Now he sought the Idol of the Beasts, and travelled to the isolated cave where he dwelt. The location of Shamsara's cave was no secret. The trick was to reach it without starving or freezing to death along the way. The wilderness did not agree with Blade. So far he had bashed his head on a low branch and stubbed his toes on roots several times, and each night the battle to light his pile of twigs and leaves became more infuriating. Twice he had hurled the offending tinderbox into the bushes, then spent time-glasses searching for it, which soured his mood further. The only redeeming fact was that it always worked when he found it.
The cries of wild beasts often disturbed his sleep, and at times the stealthy approach of soft footsteps. No animal had ventured close enough for him to see it, however, and he did not fear them. Any that attacked him would regret it. He sighed a cloud of steam, then smiled as he recalled Lilu's tender care while he recovered from his wounds. She had forgotten the futility of trying to sneak up on him while he slept, and he had taken some pleasure from startling her whenever she attempted it. Once he recovered, the time had dragged past, each day a test of his patience.
Blade threw away the tea's dregs and stuffed the cup into his bag. Rising to his feet, he packed away his belongings, stamped out the fire and saddled his horse. His nape hair prickled, and all his internal alarms jangled as he sensed a presence behind him. He whirled, his hands on the hilts of the daggers in his belt.
An old man stood there, clad in a robe made from fur and feathers. Shamsara's warm smile split the white beard that sprouted from his weathered visage.
Blade relaxed with a soft snort, frowning. "Shamsara. How in Damnation do you do that?"
The Idol's smile broadened. "Oh, I am good at sneaking up on people, although you are more difficult than most."
"You were not there a moment ago."
"No, I was not."
"Magic?"
He shrugged. "You could call it that, I suppose."
Blade glanced around at the collection of animals that always accompanied the Idol. This time his friends were a fox, a crow, a squirrel and a goat, but those were just the visible ones. Blade knew he had a variety of smaller friends secreted amongst his clothes.
"Where is he?"
Shamsara's brows rose. "Who? Oh, him. Patience, Conash."
"I have been patient all winter. Now I want the reward you promised me, for the services I rendered. I did as you asked."
"An excellent service it was too, carried out to the letter."
"So was it a lie?"
Shamsara shook his head. "No, it was not a lie. But you will have to be patient a little longer. I cannot summon him out of the air, you know. As with most beasts, he will be born in the spring."
"You mean he is not born yet?"
"I spoke to you last summer, did I not?"
Blade nodded.
"Did you expect him to be born in the autumn, or the winter?"
The assassin sighed, his shoulders sagging. "How much longer must I wait?"
"You know the answer to that."
Blade turned away. "At least two moons."
"Even then, he will be very young. Most familiars do not make contact until they are fully grown."
The assassin scowled. "I am not waiting that long."
"No, I suppose not. But I have something to fill your time while you wait."
"What? Another task?"
"Not exactly." Shamsara came closer, and Blade turned to face him again. The Idol gestured to the campsite. "Perhaps you should offer me some tea?"
Blade pulled a wry face. "I have just put out the damned fire."
"Then light it again. And let your horse free to eat some grass, he is hungry."
Blade struggled with the tinderbox until Shamsara took it from him and struck fat sparks into the tinder, starting a blaze. The assassin banged a pot of water onto the fire and sat beside it, drawing up his legs. Shamsara sank down next to him, a little too close for Blade's comfort, and smoothed his robe. The assassin glared into the fire, refusing to look at Shamsara. The Idol's presence filled the forest with a strange serenity, and animals emerged from their hiding places to bask in his proximity. Shamsara smiled and stroked them. The fox lay down nearby, and the goat wandered off to munch on a bush.
"So, what do you want of me now?" Blade demanded.
Shamsara sighed and turned to him, holding out his hand. "Give me your hand."
After a moment's hesitation, Blade placed his hand in the Idol's warm grip. Serenity flowed into him so strongly that he tried to snatch it back again, but Shamsara held on. Blade could not recall a time when the Idol had ever touched someone, and found the contact unsettling. He raised his eyes to meet the Idol's warm, forest-green gaze, fighting the urge to free himself. Shamsara closed his eyes and bowed his head, his fingers tightening on Blade's hand.
"So much hatred. So much rage. How do you live with it?"
"I have no choice."
"You do. You can let it go. In fact, you must."
"Why?"
"How can you love anything when your heart is filled with hate?"
Blade's frown deepened. "I do not."
"Not even your lovely, devoted wife? Did you lie to her?"
"I saved her life."
Shamsara opened his eyes and studied the assassin. "Why?"
"Because she is the Regent."
"A lie."
"Because I did not want to be Regent."
"A half-truth."
Blade glared at him. "Because she is my wife."
"Another half-truth."
"Because I should... could have saved her familiar, had I got to Contara sooner."
"Guilt?"
Blade shook his head. "Regret."
"True. But not enough to risk your life."
"I care nothing for my life."
"A lie, since I promised you Rivan."
"What is this, a test?"
Shamsara inclined his head. "Of a sort."
"What is the point?"
"I can give you back Rivan, and shall, but you may not be able to keep him."
Blade tried to tug his hand free, but Shamsara still would not let go. "You think he will shun me?"
"Unless you love him."
"I shall."
Shamsara looked down at Blade's hand, tracing the white scars left by his daggers. "You are afraid of love, Conash. The thought of caring for someone terrifies you. They may die, or leave, and thus hurt you. That is what you fear above all things, and yet, by avoiding it, you hurt yourself."
"Rivan will not leave me."
"He did once before."
"He was killed."
Shamsara nodded. "Yes."
"I was a child then. Now I can protect him. Besides, the war is over, and I intend to retire. There will be no danger."
"There is always danger."
"This is not your concern. It is between him and I. He will not shun me."
"Conash." The Idol spoke Blade's name like a caress, his eyes aglow with love. "You were such a joyful child, so gentle and full of love. Tinsharon has wept for you."
"Then why did he abandon me?"
"He did not. He has been at your side always, guiding you, helping you and saving you."
Blade's eyes glinted. "I hate him."
"He knows. That is why he is allowing this miracle to happen. This is his reward, his way of showing you that he loves you."
"If he loved me, he would not have let me suffer."
"Everyone suffers. Some more than others, it is true. But it is a test, not a curse."
Blade jerked his hand from the Idol's and jumped up, walked away a few paces and swung around again. "He used me!"
"No."
"I am his instrument, remember? He made me what I am, and now you want me to change?"
"Yes, he made you what you are. He gave you many gifts, of speed and skill, of intelligence and beauty. He took a child damaged by fate and made him into a legend. Did you think you did that all by yourself?"
"You are the miracle, Conash. You are a living testament to his power." Shamsara stood up and spread his arms. "He gave you the gift of beauty that made Talon take you in. He guided Lilu to you when you lay dying in the gutter, and Jayon in the desert. He gave you strength and speed, and the allure that you use so wrongly."
"He took an innocent child and stripped him of all he had, turned him into a killer who knows only hatred."
"No, the Cotti did that."
Blade snorted. "And he allowed them to."
"He could not prevent it."
"He is God! He controls everything."
"No."
The assassin swung away, his hands curling into fists. "What does he want of me now? Why do you plague me with this?"
"He wants you to be happy. Rivan is his gift to you, but you also have a wife, whom you love."
"No!" Blade whipped around. "She is nothing to me. An irritating simpleton who eats me with her eyes. I cannot bear her company."
"Because you feel inadequate."
"I am inadequate."
"She does not think so."
"She is a damned imbecile."
Shamsara sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. "I can see that this is going to be more difficult than I thought."
"If you are going to try to convince me that I feel something for Chiana, it is impossible."
"If I do not, Tinsharon will."
Blade eyed the Idol. "How?"
"Your wife has refused to see you, has she not?"
"So?"
"How does that make you feel?"
Blade shrugged. "It amused me at first."
"And now?"
"I do not care."
The Idol shook his head. "A lie."
"All right, it annoys me. I saved her life twice and killed Endor to avenge her familiar, and she did not even thank me."
Shamsara smiled. "You killed Endor because you wanted to."
"All right, but I saved her life."
"She wanted to die."
"Only the first time."
"She still wants to die."
Blade snorted and turned to gaze through the forest at his horse, which grazed in a grassy clearing some distance away. "She is a fool."
"No, she is not. You know how she feels without her familiar, but you do not know how it feels to love someone who scorns you. In a moon's time, her father will die. She has no other family, except you. Without you, she will be truly alone. Her father visits her often, and writes her letters."
"I did not scorn her. I told her what she wanted to hear."
"You told her the truth, as a lie."
"I lied to save her."
Shamsara spread his hands. "She will have great need of your comfort when her father dies."
Blade turned to face the Idol, frowning. "She has Kerra."
"Kerra is not her child. It is not enough."
"And I am? A half man? A cold-blooded killer? I can give her nothing."
"You can give her the one thing she craves above all else. Your love."
"No." Blade shook his head. "I cannot. I have none."
"If that is true, Rivan will shun you."
Blade stared at the Idol, trapped by his own words. The conversation had come full circle, and he had fallen into Shamsara's trap. He opened his mouth, raising a finger, then closed it and turned away.
After a moment's consideration, he remarked, "Very clever. But Rivan is different. He is my familiar, not a wife I did not want."
"If you can love Rivan, you can love your wife. You already do, so there is no use denying it. I have looked into your heart, Conash. I have seen what is there. A spark burns within a wall of ice, buried under a sea of blood and bitterness. You hope to snuff it out by denying it, but you cannot."
"Spare me the poetry, you are not good at it."
Shamsara sighed. "Minna-Satu realised that it was possible. That is why she had you wed Chiana. Lilu has glimpsed the good in you, so did Jayon. Kerrion, I am afraid, has not seen it, but he likes you anyway, strange though that may be. Why do you suppose so many people like you so much? Some even love you."
"They are dimwits, and they are fooled by the charm you say Tinsharon gave me. I would slit their throats without a second's remorse."
"Would you?" Shamsara smiled. "You have thought up many plausible excuses for your good deeds, have you not?"
"I have done nothing I was not paid to do, or which benefited me in some way."
"So you have convinced everyone, including yourself. But what do you see when you look within your heart?"
"Nothing. Emptiness, darkness, coldness."
The Idol nodded, sat down beside the fire and added tea leaves to the bubbling water. Blade waited for him to continue the argument, but Shamsara poured himself a cup of golden brew and added a little sugar. He blew on it, then sipped it, and Blade sat opposite and poured himself a cup.
"So have you no argument for that?" the assassin enquired after a lengthy silence that Shamsara seemed disinclined to break.
"How can I argue with what you see within yourself? It is what you want to see, and so you shall. Only you can break the wall of ice that guards your heart, but you are afraid. Understandably, after all the hurt you have suffered. Your sister could have helped you, but she could not accept what you were forced to become, and that only made it worse. Then when you saw her die -"
"Is there a point to this endless prattle of yours?"
Shamsara nodded. "What will happen if Rivan shuns you?"
"He will not."
"Let us say, for argument's sake, that he does."
Blade stared into the fire through the steam rising from his tea. "I shall kill myself."
"Ah, yes, your other pastime. How many times have you failed in that regard?"
Blade shrugged, sipping his tea. "I have lost count."
"Do you think this time you will actually pluck up the courage to shed your own blood?"
"I think so."
"That would be a shame." The Idol sighed. "A pitiful end to a legend, do you not think?"
"Not really. Who would know? I shall simply disappear. It will remain a mystery to all."
Shamsara snorted. "You are a fool. You can be happy, as Tinsharon wishes, or at the very least content, if you will only allow it. Have you not wallowed in self-loathing long enough?"
Blade smiled. "That is my other pastime."
"I know. But why?"
"I would have thought that was fairly obvious."
"Not to me, or to the people who love you. Tell me what it is that makes you hate yourself above all others."
Blade turned to gaze at the Idol, his slight smile widening into what he knew was an expression of singular sweetness that did not reach his eyes. "Others only see what is on the outside, what I want them to see, and they listen to my lies as if they were truths. But I know what is within me, and that is what I hate."
"The emptiness?"
"Yes." Blade's eyes drifted to the fire, and his smile faded. "The hopelessness. I am useless as anything but a killer, and that part of me I hate too. Perhaps if I enjoyed it, my life would have some meaning, some purpose, but I do not."
"If you did, you would indeed be a creature worthy of loathing."
"If I was capable of emotions, I would feel pity and compassion, but that part of me died with my family. It is gone forever."
Shamsara shook his head. "No, it is not dead, but so long as you hate yourself you will never be able to find it again. You have to let go of the hatred."
"I cannot."
The Idol put down his empty cup and rose to his feet, his cheerful visage fallen into lines of deep sadness. Blade stood up, and a hush fell over the woods. The fox jumped up and trotted away into the shrubbery, and the crow on Shamsara's shoulder spread its wings and gave a harsh cry. Blade's horse raised its head and walked towards them in answer to the Idol's sum
mons, and Shamsara put a hand on Blade's shoulder.
"Tinsharon loves you, Conash. Your hatred was given to you by those who made you what you are. That is your curse. Nurture it at your peril, for if you do not cast it out in time, it will suck the life from you, and all his gifts will not save you. Go to your wife and tell her more of what you consider to be lies. See what happiness a few words and gestures can bring her, and then look well within yourself. There is hope."
"For what? Even if I did as you ask, what use am I to her?"
Shamsara closed his eyes with a martyred expression, releasing Blade to rub his brow. "Only you could spoil my exit." He opened his eyes and gazed at the assassin. "For the answer to that question, apply to your wife. She will tell you."
"And what about me? It may make her happy to have me around as a lap dog, but I will not like it."
Shamsara sighed. "Is there anything you do like, apart from drowning your sorrows in wine?"
"To be left alone."
"No, that is not what you want. It is what you think you deserve. Cast out the hatred, and you will not want to be alone."
Blade frowned, eyeing the Idol. "My hatred is all that has sustained me. Without it, I shall have nothing."
"It sustained you through the dark days of your loss and the harsh times that followed, but it will not bring you joy, and ultimately it will destroy you."
Shamsara turned away, raising a hand in a brief gesture of farewell as he walked into the forest. Before Blade could think of a suitable retort, the trees had swallowed him. The assassin sat down by the fire again, pondering the seer's words while he stared into the flames. If it was even possible to do as Shamsara asked, what would he be left with? Without his hatred, he would be utterly empty, something he had already experienced upon his retirement. Then the drug in the tattoo ink had stripped away his hatred and rage, and he had fallen into a deep depression that only copious amounts of wine had alleviated somewhat.
Chiana had dragged him from it by locking him in the dungeons until his anger had stirred within him again, and had not released him until he had regained his cold rage once more. How could he cast aside that which had been a part of him for thirty years, and what if he found nothing to replace it? It seemed like a recipe for disaster, and not one he was willing to court at this time. The old seer did not understand him, and could not plumb the depths of his soul, where the scars of his pain remained, only half healed by time.
The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector Page 8