The Sacred Band a-3

by David Anthony Durham

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  T he morning of his coronation, Aliver was up before the dawn. He watched the coming day lighten into a dull, drizzly morning. Not an auspicious start. A little later, the day remembered color. The rain slowed, stopped, and patches of sky broke up the cloud cover. For a midwinter day it was quite mild. Corinn, no doubt, would call the weather perfect. What better way to welcome a new monarch than with a world glistening wet beneath shafts of eager sunlight? Without even talking to her-without needing to hear her say it-he would think of it that way, too. That was how it was between them. Two minds; one mind. He knew he had not always felt that way about her, but he could not remember what it was he had felt instead. This must be a good thing, though. It certainly seemed like it.

  They were doing right, acting bravely, making decisions for the empire. There were coming trials to face, yes. A foul invasion that they would have to meet with force. But how could any ragtag group of brutes stumble out of the Ice Fields and expect to defeat Corinn’s magic? Mena’s sword? Aliver’s joyful masses? There was the fact that Dariel had been lost in a distant land. But he might be found! Corinn would remind him of that. Nothing was certain yet. Until it was, live with hope.

  Remember, Corinn had told him, that only he had walked through death and returned. Only he. She and he had done that together, and now they would rule together. The nation was on the cusp of a mighty change. They were creating it, and it was good.

  Though he could not remember the exact details, he knew that in his earlier life leadership had sat much more heavily on him. No longer. Now he had only to think of a fear to have it swept away by confidence, reason, purpose.

  When a servant opened his door and slipped inside to wake him, Aliver stood from the window seat and waved at the young man. “You wouldn’t expect me to sleep late on my coronation day, would you?”

  “Your Highness,” the servant said by way of answering, a quick bow as he did so. Eyes pinned to the floor, he asked, “Are you ready for your bath? It’s all prepared, with all the special oils and fragrances for the day.”

  Aliver watched him, a hint of frustration rising at the sight of his deferential posture. He almost instructed the man to raise his head and stand straight. What had this man ever seen him do that had instilled such subservience in him? Nothing, and in that case the respect was not true. It was an act, a delusion. In Talay, when he was a young man, he had no servants. Men and women and children, old and young alike, could talk to him as an equal and yet somehow honor him by doing so. In Talay, he had slain a laryx and earned his tuvey band. He could run from sunrise to sunrise without pause. He had been a warrior, and an entire army had watched him slip beneath the belly of a raging antok and slice it end to end. Many had real reasons to honor him. What reason did this man have?

  Before the question was completed, he already heard Corinn’s inevitable answer rising in him. All those things were still true, she would say. For all those deeds and many more he had earned the reverence of the entire empire. This man need not have stood beside him in battle to believe him a warrior, or have witnessed any of the things for which he was famed. That would be impossible, and it would deny this man the prize of serving a king. For him that was a great boon. His bowed head said as much. A good king lets a servant be a servant.

  As quickly as she spoke-or as he spoke to himself with her confident voice-he was reassured. “Yes, I’ll bathe now,” he said, to the obvious relief of the waiting servant.

  So he set off for his first official duty that morning with the servant trailing him through the hallways. He stripped naked before attendants, who acted as if he were not naked, or as if his nakedness were nothing to take notice of. He submerged himself up to the neck in hot water and sat there as sachets of oil-soaked herbs bobbed around him. His toenails and fingernails were snipped. The soles of his feet scrubbed. His entire body massaged with warm oil that was kneaded into his skin by skilled fingers. He stood swaying as several towels dried him, and stayed standing as another contingent of servants swept in with his apparel for the first half of the day. Thus, the king to be acted like the king to be.

  When he emerged in the central courtyard of the royal residential grounds, Aaden ran to meet him. “Aliver! Look at all the boats! It’s unbelievable how many there are. More than yesterday. Come look.”

  Aliver let himself be tugged toward the terrace railing, smiling at a contingent of Agnates fresh in from Alecia. They would want to greet him, he knew, but he had made so much small talk with so many vacuous aristocrats the last week that he welcomed any excuse to put them off.

  He grasped the weathered stone, Aaden beside him, pointing. The boy need not have, for the sight could not be missed. The sea around the isle of Acacia did not sparkle glassy blue or green under the shafts of sunlight. Instead, an enormous, undulating blanket had been cast over the water. A quilt sewn of boats all sizes and shapes, flying flags from every portion of the Known World. It was amazing. Beautiful not just in appearance but in terms of what it meant.

  “Have they all come for you?” Aaden asked. “I didn’t know there were that many boats in the whole world.”

  “There are more than this even,” Aliver said, “as you’ll see on your coronation.”

  “If they keep coming, one will be able to walk from here right across the sea to the mainland, hopping from boat to boat. That would be fun.”

  Aliver agreed that it would be.

  “Today will be good, won’t it?”

  “Aaden,” he said, turning his full smile on the boy, “today is the beginning of a new age.”

  “That’s what Mother says!”

  “She’s right.”

  As if to demonstrate this, a shadow passed over them, with it a whoosh of air that ripped exclamations from everyone on the terraces. Thais flew by. The creature’s wings beat once, and then she glided in a curve out over the bay. Her rider, Dram, sat small on her back. A few moments later, Kohl-flying riderless-sailed into view from the other direction. Cries echoed up from the lower town, climbing the terraced levels as others joined in. Aliver could not make out words in the chanting, but he knew the tenor of it. Euphoria. Joy. Awe. When Po’s black form surged up from below the railing, having skimmed so close to the cliffside that he only appeared at the last moment, Aliver turned his gasp into a shout as well. They were mighty, Elya’s children. They were mighty.

  But when he turned to Aaden, he drew back, unsure how to read the boy’s face. There was a tremor of excitement in it, yes, but it edged more toward fear than joy. “Aaden, are you all right?”

  The boy looked sheepish. “Do you think they are… good?”

  “Good?”

  “That they are good things? Before, I knew they were, when they were Elya’s children…” He glanced behind him. He leaned toward his uncle and whispered. “I don’t like them as I did before. Mother made them… dragons. But they weren’t dragons before. They were something else. Something wonderful. I haven’t told Mother, but I don’t like them now. Don’t tell her. Please don’t. She is so proud of them.”

  While the boy spoke, Aliver agreed with him completely. He was saying things that Aliver himself had thought but had forgotten. Hearing them brought it all back. Hadn’t he said the same before? Hadn’t he cautioned Corinn about squeezing the gentleness out of them? No, he realized he hadn’t. He would have to take the matter up with Corinn.

  These thoughts were clear in his head only for as long as his nephew spoke. After that, they vanished. When Aliver went to respond he said, “Aaden, people will remember this day for ages.” That was true, wasn’t it? They would, and that was wonderful. “For ages, Aaden, and you were here to see it!”

  “But-” the boy began.

  “Dragons over Acacia!” As he swept his arm through the air, he caught sight of Rhrenna and several of her assistants, who had just mounted the main staircase. She stood looking around for a moment, until she saw him. She gave some direction to her assistants and the
n, to his delight, left them and started toward him.

  She looked luminescent. Her dress was slim-fitting yellow velvet, cuffed high on the arms and cut low in the front. It had very few frills, and yet it managed to look elegantly formal. Her golden hair flowed in wavy locks below her shoulders. He had not seen her wear it down before. He’d had no idea it was so long and thick. Really, he was not sure he had ever truly studied her before.

  “Here you are,” she said, grasping him by the arm as if he might dash away. “You’re not to be out of my sight a minute more. The queen’s orders.”

  “Rhrenna, you look lovely. Has anyone told you that today?”

  Color instantly flushed her cheeks, drawing two curves that traced from her cheeks to her jawline. That was fetching, too. And why had he not noticed how delicately drawn the lines of her lips were? They sparkled with some cosmetic, but, like her dress, this only highlighted what was already there.

  “Not yet today,” she answered. “You’re the first. Thank you, Aliver.”

  She told Aaden his mother would be arriving in just a moment. She asked him to give Aliver and her a minute alone in the meantime. The boy hardly noticed, transfixed by the sight of the dragons skimming above the masts of the largest ships.

  A few steps down the terrace, Rhrenna said, “I have foul tidings, and I would like to say them quickly. It’s word from Calfa Ven, about Wren. She’s taken ill.”

  Aliver pulled out of her grasp, but Rhrenna moved with him, as quick as a dance partner. He felt the press of her small breasts against his upper arm. He tried not to be distracted by them. “Is it serious?”

  “I’m afraid so. The physician doesn’t know what’s wrong for sure, but it may be the return of a contagion she caught in her youth. Something tropical, you see, from when she was a brigand. That’s not unheard of. I’m afraid it puts the baby in jeopardy as well.”

  “Who is caring for her? We should send physicians from here.”

  “The queen has seen to it that Wren has the best care possible. Have no fear on that count. And don’t, for yourself, let it spoil this day. That’s why Corinn asked me to tell you quickly and assure you that if she can be saved, she will be. We, however, have to proceed with the day. It’s all tightly scheduled, as you know. Oh, there’s Corinn now.”

  His sister strode before a buzzing swarm of attendants, senators, and guests. Surprisingly, Barad the Lesser walked at her elbow, his large head tilted to hear whatever the queen was saying.

  Aliver parted his lips as they drew near, intending to ask Corinn about Wren, but she spoke first. “Doesn’t Rhrenna look charming, Aliver?”

  Aliver could not help but turn and study the woman again. “Very much so.”

  Rhrenna said something about being a stray dog beside a fox in Corinn’s company, but Aliver could see no reason for her modesty and said so. One of the Agnates behind Corinn piped up in agreement. “Just a different sort of canine, if you don’t mind me saying so. An arctic fox! That’s it. Though not so fluffy.”

  “No need to compare us,” the queen said. “Rhrenna is a beauty in her own right. Aliver sees it, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Aliver said, “I do.”

  Corinn beckoned Aaden to her side. She touched Barad on the shoulder, dragging her fingers down his arm languidly, as if stroking a cat. “Barad just gave the most rousing speech in the lower town. Didn’t you?”

  Barad smiled. “I am most pleased by the reception.”

  “You’re an asset to us,” Aliver said, meaning it. Convinced of it. “Nobody understands the people as you do.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Barad closed his stone eyes for a moment.

  Those eyes, Aliver thought. Those horrid eyes. He liked the man who saw through them, but he found it hard to meet that stone gaze. Expressionless. That was what they were. Lifeless, though they moved and saw. Aliver shifted his gaze from him as something else occurred to him. “Is Mena still not here?”

  “No, it seems she’s been delayed.”

  “How so?”

  “I wish I knew,” Corinn said, reaching out to touch Aaden on the neck.

  Rhrenna answered. “Something must have kept her. She is on the Mein Plateau in midwinter. The weather may be foul. I know it well, arctic fox that I am.”

  “It’s sure to be foul,” Corinn said. A wrinkle of frustration creased her brow, but only for a moment. She touched her index finger to Aaden’s nose, then intoned, “The wind over the Mein is always keen. The snow likes to blow, and the frost will toss. If you like to freeze…”

  “You’ll be terribly pleased,” Aaden finished, “because the wind over the Mein is always keen.”

  Aliver acknowledged the childish verses with a nod. “That’s fine, but perhaps we should-”

  “What?” Corinn asked. “Wait? Postpone the coronation? Don’t suggest that. The ceremony is set for today. Everything is arranged. Aliver, do understand that we’ve pushed as much as we can on the coronation date. We may be monarchs, but I still had to court the high priestess of the Vadayan like a silly lover.” She tutted and glanced back at the sycophantic choir gathered behind him. They jumped at the inclusion, affirming how correct she was, laughing as if she had told a joke private to them all. “Mena will come when she comes. I’ve all but given up on expecting her to follow my instructions.”

  Aliver frowned. He did not want to let it go, but forming words of protest felt like trying to swim against a strong current. “But… what if something has-”

  “Happened to her? This is Mena Akaran we’re talking about! Maeben on earth. Vanquisher of the foulthings. Tamer of dragons.” The choir loved that. “She’s fine. She’ll probably fly in and make a show of herself. She’ll be here in her sweet time.”

  “Time,” Rhrenna said, “is not a luxury we have today. The nobles are already gathering in the Carmelia.”

  “And so should we.”

  For a moment, Aliver burned with annoyance. He could barely finish a thought without-

  “Are you ready to become king?” Corinn asked. She stepped closer to him, her tone intimate in a way that made the onlookers dip their eyes.

  Aliver’s annoyance fell away, replaced by the pleasant glow Corinn’s question created. Yes, he was ready to become king. Of course he was! It had been so long, so much longer than it should have taken. He should have been king years ago. Now, finally, he was just hours away from it.

  “Yes,” he said, “I am ready.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  T he journey north from Teh was uneventful, slow for most of that first day, but faster that night, as the salt-heavy breeze picked up in the early morning hours. The second day they rode the current in its swirl toward the west. That evening, the barges rowed out of it near enough to Acacia to see the glow of lights throughout the night.

  Around them the sea bobbed with life. Crafts of all sorts hitched to the breeze or scooped the surface with oars or even dipped paddles to propel themselves. People called to one another, unusually festive. Some tossed foodstuffs across the water. Bottles and skins of wine. When they fell into the waves, young men dove for them, coming up dripping wet, their teeth shining white. It seemed that to everyone but Kelis and his party this passage was the beginning of a grand celebration.

  If anyone noticed that immobile figures stood in among the close-packed swine, they did not voice it in Kelis’s hearing. The Santoth took up posts throughout the barges. Once positioned, they went as still as standing stones. The other passengers and crew avoided them, but they did so without being sensible of it. A boy, picking his way toward a Santoth on some errand, would choose a route that took him around the sorcerers. Once, two men cast their bedrolls in a clear spot at a Santoth’s feet. Instead of lying down, they stood shuffling, talking, ill at ease. They fell to arguing. Both of them moved away in a huff. One slept awkwardly wedged between two pink-skinned swine. The other sat forlorn near the area used as the latrine, staring into the night. As far as Kelis could tell, the man
slept very little.

  For his own part, Kelis did not sleep at all. Swollen sacks drooped from his eyes, and when he blinked, his eyelids hesitated before rising again. He had never been so tired in his life, but sleep was not a comfort he could visit. Since boyhood, when his ability to find visions of the future in his dreams had emerged, sleep had been a troublesome thing for him. Back then, he had dreamed the future. He had walked in other worlds and conversed with animals and commanded tongues that he had never learned during his waking hours. A gift to the boy but not to his father. His father beat sleep out of him. He wanted his son to be a warrior, like him, not a dreamer. A man of spear and sword, a lion and laryx slayer. Not a man of visions and words, no dealer in things he could not see with his own eyes.

  His father had succeeded in molding him, but Kelis never forgot the visions he had seen and the way they made him feel. It was not power that he felt, but a sense of rightness. He thought of it sometimes when he watched fish in water. That was where they belonged. They breathed what men could not and thrived. He had once, briefly, been a fish in the ocean of dreams.

  For the first time in many years, Kelis wished he could regain the gift he had abandoned as a child. Would that he could sleep now and see what the future held for them. He could not. When he closed his eyes, he just saw more clearly the scene around him. Some gifts, once neglected, can never be reclaimed.

  T he next morning-that of the actual coronation-found them one of hundreds in a logjam of vessels that surrounded the isle of Acacia. The crafts bumped and jostled one another. Whether a barge or a sloop or a fishing rig or a rowboat, tall or short, long or narrow or wide-none could move any farther. Those that had small enough skiffs inched them through what gaps they could find, but as the numbers of ships joining the raft grew, such pathways were squeezed out.

  “Look at this mess.” Benabe stood atop a crate and squinted against the glare of the sun, which had just cut its way through clouds that had left them sodden with rain during the night. “We’ll never get anywhere near the island!”