The Face of Chaos tw-5

by Robert Lynn Asprin

  'I am tired of all this quarrelling,' sighed Shipri. 'I thought that when you had bested the Rankans we would have peace again. I have finally come to an understanding with Sabellia, and I suppose that this new goddess and I will have to do the same. At least She is a goddess, and therefore more likely than a god to be sensible about things.'

  Lalo sat back, relieved. He had painted his own wife as Sabellia, and in the past few minutes he had begun to fear Shipri's jealousy. But Gilla resembled the Sharp-Tongued One less and less these days, and he thought he would have portrayed her as the nurturing Mother ofllsig now.

  Then the splendour of the face of Ils was turned fully upon him, and, even in this remade body unable to gaze into that light, Lalo cried out and hid his eyes.

  'Son of Ils, come here...' Sound was light, slivering painfully through Lalo's shut lids. He shook his head.

  'Lord, I have served in the temple of your enemies, and I am afraid.'

  'But I have defeated those enemies. Stand on your feet and come to Me!'

  I have already died, thought Lalo. What else can He do to me? He opened his eyes. Thufir Far-Seer was waiting to guide him to his Father, who masked his radiance with the face of the great marble statue in the Temple of Ils.

  'You have painted many portraits since the Mage touched you, Limner - what did you see?'

  Lalo fixed his eyes upon the silver necklace that glittered from beneath the god's dark beard. 'Beasts...' he muttered, 'and demons, sometimes, and sometimes... gods.'

  'And when you turned your sorcerer's gift upon yourself?' the implacable voice went on.

  Lalo shuddered, but Thufir's grip held him to this reality. He had seen a pleasure in pettiness that shamed him and beyond that a longing for annihilation that terrified him and a capacity for love that terrified him even more. He had seen the depths of his own unguessed, untapped creative power.

  'As you served Enas Yorl and the priests of Savankala, so now, my son, you shall serve Me,' said the Voice of Ils.

  Before him Lalo saw a white canvas, and brushes that surpassed his own as a Downwinder's donkey is surpassed by a horse of Tros, and a palette with pigments for whose secret the colour-grinders of Sanctuary would have given their souls. Lalo's right hand prickled with power that built, built - it must be grounded somehow - he groped for a paintbrush and dipped it into a colour that was more than scarlet, touched it to the canvas and felt power surge through it in an explosive release like the climax of love.

  His hand moved swiftly, splashing the canvas with scarlet, then down to the palette for a lambent gold, and lastly a shading of opalescent blue. Then he stepped back, the brush falling from his fingers, and the thing on the canvas stretched, flexed, and launched itself glittering into the air.

  Eshi laughed and clapped her white hands, and Thufir smiled his slow, patient smile. Lalo stared as the miniature sikkintair that had come to life beneath his hands soared off through the trees.

  'Before, you were able to paint the truth behind reality,' the whisper of Ils echoed through the deepest chambers ofLalo's soul. 'Now you will give Reality to the Truth you see. Do you not yet understand Who you are?'

  Oh Thou Blessed Mother of All Living, We wander, children who have lost our way- Guard us from all danger, and forgiving, Guide us homeward at the close of day.

  'Holy Shipri, All-Mother, as Thou dost love Thine own lord, hear me now!' Gilla's murmur was lost in the hymn's sweet harmonies. 'Hear me and guide my own man back to me ...'

  Here in the chapel of the Mother, flickering candles struck sparks of colour from the mosaics and one scarcely noticed the rough repairs where Vashanka's thunderbolt had cracked the wall. Gilla huddled in the shadows while the blue robed priestesses passed back and forth before the marble image of the Goddess, continuing their song.

  Whatever men destroy is for Thy mending, Forever feeding from Thy fruitful breast; Thou art the source of life, and at its ending, Once more within Thy holy womb we rest.

  And what if Lalo is already safe within Her arms? Gilla wondered then. Perhaps the gods need a court painter, and what does Sanctuary have to offer that could compare? She bowed her head, rocking back and forth while the chanting continued, sweetly counselling acceptance of life's eternal round of birth and death, and the tears she had so long suppressed fell like rain upon the marble floor.

  The priestesses had finished and the chapel was silent when Gilla felt Vanda's touch on her shoulder and let her daughter lead her out into the harsh sunlight of Sanctuary.

  'Don't tell me,' said Vanda. 'Goronesh wouldn't even see you, and those hypocrites who served Shipri told you that loss is part of the burden that women must bear.'

  Gilla looked back at the golden dome of the Temple, still half-sheathed in scaffolding. 'Am I selfish to want Lalo back? I thought I was the strong one, but I need him!'

  'Of course you do!' said Vanda stoutly. 'And so do we!' Her hair in the sunlight was the same bright copper Lalo's had been when he was young, but her grey eyes were troubled. Gilla swallowed the last of her tears and briskly wiped her eyes. 'You're right -I don't know what got into me!'

  'And now will you come with me to see the Lady Kurrekai?' For the first time since leaving the Temple, Gilla took note other surroundings, and realized that instead of turning down the Avenue of Temples towards the town they were walking along the outer wall of the Palace Square. She sighed.

  'Very well. Let us see what the foreigner can do, for it's certain I'll get no help from mage or god of Sanctuary!'

  The Prince had obligingly offered rooms for the Beysa and her court in the Palace, though perhaps he was only making a virtue of necessity. Gilla wondered how they all managed to fit inside. Certainly the place seemed abustle with Beysib functionaries in laced breeks and loose doublets or the flared skirts and high collars they all affected. It seemed to her that they even outnumbered the silk-sashed Palace servants who went about their duties with such ostentatious solemnity.

  Gilla looked at her daughter, already aping Beysib fashion in a gown cut down from an old petticoat of her lady's whose borders glittered with threads of gold. Whether this Beysib female was any help or no, certainly Gilla and Lalo had done a good piece of work when they used his Palace connections to get Vanda a position here. The Lady Kurrekai occupied a chamber on the second floor of the Palace, close to the roomier apartments near the roof garden, which had been taken over by the Beysa. If Gilla understood what Vanda had told her of Beysib politics, Kurrekai was a cousin of Shupansea the Queen, not in direct line for the lost Imperial throne, but royal enough to keep one of the sacred serpents and to have been trained as a priestess.

  Gilla shuddered, thinking of the beynit. Enas Yorl's basilisks had been bad enough, and now she must face this imported horror. / must love that man, she thought glumly, or I would be running for home.

  And then they were at the door, and the choice was gone. She smelled some kind of incense, like bitter sandalwood.

  'Ah. the mother of my little friend. You are welcome ...' A voice rather deep and slightly accented greeted them. The figure that rose as they entered was tall and strongly built enough to make Gilla almost feel small. She blinked at the magnificence of the quilted petticoat, whose crimson brocade had been overlaid with gold-work until its original pattern could hardly be discerned, surmounted by panniers of deep blue cut velvet and a corset of the same material with long, tight sleeves. She had not realized before now that beneath the cloaks that Beysib noblewomen wore outside, their breasts were displayed. Kurrekai's breasts were large, firm, and bore nipples that had been intricately painted with a pattern in scarlet and gold.

  'Do be seated. I will send for tea.' Lady Kurrekai clapped her hands, subsiding back on to her couch in a rustle of silk. Vanda thrust a hassock behind her mother, and Gilla, who was finding that her knees had an alarming tendency to give way, sat down gratefully.

  'Your daughter has been very helpful to me,' the lady continued languidly. 'She is quick, and oh,
such pretty hair.'

  Vanda blushed and took the tea tray from the Beysib woman who had brought it to the door, set it on a low table of some intricately carven dark red wood, and began to pour. The tea service was made from a porcelain so fine it seemed translucent, and Gilla was abruptly conscious of the fact that she had not changed her gown since Lalo fell ill, and that her hair was coming down.

  She wanted to get to the point of this visit and get out of here, but the Beysib noblewoman was inhaling the fragrance of her tea as if nothing else in the universe mattered just now. Vanda remained kneeling before her, until Kurrekai nodded and finally took one ceremonial sip; then she swivelled around to pour tea into her mother's cup and her own. Gilla tasted the brew suspiciously and found it oddly pleasant. She drank it quickly and then held her cup awkwardly in her lap while the lady, with endless deliberation, absorbed her own.

  Then, finally, she sighed and set the cup down.

  'My Lady,' said Vanda eagerly, 'I told you about my father's strange illness. We have found no one in this city who can bring him back, but your people are wiser than we. Will you help us now?'

  'Child, your sorrow is my own, but what do you suppose I could do?' Kurrekai's head turned within the stiff collar and her slow voice held concern.

  'I have heard,' Vanda swallowed and her voice went up a note, 'I have heard that the venom of the beynit has many properties ...'

  'Ah, my companion,' sighed Kurrekai. She leaned back, and from within one hollow pannier appeared a flicker of crimson, followed by a slim black body as the serpent slid slowly out of hiding and coiled itself lazily in the fold of her petticoat. Gilla stared, fascinated, at the darting scarlet tongue and the jewelled eyes.

  'What you say is true. The venom can be a powerful stimulant if it is properly ... changed ... But your father is not of my people. For him, only the venom's fatality would be sure.'

  'But there is a chance?' All the anguish of the past three weeks met in this moment and Gilla found her voice at last. This woman must agree to help them!

  'I do not wish to, kill a man of Sanctuary.' The turn of Lady Kurrekai's head held finality.

  But Gilla rose, and while Vanda still stared and the Beysib woman was just beginning to look around, launched herself across the room. When she stopped, the beynit was barely a foot from her outstretched hand. The crimson head darted upward like a flame and began to sway.

  'Mother, don't mover Vanda's shocked whisper hissed in the air.

  Gilla remained still, now that she had reached her goal, looking for the first time directly into Lady Kurrekai's round eyes. 'And a woman of Sanctuary?' she said hoarsely. 'Why not? Lalo will die anyway and I will die too. Why not here?'

  For an endless moment, Gilla held the other woman's unblinking stare. Then Lady Kurrekai shrugged, and with an almost careless movement interposed her fingers between Gilla and the red blur that was striking at her hand.

  Stomach churning, Gilla sagged back on her heels. For perhaps the space of a minute the beynit hung with its fangs still embedded in the fleshy part of Lady Kurrekai's thumb. Then it began to wriggle, and the Beysib woman grasped it by the middle, with a little shake detached it, and encouraged it to slide back into the .shelter of her pannier once more.

  'In the name of Bey the Great Mother, the Holy One!' Kurrekai spoke suddenly, strongly, and then became very still, and though her eyes were open, they had become as lightless as Lalo's. Gilla watched, shivering with nightmares of what would happen if a woman of the Beysib died here. Vanda had crept to her side and was holding to her as she used to when she was a little girl.

  There was a long sigh as the lady moved at last, and Gilla was not sure from which of the three of them it had come. A great drop of blood like a cabochon garnet was welling from Lady Kurrekai's thumb. She looked around, gesturing to Vanda with a movement of her head.

  'Get me the little crystal vial fronrthe cabinet - the one with the dipper that used to hold perfume.'

  Vanda got to her feet to obey as Lady Kurrekai faced Gilla again. 'I have attempted to transform the venom by altering the nature of my blood, but it must be used immediately. Scratch your husband's flesh so that the blood comes and touch a drop of this to the wound.' She took the stopper from the vial Vanda was holding out to her, touched it to the drop of blood, and inserted it back in the vial with a little shake, squeezed her hand to produce a second drop, and a third.

  'Go now as I have told you, and quickly.' She thrust the stopper home firmly and handed it to Gilla, then delicately licked the smear of blood from her thumb. 'And remember I warned you - it may fail.'

  'The blessing of the All-Mother be on you. Lady, and be you free of any blame.' Gilla was already on her feet. 'At least you were willing to try!'

  They hurried down the corridor, Vanda skipping to keep up with her mother's longer strides and trying to keep her voice down.

  'Mother, how could you do that? I was terrified! Mother, you could have died!'

  Gilla forged ahead silently, while those they encountered scattered from her path. It was not until they had crossed the Square and passed through the Westgate that opened out on to the familiar streets of Sanctuary that she paused for breath and turned to meet her daughter's wide eyes.

  'Vanda, you are a woman now, old enough to take care of the younger ones if you must, and old enough, perhaps, to understand. If this works, you must promise never to tell your father what I have done for him.'

  'And if it doesn't?' Vanda said in a very small voice.

  Gilla gazed at the teeming life around her, sunlight glaring harshly off browned faces, sounds of quarrelling and laughter, the rich mixture of odours from the street, and for a moment felt as if she had lost her skin and had become a part of all of these.

  'I have borne seven children and seen two die, and lived with the same contrary man for twenty-six years,' she said slowly, 'and I have just realized that I would sacrifice this whole city for one lock of his hair. If this stuff I am going to give him kills him,' she shook the hand in which the crystal vial lay hidden, 'I'm sorry, Vanda, but I will go after him.'

  Lalo the god was creating a woman, a goddess as beautiful as Eshi, as bountiful as Shipri, as wise as Sabellia, as dear to him as someone - he could not remember, but the brush splashed gold like sunlight across Her hair. There, the ripeness of breasts that could feed a dozen babes, and the opulence of haunch and thigh, and skin smoother than the silk of Sihan ... Lalo smiled, and the brush moved as if of itself to suffuse that white flesh with a rosy glow like the inside of a shell.

  And then he stepped back from the easel, smiling, and the figure he had been painting turned to him and took him by the hand.

  He had expected that, and he reached with his other arm embrace Her, but She continued to turn in his grasp, drawing him after her, faster and faster until the green meadow blurred around him.

  'Wait! Where are we going? Beside the river there is a shady bower where we can lie, and -' Damn! If only She would stop and face him for a moment he would know Her name!

  Clouds boiled around him with a roar of thunder. The difference between up and down was disappearing and the paintbrush was torn from his hand.

  'Who are you?' he shouted. 'Where are you taking me?'

  And then he was hurtling through winds that tore away his awareness until he knew nothing but the implacable grip that held his hand. The world had disintegrated into pain and darkness, but through the clouds that whirled around him he glimpsed brief images - the pretentious splendours of a great city where a beleaguered emperor's banner flew; armies crawling like lines of ants across the plains; mountains that shuddered with the struggles of men and mages, and here and there a pocket of greater darkness where forces worse than human strove for mastery.

  And then he saw below him a familiar curve of harbour and a tangle of houses and a tarnished golden dome. and pain clapped great hands around him and he fell.

  Lalo's mouth tasted like the midden of the Vulgar Unicorn and he felt
as if the Stepsons had been practising manoeuvres on the inside of his skull. Except for an annoying throbbing in his arm, he could hardly feel his body at all.

  And Gilla was calling him.

  Holy Anen blast me if I ever touch that wine again! he thought muzzily, and perhaps presently he would remember just what wine it had been. But now that he considered, he could not remember anything about what must have been an epic binge, and that worried him. Gilla would be furious if she had had to drag him home, and from the taste in his mouth he must have been sick, too. He groaned, wishing fervently that he could pass out again.

  'Lalo! Lalo my darling, you've got to wake up! You wretched man, I heard you open your eyes and look at me!'

  Something wet ran down his neck and someone near him stifled a sob. Gilla? Gilla? But she would never weep over him after a drinking bout - a pail of cold water, maybe, but not tears. How long had he been unconscious, anyway?

  As if he were trying to work an old lock with a rusty key, Lalo-opened his eyes.

  He was lying on the pallet in his studio. Alfi and Latilla crouched at the foot of it, watching him with wide, awed eyes. Vanda was behind them, but her face held the look of one who has been suddenly released from fear. He turned his eyes - he did not yet trust himself to move his head - to the bedside, and saw Gilla. Her face was puffy and her eyes red from weeping, and as his gaze met hers they glistened with another tear.

  Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it from her cheek: then he stared at his hand, pallid and veined and thin. And now that awareness of the rest of his body was returning, he realized that he felt curiously light, and his other hand clutched at the bedclothes as if to hold him there.

  'Gilla, have I been ill?'

  'Ill! You might call it that - and I'd rather not know what else it might be -' exploded Gilla, and Vanda got to her feet.