Bringer of Light

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘I’m sorry, Kerin, but their abilities are just too useful to leave untapped in our war against the Sidhe. I will take only one, though.’

  ‘And you will leave the rest of the boys to sleep in peace, and do everything in your power to keep the one who goes with you safe?’

  ‘I promise I’ll keep him out of danger, if I can.’

  In the awkward silence that followed that qualified remark, Taro found himself thinking about the sleeping boys. He hadn’t realised Jarek would want to take one, but it made sense. As he said: they were too useful. But if Damaru was anything to go by, they could also be a right royal pain in the arse – and the boy they chose wouldn’t even have a ‘maman’ to keep him in line. Taro hoped Jarek had some sort of plan to make the boy behave.

  Damaru looked up, and Kerin asked, ‘Are you nearly done, my lovely boy?’

  At Damaru’s nod, Jarek said, ‘Guess it’s time to get you back. Then Taro and I have some cables to finish rerouting.’

  Taro turned to Nual. ‘How come you get off engineering duty then?’

  ‘I’m going to Serenein.’ Seeing the look on his face, she added, ‘Don’t worry Taro, it is only for a while. We have some unfinished business down there.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  As they descended the stairways of the Tyr Nual was grateful for her shimmer-cloak. Fortunately it was still early, and there were not many people around. Pressing herself against the wall and pulling the cloak tight was usually sufficient, although one servant did stop dead and stare in confusion. Fortunately Kerin was far enough ahead not to notice Nual briefly grasp the man’s hand and look into his eyes; he would have a bit of a headache when he recovered his senses, but no memory of Nual at all.

  Kerin’s room was large and, by the standards of what Nual had seen so far, relatively opulent. However, it also smelled awful, possibly due to the presence of two dead bodies, both male. In addition there were two live but deeply unhappy ones: a man, gagged and trussed up in a torn sheet, and, in the other corner, an adolescent girl, bound in another sheet. The man was awake; the girl semiconscious. Nual, curious, dipped into her mind, then recoiled from what she found there.

  She hung back as Kerin rushed over to the only live, unbound occupant, an elderly man whose bald head was covered in tattooed writing. His face was pale, except for two spots of colour high on his cheeks, and he had a crossbow bolt sticking out of one shoulder. As Kerin bent over to examine the wound the man looked past her.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you . . . must be Nual.’

  Though his voice was feeble and feverish, she sensed his mixture of curiosity and apprehension. She gave him a respectful nod. ‘That’s right. And you must be Urien.’

  ‘Maman, I want to sleep now!’ Damaru was standing by the smaller of the two beds, which had had its covers stripped off.

  ‘Use my bed, Damaru,’ said Kerin.

  Damaru made a harrumph of irritation deep in his throat, shot Nual one last hostile look, then thumped down on the larger bed and rolled himself up in the covers.

  ‘Urien,’ said Kerin in a businesslike tone, ‘I must draw the bolt immediately.’

  ‘I imagine that will hurt,’ he commented tightly.

  ‘Not as much as you think. I have a spray here to numb the pain.’ Kerin began to rummage in the bag she had brought from the Setting Sun. Nual cast an eye over the two dead bodies. One was a guard, like the bound man; he was lying in a dried pool of what was presumably his own blood. The other wore robes like Urien’s, though less ornate. They were coloured red, rather than Urien’s green. He had a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest.

  Nual realised Urien was still watching her, both out of curiosity, and to distract himself from what Kerin was doing. ‘The guard is my work,’ he said, ‘it took him . . . a while to die. The other . . . she shot herself.’ More quietly he added, ‘She had not known . . . he was her father.’

  That explained the girl’s deep well of self-loathing. ‘Is she drugged?’ Nual asked softly.

  Urien addressed Kerin. ‘I hope you do not mind . . . I gave her one of your sleeping draughts. Although she showed little inclination to stir, even without . . . the draught.’

  Kerin said, ‘A sensible precaution, Urien. I think we should keep her sedated for the moment.’ She looked around, then said, ‘Urien, you must lie down on Damaru’s bed. When I remove the bolt, you may not be in a state to converse for a while, even with the sky-medicine. So, before we go any further, I need to ask you who you think was behind the attempted coup.’

  ‘Escori Garnon, almost certainly.’

  ‘And if it was Garnon, what do you think he will do now that nearly a full day has passed and there has been no sign of life from within these chambers?’

  ‘I cannot . . . be sure.’

  ‘I can,’ said Nual quietly, looking meaningfully at the trussed-up guard who was staring, wide-eyed, over his gag at her. When the other two turned their attention to her she added, ‘If nobody objects.’

  ‘That would be . . . most useful,’ said Urien. ‘Kerin?’

  The other woman hesitated, then agreed as well.

  Nual bent down next to the man and dived into his mind. He put up little resistance and it did not take long.

  As Kerin laid out what she needed to treat Urien on the table next to the bed, Nual said, ‘Your suspicions are correct: the man Garnon is behind this. He intended to wait to see how things turned out.’

  ‘Always was brazen,’ commented Urien, who had got himself up onto the bed.

  ‘We must deal with him quickly, then,’ said Kerin.

  ‘Absolutely. At this hour he should . . . still be in his chambers.’

  Nual said carefully, ‘And is this a problem you are happy to leave me to solve?’

  Urien gestured vaguely to indicate it was Kerin’s choice.

  She said, ‘I am, aye. Do what you must.’

  Urien whispered, ‘We need to . . . make an example of him.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Nual. ‘What about this man?’ She pointed to the guard. ‘I will need him to guide me to Garnon’s room. After that—’

  ‘If you can avoid taking any more lives,’ said Kerin coldly, ‘I would appreciate it.’

  The guard, Gwaun, was right: Garnon might be brazen, but he was no idiot. He had two of his most loyal men standing guard outside his room, and they were understandably surprised when Gwaun turned up after having been missing for a day, accompanied by the Cariad herself. Naturally, they opened the door without question.

  Garnon was alone in his bedroom. He too was surprised. ‘I was beginning to worry,’ he said, looking from one to the other. ‘Am I to understand that Onfel and Maelgyn did not survive?’

  Neither Gwaun nor the Cariad responded, and Garnon began to look a little uncertain. He addressed the Cariad. ‘Are they still in your room, then, chilwar?’ A pause. ‘That is you, is it not, Ifanna?’

  Nual reached for her veil.

  When the Cariad swept out of Garnon’s chambers a short while later, she was alone. After she left, the monitors argued about whether to close the door, which she had left open in her wake, until one called out to the Escori, ‘Gwas, can we get you anything?’ When they received no answer, he plucked up courage to go inside, where he found his fellow monitor sitting on the floor of the antechamber, glassy-eyed and mumbling.

  Escori Garnon himself was sitting up in his bed. At first the monitor thought nothing was amiss – then he looked at the Escori’s face, which was frozen forever in an attitude of awestruck terror. His hands were bent into claws that gripped the counterpane as if it were the only thing that could save him. It could not, of course.

  Nual took off the robes of office, and with no one to witness them, she and Kerin dragged the two bodies out of Kerin’s room and rolled them into the chasm. Nual suspected they would not be alone down there. Then she and Kerin did their best to clean up, though the Cariad’s room still stank, despite their efforts. Nual se
nsed Kerin thawing a little; she had expected Nual to claim such unpleasant chores were below her.

  By the time they were done, Urien had recovered enough to sit up. Nual listened to him and Kerin talking with interest, and answered the few questions they had for her. She had never been in on discussions about the future of an entire world before. Afterwards, Urien, who was chafing at being kept away from his sources of information, insisted he was well enough to go out, though Kerin made him take a wrist-com with him. He only needed to be shown how to work the device once.

  Then Kerin put on the Cariad’s robes and went out to announce the name of Garnon’s successor.

  Just two days ago, Kerin could not have countenanced being in the same room as a Sidhe. How much had changed!

  Garnon’s replacement entered the audience chamber at noon, as he had been instructed. Kerin’s knowledge of Dinmael came largely from Urien’s trove of information: he was relatively young, with a strong streak of personal integrity. That was one good reason for choosing him. The other was the late Escori Garnon’s negative feelings for him, as uncovered by Nual. Dinmael would be eager to prove himself a better man than his power-hungry predecessor.

  He looked suitably awed when he entered, and when Kerin asked him to cross the chasm on the bridge, he hesitated before circling his breast and complying. Kerin suspected he had not expected to be called onto sacred ground.

  He made to kneel as soon as he was on her side of the chasm, but Kerin told him to remain standing. She could see he was shocked by that; it felt unholy not to offer obeisance to the Skymothers’ representative on Earth.

  Without any preamble, she said, ‘There are three, sometimes complementary, reasons to become a priest. There are those who seek the certainty of faith, and who take solace in unquestioning belief in a higher power. There are those who desire knowledge and personal power, and see the priesthood as a way to achieve these aims. Finally, there are those few who wish to help their fellow man.

  ‘I cannot imagine anyone rising to the rank you are about to attain with their faith intact; you will have seen too much that is bad in people to believe fully in divine goodness. And you will enjoy the power you wield; that is only natural. However, you must never forget your responsibility to those below you, because you do not just rule your sect, you help rule this world.’ She paused.

  Realising he was expected to speak, Dinmael said resolutely, ‘Aye, Divinity. I will do my best.’ He looked predictably confused: he had expected formal ceremony, not thoughtful observations.

  Kerin felt her lips curve into a bitter smile. ‘Dinmael, look at me,’ she said softly.

  He did, reluctantly. He would see only the Cariad’s veil, hiding the face of his goddess.

  Kerin continued, ‘You are used to thinking that you – that all the priests – command your own small domain, with the permission of the Cariad.’

  ‘As you will it, Divinity,’ he murmured.

  ‘No,’ said Kerin firmly, ‘not so. Not any more.’ Kerin reached up to lift her veil, and the priest gasped, circling his breast and averting his gaze.

  ‘Dinmael!’ commanded Kerin. ‘Please, do not look away!’

  She saw his expression change when she drew the veil aside to reveal a very un-divine countenance.

  ‘As you see, I am no goddess.’

  ‘Is . . . Is this some sort of test?’ he stammered. ‘Or an illusion—?’

  ‘No. I am as you see me: a mortal woman. Yet I rule – we rule, I and the Escorai, as allies. That is how it must be now. If you cannot accept that, then’ – she smiled, a little grimly – ‘you should not accept this job.’

  ‘I . . . Forgive me, but there were rumours. I did not want to believe them—’

  ‘No doubt some of them were lies; others, however, were quite true. That does not change the fact that we must work together to guide our people.’

  ‘But— But the miracles of the Tyr, what are they if not divine?’

  ‘They are devices, and I do have control of them, something you would be wise to remember in the coming days.’

  ‘You? But you are a mortal woman . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Is this Urien’s doing?’

  Kerin sighed. ‘Urien is my staunchest ally. He is not my master. You will have to get used to taking orders from mortal women, Dinmael. Can you do that?’

  Dinmael’s expression worked through disbelief to cautious, if somewhat bemused, acceptance. Finally he said, ‘Has it always been thus?’

  ‘No, Dinmael, it has not. For many years we were ruled, cruelly, by an outsider, though she was no goddess. That unjust rule is over. It is time for us to take control of our own destiny.’

  Dinmael digested what she had said. Then he asked, ‘If I cannot accept this strange and unlikely truth, then what? Will you have me killed?’ He sounded more amazed than fearful.

  ‘No,’ said Kerin shortly, ‘but you will not become an Escori, and I can promise you that you will leave here with no memory of this conversation.’

  On cue, Nual stepped out of the shadows.

  Dinmael’s eyes widened in further confusion.

  ‘I am not a goddess,’ Kerin continued, ‘but my companion here can do everything the woman who once occupied this throne could.’

  Nual turned to Kerin and said, ‘He hasn’t lied to us yet.’

  ‘Good,’ said Kerin. ‘Then let us find out if he ever will.’

  The other three Escorai were summoned an hour apart. Urien reported that the Tyr was already abuzz with news of Garnon’s fate; the senior priests were predictably apprehensive about being called into the Divine presence.

  Like Dinmael, they reacted with confusion to Kerin’s frank confession.

  After that, it was over to Nual, who probed their minds to determine their basic intent, after which she wordlessly showed each Escori an edited version of the truth about Serenein; the main detail she omitted was the fate of the Consorts. Where needed, she carried out a limited degree of programming.

  Though the Escorai of Carunwyd and Medelwyr gave no trouble, the Escori of Turiach, the last to be called in, had been planning dissent. Nual put him to sleep and told Kerin her findings.

  ‘Can you influence him to be loyal?’ asked Kerin. She briefly considered summoning Urien to ask his advice, before realising that she already knew what he would say.

  ‘Not without impairing his ability to do his duties.’

  ‘But you could stop him being a threat without killing him?’

  ‘Yes, I could make him docile and obedient. He would be no use to you as an Escori, but he would be alive – even happy, in a way. He would not know what he had lost.’

  Kerin examined her options, and quickly acknowledged how few they were. ‘Aye, do that, please,’ she said at last.

  After Nual was done, Kerin called monitors into the audience chamber and instructed them to remove the inanely smiling Escori and turn him out on the streets of the city. She knew his vacant face would join Siarl’s agonised one in her nightmares.

  Naturally Urien already had a replacement in mind. He also approved of her treatment of the failed Escori. ‘The people could use a little fear,’ he said tartly.

  By the time they finally returned from installing the new Escori of Turiach, it was evening. Damaru was awake; when he stared suspiciously at Nual Kerin realised how much her own attitude to the Sidhe had changed in just one day. She took no joy in her son’s dislike, although she was more relaxed when Damaru was present to offset Nual’s powers. But there was a link between her and Nual now, if only in their shared complicity.

  ‘Did you wish to rest now?’ she asked Nual, who looked exhausted. ‘Damaru will most likely wander off soon.’

  ‘No, thank you; I want to get back tonight. And we cannot wait any longer for this.’

  Kerin had to agree. The final imposition was the worst, but it was also the most vital.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  She remembered flinching away from a man, but being too weak to resist wh
en he bound her. She remembered the horror of recollection breaking over her, and wishing desperately she could forget it again. Then she remembered being given a sweet drink that brought the oblivion she craved.

  She had washed in and out of consciousness for some time; after a while there had been voices, not inside her but outside, which meant she was alive. She tried to hide from them, because she was not sure she wanted to live.

  Yet she could not ignore the fact that she had survived.

  Ifanna opened her eyes. Above her was a stone ceiling. Was she still in the Cariad’s chamber? Or was this a cell? She was constricted, wrapped in a bed-sheet, and there were loops of something around her wrists, but she was no longer tightly bound. Her body ached from having lain on a hard stone floor, and she was abominably thirsty. She began to wriggle free of the sheet and bindings, then stopped as she noticed the finely made cup next to her. She reached out tentatively. The cup appeared to have water in. Was it for her? Was it safe? The worst that could happen was that the drink killed her, and that was still a prospect she would welcome. She pulled the cup across, raised herself on one elbow and drank. It tasted like water, pure and cool.

  The drink brought her fully to her senses and for the first time she realised she was not alone. She struggled to sit up, and saw that this was indeed the Cariad’s room. A boy watched her from the strange revolving seat Escori Urien had been sitting in. He had an open, innocent face, and she reached out to get a sense of who and what he was, but her regard slid off him like water from oiled cloth. The attempted contact sparked off odd, complex feelings, some of them echoing other feelings she had had recently; so wrong, so very wrong—

  ‘Can you stand up?’ He asked the question as though he had no idea how she might answer, and was genuinely curious.

  It came to her who he must be and she went to make the circle, then stopped. The gesture meant nothing.

  The boy’s brow furrowed, and he said again, more slowly, ‘Can you stand up?’

  ‘I will try,’ she said, her voice shaking. Why not? Lying on the ground wishing she were dead was no way to spend the rest of her life.