The Pearl Saga - Mistress of the Pearl Part 49

Marethyn thought that must be a good sign. When the water was as black as ink, as thick as blood she stopped. Then she stripped off all her clothes and threw them one by one into the steaming cauldron.

"Will you do the same?" she asked them.

They stared at her for a moment, then Majja disrobed and threw her clothes into the black water.

Ba.s.se stood watching them, arms folded across his chest. Naked, the two females took turns stirring the cauldron with a long green-birch switch. Its delicate color soon turned muddy, then deepest black.

After about an hour, Marethyn took out a piece of sopping clothing. It was her tunic, and it was dyedas black as the switch. She held it up like a standard, which in a way it had become.

"From this moment forward we are the Black Guard," she said. "We are the end of all things. Our clothes are black as night. They honor those who died here, but they also serve notice on our enemies that we wear on our backs their own death."

Majja plucked out her own tunic, held it up. "The Black Guard."

Ba.s.se looked on stonily. Majja went to him, put her hand on his shoulder, spoke to him softly. In response he turned his back on Marethyn, on the fire. Majja, talking to him still, managed to get his tunic off him. She threw it into the boiling water. He would not remove his breeches, though, and stood, stolid and stoic, arms crossed over his chest, unmoving until his tunic, black as pitch, was ready. Majja spoke to him again, and he lifted his arms like a child so she could slip it over him.

25

Skreeling

The high doors of the Abbey of Five Pivots were closed, locked tight behind gates of petrified heartwood, as Krystren wearily made her way toward them. Periodically, she turned, searching with her mind for any sign of Varda. Though she found none, the atmosphere had taken on a charged quality akin to that before a violent storm. Above, filthy-looking clouds raced by, their edges torn and ragged. Wind whistled through the crenellated cornices of the abbey's pale walls, causing an eerie moaning. But of the Eye of Ajbal there was no trace whatsoever.

When she was no more than a pace or two from them, the spiked bars creaked open just wide enough for her to slip through sideways. They swung shut the moment she was inside, trapping her in a narrow s.p.a.ce with the gates behind her and the arched cinnamon-chalcedony doors in front of her.

She went up to the doors, put the flat of her hands on the mineral slabs. Remarkably, she could find no seam with her fingers. That was why she started when her fingertips sank in nails deep. She pulled her hand free and, a moment later, the doors opened soundlessly inward. She hesitated a moment before she went through. Instantly, the doors closed behind her.

She found herself in a courtyard composed of golden gravel-tiny, round, glinting. It was shaped like two triangles, one facing her, the other inverted, superimposed one upon the other. On the far side of the courtyard rose the imposing column of the central tower, impossibly slender, slightly tapering, whiter than the ice caps of the highest peaks of the Djenn Marre. The cl.u.s.ters of sapphires on the taffy-pull dome sparked and danced in blinding shots of clearest blue.

Unfamiliar and exotic scents came to her, doubtless from the herb beds that rimmed the courtyard on all sides. They should have been overgrown, but they were not. On the contrary, they looked newly shorn and shaped. Likewise, whatever damage had been done by the Khagggun invasion decades ago had been repaired in a way that made it appear as if it had never occurred.

At the bottom of the tower was an open archway, and Krystren felt drawn to it in the same manner in which she had been drawn to touch the mineral doors. In a kind of daze, she walked across the gravel, which gave off only the slightest whisper beneath her boot soles.

It was only when she was halfway across that she suddenly remembered that Minnum was not with her. She stopped and turned all the way around, as if he were lagging somewhere and she only need call his name and he would appear. But he would not appear, not ever again. She felt his death in the same way she would a wound that had not yet healed. There was only the occasional stab of pain, but it ached all the time, and there was a drawing sensation as if a small part of her was gone. She wondered at this, for she had known him a very short time, and yet in all the deeply felt ways that mattered it seemed like a lifetime. They had fought together, had saved each other from death, and for that alone she would miss him. Her head came up, and she looked around at nothing. She felt something near her in the vast geometric abbey courtyard. If it were powerful enough, could your courage live on after you were gone?

she wondered. Why not?

She turned around and continued her pa.s.sage to the central tower's archway. Out of the sun it was deliciously cool. Her nose was filled with the dry, flinty scent of stone. The interior looked like the whorl of a mollusk sh.e.l.l, filled with the limpid blue of twilight, liquid and darkly shimmering, cast through a crystal oculus by the sapphires on the dome. In the center of this blue lagoon an alabaster spiral staircase wound upward. To one side was the polished oval of a small heartwood table with the fine, tapered legs of a forest animal. On the table was a bronze lantern, by the look of it very old.

A hush enveloped her. This was very clearly a blessed s.p.a.ce, a temple of chants and spells, whereancient prayers had spiraled like incense. She could feel the holiness as surely as she felt the floor beneath her boots. It draped across her shoulders like a finely woven shawl. It was strange to her conscious mind, familiar to her unconscious, powerful to her whole being. It caused the fine hairs at the nape of her neck to stir.

She ran her hand lightly over the lantern's beautiful filigree before mounting the stairs. She had not gone more than a quarter of a circle when a shadow fell upon her and, looking up, she saw Giyan peering down at her from what at this distance looked like a tiny landing.

"Minnum?"

"Dead. Killed by the archon Varda."

Giyan slumped against the bal.u.s.trade, so delicate it appeared inadequate to hold her. She pa.s.sed a hand across her eyes, as if by the gesture she could wipe away Krystren's words and all the sadness and loss it brought.

"Can we help in any way?"

Giyan gathered herself. She extended her arm and opened her hand wide. All at once, Krystren felt herself being plucked up as if by an invisible fist, whooshing up the center of the spiral until she had alighted upon the same landing on which Giyan stood. It was, in fact, not tiny at all.

"He died with great courage," Krystren said in a solemn voice. "He saved us from death at the hands of the Ardinal." There was more, of course, but she could not bring herself to utter a word of it. The kiss, the words, all that pa.s.sed between her and Minnum in those last moments were private. They were preserved for her alone.

Giyan sighed. "I saw this two days ago."

"It's true, then, what we have heard about Ramahan."

"Luckily, only a very few are seers," Giyan told her. "It is a gift and a curse I would give almost anything not to have."

Giyan had been leading the way into a circular room that must surely be within the taffy-pull dome of the tower. Save for three smallish windows, the entire circ.u.mference was filled from green-porphyry floor to marvelously muraled ceiling with shelves stuffed with books. It was the abbey Library. On either side of the room stood a matched pair of filigreed tables with articulated sections that lifted up to support at an angle convenient for reading the larger and heavier tomes. The center of the room was taken up with what appeared to be a curious polished bra.s.s-and-green-jade ladder complete with a seat on its platformlike top step.

"But if you knew, why did you let him stay? You could have saved him, taken him with you."

"Could I? Minnum wanted only one thing from life-to be considered a hero. He was tormented by his sins, was certain he would never be able to atone for them, never be found worthy. What kind of a life was that? Now, by your own reckoning, he is a hero. Besides, I cannot decide who lives and who dies. I see a future, but it is only one of many. I had to return to the abbey. It wasn't a happy choice, but it had to be made."

Giyan went over to the ladder, put a hand on it. "The reason this abbey is called Five Pivots is because the five towers were built to harness the power bourns that run deep beneath the foundation. In order to destroy the Eye of Ajbal I needed the help of this-the kalqin links the towers, brings them into synergy, so their power is harnessed, like a lens that magnifies sunlight."

"Could you use it to find Varda?"

"I tried just as soon as I was able to disable the Eye of Ajbal. I could sense him, but I couldn't see him."

"He is near then."

Giyan nodded. "We must be on our guard. He will doubtless wish to exact revenge for the death of Caligo."

"How powerful is he? It is our understanding that Miina stripped the sauromicians of most of their sorcerous knowledge."

Giyan lifted her arms. "Do you see the gaps in the books stacks? The Sarakkon the sauromicians enlisted have raided the Library. Varda and those archons with him have been regaining power almost asfast as they can read. In addition, they are using necromancy, a branch of sorcery Ramahan are almost entirely unfamiliar with. It is forbidden knowledge, and with good reason."

Krystren recalled the terrible truths she had learned about necromancy while with Bryn and the gabir.

Giyan ran a hand through her hair. "This is where we will miss Min-num the most." Folding herself heavily onto a wide wooden chair, she sat brooding for a time. "I saw the crossroad at Five Pivots," she said at last, "the parting of the ways at the abbey. I prayed that his future, our future would be otherwise."

Krystren saw in her mind's eye the terrible burden Giyan was obliged to carry, and said so. "Even for high Ramahan, we see, prayers are not always answered."

Giyan fixed Krystren with her beryl stare, lines of sorrow etched into her beautiful face. "Miina answers all prayers. It is for us to discover how." She smiled wanly. "Sometimes it takes a lifetime."

In the holy stillness of the Library, Krystren thought of the last kiss, the pleasure on Minnum's face, the look in his eyes knowing that she was holding him. Despite her training, something about him had tugged at her heart. Strong emotion, a stranger, had unbeknownst to her crawled into her house, there to lodge with a pa.s.sionate tenacity.

At length, Giyan rose slowly, almost painfully. "Come now, we must honor Minnum's life."

Together, they ground soft amber in a mortar and pestle, lit the resulting powder. The musky fragrance drifted upward while Giyan intoned a prayer.

"Great G.o.ddess, welcome Minnum, Your child in heart, spirit and mind. Gather him in Your benevolence and protect him. Celebrate with us the hero he has become, the fulfillment of his destiny.

Take his hand, walk with him through the shadows and the light, through the Darkness of Eternity and out the other side. May he be reborn with the knowledge You hold in Your heart, with the wisdom that flourishes in the Realms beyond ours, with a loving heart, with a virtuous step."

Gul Aluf wanted Sahor to stay with her, and he agreed. It took some time and coaxing on her part, but in the end he gave in. He did not want her to know how eager he was to remain in the Temple of Mnemonics.

They had had to leave Nith Batox.x.x's lab-orb precipitously because Nith Immmon had been made aware that Nith Na.s.sam was on his way there and, as Sahor had suspected, Nith Immmon did not want to have to explain the presence of what would appear to be a Kundalan in the hallowed precincts of the Comradeship.

Guls did not sleep, exactly, and Gul Aluf was no exception. They did, like all living creatures, require rest and rejuvenation. Even as their physical bodies were renewed, their neural pathways were plugged into the neural nets, where they worked on genetic innovations for the Gyr-gon children they were creating. Innovation was the Guls' watchword, none more so than Gul Aluf.

When Sahor, who had been asleep, awakened himself at a predetermined time and saw Gul Aluf in a deep dream state, he silently rose. As he dressed he watched her. While it was true that Gyrgon were both male and female, it was also true that the majority of Niths were more male than female. For Guls, the opposite was true. There was, however, no hard-and-fast rule. The fact of the matter was that some Niths- and Nith Immmon was one of them-preferred the company of other Niths when they coupled.

That was, of course, why Sahor had betrayed his true feelings when he had asked Gul Aluf if she and Nith Immmon were together. On a larger canvas, it was also why the Comradeship had cast the Deirus out of the mainstream of V'ornn society. Same-s.e.x love, it was decided, should be the sole province of Gyrgon: It worried and somewhat frightened the Comradeship that the Deirus should exhibit this particular trait, and so it denigrated it, made it tacitly illicit.

Seeing Gul Aluf calm, innocent as a child, made him realize that if he truly wanted to transform her way of thinking, he was going about it in the wrong way, for she would never respond to his arguments; in fact, the force of them only reinforced her own point of view. She had an indomitable spirit, and it was, in part what drew him to her. But it also meant that she would be conquered by no Nith, even him. Heknew then that he needed to clear his mind absolutely of any intent whatsoever. Only then would he have a chance of changing her mind.

Why was he thinking about it, anyway? Didn't he love her? And if he didn't love her, what then did he feel? If not love, what? l.u.s.t? Certainly, the two of them were no good for each other. If the last day proved anything, it was that. And when he weighed her on the same scale on which he put those he did love-Riane, Giyan, Eleana, and the rest-he found her sorely wanting. The truth was he loved the Kundalan more than he loved his own species. In fact, if he were to be brutally honest with himself-and in such dire circ.u.mstances why not?-he knew that, excepting his father, he had never loved another V'ornn. When he thought of them the emotion that most often came to mind was contempt.

Pushing these disquieting thoughts aside, he proceeded through the labyrinth of the Temple of Mnemonics. He had to be exceedingly careful, he had to have a map in his head of the maze, he had to wrap himself in shadows as if they were his old Nith greatcoat, he had to think about nothing but getting from here to there. For, unlike other Gyrgon facilities, the Temple of Mnemonics was never idle. Neither were its corridors and cubicles deserted. There was a saying among V'ornn of lesser castes, promulgated by Gyrgon, and it was essentially true: The Temple never sleeps. The larger Kundalan-designed chambers on the ground floor, such as the great listening hall where the weekly convocations were held, were for the most part kept intact. The rest of the original Kundalan structure had been more or less hollowed out, replaced by a three-dimensional grid, a hive of industry tailor-made for a comradeship of technomages. Because they were, at hearts, experimenters, Gyrgon liked their privacy, so quarters were separate, as were their lab-orbs. Viewed as a whole, the schemata resembled nothing so much as a gigantic molecule, which, considering their vocation, was altogether appropriate. The layers of living quarters and lab-orbs were separated by strategically placed fusion generators, photon links and ion-powered substations. And then, of course, there were the Guls' Crowns of Creation, where the Comradeship was perpetuated.

As he moved through that great geometric tangle, Sahor reviewed the list of his enemies, those Gyrgon loyal to Nith Batox.x.x and all that he stood for. Now Nith Na.s.sam had taken Nith Batox.x.x's place. There was always one to take up the fallen standard. It seemed decades since the Comradeship had spoken with one voice. He had considered the possibility that it was Kundala itself that had sundered the Comradeship, that this was, in fact, a necessary process, a step in some unknown evolution that had begun the moment they had set foot on this world. He knew Gul Aluf would disagree, and so would Nith Na.s.sam and probably Nith Immmon as well. But then they did not see Kundala as he did. He could they? They still believed that Stasis and Harmony were synonymous. He could not imagine in what part of the Cosmos that might be true. He wondered whether it had ever been true. Certainly, it was not the case there on Kundala, a world that thrived on change. It was altogether possible, he knew, that the Comradeship had long ago created their creed in order to perpetuate its power. He wondered whether those who did not understand the essential truth of change-or Transformation, as the Ramahan called it-would one day be swept aside in Anamordor, the great cataclysm the Ramahan believed was coming. Sahor, too, believed it was coming, with all his hearts and soul.

He scrutinized every Gyrgon who pa.s.sed him. He listened to s.n.a.t.c.hes of their conversations as he melted into corners, stood unmoving in shallow alcoves, attached himself to shadowed walls. He was still finding out things about his new hybrid self. This ability to blend into his environment at will was one of them. There were so many possibilities and pathways. Nothing like him had ever existed before. He was a living experiment in progress, which meant any Gyrgon in the Comradeship would kill to get his hands on him, split him open, find out what made him tick, why he was still alive.

His progress could be charted best on a warrnixx spiral. There was no direct path from Gul Aluf's quarters to Nith Batox.x.x's lab-orb. Even if there had been, he wouldn't have taken it. Two steps forward, one step back. Three steps forward, two steps to the right or left. He was up against many impediments, living and quasi-living, for as he well knew the Temple of Mnemonics was laced with all manner of security devices, and if you were no longer Nith, you needed an encyclopedic knowledge of them to avoid tripping them. Some would set off photonic alarms, others, like the null-wave nets, would enmesh the unwary in a force webbing or paralyze the intruder, still others would kill on the spot.Seemingly innocent-looking ramps, gangways, photon lifts held such thorns, invisible and undetectable to the untrained eye.

Despite all the hazards, Sahor made it to Nith Batox.x.x's...o...b..lab without incident. He had watched Nith Immmon open the photon lock and he repeated the procedure, which was, like everything surrounding Nith Batox.x.x, unorthodox inasmuch as it employed the antiquated and, therefore, virtually unremembered Nangian scale. Sahor knew of it, though. It had been first taught to him by his father, who used it in some of his sonic sculpture. Lucky for him, for quite by accident he had discovered that Venca, the original language of the Ramahan, was curiously similar to the Nangian scale.

Closing the access hatch behind him, he activated the lab's illumination at its lowest level. The interior glowed with a nacreous iridescence as if it were the inside of a muodd sh.e.l.l. He stood for a moment, inhaling the scent of orangesweet. Then he crossed to the place where he had been standing when Nith Immmon had ordered them out.

He increased the intensity of the glow as he put his face close to the blossoms. He marveled at the constructs. They were perfect. Almost. He would have done it differently, of course. The problem was that though Nith Batox.x.x had programmed in surface blemishes, the structure of the blossoms themselves was absolutely perfect. Each petal was exactly the same height and width. Each blossom perfectly symmetrical. Nature did not work that way.

One by one, he touched them, feeling the difference on their insides where the neural nets held the data. He felt around at the base of the blossom where it met the vine and disconnected the construct. He took it to one of the task stations. The stem fit perfectly into the small cylindrical slot which, it was now clear, Nith Batox.x.x had manufactured for it.

He keyed in the datastream and on the task station holoscreen up popped a pair of birth cauls. He froze the images to study them better. He just had time to identify them as belonging to Kurgan and Terrettt Stogggul when he became aware of a subtle change in the bio lab's atmosphere.

He took the artificial blossom from the data slot a moment before the lights went up full. His back was to the access hatch. Whoever was there could not see him palm the blossom. He turned and saw Gul Aluf walking toward him. Her wings were folded tight to her torso.

"I thought we had an agreement," she said. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I don't think you should take this personally."

"I knew you had found something. I suppose I should not be overly surprised that you have chosen to keep it from me." She smiled with her teeth. "You have chosen to keep so much from me, Sahor."

"You should not use my name here, ever."

"You're right, of course. The walls have neural nets." She stopped very close to him. "Nevertheless, I will do what I want."

"As is your right as Breeder," he said.

"Let us not procrastinate further." She pointed to the holoscreen. "Tell me everything. Now."

Sahor debated the best of several poor choices. The best lies were sown in the seedbed of truth.

"Look." He turned the holoscreen so that she had a clear view.

Her eyes widened. "Stogggul Terrettt's and Stogggul Kurgan's birth cauls."

Was it significant that she put Terrettt's name first? Sahor wondered. "What would Nith Batox.x.x want with them?"

For some time, she said nothing, bent over his right shoulder, one palm flat on the surface of the task station, eyes eating up the image. At length, she said, "Go on. What else have you found?"

"That's it," he said.

"That cannot be all." She stood up. "There is more, I know it."

She knew why Nith Batox.x.x was interested in the Stogggul brothers' birth cauls, Sahor thought. "Not so surprising seeing them here," he said. "After all, it was Nith Batox.x.x who wanted the Ashera hold on the regent's post ended. It was he who pushed the Comradeship into accepting the Stogggul as replacement." He was watching Gul Aluf, but she said nothing. "Even you thought he was mad to want Stogggul Wennn as regent. But he didn't, not really. He saw beyond the weak-willed father to the clever and ambitious son. It was his plan to install Stogggul Kurgan as regent all along. The question is why.""He raised the boy from before the time of his Ascendance." Gul Aluf's gaze had been drawn back to the images of the birth cauls, as if for her they were magnetic. "He could control him absolutely."

"At least he thought he could," Sahor pointed out. "In the end, Stogggul Kurgan proved too clever even for Nith Batox.x.x."

"There is something about the Stogggul line," she said, almost to herself, "something about the brothers."

"Terrettt has been incarcerated inside Receiving Spirit for years," Sahor said. "He is the victim of an untreatable madness."

Gul Aluf was looking from one birth caul to another. "The madness is a by-product."

"A by-product? Of what?"

"That is precisely what I would like to know."

They both turned at once to see Nith Na.s.sam standing in the open hatchway of the goron-wave chamber.

Minnum was resurrected in Krystren's mind, his kindly face, kindlier heart. His last words.

"In all the sorrow and uncertainty we forgot to say. Minnum told us, made us promise we would tell you-"

Giyan was instantly on alert. "What?"

"What was it?" Krystren, brows knit, cast a different look to her tattoos. Snapped her fingers. "Yes.

Spirit Bell. He said, 'I have attached Spirit Bell to him,' or something of the sort."

"Are you sure?"

"Indeed, yes." Could hear again his voice, low and damp with blood, his careful articulation a clue to import.

"Minnum, bless him!, cast a Sticky Spell-one spell inside another, like a seed inside a fruit.

Undetectable, it attaches itself even if the outer spell goes awry. They can do many things, Sticky Spells.