Crown Of Stars - Child Of Flame Part 70

Mother Weiwara came forward, looking prosperous and. healthy." Let the Hallowed One go to her bed," she said sternly to the folk crowded around. She escorted Adica to her cottage and crouched outside, just beyond the threshold, as Adica ducked under the door and dropped her pack on the floor, then sank onto her knees on the musty pallet.

"You have been gone a long time," said Weiwara through the door." More than two seasons, now. The dark of the sun is only half the moon's cycle away- "I know."

"Oh, Adica." Once, Weiwara had been her dearest friend, two girls growing up together. With the darkness hiding them each from the other, she had the courage to touch that lost friendship again, despite the evil spirits that could smell the threads binding one person to another and use those links to sink their claws into the unsuspecting." Where have you been?"

"On a long journey. I'm so tired. I lost Alain." His name caught in her throat. She had to pinch the skin of her neck with a hand to strangle a sob." But do not fear, Mother Weiwara." Her voice was little more than a whisper." The working will go forward. Soon you will be freed from fear."

If the weather held. If the Holy One still lived. If Laoina reached her people in time to lead a strong band of warriors to the aid of Two Fingers, in the land of Horn. If they could drive the Cursed Ones away from that stone loom, and so link up with the others. If Hehoyanah did as her uncle asked, and joined the weaving. If no Cursed Ones attacked the tents of Brightness-Hears-Me. If Falling-down did not die. If she herself did not break of sorrow.

"Tell me what you saw," breathed Weiwara in a low voice.

She began to object but caught the dismissal before it pa.s.sed her lips. Alain had taught her how to listen to others in a way that allowed her to see past the words to glimpse the heart. Was that curiosity, even wistfulness, in Weiwara's tone? Did her old friend conceal a hankering to see distant lands and strange sights?

Sometimes telling is the only way to make the pain end, or at least lessen.

She told Weiwara the story of their long journey, of the strange creatures they had seen, of the unknown cities they had glimpsed, of the ambushes they had avoided. She even told her of the vision she had seen of the banquet of plenty, burnished by gold and the woman with fire in her heart who had given her a ring to return to Alain. As she told the story, she pressed the ring into her cheek. T "But I didn't see Alain again. When I woke from my trance, was in Shu-Sha's palace, where Laoina and the others had carried me. Alain had gone with three of the men of Shu-Sha's tribe, back to get the dogs. He never came. I waited there for five days, but he never came."

Wind breathed through the chimes hanging around the outside eaves. A cow lowed from a nearby byre. If she stopped now, she would fall into pieces and never be able to go on.

"Tell me about Shu-Sha," said Weiwara, as though she had seen into Adica's heart." What is her palace like? Do the people of her land look the same as we do? What do they eat?"

"Queen Shuashaana is powerfully fat. You've never seen a woman with so much power in her body, thighs as big as my hips and arms as big as my thighs. Her belly is as large as a cauldron and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are like melons."

"She must be very powerful," whispered Weiwara in awe." I wasn't even nearly that fat when I was pregnant with the twins."

So drowned had Adica been in her own fears and sorrows that she hadn't thought once to ask of doings in the village. So much might have happened since she was gone, and yet she had to be careful how she asked, never to mention any person by name who might thereby become vulnerable to the darts of the evil spirits listening around her.

"I hope the Fat One's favor still smiles on the village." "Spring and summer pa.s.sed swiftly, Hallowed One. There were two raids by the Cursed Ones north of here, at Seven Springs and Four Houses, and some people were killed but the Cursed Ones were driven off. Dorren came from Falling-down to tell us that we must fortify Queens' Grave. We had work parties from the other villages all summer to build the palisade on the lower embankment, to protect the stone loom. One time just at the autumn equinox a scouting party shot arrows at us, but both palisades were finished by then, so they left when they saw they could do no damage with such small numbers. Still, we've sent for war parties from the other White Deer villages, in case they come back. The Fat One has blessed us with three births and no deaths in the moons since you departed. Her favor has been strong over us."

"May it continue so," prayed Adica softly." Forgive me, Weiwara, to speak of fate when the spirits swarm so near to me, but one thing troubles me. Since you are Mother to our people, it falls to me to ask you."

"I remember our friendship. I will not turn my back on you now."

Adica sighed, shuddering." Promise me that you will lay me beside the ancient queens, if you can."

Adica smelled Weiwara's tears." You will be honored among us as if you were one of the queens of the ancient days. I promise you that. No one in this tribe will ever forget you, as long as we have children." "Thank you."

"Is there anything else you would ask of me?" To think of lying down alone on her old pallet made her think of the queens, asleep under the hill, but she knew she had to sleep, to keep up her strength just as she had to eat. So Shu-Sha had told her. Nothing mattered more now than that the great weaving be completed successfully.

"I will sleep. You must look to the village now, and I will prepare for what is coming."

Amazingly, once Weiwara had left and she lay down undressed on her pallet, covering herself in furs, she dozed off easily. Weariness ruled her. She slept, and she did not dream.

But the morning dawned cold and ruthless, nor had sleep softened her heart. She rose at dawn and did what she could to air out her bedding. She examined the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, weeding out lavender that had gotten eaten away by a fungus, burning a tuft of thistle too withered to be of use. Already, at dawn, villagers gathered before her house." Hallowed One, the birthing house hasn't been purified properly."

"Hallowed One, my daughter got sick after drinking cider, but Agda says it was the berries she had, not the cider. There are still five jars left. Maybe evil spirits got in them, or maybe they're still good."

"Hallowed One, is it true that Alain didn't come back with you? My dog got a thorn in his paw and one of the geese has a torn foot-"

It was a relief to be busy. She dressed, broke her fast with porridge and goat's milk, and went first to the birthing house. After three new births, it desperately needed purifying; she smelled spirits lingering in the eaves, making it dangerous for the next woman who would enter to give birth here. As she examined the outside of the house, testing how the thatch had weathered the summer, looking for birds' nests, spiderwebs, and other woven places where spirits might roost, she glanced occasionally back at the village.

Manure from the byres was being carted out to the most distant fields in preparation for the winter. Beor and his cousins were slaughtering a dozen swine to feed the war parties, camped up beyond the embankment, and his sister had just brought up a big pot of hot boiled barley to catch blood for a black pudding. Young Deyilo tended a flock of geese out on the stubble of a harvested field.

Getsi appeared with a covered basket. She had grown a hand in height since Adica had last seen her, and the shape of her face had begun to change. In another year she would approach womanhood. But Adica would not be the woman guiding her across that threshold.

"What do you have there?" she asked the girl, more sharply than she intended.

"My mother has been collecting herbs and flowers for you. Where shall I set them?"

"Here, Daughter," she replied, a little shamefaced, pointing to the ground just in front of the door." Your mother will have my thanks. This thatch needs beating. You've had a frost that loosened it."

"It's been cold early this year," agreed Getsi." I'll get my sister to come do it. My mother says I'm not strong enough to do it right yet."

"You'll soon be."

Getsi smiled, careful not to look her in the eyes, and loped off back to the village, lithe and eager.

Best to keep busy, and not to think on what she had lost. She completed her circuit of the birthing house before kneeling down before the basket, uncovering it. A rush of scent billowed up, dust dancing as wind caught and worried at dried summer milfoil, placed at the top. Beneath them she found small woven pouches containing flower petals or juniper berries, and beneath these but terwort, betony, and mint leaves, the bundled stalks of tansy and five-leafed silverweed, as well as lavender so fragile that it crumbled at a touch. She laid the contents of one of the pouches on her knees to sort it, sheltering the light petals from the breeze: eglantine and wild rose, made pale by age.

A horn call blared: the alarm from the village, a triple blast to call every person in to the safety of the walls. Shocked, she simply froze, lifting her head to stare as children shrieked and men and women dropped what they were doing and went running.

The horn sounded again, a single blast followed by silence, followed by another short blast. She heard shouts and cries turn from alarm to amazement as people streamed out of the gates, running to meet what a moment ago they had been running from. Still she did not move.

A dozen hors.e.m.e.n appeared around the southern flank of the great tumulus, the Queens' Grave. In the next instant she saw they were not hors.e.m.e.n but the Horse people. One of them carried a rider, a human like herself. Running among the centaurs came two huge black hounds.

Petals slid unheeded down her thighs, catching in the cords of her skirt. Never could she mistake him for anyone but himself, nor would she ever mistake another man for him. She leaped up, rose petals falling in clouds around her, trailing after her, as she ran to meet him.

He pushed through the crowd gathered to stare at the centaur women. They gave way, seeing his purpose. Breaking free, he hurried forward and caught her in his arms, holding her as tightly as if he never meant to let her go, his face pressed against her hair.

He said nothing. She wept helpless tears of joy and relief, and after a while he pulled back to kiss them away, although even he could not catch every one.

"Hush, Adica. I am come safely home. The Holy One is rescued. We couldn't return south to get you because of the war, but when we learned that Queen Shuashaana had already sent you home, my friends agreed to bring me here. All is well, my love. All is as it should be."

"I love you," she said through her tears as the hounds bounded up, great bodies wriggling like those of pups in their eagerness to get a greeting from her." I was so afraid I had lost you."

"Never," he promised her as he embraced her again." Never." Held within that warm embrace, she knew she would not falter now, not even when it came time to walk forward to the death that awaited her. She would not go gladly, never that, but she could go with unhesitating steps because she had been granted strength and joy by the gift of love.

CHILD or FLAME PALACES floated on a river of fire, each linked to the last by means of bridges as bright as polished gold. At intervals brilliant sparks flew up from the river of fire in the same way sparks scatter and die when a blacksmith strikes molten iron with a hammer. These sparks lit on her body as she met the embrace of a host of creatures, daimones whose substance was made entirely of fire.

Where they touched her, crowding around, she burned. Her hands burned, her skin burned, and fire from within broke the bonds of the binding Da had wrapped around her so many years before. He had tried to seal her away from herself. He had crippled her for so many years, but in this place his magic held no power. Sparks pierced the locked door behind which Da had hidden her soul, melting the lock until the door swung wide and vanished in a cloud of steam, and she burned until her flesh was consumed and fire within met fire without.

She was like them. She had a soul of fire no different than their own.

Joy struck at her heart like lightning. The universe changed into purity around her, and in her heart and in her soul she knew she had entered a place existing beyond the mortal limits of humankind. Even her bow, Seeker of Hearts, had vanished. She had nothing of Earth left to her, nothing binding her to Earth any longer.

In the embrace of fire she burned for an eternity, or perhaps only for one instant.

Then she found her voice." Who am I?"

Here in the realm of fire their voices thrummed as though they were themselves taut strings on which the music of the spheres played out its measure." Step into the river of fire, child. Here nothing can be hidden that you call past, which binds you, and future, which blinds mortal eyes."

She let herself fall, and the river swept her into the past.

She knows this handsome villa, its proud architecture and well-built structures, an entire little cosmos sufficient unto itself. She recognizes the vista of craggy hills and of forest so dense and green that the midday summer sunlight seems to drown in leaves. Fields surround the villa, a neatly tended estate. Not one weed grows out of place. Even the bees never sting. This'is the place where she was born and spent her early childhood.

She knows this pleasant garden, once languid with b.u.t.terflies and now made gold by a profusion of luminous marigolds. But the prize bed of saffron is quite simply missing, scorched and trammeled. A man stands with his back to the rest, surveying the ruined saffron. The other five weary, somber figures gather around the seventh of their number, which is in fact a corpse. It is one of these who kneels, face hidden, to gingerly examine the p.r.o.ne body.

One of the Seven Sleepers has died in the struggle, and Anne for the first time loses her majestic calm. She shrieks anger, an expression that on her face looks so startlingly wrong that it takes a moment for Liath to realize how much younger Anne is, here in the past. She has her grandfather Taillefer 's look about her, well built and excellently proportioned, with fine eyes and a dignified manner. She cannot be much more than thirty years of age, strong and extraordinarily beautiful in her prime.

" We were to bind a male daimone! " she cries, outraged at their failure." It was to be the father! I was to be the one who would sacrifice my blood and my purity to bear a child."

"This is the second death we've suffered," says Severus, "although in truth I haven't missed Theoderada 's incessant praying these last six years." Taking years away from his face has not improved his sour aspect." Can we risk a third death?"

"We must," insists Anne as she glowers at the dead woman, crumpled on the ground, robes burned to nothing and her skin ash-white, still hot to the touch." We must have a child born to fire who can defeat this half-breed b.a.s.t.a.r.d being raised by King Henry. Do you doubt that all is lost if we do not counter the influence of the Aoi? Do you wish to set their yoke over your neck? "

"No," says Severus irritably, having been asked this question one too many times.

Meriam sighs as she regards the dead woman." Where will we find another to join our number? Poor Hiltrudis was too young to think of dying."

"Aren't we all?" snapped Severus. His arms are burned, his cheeks flaming as though with fever. Blisters are already forming along his lower lip, and his eyes weep tears.

The youngest among them, a slight woman with wispy pale hair, stands back with a hand over her mouth to stifle the horrible stench. They are all marked by b.u.ms." I'm afraid," she whispers. She glances toward the seventh of their number, the man standing a stone's toss away from the rest with his back to them. Light shines in a nimbus around his body, which by its position conceals something standing in the middle of the charred saffron. She begins to weep silently in fear." I'm afraid to try again. You didn 't tell me it would be like this." She gestures toward the corpse." Hiltrudis didn't know either. How could you not have warned us?"

"Hush, Rothaide," murmurs Meriam, taking the young woman's arm." Surely you understood all along that sorcery is dangerous."

The man kneeling beside the corpse looks up. At first, Liath does not recognize him. He looks so much younger than when she knew him, with only a trace of silver in his hair. He is even a little homely, the kind of man whose looks improve as he ages." If we try again," says Wolfhere, "it will surely be worse. Can we not make do with what we have? We succeeded beyond our expectations."

Anne makes a noise of disgust, turning away." Then I am forced to act alone, if I must. This day's work is no success."

But the man standing in the ashes with his back to the others sighs softly." She's so beautiful."

"Go!" says Anne suddenly, caught by that voice." Leave the body. I must think."

They are not unwilling to retreat to salve their wounds. Meriam leads away the weeping Rothaide, Severus limps after her and, after a moment, but hesitantly, Wolfhere goes as well, not without two or three backward glances at Anne. The b.u.t.terflies have begun to return, fluttering around her like winged jewels.

Then Anne is alone with the corpse and the man standing with his back to her, who has not, apparently, heard her command to the others.

"Bernard," she says softly.

Surprised to hear his name, he turns.

Ai, G.o.d, it is Da, but so much younger, about thirty years of age and, by all appearances, a few years younger than Anne. Liath never knew he was handsome. She never really understood how much she looks like him, even with her golden-brown skin and her salamander eyes. The years of running took their toll. The magic he expended to hide her scarred and diminished him. This is the fearless man, face shaven and hair trimmed in the manner of a frater, who walked ardently into the heathen lands of the east without once looking over his shoulder. But that was all before her birth, before their flight, before that day when, by crippling her, he crippled himself.

Liath never understood until this instant, seeing Anne's expression, how much Anne hated him because he is beautiful to her eyes. She never understood until this instant how much power Da had, and how he shone, as luminous as the sun and with a glint of sarcasm in his eyes. She only remembered him, only had memories of him, from after the fear had sucked him dry.

"Bernard," Anne repeats, "you have been the thorn in my side for long enough. I know you have never cared about our work to save humankind from the threat of the Lost Ones. I know you joined us only to satisfy your intellect and your curiosity. We 've suffered you all these years because of the strength of your gift, not for your loyalty to our goals. But the time has come for you to be of use to me. Can it be possible that you have at last seen a creature you desire more than you desire knowledge?"

Anger chases laughter chases longing across his expressive features. He steps aside, and Liath sees what they have caught in a cage made not of iron bars but of threads like spider's silk, billowing as the breeze moves through them.

She is fire, incandescent, a living creature bound by magic beneath the moon, where she does not belong. She wears a womanly shape, scintillant and as bright as a blue-white sun, and her wings beat against the unbreakable white threads, but she is hopelessly trapped. Heat boils off her, but the cage neutralizes these streamers of flame, and when she opens her mouth to scream, no sound comes out.

"You can have her, Bernard, because I can see that you desire her. But only if what transpires now remains a secret between you and me."

He is torn. He suspects that to agree will compromise him in some unintended way, but even as he struggles, Liath knows he will lose because he has fallen in love with the fire daimone, a creature so beyond mortal ken that even to call it down to Earth brings death.

"How can this be?" he asks hoa.r.s.ely." If it caused poor Hiltrudis' death just to cast the binding spell, how can any flesh dare touch pure fire? " He raises an arm, then blushes, hot and red." First we must send the others away, to give Hiltrudis' body a proper burial and to seek a seventh to make whole our number. There are certain spells known to me that can soften fire into light so that her substance will not burn you. But it will be up to you to win her acquiescence." She eyes him as the daimone writhes, trying to get free." None of this comes without a price."

"What must I do?" He is already caught. He will agree to everything, because desire has trapped him in a cage of surpa.s.sing beauty, in the guise of a woman with wings of flame, daughter of the highest sphere, the soul of a star. He will agree to anything, if only he can have her.

Anne brushes a cinder, all that is left of a thread of saffron, off her sleeve." First, this sorcery will weaken me. I will be an invalid, and you must care for me until I recover. Second, the others must believe that the child was made of my seed, not yours, that between us we freed this creature and captured another, a male, who could thereby impregnate me. The child must be thought to come of Taillefer's lineage. Yet not just from Taillefer's lineage, but legitimately born. To that end, you must marry me in a ceremony sanctioned by the church."

"Yes," he says absently, obviously too distracted as he stares at the daimone even to point out the gaping holes of illogic in this proposal. The woman-creature has calmed enough, now, to furl her wings and with apprehension and anger survey her prison." Last, the child will be mine to raise."

"Whatever you say," he whispers, because the daimone has caught sight of him. She has no true distinguishable features, no human mask of a face, yet those are eyes that see him, that mark his presence, and she does not recoil as he returns her gaze boldly. She watches him, blazing and effulgent, the most magnificent thing he has seen in a life that brought him face-to-face with many wondrous creatures. He does not fear her. He is too much in thrall to desire, the man who until now had remained faithful to his vow of chast.i.ty despite the many temptations thrown in his path. Whatever you say. The words haunt Liath.

The corpse is carried away and buried fittingly. The next day, Anne and Bernard are joined in holy matrimony in the chapel, with the others looking on as witnesses. Wolfhere paces restlessly throughout the ceremony, looking ready to spit. Rothaide, Meriam, and Severus leave for distant parts, although Wolfhere lingers for a handful of days like a man in the throes of suspicion, believing that his wife is contemplating adultery. Only when his Eagle's sight shows him the old king, Arnulf, bed-ridden with a terrible fever, does he leave, hastening away to the side of the king he has pretended for all these years to serve faithfully.

When Wolfhere is finally gone, Anne can at last work her spell, but hers is a devious mind and she has the means to punish the only man for whom she ever actually felt unbearable physical desire. The fire of the daimone's soul is tamed, her aetherical body is given a semblance of mortal substance, but in this process her features are molded so that they resemble Anne herself.

Trapped and diminished, the daimone turns to the one who shows her kindness and affection. Fire seeks heat when it is dying. Bernard is not unaware of the way Anne has turned his wish back onto him, so that when at last the daimone surrenders to his patient courtship of her, it's as if he is making love to Anne herself, her face, her body, but lit by aetherical fire from within, like Anne in the guise of an angel. With that wicked, sardonic humor that made him able to withstand much suffering in his eastern travels, he even calls her "Anne " although Anne lies as helpless as a newo ELLIOTT born in the villa, tended by Bernard hand and foot because he remains as good as his word. His entire universe has shrunk to this villa, to the care he gives faithfully to the invalid who has made his wish become truth, to the sphere of the fiery woman-creature he worships and makes love to.

Maybe what he feels for the daimone is love and maybe it is only l.u.s.t, a craving brought on by a glimpse of the high reaches of the universe, too remote for the human mind to comprehend. But if what he feels is not love, then it is hard to say what counts for love in a cold world.

Because the world is cold, and the universe disinterested in one insignificant man's feelings, however strong they might be. Certain laws govern the cosmos, and not even love can alter them, or perhaps love is the unmoving mover that impels them forward.

Seed touches seed, by means unknown to humankind and perhaps influenced by the tides of magic. A seed ripens and grows, and the child that waxes within the creature bom not of Earth must build a mortal body in which to live.

It happens so slowly that in the end it seems to happen all at once.

The child consumes the substance of the mother to make itself. All her glorious fire is subsumed into the child she births, and the birth itself becomes her death. All that she was she has given; even her soul is now part of the child. She herself, the brilliant creature bound and trapped months ago, is utterly gone.

That she existed at all can only be seen in the newborn's remarkable blue eyes, as bright as sparks.

He weeps for a long time, broken, pathetic, until Anne appears suddenly at his side, hale and hearty now that the spell which drained her strength has been dissipated by the death of the daimone.

"So," she says, examining the baby as if for flaws, "this is how l.u.s.t ends, in death and despair." She seems pleased to have found a way to escape this fate, since l.u.s.t's cruel hand brushed her as well. She surveys Bernard's bent form with disdain." Give me the baby now, as you promised."

"No," he says, clinging to the naked little thing, still slick from the birth. Where he made for his love a childbed for her labor lies only a soft blanket, nothing else, no trace of her.

"She killed her mother, the one you loved." "I know." He weeps, because Anne has tr, pnnt f "JJ ~'

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J weeps, because Anne has trapped him, as she meant to all along. She knew, or guessed, what would happen. He fell as did the angels long ago, tempted by carnal desire, and now all he sees at his feet is the yawning Abyss. His heart's strength is broken at that moment. In the years to come, his body's strength will be broken as well, bit by bit. But he loves his daughter anyway.

After all, the child is innocent. If anyone is guilty, it is Anne for the ruthlessness of her ambition. If anyone is guilty, it is the other five sorcerers, for aiding her with willing hands. If anyone is guilty, it is he.

He will never stop punishing himself. And because he is weak and imperfect, like all human souls, in the end he will punish his daughter as well, even if he never intended to harm her.