He smiled, and shook his head. “Ah, Drina! You are heir to the whole of Bennamore, so you are not used to your status being questioned. But so it is. We have not exchanged blood, I have only given you my seed, so we are not blood-bonded. Nor can we be. As byan shar, I am not permitted to share my blood with an outsider. So to my people we are half-married, if you like, but we cannot be fully married. That is why you are not accepted as my wife.”
It was true that the Clanfolk had never shown me any respect, but then they treated Ly much the same way. I’d always thought it was our age – they revered the elderly and their ancestors, and Ly was not yet thirty, nowhere near his prime. I was happy to wait, assuming it would all come right in the end. But it seemed it would never come right.
“Is that why they are so disrespectful to you?” I said. “Because you have an outsider half-wife?”
“Partly, but also because I am your prisoner. The byan shar is a living god, sent to lead his people. He should not be so weak as to allow himself to be captured. Whenever they see me with you, it reminds them of that.”
“So naturally you don’t want me with you at the Challenge,” I said. “I understand.”
“Do you? Truly? If so, I am glad.”
I nodded. “That I understand. The half-wife business – pfft! Too strange. But politics is all about appearances. The gods know, I’ve been at Yannassia’s court long enough to appreciate the value of perception and symbolism. So you may go alone, with my goodwill.”
“Thank you, Drina. It is for the best. And you shall see it all, I am determined on that. I will stay connected to Diamond, so you may watch everything through my eyes.”
He smiled at me, and I laughed in delight. “Really? Oh, I like that idea! And best of all, your people will never know. What a sneaky man you are, Ly-haam!”
~~~~~
Our suite of rooms at the guest hall didn’t extend to a second bedroom. We dared not share the bed though, in case we accidentally touched. His magic and my need for it would have drawn us together despite our best intentions, and then I’d have drawn all his carefully accumulated magic, leaving him powerless for the ceremony. Too risky.
He found spare blankets in a box, and took them off to the window bay to make a sleeping nest on the floor. He preferred that to the bed anyway, in the Clan manner. I undressed and climbed into bed, sitting propped up with pillows to write my notes to report to Yannassia. But when I’d finished, Ly was standing, still dressed, gazing out of the window. It was almost darkmoon, so there was nothing to be seen out there, although in sunlight there was a view over the roofs to the lake and the sacred island.
“What is it?” I said softly. “Is something wrong?”
He turned then, a smile of pure happiness across his face. “I can hear them,” he said.
“Hear them? Who can you hear?”
“My people. All of them.” He bounded across the room, and jumped up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged at the bottom of it, as far from me as possible. “I can hear everything.”
I put my notebook and pencil on the table beside the bed. “I don’t understand.”
He leaned forward in excitement. “Do you remember something I once told you – that I had the voices of everyone in my head? Everyone who was bonded to a beast of any sort – I could connect with their minds, but I could not disconnect. Do you remember?”
That was on my one trip to the Clanlands interior, a long way from the border. There was a vast inland sea there, and Ly had taken me to his own island, and told me a great deal about himself. I’d felt sorry for him then, trapped by his blood magic and the mental connections he couldn’t escape.
“Yes, I remember.”
“The previous times I came to the Challenge, the noise almost drove me mad. So many voices, all talking at once. Can you imagine it? And no escape. But now… now I can shut them out of my head. Out there, on the other side of the lake and on the island, there are many hundreds of my people, and I can hear every one of them, if they are beast-bonded. I can see through their eyes if I want to, as with you. But not all at once. I can pick out one here, one there. I know them all. My mother is arguing with someone right now.” He laughed. “But I can make her vanish from my mind. I am free of her at last.”
“Is this because your magic has changed?” I said.
“That is unexpected, but it must be so.” He laughed again in delight. “This makes me so happy!”
“Then I am happy for you,” I said, and meant it.
But it was disturbing, all the same. So many changes! I’d grown used to shy, nervous Ly; this newly confident man was not someone I knew how to deal with.
~~~~~
For three suns we waited, as the Clans gathered. Ly kept to the bedroom, mostly, not even attending the Kellon at evening board, although he was expected. He spent hours sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, his eyes vacant. Listening, I guessed, or watching. Eavesdropping on his kin as they exchanged news or gossiped.
“Don’t you want to go over there?” I said once, as I brought him a tray of food.
He shook his head, curls bouncing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No, I am going to surprise them. They are not expecting me, so I intend to make a dramatic entrance.”
But he wouldn’t tell me what he planned to do.
There was an excitement about him that I’d rarely seen. Well, outside the bedroom, anyway. The first time I’d gone to his bed as his wife, he’d quaked from head to toe with nerves and desire. Even now, he was jumpy when the time drew near for his turn with me. But nothing else about our life together sparked so much animation from him. Yet now he burned with anticipation. He could hardly wait to rejoin his people. Fear gnawed at my belly, in case… but I didn’t even know what I was afraid of.
“When do you think you’ll be back… afterwards?” I said diffidently.
“Oh, I cannot say. The ceremony starts at noon, but it goes on into the night – the feasting and so on. It might be close to dawn. I will try not to wake you.”
“I’d rather you did. I want to know you’re home safely.”
“Why would I not be?”
But I couldn’t answer that.
On the appointed sun, he was up early, wearing clothes I’d never seen before – a fine linen shirt so thin it was almost transparent, and a leather jerkin. He looked splendid, or perhaps it was his air of confidence that suited him, rather than the clothes.
“I’ll come up to the roof to see you off,” I said.
“No. Better if you stay here.”
“As you wish.”
He smiled, then, suddenly shy again. “I shall be back tonight, Princess. A few hours only.”
“I know. Go, then. Enjoy yourself.”
He whisked out of the room, and I felt unexpectedly bereft. My eyes filled with tears, and I had to stare out of the window, blinking furiously, until I’d recovered. I wished I could at least have kissed him on his way. Not a single kiss, not a touch since we’d left Kingswell, and I wasn’t used to so many nights alone. If only Arran could have come with us! I missed him so much it was like a pain in my chest.
Mother and Sallorna turned up just after Ly had left me.
“Oh, have we missed him?” Mother said. “I wanted to wish him luck.”
“Krant has been burning spellpages for good fortune,” Sallorna said.
“Much good that will do,” I muttered.
“Don’t be so cynical,” Sallorna said. “Mother helped write them, so you know they’re good.”
“I’m sure they are, but Ly’s people have different gods, and different magic. It seems bizarre to invoke our gods and our magic on his behalf.”
“The Moon God shines his blessing on everyone,” Mother said. “It can’t hurt, anyway.”
“Can’t it?”
Sallorna wrapped her arms around me. She was taller than me now, as tall as Ly, and no longer the quiet little sister I’d been happy to ignore for so many years. Her training as a scribe,
and her pairing with Krant had given her an adult confidence.
“You’re just tetchy because you’re worried about Ly, that’s all,” she said. “You’ll be fine once he’s back.”
“Why should she be worried about Ly?” Mother said, but neither of us answered her.
I stationed myself in my little sitting room in the guest hall, where I could sit quietly and connect to Ly’s mind. Sallorna fussed about arranging chairs, dispatching servants for food and drink, and shooing away the hovering waiting women. My bodyguard stood beside the door. Then we settled ourselves to wait, as I looked through Ly’s eyes.
He was on the roof, near the eagles. I was aware of Diamond, and also Sunshine, both of them excited and happy to see Ly, screeching and flapping. He must have done something to calm them, though, for both of them became more settled after a while. Several other eagles were visible nearby.
At first Ly did nothing, just waiting. Probably he was connecting to people on the island, although whether he was talking to them, or listening or just watching was impossible for me to tell. Then, abruptly, he strode across to Diamond, the bird crouched and Ly mounted in one fluid motion. Almost without pause they were airborne, the great wings straining for height, circling above the little town and rising up and up.
But Diamond was not alone. Sunshine was there too, and several more birds. And as I watched, dark specks rose from the island and the far shore of the lake – more birds come to join Ly. Diamond rose majestically higher, and as he slowly spiralled away from the rooftops, the little escort grew and grew to become a cloud of birds in orbit around Ly. Eagles and other great birds, white and red-brown and golden. He had summoned them to accompany him for his dramatic entrance, no doubt.
When the sky was half blotted out by the great beasts, Ly turned towards the island. It was no more than a gentle glide towards the dark shape across the lake, cloaked by trees. As Ly drew near, the trees separated to reveal the black stone tower of the scribery and the gardens surrounding it. On the rare occasions when I’d visited the island, it had been deserted, an unsettling place with wisps of ancient magic clinging to it. Now it was filled with people in their festive colours, with smoke rising from roasting pits, and a buzz of noise and laughter. The midsummer light cast a benign glow.
As Ly and Diamond approached, I could see hundreds of pale faces upturned to watch their arrival. Near the scribery was an open space, a square of green free of people or impediments, and the eagle spun on a wingtip to land in the middle of it. Above, I caught glimpses of the mass of escorting birds circling the square, but not landing. Ly slid gracefully from Diamond’s back and the bird beat his wings to take off again. Ly raised his hand in salute, and as he lifted his face, I had a clear view of the circling birds retreating. A dramatic entrance indeed.
But he was not yet done. From behind the crowds watching Ly came a great roaring. People jumped aside in alarm as great golden beasts leapt past them, or even over them. Lions, but larger by far even than the massive creatures of the Plains of Kallanash. I counted six – ten – no, a score or more, circling Ly, emitting deafening roars. None had riders on their backs. He stood calmly in the centre, not moving, not afraid. Of course he wasn’t afraid, he was controlling them. My heart was thundering, and I wasn’t even there, but his mind was as relaxed as if he was alone.
As one, the lions all turned and circled in the opposite direction, still roaring. Ly raised one arm, the lions stood still, facing him, silent. Then every one of them sank onto their knees to him. As a demonstration of his power, it was superb. I shivered with awe – and fear, too. This was not Ly-haam, the timid, uncertain boy I remembered, nor the peaceable, subservient husband. This was the byan shar, imbued with all the majesty of his ancestors, chosen by the gods to lead his people to whatever destiny he desired.
A flick of the hand sent the beasts racing off again, back to wherever they’d been. Ly turned towards the crowd, and walked like a king into the midst of it. Or like a god, perhaps. Even to me, viewing the scene through his eyes, his demeanour and the proud tilt of his head were obvious.
Now that he was closer to the gathered crowd, I could see their faces. Shock – that was perhaps the most prevalent expression. Fear, in some of them. Respect, too. Far more respect than I’d ever seen in Clanfolk before. Some people bowed in the Clan way, one hand raised to the forehead, or simply averted their eyes, but many knelt before him, heads lowered, and he gently laid a hand on their hair.
He passed the afternoon in this way, mingling with his people, talking to one or two, nodding acknowledgement to others. He ate a little when he was offered samples from the roasted meat and game, or balls of something I couldn’t identify. Once or twice beakers were pushed into his hand, and he sipped and passed it back. The whole time, he was trailed about with amusing adoration by his mother, the only face I recognised. I wondered whether Lathran was there, but if he was, I saw no sign of him.
Late in the afternoon, the crowds drifted towards the scribery, and began settling on the grassy square before the door. To either side were wooden benches, and Ly took his place at the head of one of them, his mother beaming proudly beside him. She was a plain little thing, and I’d never seen her before when she wasn’t scowling and berating Ly for some fault or other. But with her best embroidered tunic, shimmering with beads, a filmy scarf on her head and a smile on her face, she looked almost pretty.
The opposite set of benches was occupied by youngsters of fifteen – the candidates. Only a score or so, which surprised me. Far more than that would have passed through the Blood Ceremony a moon ago, but perhaps there was some precondition for attending the Challenge. Bonding with a lion, perhaps.
The ceremony began. One of the candidates went up to the scribery door and ran her hands over the wood, at about head height, as if feeling for something. After a while, she shook her head and withdrew, as a cluster of well-wishers ran forward to commiserate and lead her away. Another tried, with the same result, and then a third.
But the fourth was different. As soon as he touched the door, a glowing symbol appeared near his head. The crowd ooohed in delight. He turned round to grin boyishly, then back to the door where he set his hand firmly on top of the glowing symbol. Nothing happened, of course. The door could not open, for the byan shar was in the audience, watching.
Candidates came and went. Ly’s attention began to wander, and his eyes roved around the crowd as much as they watched the door. Three more candidates managed to light the symbol, but the door was firmly shut. Ly began watching two women on the opposite side of the square who were having some kind of argument, hissing to each other in undertones. Perhaps Ly could listen in to their talk, because he seemed riveted by them.
And then the crowd gasped. A man standing beside the squabbling women opened his eyes wide, and a woman beside him flung hands over her mouth.
Ly’s attention spun back to the scribery. The door was open, and a young man was just disappearing inside.
Someone had opened the door. A second byan shar.
10: The Second God
For an instant, my connection to Ly vanished. He was too shocked to remember me, I guessed. But then, as clear in my head as if he stood beside me, his voice. “Drina! Did you see?”
“Yes.”
“What should I do?” I could hear the panic in him.
“What happens next? What will he do?”
“Just walk around. Explore. Then he will come out and everyone will kneel to him.”
“Then you have to go after him. Make sure you’re with him when he comes out. You mustn’t let him steal your glory.”
“But the door has closed!”
“Then open it. You are byan shar, Ly. Take charge of this.”
“Yes,” he muttered. Then, more strongly, “Yes. Take charge.”
Springing up from his seat, he strode across the grass, the murmurings of the crowd rising to a crescendo behind him. Taking the steps to the entrance two at a time, he slammed
his hand against the door. The symbol glowed, the door snicked open. He pushed it wider and walked through into darkness.
Then he was gone, the connection severed.
For a moment, I couldn’t even work out where I was. My mind had been with Ly for so many hours that it was a shock to find myself separated from him, back in the guest hall. My legs were stiff from sitting for so long, and my back ached. The room was in shadow, the sun too far round to reach the windows, the lamps not yet lit.
Mother was kneeling at my feet. “Drina? Drina! Are you all right, dear? What happened?”
“He’s gone,” I whispered.
“Gone where?” A familiar voice that made my heart leap.
“Arran? Darling!” I hurled myself across the room into his arms, and for some unfathomable reason burst into tears.
“Hush now! Hush, sweetheart. Everything will be all right. Ly will come back.” He bent to kiss me, and in that moment everything was all right.
“But what are you doing here? Is there something wrong at Kingswell? Yannassia? Hethryn?” A sudden clutching fear. “Not the children?”
“No, no. Everyone is fine.”
“But why are you here? Oh, kiss me.”
“I am kissing you. Or I would if you would stop asking me questions.”
That made me laugh through my tears, and then everyone was laughing, Arran, Sallorna, Mother and Cal – I hadn’t noticed him arrive, either. I’d noticed nothing for hours. I hugged Arran as hard as I could, and he held me tight.
“Did you ride all the way here?” I said, my voice muffled by his coat.
He nodded sheepishly. “I hate being on my own, and the weather was good, so I thought I might as well try it. Do you mind?”
I didn’t have to say anything, for the answer was obvious.
“But what happened?” he said. “You squealed – did something go wrong?”
How to explain it? The simplest way, I supposed. “There’s another one,” I blurted. “Someone opened the door. There’s a second byan shar. He went into the scribery, and Ly went in after him. That’s when I lost contact with him. There’s too much magic in the walls for me to penetrate.”
The Second God Page 9
