Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven

by Jennifer Roberson

  Sean shook his head as Aidan glanced at him. " 'Tis something every man feels," he said, "and something every woman faces." His brown eyes were warm and bracing, and Aidan realized the kivarna lived in Sean as strongly as in his daughter. "You'll do well enough, my lad. And so will my lass."

  Blais came out on deck, leaning against the rail. "Are we sailing today?"

  "Skilfin," Shona muttered, then turned abruptly to embrace her mother.

  Aidan climbed up the plank. The big male wolfhound greeted him with a whine. "She will be here in a moment." He patted the narrow head.

  "Or two days from now," Blais amended.

  Aidan glared at his cousin. "She has every right to take as long as she likes. Erinn is her home… and yours, I'm thinking."

  Blais grinned. "An Erinnishman, is it? Aye, well—let her take her time. 'Tis indeed her home she's leaving… while I'm going to mine."

  Aidan was surprised. "You intend to stay in Homana?"

  Blais shrugged. " 'Twill depend on many things."

  "Such as your father?"

  Yellow eyes flickered. "A man has every right to seek out his jehan."

  Aidan smiled coolly. "A Cheysuli, is it? After all this time?"

  Blais sighed. "Aye. It is. And you should walk in my boots, cousin…" He thrust out one booted foot. "I have the hair, the eyes, the color, the lir—but no one in Erinn truly understands."

  "Keely might."

  "Keely does. 'Twas she who suggested I go."

  Aidan frowned his doubt. "Even knowing—"

  "—what my father is?" Blais shrugged. "She said that while she bore no affection for Teirnan of the a'saii, she was not blaming a son for desiring to know his jehan."

  Perhaps because she never desired to know her jehana, and felt guilty because of it. Aidan nodded. "A man has a right to know his father. But he may not like what he meets."

  Blais's expression was serious. "My mother never lied to me. I know what he did. I know what he wants to do. But I'm thinking 'tis only fair I hear his side of the story."

  Aidan granted him that. But he did not think it would last.

  Shona at last broke away from her kinfolk, hugging Riordan a final time, and walked straight-spined up the plank. Her expression belied nothing of what she was feeling, but Aidan knew. For all they promised to return as soon as was decently possible, such plans often changed. Keely herself had been home twice in twenty-two years, and not for fifteen of them. She knew as well as any the likelihood of seeing Shona any time soon was negligible.

  Blais still leaned against the rail. Like Shona, he stared down at the dock. Rory and Maeve and their children stood beyond Sean and Keely, with Rory dwarfing all but Sean; both sisters were crying. Of all the women, only Maeve's eyes were dry.

  Blais' jaw was taut. "She's not wanting me to go." Shona shrugged as the ship was secured to sail. "None of them wants us to go."

  "She less than most. She thinks I'll be joining my father." Shona's tone was hard. " 'Tis your decision, I'm thinking. To be a fool, or not."

  Blais looked at her. "He's not softened your tongue, has he?"

  Shona displayed her teeth. "He knows better than to try." Aidan lifted a hand as the ship slipped her mooring. On the dock, the eagles waved, from the shadow of their aerie.

  PART IV

  Chapter One

  « ^ »

  By the time the ship reached Homanan waters, eleven wolfhounds had become twenty-four. Blais spent much of his time secluded with his lir, locked away in private thoughts. And Shona and Aidan, reveling in the wind and the freedom and the magic of the kivarna, were almost sorry to see the end of the voyage draw near. They had come to prize the isolation of the vessel, knowing all too soon Aidan would face the increasing responsibilities of his title. They had spent weeks learning one another's likes and dislikes, in bed and out of it, and were not quite prepared to lose the privacy.

  And yet as the ship sailed into the harbor, it was Shona who clung to the rail and pointed to the mist-wreathed island so close to Hondarth. "Is that it?"

  "The Crystal Isle? Aye." Aidan leaned close to her. "The shar tahls teach us it is the birthplace of the Cheysuli; that the Firstborn appeared there, then went to Homana."

  Shona's expression was intent. " 'Tis where he took her."

  "Where who took—? Oh." Aidan clasped a rigid hand. "Aye. And where she killed him."

  Restless, Shona pulled away and paced two steps, then turned back, braid swinging, toward the island. "Strahan made this place over into an Ihlini domain. She said so."

  "For a time. No one lives there now… it was and always has been, save for two brief occupations, a significantly Cheysuli place."

  "Significantly," Shona muttered. "That's something I'm not knowing, with so much Erinnish blood…" She sighed, transfixed again by the mist-wreathed bump of land. "For so many years I prayed to be as my mother, able to talk to lir and take on any shape… but there was nothing. All I had was the kivarna."

  Aidan laughed. " 'Tis enough, I'm thinking."

  She flicked him an impatient glance, though a tiny smile acknowledged his purposeful lilt. "Could we go?"

  It startled him. "Now? But we are so close to the mainland—"

  "I'd like to go, Aidan. I know so much of what happened to my mother… and yet I've never seen any of the places I've heard so much about."

  Blais appeared from the bow of the ship, flanked by his ruddy wolf. Like Shona, he stared hard at the island. "If 'twas here we were born, as the shar tahls say, we all should see the place. 'Tis history, and tradition…" He flicked an ironic glance at Aidan. "Or are you so secure in your heritage you're needing no reminding?"

  Aidan understood very well the pointed jibe. Of them all, Blais had less reason to see the island. His Cheysuli father had turned his back on such things as tradition and heritage, forging his own renegade clan out of malcontents disturbed by too much change within the existing clans; yet if Blais wanted to go to the Crystal Isle, it indicated he at least wanted to weigh matters before deciding on a side.

  Something to be said for our arrogant kinsman…

  Aidan, giving in, turned to call the order to the captain, who in turn passed the orders along to his men. The ship heeled off of Hondarth and sailed toward the island instead.

  Curving white beaches stretched in either direction, blinding the eye in sunlight. Shona, Aidan, and Blais, accompanied by adult wolfhounds and appropriate lir, strode off the ship onto the crushed white shells. A path wound away from the beach toward the wooded interior. Through the trees they could see the glint of white stone here and there, bleached brilliant by sunlight.

  Shona directed the dogs up the beach, laughing as they romped, but then turned her attention to the path and its destination. "Where does it go?"

  "Undoubtedly to the palace." Aidan gestured toward the white mass only vaguely visible behind foliage and forest. "It was a true palace for decades, serving the Firstborn, but later fell into disuse. Carillon restored it as a prison-palace for his exiled queen, Electra, and then Strahan lived in it for a time, in hiding… but other than that it has not been truly inhabited for many years."

  "Why wait?" Blais asked lightly, and headed up the path toward the palace.

  Shona looked back to the hounds. All but the two bitches with litters and the new pups were present, splashing through surf and leaping upon one another. Seawater glistened on wiry coats, silver-gilt in the sunlight.

  "They have noses," Aidan reminded her. "They will find us if they get lonely."

  She gifted him with a sour scowl. "They were bred for sight, not smell."

  "Does it matter? If you like, I will have Teel keep an eye on them."

  She gave the pack of hounds another judicious look, considering, then struck out after Blais, leaving Aidan to catch up.

  The path to the palace was mostly overgrown, since it had been more than twenty years since anyone had tended the island, but Aidan and Shona found it less tedious than expected. Her
e and there a vine or branch was broken, testimony to Blais' earlier passage, and the white shell-and-stone path was layered with years of dirt, deadfall, and the unintended scatterings of animals. But it was easy enough to follow, and led directly to the big wooden gates in the bailey wall.

  "Here," Shona breathed. "She said she climbed up the gate, and over…" Slowly she walked through the opening left by a yawning gate leaf. "D'ye see? She said the iron studs allowed her purchase for bare feet."

  Aidan, following, looked at the gate. He would not want to climb it, himself. That Keely had, in the midst of a raging storm, to escape Strahan only underscored her determination.

  "And somewhere here is where Taliesin died. He got her free of the palace, and used his sorcery to keep Strahan at bay for a little…" Shona glanced around. "They must have come from there. D'ye see? A side door, mostly hidden…"

  Aidan, distracted, nodded. Something was impinging on his awareness. Something tugged at him, like a child on his father's tunic, trying to get his attention.

  "And then across here, to the gate… she got over and ran into the trees."

  Again he nodded. He was only vaguely aware of Shona's observations.

  "Do we go in here? Or in the front?"

  Aidan twitched shoulders. Something cool tapped his spine. "Wherever you like, meijhana."

  "Here, then. The way she came, with Taliesin." She paused. "Are ye coming, then?"

  Troubled, Aidan nodded and followed her across the cobbles to the narrow side door, little more than a wooden slat in the thick stone wall. Its hinges were rusted stiff, but Shona simply grasped the latch and tugged, undeterred by anything so tame as twenty years of disuse and neglect.

  Rust crumbled. So did hinges. The door fell away from the wall.

  "Agh—" Shona caught it, then grinned as Aidan swore and sucked at the ball of his thumb. His instinctive grab for the falling door had resulted in a shallow slice. "Wounded, are you?"

  He shrugged it away and levered the door against the wall as Shona peered into the interior. She sniffed. "I smell sorcery."

  "You smell mold and dust and dampness—and perhaps a cousin somewhat interested in annoying us."

  " 'Twasn't through here he came. The door was whole… besides, d'ye think he'd ever go in the side when there's a front way all the grander?"

  Aidan looked inside the entrance. "Probably not."

  "Go," she suggested, fisting him high on the shoulder.

  Teel? Aidan appealed.

  The raven's tone was amused. Mold and dust and dampness. And, somewhere, a cousin.

  But nothing more?

  Not here.

  It was not nearly as comforting as Aidan anticipated. 'Not here?' What did that mean?

  "Will you go?" Shona asked. "Or d'ye want me to go first?"

  Aidan sneezed. Mold and dust and dampness. "No," he muttered glumly, and went into the narrow corridor.

  It intersected with a wider corridor running in either direction. The floors were floured with dust. Heading deeper into the palace were two sets of footprints: man's boots, and a wolf's pawprints.

  "This way," Aidan suggested, and followed the marks in the dust.

  Eventually they reached a wide doorway that opened into a massive hall. The ceiling arched high overhead, intricately fan-vaulted, pale and delicately textured like an elaborate spun-sugar cake. The hall itself was rectangular, with arched windows cut through white stone high in the walls. Below each arched embrasure hung a faded banner. Window upon window, banner upon banner, dripping down lime-washed walls. The colors were muted by time, but the patterns remained discernible. Aidan, who knew his clan history, realized the banners were not of Cheysuli making, but of a much later time.

  "Carillon," he murmured. "He must have had them put here."

  "But would Strahan leave them here?"

  "As reminders of his victory? I think so." Aidan moved further into the hall, abreast of Shona, who walked with her head tipped back, throat stretched, so she could see the vaulted ceiling.

  Then she stopped. "Look at the columns!" Her voice echoed oddly. "All twisted into spirals—and the runes—"

  Aidan looked as she touched the nearest column. It was, as she said, twisted, spiraling up to the fan-vaulting. On either side of the ridge that marked the upward sweep of the spiral, runes had been chiseled deep into stone.

  "Can you read them?" she asked.

  Aidan studied the nearest chain of glyphs winding its way from floor to ceiling, higher than he could see. "Some of them," he said at last, reluctant to admit he knew too few of the symbols. "Something to do with asking the blessing of the gods, and the birth of the Firstborn—" Aidan, broke off, shivering. The flesh stood up on his arms.

  " ''Tis cold, " she agreed. "All this stone, and no fires—"

  "Not that," he muttered, then moved farther into the hall. "I imagine there were pelts, and furniture—" He broke off yet again, staring.

  "Aidan," Shona gasped.

  They had moved from behind a column, angling into the hall. Now the dais came into sight. They stood far to one side of it, nearly behind it; from their view all they could see was one side of dark wood, sweeping forward like haunches, and the upward curve of the back. It arched up, then over, forming a wooden canopy.

  "The Lion," Aidan blurted. And then, in relief, "No. No. This one is smaller, less elaborate…" He drew in a deep breath of relief. "Even the head is different. The jaws are not open—" He laughed, moving closer. "How could I—"

  And then he stopped dead, for there was movement in the throne.

  He thought, improbably, of yet another dead Mujhar, come to take him to task, to upbraid him for his failings. But there were none left. He had met with all he knew, those in his immediate ancestry. Those before Shaine did not matter, save for knowing their histories. Shaine had been the one most responsible for the plight of the Cheysuli, and for furthering the prophecy by forcing the Cheysuli to act.

  Shona laughed. The sound rang in the hall and blotted out the darkness. " 'Tis Blais—oh, gods, we should have known." And she took Aidan's hand and pulled him around the side of the dais.

  Blais, slumping negligently against the scrolled back, hooked a muscled, trew-clad leg over an armrest to dangle a boot. He arched one raven brow. "It suites me, I'm thinking."

  Shona made a derisive sound. "No more than me, ye skilfin."

  Aidan loosed his hand from Shona's and took two paces closer. The dark stone dais was low, barely raised above the floor, and the throne itself a much smaller version of the Lion in Homana-Mujhar, but it spoke to him nonetheless of majesty and magnificence; of power too long forgotten. Of things he needed to know, while knowing none of them.

  "D'ye want it?" Blais asked lightly. "Will you fight me for it?"

  Dimly, Aidan knew his cousin only jested. Blais was, for all his arrogance, a decent man, if uncommitted. Undoubtedly he jibed for the fun of it, no more; but to Aidan, transfixed by the throne, it whispered of heresy.

  He climbed the dais. Blais, so casually ensconced with his lir at his other foot, did not move. Not even when Aidan paused and put out a hand to touch the armrest.

  Its shape was a lion's foreleg, with a downward-curling paw forming the place for a hand. It was very like the Lion Throne in Homana-Mujhar in appearance, and yet Aidan was conscious of an entirely different presence. That throne had repudiated him. This one, somehow, did not.

  Blais uncoiled himself and stood. "There. 'Tis yours. You've more right than I, I'm thinking—at least, until I settle things with my father."

  Distantly: "Your jehan is a traitor. A heretic. He is kin-wrecked; do you wish to become tainted yourself?"

  Blais' tone hardened. He spoke in Old Tongue to match Aidan's unexpected change of languages. "My jehan, leijhana tu'sai, does not even know I exist. My jehana never saw fit to tell him she had conceived, or that she had borne me, before sailing off to Erinn with Rory Redbeard." He slipped back into Erinnish. "I'll do whatever I choose, kin-wrec
ked or no. 'Tis due the both of us."

  The wood was satiny. Aidan's kivarna spoke to him of tasks yet undone; of knowledge yet unlearned; of a people yet unborn. "Aye," he said quietly, answering Blais, and then took his hand away. He turned to face Shona. "Will you stay here? There is something I must do."

  She stared. "Now? Here? But—"

  "Will you stay?"

  Shona and Blais exchanged glances. Eventually she nodded. "I'll wait. Blais and I can argue about which chamber was used for what…" Her voice trailed off. "Are you well, Aidan?"

  "I have to go," he said.

  Shona pointed. "There is the door. And that way lies the ship—if you take too long, I'll be there."

  Grinning, Blais resettled himself in the throne. "And I'll be here. This beastie suits me well."

  "Skilfin," Shona muttered, but Aidan walked away from them both and heard nothing more of their wrangling.

  Chapter Two

  « ^ »

  Aidan walked out of the palace through the front doors, though hardly conscious of it. And then directly across the cobbled bailey to the open gates, thinking nothing of Keely's escape or Taliesin's death or even Strahan's defeat. Instead he thought of the flicker of awareness that guided him. It was not precisely kivarna, nor was it the lir-bond that gave him access to the earth magic. It was something older, something stronger… something rooted more deeply in the fabric of his life—and countless lives before him—that drew him out of the old Cheysuli palace, where another lion crouched, into the forested depths of the Crystal Isle.

  He heard a fluttering in the trees and glanced up to see Teel settling onto a branch. The raven's tone was almost too quiet for Teel. Too gentle.

  Are you certain this is the way you wish to go?