The Ring of Ritornel

by Charles L. Harness

  All in all, the apparition was breathtaking.

  He was not alone in his impressions. There was something about the visitor that seemed to jar Huntyr and his assistants. Andrek noted that, save for their heavy breathing, the three were absolutely motionless. And why not? What fantastic mechanism did this strange creature carry on his person that could unlock Huntyr’s door? Everyone knew, of course, of the remarkable science of the Ritornellians. Andrek realized he had just witnessed one demonstration, and that there might well be another if Huntyr did anything abrupt.

  The pilgrim turned casually to Andrek. “Your pardon, brother. If you were leaving, do not let my discourteous entry detain you.”

  “By your leave, brother,” murmured Andrek. He would not complicate things by offering to stay. He thought it unlikely that any assistance would be needed. He bowed with clasped hands and out-turned elbows, to indicate the eternal Ring of Ritornel, and muttered the farewell of the Ritornellians: “‘The end is but the beginning.’”

  The pilgrim bowed. “For always we return.”

  Only after he had closed the door behind him and was halfway to the transport tube did Andrek begin to speculate. Was the powerful Temple of Ritornel now his official ally? Or was the pilgrim merely interfering on his own? In either case, why? Was the Temple involved in some grandiose scheme that required that he be alive—at least for the moment? Be that as it may, the pilgrim had certainly saved his life. And then it suddenly occurred to him that the holy man must eventually demand payment. And the price, he suspected, might be very high indeed.

  One thing was certain: he could not mention any of this to Amatar.

  7. ANDREK AND AMATAR

  The servant led him from the anteroom through the great hallway into the colonnade bordering the garden. “The Mistress Amatar will meet you here, Don Andrek, and if you will permit, I will wait with you until she arrives.”

  “Yes,” said Andrek. He well understood that even well-known members of the Great House staff could not be permitted to wander unescorted here in the interior grounds.

  In a nearby vine-wrapped shrine erected long ago by a Delfieri determined to offend neither Alea nor Ritornel, a great metallic dodecahedron floated and revolved slowly within an immense iron ring hung from the ceiling. The twelve members of the die, in ritual sequence, turned one by one to the corresponding numbers in the ring.

  Everywhere, the air was heavy with the scent of flowers. Andrek took a deep breath. “The gardens are lovely this time of year,” he murmured.

  “The gardens are always lovely,” said the servant bluntly.

  “Ah? Oh, of course.” Far overhead he caught the glint of a great transparent dome. He realized that he was in a huge greenhouse. He could imagine the corps of gardeners required to keep these acres in continuing bloom. It was lighted, and (he imagined) heated, by a great ball of light, now moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, down the far wall of the structure, like a sinking sun. He noticed then that someone was approaching them, back-lit by that artificial orb. His heart leaped.

  Amatar of the Delfieri glided toward them, barefoot along the stone flagging. Kedrys trotted at her side.

  Andrek had of course seen them together many times, but could never rid himself of the illusion that these were imaginary people from another world, perhaps merely sojourning here, that they belonged together, and that it was ridiculous to think of separating them by marrying Amatar. He shivered a little, as he found himself thinking, What is their destiny? Then he shook himself. This was insanity. Amatar was a human being, whereas Kedrys was … was what? What was Kedrys? He did not know. For some strange senseless reason, he was suddenly jealous of this beautiful creature. It defined nothing, solved nothing, to say that Kedrys was superhuman. There was more to it than that. Kedrys had little in common with the hominids. Kedrys was beyond humanity.

  Kedrys’ great golden wings were presently folded down along the withers of the palomino body. The “horse” part of the boy was actually less than pony-size. His human torso, gleaming under his woven silver jacket, showed considerable enlargement and downward extension of the rib cage, evidently needed to ensure adequate oxygen intake in flight. The equine chest, on the other hand, was known to contain no lungs, but to consist in considerable part of the immense laminations of muscles needed for the wings. His bones were cellulated, like those of birds. Andrek had been told that Kedrys weighed but little more than Amatar. The olive skin of his young face seemed as fresh and delicate as Amatar’s, and, in his own way, the boy was breathtaking: he was a wraith enfleshed, yet sensuous, almost godlike. He resembled Amatar in ways that suggested brother and sister; which, of course, Andrek knew was biologically absurd. But, even to this day he had not been able to discover the origins of this fabulous creature, who at once was animal, boy, and angel. Even Amatar seemed not to know; or if she did, she would not tell him. He had searched in vain for references to a winged kentaur in the genetic libraries. Had Kedrys been brought in by a far-distant geodetic patrol, from some uncharted system? He could only speculate. There was certainly some mystery here. Some day, if he ever settled the problem of his brother, he might look into it.

  As the pair drew near, they smiled at him, and the butterflies left the nearer flowers and circled their heads in an iridescent halo.

  Andrek heard a sigh, and from the corner of his eye saw the face of the porter go slack with admiration. He has seen them together since infancy, thought the advocate, and yet once again he finds them beautiful. And how right he is, never to become accustomed to them—and especially to her! For Andrek was quite certain that Amatar was fairer even than the first woman, described in the Terrovian myth book as the original mother of men. She was sensuous, lithe and exciting; yet fragile, fairylike.

  He studied her in admiration. One white blossom accented her hair, which now floated out behind her in an amber cloud. Almond eyes sparkled at him from beneath darkened eyelids. She wore a very light, loose flowing gold lamé skirt and bodice. Her waist and arms were bare, and it seemed to him, that her olive skin glowed with the scent of strange flowers.

  And now, they were in love. And that involved problems. For James Andrek was well-known to be the last survivor of a minor family of professionals fallen into straitened circumstances, without estate or prospects.

  And Amatar was the daughter of Oberon of the Delfieri.

  “Jim!” cried the girl, radiant with color. “How good of you to come early!”

  “Hello, both of you,” smiled Andrek. He shook hands warmly with Kedrys.

  Words formed in Andrek’s mind. “Hello, Don Andrek.”

  Amatar’s laughter was like small silver bells. “Kedrys, you are hopeless.” She looked up at Andrek. “His voice is changing; so he reverts to telepathy, even though he knows it’s bad manners.”

  “That’s all right.”

  She took them both by the arm and the three started back up the walk.

  “Kedrys will walk with us as far as the Genetics Building,” said Amatar. “He’s due there for the Alean seminar.”

  Kedrys made a derisive noise.

  Andrek struggled to keep his face straight.

  The girl flushed. “Kedrys!”

  “I gather you don’t think much of the seminar,” Andrek said to Kedrys.

  The kentaur grinned. “It’s a lot of fun. They study me. I study them. Anyhow, I think this’ll be the last session.”

  “Why?” asked Andrek curiously.

  “Because of his thesis,” explained Amatar dryly. “Displacement of the Hominid by the Kentaur.”

  Andrek laughed. “I can understand why they might want to close you out.”

  Kedrys looked across at the advocate curiously. He spoke aloud in a crackling voice that changed octaves several times. “Would you laugh, Don Andrek, if you hominids really were succeeded by kentaurs?”

  Andrek considered this. “I don’t really know,” he said seriously. “Perhaps not. But the whole question is academic. It can’t actu
ally happen. At least not in my lifetime, or yours.”

  And now it was Kedrys’ turn to laugh, a mixed audio-mental laughter, pealing, animal-like.

  Andrek shook his head. Sometimes he simply did not understand this remarkable creature.

  They were now at the entranceway to Genetics, where a monitor in the loose white robe denoting the Temple of Alea awaited them. He bowed gravely.

  Amatar exchanged embraces with Kedrys, who put his wings around her neck and kissed her on the cheek. “Now go along,” she admonished, “and remember your manners!”

  As Andrek watched in fascination, Kedrys suddenly broke away, bounded with half-spread wings high over the shoulder of the Alean (who merely blinked in resignation) and—disappeared into thin air.

  The girl laughed merrily at the goggling monitor. “Don’t take any notice, Brother. He does it just to attract attention. He’ll materialize somewhere in the building in a few minutes.”

  The monitor sighed, bowed again, and went inside.

  “Kedrys is a handsome young rascal,” said Andrek admiringly.

  “Oh, you should see how the girls look at him. And grown women! They cannot keep their hands away. They start on his wings, and then right away their hands are on his flanks. It’s a bad time for him. He’s suspicious of every female: perhaps even me. He won’t let me braid his tail anymore. Perhaps it’s just as well. He is just entering puberty, and he is no longer entirely innocent.” She laughed at a sudden recollection. “Last month he suddenly discovered he was naked. So I made the silver jacket for him. He’s the same age as I, but he’s really still just a boy, because his body matures so slowly. His mind, of course, is already quite fantastic.”

  “He’s the only kentaur I’ve ever seen—winged or otherwise,” said Andrek. “Is he from the Home Galaxy?”

  Amatar looked up at him sideways. She said noncommittally: “He was—born—here on Goris-Kard.” She was thoughtful for a moment, then continued in a brighter voice. “I am told that my father has commanded you to appear for dinner here at the Great House tonight, and then to attend Kedrys’ lecture. After that, you will board ship for the Node.”

  Andrek realized with sudden concern that, although she was still smiling, her mood had changed. There was a serious, even grim, undertone in her voice.

  “Yes, that is so.”

  “And you brought your courier case?”

  “I always carry it—tapes, papers, a change of clothing. I never know when I will be sent on a trip.” He looked at her curiously. “Why?”

  “Never mind, Jim-boy,” said Amatar. “It will serve.”

  Andrek started. He felt his heart begin to pound. He whirled on the girl and grabbed her wrist. “How did you know that name?” he whispered hoarsely.

  Amatar stared at him, wide-eyed. Finally she said hesitantly, “You were thoroughly investigated before you were assigned to the legal staff of the Great House. Everything … your parents … family … childhood… I know all about you, all the way back to when you were a little boy. It must have been in the reports.”

  His eyes still bored into hers. “Only two people knew that name! Myself, and one other: my brother. Your investigators must have talked to my brother, and recently. He’s alive!”

  Amatar winced. “You’re hurting my wrist.”

  “Sorry.” He dropped her hand, but continued urgently. “Now then, we have to check this out. You saw the reports. Somebody had to prepare them, and before that, somebody had to interview people. Someone talked to my brother. When? Where? Amatar, help me.”

  But she was evasive. “I’ll see what I can do. Just now, I can’t remember…” She continued hurriedly, evidently anxious to change the subject. “There are so many mysteries in names. My father named me ‘Amatar.’ It means something, I think, in one of the ancient tongues, but I am not sure what. My father says I came from the dice cup of Alea. Someday I will insist that he explain everything.”

  “Indeed?” Andrek understood nothing of this, except that the girl did not want to talk further about his brother or of his own security dossier. “If you are a child of Alea, you might ask the goddess your mother to roll out a favorable number for me tonight. For I intend to tell your father about us—if I can get his ear.”

  “You realize, of course,” said the girl thoughtfully, “that he already knows?”

  “I assumed so. But I want him to hear it from me.”

  “Let it be so. We are truly in the cup of Alea.”

  She stopped beside an apple tree in full blossom. “Wait a moment. I want to show you something.”

  Following her gaze into the tree, Andrek traced with his eye the web artfully hidden in the outer branches, and soon saw the spider, fully as large as his fist, waiting under a cluster of blossoms.

  “They are put here at blossom time, for the giant moths, which would otherwise lay their eggs in the blossoms,” said Amatar. “But when blossom time is over, the gardeners collect and kill all the spiders. It’s a pity. Long ago, in the days when Goris-Kard was a colony of Terror, it was done differently. The ancients spread a death fog on their trees and crops, so that any insect eating the fruit would die. But it is a lost art, and we do not want to recapture it. So our gardeners follow in the ways of their grandfathers.” She sighed, then put her hand on the boundary strand of the web.

  Andrek suppressed a gasp. “Careful! They bite!”

  “They are rather vicious,” agreed Amatar serenely. “Their toxin is quite deadly to insects: it liquefies their tissues within a few seconds. All insects fear them. All. However, the bite is rarely fatal to hominids, although it’s bad enough. Instant loss of consciousness, followed by a high fever.” She concluded earnestly. “What I am telling you is very important. Can you remember all this?”

  “Yes,” said Andrek, greatly puzzled. “And hadn’t we better stand back a little?”

  Amatar laughed. “Nonsense. Raq and I talk to each other nearly every evening. The light is dimming, and it’s time for her to come out anyhow.”

  Andrek watched in horrified fascination as the great spider crawled cautiously out of the web-cone.

  “She senses you,” said the girl. “I’ll tell her who you are.” She vibrated the web strand lightly with the ridges of her fingertip. The hairy creature hesitated a moment, then walked daintily across the web and into the girl’s waiting palm. She stroked the bristly back with the forefinger of her other hand, and then began to croon in a low-pitched melody. After a few seconds the spider started up in apparent alarm, but soon relaxed.

  “What was all that?” asked Andrek in wonder.

  “I told her that the time had come for her to leave the web and go with you.”

  “You … what?”

  Their eyes locked for a moment, and in that moment the radiance and gaiety left her face, and her eyes looked tired and drawn. “Jim, darling,” she said quietly, “I cannot explain. Just do it.”

  “Yes, of course.” He understood nothing—except that he was in grave danger, and that Amatar knew about it, and was bending her strange witchery to his protection.

  “Open your case,” commanded the girl. “Ah, the decoder chamber is empty. Just the thing. Foam-lined, and she will just fit. There. Close it up.”

  “We’ll be gone a long time,” said Andrek. “I don’t think there’ll be any bugs on the ship. What’ll I feed her?”

  “There is a way.” She showed him a tiny black case in the hollow of her palm. “This will help feed her. Don’t open it now—just put it away. You will understand what to do when the time comes.” She continued, almost cheerfully. “You see how nicely it works out? In a week, the gardeners would kill her. You have saved her life. Perhaps she can return the favor. And now, shall we go in to dinner?”

  8. OF RITORNEL—AND ANTIMATTER

  The banquet table was a hollow twelve-sided “ring.” In theory, Andrek knew the twelve sides represented the “magic” numbers of the Aleans, and the ring was the symbol of Ritornel. Like most govern
ment compromises it pleased no one, and actually infuriated its intended beneficiaries. Nevertheless, the council dined here every evening, each councilor inviting such of his aides as might be useful in concluding the day’s galaxy-wide business. Andrek had joined the group many times in months past. Generally, there were distinguished visitors from other star systems within the Home Galaxy (their size, shape, and digestive systems permitting), and occasionally even guests from one of the other galaxies that formed the Node Cluster. In fact (as Andrek recalled) the mythbook taught that similar visitors had imported the religions of both Alea and Ritornel into Goris-Kard from the Node Galaxies centuries ago, long before the Great Wars with Terror.

  As he sat down, he exchanged greetings with the guests on either side: Phaera, a priestess of Ritornel, whom he knew slightly, and of course Ajian Vang, by now a familiar, if disquieting, face in Great House circles. While the first course was served, Andrek glanced idly around the table, starting with Amatar, seated about one-third the table circumference to the right. She was chatting freely with two handsome young priests, an Alean on her right and a man of Ritornel on her left. Andrek suppressed a scowl and didn’t even bother to look down at the talk-panel in front of him for their names. Sweeping back to his left, he glanced again at Amatar’s father, Oberon of the Delfieri, who was talking earnestly to a Ritornellian physicist—of the highest class, as evidenced by the resplendent gold braid on his blouse. Kedrys stood next to the scientist, finishing up a fruit cup. Over his dinner jacket he wore a silken apron, especially designed by Amatar.

  Andrek glanced again at Oberon. This man fascinated him.

  Oberon, last of the Delfieri, although a man of but medium height, was a commanding figure. He looked every inch the man whose ancestors had ruled the League for centuries and had made inevitable the defeat of Terror. His black eyes looked out from a face that seemed cast from bronze. The statuesque effect was enhanced, rather than marred (thought Andrek), by the broad scar running from his forehead, down his left cheek, along his neck, to disappear under the pliant blue fabric of his jacket. Under his jacket was outlined from time to time, as the great man shifted in his chair, some sort of girdle, hard and stiff. Andrek had heard different rumors about that girdle. Some said it was an anti-assassin belt; others insisted that Oberon’s chest had been crushed in a ghastly explosion in his youth, and that the girdle was in fact a substitute rib cage.