The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels )
Page 27
“There's fresh news from Jenoza,” said Feernax, “of fighting between the forces of Oraz and Chiraz.”
“This could be the moment,” began Forollkin, “to widen the split by negotiating with Chiraz...”
Neither of them had heard the temple bell, so Kelinda intervened. “It is time for the noon service. We should all give thanks for the safe return of our travelers. Then they can eat and rest.”
Everyone but Ellandellore walked down to the settlement. Craftsmen and women among the exiles had begged wood and stone from Ellerinonn to build and adorn a small temple to Zeldin and Imarko. Many priests and priestesses had fled persecution by the Brigands of Fangmere. One pair celebrated the noonday service exactly as it would have been carried out in the temples of the Nine Cities but Viroc was burned, Joze struggled to raise enough tribute, Hildimarn was deserted, and Ephaan was occupied by an enemy fleet: Tryfis, Montra-Lakon, Yxis and Far-Tryfarn suffered under the tyranny of usurpers, and Galkis itself was no longer golden.
As he joined the crowd assembling on the grass in front of the temple, Forollkin thought of the stifling rituals of the Inner City he had grown up in. His son would never veil his face, never learn to fear the Ceremony of Presentation, never, by him, be taught to trust in a Gentle God. “How can I trust?” he had so often cried to Kelinda. “Kerish trusted Zeldin and believed in our quest, but he didn't come back. I, who wasn't certain about anything, I am alive and have so much, but Kerish never came back.” She had only once asked him if he believed that his brother was dead. He had answered her honestly, “I don't know. There was a terrible day, not long after we left Viroc, when I felt that I had lost him, but sometimes he feels so close...”
The officiating priest read a passage from The Book of Prophecy and then spoke of Zeldin's place in the circle of time. “Do not think that because Zeldin knows our future, we have no part in making it. He gave us our choices, he watches us choose, and he has already seen the results of our choosing.”
His thoughts racing ahead to decisions waiting to be made, Lord Commander Forollkin hardly listened. Nor did he join in the hymn of thanksgiving: “Lady of the Stars, you cleanse us with your tears: Lord of Gentleness you have broken us with your love so that we may know that we are not whole...” Forollkin did smile as his son's pure treble rose unselfconsciously above the other singers. Perhaps he had inherited his uncle's voice as well as his eyes. Looking into those eyes, he sometimes found it difficult to believe that this was his son.
After the final prayer, food was brought out to be shared, just as in a village temple. The King of Ellerinonn rejoined them then and greeted Forollkin. They exchanged news but, as always, there was a coolness between them. When the exiles had first arrived in Ellerinonn to find Elmandis dead, Forollkin had asked the new King over and over again to tell him what had happened to Kerish. “He completed his quest,” was all that Ellandellore would ever say.
Now the Sorcerer-King crouched down beside Kerish-lo-Kelin to share his portion of honey-bread. After listening for a while as his father talked about stopping at Gultim and how happy Prince Hemcoth seemed to be with Kelinda's niece, the little boy interrupted.
“I played Hide and Seek this morning, just like Uncle Kerish did once.”
“How did you know that?” demanded Forollkin.
“I told him,” answered Ellandellore quietly, “I thought it best that your son should know the truth about me.”
“Oh I knew about the wicked games. Sometimes I hear the drowned people crying.” Kerish suddenly looked frightened. “Don't let me play games like that,” he implored. “Please don't let me!”
Forollkin picked up the little boy and hugged him tightly. “Of course not. I'll scold you soundly if you try.”
“Like the ugly man,” whispered Kerish, too softly for his father to hear.
Ellandellore stood up. “I must get back to Tir-Rinnon.”
Kerish twisted round in his father's arms. “When I visit you next, will you teach me how to be a king?”
“When you're a bit older,” promised Ellandellore unwisely.
“How much older? When I'm seven?”
The sorcerer looked helplessly at Kelinda.
“When you are twelve,” she said firmly, and passed a plate of bread and cheese to Forollkin.
“That's a long time, but I'll remember. When I'm twelve, I'm going to Tir-Rinnon to learn to be a King, for a bit.”
“You like to plan your life do you?” asked Ellandellore, “What do you think you'll be doing when you are thirteen or fifteen or seventeen?”
“When I'm seventeen I'm going to Galkis to look for Uncle Kerish. What is a jungle like? Is it like your orchards?”
“No,” Ellandellore's voice shook a little, “it's much fiercer and wilder.”
“I think I shall like that.”
Ellandellore kissed the child goodbye and walked alone to the sea shore where his black boat waited.
When Forollkin had finished his meal he stretched and sighed.
“I suppose there are a thousand and one tasks waiting for me?”
“The list is as long as you are tall,” said Kelinda, “but first we are going for a walk to see Kerish's empire.”
Protesting mildly, Forollkin was marched across the island, his sea-boots crushing spring flowers with each step.
“You are not to laugh!” hissed Kelinda, as they reached the banks of a small stream.
“You said we had to build Galkis again, so I have,” announced Kerish-lo-Kelin. “Come and look.”
He had dug a large and satisfyingly muddy puddle to represent the Sea of Az. Shallow channels, filled from the stream, stood for the four rivers: the Jenze, the Zin, the Zin-Gald and the Gal. The mountains were made with heaps of stone and he had marked each of the Nine Cities with a single bright pebble. Someone had lent him a gold bracelet to put around the stone that was supposed to be the city of Galkis. Flowers had been jammed into the ground to make the Empreror's garden, but they were already withering. Further south, he had planted leafy twigs and a handful of scarlet feathers,
Forollkin allowed himself to be led round and patiently listened to rambling explanations of each feature.
“I like the feathers,” he said, “they make your jungle look dangerous.”
“I'm not sure if the feathered people are dangerous,” whispered Kerish. “They frighten me in my dreams but I don't think they mean to.”
“No, I expect not,” agreed Forollkin absently.
He was watching his wife and marveling at the tenderness of her smile as she looked down on the pebble cities. What had the real Galkis ever given her but pain? Yet of all the exiles, she best seemed to know what was worth saving from their lost empire. If she had passed that quality on to her son, perhaps there could be no exile.
“And this is the silver-white beach where our Lady met Zeldin,” Kerish was saying. “I couldn't get it very shiny. Do you think it matters?”
“Not if you tried,” answered Forollkin.
He linked hands with Kelinda and Kerish and the three of them walked back together to the new city.
The Book of the Emperors: Prophecy
And Jezreen cried out to the Emperor and to all his court, “Do you still not understand why Imarko died for us? Do you think that the answer can be found here, in this age of splendor? No. Blessed are they who are born in shadow for they must seek light. Weep for Golden Galkis in the hour of her fall. Weep and then rejoice; for she shall rise again when each man's heart will be his Emperor and each man's soul a Golden City.”
The End
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