Air and Darkness

by David Drake

  Raguram grinned again. “For that matter, the king’s vassals, myself included, would gain,” he said. “Though I have no ambitions beyond what I have now. King Govinda has more general extensive dreams, or so I have gathered.”

  “Lord Govinda is a great king and a great magician,” Bhiku said. “I believe he thinks he would not have an equal on earth, were it not for the god’s processions through his kingdom. And Govinda may be correct in that belief.”

  Varus remembered what the Sibyl had said before he stepped into the portal that Govinda’s delegation had opened. “Peasants may not be harmed by the god’s incursions,” he said, “and…”

  He paused and smiled at his companions, in much the same black humor as Lord Raguram had shown a moment earlier.

  “… given that I’m not worried about either of you gentlemen informing on me to the Praetorian Prefect, the well-being of the Emperor and his legions isn’t a great concern to me, either. Literature and the transmission of knowledge more generally require organization, however. I do care about them.”

  Varus cleared his throat. He wondered how much what he was about to say would put him in oppoosition to the men who stood before him. Regardless, he said it anyway: “I will prevent Lord Bacchus from extending his incursions to Italy if I am able to do so.”

  Raguram shrugged. “I don’t see what you can do against King Govinda,” he said. “He’s made sure that all his vassals know how great a wizard he is. But as you said about your emperor, Govinda isn’t my concern.”

  There was a commotion outside. Raguram frowned and looked past his visitors to the open doorway. Varus turned his head also.

  A servant, not armed but wearing silk garments heavily embroidered with gold wire, stopped panting just outside the office. He babbled to Raguram, obviously upset.

  Raguram’s face became as expressionless as a rock. “Master Bhiku,” he said in Greek. “Who else in my household knows who your friend is?”

  “No one save yourself, Lord Raguram,” the sage replied.

  “Take him to your dwelling and change his clothing,” said Raguram. “At once.”

  The prince strode out of the office, speaking forcefully to the servant as they both headed for the main building.

  “Come,” murmured Bhiku. “The chamberlain informs us that King Govinda has arrived. He and his entourage were concealed by a cloud so there was no warning of his approach. Govinda informed the chamberlain that he is looking for a Western magician.”

  Varus matched his step to that of the sage, the same brisk walk that had carried them from Princess Teji’s garden to this palace. The sprawling complex was filled with commotion, but the attention seemed to be directed toward the king’s arrival.

  “Is this safe?” Varus said. He spoke quietly, though he doubted whether any of the peasants and low-ranking servants running about nearby could speak Greek. “For Prince Raguram, I mean.”

  “That is a matter for my master himself to decide,” Bhiku said, “and no one has accused him of cowardice. Even so, I don’t expect a pair of scruffy wise men like ourselves to attract much attention. I will give you a tunic.”

  He chirped his laughter.

  “I will give you my other tunic, and you will not dazzle our visitors with magnificence, I assure you. And a pair of straw sandals in place of that very impressive leather pair of your own. Then we will discuss philosophy until someone gives us further directions.”

  Bhiku’s house was a single room with cane walls and a thatched roof under the shade of a giant fig. The creek nearby was dry, but leakage from the reservoir that supplied the community in the hot season kept the tree flourishing. A low platform raised it above the fig’s roots, so the floor was cane rather than dirt.

  “I have few amenities to offer,” Bhiku said, taking a cotton tunic from a peg beside the door. There was no furniture; a bowl and a water jug, both of earthenware, were the only objects visible. The lower two-thirds of the jug’s surface was dark with moisture, showing that someone had refilled it no later than this morning, even though the sage had been gone for months.

  “All the better for our purpose,” Varus said as he stripped off his wool tunic. Though it was woven very fine, he would still be pleased to exchange it for the worn cotton garment that the sage offered. “Though I’m a little surprised, since you’re obviously held in high regard by your, ah, fellows as well as by the prince himself.”

  “This hut is my choice,” Bhiku said. “As it was my choice to settle with Lord Raguram. I would guess that your own choice is more … full, if I may put it that way?”

  “My normal life is vastly more luxurious,” Varus said, amused at the sage’s delicacy. Varus handed his tunic and sandals to a boy who appeared—without being summoned, as best Varus could tell—with a pair of worn straw sandals in exchange. “This is much closer to what my personal choice would be, though I would want books. Many more books.”

  Bhiku laughed and sat cross-legged. Varus squatted. The cane floor was resilient and the straw sandals as comfortable as the suede slippers he would have worn indoors in Carce.

  He opened his mouth to say as much to Bhiku, but Varus felt his soul leave his body and begin to climb the night black slope to the ridge on which the Sibyl always waited for him.

  What will Bhiku think? Varus wondered, remembering the concern his sister and Corylus had felt when he first began to have these spells. And as the thought formed in his mind, Varus realized that Bhiku was scrambling up the rough trail beside him.

  “Master Bhiku!” Varus said, embarrassing himself. “That is, I’m very glad to see you, but I’ve never before seen anyone in these visions. Well, except the Sibyl.”

  The sage smiled, making his face look like that of a friendly monkey. “You have books, Lord Varus,” he said. “I have gained my knowledge by other means. Although—”

  He looked back the way they had come. Varus followed Bhiku’s gaze, but as usual he saw only a featureless blur.

  “—I could not have found my way here without you to guide me.”

  They reached the top of the ridge and the sunlight of which there had been no hint on the slope below. The old—the ancient—woman waited for them, leaning on a cane of twisted ivory.

  “Greetings, Lord Varus,” she said. The hood of her blue cape was thrown back. “And greetings to you also, Master Bhiku. I have few visitors in present days.”

  Varus had been poised to introduce Bhiku to the Sibyl. That was pointless, and Varus realized that he should have known it was pointless before he formed the words.

  Smiling wryly at himself, he said instead, “Sibyl, a king named Govinda is looking for me in the Waking World. I am told”—he didn’t doubt it, but he was being precise, as Pandareus would expect—“that he is a magician.”

  “Govinda is indeed a magician, Lord Wizard,” the Sibyl said. Her cackling laughter was uncannily similar to Bhiku’s. “And there are two magicians searching for you. Govinda’s ancestor accompanies him.”

  She turned to look down the other side of the ridge. Varus walked over beside her, gesturing Bhiku to join them.

  They viewed Raguram’s palace from above. The open ground between the back of the main building and the masonry reservoir was filled with soldiers wearing helmets and carrying spiked shields. They were on foot, but horses and elephants waited outside the front of the palace. Raguram and his chamberlain faced the visitors, bowing to their leader.

  That leader was a young man—no more than thirty—dressed entirely in cloth of gold, including his tight turban. He held a small black mirror in his left hand. The bald old man beside him was stark naked. Both were slender—the old man’s ribs were visible, though he didn’t look starved—and their similar hawk features suggested relationship.

  “That is King Govinda,” Bhiku said. “I don’t recognize the man with him, though. And why is he naked?”

  “The old man is the spirit of Govinda’s ancient ancestor,” said the Sibyl. “He is confined to the spec
ulum of cannel coal which Govinda holds, but you see him from this vantage point. Those in the Waking World hear only a voice from the speculum.”

  “The … figures following Govinda?” Varus said. He’d started to say animals, but the twelve bipeds wore clothing. He had seen baboons and even dogs prancing on their hind legs in vests and pantaloons, but these creatures seemed subtly different. “What are they?”

  Govinda’s ancestor pointed past the end of the reservoir. The king and his entourage walked in that direction, carrying Raguram with them perforce. Raguram’s own retainers were mostly keeping their distance, though the chamberlain stayed with him and the pair of guards from outside his office in the stables stayed close behind.

  “Those are Tyla priests,” said the Sibyl. “They were magicians. When Anti-Thule was destroyed, Govinda’s ancestor escaped. Govinda sent his ancestor back to Anti-Thule to bring the priests here.”

  “Abducted them?” Varus said.

  The Sibyl smiled, though her face was so wrinkled that he was partly guessing at her expression. “Govinda gave them a chance to survive,” she said, “and the Tyla are enough like humans that they took the chance they were offered. They are magicians, but they could not hold the ice back without the power of the Godspeaker to support them.”

  Govinda and his ancestor walked around the reservoir; his train followed like an armored caterpillar. The ancestor pointed toward the fig tree.

  Bhiku said, “They are going to my hut.”

  “They’re looking for me,” said Varus. “As a matter of courtesy, I will return to meet my visitors.”

  I only hope that my friends survive these next moments, he thought. In the crisis it didn’t occur to him to consider his own situation.

  “If you are killed,” said the Sibyl, “you will not be able to thwart Govinda’s plans for Carce.”

  Then she shouted, “Be things such as they were before!” and Varus was back in his body and wobbling on the balls of his feet.

  He stood and walked out of the simple hut. Behind him Bhiku was getting to his feet also, but Varus had attention only for Govinda at this moment. Varus could no longer see the ancestor, but he heard high-pitched words coming from the blackness of the king’s mirror-polished disk.

  “I am Gaius Alphenus Varus, a nobleman of Carce,” he said in a clear voice. “Are you looking for me?”

  “You are the wizard from the West,” said Govinda in good Greek. He was as tall as Corylus, a physically powerful man.

  Suitable for guarding a king were he not one himself, Varus thought. He smiled at the thought.

  The smile appeared to anger Govinda. “You will come with me and do my will!” the king said. “Or I will destroy you and destroy all those around you!”

  “I will willingly go with you,” said Varus.

  “Come, then,” said Govinda, gesturing Varus to his side.

  Master Pandareus would have noted that the explicit acceptance of one of two conditions is the implicit rejection of the second, Varus thought as they walked toward the front of the palace and the mounts that had carried the king and his train. But it’s probably just as well that Govinda’s logic teacher was less able.

  * * *

  HEDIA HAD EXPECTED THE CENTAUR Gryneus to easily win his race against Ophius, a faun; and so he would have done had they run a straight furlong. The course Bacchus had set was a figure eight, however, and the contestants had to make a full circuit of the post in the middle as well. The centaur’s speed swung his massive body wide, while Ophius’ delicate quickness meant that he scarcely seemed to slow down as he cornered.

  “Run!” Hedia shouted, clinging to Bacchus’ arm. She wasn’t so much cheering for either runner as caught up in the excitement of the race. “Run! Run!”

  The spectators, the whole throng of the god’s followers, laughed and cheered. There had already been archery and wrestling competitions, and a great deal of rich purple wine added to the jollity.

  Ophius was in the lead on the final leg and halfway to the finish line before the centaur rounded the center post for the second time. The dappled Gryneus threw back dirt from all four hooves as he vaulted into a gallop.

  “Run!” cried Hedia.

  The finish line was merely a furrow Bacchus had traced on the ground with his sandal, but it shone like a bar of gold. Faun and centaur crossed it together in a cloud of dust and ran on, slowing gradually.

  “Oh, who won, dear heart?” Hedia said, throwing both arms about Bacchus’ chest. He was girlishly slim, but the muscles of his torso were as firm as taut bow cords. “Oh, they both won, didn’t they? They were magnificent!”

  “Then they both won,” Bacchus said. He squeezed her, then gently disengaged to free his hands as the contestants shambled back.

  Ophius had one hand on the centaur’s withers. They both looked as though they were ready to be skinned and ground up for sausage, but they were drinking from wineskins that the spectators offered. By the time they reached Bacchus they stood straight and walked briskly.

  Bacchus smiled as he met the contestants and said, “My delightful Hedia says that you both won the race, showing that she is as clever as she is lovely and talented. Gryneus and Ophius, for proving yourselves unbeatable runners, take these trinkets as tokens of the honor in which I hold you.”

  He held out laurel wreaths; the centaur bowed his head so that the god could place it at the same time that he crowned the faun. The leaves bloomed brighter than gold when Bacchus released them.

  Hedia stepped forward and kissed Ophius. The faun’s shaggy chest tickled through her sheer garment.

  She released him and turned to Gryneus, raising her arms. The centaur laughed and bent forward. Instead of simply receiving the kiss, he lifted Hedia as he straightened again. He held her easily in a long embrace, then lowered her as gently as Bacchus himself would have done.

  The spectators cheered even more loudly than they had done for the race itself. Hedia, flushed with delight, returned to the god’s side and clung to him.

  “My lord Bacchus!” said Ampelos from just behind them. He was flushed also, but his tones were as harsh as a throat so golden could manage.

  “Ampelos, my little heart?” Bacchus said, his face showing surprise and perhaps a touch of concern.

  “We have dallied here, lord of lords,” Ampelos said. “Is it not now time to spread your fame still farther in the Waking World? You have conquered the East; now the Empire of Carce should bow before your omnipotence!”

  “Ampelos, dear…,” Bacchus said. “This is a pleasant place and there’s much here to show our friend Hedia.”

  “That woman!” the youth said. “You’ve surrendered your honor to trifle with a woman!”

  He’s exactly like Latus’ little friends, Hedia thought as she disengaged her arm from Bacchus. Except that he’s even prettier.

  Her first husband, Gaius Calpurnius Latus, was sexually adventurous—as adventurous as Hedia, if it came to that—but he preferred boys. They were often charming when they were in a good mood, but she had found them generally more touchy, jealous, and bitchy than women of a similar sort.

  There were sometimes ways to handle the situation, however.

  “Ampelos, dear,” Hedia said, moving toward the youth’s side. “Wouldn’t you like to join us for a little while? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a lovely young man as you, and I’d really like to get to know you better.”

  Ampelos stood transfixed. Hedia extended her hand to the boy’s shoulder. He jerked away in horror.

  “Slut!” he shouted. “Filth! Offal!”

  Well, he didn’t slap me, Hedia thought. Though she could have worked with a slap; tears of despair sometimes prevailed where a more direct invitation did not. Anyway, it had been worth a try.

  “My lord Bacchus!” Ampelos said. “Please, don’t let this woman corrode your honor. Prove, with me at your side, that you are the great god you are meant to be!”

  “Dear One,” Bacchus said with a
touch of warning in his voice. “I am the lord Bacchus, son of Zeus. I have nothing to prove to anyone.”

  Ampelos must have heard the warning, because his whole manner changed. “As my lord and god wishes,” he said, bowing.

  He turned away and remounted the chariot in which he had arrived during the games that Bacchus had called. “With me!” Ampelos shouted. “All those who want to spread our master’s name across the Waking World!”

  Ampelos and a mixed horde of humans and other followers of the god swept away from the greater throng. They were probably the band of some hundreds that had appeared in Polymartium on the morning of the ceremony. That was so long ago in Hedia’s mind.…

  Bacchus watched his lover drive away with the closest thing to a frown Hedia had seen on the god’s face. She touched his shoulder for attention and said softly, “He’ll be back soon, my dear lord. You know he gets this way sometimes.”

  She knew very little about Ampelos personally, but his sort … Oh, yes, Hedia knew his sort very well.

  “We’ve watched your followers exercise,” she said. She felt the shoulder muscles start to loosen though Bacchus didn’t look at her. “Isn’t it time that you and I got some exercise ourselves? Ampelos may come back and join us, you know?”

  Bacchus finally turned and kissed her. “Yes,” he said, brightening perceptibly. “We should do that.”

  * * *

  HEDIA COULDN’T JUDGE TIME when she was engaged with the god, but it didn’t seem long—minutes or possibly an hour—before they were interrupted. A centaur and the Maenad who had returned on his back stood outside the woven bower, their expressions distraught.

  “Great lord!” the Maenad cried. “The sun-bright Ampelos has been struck down!”

  Bacchus strode from the bower, his face flaming with rage. Without looking back at Hedia, he leaped into his waiting chariot and drove off. The centaur galloped at his side to guide him, and the whole entourage surged to follow.

  Hedia stood. It’s like being doused in cold water in the middle of a climax, she thought, and smiled, because that had happened to her once.