The Christening Quest

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  It was not until Rupert left, disappointed in his quest and having seen a good many more of the offspring of Gorequartz than he cared to, that the women in the hall consulted with the women praying in their rooms and those gawking at the doorways and concluded that they and their children had been specially blessed by the god that morning. They then proceeded to try to decide what, if anything, the visit portended. Vociferous interpretations quite drowned out the cries of the babies.

  Jushia was not in the linen storeroom where she had promised to meet him. With the castle stirring, he grew nervous waiting, twice having to hide behind bales of sheets and diapers to avoid detection when the maids and other nurses arrived to gather their supplies for the morning.

  When the first of the bustle was over, Rupert peeked out. Finding the corridor temporarily clear, he left his sanctuary and strode importantly into the great hall, as if he belonged there. He hoped to find Jushia consulting with someone on the problem of the missing child, if indeed she hadn’t already recovered the baby and was delayed by the need to fuss over it. He didn’t seriously think anything was very wrong. Except for the theft of Bronwyn’s child, which had given him an excellent excuse to have an adventure, nothing had ever gone very wrong in Rupert’s life. His rank and personal charm, while not causing him to be unduly spoiled or callous, had nonetheless isolated him from the worst rigors of the lives of those less amply blessed.

  So when he saw the priests proceeding from the King’s audience chamber, he was not overly alarmed, but nonetheless took the reasonable precaution of stepping back into the shadows and watching.

  Unfortunately, one of the passing court ladies had spent the wee hours of the morning nursing her sick child and spotted at once the god who had, as she later claimed, miraculously cured her little one just by looking in on him, showing a love and concern hitherto not identified with the Grand Prismatic.

  “He’s here! The Precious Polyhued is here, descended to join us!” she cried, and from all over the palace other worshippers began to flock, babbling supplication and adoration and a lot of other things impossible to make out.

  The priests, who disliked the idea of anyone overwhelming the populace without their supervision, dispersed the worshippers by swinging the incense holder like a sling and uttering threats and imprecations. Rupert found to his surprise that he was almost glad to see them, particularly when he recognized one of the prostrate worshippers as the Queen, asking him to send her a son quickly, and offering up her person as an implement to be used for divine inspiration if he chose. Feeling a little queasy, Rupert patted her on the crown as he joined the priests.

  The High Priest waited until they were all discreetly behind temple walls again to remonstrate with his god. Alireza Mashkent lounged possessively near the crystal throne and burly lay brothers guarded the exit through the beaded curtain.

  “Now then,” the High Priest said, “Suppose you explain to us, Your Highness, just what you were doing in the palace alone and without our per… protection.”

  “Since when does a god need protection?” Rupert asked innocently.

  “You never know when some crazed iconoclast who lost a relative as last ceremony’s delegate might try to test your divinity,” the High Priest said. “It could even be arranged that one would do so.”

  Rupert nodded and stared, waiting. The High Priest stared back. Rupert was a good starer but the High Priest was better. He had had more experience, besides which his control of his followers was subtly magically enhanced. While in possession of the shield, Rupert had not felt the High Priests power. Whether it was that power or his sleepless night that made the Prince feel slightly dizzy, he couldn’t say. He did know that if he stood for a moment longer silent and stiff-kneed he was likely to keel over.

  “So,” he said coolly, “no doubt you were wondering why I was in the palace. I was searching for my niece.”

  “Your niece? The young woman with you? I thought she was your cousin,” His Brilliance said. “I’m afraid I must have missed something vital in this conversation.”

  “Then perhaps Mile. Mukbar can enlighten you. The Miragenians have lent my niece, the Crown Princess of Wasimarkan, tentatively named Magda Xenobia Amberwine Ethel Ermintrude the First, Duchess of Millpond, Countess of Cedar Grove, Marquisa of three prime blocks of real estate in Queenston, Lady of Unicorn Bayou and Honorary City Assemblywoman of Fort Iceworm, Northern Territories, to your monarch’s wife to impersonate her firstborn child until such time as she can produce one. The Miragenians are obligated to return the child to her parents in its fifteenth year under the terms of an agreement forged by Queen Bronwyn and themselves in the Year of the Great War in Argonia. If you sacrifice the baby first, it is clearly a breach of all agreements.”

  “Fascinating,” His Brilliance said, steepling his fingers in a judicious manner. “Well, then, if this is all done by some agreement or other I see no harm in accommodating you, though I must say it’s highly irregular. An agreement is—”

  “We’ve been told,” the Prince said drily. “But Mlle. Mukbar’s firm was a bit hasty in removing the child from her home and birthright—and her birth rite for that matter. They took the child before she could be christened. Therefore, I shall not only need to see her, but to see to it that she is christened in the religion of our native land by my cousin, who is a duly qualified representative of our faith.”

  “Christened?” His Brilliance asked as if Rupert had said “cooked.”

  “It’s a name day and much more,” Rupert said.

  “It sounded to me from your recitation as if the child had quite enough names. I fail to see why she needs a special ceremony.”

  “The names aren’t actually hers unless given to her at the ceremony along with the gifts and blessings of her people and the Mother—”

  “These gifts, are they valuable?”Alireza asked.

  “Only to the child. In a royal child especially, they form the basis for the character and personality of the adult.”

  “I see. Yours must have been extremely interesting.”

  Rupert ignored the lascivious smile accompanying the Miragenian woman’s last remark and waited for the High Priest to say something.

  His Brilliance shrugged. “I see no reason why she shouldn’t have this christening then, if it pleases you. You are the god reincarnate after all. But we could have had the child brought here. There was no need for you to roam about the palace alone, spoiling the impact of your appearance at the ceremony this evening.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Rupert said. “But I believe it was necessary. As it happened, I did not find the child. Perhaps you will tell me where she is?”

  “Alas, I fear we are unable to do that, though if you wish we can put her abductor to the question. So near to a ceremony, the usual procedure with any criminal is to sacrifice them, but I think we could make an exception if—”

  “Excuse me,” Rupert interrupted. “What abductor?”

  “Her nurse was captured this morning trying to escape after having collaborated in the child’s kidnapping. We were consoling and consulting with the parents—or should I say the foster parents—of the baby when we encountered you.”

  The beaded curtain tinkled and Brother Bullcow entered at a gallop, slid to a halt, and genuflected. “Your Brilliance, I beg your indulgence for interrupting, but I must report to you that the foreign witch is missing from her quarters again, despite the guard on the door.”

  “How sad,” the High Priest said, his cold blue eyes on Rupert’s face. “My, what a lot of disappearances there are today. Your Highness, do you know anything of this?”

  “Nothing. I’m sure it is coincidence that two people you only casually mentioned you intended to honor so murderously on my behalf should disappear before you have the opportunity to do so.”

  “Heroically spoken,” Alireza said. She descended from her place beside His Brilliance to twine herself around Rupert’s arm. Rupert did not shake her off but neither did he
change his posture except to stiffen slightly. “I think, Your Brilliance, that you should give your god a theology lesson. He’s a nobleman, a diplomat. Surely he can be made to understand the interdependence of economy and religion, and why at times paltry personal considerations must be secondary to the good of government.”

  “Strange that you should be the one to make such a statement,” Effluvia said, making a grand entrance by sweeping aside the curtain with a flash of her tail, “for I have come to report that by making such a fool of yourself as to follow the god from Miragenia, you have led the unbound entities here. They descended upon the quarrymen last evening. The miserable fellows fled for their lives, the oxen drawing the carts bolted, and the entire load of crystal for that day was lost.”

  “How very costly for you,” Alireza said in a civilized tone.

  The High Priest brushed his hand across his eyes and for the first time Rupert noticed that the man looked tired and ill. His skin bore a waxen sheen and his teeth were accompanied by more pale gum than usual. His voice lost its bantering superior quality as he spoke this time. “Enough of this infernal bickering. Mlle Mukbar, you have foolishly blundered, as Princess Effluvia so aptly pointed out, and thereby have canceled any claim you may have on my sympathy in your cause. Your company must decide to do without you, I’m afraid.”

  “This is outrageous! I demand a better deal! His Highness is mine.”

  “Not at all. His Highness is the very image of our god and more valuable to us than your entire firm. The Princess Effluvia is widely known as the daughter of the King. Their marriage will once and for all unite Gorequartz under a single holy figurehead, though I, of course, will continue to supervise until I expire. By that time, the union should have produced offspring: a boy fit to be my successor.”

  Rupert was stunned. He hardly approved of having his future disposed of in such a manner, but schooled himself to proffer only the mild comment that a youthful-looking man such as His Brilliance surely should not need to think of succession for some time, but could reign himself if he so desired without the help of Rupert, Effluvia, or any child of theirs—perish the thought, the Prince added to himself. He cringed at the idea of a fair-haired and dimpled daughter with a long black tail. He cringed even more at the thought of what would be required of him in the begetting of such a child.

  The High Priest sighed deeply and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. On some people it would have looked noble. “In that I fear you are wrong. You are still unfamiliar with our ceremony of the Midnight Rainbow, but it is my duty, as your earthly representative, to prepare for the sacrifices and the bounty collected thereafter. Look upward and tell me what you see.”

  Rupert looked. Above the crystal dome the iron-gray clouds tumbled, some of them edged with the pulsating bronze of lightning.

  “To sacrifice to the god, to collect that which we require from the sacrifice, it is necessary to first draw upon the power of the storm. To do this I must wear the sacred pendant that directs the lightning through me, making of me a fit vessel for the work of the god. But vessels break with much use, you see, and more’s the pity, so shall I. The High Priest traditionally lives but half a hundred years. That is one reason the central power of rulership has been vested in a secular King. If the King and High Priest were one man, himself of divine descent, there would be no need for him to personally undergo the rigors of the ceremony to maintain control. Lesser brothers could perform the more rigorous rites without loss of prestige to the ruler.”

  “I can see why you would find it of great Profit to thus thwart me, Your Brilliance,” Alireza said with a confident sweep of her thick, dark lashes that in no way betrayed she was worried about being flung down the throat of a crystal idol. “His Highness is indeed worth a great deal to you. However, I am not without value. If harm befalls me, the firm of Mukbar, Mashkent, and Mirza will never buy another unit of merchandise from you.”

  “Madam, it is precisely for the commission of such follies as the trade agreement that commits Gorequartz to dealing exclusively with your firm that the present King should be deposed. Our wares are truly priceless. We should not be restricted to selling them at your price. And I think that you may be able to observe from your bottle later that your uncles will be no less eager to serve their Profit without you than they were under your directorship.”

  “If I agree to this plan,” Rupert said, “you must allow my niece, my cousin, and Mlle. Mukbar to return to their homes. I will not play your part otherwise.”

  “No?” the High Priest smiled a weary and almost tender smile and snapped his fingers. Before Rupert understood quite what was happening, Brother Merryhue lit a candle from an assortment on a tray beside the wall and stuck it under the Princes nose. Rupert suddenly realized that his own attitude was highly unreasonable. The High Priest naturally had the best interests of all concerned at heart. Having borne the rowan shield his whole life, Rupert had seldom been victimized by magic. The experience was novel. He was without resistance to it. He gazed at the priest with more trust than he had ever bestowed upon his own father, and, when Effluvia glided forward to take his hand, he beamed at her. Alireza Mukbar made choking sounds as the brothers hauled her away.

  Chapter XII

  Carole woke steaming. Her woolen clothing smoldered smotheringly against her sweating flesh, while beneath her head the smell of kindling ready to ignite rose from the rowan shield. She felt these changes but saw none of them, for when she tried to open her eyes, they were assailed by light of searing brilliance. She squeezed them tightly shut again and hoped she was not already blinded. While she lay still, the crystal beneath her, shadowed by her body, was bearable, but when she flung out her arm it burned. She allowed herself one or two heat-accelerated heartbeats to wonder what had happened and what to do about it before humping herself, hands and knees together, onto the shield.

  Tugging the sleeves of her tunic down to cover her knuckles, she used them to push her and the shield forward, until she could peer out across the giants teeth. Above a pounding sea, a hot wind seethed through turgid clouds, which in no way diminished the blaze of an oppressive orange sun dominating a full third of the eastern sky. Its fire flashed off every facet of Rowan the Recreant’s face. Carole thought that on truly sunny days the frost giant must provide a traffic hazard quite as dangerous as mermaids to passing ships, if indeed any ships ever passed.

  Balancing the shield on the Recreant’s left molar, Carole flung herself over the tooth and lip and into the cool blue-green sea. The water was warm. When her hands and shoulders broke the surface, the saltiness was soothing as an herb bath to her lightly broiled skin. She dove deep, opening her eyes gratefully to an undersea terrain far more brightly lit than any place she had seen in the company of Cordelia and Lorelei. Still, the ferocious light was softened by the shadows of fish and seaweed and skipping waves. Long, green tendrils furled from the enormous bulk of the giant’s submerged body. Carole swam in a tight, brief circle, orienting herself, noting the giant’s position so that she wouldn’t inadvertently swim headlong into his outstretched arm, half raised as if to protect himself. Rowans must have been less wary in those days, it occurred to her, for surely the famous shield would have protected the giant from the fatally magical aspects of the enchantress’s wrath.

  Thinking of Rowans and wrathful women reminded her that Rupert would still be waiting for her. He must still be asleep. How was he managing not to fry atop the head of his ancestor? Kicking upward, she saw Rupert’s own shield bobbing just below the cleft in the giants chin and she surfaced beneath it and tucked it under her arm.

  With her hand shadowing her eyes, she searched the great head for her cousin. Pure and brilliant slabs of dancing light sculpted the nose and brow while the blinded eyes stared disbelievingly toward the cliffs, shadowed deeply in places while in others it was lit with rainbows on the sea and in the air and reflecting from the cliff sides, winking with mirrored veins of icy-bright stone. No wonder
the place was sacred and the hapless Rowan the Recreant had been named God of Rainbows. His former lady friend had certainly dressed him in the part.

  All of that Carole saw clearly. What she did not see was Rupert, either perched or poached on the giants pate, nor did she see boat, nurse, or child. She thought perhaps Rupert might have taken a swim but saw him nowhere near, and, besides, he was keeping lookout. Surely he would not have abandoned his post without alerting her. Several other possibilities presented themselves. Having examined and abandoned them all, Carole next dove to the bottom to satisfy herself that the most immediately dire fate she could imagine had not yet befallen him. While there were a few bones clothed in seaweed and barnacles instead of flesh, they were too old. Carole didn’t bother to prod them. Instead, she swam upward again, under the giant’s arm, toward the cliffs.

  The cliff wall rose sheer and sharp. Any seaward invader would have to have good scaling ladders and tough boots. As she had neither, Carole dove again and surveyed the bottom, the topography of which was largely defined by the giant’s huge feet, which met the cliffside on either side of the harbor. The right foot disappeared as far as the arch into the hill. Rowan the Recreant must have given a great kick, she thought, trying to get a leg up before the sorceress stiffened him for good. Fish swam in and out under his heel, toward and away from the toes, which made her curious. She dove a bit deeper and peered under his heel. The cliffside had crumbled away under his toe, forming a small cave. She wriggled closer, tucking her wet skirts up to free her legs and keep the cloth from tangling in the crystal.