given wings—
So that when a princess royal
shall have tasted of the tree,
Then far fiom Esternesse's
city, these things:
A gathering of gargoyles,
a feasting on the stone, The witch of Westemesse 's
hag overthrown."
Aeriel shook her head. "Nothing. It means nothing to me. I have not heard it before." She frowned a little. "It has the same cadence as the riddling rime—but it makes no sense."
"Nor did the first part, when first you heard it," said Eoduin.
"This is the rest," one of the maidens said.
"Part of the rest," her sister amended.
They had all somehow come closer to her, Aeriel realized. She could not recall their having moved. The spirits watched her with their flickering, golden eyes.
"But I thought only the Ions knew the riddle Ravenna sang over them at their making,"
Aeriel began, "and the duarough from the Book of the Dead."
"We can see very far from our vantage point above," Marrea replied, "half the world, and much of the sky."
"See into women's minds."
"And the hearts of men."
"Into locked boxes and closed rooms."
"Into prince's dreams."
"Or Ravenna's book."
Aeriel shook herself, but still the strange lethargy held her limbs. "This is a dream," she murmured. "That cannot be the rest of the rime."
"It is," said Eoduin, "and so the little mage would tell you, had you time to wait upon his coming...."
"But time is short."
"Already the witch has sent her watchers."
"Her searchers."
"Searchers," said Aeriel. "What do they seek?"
The maidens answered, "The Ions of those lands that the witch's sons now hold."
"Those Ions are dead," said Aeriel. "The icari killed them when they came to power."
"Not killed," the maidens answered urgently. "Not killed."
"Overthrown."
"Made powerless."
"So that her sons might rule and ravage."
"Pillage."
"Feast."
Aeriel shook her head. "How may they live? The witch would not spare them. She is merciless."
"Ah, merciless," one maiden said, "but cunning, too."
"Dead Ions are dangerous—they can be reborn."
"Someone must find the lost Ions, Aeriel," said Marrea. "Someone must gather them—"
"For they have slipped the witch's grasp."
"Her icari are already searching."
" 'But first there must assemble / those the icari would claim,' " murmured Aeriel. "Where are they?"
"Scattered," said one.
"In hiding."
"You should know that."
"Why should I know it?" Aeriel began.
But Eoduin was already reciting, " 'Beyond / the dust deepsea.' "
"The rime said 'steeds,' " started Aeriel.
"Hist," Marrea said suddenly, and Aeriel realized they all now spoke in whispers. The maidens glanced at one another. "What will your prince ride in a year's time," Marrea was asking, swifdy, "when he goes against the witch?"
Aeriel shook her head. None of it made any sense to her. "The Avarclon."
Eoduin nodded. "A Ion. The Ion of Avaric."
Said Marrea, "A single rider—against six icari?"
Aeriel felt the weight of weariness upon her limbs beginning to lift. "His brodiers," she murmured. "The Lady's secondborn sons have said they would join him, had they only the means...."
"Steeds," Eoduin finished. " 'Steeds found for the secondborn.'"
" 'And new arrows reckoned—' " another began, but Aeriel hardly heard her. She was looking at Eoduin.
"You believe the lost Ions are the steeds the riddle speaks of?"
"Yes," the maidens cried, some of them rising.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"How may I find them?"
But the spirits before her all shook their heads, cast down their eyes. "That far we cannot see."
"But what does the rest of the riddle mean," said Aeriel, "the princess and the bride?"
"It is not necessary that you understand it all," replied one maiden.
"Only that you depart swiftly across the Sea-of-Dust."
"And find the Ions before the witch does."
The spirits all had risen now.
"Our time is short, our forms too light to hold long in this heavy place."
"Already the strand you spun for us gives way."
Aeriel put one hand to her breast and realized she hardly felt that light, insistent tugging anymore. Strange—her heart felt lighter than it had in daymonths.
"We may not bide," the maidens said.
Marrea smiled and touched her garment. "Though we have come for love of you."
Her sister beside her echoed, "For love of you."
Every maiden of the circle repeated those words, each touching her garment until at last Eoduin touched her own. "For love of you, sweet Aeriel."
And Aeriel saw they had begun both to dwindle and to rise. She watched them losing their maidens' forms, growing dimmer, less yellow and more white. They trailed away from her. Aeriel sprang up, followed them into the inner chamber: Irrylath's.
Surrounding his bed, the dozen-and-one lamp-stands stood, but they were all dark now, burned out. Some attendant had forgotten to fill them. Already some of the maidens had dwindled enough to light upon the spouts. The maiden on Aeriel's left began to flicker.
"Eoduin, wait," she cried, for a cold fear had begun to fill her. "The poem speaks of 'a feasting on the stone.' In Terrain—in the high temple in Orm—there is an altar they call the Feasting Stone."
"I remember," Eoduin said, half turning, pausing. "My father and I went there once to sacrifice when my mother was ill. You did not come, but I told you of it."
Said Aeriel, "You told me a veiled sibyl sat there."
The maiden nodded. "To answer riddles and interpret oracles."
Aeriel swallowed, for her throat was dry. Must she seek aid from the sibyl then—was that what the rime advised? But once in Terrain, her pale hair and the slight mauve cast to her skin would mark her to any slaver's eye: not freeborn. Fair game.
The memory of Orm's slave fairs rose in her mind: the hoots and jeers and bids from the buyers, shoves from the slavemaster, her fellows in chains. Aeriel shook her head. No, she must not think of it. She must go to Orm. The maidens had said the need was urgent.
"I will go to the sibyl," said Aeriel, "to ask her the meaning of the riddle, and where I may find the lost wardens."
"Take care, dear heart," said Eoduin. Already her outline had grown indistinct, her voice like wind. Her pale golden fingers brushed Aeriel's cheek.
"Don't go—not yet," Aeriel found herself whispering.
But Eoduin drew away, began to fade. Aeriel reached after her, touched nothing solid, felt only what seemed a steady, warm updraft where the figure stood. The other maidens had diminished to the size of tiny flames, alighted on the lamp-wicks. Eoduin's flame joined the others, grew very small. Then her form, too, vanished.
Aeriel gazed at the lights upon the wicks. They dwindled, grew bluish, and one by one winked out. The room grew darker, shade by shade, until at last the last was out, leaving only a breath of sweet smoke in the air, and Aeriel alone in the dark.
4
The Sea-of-Dust
Aeriel opened her eyes. She found herself sitting in the outer chamber. Outside, the ring-of-maidens burned, low and yellow in the west. She saw by the tilt of the sky it was only a few hours deeper into the long fortnight.
The apartments around her were quiet, still. No attendants had yet returned. It was the custom in Isternes to sup well just after Solstarset, then sleep. Only a dozen or so hours after sundown did city and palace once more awake.
Aeriel rose. She had a little time. All weariness had passed from her and her
terror at journeying to Orm receded to a small, dull ache. The sibyl and her temple were yet a long road away. The riddle of the maidens remained clear in her mind, although she did not understand it all:
But first there must assemble
those the icari would claim,
A bride in the temple
must enter the flame,
Steeds found for the secondborn beyond
the dust deepsea, And new arrows reckoned, a wand
given wings—
5b that when a princess royal
shall have tasted of the tree,
Then far from Estemesse 's
city, these things:
A gathering of gargoyles,
a feasting on the stone, The witch of Westemesse's hag overthrown.
Aeriel unwound the wedding sari from about herself and folded its yards and yards of air-thin cloth. Then she crossed to a great trunk of rose-colored wood, lifting its lid, and drew out the only other garment she owned: the sleeveless shift she had worn among the Ma'a-mbai.
Aeriel threw on the desert garment, surprised again at how light it felt. With great armholes to let the air enter and a wide, uncollared neck, it hung loosely, falling unbelted to her knees.
"All I need now is my walking stick," she murmured to herself, "and I would be a true desert wayfarer again."
She lowered the heavy trunk lid then. Turning swiftly to catch up the folded sari, she quit the room.
Aeriel hurried down the empty halls. The palace attendants had disappeared hours before.
The courtiers were all abed. Aeriel fetched her bandolyn from the music chamber, carried it slung by its strap over her shoulder.
"This is mine," she told herself. "The Lady gave it to me—and I must have some means to earn my living."
She ran unseen through the great receiving hall and out again into the garden. There she gathered almnuts from the little orchard, shaking the papery-shelled kernels from the pale-skinned trees, then dark red dates and leather figs. She pulled up the bitter white bulbs of loongrass growing beside the stream. The fisherfolk carried them in lieu of water flasks.
She tied them all into her sari, hefted the bulky
load onto her hip, and hurried upstream toward the cliff overlooking the Sea. She came at last to the little headland and followed the stone wall till she came to the steps leading down.
Here the dust boats lay moored. All of pale unfinished wood, each rode the rolling dust upon two flat paddles called skates. Suspended in between, each hold hung above the dry waves, not touching them. A single mast with a lateen sail lay shipped in each.
Aeriel searched for Hadin's little craft. The Lady's youngest son had been teaching her dustsea sailing, how to tack and duck the swinging boom. She found the craft, unslung her bandolyn, untied her sari. She stowed her provisions in the hold, lashing the hempcloth cover down to keep out the dust.
"Aeriel!"
The voice startled her. She whirled. Hadin stood upon the headland. Barefoot, his close-toed slippers clutched in one hand, his yellow robe slung over one shoulder, he wore only the knee-length pantaloons that were the undergarb of Istern men.
Aeriel cast off the mooring, tugged the little boat away from the others. Hadin drew near, and Aeriel saw with a start he was sopping. The Lady's youngestborn laughed, slung the water from his hair.
"I fell in the stream carrying Arat home from the revel. The others went on. I was on the bank, wringing my gown, when I saw you go by." Aeriel had reached the end of the pier.
"Sister, where are you off to, alone, at such an hour?"
"Hadin, lend me your boat," she said, looking seaward.
"Would you go sailing?" the other began, joining her upon the pier. "I will come with you—"
But Aeriel shook her head. The yellow-haired youth grew sober suddenly.
"Sister, where are you going?" When Aeriel turned to look at him, he started, reaching to touch her cheek and shoulder. "What is this?"
Then Aeriel realized her cheek, her arm, one hand—wherever the maidens had brushed her was covered now with a fine yellow dust.
"They've left their gold on me," she murmured, brushing at it. It lit the dark.
"Who have you been trysting with?"
Aeriel looked off. "Messengers," she said.
Hadin gazed at her. "No messengers passed through the city gates."
"They did not come that way."
The Lady's son was silent. Then he said, "All of us have known, almost from the first, that you are more than you seem, Aeriel."
She cast the mooring off, stepped down into the boat, chafing to be gone. "You speak as though I were some sorceress."
Hadin knelt upon the pier. "Will you not say where you are bound?"
"I have a task," she answered, and felt the fear in her again. She put it down. "I must begin at once." She stepped the mast, not looking at him.
"Aeriel," he said suddenly, "here. Take my robe. You may have need of it—that shift you wear would not cover a cat."
Aeriel laughed, and found the breath catching in her throat. She had not thought to feel sad at going. She took his robe of yellow silk. The feel of it was wet and cool.
"You take this, then," she said, and handed him her crumpled sari.
Hadin looked at it. "What am I to do with this?"
"Give it to Irrylath," she said softly, and turned away, pretending to be busy in the boat.
Her heart felt sore within her breast, but at the same time very light. She turned back to Hadin suddenly. "But not at once. I would be clean away before Irrylath knows."
The boat bobbed on the waves of dust. Aeriel unfurled the sail. Hadin caught her hand, and for a moment she feared he meant to pull her back, but it was only to draw her near enough to kiss her on both cheeks, as was the custom at parting in Isternes.
"Come back to us."
She tried to smile. "Before the Avarclon awakes. I'll bring you a steed in exchange for your boat."
The wind was catching at the sail. Aeriel took the tiller as Hadin gave the little craft a shove. She swung the sail line into a tack, and the dust-skate leapt away from shore. The stiff breeze bore her rapidly away. Looking back, she saw Hadin grown suddenly small on the distant pier. She tacked again, hard port, toward Westernesse.
Aeriel's craft sped over the Sea-of-Dust, riding the swells that rolled like water and glowed by starlight with their own internal fire. Beneath the surface, Aeriel saw the silt-fine particles constantly shifting. Wind stole a few from the crests of the waves, whirling them off in dust devils against the dark, starry sky.
So fine were the grains that Aeriel could scarcely see them, hardly felt them when she breathed, aware at first only of their faint, tangy aroma. Before many hours, though, she found her throat growing dry. Her eyes felt grainy, her fingers paper-leathery.
Tying the sail and tiller into place, she drew out from her provisions a loongrass bulb and bit through the white, parchmentlike skin. The meat inside was stiff, the juice astringent but satisfying. She needed only a few bites before the feeling of dryness eased.
The colors of the Sea were changing now. Close in to shore, the dust had been greyish, almost buff-colored. But as she sailed farther, deeper to sea, the dust grew paler, clear yellow green, and later violet. Sometimes the waves rolled mauve.
Stars turned. Night drifted by. Oceanus peered over the rim of the world, and Aeriel's heart lifted, soared. The air was showered in its ghost-blue light. Gradually, the planet rose.
Aeriel ate of the dates, the figs, the almnut kernels in their papery shells, chewed the loongrass bulbs. Tiresome fare—more than once she found herself longing for the tiny velvet bag the duarough once had lent her. It had held, seemingly within no space at all, an endless store of delicious food.
Sometimes she stood, searching for shore, or tied the tiller and sail securely and slept.
The first time she awoke to find two inches of windblown dust in the hold. Afterward, she bailed every few hours and sle
pt only in snatches.
The wind held mainly steady, her course needing adjustment only now and again. She steered by Oceanus and the stars. The midpoint of the fortnight loomed and passed.
Twice Aeriel's craft passed close to peaks rising jagged and slender from the dust. Birds wheeled in crowded columns above those isles.
Sometimes in the distance she watched dust whales—great fish-shaped things a hundred paces long and filled with buoyant gas. They spouted and sounded, lolled sporting with their calves, or rose in towering pairs at some courting ritual.
Once, passing within sight of whales, Aeriel found floating on the Sea a lump of pale green stuff, very like beeswax, save that its odor was bittersweet, like very old perfume.
She kept it, for no reason, lying in one corner of the hold. She had no idea what it was.
Once she passed through a flock of skias, sleek raucous birds with silver bodies, long wings and black-masked eyes. They flocked and plummeted above the waves, snatching bits of something from the dust.
As Aeriel drew near, she realized it was tiny crayfish they were catching. A swarm had gathered, feeding upon algae that lay like reddish bloom upon the Sea. Aeriel leaned over the gunwale, flipped one of the little creatures into the hold.
Its segmented body was crystalline clear. It had many whiskers upon its nose, two small black eyes on stalks, jointed legs, and a broad, flat tail. In a moment it had buried itself in the dust of the hold.
A skia landed on the gunwale, cawing. It eyed the spot where the little fish had disappeared, but Aeriel drove it away. After a time, the plankton, the swarm, and the flock of skias fell behind. Aeriel sifted through the dust.
At first the little creature scurried from her fingers, hiding itself again, but presently it grew tamer, sat upon her palm while she fed it bits of date. Soon the little fish hid itself in the folds of her robe rather than in the dust when Aeriel bailed—though now she never threw out so much that the dustshrimp did not have its little pocket in one corner of the hold.
The third quarter of the fortnight went by.
Once they passed what seemed to be a wellspring in the middle of the Sea—but the dust that welled from it was neither green nor gold, purple nor grey, but blue, very deep: dark as blown colored glass. It ran in little rivulets among the other strands of color, seemingly heavier, for it quickly sank from sight.
A Gathering of Gargoyles Page 3
