The Crystal Eye

by Deborah Chester

  It was the kind of pep talk he used to give her after a brutal day in the arena. Ampris soaked up his encouragement now, knowing that part of her tears came from fatigue. She nodded, wiping her face.

  “Here.” Elrabin lifted her hand and closed her fingers around her Eye of Clarity. “You hold on to that a minute and find yourself. I got to shake sense into a couple of cubs.”

  Ampris nodded again, clutching her pendant. Already she was calmer, although whether it was from Elrabin’s good sense, or some quality in the stone she held, or simply that her emotions were now spent, she couldn’t say.

  He turned away from her and glared at the cubs. Nashmarl stood wide-eyed and silent. But Foloth had his head tilted to one side, and he was staring intently at Ampris.

  “What other cub?” he asked again. “What did she mean by that? Aren’t we her only—”

  “No, you ain’t,” Elrabin said gruffly.

  Ampris lifted her head. “No,” she said. “Elrabin, don’t.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “Ain’t no good keeping secrets.”

  “What secrets?” Foloth asked eagerly.

  Ampris backed her ears. “It is not a secret. Elrabin, I don’t wish it discussed.”

  “You just working up their curiosity now,” he said and glanced at Foloth. “You had a sister. She died at—”

  “Elrabin!” Ampris cried.

  “—birth,” he said and looked at her defiantly.

  The band of alarm constricting her heart released its grip, and Ampris found she could breathe again.

  Both cubs looked at her blankly. “That’s it?” Nashmarl asked finally.

  “Why keep that a secret?” Foloth asked.

  Ampris turned away from them. She could not explain further. She wanted them to never know about the horrors of Vess Vaas Laboratory or the cruel scientist Ehssk who had taken her daughter away for dissection. Neither cub seemed to have vivid memories of their early days in the lab, and she wanted it to stay that way. For their sakes. They had enough to bear already.

  “Oh,” Foloth said after a moment of silence. “My joke was bad. wasn’t it? That’s why you lost your temper with me.”

  She sighed and made herself face him. “Yes, my darling. It was in very bad taste. But you didn’t know. You—”

  “Ain’t the time for jokes, whether old times be known or not,” Elrabin broke in. “Goldie, you got to take Nashmarl before the council now, or they’ll be voting without you.”

  She blinked, remembering the crisis at hand, and reached out to Nashmarl.

  He glared at her, looking both defiant and scared. “I won’t go! You go for me.”

  “I can’t,” she told him.

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “No,” Elrabin said to him impatiently. “She can’t. You be the one in trouble, cub. You be the one who’s got to stand before the council.”

  “The council is stupid!” Nashmarl cried. “You’re all stupid! I didn’t push Steegin. Why won’t anyone take my word for it?”

  “Maybe they will, if you show up to explain your side, see?” Elrabin said.

  “Nashmarl, we are trying to help you,” Ampris said, her worry rising up afresh. “Why won’t you cooperate?”

  “Maybe he’s really guilty,” Foloth said.

  Ampris glared at him. “That’s enough from you!”

  Elrabin also turned to face Foloth. “You know something? See something? Or you just making this up?”

  Foloth did not immediately reply, and Ampris felt herself turning cold. Nashmarl came to her side, staring at his brother as though he could not believe it.

  “Foloth,” he said hoarsely, “what are you doing?”

  Foloth’s dark eyes held nothing at all, then a slow smirk spread across his mouth.

  Ampris let out her breath, and at that moment could have watched him being skinned alive.

  Nashmarl clenched his fists and ran at his brother, but Elrabin stepped between them, holding them apart.

  “That’s not funny, Foloth!” Nashmarl shouted, swinging ineptly and almost hitting Elrabin instead.

  “Stop it! Both of you!” Ampris grabbed Nashmarl and pulled him back before he hurt Elrabin, who was far from well. “I am ashamed of you both,” she said, shaking Nashmarl until he wrenched away from her. She glared at him and Foloth.

  “You’d better be nice to me. my brother,” Foloth said, still taunting Nashmarl. “Or I might decide to be a bad witness.”

  “You weren’t there! You didn’t see what happened.”

  “Enough!” Ampris said sharply, silencing them. She was so exasperated words almost failed her. Nothing she did or said seemed to get through their thick skulls. “Foloth, you will stay here. Put out the fire and go to bed. That is an order, not a request.”

  “But I’ll miss the decision,” Foloth said. He shot Nashmarl another icy glare of contempt. “You mean I have to wait until morning to know if I’m to be shunned because of my stupid brother?”

  Growling, Nashmarl started for him again. Ampris pulled Nashmarl back and gave him a quick nip on his nape. He hissed, and she spun him around and put her finger in his face.

  With her teeth bared, she said, “I will give you no more warnings. Behave, now.”

  Nashmarl was breathing hard. His face had turned pink, and his green eyes seethed with resentment and fear. “You always take his side,” he muttered.

  “When you stop rising to the bait, he will stop tormenting you,” she said. “Now be quiet.”

  With Nashmarl glaring at the ground in momentary silence, Ampris turned on Foloth. He deserved punishment. but she was out of time. “Not one more word from you,” she said to Foloth.

  He smiled a tiny, satisfied little smirk, gone as fast as quicksilver. “I’ve said all I need to.”

  Ampris pointed at the fire. “Do your chores and go to bed. When this is over, if you say anything to torment or tease Nashmarl, I will flog you with a stick. Is that clear?”

  He looked at her with a blink, unsure.

  She never let her gaze waver. “I can, and I will. There is a first time for everything, and if you think you are too big for punishment, remember that I am bigger.”

  Foloth said nothing, but she knew he believed her threat. That was sufficient for now.

  “Goldie,” Elrabin said into the quiet, “you be late.”

  “I know.” She sighed and gripped Nashmarl’s arm. “Let’s go see if we can straighten out this mess.”

  As they walked through the trees toward the large fire where the other members of the camp sat waiting, Ampris pulled Nashmarl closer to her and murmured into his ear, “You must realize there is more at stake than our being shunned.”

  “Sure,” Nashmarl said in a sullen voice. “Having to put up with Foloth’s—”

  “No!” She pinched his arm to make him listen. “If it is ruled deliberate murder, Nashmarl, your neck will be broken.” She paused long enough to hear Nashmarl’s startled intake of breath. “Or we can choose the shunning, to be cut off forever from any contact with free abiru. I did not want your brother to hear this.”

  “But, but—”

  “Are you telling me the truth?” Ampris asked him. She stopped and gripped his face between her hands, wishing she could see his eyes in the darkness. “Are you?”

  “You wouldn’t let anyone kill me,” Nashmarl said, but he did not sound sure.

  Sadness curled around Ampris’s heart. “No,” she admitted. “I would not.”

  He gave a little bounce and pulled back. “Then there’s nothing to be—”

  “Nashmarl,” she said sharply enough to get his attention. She wanted him to understand this very clearly. “If you really did push that female to her death, if you really did it deliberately, then I would not let Harthril break your neck.”

  He chuckled in relief. “I knew you wouldn’t—”

  “I would do it myself.”

  He froze in the shadows, and Ampris smelled his fear. He gulp
ed audibly, suddenly panting. Ampris waited for what he would say.

  Behind her, Elrabin gave her a nudge. “They ain’t going to wait much longer, Goldie.”

  Ahead, through the trees, she could see Tantha on her feet, prowling restlessly. Harthril’s rill stood out stiff with annoyance. Velia and Frenshala were talking together in shrill voices. Ampris’s heart sank. No, it was not good to antagonize the council by keeping everyone waiting. Delay only made Nashmarl look guilty, but she had to have her answer first.

  Nashmarl’s silence now left her awash in doubt.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “What do you want me to say?” he burst out, sounding panicky. “I’ve told you the truth, but you keep asking and asking me. Don’t you believe me? Do you want me to die?”

  She waited, but he said nothing else. The straight answer she’d wanted for reassurance was not going to come. All she had was what he’d told her on the ledge, and she hoped with all her heart that it was indeed the truth. But hope was never the same as certainty.

  Elrabin prodded the back of her shoulder, and she trudged forward with Nashmarl in tow, coming into the firelight that filled the small clearing where the others waited to pronounce judgment.

  In the imperial palace in Vir, Israi Kaa paced alone in the darkness on the balcony of her private apartments. Although it was night, the breeze flowing across the river held little coolness. It ruffled her gossamer-weight gown and scarves, and with a sigh she turned her face into it for a moment before resuming her pacing. With every step, the tiny silver bells adorning her slippers tinkled musically. Overhead, the city lights reflected off the night sky, obscuring the spangle of stars that had once marked the vast empire of the Viis. At the foot of the palace walls, the Cuna Da’r flowed sluggishly, its brown waters low from the continued drought. She could smell the stench of mud and dying fish from her balcony despite the cloying bouquets of flowers arranged everywhere to mask the unpleasant river smell.

  Israi did not often leave the banquet hall early. She did not often find herself unable to sleep. But she had a decision to make, and it was not coming easily. From all her progeny, she needed to choose a sri-Kaa, her official heir. She was in the twelfth year of her reign, and the pressure to secure the line of succession was steadily increasing from her chancellors and court.

  Her illustrious father, Sahmrahd Kaa, had been in the tenth year of his reign when he chose her to succeed him. This morning, she had learned that he selected another sri-Kaa before her, one that had died soon thereafter of some chunenhal fever. When Israi was born a few years later, she became her father’s next choice. This information had been most unwelcome, almost a shock to her. In her mind, she had always been her father’s favorite. To think that once he had doted on and adored another chune—even one who had died before she was ever born—upset her every time she thought about it.

  Impatiently, she paused in her pacing and gripped the stone balustrade. Below, in her personal garden, the guard was changing, performing the required rituals with voices muted to avoid disturbing the imperial rest. Israi watched without seeing the cloaked figures. Her mind was far away, coiling around the problem.

  Her chancellor of state had spoken with unaccustomed bluntness this morning, informing her in the privacy of her study that she could no longer delay making a choice. The populace was suffering many afflictions, especially those caused by the terrible drought and economic hardships, and it needed a sign of hope from the palace.

  Israi resented such advice. “The Imperial Mother does not choose a successor just to improve the morale of her citizens!” she declared. “We are not public entertainment, to be paid for and watched.”

  Temondahl, her aging, blue-skinned chancellor of state, bowed over his staff of office, but he did not relent. Through the years, he had served her competently and efficiently, putting up with her tantrums and willfulness. In exchange she had to endure a dry, stuffy chancellor who was tirelessly determined to persuade and cajole her into performing the countless mundane, boring bureaucratic chores required of the sovereign.

  “The throne is never entirely secure,” he told her. Now well into his lun-adult life cycle, he regarded her through half-lidded eyes that might have looked sleepy and stupid but never missed anything. “Rumors are beginning to circulate that the Imperial Mother’s eggs are weak, making her unable to produce an imperial heir.”

  Outraged, Israi could only stare at him as her hands gripped the carved arms of her chair. Her rill flared out, stiff and dark blue, while she gasped for an answer to such a ridiculous charge.

  “It is only a rumor, majesty,” Temondahl said smoothly. “But rumors can sometimes do harm. This one should not be allowed to grow into general belief.”

  “Our eggs are strong and healthy,” Israi declared, unable to get past the insult. “Always we have produced many.”

  “A solid, consistent number,” Temondahl said.

  It was flattery, but it was not agreement. Israi eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “Surely the Imperial Mother realizes that while she produces excellent eggs each year during Festival, modern numbers cannot compare with those of earlier days when double or three times as many eggs were laid by—”

  “History!” she said contemptuously with a sweep of her hand. “We are not interested in the past.”

  “Then let us focus on the future,” Temondahl said. “A successor is imperative. Many citizens are losing hope. With the empire so shaken by a myriad of problems, there must be a firm sign from the palace that the future is secure.”

  Israi sighed. Why did he have to make a speech about it?

  “Three years into your Imperial Majesty’s reign, I urged you to choose a successor. You did not.”

  “We want a perfect heir,” she said, flicking out her tongue in annoyance.

  “A noble objective, but perhaps the standards should be lowered slightly.”

  Her eyes dilated in shock. She could not believe Temondahl had said such a thing. “What do you mean? A less than perfect sri-Kaa? Unthinkable! You cannot be serious.”

  “Perfection is difficult to find.”

  Her rill raised even higher behind her head. “Are you now saying our chunes are substandard?”

  The dangerous edge in her silky tones made Temondahl pause before replying. The look he gave her was cautious indeed, but he did not retreat.

  “Not substandard.” he said. “The Kaa’s progeny are lovely creatures. But few chunes today exhibit the health and vigor of previous generations.”

  Israi sighed impatiently. “All the old ones say that. It means nothing.”

  “It means that our scientists still cannot find a cure for the Dancing Death. Nor can they bring back our—”

  “We will not discuss plague,” Israi said in dismissal. “You worry about things that are not happening. This is a waste of our time.”

  “Forgive me for straying too far from the subject,” Temondahl apologized smoothly.

  She flicked out her tongue. “Besides, you say that we should name our heir, yet in the same breath you say that our chunes are not as vigorous as they should be.”

  Temondahl puffed out his air sacs. “Majesty, let us not fall into semantics. I believe we agree that there is need for an heir. My other concern has to do with time. A sri-Kaa should have many years of training and education in order to be worthy of the position he or she will someday hold. Although certainly everyone at court hopes that the Imperial Mother will enjoy a very long life, we must . . .”

  He droned on, but Israi stopped listening. Inwardly she fumed. He was right, curse him. Right as usual. But he did not understand the problem.

  “We will consider your remarks,” she said, just to silence him.

  Temondahl’s rill extended slightly. His tongue flicked out, and he said nothing.

  His expression offended her, and her own rill stiffened. “What now? Would you have us choose this very moment? We have said we will consider
the matter. Surely that is enough.”

  “For how long will the Imperial Mother consider it?”

  She felt the heat of anger course through her veins, throb in her rill. Her tongue coiled in her mouth. “We will not be rushed,” she said curtly. “We will not make an unconsidered choice.”

  “There are presently twenty-five chunen and three hatchlings living in the palace,” Temondahl said. “All are exquisitely marked and colored. All show signs of intelligence and wit. Any would do, depending on temperament and—”

  “Shall we close our eyes and point?” she broke in icily. “How dare you suggest this be done rashly! The succession is a matter of the greatest importance. Great care must be taken.”

  “Yes, majesty. As long as the decision is made quickly.” Temondahl spread out his hands. “Fresh rebellion is breaking out among the rim worlds. Lord Commander Belz has already departed with the main flotilla of our warships to quell it, but a successor will make the throne look stronger.”

  “Our throne is very strong,” Israi said angrily.

  Temondahl bowed his head. “Your majesty knows what I mean.”

  Israi felt driven into a corner, and she did not like the feeling. Yet she knew if she dismissed him. he would only return on the morrow and mention the subject again. If she continued to put him off, he might bring it up before a general meeting with all her chancellors and ministers. They would welcome a chance to meddle.

  “I can question the attendants to learn more about the chunen’s personalities,” Temondahl suggested delicately.

  Israi sighed and held up her hand. “We fear making the wrong choice. We believe the sri-Kaa should be a true reflection of our glory, evident to everyone immediately. We were chosen as sri-Kaa straight from the egg, within a few hours of our hatching. Yet none of our progeny has stood out so clearly.” She let her tongue flick out in momentary distress. “We wait, Chancellor Temondahl, for the right one to hatch. We wait and we wait, but no one equal to us has yet hatched.”

  There, it was said. Her deepest fear, her greatest insecurity about her maternity. Why could she not produce a glorious heir? Why?