She would not open her eyes, and she did not. But, still, Kezwann did not appear, and no one tried to rouse her. Not until much later, after a long and dreamless sleep, did Elzin realize that her plan had been in vain. Today was Saire, the Flute's day, and they would not ride until her Playing. She laughed grimly at her ridiculous attempt to forestall the endless, plodding journey and the Queen's dark threat by merely sleeping late.
Even so, she lingered in her preparations, despite their remote location and the absence of a crowd. She dawdled over a late morning meal and the arrangements of her hair and robe until the morning passed to afternoon.
As she left her tent at last, her head began to ache, and she knew she could delay no more. With the Saireflute's case tucked beneath an arm, she walked through the small clearing.
Not here. The ache turned to a throb, but she could not yet play. She ducked beneath a pine bough and walked away from the encampment and the track that here passed for a road. Her entourage followed, along with three shabby traders who had happened by that morning. She continued into a grove of tall trees. Behind her, feet swept through the spongy mat of fallen needles. She felt she could walk forever, to the river, to the ocean even. But still she could not play.
The pounding in her head grew more insistent. Not here. Why not? What was wrong? Whirling in frustration, Elzin faced the small group. One of the traders, a tall, swarthy blond, shifted uneasily before her exasperated glare.
Stubbornly, the blonde took up the Saireflute, but she could not take her eyes from the merchant. Not here. And then another word. Outlander.
"Goddess, I can't!" Frustrated, she stamped her feet and glared. "I don't remember how to play!"
She jabbed a finger at the merchant. "I can't play while he's here. Please! Make him go away. He's not from Lhant."
The ragged man flushed with embarrassment. "I have lived here for twenty years, Great Lady. I know Lhant forbids foreign settlers, but I carry the writ of King Nadriam that gives me leave to stay."
"But you weren't born here! I don't know how I know, but I do, and I can't Play with you here. I can't! All the music's stuck inside my head, and I can't remember what to do!"
Heratinn's pen scratched more furiously than ever as the guards hustled the unfortunate merchant away.
She waited, Flute held to her lips, and lost herself within the Flute's spell the first moment she was able. There, the Queen did not exist; Andor did not exist; even she did not exist. There, in the place beyond all music, she was utterly at peace.
The Saireflute's tones swelled sonorous and deep. The trees began to groan and sway as if in sympathy, raining green and golden needles upon the heads and shoulders of the listeners. The notes throbbed lower still. The ground, too, began to moan.
Elzin lurched sideways as the earth began to roll and buck like the sea, but her feet stayed planted as if anchored there. Her Playing continued, undisturbed.
Jagged fissures forked along the ground like lightning. One yawned wide at Kezwann's feet and she slid into the chasm's dark gullet. Only an elite's swift hand upon her collar saved her.
The crevice lengthened; trees careened drunkenly and toppled.Kezwann's shrieks rose higher as from the crevasse thousands of arm-length, emerald snakes began to boil and burrow frenetically into the thick carpet of pine needles. The Royal Elite ignored Heratinn's protests and formed a wall with their bodies to push him back, away from the still-widening fissure and the writhing serpents.
Another fracture, wider than the height of a man, split the ground asunder before Elzin. Bright green snakes streamed from it like a tide, writhing, burrowing, until the last of them had disappeared. The earth stilled. The rumbling ceased.
Slowly, Elzin shook her head as if awakening. When her guards reached out to guide her away from the crevasse's edge, she stopped them with the barest lift of her finger.
"Great Lady, the pit appears to have no bottom," said Superior Gage. "It is best we move back."
Elzin gripped the Flute as if she meant to strike him. "Stay back," she growled.
"What is it, Great Lady?"
Behind her, a cedar crashed to the ground, but she did not so much as twitch. She closed her eyes.
"Elzin," said Caldan firmly, "you must tell me what is wrong."
She opened her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. With slow, trembling hands, she raised the garment to expose her pale left leg, entwined in a thick, scaled tendril of brilliant green.
"Behold,” she hissed softly, “the snake.”
They could not see the serpent's head, for one end was slipped inside her boot and the other was hidden within the folds of cloth.
"Elzin. You must not move," said Caldan.
"Gods!" exclaimed Shagril. "It could be poisonous! How could it have gotten there without our seeing?"
"Turn your heads," ordered the councilor. Gage and his men hesitated. "Do you think I would harm her?" Caldan asked coldly. "Give the Saire half a moment of dignity!"
They did as they were told, and Caldan gingerly eased the blonde's robe up, until he found the tell-tale blunt and pitted triangle of the serpent's head.
Viper; he was certain of it. The serpent lay against the inside of the uppermost part of Elzin's thigh, too high to employ a tourniquet should it strike. Still, better there than the head buried in her boot, for they would have had to wait until it emerged, and the Saire looked on the verge of fainting already.
He took a deep breath, and then did the thing he had not wanted the elite to see. He found center and focused. His hand moved with such speed that he had gripped the snake firmly by the back of the head and pulled it away from Elzin before he even felt himself unleash.
Elzin screamed, and Caldan watched in horror as a second head emerged hissing from her boot. The creature's muscular body whipped and writhed; amber venom spattered from its double set of fangs. Shagril’s sword whickered down, and serpent's lower head spun off into the needles. The blade continued its arc, and the second head was severed as well.
The serpent flailed violently, splashing wide the putrid green liquid that it pumped from both ends. Its death throes knocked Elzin and two of her elite to the ground before subsiding to a last few, feeble twitches.
Caldan knelt beside the Saire. She dropped the Flute to clutch her lower leg.
Both fissures closed with a resounding thud.
"It bit me," Elzin said calmly, and her voice fell to a whisper. "The Saireflute made it so." Her body sagged. Her eyes fluttered once and then slid shut.
The councilor tore a strip of cloth from the hem of Elzin's robe. "One of you get blankets, two of you put up a tent. We will need it here; she should not be moved."
Caldan inserted a stick into the circle of cloth and twisted it until the makeshift tourniquet was tight. As Shagril kept the blood flow to the Saire's leg restricted, the count pulled off her boot, revealing two round puncture marks. Twice he stabbed quickly with his dagger. Blood welled up from where the punctures had been, and he sucked at the wounds, turning his head to spit out the tainted fluid.
He continued until it was necessary to loosen the tourniquet. By then, the Saire's tent was prepared, and they laid her in it. As Kezwann fussed and wrung her hands, the elite formed a helpless semi-circle around their fallen charge.
"Superior Gage," said Caldan. "Is the chain you wear gold?"
"Yes, a gift from my father."
"May I borrow it?"
"Borrow it? Er, of course, My Lord Councilor."
The highlander left, pensively hefting the jewelry's weight in his palm. Only Gage seemed to notice his departure, but they all stared at his return, for caught up in the golden chain was the Saireflute. He positioned the instrument on Elzin's chest and curled her unresisting fingers around it.
"Leave us," he said.
o0o
He gave her his voice as a guide, a ladder, something that she could follow up, out of darkness. In that same compelling intonation that made even the worst of his ene
mies in council sit upright in their chairs, he recited old poetry of Lhant and passages from books and ancient tales of lowland gods and goddesses.
"You reek," said Elzin, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "The serpent's blood is rank."
Caldan started. How long had he been asleep? But, there had been no sleep, and he knew it. He still sat upon the ground, next to Elzin's cot, but instead of watching her unmoving hands, he now stared into the Saire's bright eyes. Their blue was too vivid against her stark white face, and although he did not dare to touch her, he could feel the heat as it rose from her like a forge.
She sat up and gazed at him sorrowful, unblinking eyes. "You took the wrong end of the snake."
"It had two heads. I could not know."
"Let it be a lesson. Sometimes there is no right end to grasp. We act in spite of that," she told him simply. "The Buktoz come, murderer. You have no time to ponder which end might have teeth."
Green snakes slithered frenetically across the tops of Caldan's boots. Several glided across his hands. The councilor stood quickly and felt the first of many sets of fangs sink deep into his flesh.
And then the snakes were gone, as suddenly as they had appeared. He looked around the tent. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of Elzin's chest where she lay on her cot with the Flute held in her hands. He examined his own hands. There were no puncture wounds, no drops of blood, no signs of any bites.
Elzin's eyes remained closed as she whispered. "The ships come, Caldan. The ships are on their way."
"What is it you want from me?"
If there was an answer, he did not hear it. The Saire slept; the unearthly heat from her body had dissipated, leaving her skin cool and moist. Arrow and Dagger stared up at him quizzically, and he sat down again, cross-legged between them, to cradle his forehead in his hands.
"'The Knight Eternal'. I was on stanza thirty-eight:" He sat up and closed his eyes.
"'Pale light, guide me on through the land of the living,
"'The orb of the Goddess pulls me as the tide.'
"'Once more I return…'"
o0o
Near nightfall, Elzin opened her eyes once more. She had been conscious for some time, but it had been pleasant to lie still and rest and listen to the count read to her. At least she had assumed that he was reading, for his voice was steady and tireless, and he never faltered. It was like a dream from which she could not fully wake, a wonderful dream that she never wished to leave. After a time, though, an ache grew in her lower leg until she could no longer ignore it. She began to wonder why it hurt so badly and then why the count was here, alone with her, when they really should be traveling toward Sheldwinn.
"Caldan," she asked at last, "what's wrong?"
"Elzin?" He dreaded a vision, but saw only a woman, ill and concerned, but alive none-the-less. "What do you remember?"
She considered so long the count thought she had drifted back to sleep. "I said you smelled. But, that was because of the blood. From… it was from a snake, a green snake that was…" She clutched the Flute more tightly to her breast. "It bit me!"
She paused again, then managed a coquettish smile despite her pallor. "You came to my rescue, exactly as a hero ought to do." Her eyelids began a slow descent, like a lazy cat's before a fire. "It's really quite romantic when I think of it." Her head tilted gently to one side, and the sound of her soft snoring filled the tent.
o0o
He sent Kezwann to her, telling the others only that the Saire had awakened and appeared to be recovering.
He tied his own tent flap shut behind himself. Elzin had been right. The blood of the serpent was rank. Caldan was relieved to be able to divest himself of his soiled garments, to wash every dried speck of the offensive ichor from his body and to douse his hair with cold water.
Too bad it was not so simple to wash away the visions. He, who had never truly feared any man or woman, not even the Queen, feared those visitations. Unlike mortal enemies, he could not outwit them, he could not fight them, he could not anticipate their next move. Against them, he was helpless. And where he had once been grateful for the Flute's enigmatic clues, he now felt manipulated by them, and he liked that even less.
Why did the Flute couch its warnings in such a malevolent fashion? The striking snakes, the Queen crushing his arm with an iron grip, the Mist. Most terrible of all, the Mist. Sucking his mind dry, intent on leaving nothing, nothing at all, not even awareness of self, because it left no self. He dreamt of it often, the Mist, and when he awakened, always at the last, crucial second before he was gone, it was to find himself in a cold sweat and facing the rest of the night without sleep.
Why the Mist? The rest of the Saireflute's signs had been so plain. Why the Mist, and why him?
o0o
"Might I have a word with you, Lord Councilor?"
Shagril took a seat at his invitation.
"I thank you for allowing me to see the message from the Queen. There is something that I wish you to know."
"Speak freely, Superior."
Shagril's face was grim as he searched for the correct way to put his cause. "I speak only for those Royal Elite who serve the Saire. We have come to see that Saire Elzin is… she is something very different than Saire Welmiann. The Saireflute in her hands…" He hesitated once again and then continued, more confidently. "It seems much like the Saireflute must have been when Saire herself held it. We believe the bonding of the Flute with this Great Lady is a sign of favor that must not be ignored. We will not allow her to be threatened. By anyone."
He returned the Queen's dispatch to Val Torska and awaited his response. What he had said could be construed as treason; indeed, it was. But he did not fear such an accusation from the count. Instead, he feared indifference, a careful separation of the highlander's fortune from that of the elite who would support the Saire. Even with the count's help, Shagril held scant hope that the sovereign could successfully be defied.
"It is good to know that I stand with someone with as skillful a sword arm as yours, Shagril," the count said. "Let us hope that this time the serpent that threatens our Saire has but one head."
Chapter Twenty
The dove flies low above the meadows
Below the notice of the falcon
Above the hunger of the vixen
Beneath the bright eye of the world.
The falcon bears no bloody carcass
To the mate who guards her offspring
The vixen's cubs cry out in hunger
The dove flies safe beyond their reach.
--Kyr cradle song
"I don't know what to do," hiccoughed Duke Everfast. He gulped gratefully at the glass of wine Andor placed in his hand, his round, soft face ruddy and streaked with tears. "She hates me now. She won't look at the materials I bought for her dress and trousseau; she won't wear my ring; she won't accept my gifts. She says such dreadful things, such hateful things! What has happened to her?"
"Let us examine this together, my dear Lowinn, and see if we two men cannot come up with a solution," said Andor, easing back into his chair. "She loved you well enough before, didn't she?"
"Well, yes. She did. But now that we are to be married, she has turned on me, like a wild animal."
Andor thoughtfully swirled the wine in his glass. Although his glass was half-empty, not a drop of the ruby liquid had actually passed his lips. No Kyr could tolerate the stuff. Just another thing that makes us different, the boy thought, looking through his glass at Lowinn, thank whatever.
"It seems to me," said the boy at last, "that this sudden change in disposition is our biggest clue.
"My sister has been kept too cloistered. She is still, in many ways, a child. It's not her fault; it was my father who kept her away from the castle balls and parties and anywhere that she might be exposed to men. When you said that you would marry her, she became distraught. Therein must lie the reason.
"It makes no sense that her love for you should suddenly turn to loathing.
No. Something else must frighten her.
"Of course!” Andor snapped his fingers. “I have it! Lowinn, she fears the marriage bed! She doesn't understand the ways of men and women, and because she has been kept so isolated from the very idea, she has no doubt conjured up in her mind all manner of horrible images."
"You're right. Even I have guessed it. But, I've tried talking to her. I've tried telling her how gentle, how considerate I would be --"
That must have gone over just wonderfully well, thought Andor. I wish I could have seen that.
"-- but she just shrieks that I will never lay a hand on her. It drives her into an absolute frenzy!"
Too delicious! How fortunate that his father and Tyrmiskai weren't here to interfere! He would have to send the Queen a gracious letter of thanks for this delightful opportunity.
"Lowinn, her imagination has carried her too far for mere words to banish the nightmare she envisions the act of love to be."
"What are you saying?"
"I am saying that you are going to have to drag her down the aisle, kicking and screaming like a mad woman." The boy tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Unless…"
The duke blew his nose loudly into a silk handkerchief. "Unless what?" he asked miserably.
"You don't know much about our culture, Lowinn. We're a secretive people, we highlanders. In all the time that you have been friends with my father, this is the first time that you have ever been inside Tarska, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Well, after a fashion, by marrying my sister, you become one of us, so I will tell you a secret. We highlanders, we don't marry--not like you do. There is no formal ceremony; there are no invocations to Shador and Telriss. With us, the marriage becomes a marriage with the sexual act. It is that simple.
"Now, sometimes, the woman is unwilling. When that happens, her perspective husband seeks out her family. If the woman is just stubborn or afraid, they may give their permission. And with their consent, once he takes her, they are married."
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