Bright of the Sky

by Kay Kenyon

  He remembered the Lady Chiron's kindness when his sorrow had been a million miles in circumference. When Hadenth goaded Quinn, she stood nearby, forbidding the lord. And that protection-for no one could protect against a high lord other than another-brought Quinn's gratitude, and later, that retreat into physical solace, an act that now repulsed him.

  They lay on a shining bed, lit from above. Lit from a sky window, releasing the bright over their naked bodies. As he moved, she matched him, angle for angle, curve for curve, keeping contact along the lengths of their bodies, although she was taller than he. She was supple, curious, inexhaustible. He had vowed to stay away from her, and had succeeded for a long while. But eventually, he went to her suite. She rushed to meet him. She could not fully accept him into her, because the divide between her legs was small. Over time this became irrelevant.

  He understood why it had happened. There was the loneliness, the years of separation from Johanna. But he would give anything for it not to have happened while Johanna languished at Ahnenhoon.

  It gnawed at him. To so completely succumb to the Tarig. Was it the power that he had relished? He couldn't see himself as that man. Remembering the navitar's prophecies, he wondered if his betrayals had set in motion some profound wheel of retribution.

  He turned from the maze of these thoughts. Tomorrow he would come back and confront them again. Until Shi Zu arranged a summons from Cixi.

  Shi Zu was pleasant but dangerous. He affected elaborate dress, including brocaded trousers and a golden jacket. The symbol embroidered on the back of his garment was that of a sky chain, bright insects linked and floating in the sky, a configuration he had seen before. This foppish consul was amused by Quinn's bypass of Min Fe. Then it occurred to the consul that, given the importance of a matter altering military protocol, perhaps a person of high standing should present Yulin's clarity to the Inyx sway. Quite possibly that functionary should be Shi Zu himself. Quinn hoped his arguments against this were persuasive.

  He looked around him, thinking that he might even now be observed. If so, it wouldn't hurt to show his heartchime-that bauble of the devoted, that told the wearer how close they were to the beloved Ascendancy. He brought forth the heartchime and held it to his ear, listening to the high tone that was the Ascendancy's pitch. He wondered where Anzi was, and hoped she was safe.

  Heading down the ramp to return to the inner Magisterium, deep in thought, he made his way into the third level. A familiar voice caught him off guard.

  "Your Excellency," Cho said, bowing before him in the junction of a small corridor with a wide one.

  "Steward Cho," Quinn replied, matching the bow.

  This brought a look of consternation and a yet lower bow. "Please, Excellency, I'm an understeward." Rising, he said, "Seeing the sights, are you? Everyone sees the sights on their first visit." He looked past Quinn to a doorway to an outer deck. "There are better views. Seating areas, and so forth."

  "You must know them all, my friend. Did you deliver your trunks to the legate Min Fe?"

  Cho's face fell only a little. "A pressing weight of duty has not allowed him to view the documents. So far." Sidling closer and lowering his voice, Cho said, "We've heard that Min Fe has suffered a rebuke from the consul Shi Zu."

  Quinn stifled a smile. "Has he? Perhaps it's long overdue."

  Cho looked startled. "An alarming thought, Excellency."

  "Please, Cho, Dal Shen will do."

  Cho bobbed, agreeing, and they began to walk together. Hearing of Shi Zu's notion to usurp Dal Shen's mission and travel to the Inyx sway himself, Cho looked worried. Then, hearing that Quinn had tried to talk Shi Zu out of such a notion, Cho said, "Forgive me, Excellency-Dal Shen-but you may be in jeopardy of a small misstep in protocol."

  "Or a rather large stumble?" Quinn could not quite recall the Chalin equivalent of bull in a china shop, though he was sure there was one.

  "No, no stumbling, none whatsoever, but if I may suggest ..." He waited for a nod from His Excellency. Receiving it, he went on, "You must let him win, of course."

  They came upon a great atrium. Arising from one end was a narrow but ornate staircase that twisted at intervals to disappear into the second level. Leading the way upward, Cho continued, "If I may offer a small idea, let him have the mission without protest."

  That wasn't damn likely. "My father would think me a failure to give my duty to another."

  A rustle from above them signaled that someone was descending the stairs. Quinn looked up. Just turning onto the next landing came a grandly dressed Chalin woman attended by ladies wearing heavily embroidered silks. Quinn and Cho bowed deeply as the entourage passed, Cho murmuring, "Subprefect Mel Ing, and glorious consuls." Switching quickly from unctuous to practical, he returned to his subject: "By letting him win, you will win, Dal Shen, do you see?"

  Quinn turned to watch the ladies descend, especially the one with the river walker emblazoned on her tunic. Perhaps if the high prefect wouldn't see him, the plain prefect might.

  Cho continued, "Permit me; it wouldn't be seemly to disagree with the consul that he is the most fit to handle the matter. But once you agree with his superior judgment, he will abandon the plan. He would never leave the Ascendancy, Dal Shen. He'd lose his place in line."

  Quinn glanced at the steward, thinking that Cho the hapless might in fact be quite the master at navigating the bureaucracy.

  "I haven't presumed too far?" Cho asked, cutting his eyes at Quinn.

  "No, it's very valuable advice. I'm not a subtle man." He shrugged. "A soldier."

  Cho stuttered. "But I'm subtle, you think?"

  "Yes, Understeward Cho should advise all newcomers here. It could be a side business. There's a Jout I know who could use some help."

  Cho hardly knew how to respond to this half-jest, but his steps came more lively, and he pointed out the sights, most of them actually new to Quinn, although not all.

  They had come to the highest level of the Magisterium by means of the asymmetrical staircase, into a narrow passage with a vaulted ceiling. As they started down this hall, Quinn thought he knew where Cho was leading him. It was to the chamber of Lord Ghinamid.

  "Most newcomers want to see the Sleeping Lord," Cho said.

  They passed through tall galleries lit by windows and crowded with prosperous-looking legates, including a few Hirrin sentients. Then, crossing out of the Magisterium, they came under the sky for a moment into a sunken garden, then climbed curved stairs and came into the city above. They were in the city, where he should not be seen. Not planned-but not unwelcome, either.

  At the head of the stairs and through an outdoor gallery, they came at last to the open doors of the Sleeping Lord's chamber.

  The cavernous room was filled with an orange light from burnished walls that looked to be quilted in giant squares of etched metal. The chamber was empty except for two features: on three sides of the room a raised gallery was supported by columns; below the gallery and in the center of the room was a raised platform. From the gallery, a scattering of sentients viewed the Sleeping Lord's resting place.

  As he had lain for two million days, Lord Ghinamid rested on the raised platform on a black bed of exotic matter, never aging. Quinn didn't expect that the Masterful Lord would look any different than he had the last time Quinn had seen him, nor did he.

  Approaching the platform, they bowed, then gazed up at the Tarig lord. The face, long and narrow like all the Tarig, looked carved but alive, and harder than most. There was that quality to Tarig skin that was both metallic and supple. Ghinamid's form was clothed in a black chitinous-looking robe. The eyes were covered by two black, oblong stones that looked like they might topple off if the lord came into REM sleep.

  "Asleep," Cho said. "What must he dream of?"

  "Home," Quinn replied, remembering that he had once fled into sleep himself from sheer homesickness.

  They had lowered their voices, as though not to disturb the sleeper. Cho asked, "You know the stori
es, then?"

  "Some." He well remembered the tale of Lord Ghinamid, who couldn't bear his separation from his original home in the Heart. He had been among the first great lords to rule the Entire, and therefore was impossibly old.

  "Of course, your pardon. You are of Yulin's household, an educated man, naturally."

  Quinn looked around the hall. It was now deserted. Both the mezzanine and the hall were empty except for the two of them.

  And a lord, on the perimeter.

  A Tarig stood at a doorway, watching them. Cho was now as still as a mouse in an owl's gaze.

  Quinn turned to leave, and Cho fell in step with him. From behind, he heard the clicking of the Tarig's feet approaching.

  A voice, wasted, deep, and familiar said, "He dreams, do you say?"

  It was a mistake to pretend the lord hadn't spoken to them. Even before he turned to face the Tarig, Quinn remembered the main way to tell one Tarig from another. By voice.

  He turned to face Lord Hadenth, and in that moment it seemed that time looped back, and that he had never left this place.

  He had forgotten what the lord had said.

  "Dreams?" Lord Hadenth repeated.

  Recovering his wits, Quinn answered, "We wonder if the great one dreams. We are ignorant, Bright Lord."

  Cho was bowing so low Quinn thought he might topple.

  In a terrible moment, Quinn declined to bow. He knew what he should do, and couldn't.

  Lord Hadenth had reached the dais and stood there, resting a bare muscled arm on what Quinn had always considered the bier. Hadenth wore a sleeveless long tunic over a straight skirt, slit to the knees for easy movement. Over the tunic was a vest of woven platinum thread. At his neck he wore a collar of twisted metal. Quinn had always thought of it as a dog collar. He had learned how to hate at the feet of this creature. Fearing that it showed, he breathed deeply to quiet himself.

  Hadenth looked at Cho. "We do not know you."

  Cho bowed. "Bright Lord, Steward Cho of the fourth level, of the Hanwin wielding of the house of Lu. Bright Lord."

  "Ah, the understeward." Hadenth flicked his gaze at Quinn. "You, we know."

  The three words cut at him, stopped his breath. He would not be captured; he had set his mind to that, a million miles ago.

  "Bright Lord?"

  The Tarig hadn't moved, and said casually enough, "Watching, watching." He reached up to touch Lord Ghinamid's feet. "For eight days, watching, on the rim. And for what? What approaches, hnnn?"

  So the legates were not the only ones who spied-but to have Hadenth take notice, that cooled his heart.

  "The view, High Lord. A fearful view, and beautiful."

  Hadenth had now turned his full attention to Ghinamid's feet, which were at eye level for him. He petted the feet, as though meditating with what was left of his mind. The smell of overbearing sweetness came to Quinn's sensitive mouth.

  From beside Quinn, Cho made a sound like a strangled whistle. But he was only attempting to swallow. No doubt Cho was used to Tarig; but he may never have been in the presence of one of the five high lords.

  Hadenth's voice, although deep like all Tarig voices, had a shredded quality, as though he had been shouting too long. "Who watches from the rim?"

  "Bright Lord, by your sufferance, Dal Shen, soldier of Ahnenhoon and smallest son of Master Yulin of the great sway."

  Quinn looked closely at Hadenth for scars. The blow he had delivered was crushing, almost killing him. But why should any Tarig keep scars? He felt a keen disappointment.

  Hadenth said, "From Ahnenhoon to the heartland. Such a long way. And not getting lost, either. Hnnn. Without companions all the while, wearing a chime?" He approached swiftly, but Quinn held his place, and then found himself an arm's length from Hadenth, the lord who had blinded Sydney. And told her father about it in excruciating detail.

  Extruding a three-inch nail, Hadenth reached toward Quinn and lifted the chain from around his throat. He drew forth the heartchime. In the Tarig's hand a remarkable sound erupted from the pendant, like a distant scream.

  Quinn's eyes met Hadenth's. Now, at this range, would be the test of Bei's surgeries. It seemed impossible that this creature would not remember him, would not see him for who he was. But the Tarig did not attend to faces.

  The lord dropped the chime and pointed to Cho. "Is this not a companion, and traveler?"

  Cho visibly flinched, and opened his mouth to answer. Then, thinking better of it, closed his mouth.

  The lord shouted at him, "Speak, Steward!"

  Cho gargled something. Then, beginning again, he said, "Traveled. Yes. Bright Lord. On the River Nigh, by your leave and gracious permission for the legate Min Fe, the lowliest matters, of course. A mere understeward."

  Lowering his voice, Hadenth said, "Enough speaking." He turned and walked slowly back to the bier. Suddenly he spun around and, flicking his hand, indicated that they were to follow him.

  Quinn did so, putting a hand in the small of Cho's back to steady him.

  At the bier, Hadenth once more took up a rhythmic stroking of Ghinamid's shod feet as his black gaze lit on Quinn again. "Fighter of Ahnenhoon, a pleasant little title. Wounds? Any?"

  "Small wounds, Lord." But lasting ones, he thought. And in the next thought, Anzi's words came to him: Do not, do not risk ...

  Anzi wanted him to put the past behind. But for Quinn the hope still lingered: father, mother, and daughter together once more. Being in this city, it still seemed possible. But seeing Hadenth reminded him that it would never come again.

  "Wounds," Hadenth whispered. Perhaps he remembered his own. Those received. Those given.

  The lord was weaving from one subject to the next. Perhaps he roamed these halls like an elder with dementia: respected but ignored. With no mechanism of retirement or abdication, the Tarig didn't know how to remove a high lord from power if one became unfit for duty.

  "Son of the great sway," Hadenth murmured, gazing at Quinn. "Does Yulin know where the leaks are? Hnnn? How the invaders travel into the realm?"

  Invaders. Did the lord sense something amiss? He answered: "Yulin confides little in one such as me, Bright Lord."

  "But you are son of Yulin, so you said? Did we mis-hear?"

  "No, Lord. I said so."

  "Ah, son of Yulin knows what Yulin knows. So, again, does Yulin know how the aggressors slide into the All?"

  Aggressors. With relief, Quinn realized that Hadenth was talking about the Paion. He answered, "No, Lord. He does not know. Nor do I."

  The lord's gaze was unnaturally steady. The Tarig had no need to blink, a thing Quinn had always hated.

  "You speak bravely. Too bravely, for one who stares at views. We do not favor you," Hadenth said.

  No, and never had. "Bright Lord, my life in your service."

  Hadenth waved this away. "Yes, yes." He picked at the shoe of Ghinamid, muttering to himself. Then he turned to Quinn. "You think yourself brave, to face the Paion?"

  "No more than any soldier, Bright Lord."

  "Braver still, to face your Lord Hadenth, ah?"

  Quinn remained silent, not liking this turn of conversation.

  At the lord's next action, Cho gasped. The Tarig sprang up on Ghinamid's platform, crouching like a gargoyle at the foot of the sleeping form. "Hnnn?" His voice had risen higher, louder. Cho was now shaking hard. Hadenth's voice echoed in the room. "You think I cannot kill the invaders at will? You think this lord a coward?"

  Quinn guessed that the lord was beyond conversation. He glanced at the Sleeping Lord, half expecting him to wake up in all the commotion, but he slept on.

  "Well? Well?" Hadenth rasped.

  In a whisper, Cho pleaded, "Answer him, Dal Shen."

  "A simple soldier does not presume to judge a high lord."

  Hadenth beckoned to Quinn, and Quinn walked closer to the bier.

  Still crouching, the lord bent close, his scent coming strong to Quinn's senses. "You do not tremble like the steward." Haden
th flicked a gaze at Cho. "Such poise, for a common son of Yulin."

  Quinn needed to mollify him, and was able to bring himself to say: "Bright Lord, I have not the grace to know Ascendancy ways. Being a common son of Yulin."

  A line formed on Hadenth's cheek, less a frown than a ceramic crack. "And being common, you gape at our high views. Hun. The heights alarm you? Yes, admit that the fighter of Ahnenhoon fears the long fall."

  Quinn could barely bring himself to speak to Hadenth. His stomach clenched with the effort of it. "It would take a long time to hit the ground. A fearful thing." He thought of pushing the lord. Of seeing the fear on Hadenth's face.

  Cho softly cleared his throat, eyes pleading with Quinn.

  Hadenth jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. Whatever mental damage he might have suffered, he was still agile. "Perhaps we will have you stand on the rim for our amusement, ah?"

  From behind, Cho whispered, "Supreme Lord, we are called to duties, below, in your service, by your leave."

  Hadenth swung around to face the steward. "No, not so. We are called to duties. You are not called." He squinted at Cho. "Ah?"

  "Yes, pardon, Bright Lord," Cho managed to say.

  With that, Lord Hadenth turned and walked away, boots clicking on the floor, striding like an upright insect. He passed through the small door from which he'd first entered. After a few steps, he stopped and turned around.

  Returning to the doorway, the Tarig reached out and pushed the door closed.

  Quinn watched the door for several moments, unsure whether Hadenth was gone for good. But the door remained shut.

  "He's gone," Cho whispered.

  "Yes." Quinn wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed. Hadenth had deteriorated from the old days. Reduced to muttering paranoia and intimidating stewards, he was still capable of higher viciousness, Quinn was certain.

  Cho led the way from the chamber. Silently, they emerged onto the steps outside, which led to a plaza where a view of the city spread in one direction and the innards of the Magisterium spread in the other. Still intent on controlling his emotions, Quinn descended and walked across a small courtyard toward the fountain he'd visited before.