“It was terrible,” said Charis. “Terrible, Liban. She was all chopped up… I saw her die…”
“Do not thay it.” She took Charis’ hands and sank down beside her on the bed. They sat for a long time in silence; there were no words for what they were feeling.
The moon rose and poured pale light into the room. Liban stirred, taking Charis by the hand. “Here, lie down and try to thleep. I will come back in the morning.” Charis lay down, and Liban pulled a cover over her and tiptoed out. “It was my fault,” murmured Charis, dry-eyed in the darkness. “I am to blame.”
The next morning Charis awakened early, alone in her room. When Liban came for her she found Charis sitting on the bed, her hair pulled back and tied, her clothes rumpled in the night. Together they went to the kitchen to eat breakfast with some of Seithenin’s younger children. Eoinn and Guistan were among them, subdued but apparently unscathed by the attack. They acknowledged her presence as she passed and continued their conversation with three of Seithenin’s sons.
“… a thousand,” Eionn was saying. “No, ten thousand!” put in Guistan. “And all with long swords,” said Eoinn. “And arrows a span long!” added Guistan. “Their horses were fast,” said Eoinn. “Kian said they ran so fast they disappeared!” replied Guistan.
“Vultures!” Liban snapped, stamping her foot.
“Aw, Liban,” whined one of the older boys, “we just want to hear what happened.”
“I will tell you what happened! People were killed-that ith what happened.” Her glance lit on Eoinn and Guistan. “Your own mother wath killed. Do you even care?”
She whirled away and led Charis to a far corner of the room where there was a small table near the hearth. One of the cooks brought them a plate of wheat cakes and fruit. They ate quietly and in a few minutes the boys trooped out.
“They are not really my brotherth,” Liban lisped.
This brought a brief smile to Charis’ lips, but her eyes remained dull. “My own brothers are just as bad.”
“Thumtimeth I think the midwife thtole the royal children and put their own brath in the cradle inthtead.”
“Not likely is it?” Charis brightened somewhat.
“Maybe not, but it would exthplain much.”
Charis laughed. “Sometimes I like to think that my brothers are foundlings and that I am the only true child of Aval-lach and Bris” Her voice faltered.
“Come,” suggested Liban, “we will go to my room and you can tell me all about the royal city. I have never been to Potheidonith.”
“It will take days to tell,” warned Charis, following Liban out.
“Well, you had all the fun; now it is time to mare.”
The girls struck off toward Liban’s room, crossing a huge vaulted vestibule.
“Charis!”
The harshness of the voice stopped them in midstep and turned them around. King Avallach stood with his hands on his hips, frowning down at them from a stairway. “Father?” Charis’ voice echoed in the vastness of the chamber.
“We are leaving at once. Go out into the forecourt and wait there for the carriages.”
Charis opened her mouth to reply, but Avallach turned and was gone. She stood looking after him.
“I will wait with you,” said Liban.
They waited together, neither one speaking very much, until it was time to leave. “Farewell, Charith,” called Liban as Charis climbed into the queen’s coach. This time her mother’s body was neatly wrapped in a scented linen shroud, prepared for burial. Again Annubi tried to intercede for her, but Avallach insisted she ride with her mother’s corpse alone.
An escort of Seithenin’s men rode with them all the way to Sarras, but the countryside remained peaceful and secure, and although they stopped to question farmers and merchants along the way, no one had seen a force of men such as Aval-lach described. Thus, news of Briseis’ death raced before them so that by the time they reached the Royal Way leading to Avallach’s palace, the road was lined with mourners, each waving a solitary olive branch.
Two days later Briseis’ body, dressed all in green and gold with a golden tiara on her brow, was carried in an open carriage beneath a canopy of green silk from the palace to the royal tomb.
The white marble tomb sat on top of a grassy hill and was reached by a long, switchback flight of stairs from the valley Below. The bier was drawn by a team of black horses and was led by three chariots, each pulled by a matched team of blacks with long black plumes affixed to their harnesses. Avallach, Kian, and Maildun each drove one of the chariots and Eoinn, Guistan, and Charis rode with them.
The route from the palace descended through the apple groves and passed through a wood before reaching the hillside stairway. Charis stood beside Maildun, grim and silent, while the chariot made its way down from the palace, through the streets of Kellios to the hilltop tomb. When the funeral procession reached the wooded valley, she turned to see the throng of mourners stretching back all the way along the road to Kellios.
Something about the scene made her stare. What was it that looked so familiar? she wondered. An instant later she was pierced by the certainty that she had seen it before: the chariots, the black-plumed horses, the people following the bier-it had all been revealed to her in the murky, swirling depths of the Lia Fail.
Charis’ mind squirmed and she swayed on her feet. Her hands gripped the chariot rail and she lurched against the side of the vehicle. Maildun took one look at her suddenly-pale features and said, “Turn around; you make yourself sick twisting around like that.”
She straightened and turned her eyes back to the road ahead and the white tomb shimmering on the hill in the night noonday sunlight. “Charis, what are you doing?” Maildun’s voice buzzed in her ears. She looked at him and his image wavered in her sight like that of the tomb shifting in the waves of heat off the hilltop. “Charis?”
I have seen this before, she thought and remembered that she had seen something else that day as well-a wild dark man dressed in pelts, with prophecy on his sunburned lips. I saw him; I saw Throm. I saw my mother’s funeral… I saw it all, and I did nothing to prevent it. I saw but did not see.
Briseis’ body was carried slowly up the long stairway to the tomb, where it was placed on a marble stand bedecked with green silk and garlands of flowers. The royal family stood to one side while the people of Saras filed past, weeping profusely in a great demonstration of grief and calling on Bel to carry the soul of their departed monarch in his blazing chariot into the underworld’s Shadow Realm.
At length the body was borne away to a great stone sarcophagus deep in the underground vaults of the tornb. Magi supervised her interment by torchlight, chanting the droning death songs to ease the soul’s passage into the Otherworld while they made the final important preparations, fitting the queen’s body for its everlasting journey. Charis’ endured the ceremony impassively, her lips pressed firmly together.
At last the massive stone lid was slowly lowered over the queen’s body and fitted into place, sliding down into the grooves with a grinding hollow thump. As the others turned to go, Charis crept from her place and stepped to the sarcophagus. She slipped the jade bracelet from her wrist and placed it atop the carven image on the lid. She followed the others from the tomb, stepping into the gathering dusk.
Cybel’s disk loomed above the eastern horizon, pale and swollen. The valley lay in deep blue shadow and the air breathed with night’s chill. Without looking back Charis started down the steps. “Rest well, Mother,” she murmured to herself. “I loved you.”
BOOK TWO
THE SUN BULL
CHAPTER ONE
Listen! in the silence of these sunlit afternoons I hear the cries of the blood-drunk throng rising to heaven like a chorused prayer. I hear my name on the lips of the crowd. “Charis! Charis!” they call, shaking the stadium with the thunder of their demand. “The triple! Do the triple, Charis!”
And I am standing alone in the white sand of the ring, my bod
y oiled and gleaming hard in the bright sun, arms upraised, drawing the adulation of the crowd, feeding on it. The air is sharp. It stings my lungs and nostrils as I breathe.
Pain quickens me. I throb with it, and with excitement. I tremble. Listen to them! They cry for me. For me!
Charis! Charis! Charis!
We are the Gulls and I am captain. We have danced well today; no one has been hurt. Let the crowd roar with delight. We are the Gulls; we are the best. And we have given our best today. Let them scream for more-there will be no more today. Let others dance for their amusement; we have given all aed we are finished.
I nod and the rest come running onto the sand to stand with me. Hands clasped, we raise our arms in the air. The Gulls! We turn slowly. The crowd rises. The noise is deafening.
And now it comes, the shower of gold and silver. I release my dancers to run and gather it, but I do not move. I stand with head high, sweat streaming down my sides, the sun hot on my brown skin. I stand and with the force of iny presence bring forth the rain of treasure: rings and bracelets, chains of gold and braided silver, orichalcum bowls and cups inlaid with pearl. It all comes falling from the stands and we scoop it up. Why not? It is our right.
We are the Gulls! Do you know what that means? We are the best. And I, Charis-I am the best of the best.
The Royal Temple of the Sun in Poseidonis was an immense double triangle, one superimposed on the other, rising in columned terraces, white stone shining in the sunlight, red-gold orichalcum spires gleaming like needles of bright fire against an aqua-blue sky. Magi swept through the cool, shadowed corridors like restless spirits in their white robes or gathered on the terraces to discourse to flocks of docile neophytes.
Charis, dressed in a billowy yellow shift, gold clinking at her slender neck and wrists, moved along the tall columns of the terrace, her tan feet in white leather sandals that slapped the cool stone as she went. She knew there would be a confrontation, expected it, and was ready.
Twice in as many months she had been called before the Belrene, the Mage Overseer of the bull pit. The first two times there had been vague warnings she chose to ignore. This third time there would be no warning.
She reached the arched doorway between two red-lacquered columns and pushed into the Belrene’s rooms, slipping by his two neophyte servants before either could lay a hand on her.
The Belrene, a grave, officious man who bore the marks of the ring in the pale scars on his wrists and forearms, raised his head as she flew into the room. “Ah, Charis,” he said, rising from the table where he sat hunched over a sprawl of drawings. “I did not expect you so soon.”
“I came at once, Belrene. As ever, I am your obedient daughter.” Charis smiled frostily and inclined her head.
The Belrene returned her smile without warmth and dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand. “Of course. Please sit with me here.” He indicated the silk-cushioned window seat.
“I will stand, Belrene. If it is allowed.”
“Allowed? I wonder at you, Charis. Do you think me an enemy?”
“An enemy?” she asked ironically. “Why no, Belrene. Are you?”
“You know that I am not. Or you should know it. I am your friend, Charis. I know that you do not believe it, but I only want what is best for you.”
“Oh, do you!” she snapped. “Then why do you refuse to let me choose the bulls? And why do you keep harassing us with all your silly rules?”
The Belrene shook his head slowly as if he could not Believe what he had just heard. “You see? You do not even know your place anymore.”
“I know my place, Belrene. My place is in the ring with my dancers.”
“Your dancers, Charis?”
“Yes, my dancers.” She stepped toward him, eyes flashing. “Who trains them? I do. Who rubs the soothing balm into their tired flesh and kneads their strained muscles? I do. Who binds their wounds? Who listens to their screams when the terror comes upon them in their sleep? I do.”
“I have no doubt you are a fine leader, Charis”
“A fine leader? I am more than that, Belrene, much more. I am the Gulls and they are me.”
The Belrene bristled and stepped around the table toward her. Charis held her ground. “You take too much for granted, Charis.”
“I take nothing for granted. Ever,” she spat. “Would I have come this far, lasted this long?” She paused. When she spoke again her voice was softer. “Do you know how long it has been?”
“Yes, I do. You have enjoyed a long and illustrious tenure-which is most admirable.”
“It has been seven years since I entered the ring. Think of it! Seven years I have danced! Tell me, Belrene, has anyone ever danced longer?”
The Belrene looked momentarily perplexed. “No,” he answered softly. “No one that I know of.”
“No one.” She stepped closer. “I have been captain four years. How many of die Gulls have been lost since then?”
“Only one or two, I think. You have been very fortunate, I know.”
“None!” Charis shouted. “Not one of my dancers has been lost since I became leader. Who among your captains has a better record?”
“You speak of bull dancing as if it were a game.”
“It is a game. And you know it is-despite what you profess to the people. Yes, and they know it is a game as well. The gold, the silver-do you think they throw their trinkets to the god? They throw them to us! They shower us with it.”
“It is sacrifice. It belongs to the temple.”
“Oh, yes. It belongs to the temple-but you so generously allow us to keep a small portion for ourselves. Why? Because you know who it is that brings them to the ring.”
“They come to see the sacred dance,” sniffed the Belrene.
“They come to see me!” Charis crowed. “Or do you suppose bull dancing itself has suddenly become so popular among our countrymen? Are other pits as well attended?”
“They are,” allowed the Belrene cautiously.
“Oh, they are-they are when the Gulls appear.”
“You think highly of yourself, Charis. Too highly. What if I told you you could never dance again?”
She tossed her head back and laughed. “Never dance again? Who will make this announcement? You? I would love to see it! You, standing there in the center of the ring, explaining that the Gulls will never dance again. They will tear you limb from limb! They will riot in your holy streets!”
“You think you are that powerful?”
“Not me, Belrene. I am only a servant of the god, like yourself.” She stepped toward him with her hands on her hips. “But when I dance, I am a god!”
“You blaspheme!”
“Do I?” She tilted her head, eyes half-closed. “I tell you that my dancing is closer to the god’s heart than your money counting.”
“Do you think I care about the gold?”
“What do you care about then?”
The Belrene paused, glowering at her. “I care that you are profaning the sacred dance. I care that you think you are above the laws of the temple. I care that you cheapen the art with your insatiable vanity.”
“Jealousy has loosened your tongue, Belrene. Do go on.”
“No one can talk to you, Charis. You think all hands are raised against you. You see only what you want to see.”
“I see what is,” she hissed, her body rigid beneath the soft fabric.
“I wonder if you do.” He turned from her and took his seat at the table, sat down slowly, shaking his head. “What am I to do with you, Charis?”
“I do not care what you do with the other teams. But for the Gulls, let me choose the bulls. Suspend your rules and let me deal with my dancers as I see fit.”
“Would that make you happy?”
“Happy? I did not know we were discussing my happiness here.”
“I told you I was your friend.”
“Then give us half of the tribute.”
“Half!”
“Why not?
You would not have a tenth of what you have now if not for me.”
The Belrene stared at her, then shrugged. “Half then. What else?”
“Promise never to threaten me again.”
“When have I ever threatened you?”
“When you suggested I might never dance again-what was that? A premonition?”
“If you like.”
“Give me your word,” insisted Charis.
“I will never threaten you. Is that all?”
Charis smiled broadly. “When have I ever asked anything for myself?”
“Very well, I have given you all you have asked. Now I require something in return.”
“What?”
“Little enough.” The Belrene dismissed it with a flick of his hand. “I want you to take a rest.”
“A rest?” asked Charis warily.
“A long rest.”
“How long?”
“Six months at least.”
“Six months!” howled Charis. “You are trying to kill me!”
“I am trying to save you!”
“From what?”
“From yourself! You cannot see that?”
“If I rest, as you say, for six months what do you think will happen the moment I step back into the pit? You were a dancer once. You know what that means.”
“Then maybe it is time you stepped down.”
Charis stared at him as if stricken. “I will never step down,” she whispered. “I may die in the ring one day, but I will never step down.”
The Belrene gazed at her sadly. “I remember the first time you attempted a triple. It had never been done before. No one Believed it could be done-but you, Charis, you did it the first time you tried.”
Charis smiled, remembering. “I could not eat a thing for two days before-and it was so simple.”
“Yes, and now? What? You do a triple almost every dance. It is a commonplace.”
“The people expect it,” Charis replied. “It is what they come to see.”
“Soon they will expect more, and then still more of you. What then, Charis?”
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