Shadow and Light

by Peter Sartucci

  He laughed and fended her off, glad to see her so much happier this tenday. Her morning sickness had finally passed and she glowed with health. She spun around again and splashed him anew, so he put down the rope, lunged to his feet, took the basket out of her hands and set it down, and kissed her. Her younger brother Attir and one of the cousins made mocking noises, which he ignored. When he and Maia both came up for air he asked her, “How do you know?”

  “Mother and the rest of us women were doing laundry at the fountain when Bertillin came by with the news.” She grabbed Kirin and swung him around in a circle. “Prince Terrell will be here tomorrow morning, in a big parade! There’ll be mages and priestesses and soldiers and everything, it’s so exciting! Oh Kirin, Father already gave us free time tomorrow. We have to use it to go see him.”

  “Where’s this parade going to be?” he asked cautiously. “It’s bound to be crowded.” His hand slipped down to touch her belly, beginning to stretch with their growing child.

  She rubbed herself saucily against him and said, “Bertillin told us they’re going to circle the Bazaar and stop at the Mother Temple before they go up the Processional through the Middle Court to the palace. Do you suppose Fresci would let us sit on his roof? We could see everything from there!”

  “Fresci will want money—” Kirin began.

  “He’d better not want it from us,” Maia interrupted indignantly. “After all the DiUmbras did for him!”

  “He fed us a lot of bread rolls all those years,” Kirin pointed out. “Sometimes even with butter or hummus, and once with sugar.”

  “And he got ten times as much business thanks to our praising his wares, and don’t think he doesn’t know it.” She adopted a formidable frown. “I’ll explain it to him if necessary.”

  “Have mercy on the poor man!” Kirin laughed, and Sevan joined him. “Very well, love, we’ll ask him. If he says yes, you’re right, we’ll have a perfect perch to watch the Prince’s show.”

  “Yes!” She kissed him again, reclaimed the basket, and began levitating individual pieces of clothing onto lines strung in front of the dormers. “Sevan, I’m certain Carlai will want to come too.”

  “I agree.” Her brother nodded and finished testing ropes. “I’ll go talk to her about it.”

  “We should get up early to make sure of our spot.” Maia rambled off into planning while juggling wet floating clothes.

  Kirin smiled happily and went back to splicing rope. It did sound like fun. He resolved to bring eight of the copper coins he’d been hoarding so they could buy some sweet rolls from Fresci. That ought to make the baker feel kindlier about having his roof invaded.

  * * *

  “Be careful on the ladder,” Kirin cautioned Maia.

  She chuckled at him. “I’m not made of glass, love, and I’m only carrying a basket. Carlai’s got a baby to manage.”

  “Yes, but our baby . . .”

  “Is fine. I am so glad that throwing-up time is behind me. I’ve never felt better!”

  “Good.” Kirin braced the ladder by leaning against it with one arm on either side of Maia. “The Millago show is only six days away.”

  “I’ll be so ready for it even Grandfather will be impressed.”

  She scampered up the ladder to the bakery roof. Carlai grinned at him and followed her more slowly, handing her baby to Sevan at the top while she clambered over the parapet. Kirin followed last.

  The bakery stood only two stories tall, unusually low for a building facing the bazaar. It had been built of yellow stone topped by a red-tiled roof. Kirin picked his way up the long gentle slope, circled a pair of smoking chimneys, and joined the others at the front of the building. Sevan had brought an old rug to cushion the hard tiles. Kirin settled himself on it between the eastern corner and Maia, leaned his elbows on the knee-high façade wall and peered at the street below.

  The bazaar looked like a sea of tent roofs when seen from this angle, crisscrossed by alleys and passages and dotted with larger openings where paths intersected. The ring road that circled it and separated it from the Old City ran broad enough for twenty men to march abreast. Three- and four-story buildings lined this side, many of their roofs filling up with spectators like the DiUmbras. Another family had followed Kirin up the ladder and planted themselves next to Sevan, with polite greetings and open excitement. Kirin looked away from the strangers, not wanting to have the happy morning spoiled by an awkward silence when they saw his too-pale face.

  During the night a mist had blown into the city off the Sundering Sea. The rising suns were only now burning it off. The lacy minarets and huge golden dome of the Mother Temple on the south side of the vast opening began to shine in the strengthening light. Kirin leaned over the wall and craned his neck to look east. The ring road joined the great Processional that sliced through the city straight as an arrow from the Middle Court Gate to the towers of the Admiralty palace perched at the very eastern end of Aretzo. Though the taller building next door blocked his view of the Admiralty itself, he could see the turquoise sea glittering to the southeast beyond the sprawling Cliffside neighborhood.

  “Going to be a perfect day,” Carlai opined, following his gaze.

  “And the Suliemons are taking advantage of it,” Sevan grumbled, pointing at the stage that had once hosted the DiUmbra troupe. Their rivals were setting up a net and unrolling ropes.

  “I refuse to let them make me sad today,” Maia declared. “Look, there are people decorating the way, and the pavement’s been newly swept. Look at all the flowers!”

  Men and women were tying garlands to every upright object within ten feet of the route. Kirin had to admit that the blossoms were beautiful, gathered in bunches and woven with spells to keep them fresh. The street had not only been swept during the night, it had been washed too.

  “The Bazaar hasn’t looked this good in, well, ever, that I remember,” Kirin said.

  Sevan, from his two years older advantage, solemnly agreed.

  The four of them nibbled rolls baked with honey, nuts, and cinnamon, and devoured oranges while they waited. A couple dozen more people joined them on the roof. The suns rose higher but a persistent high haze and a steady breeze off the sea kept the air comfortable. Sevan shed his hood to enjoy it. Kirin hesitated; he didn’t know the folks sitting behind them. If he removed his own head covering they would see his pointed ears. He decided to keep his hood on.

  Maia leaned over and kissed him.

  “I love every part of you,” she whispered.

  Kirin kissed her back, passionately grateful for her. As he did, a rattle of drums throbbed across the Bazaar.

  “All right you lovebirds,” Sevan said with a chuckle while Carlai grinned at them. “Pay attention. The show’s starting!”

  * * *

  “All is ready, Your Highness,” General DiCervi reported.

  “Then let’s not keep my people waiting any longer. Send the signal,” Terrell ordered.

  Trumpets blew, and the long mass of men and horses began to move towards the city. Terrell gazed at the slaughterhouses with their newly bathed workers lined up to cheer, the sprawling cemetery, and the cone of the Hill of Sight. Pale marble flashed at the peak.

  My city, my people, he thought, and prayed. Blessed Seraphs Haroun and Umana, intercede for me with the One God, that I may be worthy of the task before me.

  The white spires and multicolored domes of the city’s temples and the blocky granite towers of the Gray Fort loomed above the tan stone of the forty-foot-high walls. The enormous gate swallowed his army. He glanced up at the murder holes and quadruple portcullises in the tunnel roof.

  “It’s an impressively strong defense,” Pen remarked over the echo of hooves on cobblestones.

  “Yes, and that’s good. I hope we never have to put it to the test,” Terrell answered quietly.

  Inside the walls a broad road separated the hulking fort from a jumble of houses. Directly opposite the fort’s main entrance a street pierced the ne
ighborhood at right angles to the main road. Fretted stonework arched over the flagstone roadway and the broad sidewalks flanking it. Dozens of women thronged the side street under the arch, all dressed in bright colors with their hair elaborately braided, curled, and adorned. Many wore scarlet ribbons, the symbol of the Pale Seraph Desrey, commonly known as the Temptress.

  “That’s the Red Street, isn’t it?” He asked DiCervi. “Lady Ymera’s domain?”

  “Aye, Your Highness.” The General nodded toward the center of the prostitutes’ throng. “She’s sitting on that platform under the arch.”

  Terrell tried not to stare too openly. He saw a surprisingly small woman, considering her reputation. Ymera’s dress of cream silk covered her from neck to toes to conceal the fabled body beneath it. The fabric glittered, shot through with gold threads; rumor called her the wealthiest woman in the City. Skin a rich brown, hair glossy as a chestnut, she looked like any of a hundred Silbari noblewomen. But if the whispers about her were true, how could she be here in the open light of day?

  The Children of Night cannot abide sunlight, he remembered Dona Seraphina teaching.

  Then he saw the glisten of spells wrapping her. The glow wasn’t greatly different from that around Shimoor and the handful of other great mages he had met. As his horse came near her, she stood up on her little dais and bowed deeply from her waist, the correct obeisance of a vassal noble to the king. For a moment that took him aback. Could she be mocking him? But no, he remembered that the Red Street literally constituted a domain, a gift to her from one of his ancestors. She technically held the rank of baroness and thus could claim to be Pen’s peer in the nobility. The elegance of her movements, the overwhelming poise and grace of her! He’d never seen any woman her equal.

  He answered her bow with a deep nod of his own, dazzled.

  She straightened and her eyes met his. As if some invisible force had struck him, the shocking power of her aura flared a deep color he could not name. Not an attack, he knew that instantly. She was simply so much what she was, and that, he now knew, was more complex than he had yet imagined. Complex, ancient, vibrant as the dawn, and yet unimaginably weary. It quelled him in a way nothing else could have.

  Warily he inclined his head through his confusion and rode on by.

  “How old is she really?” he asked Dona Seraphina quietly.

  “At least two centuries,” the priestess sniffed, ostentatiously looking away from the Red Street. “Possibly as much as four. That voluptuous image you see is glamour, your Highness. Heaven only knows what Ymera’s true appearance may be. You have been told how she survives, how she feeds. She’s surely a vampire—do not trust her.”

  He wondered how many Kings and Queens of Silbar she had outlived. Would she outlive him too? In this moment he didn’t doubt it and for the first time he saw himself as a small and insignificant speck in the vast flow of time. How could he stand up to that?

  His own confidence awoke and shook off the beginnings of a despair he hadn’t even recognized. No. She has served my line: mine! We do not serve her, and never have. He reminded himself that she had sworn an oath to his mother, grandfather, and greatgrandfathers back nine generations. The same oath each time, he’d been told the words of it. She would swear it to him, if he wore the Crown. And if he had a son that the Crown judged worthy, she would swear it to that son in turn, her immortality bound in service to the pageant of the Kings of Silbar.

  I may be a doomed mayfly next to her, he thought as his back straightened. But my grandfather conquered half this continent, and my father rules it. I will rule Silbar, all of it, even her.

  * * *

  Interesting young man, Ymera thought as the Prince vanished around the corner of the next building. There’s potential there, and an impressive capacity for magic of some kind. Can that really be divine light filling him? Surely it must be some lesser magic, possibly one of the Temple’s tricks. I wonder if the Crown will choose him? He appears competent and intelligent. He’ll need to be, if he becomes King.

  She left her dais, escorted by her maids, and returned to her house. The special spells she had woven today to shield her from the deadly suns were strong, but brittle. It wouldn’t do to test them for too long or too much.

  She wondered how soon she should offer him her personal oath of obedience. Not until after the Queen died and the Crown chose a king, of course, but if he was chosen, perhaps immediately after. I suspect this one responds well to loyalty when it is offered freely.

  Plenty of time to think about it. Queen Shyrill should last for this season at least. And when she goes, I will be ready.

  * * *

  Terrell’s path had been cleared through the edge of the sprawling bazaar. A trail of flowers wound around the vast space in the heart of Aretzo, meandering towards the soaring golden dome of the Mother Temple. Cheering people lined the route, tens of thousands of people. A quarter of the City must be here crowding the stoic soldiers who held their spears sideways to fence the crowd out of his path. A bakery wafted the scent of fresh bread into the air; he glanced appreciatively toward it. There were people crowding the second-floor windows, and more leaning over the roof parapet to wave and cheer.

  * * *

  Kirin pointed out the banner bearer who led the parade with the royal colors on a pole twice his own height. A brilliant purple field sported two overlapping silver circles. Behind the banner bearer came two leather-lunged heralds crying out the Prince’s name and lineage in melodic unison. The Queen’s son himself rode a little way behind them.

  “He really does have yellow hair,” Carlai chattered. “That’s so strange! But his skin’s a normal color and his ears are round. Look how he holds himself, like a real king.”

  “Yep.” Kirin gazed at the approaching Prince, impressed by what his magesight revealed.

  He glows like a sun! How is he doing that? It doesn’t look like ordinary magic power and he’s not covered in silver, but he looks like a lantern shaped like a man.

  His Shadow reached towards the Prince. Kirin blocked it, pinned it under his heart despite its resistance. But the Shadow’s move differed from every other time he’d been near major magic and had to control it. The darkness didn’t fight him; it simply reached like a beggar, in supplication.

  It’s not so much hungry as—yearning?

  What in the Nine Hells is going on?

  * * *

  Terrell smiled and waved back at the people as his eyes swept the crowd. Brown skins, round ears, straight brown hair. Silbaris tended to all look alike to him after so many years in the north. His blond mane must be exotic to them. His eyes swept across the people on the bakery’s roof, most had their hoods thrown back to enjoy the balmy morning but one man on the end stayed covered—

  * * *

  Kirin jerked. For a moment he had found himself riding a horse while thousands of people cheered him. He had looked up at a row of familiar faces—and found himself back in his own body again. Whipsawed by two sudden transitions in twice as many seconds, he fell backwards.

  Maia saved him from slamming his head against the tile roof. “Love! What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” he croaked, his throat unexpectedly tight. “Dizzy.”

  It happened when I met his eyes, he thought. What did he do to me?

  * * *

  Terrell wobbled on his horse, only trained reflexes kept him in the saddle. For a dizzying moment he had been staring down at himself riding amidst cheering mobs. What happened? Did someone attack me? But it hadn’t seemed hostile; in fact, it left a lingering trace of bewilderment that matched his own.

  “My Lord?” Pen said quietly, guiding his own horse closer. “For a moment I thought you were about to fall out of your saddle.”

  “I had the strangest sensation,” Terrell answered softly. “Be alert, this may be a prelude to an attack.” He fixed a smile back on his face and resumed waving at the crowds as Pen drew Irreneetha and held her point uppermost. But the sword’s
light stayed a calm white with no hint of danger in it. Terrell saw how Pen relaxed. If anything threatened, it wasn’t imminent—or the sword couldn’t detect it.

  I looked at the crowd. He strained to remember the details. Somebody did something to me, only not deliberately. Whoever I sensed, I could tell he was at least as surprised as me. Did some mage let a spell get away from him? Only I’ve never heard of a spell that lets you look down on yourself from above. What did he do to me? How did it get through our protection spells? Is there going to be a lasting effect?

  * * *

  “Are you all right, Kirin?” Sevan asked, distracted from the pageantry below.

  “Yes.” He buried the strange sensations deep and tried to put on a happy face, but inside his guts still churned. What if he comes looking for me? I’ve got to get away from here.

  Maia squeezed his hand, plainly doubting his affirmation, but said nothing.

  “You missed the priestesses and officers,” Sevan went on.

  “Looks like the fancy part’s over anyway,” Kirin affected an uninterested tone. “Just soldiers there now. Can we go back to the Attic? Grandfather’s bound to be annoyed with us for going out even though we have permission. Maybe if we’re back a little early he’ll cool down.”

  “Not by much,” Sevan predicted. “Carlai?”

  The baby chose that moment to give out a mewling cry. Carlai patted her back and said “She’s a few minutes away from screaming again, we’d probably best go before that. I’d rather not have her thrashing while I carry her down that ladder.”

  They packed up and picked their way through the others on the roof. The row behind them eagerly moved in to claim the empty space. When they were back on the ground Kirin glanced down the alley at the long line of troops which continued to wrap around the Bazaar. None were looking towards him, Haroun be praised. All the way home, Kirin resisted the temptation to look behind them again. He feared he might see a blond-haired Silbari man on a horse, staring at him.