kantri see, my dearling,” he said, and in the darkness the joy in his voice was plain. “Do you believe me now? That is the truth of my love for you, my Lanen. It colours everything I do, even unto mourning my severance from my people.” He caught hold of me then and held me close, his arms so tight I heard my ribs creak.
“Lanen, my dearest Lanen,” he murmured as he held me. “Well I know that I wear this body as the kind gift of the Winds and the Lady, and that in my old self I have died—but Lanen, hear me, hear my words and believe them. I do not love you only for a season, or only as long as it is easy to do so. Sorrow is not regret, kadreshi,” he said, and I began to cry. “I do not regret what has happened. Like any creature, Kantri or Gedri, sorrow takes me sometimes, but it is not an evil. Sorrow is part of life, as death is part of life and comes as surely. Believe me, my heart. We both made the choices we made of our own free will.” He released me just enough to look in my eyes. “It is true that if you had not come to the island I would not have changed, I would not have died. But Lanen—Lanen—if I had not chosen to act as I did, I would not have changed no matter what you had said or done. What has happened was the fault of both of us, or of neither.”
I was weeping so hard now I could barely speak, and my mind had little to do with the words that came out. They flew straight from my soul. “Varien, forgive me, forgive me! I would have paid any price to be with you but I never wanted the payment to be yours. Forgive me—”
He made me look into his eyes. “Lanen Kaelar, Lanen my wife, I forgive you. Will you now forgive me for the pain our love has cost you, and for the change our babes have forced upon you?”
“I forgive you from my heart.” I reached out to stroke his cheek. “We are both changed now, my love. It is well.”
I saw again the gleam of tears in his eyes. “I love you,” he said, simply. “And Lanen, I do not regret.”
I had needed desperately to hear those words. When he spoke them I clung to him and wept like a child. When the tempest of weeping had passed, though, I recovered myself a little and stood back. “I have desperately needed your forgiveness,” I said. “But Varien—I know these feelings will return. They run too deep to be dealt with all at once. By the love I bear you, do not fear to speak to me of them.” I drew myself to my full height. “I would always rather have to do with spiky truth than with comfortable lies. Always.”
I held out my right hand to him and he smiled and took it in his. “I give you my word, Lanen Kaelar,” he said, the beauty of that deep warm voice threatening to break down my hard-won self-control. “Always the spiky truth.”
We gazed long at one another in that quiet darkness, our hands softly clasped. It was a vow as great as our marriage vow and we both knew it Finally he stepped forward to seal it, with a kiss so strong and sweet I thought my heart would break. We held each other close for a long moment of utter silence. I remember my thoughts as though I stood there this moment—I would gladly die in this truth, with him.
I should have known it was too good to last.
We stood unmoving, drowned in that silent place of joy and pain mingled, until we heard someone shouting “Demons!” down the corridor.
Ah, well.
Salera
I stood at the edge of the dark winter wood in the deep night. The moon had set and dawn was yet distant, but I could smell him now. The longing that had drawn me there was grown large within my breast. I knew he was inside the large pile of cut stone that stood before me, but there was—ah, there was another smell that disturbed me greatly even as it
sent a shiver through my wings. Faint, familiar yet never known before, wild and strong, so far beyond me I hardly dared even to breathe it in.
At first it kept me away, so deep went that scent into my soul, but I could not stay away. He was there. 1 walked around the piled stone until I found the place where his smell was strongest. Strangely, it was the sound that stopped me. I had forgotten, but when I heard it again the memory rushed over me.
I had forgotten the sounds he made when he slept. I knew the rhythm of his breathing as I knew my own heartbeat. Fear fell away as I moved close to the small patch of wood in the stone. remembered that there had been such things in the place we had shared. Those had swung open. Perhaps there were the same?
I reached up and pulled.
Will
Well, I had been dreaming about the demons that had attacked us, and I wake slowly from deep sleep, so it makes sense I’d have thought what I did. For I woke with a start at a strange noise.
There is was again, the sound that had wakened me.
Something was outside my window, pulling at the shutters trying to get in.
“Demons!” I shouted, hoping to goodness someone would hear me, scrambling out of my bed towards the door. I threw it open and shouted. “Vil, Aral, quick, it’s demons, in here—”
Vilkas appeared, rumpled and weary but already ablaze, followed immediately by Aral. “Where? What? What’s happened?” he rumbled.
Jamie and Rella came round the corner with a glass-sided lantern. “Where?” demanded Jamie, though I could see fear on his face.
“There’s one at my window!” I said.
Rella snorted and the others relaxed. “It’s being very restrained, don’t you think? They don’t usually both to knock.”
I was a bit more awake by then, and a small measure of courage had returned. The noise had stopped as well.
I went sheepishly back into my room, followed first by Aral, then by Vil, then by Jamie and Rella who were muttering and laughing quietly to themselves. I lit the candle by my bed from the lantern—well, light gives courage, doesn’t it?—then went to the window, lifted the latch and threw open the shutters.
The Lesser Kindred Page 36