“Do you mean, I might yet find-?”
Orfuin released his chin. “Go inside, Felthrup. You’re a talking rat; someone’s certain to buy you a drink.”
6. Orfuin here slightly amends the original, though not perhaps for the worse. He is also mistaken about the artist’s race. Falargrin (in The Universal Macabre) presents conclusive evidence that Mr. Poe was a transplanted selk. -EDITOR.
Confessions
24 Ilbrin 941
“How did it happen, Ludunte?”
The young ixchel man stood with his back to the bulkhead, sweating. “My lord Taliktrum,” he said, “I swear to you I don’t know.”
“Three of our prisoners walk free,” Taliktrum continued, pacing back and forth in the lamplight, his Dawn Soldiers lounging behind him, predators at rest. “Two are allies of my treacherous aunt. The third-tell me, Ludunte, who is the third?”
“C-captain Rose, my lord,” stammered Ludunte.
“Captain Rose,” echoed Taliktrum furiously. “The sadist who kept an ixchel locked in his desk for years. In a birdcage. The only man aboard to oversee an actual extermination-did you know he once killed an entire clan of our people, aboard an Auxlei grain ship? We just gave him his freedom on a satin pillow, Ludunte. And the blane antidote was in your keeping.”
From a far corner, Ensyl looked on with unease. It was not going well for Ludunte. Taliktrum wanted someone to fall on his sword, to accept the blame for the disaster quickly and fully, sparing the Visionary Leader (yet another ridiculous title) any further embarrassment. But Ludunte was not playing along. Taliktrum, never one to endure much contradiction, was furious.
They were in the ixchel stronghold on the mercy deck: a series of crates boxed in particularly deep by other cargo, all but unreachable by the crew that had stowed them. Of course there had always been the danger that the humans would abruptly want something from the crates: ixchel clans lived in perpetual readiness to evacuate their homes. But Taliktrum’s decision to seize hostages had changed all that. No humans walked the lower half of the ship unescorted. They were, in a certain respect, safer than most members of the clan had ever been in their lifetime. But that safety had just been shaken to the core.
“You’re Treasure Keeper to the clan,” said Taliktrum, glowering at Ludunte. “You had a key to the strongbox, and changed its location each month, for the sake of security.”
“I do not choose the locations, my lord.”
“I choose them,” Taliktrum snapped. “And you went alone to collect the pills when we decided on this furlough, this hour’s charity. How could you possibly confuse the temporary antidote with the permanent? It’s inexcusable.”
Atop the hunting cabinet that had become his solitary refuge, Lord Talag nodded in agreement. The cabinet was one of some twenty furnishings from the Isiq mansion back in Etherhorde that had passed, in effect, to the ixchel: old Admiral Isiq had never come for his belongings-some whispered that he’d been quietly killed after the fiasco of Thasha’s wedding-and Thasha herself had forgotten about the crates, or else never realized that any of her family’s goods remained in storage. Or perhaps, thought Ensyl, she knows perfectly well, but wants no reminders of the father she lost in Simja.
“You’d be wiser to come clean, Ludunte,” said Taliktrum.
“But my good lord! I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“You cannot keep secrets from me,” said Taliktrum, raising his voice suddenly. “I have been given a fate. I see further, deeper than you. I see our final triumph as a people-and every selfish, stupid act that impedes that triumph.”
“Then you know I speak the truth,” said Ludunte.
“I know all the truth you speak, and all the falsehood.” Suddenly Taliktrum whirled and seized Ludunte by the jaw. “I must make you see it as well,” he purred. “I must hear it from your lips, know that your mind has accepted the truth, if you are to go on serving me-serving the clan, the clan of course, through me, its rightful leader.”
Ludunte made a grave error, then. His head could not move, but at the words rightful leader his eyes flickered briefly to Lord Talag on his sullen perch. The look did not escape Taliktrum. His mouth twisted with rage. “I will drown you,” he said. “I will call on the clan to sanction your punishment, and they will do so.”
Ludunte closed his eyes, trembling. But he said what honor demanded, and with an air of certainty at that. “If the clan requires my death, I give it gladly. My life is in its keeping.”
“No less than our own,” came ritual response from every mouth. Ensyl spoke too, though the Dawn Soldiers shot her hateful looks. To those fanatics she was as much a traitor as her former mistress. Diadrelu had trusted the giants, and taken one as a lover. Ensyl’s sin was loving Diadrelu-adoring her, believing in her to the point of rebellion. She had defied Taliktrum, taken Dri’s body from him, delivered it to Hercol. Yes, she was a hypocrite to speak those words. She had broken the clan-bond in favor of her mistress. But Ludunte had also sworn service to Dri for the entire length of his training, and yet he had led her into the trap in which she died. Wasn’t that the greater crime? Not by ixchel law, of course. Yet somewhere, surely, there was a law of the heart?
“There are three possibilities,” said Taliktrum. “One, you confused the pills, mistaking the permanent antidote for the temporary.”
“Never,” said Ludunte.
“Two, you deliberately brought the wrong pills to the forecastle house, because you wished, for some reason, for the giants to be free.”
“My lord-nonsense!”
“Three, you told someone of the location of the pills, and they-or someone they told in turn-tampered with the vials themselves.”
“I told no one!” cried Ludunte, with rising desperation. “Lord Taliktrum, why don’t you trust me? Have I not been your faithful servant in all things?”
Taliktrum looked at him piercingly. “Leave us,” he said. “I will speak with my private council, of your faith and other matters.”
He turned, dismissing Ludunte with an imperious toss of his hand. Ludunte’s eyes swept the room in great distress, settling at last on Ensyl. She returned him all the sympathy she could manage, which was next to none. Stiffly, Ludunte walked to the door. Taliktrum’s Dawn Soldiers hissed and spat at him as he departed.
Taliktrum’s gaze fell on Ensyl. “You” was all he said.
She rose and followed him past the file of soldiers. They were silenced by the nearness of Taliktrum, but their eyes told her what they would do if given the chance. Some studied her body, others fingered their spears. He’s destroying them, destroying their minds, Ensyl thought. They’re cut off from every tradition of the clan save obedience and bloodshed. Dri had always warned her that courage without reason was worse than no courage at all. Skies above, he’s a greater threat to us than Rose.
They entered what Taliktrum called his “meditation chamber,” where a single lamp burned upon a table fashioned from the lid of a pickle barrel. Myett was there, of course, watching Ensyl like a nervous cat. So was Saturyk: tight-mouthed, quick-fingered, Taliktrum’s all-purpose spy. More startling was the presence of the Pachet Ghali, Myett’s stern, silver-haired grandfather. The title Pachet was given to few: it was the highest state of learning to which an ixchel could aspire. Ghali was a master musician: so great a master that the old, lost lore of ixchel-magic was said to live on in the song of his flute. Diadrelu had seen the proof. The man’s playing had called swallows from their nests on a cliff near Bramian, and Taliktrum, wearing one of the clan’s two priceless swallow-suits, had been able to command them like a small winged army.
“Close the door behind you, girl.”
Ensyl obeyed, masking her feelings with effort. I’m the same age as you.
“A look passed between you and Ludunte just now, did it not?” began Taliktrum, pouring himself a goblet of wine.
“He looked at me,” said Ensyl, “and I looked back.”
“You will address our leader by his title,�
� growled Saturyk.
“Which one?” said Ensyl.
“Ludunte was Dri’s other sophister,” cut in Taliktrum. “The two of you were closest to her of all the clan. Do you remain close now, you and he?”
“We never were especially close, Lord Taliktrum.”
“How is that possible? She chose the two of you out of many hundreds who wished to study at her knee. You trained together in Etherhorde. You were partners in the Nine Trials, the Midwinter March. You were in the same watch for three years.”
“One can share many things, Lord, and not grow close.”
“Very true,” said Myett in her satiny voice. “Ixchel blood, for example.”
The two women locked eyes for a moment. Ensyl fought down her anger. Nothing to be gained by sparring with his mistress.
“You truly suspect Ludunte of switching the pills?” she said.
“Hold your tongue until His Lordship addresses you!” said Saturyk.
Ensyl bristled. “Are we slaves, now, to grovel before him? Or am I expelled from Ixphir House? Even then I am no chattel. He has the right as clan leader to call for my silence. You, Saturyk, have no right at all.”
“Careless,” hissed Myett, “so like another woman who thought herself clever. What became of her, Ensyl of Sorrophran? Tell us that. As you say, you’ve every right to speak.”
“And I have the right to scold you, daughter’s daughter, though it pains my heart,” said the Pachet Ghali. “Where did you learn such spite?”
“You should be proud of her, Pachet,” said Taliktrum absently. Myett looked at him as though hoping he had more to say. But Taliktrum’s thoughts were elsewhere. “All of you, be still. Ensyl, I do not ask you if Ludunte is innocent or guilty. I merely ask if you think him capable of treason.”
A black irony entered Ensyl’s voice. “Of course, my lord. I have seen treason done by his hand. The day he helped you murder Lady Diadrelu.”
She had gone too far. Myett’s eyes blazed with outrage; even the Pachet Ghali looked shocked. But Ensyl felt no remorse, only the wound, the outrageous loss, as sharp now as on that horrific night on the Ruling Sea. Taliktrum had killed her mistress, even if another hand had delivered the blow.
Saturyk moved forward, as though to eject her from the room by force, but Taliktrum waved him off. He looked a long time at the slender woman before him.
“I am sorry for you,” he said at last. “However poorly you were schooled in Sorrophran, there are some childhood maxims you cannot have avoided. We are the rose that prunes itself, remember? A clan of ixchel must know when a limb is diseased. And my aunt was diseased, Ensyl. Also gifted, certainly; no one would deny that she was gifted. But her vision was unsound. She loved giants. As a pathology it’s nothing new-men and women both have suffered from it, though most grow out of the delusion. Not Dri. She grew worse, and finally obscene.”
“We watched them,” said Myett, as though the memory turned her stomach.
“And saw nothing,” said Ensyl, blinking fast. “Nothing of the truth, that is. Nothing that mattered.”
Taliktrum’s face was carefully blank. “You revered her, but that does not oblige you to defend what is unnatural. Dri herself would not have done so, before her sickness advanced.”
“She had no sickness!”
Taliktrum dropped his eyes, as though pondering an unwelcome thought. “I recall a dinner conversation,” he said at last, “shortly after you arrived in the capital. She hadn’t yet decided to take you on. I argued that she should-argued against my father, I’ll have you know.” He smiled strangely. “My aunt called you the gentlest flower in the field.” He paused, weighing his words. “Nytikyn spoke of it too: your gentleness. When the others asked him about you, in the barracks, and on patrol.”
Ensyl’s breath grew short. Nytikyn, her fiance, had been killed a few days before the voyage began.
“The women were fond of him,” said Saturyk. “He was a handsome lad. He could have had his pick of half a dozen, but he was after you. I gather you took some convincing. You had other things on your mind.”
“What things, Saturyk?” asked Myett.
“Oh, just things. She was very dedicated to her training. And her trainer.”
“A pity that you never arrived at a wedding date,” said Taliktrum.
The Pachet Ghali looked at Taliktrum. His face paled, as though some motive or tactic had just become clear to him. Seeking no one’s permission, he rose and left the room.
Myett stared at the door, clearly shocked by her grandfather’s act. But Saturyk was smiling wickedly. “Oh, they set a date, m’lord,” he said. “A number of them, in fact. Somehow the happy day kept getting postponed. Don’t recall the reason.”
“Saturyk, really,” said Taliktrum with mock severity. “As if such private matters needed to be explained. But let us return to that dinner, Ensyl. Would you like to know what else your future mistress had to say about you?”
“No,” said Ensyl.
“Timid, but beautiful. That was how she put it. When I watched her balance on one hand she took my breath away. My father mentioned the childish joy you took in pleasing her. Later, when we had all drunk some wine, Dri spoke of you again: If Nytikyn has lost his head over her, I understand it. You can see at a glance she’s a heartbreaker. The quiet ones so often are. That, of course, brought smiles from everyone. But my aunt said, I would do better to reject her as a student. She is too fond of me, and one’s sophister must never be distracted by-Here now, girl, is something wrong?”
Ensyl’s eyes were streaming. He had done it, the monster, he had torn it out of her and held it up for the others to gawk at. She held her ground, enduring it. She would not run from the chamber like the girl they kept calling her. Let them see these tears. Oh, Diadrelu. A time would come.
Saturyk flicked his chin in her direction. “There’s the flaw at the heart of this clan,” he declared. “Selfish obsession. My needs, my wants. Never ours. The ones your aunt recruited are the worst, m’lord.”
The men went on studying her, cold as doctors facing an autopsy. Myett, however, looked oddly moved by Ensyl’s suffering. Her grandfather’s departure had left her frightened by the whole affair. “The clan could have helped you, Ensyl,” she said. “The clan heals its own, no matter what ails them, but how can it do so unless you tell us? It was your duty to tell us.”
Suddenly Taliktrum swept forward and seized Ensyl’s arm, dragging her to the far side of the chamber. To her surprise he wore no look of triumph. He knew exactly what he was doing, but a part of him was deeply ashamed.
“What if it went further?” he said. “What if Dri took it much further, for her own delight? The clan already has proof that she had strange appetites. What if they knew that she had turned an adoring young student into an instrument of pleasure?”
A madman, thought Ensyl, looking at his sweaty chin.
“You care very much how Dri is remembered,” he said. “That’s why you’ve fought me at every turn. You have to stop that. I’m the commander and you can’t do anything about it, no one can. Not even me.”
“What in Pitfire,” Ensyl managed to say, “do you want?”
“You switched the pills,” he said. “We both know it, Ensyl. Because Ludunte isn’t the only one with a key to the strongbox. Every clan leader carries a spare.” He put a hand inside his shirt and drew out a brass key on a leather cord. “Diadrelu carried one identical to this. You used it, didn’t you? You were trying in some twisted way to follow her example. Trust the giants. Embrace them, and in time they’ll return that embrace. Confess, Ensyl, and I swear on the Great Mother I’ll restore her good name.”
For a moment Ensyl could not even breathe. There was the choice. Lie for Diadrelu, play the part of traitor, give Taliktrum someone to blame for the fiasco. Or refuse, and let Taliktrum cast another stone at Dri’s memory, turn her into a predator, a corrupter of the young.
“You won’t do it, will you?” said Taliktrum suddenly.
“You won’t confess, I can see it in your eyes. It’s the right thing to do, but never mind, you’ll be obstinate, you’ll fight me as she did, no matter the cost. Because you loved her. Because you’re keeping the faith.”
“Yes,” said Ensyl, “I’m keeping the faith.”
“I did not kill my aunt,” he said, the words spilling out now like something beyond his control. “Steldak did it, he jerked the spear through her windpipe, I gave no such order, there was still time to talk. A waste-I can say that now. She had fine qualities, I know that better than anyone, better than some heartsick girl. Her intuition, for example. She knew I loved music, wanted to be a musician, once, before my true responsibilities, she taught me to swim, also to bend my voice-never mind that-are you going to confess?”
Ensyl stared at him in horror.
“Speak up!” he said.
“What happened to you?” was all she could say.
“Me? Me?” Suddenly Taliktrum was screaming in her face. “Saturyk, take her out of here. She will tell the truth or face the judgment of the clan. We had to stop that woman, Ensyl. Can’t you see how wretched she was inside? Wretched, miserable! Even before we caught her she was destroying herself. We had to act before she doomed us all.”
When the girl was gone Taliktrum threw himself into a chair. Myett came up behind him and began to work his shoulders. He covered his face with his hands.
“She could well be the one,” he said. “She hates us, hates our leadership.”
“She is twisted and jealous,” said Myett. “If Hercol is found dead in his cabin some morning, we’ll know who cut his throat.”
“No,” said Taliktrum, through trembling fingers. “They’re allies, that girl and the swordsman. I’ve seen how they talk. We must move to denounce her. We have evidence of her treason already.”
Saturyk frowned. “It’s a trifle risky, Lord. Oh, the clan would likely endorse your decision. But later, when they’re not so afraid, the questions could get awkward.”
“Then keep them afraid,” said Myett, rubbing harder in her fright, trying to make Taliktrum look up at her. “Ensyl has earned death; there are other ways to deliver it than clan execution. Let her disappear. Two or three of your Dawn Soldiers could do the job.”
The River of Shadows cv-3 Page 19
