Prince of the Godborn (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  “I wish I could see them,” said Kerish, “but I've never even been to Viroc or Morolk. What chance do I have of seeing the Great Ocean?”

  “A chance you may take by speaking one word.”

  Kerish set down his cup and stared at the High Priest. “But the Godborn ate forbidden to leave Galkis!”

  “Without the Emperor's permission, yes, but I think you would have it.”

  “He wants me to go away?” asked Kerish, bewildered.

  “We both do,” said Izeldon. “If I had had my way, you would have been sent to the safety of Gannoth or Seld years ago, but your father loved you too much. Never think that because you see him so rarely, the Emperor does not watch over you. Still, that is past. It is the future we have to struggle with.”

  The High Priest got up from the window seat and paced his narrow chamber.

  “We talked yesterday of the Promised Saviour. Our prophets tell us that he may only be freed by one of the Godborn.” Izeldon paused for a moment and then spoke with quiet intensity. “Kerish-lo-Taan, you must seek him. You must open the Seven Gates and destroy his prison!”

  “Me? B-but how?” stammered Kerish, “Why me?”

  “There are two reasons,” said Izeldon. “First, tell me what you felt last night.”

  Kerish answered slowly and carefully. “Before the ceremony, darkness and fear. I knew that something terrible was going to happen and that there was nothing I could do to prevent it.”

  Izeldon nodded and spoke very gently. “It is not quite as bad as it seems. You are not, like Ka-Metranee, cursed with the gift of prophecy. Go on, Kerish.”

  The orchids in the silver bowl were dying. Kerish fingered their brittle petals as he spoke.

  “Then the darkness was driven out by something else; a power all around me, filling the whole temple. I suppose you will call it Zeldin, but what right does he have to come inside my head?'”An orchid shivered into dust as his fingers clenched on it. “If he had stayed much longer, I would have lost myself in him.”

  “As I am lost,” murmured Izeldon.

  Kerish would not look at him.

  “But to be forced to submit! If Zeldin can use such power against us, how can we pretend to be free?”

  Izeldon sighed. “You will find that pride is a strong defence, even against Zeldin. We are free to refuse or accept, and our god offers payment for everything he takes from us.”

  “But if we need him,” persisted Kerish, “we can never be free.”

  The High Priest did not answer and Kerish asked, almost timidly, “My Lord, now you know how I feel, do you still want me to seek the Promised Saviour?”

  “Yes. It is still your quest, but Kerish-lo-Taan, I tell you this,” said Izeldon, “You are arrogant and quick-tempered. Unless you humble your pride and curb your temper, others besides you will suffer for it and your quest will fail. The hope of Galkis will be extinguished because of you.”

  “My Lord, you are unfair!” gasped Kerish. “You said yourself that my brothers, my sister, even my father, are dragging Galkis towards darkness. How can I be solely to blame?”

  Izeldon looked down into the Prince's defiant face.

  “Because you are young. You still have the power to heal yourself. For the others, I fear it is already too late.”

  Kerish's colour rose. “Then you are choosing me because there is no one else?”

  Izeldon did not deny it. “Yes. The need is desperate now. Im-lo-Torim will soon be High Priest. I know that through his lack of faith he will betray our ancient trust.”

  “But that won't be for many years!” protested Kerish.

  Izeldon shook his head.

  “In less than two years, I shall be dead. Don't look so stricken, child. I am not Zeldin. I cannot live forever.”

  “But won't you fight against death?” demanded Kerish.”

  “No.” Izeldon smiled. “I know it must seem strange to you, who are young and born to argue with everything. That is an uncomfortable quality, but a good one for your quest. In spite of your faults, I trust you to succeed. You will, however, need help. Forollkin now...”

  Kerish interrupted. “My Lord, have you seen him? He was gone when I woke up and I'm afraid he's with Jerenac.”

  “I saw him pacing the bronze courtyard at dawn,” answered Izeldon. “With nothing but his thoughts for company.”

  “Lord Jerenac wants Forollkin to return to Jenoza with him,” explained Kerish, “but if you give him orders...”

  “There will be no orders,” said Izeldon gravely. “Forollkin will make his own choice, as you must do.”

  “I have already decided, “ declared Kerish. “I will go!”

  “No!”

  Kerish could not read the strange expression on the High Priest's face.

  “No!”repeated Izeldon. “You cannot choose yet. You must listen to the Emperor. He will tell you what your life will be like if you remain in Galkis.”

  “Would this quest take us far beyond Galkis?” asked Kerish. “Who imprisons the Saviour and why?”

  “I do not know,” said Izeldon flatly.

  Kerish stared at him in astonishment. “Then how can we even begin?”

  Somewhere in the temple, bells were ringing. Light flooded through the tall windows cleansing the stains of tiredness from the High Priest's face.

  “There is some knowledge handed down across the centuries from High Priest to High Priest. Kerish, you must understand how dangerous this quest could be. If you leave Galkis you may never return. You accused me of sacrificing Kor-li-Zynak to trap Zyrindella. Are you not afraid that I will let you suffer too for the sake of Galkis?”

  “I think you might let me suffer,” said Kerish, “but not without fair warning or good reason. My Lord, I trust you also.”

  “I am too old for such gifts.” Izeldon's tone was almost bitter. “If you mean what you say, then do not repeat our conversation to anyone, not even to Forollkin. You must leave for Galkis at once. I have sent a message to Forollkin. Your litter is waiting for you in the outer courtyard. Tomorrow you will receive a summons from the Emperor and we shall talk again.” He leaned forward to kiss Kerish's forehead. “Go now with Zeldin's love.”

  * * *

  Forollkin fixed Kerish's standard to his saddle bow and waited, keeping a tight grip on the reins of his restless horse. He had argued for a long while with the High Priest's messenger. He had told him several times that he had promised to talk to Lord Jerenac later that morning. Courteously, but firmly, the priest had ordered him to collect his belongings and wait in the outer courtyard for his Prince. They were to leave for Galkis at once.

  Forollkin had found the escort waiting and his roan mare stamping and snorting in greeting. The men noted a new scar on their captain's cheek and whispered among themselves. They had heard nothing of the events of the ceremony, for them no darkness had fallen and the temple had not been shaken but the sudden departure of Zyrindella had not gone unremarked.

  Cloaked and veiled in black, Kerish entered the courtyard, attended by several priests. He saw Forollkin's expression and, ignoring the waiting litter, crossed to his half-brother.

  “Forollkin, you look as chafed by time as I feel. I had hoped we could rest today, but the High Priest will have us go back to Galkis. Nothing I could say would make him change his orders.”

  Forollkin saw the shadows under his brother's brilliant eyes.

  “You look as frail as the first ice of winter,” he said. “Does your arm pain you?”

  “A little. I know you meant to leave me today, Forollkin, but I'm afraid you must be patient until we're home. Then I shan't hold you back from your fortune.” Kerish's voice trembled. “I will wish you joy.”

  “I've given no answer to Lord Jerenac yet,” said Forollkin gruffly.

  “You haven't spoken to him?”

  “I was to have met him in his quarters after the tenth bell but now...”

  “Oh Forollkin, I'm so sorry!” exclaimed Kerish. “Shall I
ask one of the priests to take a message to the Lord Commander?”

  “I've sent one already, though why you should care...”

  “I care very much for my brother's happiness! Even if he doesn't...”

  Kerish turned suddenly and half ran to his litter, leaving Forollkin bewildered and faintly guilty. The Prince stepped into his litter and drew the curtains close. After a moment, Forollkin realized that his men were all staring at him and gave the order to move off. The bearers lifted the litter. Forollkin mounted and spurred his horse out of the courtyard without looking back at the temple, as white softened into gold in the morning sunlight.

  Kerish settled down among the cushions, smiling to himself.

  * * *

  The Prince's escort clattered down and down the marble road, the sound of hooves and feet ringing through the stillness of the Holy Mountain. The road was so steep that it seemed possible, with one false step to walk right off the mountain. Gradually, the great plain of Galkis came into view. In the space of an hour, the purple distance of the farmlands appeared, then the glittering coils of the river Gal and lastly the Golden City itself. It was a city of ninety thousand people but from above it seemed as lifeless as a golden jewel dropped by a careless giant.

  The road dipped below a ridge and spiralled down into the valley of the Royal Lodge. The plain of Galkis vanished from sight. The escort passed quickly through the sheltered valley, not stopping for rest or refreshment at the Lodge. The road wound down through a country of stark rock. The way became narrow and tortuous, leading along ravines and gorges and across bridges wet with the spray of streams swelled to torrents by the spring rains. A zeloka could have flown from the Royal Lodge to the foothills above Galkis in less than two hours, but the journey took the Prince's escort the greater part of the day.

  Kerish slept through most of it and woke just before sunset to the sound of Forollkin rapping out orders.

  “Any man who speaks or makes a sound will lose his place in the Prince's guard.”

  Kerish drew back the curtains and looked out. Forollkin was binding his horse's muzzle so that it could not neigh or whicker. The pack horses had been treated in the same way and the soldiers were carrying their swords and daggers in case they clinked against their mail as they walked.

  “Now forward,” ordered Forollkin, “and nobody speak until I give the signal!”

  The escort had halted before a sheer cliff through which the road ran in a narrow ravine. As they moved forward, Kerish sat up, fully awake. Slowly, they passed along a road so dark they could hardly see two paces ahead. Within minutes, they had reached a high arch carved from the rock and light again. Light in the Valley of Silence, for to reach Galkis they had to pass above the ancient burial ground of the Godborn.

  Beyond the archway lay a deep, sheltered valley. Their road wound along a narrow ledge half-way up the cliffs that divided the valley from the world of the living. The Prince's escort passed under the archway into utter and oppressive silence. They moved cautiously but swiftly along a path thick with grass that muffled the horses' hooves.

  Kerish leaned from the swaying litter to look down. The lush valley below was studded with iranda, the flowers that sprang up wherever Zeldin had walked. Millions of purple flowers, each with five petals in the shape of a star and a glorious golden heart. The rich scent of them thickened the air. The silence was solid, tangible, terrifying. Kerish felt that the slightest sound would wake some great force that lay dormant all about them.

  While Kerish looked down, Forollkin and the escort hurried on, keeping their eyes on the ground. When one of the Godborn died it was here, to this silence, that they were brought. Dressed in their bridal clothes, they were laid in shallow unmarked graves among the iranda flowers. One day, all his warring family, Gankali and Zyrindella, Queen Rimoka and the Emperor would lie side by side in those nameless graves, sharing the same peace.

  At that strange thought, heedlessly, Kerish laughed aloud. His laughter was swallowed by the inexorable silence but Forollkin and the escort froze in horror. Seeing their faces, Kerish wished he could take back the sound.

  Suddenly the impossibility of winning anything back from the past struck him like a blow. He might have changed his life by this single action and there was nothing he could do but abide by the consequences. `If you leave Galkis you may never return,' Izeldon had said. Had he doomed himself by his swift, thoughtless answer, `I will go'?

  For a long minute the Prince and his escort waited for the earth to gape or the mountains to fall but there was only stillness and the liquid gold of sunset. Breathing deeply, Kerish signalled to Forollkin to go on.

  Forollkin was too angry to speak to his brother again until the outskirts of Galkis were in view. Kerish had frightened him badly. It was dark now, but the road was lit by flaring torches in the hands of bronze statues. The city of Galkis was ringed with three great walls and the outer wall of white Tryfanian marble was pierced by four gates. They stood open day and night, for the city had never known attack or siege. As Kerish and his escort passed through the Temple Gate, trumpets sounded and his name was called out from herald to herald.

  The outer city was very different from the Galkis founded by Mikeld-lo-Taan three thousand years before. Except for the straight road which led towards the Palace, its streets were narrow, winding and dark. Small overcrowded houses clustered together, built of dank, grey stone with black slits for windows. In the cool of evening, most households gathered together on the flat roofs of their homes to eat the after-sunset meal or to sing the sweet melancholy airs of a lost splendour, known and beloved by all Galkians.

  Those few people still on the streets knelt down and bowed their heads until the Prince's litter had passed. Kerish looked at the fellow citizens to whom he had never been allowed to speak and who would never see his unveiled face. Their half-seen faces were sullen and pale and he wondered how much love and loyalty they had left for the Godborn. Here, in these people, could be a reason for staying in Galkis. `Can I really help them more by leaving?' wondered Kerish.

  “Highness,” hissed Forollkin, “keep the curtain drawn while we're in the Outer City.”

  Kerish sighed and lay back among the cushions. No one yet starved in Galkis, but poverty darkened the Golden City. Kerish shut out the sight.

  The great stones of the middle wall were covered by sheets of silver, marvellously engraved with images of former Emperors and texts from the scriptures. The trumpets sounded and the gate itself, inlaid with huge slabs of lapis, was unbarred and opened. Beyond lay the gracious middle city and the homes of the nobles and the artists and craftsmen so highly honoured in Galkis. The houses which faced the Palace road were built of polished stone ornamented with fine carvings, but many were empty and decaying. Silver tiles fell from the rooftops, gardens grew wild, statues crumbled and paved courtyards were rank with weeds.

  To pass through the Middle City took nearly an hour but at last they reached the third wall. Kerish sat up and opened the purple curtains. No matter how many times he had seen the inner wall, it was not enough to absorb its beauty. The high rampart was covered with pure, dazzling gold, that blazed like fire in the torchlight and the words of Zeldin circled the city in characters twice the height of a man, picked out in precious gems. Down the centuries men had travelled from all over Zindar just to gaze at that splendour.

  For the third time, trumpets sounded for Kerish and the gate of ivory and irivanee, worth an Emperor's ransom, swung open. Inside lay the Outer and Inner Palaces of the Emperor of Galkis and his court of three thousand people. All but the litter bearers were dismissed and the horses were led away. Forollkin walked beside the Prince's litter as it was carried through a succession of splendid courtyards towards the final gate.

  There they were challenged by the Imperial Guard, resplendent in purple and gold. Forollkin was a Captain in that same guard, and it was he who replied.

  “Open for His Serene Highness, Prince Kerish-lo-Taan, Third Son of the E
mperor of Galkis, may his reign be eternal!”

  The guard bowed to the ground. The gate opened and Kerish and Forollkin were absorbed into the rich stillness of the Inner Palace, the heart of Golden Galkis.

  * * *

  Forollkin did not go immediately to his own quarters on the north side of the Prince's courtyard. Instead, he visited a silver-roofed pavilion in the area of the Palace reserved for royal concubines.

  By the delicate light of tapers, in a room hung with rich tapestries and crowded with furniture and ornaments, a woman sat embroidering. She wore no veil. Her dark brown hair, just tinged with grey, was braided severely. Her dress was plain but made of fine fabric.