Gil Trilogy 2: Scion's Lady

by Rebecca Bradley

  She appeared to be looking through me, though I could not quite make out her face. "I'm telling you something of great significance, twig of the great tree," she said. "Empires always fall."

  I settled back on my haunches. "Go on, then. I'll bet you've seen a few."

  She seemed to be growing taller. "I have seen them all, seed of the Excommunicant. Before Sher, Fathan; before Fathan, Vizzath; before Vizzath, Myr; before Myr, Itsant; before Itsant, Khamanthana; before Khamanthana, Baul; before-Baul, Nkalvi and the Great Nameless First."

  "Should I be taking notes?" I asked. "What's your point?"

  "Empires fall like apples when the wind shakes the tree; and the Naar is the tree, and the Harashil is the wind, and—this is what you must remember, Scion—the wind and the tree are one."

  "Are you being intentionally obscure?" I frowned up at her—something was different. I had to tilt my head far back to see where her face was hidden by the nimbus of shining hair. She really was getting taller. Already she appeared at least twice my height, and when she bent over to stretch her hand out to me, she looked like a tree toppling. I skittered back a few paces, loosing a small landslip of potsherds and bones.

  "The Caveat," she said severely, "has never been considered obscure."

  "Then it's a pity nobody can read it these days."

  She tutted with disapproval. "Listen, Scion: If you fulfil a prophecy, you live with the consequences."

  "What pocketing prophecy?" I had to shout—her head had risen as high as the shattered capitals of the great columns, and my head, when I scrambled to my feet on the slippery slope, reached to about the middle of her calf. She scooped me on to the palm of her hand, still growing, breadth in proportion to height, and lifted me level with her face. I stamped experimentally on her palm, finding it solid.

  "What prophecy?" I repeated. She didn't reply.

  I looked down. The citadel forecourt was dwindling, the redheaded prince's skull diminishing to just another nondescript bit of rubbish in a heap of nondescript rubbish. A moment later I could see down into the roofless maze of the citadel on one side, and over the great ring wall to the frozen procession of the Hammers of Iklankish on the other, then over the next ring wall, and the next, and the next, to the tangle of mean streets in the city's outer circuit. Then the tops of the towers were sliding past me, the details of the city shrinking as the view expanded, the middle slopes of the Tooth of Raksh rising like a black curtain behind the Lady's face, which was the size of a cornfield by this time. When I glanced up, I saw the dark fish-shape of the Tasiil dropping towards me so fast that I instinctively crooked my arms over my head.

  The Lady said, "Remember, twig of the great Naar—the wind and the tree are one."

  "Is that supposed to mean something?" I cried, furious, but then I looked up again and the ship seemed to be just on the point of crushing me, so I shut my eyes; and when no pain came, I opened my eyes again, and saw only blue sky overhead. I looked down—over the bow-rail—and saw shafts of sunlight plunging deep into the green water. Shree had me by one shoulder, the Frath Major by the other.

  "Tig?" Shree's voice was anxious.

  I shook myself like a wet dog and found that my clothes were already dry. The island was closer, but still ahead of us. I asked, "How long have we been standing here?"

  "A couple of minutes. You were dizzy, remember? You almost fell overboard."

  I let him lead me away from the rail into the shelter of the ruined deckhouse. The Frath trailed us—I suppose he was worried about the health of his investment. The sailors remained on the point of the bow, muttering as they watched the island approach.

  "Shree?"

  "Shut up, Tig. Drink some of this."

  "No—I need to ask you something. It's important."

  "What?"

  "Did either of the Princes have red hair?"

  He frowned at me, still holding the flask to my lips. "Yes. Prince Ksher did, the bastard. Why?"

  "Never mind." I let the liquor burn down my throat. "But tell the sailors not to worry—there's nothing left to fear in Iklankish."

  * * *

  17

  YOU MAY AS well tell the wind not to blow as tell a sailor not to worry. Everybody knew we were sailing in haunted waters, and it would have taken more than my pronouncement on the foredeck to convince anyone otherwise. Fear hung over the ship like an invisible fog; long after the Tooth of Raksh had vanished over the horizon behind us, you could hardly walk six steps along the deck without falling over some supplicant fiddling with a prayer-frame, or pouring a libation on to the long-suffering deckboards.

  However, we now knew where we were—a place, granted, where no ships had sailed voluntarily since Sher plunged under the ocean, a great blank hole on the most recent sea-charts, but at least a place that was part of the known world. The navigators, using Iklankish as a fixing point, quickly ascertained that we were passing over the drowned central desert of Sher, and that Cansh Miishel was no more than seven or eight days' sail to the northeast.

  This was good news to most, bad news to me; but as that day wore to a close and the night came on, the others began to feel worse and I began to feel better. The current was still sweeping us steadily south and away from Miishel, and I seriously began to hope that it would flow into the great southern current, which in turn would carry us past Zaine and on to the unknown world. I wasn't the only one to think so. The crew was pushed mightily to have the new sails rigged by nightfall, in case enough wind arose to let the Tasiil break free of the current; and, at the captain's urgent request, the Bequiin Ardin was carried up from his cabin to perform a wind-summoning spell on the foredeck, which had no discernible effect on the weather, nor on my opinion of Miisheli magic. In the end, he was carried below again before I had a chance to get near him.

  That night, however, as I slept on the pallet beside Rinn, I dreamed of a wind blowing through the streets of the drowned city. Silt swirled around the heads of the Hammers of Iklankish. Houses tottered and fell, the fish and sea-beasts fled in silver clouds, the towers tumbled, the great ring walls were forcibly stripped of their greenery. I woke with a start and heard the whistle of a real wind outside the ship, accompanied by a tortured creaking from the masts and the jury-rigged sails. Tight-lipped, I slipped out of the cabin, tiptoed through the salon where Shree was sleeping and bounded up to the afterdeck three steps at a time.

  It was a warm wind, warm as Rinn's breath, though not so fragrant. The sails were full of it—the ship was skating along under the spangled sky as if she'd suddenly remembered an appointment. I sat down on the deckboards, full of despair. It seemed I was fated to go to Miishel after all.

  Look at the stars, you twig of the great tree.

  Startled, I looked overhead. The sky was clear, but it took me a moment to adjust to its uninterrupted breadth and to find familiar constellations; we were much farther south than I'd ever been before. Suddenly I caught my breath. I was facing aft, and I'd found an old friend. The Crown was upside-down directly in front of me; the King's Eye, the fixed northern star around which the other constellations appear to revolve, was only a few fingers above the horizon, in line with a stump of the vanished taffrail at the corner of the deck—behind us. I scrambled to my feet. "We're heading southeast," I breathed.

  "Indeed, Scion."

  I spun around, bracing for an attack—but the shadowy figure stepping from the head of the companionway raised its hand in greeting. It was the Frath Major.

  "Easy, Scion," he said. He sounded weary. "I have just been conferring with the captain. Yes, we are heading southeast, but that is better than due south, and we have nothing to worry about now."

  "What do you mean, cousin, nothing to worry about?"

  "It is a strong wind. It has blown us out of that damned current, right enough, although we cannot tack and we cannot head north for Miishel. For the time being, we shall have to go where it blows us. I am sorry to tell you," he clapped his hand on my shoulder, "that our ar
rival in Cansh Miishel will be delayed—perhaps by as much as six weeks."

  "Ah." I tried to sound disappointed.

  He released me and stood with his arms folded, gazing at the sky. I could just distinguish the harsh outline of his profile against the spatter of stars. "Food is not short, fortunately," he went on. "The fresh water is low but will do for a few days, and we can eke it out with wine if we have to. There is no shortage of wine, Scion."

  "I suppose not," I said, trying to imagine the fine vintages in the wine-cabin being dispensed to anybody under the rank of Han-Frath, no matter how thirsty they were.

  "Anyway, we hope to make landfall in a day or two," the Frath Major added.

  I squinted at his profile. "Landfall? Where? From what I remember of the charts, the southern waters are the emptiest in the Great Known Sea. Lots of barren little atolls, but not many that would be of use to us."

  He turned towards me so that I could see the dark glitter of his eyes. "The navigators have found a place—some islands that were part of the Sherkin empire and may have survived the deluge. He mentioned the name, but I did not know of it."

  I searched my memory for something in the right area. Southeast of Sher—west of Zaine—a fellow-sufferer under the Sherkin yoke. "Vassashinay, perhaps?" I asked.

  "Vassashinay! The very name. You know it?"

  "No more than the name."

  "Ah, well. The captain thinks we can make landfall there before this damnable wind blows us all the way to the Great Southern Current. I hope so. I have no desire to visit the unknown world."

  I have, I said to myself. To the Frath, I said, "You realize, of course, that Vassashinay's practically in the unknown world anyway."

  "True, Scion, but it is still on the right side of Zaine. We can lay up there for repairs and supplies, and catch the autumn southerlies when they start to blow in a month or so. That is what the captain assures me."

  "Excellent," I said, grimacing into the night.

  "Never fear, Scion, you shall see the fine towers of Cansh Miishel yet." He clapped his hand on my shoulder again, in an ownerlike way. My overgrown sense of tact kept me from shrugging it off. "I would not have planned it this way, though," he went on sourly. "Who knows what those Grisoti fliis will be getting up to—who knows what state we will find Miishel in when we arrive?"

  "I'm sure," I said cheerfully, "that the alliance will manage very nicely without us for a while. I can't see Miishel getting into real trouble in the next few months, even though it's temporarily deprived of your generalship." I bowed in his direction, comfortably aware that any irony would be lost in the darkness.

  "I was not thinking of my generalship," he muttered in Miisheli, in a voice so low that I don't think I was intended to hear. But I did hear and as it set my mind working, an obvious piece of the puzzle slotted itself into place. I could no longer deny that Shree was right; the Frath Major knew about the Lady. How did he know? It didn't matter how, though it probably involved the Bequiin Ardin's meticulous scholarship. What mattered was that I was being cast as the Frath's secret weapon—rather, the Lady was the secret weapon and I was her self-propelled carrying case, and he planned to use us to win the Cloak of Empire for the Miisheli giant.

  I grinned into a gust of sultry wind. His hopes and plans were so transparent. Rinn, of course, was supposed to enslave my spirit with her matchless body—how else would the Frath think he could control me? And Rinn, poor poppet, was doing her best.

  My way was clear now. Up to a point, I had to give the Frath exactly what he wanted. He wanted Rinn to bewitch me, so I was going to be well and truly bewitched, starting tomorrow. The Frath couldn't know that I was not only resistant to Rinn's charms, but that my spirit was already enslaved, and by a woman who was dead; and there was another thing the Frath didn't know, that Rinn didn't know either, that only Shree and Chasco and I knew at that time.

  I had to resist an impulse to laugh out loud. How would the Frath feel about his bargain when he discovered that, even if Rinn were able to control me, I couldn't control the Lady?

  Vassashinay. The kind of dot on the sea-charts that one assumes at first is a squashed fly or a speck of dirt or a slip of the cartographer's pen; the kind of name that gets accidentally omitted from even very careful catalogues, and is generally misspelled when it does appear. A nothing place, a backwater, a gutter. The kind of place where no man in his right mind would think of going, even if he'd heard of it, which most people hadn't.

  This was partly due to blind geographical mischance—Vassashinay's extraordinary bad luck in being Sher's close neighbour, and the first to be conquered whenever Sher felt an imperialistic itch. That was about all I could remember about the place, but I knew where I could find out more. After a few minutes of desultory chat, the Frath went back to confer with the captain and I dashed below to waken Shree.

  He was stretched out, dressed right down to his boots, on one of the amazing silk settees in the great salon. I sat down at the table and chucked an ivory gaming piece on to his chest.

  He awoke instantly, soldier-style, and was crouched in the Sherkin fighting stance with his sword out before his eyes were even focused. When he saw there was no danger, he gave me a filthy look and collapsed back on to the settee. "Beard of Raksh, Tig, what is it?"

  "Vassashinay," I said.

  He yawned mightily. "Oh, gods. What about it?"

  "Tell me everything you know."

  "About Vassashinay? Is that why you woke me up?" Another jaw-breaking yawn.

  "We're going there."

  "That's fools' talk," he mumbled, "nobody goes to Vassashinay." Then he opened his eyes wide and sat upright, suddenly alert. The voice of the wind had finally penetrated his ears. "We're going there?" He said. "Who told you?"

  "The Frath Major, up on deck just now."

  He looked disapproving. "What were you doing on deck without me or Chasco?"

  "The Lady was with me," I said wryly, "so I was safe enough. Now tell me what you can."

  "Oh, gods. All right. Vassashinay, is it?" He leaned back with his eyes closed and after a moment he started to chuckle.

  "What's funny?"

  "The place was a joke. When I was a child, our nurses used to say things like, be good, you little shrikkhead, or I'll send you straight to Vassashinay where the other shrikkheads live."

  "Was that supposed to frighten you?"

  "No. It was like being told we'd be dipped in cowshit if we didn't behave, or sent to live in the Fourth Circuit. Frightened, indeed! Nothing was supposed to frighten little Sherkin warlords."

  I said thoughtfully, "So being sent to Vassashinay was equivalent to being dipped in cowshit."

  "Roughly speaking, yes."

  "Did you ever go there?"

  "Certainly not!" He looked offended.

  "So you know nothing about the place."

  He frowned. "Only a little. We, I mean Sher, conquered it so regularly that it should rightly have been considered part of Sher, except that there was no colonization and precious little interbreeding. There was a garrison there, of course, mainly badheads sent out on punitive duty, and it was a staging port for trade with Zaine. Other than that . . ." his voice faded.

  "Nothing else?"

  "There was something else—I'm trying to remember, if you'd only shut up. Ah, yes." He peered reflectively through me. "Something about magicians—fortune tellers, diviners. I know. There was an oracle on one of the Vassashin islands, strictly small-time of course, but a few of their priestesses were sent to Iklankish now and then to serve in the temple brothel. I vaguely remember having one of them once."

  "And?"

  He shrugged. "She was a temple shint, that's all. But she told my fortune afterwards."

  I didn't ask. I didn't have to. His face changed as the memory filtered back.

  "She said—and I think I remember clouting her for the impertinence—she said I was two men in one body, and one of them would die by the other's hand." He paused, fiddling w
ith his sword. "I suppose that's just what happened, in a way. Maybe I shouldn't have clouted her."

  "Quite right," I said severely. "Anything else?"

  "One other thing." He passed his sword thoughtfully from hand to hand, back and forth, making it flash in the lamplight. "She said we'd meet again someday, she and I."

  "Where? In Sher?"

  "No." He had picked up the edge of one of the priceless brocade sofa-throws and was using it to polish his sword.

  "Come on. Where did she say you'd meet again?"

  A minute speck on the blade caught his eye and he rubbed at it vigorously before looking up. "In Vassashinay," he said.

  * * *

  18

  IN THE END, there was no need to use the wine to eke out the water supply. The wind, strong and steady, blew us across the sunken south coast of Sher and on to the Kalish Shallows, where the first landsight since the Tooth of Raksh was greeted with a roar of relief. It was a sad little bump of rock thrusting up from the shallow seabed, spattered with birdlime and stinking intolerably of kelp even at a distance, but you'd have thought the crew was catching a glimpse of heaven—the Miisheli heaven, which sounds rather like an everlasting orgy, as opposed to the Lucian heaven, which sounds exclusive and very dull. It was an identifiable sad little bump, that was the thing. It signified we had left the newborn wastes of the Sherkin Sea behind us and re-entered the old shipping lanes that once led along the south coast of Sher towards Zaine; and whatever ghosts did or did not haunt the tomb of Iklankish, we were back again on the sea-charts of the living.

  There was still a chance that the wind would blow us right past Vassashinay, but the captain proved to be a wily and experienced old seabelly who took advantage of every brief slackwind to tack us on to a better course. And thus my hopes of the Great Southern Current grew dimmer as that day wore on, and I began to build my hopes on the other foundation. Surely, I said to myself, it was better to be going to Vassashinay than to Cansh Miishel. In six weeks, anything could happen—a small boat might be left unguarded, a few tuns of water and cheese acquired by stealth, a quiet and unannounced departure taken one dark, moonless night. Six weeks left plenty of scope for escape. I started to lay my plans.