by Julian May
Instead, she had bewitched him.
He reached the library, the place where they had shared their first and last kiss, and opened the door. It had been his favorite place, his sanctuary, crammed with the rarest and most valuable volumes in the world. She had not changed it much. Heavy drapes had been drawn across the tall windows on this evening of biting cold. Two highbacked armchairs cushioned in rich red damask were drawn up close to the comfort of the fireplace. Between them was a pedestal table with a flagon of white wine, two chunky cut-glass goblets in the Vispi style, and a plate of small sweetcakes.
She arose from one of the chairs, for a moment nothing but a dark silhouette against orange flames. Then she stepped forward so that light from the quaint library-lamps of the Vanished Ones showed her clearly, and he felt his heart catch in his throat. Her black hair fell in glistening tresses to her waist. She wore a white velvet gown with silver-blue fur at the wide sleeves and hem, and a belt of soft azure inset with moonstone. Her underdress was powder-blue challis, embroidered with tiny Black Trilliums at the neck, where the wand of the Three-Winged Circle hung on its chain.
“Good day to you, Star Master,” Haramis said. “Dressed for combat, I see. What a shame! I had hoped for a brief truce while we discussed what is to come.”
And that was a lie. A small one, but the first Haramis had ever told since becoming Archimage of the Land, done deliberately in order to provoke him into the actions that must follow …
He said nothing, but deliberately pulled off the silver gauntlets and dropped them on the carpeted floor. Then he removed his headpiece and black cloak, also letting them fall. Doffing his odd vestment of metal mesh with its shining black leather panels, he stood before her clad in a simple tunic of unbleached wool, and trews of darker material stuffed into high boots. A pouch laden with something heavy hung from his belt.
“Greetings to you, Archimage of the Land.” His voice, unfiltered by the talisman’s magic, was as mellifluous and beguiling as she remembered it to be. But his face was older than the portrait had shown, gaunt and weathered, having deep creases between the pale eyes and on either side of his mouth. “Behold! I have cast away the habiliments of sorcery and herewith invite an armistice.”
“I accept,” she said, lying for the second time. And in a gesture that was clearly a challenge, she lifted the Three-Winged Circle on its chain from around her neck and placed it on the table.
A breathless silence followed. He came closer and one of his long-fingered hands stretched out and hovered over the wand. The three tiny wings at the top of the Circle unfolded and the glow of the trillium-amber within throbbed a warning.
“Would you really let it slay me?” he asked in a playful tone.
She shrugged. “If you wish to take my talisman up, Star Master, I grant you permission to do so. It will not harm you, but you will find it as unresponsive as a common fork or spoon. You know it obeys only its bonded owner—and even then, sometimes capriciously.”
He laughed, then took the wine flagon from the table instead, filling goblets for both of them. “Capriciously indeed. Let us both pray that whoever now owns the other two talismans experiences as much trouble learning to command them as we did.”
“So you know that Kadiya’s Eye was stolen.”
“Yes.”
“Was it taken by one of your agents?”
He smiled enigmatically. “The thief is no ally of mine … yet.”
She ignored the provocation, her eyes fixed upon his Star. “I have set aside my talisman. Can we not, at least for a little while, forswear magic and meet as man and woman?”
His eyelids lowered, veiling his gaze. Did he dare to face her unprotected? But he was confident that she would never be so base as to violate a truce, just as he was confident that her love for him had endured.
He lifted the Star medallion from his neck and laid it on the table next to her talisman. Then they both sat down, she rather stiffly and he in an easy sprawl, warming his boots by the fire.
“So you have been spying upon my sisters,” Haramis said.
“I cannot see them individually, as you know well enough, because they are shielded by their trillium-amber. But their associates have unwittingly revealed what has been going on. The theft of the Burning Eye is a most vexing development—and a puzzling one as well. One must ask why this mysterious burglar has made no use of the magical loot. Is he a paragon of prudence, content to keep both talismans safely hidden? Is the thief too timid to wield them, knowing that the Vanished Ones themselves were afraid of their terrible power? Or is our wily pilferer merely cautious? Has he been testing the magical devices in unobtrusive ways until he attains expertise and confidence in their use?”
“I think we will find out before long,” Haramis said with dark certainty, “and to our woe.”
“Perhaps, Archimage,” he said lightly, “we should consider an alliance against this mutual menace.”
Her smile was cold. “I am no longer the simple child you hoped to win over to your Dark Powers, Star Master.”
“I know that full well. And you shall discover that I am no longer the man I was when I last contended with the Petals of the Living Trillium and … went the way of the Vanished Ones.”
For an instant, ardent hope transfigured her face. But then she looked away from him, lips tightening in unrelenting resolve. “I can only judge you by your actions, which tell me you are the same as ever: charming, persuasive, and completely ruthless in pursuit of your evil ambition.”
He threw back his head and laughed, and his brilliantly white hair reflected the fire like high clouds at sundown. His amusement was youthful, heartfelt, having nothing in it of slyness or cynicism. “You know nothing of my present ambition, dear Haramis, any more than you know where I was held captive while you thought me dead.” His eyes sparkled as he bent closer to her over the table. “Would you care to hear the tale?”
She nodded, still frowning, not trusting herself to speak.
He sat back then and took a deep draft of the wine. “It was the Great Cynosure that saved me, of course—that magical device of my Guild that was created as a countermeasure to the Sceptre of Power, drawing to it any wearer of the Star who is smitten with the Sceptre’s magic. Twice it has preserved my life. The first time, with the existence of the Cynosure unbeknownst to any of us, I was drawn to the Inaccessible Kimilon deep within the icecap and marooned there for twelve years. I knew not how I had been transported to that Land of Fire and Ice. The Archimage Iriane made off with the Cynosure after it had done its work and in time gave it to you. Cruel Haramis! You intended to use it to imprison me forever in that Chasm of Durance that lies beneath the Place of Knowledge. But death would have been more merciful.”
“I—I hoped you would amend your ways. I could not bear to destroy you, even indirectly.” Her eyes were fixed upon her tightly clasped hands lying in her lap. She felt ashamed, as he knew she would. He was manipulating her feelings again, as he had done before. But this time the outcome would be different.
“As it happened,” he went on, “another person thwarted your plan. He took the Cynosure from the chasm just before you and your sisters conquered me with the Sceptre for the second time. And thus it was that I awoke to find myself safe abed … within one of the Three Moons.”
“By the Flower!” Haramis cried in sudden understanding. “Denby! And now I suppose he has sent you back to carry on where you left off. Oh, the perfidious wretch! What manner of Archimage is he to play such games with the very balance of the world?”
“In my opinion, the Dark Man is a senile lunatic, but one who nevertheless taught me much. Do you know who the Archimage of the Firmament really is?”
“Iriane told me something of his aloof and vagarious ways. I know he is very old and cares little for events of our world. Yet he did vouchsafe to us the assistance of those sindona called Sentinels of the Mortal Dictum, defeating your army and saving the Two Thrones. Why he saved you—” She shook her
head.
“Are you glad that he did?” Orogastus spoke very softly.
She replied, “Yes … God help me!” And this was not a lie.
“Even now,” the sorcerer continued, “I know almost nothing of the Man in the Moon’s motives. But I do know who he is. He is that same great hero of the Vanished Ones who both conquered the Guild of the Star and brought about the birth of the Folk. He is Denby Varcour, a man of dusky complexion who is over twelve thousand years old. When the Vanished Ones fled the Conquering Ice, he remained, together with a small cohort of others, hoping to undo some of the damage humankind had wrought upon the world. The Vispi Folk and their telepathic bird friends were created in workshops inside his Moon.”
Haramis was shocked. “The Moon is hollow? He does not live upon the orb’s surface, as we live upon the world?”
“All of the Three Moons are artifacts of ancient magic. The one called the Dark Man’s Moon, where I was incarcerated, has every manner of thing necessary for civilized life inside of it, including abandoned workrooms with marvelous tools, and beautifully appointed apartments without a single soul dwelling within. The second orb is called the Garden Moon. Although I was not allowed to visit it, I know that it is a conservatory of plants and animals, and some of our food came from there. It is also the residence of numbers of those damned living statues, who acted as my jailers and served Denby in other mysterious ways.”
“The sindona,” Haramis murmured. She had recovered her composure and now sipped a bit of wine and tasted one of the small cakes.
“The third orb is called the Death Moon. I do not know why. The Three Moons are connected to each other and to this world by viaducts. I escaped two years ago through one of these bizarre passages. Never mind how. Oddly enough, the Archimage of the Firmament has made no attempt to recapture me since then—but of course he is mad.”
“Why do you call him so?”
“Because of his behavior. He holds conversations with the dead and berates himself for unspecified sins. At other times he seems unaware of his surroundings, as if in a trance. During most of my captivity he was considerate, even jovial, permitting me to roam the entire Moon and study its weird treasures. But on occasion, for no reason I could fathom, he would scream vulgar imprecations and threaten to banish me to the Death Moon, saying all members of the Star Guild deserved no better than to perish under torture. These moods of deranged fury were all the more frightening because he had been the model of sweet reason immediately before.”
“And so you escaped,” she said flatly. “And for two years you dwelt … where?”
But Orogastus only shook his head, smiling. “I know you are searching for the headquarters of my Star Guild, as is your sister Kadiya. But by the time you find our place of habitation the knowledge will do you no good. The Guild of the Star is reborn to assist me in attaining my great objective.”
She regarded him with a steady and somber mien. “So now we come to the crux of the matter, Star Master. Just what is your objective? Do you and your Guildsmen intend to conquer the world on behalf of your Dark Powers? Is your barbaric imprisonment of poor Iriane a warning of the fate you would inflict upon me if I oppose you?”
Instead of answering, he poured more wine into his glass and drank. Then he said, “You carry my portrait, Haramis. Why?”
“Because I am a fool,” she retorted. “But in spite of myself, I am bound and determined to do my solemn duty as Archimage of the Land and Petal of the Living Trillium—no matter what the personal cost may be. And this time, if my duty encompasses your destruction, I will not hesitate.”
She took the picture of him from an inner pocket of her gown, letting him glimpse it briefly. Then she rose from her seat with abrupt swiftness, strode to the hearth, and cast the framed ivory image into the flames.
He bowed his head, and when he finally spoke again his voice was unsteady. “I love you, Haramis. You must believe me. Believe me also when I say that my intentions in regard to this world of ours are neither evil nor selfishly motivated.”
She stood with her back to him, staring at the blackening portrait. “I wish I could believe you.”
“I learned much while I was Denby’s prisoner—about the mortal imbalance threatening the world, about myself, about my reason for being, and about you. You think that your lifework is inevitably conjoined to that of your sisters. I say that your fate is as far beyond their paltry concerns as the sun is beyond the glowworms of the Mazy Mire.”
He opened the pouch at his waist and took out a second Star. Its chain blazed with jewels as he held it out to her. “This is for you.”
She turned and beheld the medallion, and her features stiffened with dismay. “Never!”
“Together, we can save the world. Dearest Haramis, you and I are wielders of transcendent magic. We are more alike than either of us ever realized. Only look in a mirror! The very eyes in our heads reveal it. Denby Varcour has the selfsame silvery eyes, and so does the woman he loved, whose dead hand aided my escape. We are of the Vanished Ones! Can’t you understand what this must mean?”
It was some minutes before Haramis replied. “The Blue Lady of the Sea, who is my dearest friend, was also my instructor in the high magical arts. She imparted to me all she knew, charging me to restore the lost balance of the world—that chaos brought about by you and your crimes. My sisters declared they would assist me, but I believed that the first responsibility was clearly my own. In my perplexity, still torn between my love for you and my duty, I went to the sindona called the Teacher. She provided me with one last precious nugget of guidance: ‘Love is permissible. Devotion is not.’”
He smiled, once again proffering the second Star on its gem-studded chain. “An intriguing riddle. One that gives me a modicum of hope.”
But she shook her head, speaking hesitantly and low. “I heard Iriane repeat the aphorism at that awful moment when the Flower conquered you and the Cynosure snatched you out of this world. All throughout the years that I thought you dead and damned for your wickedness, I pondered the saying, unable to discover its meaning. Only now, knowing that you live, have I been able to draw fresh insight and strength from the Teacher’s words … from that mysterious and terrible saying that can bring no sweet solace to the contemplator but only the wintry satisfaction of duty fulfilled.” She came to the table, took the Star of Nerenyi Daral from his hands, dropped it onto the carpeted floor, and spurned it with her foot. “Do you understand the meaning of the riddle, Star Master?”
He exploded from his chair and seized her with an emotion akin to ferocity. “I understand only my love for you—and that you also love me!”
“Yes,” she said. “I do love you.” The pupils of her eyes had gone wide, and centered in each was a pinpoint of white radiance.
“Haramis!” he groaned, and the eyes looking down at her were also twin blazes of starlight. His first embrace was painful in its strength, but then his arms gentled and she felt his hands cradle her head. His face descended and their lips met.
For uncounted minutes the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire in the great hearth. But the kiss ended at last and the ineffable light dwindled and was gone. The eyes of both of them saw the real world again. He gave forth a shuddering sigh. She spoke his name for the first time. Her head fell upon his breast, he pressed his cheek to her soft black hair and they stood together motionless until Haramis finally disengaged herself and stood apart. Her face was calm, almost wistful.
“Love is permitted,” she whispered. “Devotion is not.”
“What does it mean?” His voice was harsh with alarm.
“It means that there can be no more than this, Orogastus. No avowed consecration of one to the other. No union within your Star. And above all, no mutual bodily worship … for that is what devotion implies.”
“Can you deny the special magic we have created together?” he cried, clasping her hands. “This is only the beginning, Haramis! You and I—”
“A
re antagonists,” she said, pulling away again and turning away. “We oppose each other—as the dead champions of the Vanished Ones opposed the ancient Star Guild. I am the servant of the human people and the Folk, obligated to guide and assist them through my magic. You and your followers worship Dark Powers and do not scruple at any wrongdoing that would forward your schemes.”
“You don’t understand! All that has changed. Why won’t you let me explain—”
“I understand Iriane enduring a living death. I understand the provoking of the Skritek by your agent and the misery thereby inflicted upon harmless Nyssomu Folk. I understand that you have terrible weapons at your command that your Guild has used in the wanton murder of innocent Lercomi. And I doubt not that you and your henchmen are guilty of other crimes that have yet to come to my attention.” She turned about to face him. “Am I wrong?”
“Iriane will be released in good time,” he said. “I regret the deaths of the little Mere Folk. My followers are of a nation that believes they are soulless animals, and I cannot always control them. But I did insure that no Nyssomu were killed by the Drowners—”
“Free the Blue Lady now,” Haramis pleaded. “Destroy the ancient weapons you have gathered. Abandon your plan to conquer the world.”
“I cannot,” he said, “for it is part of my greater intention that would save it! Iriane would have thwarted me out of ignorance, as would the rulers of the nations if they were not compelled to do my bidding.”
“As every right-thinking person would thwart you!” Haramis said in a voice of thunder. The talisman was suddenly in her hand. “I knew you would come here, Orogastus. I knew you would try again to win me over as you did before. Deciding what to do has torn the heart from my body and perhaps condemned my own soul to hell. But I have vowed that you shall not go forth from this Tower to resume your evil work. Not while it is in my power to prevent you.”