by J F Rivkin
The mug slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. He saw horror dawn in her eyes, and he thought in dismay, she doesn’t know.
Nyctasia fought to keep her composure, not to give way to alarm. She had thought nothing of his bewildered questions of the night before, taking them for mere delirium, but he should have recovered his senses by now! “’Ben, what are you saying?” she whispered. “Don’t you know me?”
“I don’t know myself-didn’t she tell you that?” he exclaimed, outraged. “Didn’t she warn you that I’d no memory?”
“She-? I-I don’t understand.”
“The southerner! A Desthene, by her account of herself. She left me here and went to fetch a friend of hers, she said, who knew me. Didn’t she send you?”
“Corson… no, she must have come too late to find me. I… received another message to come here.” She sat on the edge of the bed, looking as weak and shaken as he. “She really is a Desthene now,” she said dazedly, still trying to sort out where matters stood. The spell of Perilous Threshold…
“Very well, she is a Desthene, but what am I? That one told me nothing. You called me Ben just now, but-”
“Not even your own name?” cried Nyctasia. “Oh, no-!” I can’t bear any more of this! she thought. But she must be calm, for his sake. He was so racked with anticipation already, such feverish excitement could do him harm, in his weakened state. Calling upon the vahn to help her master herself, she said gently, “Yes, now I understand. I shall tell you all. You are Erystalben, son of Descador, of the House of Shiastred, in Rhostshyl.”
She watched him anxiously. “Erystalben?” he murmured. “Rhostshyl
…?”
The names meant nothing to him. He’d heard of Rhostshyl, of course, but did not remember ever having been there. And who was Erystalben? “I took the name of Veron when I found myself without a name,” he said dispiritedly. “But such a name is anyone’s for the taking. The name you offer me is not to be had so easily, it seems.” He looked defeated, hopeless. “How can I be Erystalben when I know myself only as Veron?”
Unlike Trask, Nyctasia recognized the name. Veron was the hero of an ancient legend, a man who had lost his name through dealings with demons. For veron was not a name, but the Old Eswraine word for “lacking,” for “bereft.”
“You must not call yourself that any longer,” she said firmly. “Name and place are yours. You are the Lord Erystalben Cador Jhaice brenn Rhostshyl ar’n Shiastred.”
He shook his head wearily and sank back against the pillows, stricken by disappointment so keen it seemed to gnaw at his heart like the specter of his dream. “I’ve believed, all this time, that if I once learned who I was, all the rest would somehow come back to me. But you might be speaking of a stranger!”
“Despair destroys the spirit,” Nyctasia said softly. And despair could kill him now, she thought. “It will take time, ’Ben, I daresay, but when you see the city again, your home and your kinfolk, then you’ll begin to remember. You’ll soon be strong enough to travel, and we’ll go back to Rhostshyl together. That’s sure to make a difference.” She did not believe it herself. A spell of Perilous Threshold would not be undone so easily as that. But she was a very convincing liar.
And Erystalben longed to be convinced, above all else. “It may be so,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps names are not enough. But even when I saw you I remembered nothing.”
“Have you not looked in the glass? If you don’t know yourself from your own face, how should you know me from mine? A name, a face-these are nothing, but to return to your birthplace is another matter. There every stone, every nail, will speak to you of your past. Rhostshyl holds your memories, ’Ben, as it does mine, and that is where you must seek for them.” This argument almost persuaded her that she was right. But even if she were proved wrong, he would be strong enough in body, by then, to bear the blow to his spirit.
Erystalben sat up straighter and fixed his flame-blue eyes upon her. “Tell me the rest,” he said.
“The Shiastred are a respected family,” she began, “and you’re the principal heir to the House. Your-”
He waved this aside. “No, wait. First, who are you-you’ve not yet told me that!
And who are you to me? Not kin, I think.”
Nyctasia flushed. “More than kin.”
“Forgive me, it’s a galling thing to have to ask, but are we-?”
“We’re not bound by law, you and I,” Nyctasia said evasively, but her look was answer enough. “But how very discourteous of me, sir, not to have introduced myself.” She rose and bowed. “Nyctasia Selescq Rhaicime brenn Rhostshyl ar’n Edonaris, and at your service. You generally called me ’Tasia.”
He stared at her as if for the first time. “Rhaicime!” he gasped. “But I-But you-Do you mean to say that you’re the Witch of Rhostshyl?”
“It’s not a title to which I lay formal claim,” said Nyctasia, smiling, “but, yes, I’m called that. I’m called ‘The Mad Lass’ in some quarters, so I’m told, but it seems no disrespect is meant, since folk in those trades often call themselves worse. You yourself used sometimes to call me ‘Mistress of Ambiguities,’ which perhaps means much the same thing. I’ve a taste for paradox and masquerade, you see.”
He suddenly remembered that he’d first seen her in scribe’s guise. A woman of good family but little means, he’d thought her, following a scribe’s calling from inclination or necessity. He’d met many such on his travels through the coastal cities, all of them bound for Rhostshyl in hopes of finding service with the Rhaicime. Ignoring her attempts to distract him with her chatter, he persisted, “I’ve heard talk of you in Cerrogh, in Ochram-they say you saved the city by your spells, that you’re the most powerful sorceress in the west of the world!”
“So my spies tell me, but surely you don’t credit such wild tales? I encourage them, of course, in order to daunt my enemies, and the enemies of Rhostshyl, but most of what folk say is merely moonshine. I’ve some skill at healing, as you’ve seen, but what mastery of magic I ever had was weak, because I hadn’t the time to devote to the Art. And now I’ve hardly any time at all. You were always a better magician than I.”
He started. “I?” The idea struck him with the force of a revelation. It was the first thing he’d been told about himself that seemed somehow in keeping with his nature. It was as if she had confirmed something he’d suspected from the first.
“I myself am a magician?” he asked, looking into the distance, lost in thought.
“You were, ’Ben. I don’t know whether you are now.” She had almost said, I don’t know what you are now. He seemed suddenly far from her, as if an unseen barrier divided them. “’Ben…” she said, frightened, “you ought to be resting. I shouldn’t tire you with so much talk, not yet. No, be still for a moment.” She came nearer and brushed back his hair to touch the pulse at his temple. “Ah, your heartbeat’s even stronger, that’s well, but all the same you must have a day’s rest and another night’s sleep before I shall feel easy about you.” She ached to take his face between her hands, to lean still closer to him, but she reminded herself that she was a stranger to him. She had no right to treat him as if he were still her own. She stepped back.
But he seized her hand, saying, “Don’t go-you mustn’t. Please-”
She pressed his hand. “Let me fetch you some soup. You need food, to renew your strength.”
“Presently, whatever you will. Only tell me this first. That other one…
Corson? It’s plain that she thinks me a villain. Have I wronged you too?”
“Not me, but yourself. It is you who paid the price.”
“For what, then? Why did I leave you?”
“Why do we do anything in this life?” Nyctasia sighed. “For power.”
“And did I find it?”
“You did. And this was the result.”
He looked away, then, and said slowly, “I never thought I was a fool, whatever else I might be.”
> “But you weren’t to blame, love. You’d no choice but to leave the city. My kin were after your blood.”
“Because a Jhaice from a respected family has no business to court a Rhaicime?”
“A Rhaicime of the Edonaris, and she betrothed to her cousin. And they believed that with you out of the way, I’d give up my studies of magic and settle down to more responsible pursuits-protecting the power of our House and plotting the downfall of our rivals. You encouraged me to neglect my duties, you see.” She had been speaking with a bitter humor, but suddenly a sob caught at her throat as she said, “Oh, ’Ben, I should have gone with you! But-but-war was brewing in the city, and some of us thought it could still be stopped. They needed my support, I was the only one among them who belonged to the Rhaicimate. I hadn’t the right to go, do you understand?”
He was not altogether sure that he did. Why did she ask this, what did she expect him to say? “And so you were caught up in the war?” he hazarded.
“No, I did follow you before then. I always meant to keep my word! I did! But I waited too long, and all to no purpose. I failed to prevent the bloodshed, and I let you fall prey to the Yth-”
“The Yth!” His grasp of her hand tightened. “Have I been to Yth Wood? Tell me!”
“I think so, ’Ben, I don’t know the whole of it. But I have been there, in search of you, and it was so much more dangerous than we thought-nothing we had learned prepared me to resist its power. If I’d been with you, then none of this might have happened. You were waiting for me, but I didn’t know-” She was crying openly now, shaking helplessly. “I didn’t know what the Yth was like! ’Ben, I swear, if I’d known, I’d not have let you go there alone! Please believe me!”
She had seemed so in command that her abandoned weeping was all the more shocking. If she needed his forgiveness, she must have it. His questions could wait. He pulled her to him, circling her waist with his good arm, and clumsily drew her down beside him. “I believe you,” he said, and kissed her, tasting the tears on her lips and eyes, the legacy of the salt sea. “Of course I believe you, my Mad Lass. Don’t cry.” He stroked the soft down at the nape of her neck, which her cropped hair left so bare and inviting.
Nyctasia shivered and pressed herself against him, allowing the sweet, familiar desire for him to envelop her like the rising tide, for the space of a few heartbeats, before she tore herself away, saying, “This is exceedingly unwise, of all things that sap the strength, the most dangerous.”
“But what better way to die, answer me that,” he teased, pulling her back for a moment to kiss her throat, before he let her go.
“You’ve not forgotten some things, I see.” She stood and straightened her clothes, smiling, then leaned over him, took his face in her hands and gave him a lingering kiss. “Some food for you now, and then nothing but rest-you’re not so strong as you think, not yet.”
He had to admit that she was right. When she’d gone out, he fell back, exhausted and lightheaded, and lay with his eyes closed, listening to the sea. Perhaps, he thought drowsily, perhaps he was really lying asleep on the deck of some coastal trading vessel, dreaming that he’d found his home and his people… that he was a lord, the heir of a noble house, loved by a desirable and powerful lady-a Rhaicime, ruler of a city… What else should a nameless man dream for himself, after all?
When Nyctasia returned, she found him fast asleep. “I’m sorry to wake you, but you should eat this soup now. Then you may sleep all the afternoon, if you like.” As soon as he smelled the savory meat soup, thick with shreds of beef and venison, he realized that he was not only thirsty again but ravenously hungry as well. She gave him bread and wine with it, and he managed awkwardly to make a good meal, relying on his left hand and occasional help from Nyctasia. When he had downed a second bowlful, she was well satisfied, declaring that a good appetite was the surest sign of healing. “Now you may sleep till suppertime,” she said, but the meal had wakened him.
“I’ve had enough of sleeping. I was dreaming just now that you were only a dream, and I want to keep you in sight for a bit, so as to be sure you’re real.”
“We are both real,” Nyctasia said seriously. “Do you remember-vahn, was it only last night?-the first thing you said to me was, ‘I’m real. Or I think I am.’ I didn’t know what you meant by that, and I hadn’t much time to think about it-and yet I should have known, for I dreamed once that I’d found you, but I couldn’t make you hear when I called your name, and you walked past me like a stranger.
“I’d done spells of seeking, but all in vain, and because your spirit remained hidden from me, I was certain that I’d never see you again. Of course, if you were lost to yourself, I could not find you, but I never thought of that. And so when I saw you here…” She shuddered. “But no illusion ever bled like that!”
“You, however, may yet prove a dream,” he said. “The more I consider the matter, the less likely it seems that I could have such extraordinary good fortune. No, if I fall asleep again, I’ll only wake in some filthy dockside inn and laugh at myself for dreaming that a beautiful Rhaicime was feeding soup to a nameless vagabond like me.”
Nyctasia shook her head, as if at a willful child. “You needn’t sleep, then, so long as you rest.”
“But I feel quite fit now, not at all dizzy or weak. Why shouldn’t we walk to the shore? It can’t be far.”
“Certainly not,” Nyctasia said firmly. “Tomorrow, perhaps, if you rest today, and sleep tonight. You don’t-”
But he was laughing at her. “I was only baiting you, ’Tasia, for the pleasure of hearing you scold me. I promise to rest as quiet as an unfledged chick, if you’ll stay here and talk to me.”
Pleased that he had at last called her by name, Nyctasia said with a smile, “You could always win your way with me.”
“That’s good to know. Sit here by me.”
“But what shall I say, where shall I begin? Would you hear of your family? Your parents are living, and you have a younger sister.”
He found that he didn’t care to hear more unfamiliar names, names that suggested no faces, no feelings. He wanted to ask about the Yth, yet he was half afraid to hear the answers. And such a question might distress her anew. They both needed time to recover themselves, he thought. “Tell me more about the past-our past,” he suggested. “How long have I known you? How did we meet?”
“That’s a tale indeed!” Nyctasia laughed. “I was only fifteen or sixteen years of age, and you not much older. And from the moment I first heard your name, until the time we met, I loathed you absolutely.”
“Why?” he asked, dismayed. “What had I done to offend you?”
“Nothing at all, but you existed, and your existence happened to interfere with my plans. You see, I was very taken with astromancy at that time, and I’d learned that an extremely rare alignment of variable stars was to take place one summer night-”
“Now how could I interfere with that?”
“Patience. I’ll come to that in good time. There was to be a banquet and ball that same night, at the palace of the Edonaris, but I didn’t concern myself with that. I rarely attended such affairs, and didn’t suppose I’d be missed on this occasion. But that morning my great-aunt, the Lady Mhairestri, summoned me to say that I most certainly would be expected to make an appearance, and that I was not to absent myself for any reason whatsoever. And that was on your account. I was to make your acquaintance, engage you in conversation, and the like.”
“But you said your kin disapproved of me.”
“To be sure they did, later, when you proved such an undesirable influence on me, and threatened to come between me and the duties of an Edonaris. But at this time, the Edonaris were courting the support of the Shiastred, and you were to be head of the House of Shiastred one day. Our feud with the Teiryn was becoming serious, and your family had not yet declared themselves for one side or the other. Because I was close to you in age, my task was to charm you with my attentions, discover where the sy
mpathies of your House lay, perhaps to sway you to our cause.
“Mhairestri was one of the heads of the family, very respected and influential.
It would never have entered my mind to disobey her outright, and it took all the temerity I could muster even to question her orders. I explained, with all due courtesy, about the stars and the powerful Influences created by such a rare confluence of elements, but Mhairestri gave it as her opinion that this celestial event could very well come about without my assistance. She said,
‘It’s time you gave less thought to witchcraft, and more to statecraft!’ Then she pointed out that my duty to my House, my estate, and my city all required me to set aside my own interests, that responsibility and rank entailed sacrifices, and that the family asked little enough of me as a rule. But she had no doubt, she assured me, that I, being an Edonaris, would willingly put the performance of my duty before all else, when duty so plainly presented itself as in this instance.”
“Poor girl!”
“She could always get the better of me by appealing to duty. Or nearly always. I ventured to observe that my cousins, Thierran, Mescrisdan and Lhejadis, were also Edonaris, also young, and indeed better suited than I to win your regard, being more accustomed to society and more at their ease in company.”
“Why was that?”
“Oh, I was a sickly child, and a scholarly youth, who’d never mixed much with others, aside from my kin. I’d been allowed to go rather my own way. But Mhairestri had made up her mind that I could be useful in this matter, and it was a waste of breath to argue. My manners, she insisted, were perfectly satisfactory when I chose to use them, and quite good enough for a young lordling like you. The others would do their part, of course, but there could be no question of their taking my place, because I was of Rhaicime rank. My notice would be more flattering to a boy of the lower nobility.”
“The insolent harridan!” Erystalben exclaimed with real anger. “A curse on her for a brazen procuress! How dare she?”
