by Steven Brust
Viktor gave no answer except to stare inimically. "Well?" said Miklós, almost harshly.
Brigitta squeezed his arm as she saw the captain's lip trembling. Was he going to attack Miklós? Now? But he seemed to get himself under control. "I must ask the King about this."
"No, you must not," said Miklós. "It is nothing to bother him with. If you ask him, he'll be forced to refuse. If you don't, he won't care. I want it done at once. See to it."
Viktor's wooden face worked to let nothing past. Brigitta suppressed a shudder. The captain nodded, however.
Miklós returned to the Palace. As they entered, Vilmos was emerging from the cellar on a rope ladder.
"I heard something out here," he said. "What happened?"
Miklós stared at him. "You were inside the whole time?"
"Yes? What was it?"
Miklós shook his head and walked past. Brigitta said, "Miklós has slain the Demon Goddess," and left him gaping behind her.
They came to the guest room that Miklós was using and lay down together. She held him, and they didn't speak for some time. But she wondered…
What had he seen, when he had taken the power into himself? That was certainly what he was doing; nothing else made one look or act that way, though it was funny how different it looked from the inside and the outside. But had he seen the same things she always saw when—
No. Don't think about it. It is behind you; part of another life. But the memories, the visions, returned anyway. Euphoria, streaming patterns and flowing, blending shades of texture. It was all there. And, just behind it, her father, assuming his natural shape to torment her mother, or bringing his "friends," to her. "Here, Brigitta. Here is what you will do…" And the smile. The horrid, horrid smile. "Lineage," the Goddess had said. She had recognized her.
Finally the escape to—to the city, at the last. Best not to think of what had gone before, either. Leave the pleasure with the pain and accept contentment. But Miki. Dear, dear, Miki. He must not become one of them, as she was. He must not.
But how to tell him without telling him too much?
"He planned it all, you know," said Miklós suddenly, jolting Brigitta out of her reverie.
"I… excuse me." She struggled to recall what they'd been discussing, and it came back with a sudden ache that she had forgotten about Bölk. "I was not awake for much of it," she managed. "What happened?"
He briefly told her what she had slept through. He shuddered as he spoke. When he had finished, she fought to hold back tears. How could he have done it? She would never have had the strength to—
"Brigitta."
"Yes."
"Thank you. For trying to save me twice, and for everything you've done since. You—I could never have spoken to the Goddess that way, trying to make her attack you. I don't know how you did it. I hope, someday, I'll be able to—never mind."
Brigitta said nothing. How could she claim credit for those things? She had never really willed to do either of them, they had just happened. She held him closer.
Miklós whispered, "Bölk."
She felt rather than heard his sobs, and she did her best to comfort him.
After a while, Miklós stirred. He looked around the room, then settled onto his back.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Brigitta.
He shook his head.
"You don't want to tell me?"
"I don't think you'd want to know."
"You are probably right," she said. "But tell me anyway."
"Very well," he said. "I am going to gather wood and oil and spread them throughout the Palace. Then I am going to burn it to the ground."
Brigitta suppressed a gasp. "Why?" she said after a moment.
"Because I hate it. There has been too much death here. The norska. Bölk. Even the Goddess. Too much."
"But if you destroy the Palace—no, it doesn't matter to you."
"What?"
"The tree. You will destroy that, too, but it seems I'm the only one who sees anything of value in it."
He didn't answer for a moment, then he said, "There was also Bölk."
"Bölk? What did he say about it?"
"Didn't he tell you what it was?"
"No. What is it?"
"Then he told the truth. He really didn't know."
"What?"
"Later."
"Now."
Miklós sighed audibly. "You are right. Bölk would not have wanted the tree destroyed. He says—this is going to sound strange."
"Let it."
But still he said nothing. He stood up abruptly. "Come, then. Let us look at it."
She took his proffered hand and allowed herself to be led out of the room. On the way down to the main level they passed Mariska walking toward the Great Hall. She appeared not to see them, except to turn her body slightly to avoid collision. Brigitta glanced at Miklós. His lips were pressed tightly together.
They reached Miklós's room and stepped past the curtain into it. The tree had grown even more. On all sides it was pressed fully against the walls. She turned to Miklós. "Well?"
"Bölk says that the Palace must be replaced and that this tree is what will replace it."
She stared at him. "How can a tree—?"
"I don't know. But that is what Bölk said."
She shook her head. "Then how can you even consider doing anything that might harm it?"
He sighed and slumped against a wall. Thin leaves brushed against his face, but he didn't seem to notice. "I don't know," he said.
She turned back to the tree. Once again its beauty struck her, almost physically. It wasn't merely the perfection, the symmetry of its form. Nor was it just the tiny perfection of every detail of every leaf. Had she passed it in the woods of home, before she came to the city, she would hardly have spared it a glance.
No, what was so shockingly beautiful about this tree was its newness, here, amid what was old and decrepit. The very thing, she reflected wryly, that prevented Miklós from admiring it. But on that score there was nothing to be—
"I see what you mean," said Miklós suddenly.
"About what?"
"It is—attractive, isn't it?"
For a moment, death and horror were swept from her mind and her heart was filled with clean joy, the like of which she hadn't known since she was young. She crossed the three steps to where he stood, feeling as if she were skipping and, laughing, embraced him.
He laughed too. "I didn't know it meant so much to you."
She leaned back and looked at him. "Didn't you?"
"Hmmm. Well, I suppose I did. But I've never seen it before. I suppose it's a matter of attitude. Beauty ought to be independent of such things, though."
"It is," said Brigitta.
"If you say so," said Miklós and squeezed her until she thought her ribs would crack. Then, smiling, he stepped away and began looking around the room.
"Come here," he said after a moment.
She went over to him and looked where he pointed. There was a noticeable depression in the wall where one whole side of the tree was pushing against it like a battering ram.
She went to look at another spot where tree met wall and found a similar depression. Looking up, she saw the same thing was taking place on the ceiling.
"Mariska will be disappointed," said Miklós.
"Why?"
"She is the one who thought that all that needed to be done was to strengthen the walls. Well, they tried, and it isn't working. Your tree, here, is winning the battle."
Brigitta laughed. "Good for it!"
Miklós nodded.
"I wonder what they'll do next?" said Brigitta.
"I don't know. We'll find out soon enough. Do you think anyone else knows?"
"If not, they will. I imagine they look in on the tree pretty often."
"Yes." Miklós sat down with his back to a wall. "Why is it that they can't cut through it, though?"
"Why does it matter?"
"I want to kno
w its strengths. And its weaknesses and what it needs. If I am to aid it, I must know how."
Brigitta said slowly, "Then, you are committed to doing what Bölk wanted?"
Miklós nodded. "If I can," he said, as if he were speaking of the weather.
"And what of what you said earlier, about destroying the Palace?"
He shook his head. "Never mind. I still want to in some ways, but you're right. I have to do what Bölk wanted."
Brigitta nodded but didn't trust herself to speak. His attitudes were so changeable, who knew what he might decide if she said the wrong thing? She shook her head. No, no. She couldn't work like that. She had to know that she could count on him.
He seemed lost in thought. After enough time had passed she said, "You might want to share it with me."
"What? Oh. I've been trying to think of what we should do. They are certainly going to try to destroy the tree. How are we going to protect it? We can't stand up to them directly, so we have to find a way—"
"What about Vilmos?"
"Eh? What about him?"
"He could stand up to them."
"Do you think he will?"
"I'm not sure. We should speak to—"
At that moment, László and Viktor appeared at the doorway. The two pairs stared at each other. Then László stepped through, nodding his head. Viktor followed. The captain's eyes were on Miklós, and, once again, the hate that gleamed from them shocked Brigitta. She felt trapped, as she had never felt trapped since she had run away from her father. But they were between her and the door. Her breath came in gasps.
Miklós cleared his throat. "We have been looking at the damage, László."
The King grunted. "To the walls or to the tree?"
"To the walls."
The King muttered something under his breath. "Where?"
Miklós pointed out the damage. Viktor also looked.
"Well," said the King speaking to the captain, "Sándor and Mariska were wrong. It isn't going to work."
"No, it isn't," said Viktor. "It must be destroyed. And that, quickly."
Brigitta looked at Miklós. He seemed unhappy, but she could tell no more than that.
László faced Miklós fully. "What is your reaction to that, brother?"
Miklós held himself perfectly still, as if there were a knife at his throat. "Why do you ask?" His voice sounded slightly hoarse.
"Exactly what was it you did out there today? And, moreover, why?"
Miklós sighed. "I'm not altogether sure what I did. But I believe the Goddess will no longer be appearing to us."
Brigitta noticed that the King's hand seemed to jump for his sabre, but steadied itself. Viktor was not so restrained; his knuckles were white where he gripped the hilt of his own.
"Why?" said László.
"Because she tried to kill me! You saw that."
"Yes, I saw it. But there's more to it than that. Why did you summon her? It seemed you were deliberately trying to provoke her. You must have had a reason."
Miklós didn't answer.
"Very well then," said the King. "I will ask you this: When Viktor and I, and the others, attempt to remove this tree, will you aid us or not?"
"You have already asked me that, haven't you?"
"Yes. Days ago. Much has happened since then. I must hear your answer again."
Miklós chewed his lip. Why was he being so evasive? Brigitta could tell nothing from looking at him. Then she studied László face, and from the pain there, she suddenly understood. Miklós could do whatever he had to do except for one thing—he couldn't turn his brother into an enemy once more.
Not for the first time, she was nearly overwhelmed by the pain he must be feeling. She leaned closer to him and squeezed his arm. László looked at her and barely scowled. Miklós, apparently seeing the scowl, stiffened.
"You're right," he snapped. "You should ask again. The answer is no. I will do nothing to help you destroy this tree. There. Now you know. Excuse me."
Miklós walked forward, bringing Brigitta along with him by the arm. Before the captain could respond, Miklós had brushed between him and the King, and they were walking down the hall.
Brigitta felt a relief that was almost palpable. Her legs felt weak for a moment, and Miklós had to pause to let her lean against him. They continued up to the Great Hall. On the way, they passed Sándor.
"Excuse me," said Miklós, stopping.
The wizard glared at him. "Yes?"
"I find that I must, with thanks, refuse your offer."
Sándor's eyes widened, then he laughed. "So I had already guessed, young Prince. So I had guessed."
As he went past, still laughing, Brigitta squeezed Miklós's arm. He pressed her hand.
In the Hall they found Vilmos speaking with Mariska. As they came near, she looked up; then, muttering something to Vilmos, walked away.
"I think she doesn't like us," said Brigitta.
"Huh? Who?"
"Never mind." She poked his arm affectionately, which earned her a puzzled glance. They sat down on either side of the giant.
"So," said Vilmos. "You have killed the Demon Goddess, have you?"
"Yes," said Miklós. "Poor Andor."
The giant chuckled. "I think he'll be all right. He was looking around for something else to do anyway."
"That's good."
"Yes. But why, Miki? Why kill her?"
"I had to, Vili. I—" He stopped and seemed to concentrate for a while. "All right. I need to ask a question of you. What is it you want, right now, more than anything?"
The giant's face fell for a moment, and Brigitta saw Miklós wince. The wrong question. But Vilmos shook his head, perhaps clearing it of wishes that could not be, and thought over the question.
"What I want? To keep my norska safe."
Miklós nodded, as if that were the answer he'd been expecting. "Good. The danger to the norska is the Palace, isn't it?" Vilmos nodded. "Then the way to save them is to make it so the Palace isn't a danger anymore."
"Ha!" said Vilmos. "Easily said. I have been working for the last two days to—"
"I know. But listen, Vili, remember the tree in my old room and how you couldn't make yourself destroy it? Perhaps there is a reason for that."
Vilmos watched him carefully, still not sure where he was going. Andor came into the room, saw them, and walked over. Brigitta motioned to him not to speak. He sat down next to Vilmos. Miklós nodded to him.
The giant said, "What reason?"
"Maybe you understood, without really being aware of it, that the tree was something you should be preserving." Vilmos still seemed skeptical.
"What if it is?" he asked.
"There are those who wish to destroy it. Chief among them was the Demon Goddess."
He thought for a moment. "Why would she wish to destroy the tree if it is good?"
"She, like László, wished to leave the Palace standing rather than replace it, even though it has become a danger to us all. You, of all of us, know that it is danger. If we leave it standing, it will collapse upon us."
Andor stirred. "Just what are you trying to do?"
Miklós glanced at him, then looked away. Brigitta found herself studying the intricately patterned tiling on the floor.
"No," said Andor, "don't answer. I know. You are trying to convince Vilmos to help you. Aren't you?"
Miklós didn't answer. Brigitta said, "That seems obvious, Prince Andor."
"You are manipulating him. Playing on his fears. You—"
"No," said Miklós. "I don't think so. I am trying to convince him, as you said. But manipulate? Look around you. Look at the cracks in the ceiling beams, the breaks in the walls. Look at the hole in the floor in front of the main doors. I think we are all being pushed into doing something; Vilmos no more than the rest of us."
Miklós looked at his brother through slitted eyes. "What about you, Andor? From as far back as I remember, you have been looking for something to make life meaningful for yo
u. Time after time, you have failed. Why? Maybe it isn't something you have been doing wrong, as we've all been thinking it was. Maybe there just isn't any way to find out who you are, when everywhere you turn you are surrounded by either the collapse of your home or desperate efforts to hold back this destruction.
"But I have another alternative for you: embrace it. Embrace the collapse of all we've lived with and work to create something better in its place."
Andor fell silent. Brigitta stared at Miklós. Yes, he was growing. For the first time since she'd been in the Palace, someone had been able to speak to Andor as harshly as he deserved, yet respectfully. And, too, Miklós seemed to have more understanding than she had thought he had. What had he and Bölk said to each other, right before the end?
At last Andor spoke. His voice was harsh, yet Brigitta could see that he was shaken. "Better? How, better? You've been saying what is wrong with the Palace, but how do I know that what you want to replace it with is better?"
Miklós didn't answer. Brigitta, trying to continue what Miklós had begun, said, "I feel that it will be, Andor. Miklós feels that it will be. But how can you know? You have two choices there. One, undertake a long and hard study of the tree that is growing in Miklós's room. Try to see it clearly, without prejudice, so that you can judge. That would be difficult, I know, but I can see no other way for you to know, save to wait until it has reached its full growth—if it does—and see then. Of course, then it will not matter what you think."
Andor blinked. "You said I had two choices."
"Yes. The other is to consider this. Whether it is better or worse than what we have now matters not in the least."
Andor made a brushing-off motion, as if to clear the air of nonsense. Brigitta reacted. Without warning, blood began to pound in her ears, and she felt gripped by a great and terrible rage. She found herself standing, looming over the Prince. "Are you mad?" she cried. "This place is collapsing! It's going to kill us! How can you stand there like a flag with no device on it and ask if that is better than this, when, at any moment, the ceiling above your head might fall on you and break every bone in that thick, impenetrable skull of yours!"
She sat down, fuming. There was silence for a moment, while Brigitta cooled down. I should probably apologize. He is a Prince, and I am nothing. But I can't, Goddess help me. And, No, the Goddess will help no one anymore, for good or for ill. Miklós was looking at her, with a smile playing about his lips. He gave her the smallest nod. She closed her eyes and found herself trembling.
