The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  "There is only one being with the power to make such a wish come true," said Saroc in a gentler voice, "and that is yourself. Yet, it is my guess that what you hope for will come to be. Now, Prince, what is your choice?"

  As he spoke, the white cloud crept into the Night Garden. Kerish could just see two stiff golden figures trapped inside it.

  "Set them free," he said quietly.

  Saroc got up from beside the pool and touched the edge of the cloud with his crystal wand. The whiteness gradually dissolved away, leaving a flock of golden birds burnishing the air and the gleaming figures of Gwerath and Forollkin. Gold coated their skin and hair and clothes. Their eyes were closed and they no longer seemed to breathe. Saroc struck at them with his wand and cracks appeared. The gold began to flake away and drift to the ground. Then the sorcerer pointed the crystal wand at the birds and the air was filled with life and colour again, just as Forollkin sneezed and opened his eyes and Gwerath shook clouds of gold dust from her silver hair.

  "Kerish, what . . . where . . . ?"

  Forollkin blinked and sneezed again as Kerish ran up to him.

  "It's all right, Forollkin. We've reached the centre of the maze and we're all safe."

  "Quite safe," murmured Saroc. "Now leave my citadel."

  For the first time, Gwerath and Forollkin noticed the tall, red-haired man, clutching his shabby cloak about himself as if he was cold.

  "Go back the way you came," he was saying, "nothing will harm you when you walk under my protection."

  "Lord Saroc," began Kerish, "my companions will be grateful for your safe conduct, but I cannot leave until I have what I came for."

  Saroc turned his back on the travellers and stared towards a gate in the white walls and the crimson tower beyond it.

  "Ask nothing else of me and leave quickly, while my gentle mood lasts. I do not want to hurt you, Prince, since you buried my poor, faithful Acanoth beside the cat you loved. Do you know how many of my creatures Pergon of Lamoth killed? My daughter laughed as she stepped over the bodies of the beasts she had played with day after day. Their only purpose was to guard her. I had to protect her. Only within my realm could I keep age and death away from her, but all she wanted was to see Zindar. The little worlds I made for her were not enough. When Pergon told her that I kept her imprisoned out of jealousy, she believed him and went with him willingly. I had warned her again and again what would happen if she left my realm, but she thought it was a trick to stop her escaping from me. I was too late to save my daughter. I suppose in Seld they say that I killed her."

  "Yes," said Kerish gently, "and they have learned to fear you."

  "Then they are wiser than you, Prince of the Godborn. Leave Tir-Tonar!"

  "Not until I have delivered my message from your wife. "

  The crystal wand snapped in Saroc's hands and three drops of crimson stained the marble paving.

  "You mock me."

  "No, Lord Saroc, we have come across the plains of Erandachu from Tir-Zulmar."

  Saroc turned slowly and Kerish flinched at the anger in his face.

  "If you don't believe us," said Forollkin hastily, "look at Gwerath here. You can see that she comes from Erandachu, from the shadow of the mountains. We have been there and we have seen your lady."

  "Do you think I don't recognize one of my wife's worshippers?" asked Saroc, "And the silver hair she gives them to mirror her own. Do the reflections still feed her vanity? Does she still revel in playing the goddess to the barbarians at her feet? Does she . . . "

  "Lord Saroc!"

  The urgent appeal in Kerish's voice made even the sorcerer pause. Gwerath was staring blankly at the Lord of Tir-Tonar. Kerish hoped she hadn't understood.

  "My Lord, will you hear my message from Sendaaka?"

  "She swore that she would never speak to me again."

  "Centuries have passed since then. She has changed."

  "Changed . . . how has she changed? No, don't tell me here. We must talk alone. You . . . " Saroc pointed his broken wand at Forollkin, Gwerath and Gidjabolgo. "Stay in this garden and you will be safe. Prince, come with me."

  *****

  Gwerath watched Kerish and the sorcerer leave the garden and enter the crimson tower together. Then she turned on Forollkin.

  "What did he mean, that I worshipped his wife?"

  Wishing that Kerish was there to answer for him, Forollkin said hesitantly, "Sendaaka was human once, but now she is immortal and . . . "

  Gidjabolgo's harsh voice broke in. "Your goddess has quarrelled with her husband and sulks amongst the snows."

  "Gidjabolgo!"

  Forollkin's hand was on his sword hilt but Gwerath shouted, "No, let him tell me. I want to hear."

  "Your Mountain Goddess is the Sorceress of Tir-Zulmar," said the Forgite. "As Saroc said, she chose to play the goddess and to force light into the darkness of the Erandachi. "

  "And you have seen her?"

  "Seen her, touched her, spoken to her, " declared Gidjabolgo.

  "Sendaaka loves your people," began Forollkin anxiously. "Surely it doesn't matter that she isn't quite what you thought?”

  “But Saroc is her husband and a goddess cannot love like an ordinary woman.”

  “Why not?” asked Forollkin, “Imarko loved Zeldin.”

  “A goddess must love everyone equally. I thought she did. I even thought that she loved me.”

  “Gwerath, everything that Sendaaka gave to the Children of the Wind was good."

  "She gave us lies," whispered Gwerath.

  "No more than any other deity,” said Gidjabolgo, “but if our Prince gets his way, Sendaaka's reign will soon be over. She will abandon her people and follow her lover to Seld, and she is the image in which you are made."

  "Thank you, Gidjabolgo. I see now." She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, how you must have laughed at us."

  "No, Gwerath, truly we didn't!"

  Forollkin tried to put his arms around her but she pushed him away.

  "And Kerish . . . He pretended to serve the goddess, to be her Torgu, and all the time he knew that she was false!"

  "Gwerath, we just thought that it was best not to . . ."

  "Oh yes, Galkians would know what's best for the poor blind Sheyasa. No, don't touch me, leave me alone!"

  Gwerath ran from them, struggling through thorn bushes, and crouched down against a white wall in the furthest corner of the garden. Forollkin could hear her sobbing, but when he moved to follow her, Gidjabolgo stood in his path, grinning like a death’s-head.

  "Don't be a fool. Let her spew out her misery alone or she'll link you with it. Leave her alone and with any luck, she'll blame your brother."

  "What could you understand about feelings?" asked Forollkin angrily, but he turned back.

  *****

  Kerish and Saroc entered the lowest chamber in the tower. Lit by fire and candle-light, it was crowded with books, scrolls and curious instruments that Kerish could put no names to. After the terrors of the maze, the room seemed very ordinary. In the gentle light, the haggard face of Saroc looked calmer and more human. The sorcerer tossed down his cloak and wand and moved to sit by a southerly window, overlooking a part of the Citadel that the travellers had not seen.

  Kerish sat down on a soft rug beside the fire and stared up at the sea-birds, carved in pale stone, whose shimmering wings held up the roof of the chamber. For a time there was silence and Kerish was grateful for a moment's pause to think very carefully about what he was going to say to Saroc.

  The sorcerer sighed and said wearily, "Forgive me Prince, I was always the worst of hosts. Sendaaka used to . . . You must be tired and hungry. There is food and wine on the table there."

  Kerish shook his head. "I couldn't touch anything now, but my companions . . . "

  "I had forgotten them," said Saroc simply, and there was silence again.

  Kerish noticed old stains on the fur rug and dust on tables and chairs carelessly piled with books and scrolls. At length,
he timidly asked the purpose of a coloured sphere that hung in front of one of the windows.

  "What? Oh, it's a kind of a map. Vethnar and I worked on it together. Look closer and you might recognize Galkis . . . but the Godborn are always more interested in looking up at the stars than in noticing what lies at their feet. What other people would be content never to know what lies beyond their eastern border?"

  "Zeldin himself forbade us to go more than three day's journey east of Far-Tryfarn, as a test of our loyalty," answered Kerish. "Who is Vethnar?"

  "He is the Sorcerer of Tir-Melidon, the Lord of Silnarnin. The three of us used to study together, here in this room. What does Sendaaka say to me?"

  Kerish flinched at the suddenness of the question and then recovered himself.

  "She is lonely and still grieves, as you do, for your daughter. She asks you to give up your key and travel north to fetch her from Tir-Zulmar."

  "Give up my key! Must I surrender everything? Must I suffer for her pride? What did she tell you about me and about our life together? I can see from your expression that she taught you to blame me."

  Saroc leaned back against the window. The moonlight sliding over his face accentuated the hollows of his cheeks and the brilliance of his green eyes.

  "It was Sendaaka who could not bear to be equalled. I would gladly have given up my key if she had been willing to do the same, but she cared more about the fame of her wisdom than my love."

  "I don't know whether that was true in the past," said Kerish carefully, "but it certainly isn't now."

  "And am I to abandon everything," demanded Saroc, "when at last Sendaaka crooks her little finger and says, `Come to me, husband'?"

  Kerish stood up.

  "The keys," he began slowly, "were they worth the price you paid for them? What did either of you gain?"

  "Nothing," said Saroc bitterly. "Nothing but time enough to realize that we had gained nothing. I am sick of night. We will have day again."

  Unseen hands snuffed out the candles and doused the fire as sunlight poured in through the tall windows.

  "So," continued Saroc, "you are saying to me that I must give up my key and die, while Sendaaka keeps her power and immortality."

  "When you reach Tir-Zulmar, she will renounce her key."

  "What proof do I have of that?" asked the sorcerer. "Perhaps, all she wants is to avenge our daughter's death. Perhaps, she longs to have me mortal and helpless in cold Tir-Zulmar and to watch me die . . . "

  Kerish's hands kept creeping to the keys at his waist, hidden beneath his tunic. Sendaaka's key was the answer to all Saroc's questions, but it was the one argument that the Prince was forbidden to use.

  "I can offer you no proof of her intentions," said Kerish steadily. "I can only ask you to remember her. Isn't she a woman worth any risk?”

  "I thought so once. You said that she had changed. Is she still beautiful?"

  "I had never seen such beauty before," answered Kerish. "She is like the sheen of frost in a bright dawn."

  "Frost kills," said Saroc. "Come here."

  Kerish crossed to the window. Below lay a sunny courtyard, hedged with flowering trees. At a long table strewn with books and scrolls a woman sat reading. Her silver hair hid her face but he recognized the pale hands that turned the dusty pages of her book. Saroc opened the window and called down to her. The woman looked up and she was as beautiful as Kerish had remembered, except that her eyes were empty of intelligence or feeling.

  "See, my spells can summon up her beauty. What do I need with the reality?"

  "Surely it was the reality that you loved!" protested Kerish. "Her mind, her feelings . . . not some beautiful, silent image. Think what you achieved when you were together, working as equals."

  Shrill laughter floated in through the open window. A girl with pale gold hair ran into the courtyard, followed by a boy. He was red-haired like Saroc but his eyes were silvery-grey. The woman put down the book and smiled. The children both kissed her cheek.

  "Your daughter," murmured Kerish, "but the boy. . ."

  "We never had a son," said Saroc. He clapped his hands and the smiling figures froze. "I should not have accepted the key." The sorcerer closed the window. "But I was foolish enough to think that I knew what I wanted."

  Kerish sat down on the stone sill beside the sorcerer.

  "Perhaps life isn't bearable unless you think that."

  "Is that what you have found Prince? Isn't your quest for the keys enough for you?"

  "I want the keys with all my heart," answered Kerish, "but I wish I knew that I was right to want them. When we first set out, I was quite certain about it. Now, I'm not."

  "I cannot return lost certainties," said Saroc, "not even a sorcerer can do that."

  "There is one thing that I am sure of, though. Surrendering your key and trusting Sendaaka is the only way out for you. In a sense, Pergon of Lamoth was right. Your daughter was a prisoner, but so are you."

  For a moment Kerish thought that he had been too bold. Saroc was angry and his quest would end here. Then the sorcerer got up, strode across the room, opened a chest and drew out a golden casket.

  "Take it then! Take it, whether you bring me reprieve or execution. As if it mattered which . . ." Saroc took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. "Take the casket. You cannot open it without Sendaaka's key. Come north with me, and I will plead for you, if not for myself."

  Kerish stood up again to accept the casket but he immediately put it down on a table and drew out the third key.

  "Thank you, Lord Saroc, but there is no need. Sendaaka has already renounced her key."

  Saroc stared at the white gem glittering in the golden haft.

  "But you said . . ."

  "Forgive me. Sendaaka ordered me not to tell you what she had done. She wanted one last test of your love."

  "A test!" Saroc's voice was thick with anger but then he began to laugh, suddenly looking very much younger. "A test? How very like her. She can't have changed at all."

  Kerish opened the casket and drew out a golden key, set with a crimson gem. Within a few seconds there were four keys dangling from the chain at his waist.

  "Lord Saroc, will you help me a little further? I must find the next key."

  The sorcerer nodded absently, as though his thoughts were already racing north.

  "Vethnar of Tir-Melidon holds the sixth key, and there is nothing I can do to prepare you for him. For the fifth, you must journey to Tir-Roac, the heart of the Dead Kingdom. Shubeyash possesses the fifth key, or rather it possesses him. Since Roac died no-one has entered the citadel and returned."

  "I must," said Kerish grimly.

  Saroc touched the jewel of Zeldin where it hung, half-hidden, in the folds of Kerish's tunic. “This jewel will draw King Shubeyash to you but it may also prove your best defence."

  "King Elmandis said the same, but he wouldn't tell me why."

  "Elmandis would make a secret of the time of day," said Saroc impatiently.

  "Then will you tell me how to use the jewel?" asked Kerish.

  "You cannot use it," answered Saroc, "but it may use you. I can tell you the legend of the Jewels of Zeldin, though you might find a different story in the `Book of Secrets'. It is said that your Foremother, Imarko, brought a mirror with her into Galkis; a precious mirror, not of metal but of glass. As she lay dying, Zeldin appeared to her, not in the human form he wears in Zindar but in all his empyreal glory. That glory was reflected in Imarko's mirror and it was broken by his radiance. Ever afterwards, the shards retained his incandescent image. They were cut and worn as jewels by the High Priests and Emperors of Galkis. Yours is the last remaining jewel of Zeldin . . . no, don't take it off."

  "I can't wear it now that I know. I can't!"

  Kerish's fingers fumbled with the cirge chain.

  "You must. It is your birthright," said Saroc sternly. "You cannot escape it. Wear it always."

  "Only if I must," answered Kerish, and the jewel seemed to burn at h
is breast with a cold fire. "Tell me then, how should we enter Roac?"

  "Go to the island of Gannoth and ask its ruler how to enter the Dead Kingdom. Gannoth is the guardian of Roac now."

  "Thank you, Lord Saroc. Thank you from all of Galkis."

  "For so much thanks, perhaps I should give you one more thing. Another warning. Though I did not know it at the time, I had to choose between the key to power and human love. Be very sure you understand the price that you will have to pay for taking the keys to the Saviour's prison."

  *****

  Shortly after the false dawn, food and wine were brought to the Night Garden, carefully carried by vermilion-furred beasts who walked upright. Forollkin and Gidjabolgo were reluctant to touch the feast but the sad-eyed creatures whimpered, rubbed their foreheads in the dust, and then nibbled at the food to show that it was good. Gidjabolgo accepted a dish of curds from an outstretched paw and Gwerath emerged from behind the thorn bushes to wash her tear-swollen face in the pool. Forollkin could not think what to say to her so the strange meal was eaten in silence. When they had finished, the creatures took the empty dishes away with burbles of satisfaction. Gidjabolgo wandered round the garden sniffing the white flowers while Forollkin and Gwerath sat at opposite ends of the pool.

  Forollkin finally cleared his throat to speak just as Kerish walked through the archway in the white wall. Saroc was beside him, cloaked and booted for a journey. The sorcerer looked round the Night Garden as if he was seeing it with new eyes.

  "It was beautiful once, Prince, but now the thorns are thick as memories. I will destroy them, and all of my citadel, before I leave. Then I will set you on your way for the court of Seld."

  "Surely you won't destroy your creatures?"

  It was Gwerath who spoke and Saroc studied her face for a moment before answering, "No. They will live as long as I do. Princess, I had forgotten that you were hurt. Give me your hand."

  He untied Forollkin's sash and encircled Gwerath's swollen wrist with his thumb and forefinger. She felt a few seconds of intense cold and then the pain was gone. Where the bruises had been was now a bracelet of the same crimson stone as the citadel.