by Rick Shelley
He held his eyes closed and sought a spell of knowledge, a simple "Where am I and what is going on?" incantation that he had not needed since his early days as an apprentice trying to satisfy the seemingly outrageous demands of Auroreus.
The results then had never been anything like what they were now.
The single distant point of light was multiplied by infinity. Points of light whirled in space and time around Silvas, in every direction. Some raced so rapidly that they became streaks. Large conglomerations of lights spun around themselves in spheres and spirals. Vast seas of darkness separated those islands of light and motion. They were all around Silvas, as far as he could see, even below and above. The numbers were too great for Silvas to calculate, or even comprehend. He could not even count the islands, the collection of lights, let alone the individual points.
"The king is in his counting house, counting out his treasure."
Silvas felt himself hurtling through the maelstrom of light and dark, closely skirting several of the islands of lights. He came so close to one that he felt the intense heat it emitted, and that gave him his first clue.
I've felt that heat before, when I looked into a star. Cautiously, he fixed his gaze at a point just on the edge of one of the smaller groups of lights, still a distance off. He expanded the object in his telesight, slowly, just enough to confirm his suspicion.
I'm flying among the stars! There were too many wonders to explore in that realization. How could there be so many? I've never seen one part in a thousand of them before. Silvas put his wonder aside, concentrating on trying to determine where he was being taken.
He laughed, first within himself, then aloud. "What a fool you are," he said. "As if you could find your way among this, or have any idea where you're going. A god? This is a god-like power, to travel the heavens at such speed, so freely." And I am not doing it for myself.
He breathed deeply and regularly, forcing his body into the routine, willing his mind to peace, preparing as best he could for whatever might lie ahead. His eyes focused on the space around a single island of stars, a flat circle with noticeable arms coiled around the bulge of a brighter center. He was heading directly toward that island, and his speed seemed to be increasing.
The lights within that one island grew, and grew more intense. Though he still dared not look directly at them, Silvas saw color among the lights—red and orange, blue and white. The island expanded in front of him, shutting out any sight of other islands beyond and round it. And the points of light within that one island began to show individual definition.
Fires began to lick at Silvas's skin and clothing as he plunged into the island of lights. There was heat, but no burning. Silvas wove spells of defense around himself, tight, overlapping webs of power. He could feel the strength of his magic, so he knew that his spells were working, but he had no confidence that they might stand for long against such an awesome task.
His sense of motion shifted. He no longer seemed to be hurtling straight forward. Instead, it felt as if he were spiraling in toward some particular location beneath his feet. He looked down. There were fewer lights below him than around him.
Many minutes passed before he spotted the orange light that seemed to be pulling him. He stared at the envelope of darkness surrounding that one light, not focusing his telesight directly on the orange glare. A number of dark specks appeared, orbiting the light.
Without warning, it was all gone.
—|—
Silvas stood in the middle of a field brightly lit by a morning sun. Hundreds of knights engaged in what appeared to be the grand melee of a tournament. The clatter of weapons was a deafening cacophony that drew Silvas's eyebrows together, almost in pain. He smelled blood and fear, and the sweat of horses and men, overpowering the clean smell of earth torn up by galloping hooves. Crows cawed overhead, straining to make themselves heard over the metallic thunder of the combatants. Vultures circled even higher, silently waiting their turn at the field below. To one side, a grand-stand had been erected to let people cheer their heroes.
It shut out Silvas's memories of where he had been just an instant before. For a time, he was not even aware that he had lost a portion of his recent past. The immediate present was much too demanding.
Dead trees cavorted around the perimeter of the grand melee, the dead, ash gray trunks of trees—hollow and scarred, long denuded of leaves or growing branches. The crows came to grasp whatever perches they could hold on to among the reeling oaks and yews, their wings flapping as they fought to maintain their balance, their beaks opening wide with each splintering cry of disdain.
Silvas took a few cautious steps. He kept turning his head to make sure that none of the combatants came dangerously close to him. But the fighters seemed unaware of his presence. Swords and other weapons shone and bit. Gore spumed in slow-motion fountains where blades found their way past armor into flesh.
Then the grand melee turned into a stately dance, horses standing erect on hind feet, bowing and curtsying to each other. The armor of their knights was shiny and undented now. Weapons had been sheathed. The combatants formed into a circle that turned more rapidly as it grew smaller, tighter. A few of the horses and footmen started to lag behind the rest, spreading out into two tails that coiled more and more tightly around the central ring.
The crows disappeared from their perches. Silvas found himself in the center of the dancing knights and horses, along with...
"Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie."
The pie was hot and smelled delicious. Silvas's mouth watered from unsuspected hunger. But he had no chance to eat. A quick glance around the circle showed all of those swords drawn again. The warriors were advancing, weapons raised, ready to cut into the pie—or into Silvas.
"Now isn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?"
—|—
Silvas found himself on a path in a forest, or perhaps an unusually well-tended royal preserve. The trees were well spaced. There was gently filtered light. In the middle of the path, only a few steps ahead of Silvas, a human heart beat slowly. Silvas stared at the heart, memories of the grand melee fading into a distant nook of his cavernous mind. The beating heart was a magnet for Silvas's eyes and mind. Although he had never seen one so exposed before, he knew instantly that this was a human heart. He was so fascinated by the steady expansion and contraction that he almost missed the fact that he was no longer alone on the path. Someone was walking toward him, from beyond the heart.
Silvas saw boot tips, looked up, and recognized the other figure at once—Mikel, the god Silvas had known only as his Unseen Lord, until Mikel found it necessary to flood Silvas's mind with knowledge of the gods and their secrets to help him fight off the Blue Rose.
"Silvas." Mikel's voice was a melodic baritone. He put more than recognition into the name. He used it as a vehicle of power.
"My lord Mikel," Silvas replied with a polite nod. But his use of the god's name showed that Silvas was aware of their changed relationship, that Mikel's former power over him no longer obtained.
Mikel pointed at the beating heart on the path between them. "I greatly fear that is your future," he said. Then he lifted one foot and stomped on the heart, crushing it completely.
Silvas saw Carillia in his mind, and he heard her telling him, "You have always been my heart."
CHAPTER THREE
Sitting at Silvas's side while the people of the Seven Towers and its village filed through the room to pay their respects to Carillia was torture for Maria. Everyone stared at her, most with simple curiosity, but some with expressions that approached hostility. To those few, Maria was an interloper, usurping the position that Carillia had held in the Seven Towers beyond all human memory. And Carillia lay dead, almost at Maria's feet.
They will get to know me in time, Maria told herself, trying to put her apprehensions to rest. She tried to pay attention to all of the faces that moved past. I need to get to know them all as quickly as possible, she
reminded herself whenever it became a burden. This was to be her home, perhaps through eternity, and these people would be there, around her—her responsibility, her charges. Still, she ached to escape from the torment of their scrutiny, particularly once people from the village started to arrive. They had no foreknowledge of her, as those who lived in the castle did. But she could not leave. She had to stay with Silvas, and with Carillia, until the parade ended.
If she could not run from the room and all of the staring eyes, Maria wanted to flee within herself at least. All of her life, Maria had known how to escape there. Now there was so much that was new inside her, in the secret places of her dreams, demanding to be explored. But Maria dared not withdraw even her thoughts from the room in front of her while people were filing through. Many of the people spoke, if not directly to her, then to Silvas. And Silvas always introduced her: "This is Maria Devry, who shares Carillia's final gift with me."
If he can stand this ordeal, I can, Maria told herself firmly. After all, death was not new to her. Death had visited Mecq far too frequently during her lifetime for it to be a stranger. She had seen her own mother laid out like this, seen her father sit in similar vigil—though he had been bitter in grief. Maria glanced at Silvas. In the formality of the moment, he looked so cold and unfeeling, but Maria knew how vastly appearance belied his real self. Even without the new links between them, Maria had seen through the veneer.
If I dip just below the surface of my mind, I can touch his mind, Maria thought. Silvas? He turned and looked at her. The smile he offered was thin and seemed to be an expression of pain more than anything else. He rested his hand on top of her hand for just a moment.
This ordeal will pass in time, his mind told hers. We have much to explore together.
It's the gods' own truth, Maria responded, and she delighted in the tiny grimace that touched Silvas's face. It was a most human response to her jest.
After a time, the last of the villagers passed through the room and left. They had come in all their generations, from the oldest to babies being carried by their mothers—human, esperia, and gurnetz, all of the races that lived within the valley.
A few of the castle people returned to the long parlor then—Bosc and Bay, and two others who had been introduced to Maria as Koshka and Braf Goleg. They stood along the other side of Carillia's bier, across from Silvas and Maria. Pain and sorrow was clear in the inhuman faces of Braf and the two esperia. Only Bay's face showed no clear sorrow, though Maria sensed that the great horse felt as much pain as the others over the loss of Carillia.
Maria took her cue from Silvas. At his silent urging, she stood and said, "We will wait for you."
"It may be some time. I have a lot to deal with here."
"I know." Maria's smile conveyed more than words could. The undercurrents linking her to Silvas filled in any blanks. "No matter how long it takes."
—|—
Bay, Bosc, Koshka, and Braf Goleg followed Maria from the long parlor. Out in the great hall, Maria turned suddenly toward them and said, "I could feel your eyes boring holes through me," but softly, not with anger.
Only Bay met her gaze directly. Koshka looked down. Bosc looked at Bay. Even Braf Goleg, the chief warrior of the Seven Towers, would not meet her stare head on.
"You can hardly wonder at that," Bay said. There was no barb to his voice, though.
"I don't," Maria said, just as evenly. "You may think of me as little more than a child," she continued, her voice becoming soft and child-like. "In terms of physical years, you may be right." Then her tones changed abruptly, showing the power that now resided within her. "That may have been true yesterday, but the events of today have changed both Silvas and me, perhaps beyond the reckoning of any of us." She drew the eyes of the others to hers, almost by force of will.
"Koshka, you've run this household for ages. Carillia adored you beyond all measure and trusted you implicitly. Carillia and Silvas both depended on you for many services, and for advice." He met her eyes while she spoke to him, then lowered his gaze.
"Braf Goleg, the equal of any warrior twice your size. You could plan a battle to win a well from outlaws, or an empire from a mighty army of knights. Not that any would guess your fierce talents if they saw you playing with your children." The lupine fighter fidgeted through the recital, then merely cleared his throat when it was over. He was somewhat taller than the esperia, though much shorter than any human in the castle, even Maria.
"Bosc, you spoke of the earth bleeding, as if you were connected as closely to it as I am to Silvas. You felt the pain that the ground below us felt in the great battle. You serve Bay as his groom, but there is so much more to you." Maria had not been present when Bosc spoke of the earth's pain, but she could hear his voice in memory now.
Finally, Maria lifted her eyes to meet those of the giant horse. Bay was eight feet tall at the withers, but he lowered his head so that his eyes were nearer the level of Maria's.
"And what will you say of me?" Bay asked, uncertainty as much as irony behind his words. Uncertainty made Bay quite uncomfortable.
"Yes, what will I say of you?" Maria mused. She cocked her head to one side, staring deeply into the horse's large brown eyes. "What can I say about you? That there is more to you than anyone, even Silvas, has ever guessed?" She shrugged. "I see unsuspected depths in you, Bay. I cannot yet peer into those shadows."
For a moment, Bay did nothing more than return her stare. Finally, he cleared his throat and made a wide gesture with his head. "We may yet have to bodily carry him from that room," the horse said, changing the subject.
"No, he will come out when the time is right," Maria said.
"Are you truly so confident that you know his mind already?" Bay asked.
"In this, I am," Maria replied confidently. "In everything of importance."
—|—
Bosc accompanied Bay to the mews. Braf Goleg set about seeing to his sentries; the routines had to be observed, the more so with Silvas distracted by grief. Koshka went to find supper for his new mistress. Dinner had come and gone during the visitation for Carillia. Maria wandered around the great hall, trying to settle the feel of it within her: ancient timbers, more ancient stone; tall windows, faded tapestries; the various kinds of table and seat, crafted to fit the different races who lived within the Seven Towers. She let her surroundings sink in, pervading her the way oil sinks into wood and colors it.
"This is my home now," she whispered, so softly that none could hear.
There were still people in the great hall, of all three sorts. Maria felt surprised that she was not more curious about the strange folk, the gurnetz and esperia. They were clearly different, but—they belong here as much as I do, Maria decided. That was enough for the moment. When the time came, she could always delve within herself for more knowledge about them.
Maria spoke to everyone she approached, called them by name. Most seemed nervous, if not frightened, at her presence and the way she seemed to know them from the beginning. But after a smile and a few words, most of them were calmed.
After a time, Maria went behind the tapestry at the head of the great hall and took the stairs up to the private apartments that Silvas had shared so long with Carillia. Maria found her way unerringly to the small sitting room. She knew the plan of the Seven Towers as intimately as if she had lived there all of her life. At need, she could even have drawn plans for the castle, so precise that builders could use them to build an exact duplicate.
A moment later, Koshka brought in a tray with her supper.
"Thank you, Koshka." She did not question how he had known where to bring the meal. "Please sit with me for a time."
The invitation visibly startled Koshka, but he only hesitated for an instant before he perched himself on the edge of a small stool. None of the seats in this room were truly suited to the different architecture of esperia legs.
"You served the lady Carillia for a good many years," Maria observed.
"Aye,
my lady," Koshka replied, almost stuttering. "An' my father an' gran'father afore me, for many generations."
"I knew her but briefly, but I mourn her passing as deeply as you do." Maria paused, then said, "I don't know how much you've heard about what happened."
"I know what was seen in the church of Mecq, my lady," Koshka said when it was obvious that she would wait for him to reply. "I know about the light that came over the three of you as my lady Carillia died."
"That light was the passing of her divinity to Silvas and, through him, to me. My thought was that my inclusion was accidental, because I was propping Silvas up, holding him. Silvas differs. He says that Carillia intended it as it was. I hesitate to agree, but I have no basis to contradict him."
"How could I contradict my master when you will not?" Koshka asked. "I will serve you as I served my lady Carillia, if you'll have me."
"Thank you, Koshka. I'll need to rely very much on your services in the days ahead. To begin with, I have no clothing but what I'm wearing."
Koshka stood. " 'Twill take time to fully remedy that, my lady, but I think we can make a proper start yet this evening."
Maria smiled as warmly as she knew how. "Thank you again, dear Koshka."
—|—
Servants prepared a bath for Maria. She luxuriated in the novelty of hot water, staying in the huge stone tub until nearly all of the warmth was gone. When she had finished, there was fresh clothing waiting for her. The retiring gown showed signs of being hurriedly shortened, but the job was mostly well-done, and the other things, while perhaps a bit too loose, fit as well as most of the clothes she had known before.
Maria walked around the bedroom, nearly as large as the great hall in her father's castle. She looked into cupboards and closets. For a time, she sat on the edge of the bed—that was larger than the tiny bedroom she had called her own in her father's castle. Sleep seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to do next, but Maria did not feel at all like surrendering to sleep. There was too much that was new and needed to be explored before she could really think about sleep. Silvas certainly would not be sleeping. He would be awake, in that room downstairs, maintaining his vigil.
