*Uh, Finn,* Alynon said. *There’s some things I probably should have told you—*
And then, a memory bloomed. It wasn’t mine, yet I experienced it as if it were.
24
GROOVE IS IN THE HEART
Alynon watched as Apollo performed the maze dance for their father, te’Arthur.
The maze glowed upon the floor, a circular pattern representing the five rings of mastery leading to perfect harmony and wisdom, and all princes of the Silver had to dance its pattern.
A bard stood in the corner, chanting a poem, punctuating the words to create a rhythm:
“Make grow your wisdom, make it grow,
Like a tree reaching for sky;
Roots in learning, ourselves to know,
And a trunk of fail and try;
Let past pains go,
Reap as you sow,
And so shall judgment blossom
Upon your bright branches to show
For all, your wisdom awesome.”
The bard beat out a rhythm with his hands and by making percussive noises with his voice for several beats, then resumed his chanting.
“Seek you justice, seek you the true,
Without bias, be you fair …”
As the bard continued, Apollo stepped with the grace of a cat in splints, stiff and proper, his movements fluid despite the seeming rigidity of his back and legs.
He reached the end of the pattern, and bowed.
“Perfection,” Arthur said, and Apollo’s chest swelled with pride. Literally. It swelled up, like he was one of those bright-chested birds doing a mating display, or Pamela Anderson on Mars. Arthur clapped once. “Now, Alynon.”
Alynon moved to the start of the pattern, and waited for the bard’s chant to begin anew.
“Make grow your wisdom, make it grow,
Like a tree reaching for sky …”
As the words flowed through Alynon, he began the pattern. But the steps felt confining, like a too-tight jacket, and while he was always willing to suffer a bit to look good, in this case it did not seem fitting. And so he let the words guide him.
He transformed into a flaming spirit, silver flames in place of hair, his skin burning white hot.
He rose up like a tree for the sky, spreading his arms, sending branches of blooming light upwards and swayed, then rotated to the next ring.
He leaped. He spun. He grew through trial and pain into a glorious tree. He swept like a shining wave across the realms, bringing justice to all.
And then, he ended with the splits.
There was a long moment of silence after both the bard and Alynon had finished. Alynon floated upward and settled back onto his feet.
“That was everything I might hope,” Arthur said at last.
Apollo stepped forward. “But you said I did perform it perfectly.”
“Truly, not even the Aal could find fault with the smallest part of your performance.”
“But if perfection is the highest state that may be strived for, how then could Alynon have done better? He did not even attempt the traditional steps.”
“I made no comparison, nor does the merit of Alynon’s achievement blemish any part of yours, but rather each is worthy of praise separate in nature. Forget not the purpose to which Alynon’s nature was conceived.”
Apollo frowned at his brother. “I do not think—”
“Lord te’Arthur,” a herald called, entering the chamber.
“Speak,” Arthur said, as Apollo glowered at the intrusion.
“The Proxenoi from the Shadows have arrived.”
“Please, show them in,” Arthur said. “I shall receive them here.”
The herald bowed, and glided from the room.
A minute later he returned, followed by two Aalbrights of the Shadows. The first was a meticulous and aristocratic-looking man in a long-tailed black jacket and sharp white ruffled shirt, wearing the halo of a Proxenos, an ambassador of the Colloquy. And the second—
Alynon felt a heart form in his chest just so it could beat rapidly, like a bellows that stoked the sudden heat which coursed through him.
The second Aalbright had the appearance of a young woman, with impossibly large, dark eyes, and lips that curved up into a warm smile. Her hair cascaded down in dark waves, past an elegant, slender neck adorned with rubies, and down the back of her sheer gold dress with its delicate red patterns. She did not have the halo of a Proxenos, but she shone with her own light, like polished brass during a golden sunset.
“I bring greetings from the Shadows and the Conclave,” the Proxenos said. “I am Canubrius te’Vilovain, and this”—he motioned to the young woman—“is my apprentice and assistant, Velorain te’Uriel.”
“You are welcome, both, to the Silver Court,” Arthur said. “These are my branches: William te’Apollo, first chosen to succeed me; and Alynon Infedriel, First Knight.”
Canubrius arched an eyebrow at the speaking of Alynon’s name, but was diplomat enough not to raise the obvious question regarding the lack of a te’ prefix.
Velorain was less constrained. “You are without persona?” she asked Alynon.
“I have plenty of personality,” Alynon replied, and pulled a sterling rose out of the air, presenting it to her. As she reached for it, it exploded into a hundred miniature rabbits, hopping wildly away in every direction, including over the top of Velorain’s head.
She burst out in laughter. And Alynon felt as though he had just conquered the entire Bright Realm.
Arthur cleared his throat, and said to Canubrius, “My hands shall see that you are fed and made comfortable, and then we shall speak.”
A servant stepped forward into the room, but Apollo raised his hand and said, “I should be the one to take them. It is only appropriate for such important guests.”
Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Very good.”
Alynon cursed himself for not thinking of offering first. But it would be too much for them both to act as escort—too much of an honor, and at the same time too much danger they would appear untrusting of their guests.
Alynon almost offered regardless. But the opportunity passed as the two Shadows Aalbrights made their bows, and Apollo swept past him with his sun god grin.
* * *
Blur …
* * *
Alynon and Velorain floated over the Lake of Infinite Moons, their dangling toes skimming the mirror-like surface and sending out ripples that appeared to be fractal waves of crystal, reflecting and refracting back the countless celestial lights. Crystal pillars rose from the water at intervals, supporting square platforms with lush green and silver gardens overhanging them. As Alynon and Velorain floated between the gardens, the pale flowers bent toward them and whispered vibrations that hinted at growth and death and rebirth.
Velorain tilted back her head, exposing her long slender throat, and watched the moons that arced overhead. “This all is so different from our Demesne.”
“And is that good or bad?” Alynon asked.
“A little of both, I think,” she replied.
“Is it something you could perhaps get used to?”
Velorain looked at Alynon, an amused smile spreading across her face. “Why? Would you have me stay?”
“I think you know my heart on this matter.”
Her smile turned mischievous. “Do you possess a true heart, then?”
“I have that for which a heart may be both blamed and praised, that glowing affection that is as like to love as to be love.”
“I see. Your brother did profess love to me as well, you know.”
Alynon gave a dismissive wave. “Professing love is as natural to his persona as feeling love is not. Ware should you chase his promises, lest you end but another trophy claimed and then cast aside.”
“I have met Apollos before, and know well their love of the chase. But you, even had I met every other Aalbright ever there was, you would remain unique among them all, and your nature remain a mystery to me.”
“What makes you suppose I think on you at all?”
Alynon laughed. “Well enough. But if my nature did detract even the smallest share from what affection you might feel toward me, then I would count it a curse.”
Velorain reached over, and brushed her hand along Alynon’s, causing ripples of light and pleasure to spread out from it across his skin like the glittering waves below. “It is no curse.”
Alynon smiled, and felt as though he could swell to encompass the moons and all that their light touched.
“What is it like?” Velorain asked. “To have no dominant persona?”
“Having never had a dominant persona, I cannot measure the lack of it.”
“It seems to me that without my chosen persona I should feel adrift, without compass or the surety of knowing my own nature.”
“I think perhaps you overestimate your persona. You are more than the sum of those memories whose form and content gave you substance. Uriels have I met in our Demesne, and they are in no part you. And Uriels have visited our court from out-Demesne, yet none were so enchanting, nor enchanted with the Silver, as you.”
Velorain waved her hands as if presenting herself. “And yet Uriel I am, and by my persona all know the truth of me, may better judge which private counsels or important tasks to entrust to me.”
Alynon nodded. “And all may know that poetry is your truest love.”
Velorain smiled. “Indeed, you have been most prolific these past cycles, and most creative in the delivery of your words. Though Canubrius was less than amused when he received my firstbright meal by mistake, and the fruit began to dance and praise the inspiring curves of his body.”
Alynon laughed. “La, I fear I shall be smoothing over that breach of etiquette for some time.”
Velorain’s smile faded. “Yet, Alynon, you were created most from those memories your parents formed themselves. Any memories of Substance used in your creation are more the stuff of mortar than architecture, more note than nature. You may love … poetry one day, and hate it the next and I cannot know which and when.”
“I am not so inconstant as that,” Alynon replied.
“Those from the Shores of Chaos created such as you were are said to be wild and unpredictable spirits.”
“My parents were not seeking to breed chaos,” Alynon said. “They adopted the method of that mad Demesne, but not their purpose.”
“But you cannot yourself branch?” Velorain asked, and there was something of sadness in her tone.
“No. Having no core memories of Substance, I have not that within me which may create a stable offspring.”
“And does that not make you sad?”
Alynon floated in silence for a minute before saying, “I think it matters not. Were I my brother, then what memories of Substance I might lend to the enterprise of branching would be the same memories that any other Apollo might lend. Therefore, might I not simply adopt the offspring of some other Apollo to equal effect?”
Velorain was silent for even longer before responding, “I suppose, though that feels somehow wrong. And what of your mate? You would permit her—or him—to branch with another?”
“I … I had not thought of that aspect before, but I must admit that it does not please me to imagine it now.”
Velorain smiled, clearly happy at the response.
Alynon looked up at the moons. “But perhaps we need neither branch. The Chaos Demesne has survived by converting and adopting defectors from other Demesnes to balance the loss of true offspring, and by all reports they continue to thrive, in their own way. We—that is, my mate and I—might do the same.”
Velorain glanced sideways at Alynon. “And have you any desire to defect to the Chaos Demesne, being of similar nature?”
“I have never been given cause to consider it,” Alynon said. “Even if their ways and goals were not so shrouded in mystery, I feel no particular draw to them. As I said, my parents adopted the method of Chaos, but not their purpose.”
“And what was your parents’ purpose?” Velorain asked, her too casual tone telling Alynon how important this question was to her. Did that curiosity come from her role as a Shadows agent, or from her care for him? He preferred to believe the latter, and even if that were not true he was happier to live in a fiction of her caring than a reality of her not.
“They feared that our race are limited by our dependence on human memories and personas, and to truly grow and evolve we must needs be able to create our own ideas free from any influence of human nature.”
“Limited how? We grow, we learn, we have nearly defeated the humans in war several times. We have created beauty such as this,” she waved at the lake around them. “Well as say a human is limited to being a beast for taking in the flesh of beasts and making it part of their own.”
“It is not the same,” Alynon said. “Humans do not play the role of the beasts they eat.”
“I am not so sure that is true,” Velorain said.
“La. Then take my brother—”
“Are you sure that is your wish?” Velorain asked with a grin. “That I take your brother?”
“A clever jest, but no, that is most definitely not my wish.”
“Very well. What were you to say of your brother, then?”
“My brother, he has incorporated memories from many forms of Apollo in order to be the fullest expression of that persona possible. Apollo Phoebus. Apollo Loxias. He has even incorporated modern forms in order to match the knowledge and growth of humans, such as Apollo Creed. For my part, I find him more tolerable since he gained some measure of nobility and responsibility from Apollo of the Galactica, whatever great nation is that. And yet, for all that, he will never be other than Apollo, not in any great way.”
“So do you feel you would be a better king than he?”
“Bright no!” Alynon shuddered. “That would be awful. Of course, the power is shared equally with the queen, so if I had the right queen I might be able to manage it a while. But no, my brother is born to be king, and I can think of no being better suited to that burden besides my father.”
Apollo leaped down from a nearby garden as they passed, stopping just above the water to float beside them. “Why thank you, brother! And may I say, you are most suited to praising me.”
“Then I shall praise your great timing, and even greater humility,” Alynon replied wryly.
“And I will humbly accept your praise,” Apollo said, and winked at Velorain. “My lady, the Shadows Proxenos demands you return to court. May I offer you a ride back in my chariot?” He raised his hand, and from the sky descended a golden chariot pulled by three pegasi.
Velorain could not refuse, of course. And there was no room for Alynon in the chariot. Alynon frowned as Velorain said to Apollo, “Happily will I return with you.” Then she put her hand on Alynon’s arm, and he shivered from the pleasure of it once more. She leaned in close, and said for only Alynon to hear, “Alynon Infedriel, I leave you my heart. Or that which it holds in seeming. Care for it well.”
Alynon grinned, and his smile wasn’t the least diminished by Apollo sweeping Velorain away.
* * *
Blur
* * *
te’Arthur summoned Alynon to his private chamber, and Alynon entered past the guards. His father stood waiting with his brother, and with his sisters, te’Athena and te’Oshun. Their presence meant nothing good for Alynon, he felt sure. His mother had passed into the Aal while he was young, made instable due to his branching, and since then his father had recruited his sisters’ aid whenever there was some important decision to be made for the Demesne, or some difficult news that required a more delicate handling of Alynon than Arthur’s nature allowed. He guessed this was the latter case.
Sometimes, Alynon liked to give his father a hard time about this difficulty. He would visit his father and say things like, “Father, I do not understand these feelings of loneliness. Can we talk
about them?” or “Father, how do you know when you are ready to branch with a mate?” or “Father, what is a good size to make my genitalia?”
But this was not one of those times. Alynon could sense that he was not going to like whatever discussion approached.
“Father,” he said, bowing. “Sisters.” He nodded to each in turn.
Athena had been a Proxenos in the Colloquy since before Alynon was branched, and Oshun nearly as long. Athena wore flowing white robes as clean and sharp as her reason, and her golden aegis glowed upon her chest like a shield meant to deflect any attempt to reach her heart.
Oshun moved with a flowing grace in her gold robes and peacock feather headdress, her eyes the swirling gray-green of a deep and swift river. They watched Alynon enter now with a sympathy that made him wary.
Arthur wore his kingly robes, signaling that whatever news came next, it came from Alynon’s king, not his father.
“What news?” Alynon asked.
“Your brother has made a formal request,” his father said, motioning to Apollo. “He wishes to be bonded to Velorain te’Uriel in order to strengthen the ties between our two Demesnes.”
Emotion rippled through Alynon like a quake, expanding out through the air so that two of the moonglobes overhead flickered, and died. Alynon looked to his brother. “But she loves him not!”
“Be reasonable,” Athena said. “The benefits of this bonding far outweigh any that may be gained from a bonding with you. You may not branch heirs, nor—”
“Has she given response?” Alynon asked.
“Not yet,” Arthur replied. “Though the Shadows Proxenos has assured us the bonding would be happily approved, and that her delay is only to lend her answer the weight of a considered response.”
“But I love her!” Alynon said.
Apollo smiled. “As do I. Come, little brother, be not a sore loser. There will be other—”
“This is no game to me,” Alynon snapped. “Velorain is not a prize.”
“What is love if not a game?” Apollo responded.
Alynon looked to Oshun. Of them all, she had always shown the greatest compassion. In truth, Alynon had taken advantage of that in the past. But now, he needed her understanding, her emotional wisdom. “Sister, can you not see it? I hold something deeper, truer, than some memory of feeling within me. I hold feeling itself, true love and affection for Velorain.”
Smells Like Finn Spirit Page 27
