Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven

by Jennifer Roberson

  Aidan shrugged. "Then we will wait. It does not matter. Shona is not a woman much taken by ceremony… it will hardly blight her life if we wait a while longer to have a priest mumble the words."

  "A woman with sense." Brennan smiled faintly. "Of course Aileen will attempt to change her mind…" He let the words trail off. He could not avoid the topic he had tried diligently to close. "Those things you said to me… things you have said before."

  Aidan waited.

  "Are they true?"

  He was tired, confused, grieving. But no less than his father. "Did Ian say anything when he came back from the Solindish-Homanan border?"

  Brennan frowned. "Say anything?"

  "About me." Too clearly he recalled the Weaver's storm and Ian's shattered hip. "About anything that happened."

  "Only that you and he felt it best you go on alone." Brennan shrugged. "I did not argue. Ian would never have left you had he believed there might be danger, and you have never been the sort to seek it out." He paused. "Why? Is there something he should have said?"

  "No. He left it to me." Aidan scrubbed wearily at gritty eyes. He had tried to sleep, but could not. "Jehan—I told you once before about speaking with gods."

  The recoil was faint, but present. "Aye." Brennan's tone was guarded.

  "What if I said there was more to it than that? That I met with them personally?"

  Delicate objectivity; kivarna stripped it bare. "As you have with the Mujhars."

  "Aye. With all of them."

  Brennan sighed deeply, giving in. "I would say perhaps you are putting too much weight in the things you dream."

  Aidan smiled. "I have always dreamed. I have never dreamed about talking to gods, or with meeting them."

  Clearly unsettled, Brennan shifted in the throne, looking infinitely older. "Men do not talk with gods, Aidan. They talk to them, through petitions and prayers. For the shar tahls, it may be different… but even the Homanan priests say they serve out of faith and belief, not because of personal contact."

  Aidan's mouth hooked down in irony. "I am not a priest, jehan… I cannot say what I am, other than to agree the circumstances are quite unusual."

  Brennan's black brows met. "Aidan, this is not possible—"

  He said it matter-of-factly. "Then I must be mad."

  It stopped Brennan cold. He stared fixedly at his son, trying to read the truth. "But—with gods, Aidan?"

  "Only three of them. They assumed human form for it, so as not to frighten me senseless. And they spoke—they speak—in riddles, telling me there is a task I must perform, and sacrifices, and the fashioning of a chain." He paused. "That much I have done."

  Brennan stared blankly at the heavy chain depending from Aidan's belt. What he thought was clear: Aidan could have bought it, or had it made. That was the only explanation.

  Aidan sighed. "The task remains. But I wanted you to know, so you and jehana could stop worrying about me."

  "Stop worrying!"

  "I am not cursed after all; rather, I am blessed. Chosen for some specific purpose."

  "What specific purpose?"

  Aidan shrugged. "They have not shown or told me yet."

  Brennan struggled with comprehension. Objectivity lost. "You will be Mujhar one day," he growled. "That, I should think, is task—and blessing—enough. As for a special purpose, how many men are born to inherit a throne, least of all the Lion?"

  Aidan shook his head. "There is more. They know very well I am in line for the Lion—they made it so, did they not?—and yet they have made it very plain there is something else I must do."

  Slowly Brennan shook his head. "How can a Mujhar rule a realm when he converses with the gods as if they were mortal men?"

  "I would think it is something far out of anyone's ken," Aidan answered. "And perhaps a beneficial thing. If a man knew he acted with the blessings of the gods…" He shrugged, scratching an eyebrow, dismissing implications to increasing weariness. "It is so vague a thing…"

  "Aye," Brennan agreed heartily. He stared pensively at his son, clearly concerned as well as baffled. "How is it Aileen and I got you? You were never what we expected, not from the very first."

  Deep inside, something twisted. "And are you disappointed?"

  Brennan sat bolt upright. "No! Never that, Aidan—you are everything a man and woman could desire in a son. But you are—"

  "—different?" Aidan smiled, thinking of the last discussion with gods he had had. "But I have been clearly advised that it does not make me better."

  Brennan sighed and sat back in the Lion. He rubbed both eyes wearily, stretching the flesh out of shape. When he looked at Aidan again, dawn etched lines and shadows where there had been none before. "There will be more responsibility for you now. You are Prince of Homana. Men will seek you out, asking your opinions on all manner of things, and asking you to plead their cause before me. They will hound you night and day…" He smiled crookedly. "All the honor will be yours, but also the weight of it. And there are times it grows so heavy…" His hand closed over the massive black ring he now wore. "You will never again know the peace you have experienced up till today."

  Aidan thought about the "peace."

  "Things will never be the same. Prepare as best you can."

  Aidan stared hard at the ring glowing bloody on his hand. "Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu."

  Brennan shook his head. "Cheysuli i'halla shansu."

  Chapter Five

  « ^ »

  With meticulous precision, Aidan crossed his bedchamber to the chair beside the bed and sat down, settling himself slowly. The candle on the table was too bright; squinting, he leaned over and pinched it out.

  Shona closed the door. Mutely she went to him and reached down two-handed to remove the gold circlet he wore. "Here," she said calmly. " 'Twill ease the ache, I'm thinking."

  It did help. With the tight metal band gone, the tension lessened slightly. He sighed, slumping against the chair; sighed again as Shona set the circlet on the table and began to rub his temples. "A long two months," he murmured.

  " 'Tis over now," she said. "Niall has been laid to rest with all due ceremony… 'tis time the rest of you were able to breathe again."

  He had not thought of it like that. He had known only that the Homanans required daily ceremonies of passing for a full sixty days to honor the dead Mujhar; duly honored, Niall was formally interred in Homana-Mujhar's mausoleum, his dressed-stone sarcophagus resting beside Carillon's. There was none for Donal, who had given himself over to the Cheysuli death-ritual following the deaths of his lir, but Niall's passing had not required adherence to the stringent Cheysuli custom. His had required only multitudinous ceremonies designed to honor his memory, after the fashion of Homanans.

  But it was done. The sixty days, save for several hours, were now passed. And he could breathe again.

  Already his head felt better. Smiling, Aidan reached up and caught Shona's competent hands. "Now perhaps we can think about our ceremony."

  Shona shrugged, turning to perch on the arm of the chair. Because of the ceremony, she wore skirts instead of trews, and a gem-encrusted girdle spanning the width of her hips. "I'm not needing one of those to know we're bound."

  "No. But the Homanans prefer such things." He threaded idle fingers into the weave of her braid. "And it will give Deirdre something to do."

  The archness left Shona's tone. "Aye. Poor Deirdre… gods, what grief she feels, and yet she tends to everyone else. First to Brennan, who is a ship without a rudder; then to Ian, who tries to close himself off to what we're both of us knowing is a horrible emptiness."

  "He was the Mujhar's liege man."

  "Liege man, brother, boon companion—d'ye think the titles matter?" She pulled herself up and sat instead on the bed, but three paces away, tugging at the fit of her loose-cut gown. "He has spent his life serving our grandsire, according to love and to custom, and now that service is ended. What d'ye think he'll be doing?"

  Aidan ru
bbed a temple. The headache was receding, but a residue remained. '"We have been his whole life. He has neither cheysula nor meijha… I think he will stay with us, to give us whatever help he can."

  "And himself, as well." Shona sighed pensively, idly resettling the girdle. "But there is Deirdre, still. Will she stay? Or will she go?"

  "Back to Erinn?" Aidan shook his head. "Homana is her home. She has been here most of her life."

  "But Niall is dead, and her only daughter—and all of her grandchildren—live in Erinn."

  "Except for Blais." Aidan frowned. "I wish he had come. The Mujhar was his grandsire, also… and yet he did not come to any of the ceremonies. You know he must have heard—word has been carried throughout all of Homana."

  Shona's mouth hooked down sardonically. "Blais is not a man to do what others expect, or desire. 'Tis a stubborn skilfin he is—likely he heard, but chose not to come."

  "He would have been welcomed."

  "Would he? He is the traitor's son."

  Aidan shifted restlessly. "Likely he would find less welcome among the Cheysuli than the Homanans. The Homanans care little enough about Teirnan—what did he do to them? His heresy has to do with his own race. It is a Cheysuli concern."

  "Aye, well… likely Blais had his reasons." Shona eyed him attentively. "Your head is better."

  "Aye."

  "Good. Then you won't be minding a walk."

  "A walk?" Aidan frowned. "It is late. I thought we would go to bed."

  "We'll do that after," she said. "There's something I want to see. Before, I didn't ask because 'twasn't fitting, in light of Niall's death. But now there's nothing to hinder it." She stood expectantly, tugging at rucked up skirts and the binding of the girdle. "I want to see the Womb."

  Aidan's brows rose. "The Womb of the Earth?"

  Shona nodded. "I've heard all about it. My mother told me, and others… about the oubliette beneath the floor of the Great Hall, and all the marble lir."

  Aidan looked at the bed a moment, thinking about sweet oblivion and an end to a nagging headache. But Shona was due an introduction to her heritage on any terms she liked, and he saw no reason to refuse. His head was better; nodding, he rose and gestured her out of the room.

  "No dogs," he warned.

  She cast him a dark look. "I've left them all in my chamber."

  "Good. If you want to meet the lir, you can do it without dogs."

  Shona shouldered open the door. " 'Tis only because they like me better that you resent them."

  "I do not resent your dogs. Only that there are so many—do you know how little room there is left to me when they try to sleep on my bed?"

  Shona preceded him out the door, kicking skirts aside. The change in attire did nothing to hide long-legged strides. "They sleep on my bed, boyo, since you've banished them from your chamber."

  "They come anyway, whenever they can. Just yesterday four of them had nested—"

  " 'Tis because they smell me there. But if you like, I can sleep in my own bed." Shona headed down the staircase, yanking skirts out of the way.

  "No. But we do have kennels."

  "They'll fight with your hounds."

  "I have no hounds. They belong to Homana-Mujhar." Aidan followed a step behind, taking care not to step on her heels or the hem of her skirts. "I know you love them, meijhana—"

  "Aye." Her tone was final.

  "—but could you perhaps treat them as dogs? The servants are complaining about the hair, and bones always underfoot, and the other things underfoot."

  "The pups are near to broken."

  "And do you intend to keep them all?"

  Shona continued down the stairs in silence. When she reached the bottom, she stopped, waiting for Aidan. "No," she said at last. "But 'tis hard to give them up."

  "I know, but—"

  "They'll go," she said fiercely. "Not all, but some of them. 'Tis what I breed them for… to improve the lines, and to sell them. Already I have offers."

  "For all of them?" he asked hopefully.

  Shona's scowl was black. "For some of them," she said. "Some of them I'm keeping."

  It was a beginning. Aidan let it pass and gestured her to continue. "The Great Hall," he said. "The entrance is there."

  When they reached the silver doors, Aidan took a torch down from one of the corridor brackets and carried it within, spilling haphazard illumination across the floor. Only hours before, the hall had been full of kin and high-ranking Homanans, all gathered in Niall's name; now the hall was emptied of life entirely, except for themselves.

  Shona paused inside as the door swung shut. " 'Tis different." She glanced upward. "They've taken down all the black banners—all the wreaths." Slowly she turned in a circle. "They've taken away everything of the mourning ceremonies."

  "The mourning is concluded." Aidan fell silent, then amended the declaration. "The official mourning is concluded,' now begins the reign of a new Mujhar."

  Shona peered the length of the hall. "In this light, the Lion is malevolent."

  "In any light," Aidan muttered, then carried the torch toward the firepit. "The one on the Crystal Isle was much more benevolent."

  "D'ye think so?" Shona followed. "Blais and I decided it was naught but a bit of wood, fashioned for vanity. There was no life to it." She watched as Aidan mounted the rim of the firepit and began kicking aside coals. When he handed her the torch, she took it amenably and held it so he could see. "Do you know, they might have made it a bit more easy to reach the stairs… why did they bury the opening here?"

  Aidan continued to rearrange the contents of the firepit, waving his hands at drifting ash. "Originally the firepit did not extend so far. Cheysuli built Homana-Mujhar centuries ago—at that time there was no need for hiding anything. But when they decided to give the Lion back to the Homanans, the firepit was extended to cover the opening to the staircase." He paused, modulating his tone carefully. "It was thought wisest to obscure the Jehana's Womb, so no defilement was possible."

  "D'ye think—?" She broke it off. "Aye. They would have. My mother has told me how bloodthirsty were the Homanans in the days of the qu'mahlin." She moved as Aidan gestured her aside, then marveled as he caught hold of the iron ring attached to the hinged plate set almost flush in the floor. " 'Tis no wonder they never found it, is it? Buried like this…"

  Aidan gathered every ounce of his strength and levered the plate up, then eased it down against the firepit rim. Stale air rushed out of the opening, causing the torchlight to gutter and dance. But after a moment it stilled, and flame bloomed afresh.

  "Safe," he murmured, and took the torch back from Shona. "Stay close behind me, meijhana. If the stairs are damp, they can be dangerous."

  Shona's tone was dry. "Aye. I'd not be knowing aught of such a thing, island-born as I am."

  "I meant because of your skirts. You're not knowing much about them." Aidan cast her a bright glance, then started down the shallow stairs, thrusting the torch before him. The staircase was cut directly out of solid stone, pitched steep and narrow. He had been told the stairs numbered one hundred and two; for the first time in his life, he counted.

  "Gods," Shona breathed "how deep do we go?"

  Her voice echoed oddly from behind. "Not so deep," he answered. "Not so deep as the Womb itself."

  Shona said nothing else until they reached the bottom. The ending was abrupt and without warning, in a small closet, until, Aidan found the proper keystone and pressed. A portion of the wall grated on edge, turning; blackness gaped before them.

  Torchlight spilled into the vault, caressing veins of gold and the smooth ivory silk of polished marble. From out of the shadows lir leaped, breaking free of marble bonds, tearing wings and beaks and claws out of stone. Wolf, bear, mountain cat; hawk, falcon, eagle. And countless other lir, twisted this way and that, as if once they had lived to walk the earth or ride the skies.

  "Gods—" Shona breathed.

  "Lir," Aidan responded.

  "Look at all
of them…" Shona leaned forward, edging toward the vault. "Can we go in?"

  "Aye. Beware the oubliette."

  She looked. In the center of the vault, half-shrouded in distorted torchlight, spread the nothingness of the Womb. A flawlessly rounded hole, rimmed with rune-scribed marble, dropping straight down into the depths of the earth itself. The oubliette was three paces equidistant from the four lir-worked walls.

  She was in awe, but not fear. Shona took two steps inside the vault, then turned back. He saw comprehension in her eyes, and a vast, abiding acknowledgment. She was, as he was, Cheysuli, child of the gods, born of the earth and the wind and the sky; born to pride and power and magic.

  Shona smiled. She put out her hand, and he took it. Two steps and he was beside her, within the vault housing the Womb; together they gazed on the fir, marveling at the artistry that made them so alive, so vibrant within the stone. Even the ceiling was worked with lir of all shapes and sizes, struggling to burst free. In the distorting torchlight, all of them seemed to lean toward the open door, as if longing to exit the vault. As if they could, given leave. Given the power to do so.

  Aidan shivered. Shona laughed softly and squeezed his hand. "Aye. I feel it, too. D'ye see? Each of them means to go."

  He felt curiously distant. "One day, each of them will."

  "What?"

  He shook himself. "What?"

  "What you said, Aidan. 'One day, each of them will.' " Shona stared at him. "What were you meaning by that?"

  "I said that?"

  "Just now." She frowned. "Have you forgotten already?"

  He shivered again, glancing around. "It is this place. I feel it in my bones. A cold, deep darkness…" He peered over the edge of the oubliette without moving so much as a toe. "There is a story that one of our kinsmen threw himself into the Womb."

  She was properly horrified. "Down there?"

  "Aye. Carillon."

  "But—Carillon was Mujhar." Shona's tone was puzzled. "If he threw himself into the Womb, how did he become Mujhar? Did he not die?"

  "Not then. Supposedly he became Mujhar because he threw himself into the Womb." Aidan frowned, peering around the vault. "They say at one time it was how a true Mujhar was judged worthy. He went in a child and came out a man; went in a prince, came out a king. He was born of the Jehan." Aidan looked at her, marking her expression. "It is one of the stories, Shona. I doubt there is truth to it."