Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  Through barely open eyes, he saw the followers of Prydwin draw closer, peering cautiously into the inky darkness and listening for some sound of their flight. Some passed in the distance to either side, but three came close to the enormous bush in which they hid.

  Come forward, the voices commanded. Come forward; it is the will of the fey. Astron slammed shut his eyes and crushed Nimbia to him. He heard the gasp of her breath from the force of his embrace. He felt her nails dig into his back, even through the thickness of his tunic. The trembling of his limbs shook his entire body in spasms. He ached from the effort to remain silent and still.

  Mentally, he tried to keep the image of Nimbia’s vault in focus, pushing against the surface of her being everywhere he could. He felt her accepting his struggle, welcoming the intertwining of what he was with her. He saw beyond the smooth strength that she projected into recesses of her existence that went beyond the immediate struggle—hints of great pride in her creations, the agony of defeat in competition with Prydwin, the frustration of the petty jealousies of her courtiers, and a deeplying melancholy that perhaps even she did not understand.

  Like the flickers of a dying flame, the images fluttered briefly in Astron’s mind, then faded away. If he were struggling to dominate her across the barrier of the flame, he would have pursued them further, exposed them to view, analytically picked the one most painful, and then exploited it until her will was his own to do with as he chose.

  But Nimbia was sharing his struggle. To meld the fullness of her strength to his she had to expose the foundations from which it sprang. She bared the innermost essence of her being in trust. He could do no more than accept the gift that was given.

  The urge to howl in pain rose in Astron’s chest. He clamped his jaws shut, feeling that his teeth would explode into fragmented shards from the pressure to remain silent. Every muscle in his body ached from the conflicting commands to remain immobile on one hand and to dance into fevered action on the other.

  He felt the strong walls of Nimbia’s mental vault buckle on the bottom and the band about the mouth wrench apart in a silent scream of ripping metal. Although he strained to resist, the top stretched wide and, as if pushed by giant thumbs, the bottom bulged upward toward the opening. Almost helplessly, he felt the container wrenched inside out, exposing his own being to the relentless will of the others.

  But then, just when he could stand remaining silent no longer, the pressure lessened. Almost in disbelief, Astron darted a glance out of one eye to the ground below. Whistled commands sang through the leaves. The sentrymen were moving on through the brush.

  As the searchers departed, so did the pressure in Astron’s head. The trembling of his limbs slowed to random twitches and then stopped altogether. His own consciousness expanded to fill all of his being. Almost with a sense of reluctance, he felt Nimbia’s presence within him withdraw as well.

  No one moved, however. All four remained frozen, lest the smallest sound draw the attention of Prydwin’s sentrymen back to where they hid. In silence, Astron heard the whistles and calls grow fainter until only the buzz and click of the insects remained.

  Finally, after an immeasurable time, Nimbia shifted slightly and uncoiled her arms from around Astron’s back. With muscles stiff from fatigue, he released her as well. Nimbia pulled the glowroot from her pouch and brought it up to eye level. Astron saw her look him in the eye and then quickly dart her glance aside. A hint of redness blossomed in her cheeks.

  “Forgive me,” she said softly. “When we struggled to resist the will of the others, I could not help but learn of things that you probably do not want to share.”

  “And I of you,” Astron responded. “I sensed I should not but—”

  “If those are thank-yous you are exchanging, they can come later,” Kestrel cut in. “No doubt the others will return this way when they have convinced themselves they have lost our trail. Ask the nabob if she knows of a more permanent shelter we can reach before nightfall.”

  Astron shrugged and told Nimbia what Kestrel had said. Serving as the intermediary came easily now. The conversation flowed almost as swiftly as if they all spoke the same tongue.

  “There is no nightfall,” Nimbia said. “The soft blue that you saw in the glen remains eternally the same. Finvarwin and the old ones before him say that our realm is a globe centered inside a hollow sphere that radiates light and heat uniformly. There are no days, no seasons. It is the reason that we find such delight in our creations.

  “And as to safety, we will journey to the hill under which I am the absolute ruler. Perhaps, before the other sovereigns decide on how they will combine their forces and attack, there will be enough time to create again—create before the next judging with something that even Finvarwin cannot deny is the best.”

  “Would not moving and staying hidden be better?” Kestrel asked. “To face again the pronouncements of your high king seems fraught with risk.”

  “I must,” Nimbia said. “It is my duty, my duty to my people.”

  “Duty,” Astron repeated slowly. “I know of duty—or at least I thought I did. I come to your realm in search for the answer to a riddle because my prince demands—”

  “Come.” Nimbia touched her finger to Astron’s lips. “The human is right. We must get underhill before Prydwin’s sentrymen return.”

  For what would be hours in the realm of men, Nimbia led Astron and the others through the darkness of the brush. They encountered no sign of Prydwin’s followers and eventually emerged on the edge of a clearing similar to the glen in which they had first arrived. Rather than slope down to a stream, however, the grass-covered ground rose from where they stood. From all sides of the open space, at first gently and then with increasing slope, the soft greenness underfoot tilted upward to form a high hillock in the very center. Like a great upside-down bowl thrust against the ground, the bulge dominated the landscape; its broad, flat apex stood higher even than the crest of the bushes which edged the clearing.

  As Nimbia moved out into the open, the ground underfoot began to vibrate with a great rumbling. The music of pipes and lyres filled the air. Astron saw the hillock shudder slightly and then begin to move. The ground parted with a clean horizontal slit. On dozens of stout pillars, the central portion of the hillock rose slowly into the air.

  Brilliant lights, laughter, and music sweet and pure poured out of the opening. Astron saw long banquet tables groaning under piles of glistening fruit and heavy flagons coolly sparkling with a patina of dew. Scores of lithe dancers pirouetted in complex patterns. Laughing jugglers kept dozens of small objects whirling above their heads.

  “Nimbia, Nimbia,” dozens of joyful voices called out. “Our hillsovereign returns.”

  “She has triumphed at last.”

  “Finvarwin has been pleased. Look, he gives her three changelings as prize for her great worth.”

  “Alert the scribes and the tellers. There will be work for all.”

  Astron saw a throne of polished stone being pushed into a position of prominence on a dais bathed with colored lights. Two long lines of what looked like pages formed on either side. Small girls began strewing delicate flower petals from the base outward onto the grass of the clearing. Stout-cheeked pipers stuck long-stemmed pipes into bowls filled with nearly solid gels. With straining lungs, they forced upward bubbles of air that burst and sprayed all those about to their laughing delight. Fragrant odors tickled Astron’s nostrils and beckoned him forward.

  Nimbia said nothing. With a grim smile, she walked on the path laid for her and beckoned Astron and the others to follow. Accepting a cape richly embroidered and encrusted with jewels, she mounted the steps and sat on her throne. Nimbia looked about the gaily decorated surroundings and Astron saw her face sadden. She breathed out a deep sigh.

  “I do not return in triumph,” she said simply. “And those that accompany me are responsible that I return at all.”

  The music stopped as did the clank of flagon and flatware f
rom those who prepared the feast. Smiles fell from the faces of those nearest. Eyes lowered. Many of the faces looked away. For a long moment, the silence filled the hilltop; even the creak of boots and rustle of tunics against one another was stilled.

  Then, from the periphery of the hillock, a single piper began playing a slow, sad melody. Others caught the tone and added to it. One of the females close to Nimbia choked on a small sob. Tears began to glisten on the faces of a dozen more. In barely an instant, the infectious joy transformed into a chilling sadness.

  Nimbia nodded in apparent acceptance of the changing mood. She motioned over the heads of those nearest and Astron felt the ground begin to vibrate as it had when they approached. He saw the narrow band of pale blue sky start to shrink into nothingness. Like a great piston sinking into a cylinder, the surface on which he stood descended into the earth. In an instant, the hilltop again rested firmly on the ground.

  The bright lights reflected by the jeweled panels and mirrors shone with undiminished intensity. Even though Nimbia had retreated underground, the area around her throne remained far brighter than the daylight outside. As the descent halted, Astron saw dimly lit passageways radiating in all directions. Great bins lined the hallways, like the walls of Phoebe’s cabin. From some spilled the powders and woods that Astron recognized as essential for the summoning of great djinns. Others bulged with strange prickly spheroids, covered with sharp barbs or intricate lattices of thorns. In the distance were rows of doors and dark cross corridors radiating farther into the earth. The extent of the queen’s underhill could not easily be judged.

  Two of the pages, taller than the rest, pushed each other timidly from the crowd that had gathered about the throne. Each wore a tunic embroidered with the same designs as those on Nimbia’s cape. Their copper daggers were sheathed on belts inlaid with gold.

  “Might not what you have wrought survive despite Finvarwin’s judgment?” the first one asked.

  “My creation will live on unaided for a lifetime or more.” Nimbia nodded her head. “Such strength am I sure that it possesses. But without the thoughts of others, it will not expand to be more than what it is now. Eventually, it will grow sluggish and decay.”

  Nimbia paused and looked over the heads of the assembly. She closed her eyes and seemed to absorb the mood of the piping which now swelled to a persistent resonance that could not be ignored. Tears appeared from fluttering eyelids. She slumped into the folds of her cape.

  “The penalty is a severe one.” She opened her eyes again at last. “Servitude to Prydwin for us all—this underhill to become one of his, rather than our own. We will be toiling to carry his baskets of pollens, blowing on the pipes as long as he commands, plucking the blossoms that he decrees, whether they are part of our harmonies or not.”

  “You should not have attempted it without a mate,” the second page said. “All of us regard your craft to be of the greatest quality, as strong as your own great beauty. But forgive me, my queen, even so, the challenge was far too great.”

  Nimbia looked for a long time at the second page before speaking.

  “You knew of the risk as well as any other,” she said softly. “You and every other page underhill. Almost any would have sufficed, provided that he had the strength of heart.”

  “But it could not be me.” The page stepped back suddenly. He waved his arm about those who clustered around the queen. “Perhaps someone else,” he muttered, “someone more worthy. Your beauty is too great. One such as I would never have a chance.”

  “A single page,” Nimbia repeated, “and yet not one came forward. Not one chose to accompany his queen, despite what decorum demanded. I do not understand. Can the prize be of so little value?”

  “A prize has greater value the less it is shared.” A third voice, deeper than the first two, sounded from the rear. Astron saw a male slightly more heavy-set than the rest push his way forward, the lines of a frown etched into his forehead. Dark black ringlets of hair curled above deep-set blue eyes. He appeared slightly older than the other pages, and Astron noticed that several of the females followed him with keen interest.

  “This is not the time and place to air old accusations, Lothal.” Nimbia stirred slightly on her throne. “They are no less true now than they were when the two of us—”

  “The rages have cooled, my sovereign.” Lothal bowed deeply with an almost jeering smile on his face. “I do not come forth pressing a suit that you have more than adequately demonstrated I can never win. I speak merely as another loyal and concerned subject for the benefit of us all.”

  Astron saw Nimbia stiffen, but the queen said nothing. She motioned for Lothal to continue.

  The courtier bowed a second time and then stood facing Nimbia with his hands on his hips. “Your wit is a sharp one. Despite everything else, I will always have admiration for that. Perhaps, from what you see happening again and again, you can finally deduce a basic truth for your conduct.” He paused and turned to face the others, extending his arms slowly in great arcs.

  “The queen can have anyone here she chooses.” He looked at several of the females who wore bands about their waists with the same markings as those of a nearby male. “Even ones already bound can hardly resist the great persuasion of her beauty—we all know that in our hearts.”

  Lothal whirled abruptly and again faced Nimbia. “Any one she chooses, that is, so long as her choice is for one only.” His cheeks flushed suddenly. Veins stood out in his neck. “I did not submit to share with another; and by all that lives of its own volition, neither will any other here. Amend your ways, Nimbia. Change the greed for more than one; that is all you deserve, despite the loveliness you possess. Amend your ways, and then a champion will come forward to share the tasks of creation with his lady.”

  “I was faithful to you from the first day to the last,” Nimbia said softly. “It was your jealousies and no more, Lothal, that churned in your heart. You saw evil where there was none. Nothing I could have done would have convinced you otherwise.” Nimbia threw up her hands. “And we could not create, so long as your own inner being was so troubled.”

  “If you were not queen, I would not let such assertions go unchallenged,” Lothal shot back. “You try to use the power of your station to gain what even your beauty cannot grasp.”

  “Challenge whatever you will.” Nimbia shook her head and pulled the edges of her cape in tightened fists, with knuckles showing white. “I give you leave as I have given you leave each time before. Try to find any proof that I was ever other than loving. You cannot, because none was ever there. Come, Lothal, I would forget the pain and accept you even now, if it would spark the creation that would save our underhill.”

  Nimbia looked at Lothal expectantly but his jaw was firmly set. He would speak no more.

  Nimbia sighed. “We waste the time of all those that have assembled here,” she said finally. “And there is little time that is left.” She waved her arm at the banquet rooms beyond. “Feast, my people. Make merry while you can. Prydwin’s pipers will come for us all soon enough.”

  The mournful melody of the pipers abruptly stopped. There was a moment’s pause and then they began again, this time with the lively air that Astron had first heard when he arrived. Tentatively, two of the younger females began to dance. With a sudden enthusiasm, three of the pages mimicked their steps. Nimbia began clapping her hands. A smile reappeared on her face. In what seemed like an instant, the mood transformed into the gaiety it had been before.

  “I do not understand.” Phoebe raised her voice above the music. “What has happened to her? The moods of the woman on the throne change faster than the purest quicksilver.”

  “My previous sojourns were brief,” Astron said. “I witnessed the ring of djinns for the first time just as you did.”

  “The mysteries of the realm can wait for later,” Kestrel said. “More important is the reason why we came. If this Nimbia thinks we are her savior, then ask her for a boon before she forgets. What do
es she know of the things we seek?”

  Astron hesitated. Nimbia had saved him from the sentrymen of Prydwin—far more so than he had her. And the passions shown by the fey evidently were quite similar to those of men. He would like to have listened quietly for much longer.

  “Excuse me, Queen Nimbia,” he said, “but I have a request—knowledge in exchange for the small service we have performed in your behalf. If perhaps you know the location of harebell pollen or how to gain audience with a sage among you who knows the riddle of the ultimate precept…”

  Nimbia stopped in mid-clap. She turned and regarded Astron for a moment with an amused smile. Then she broke into a gale of laughter, clasping her sides and poking her elbows at whomever was the closest.

  “Yes, harebell pollen,” she said. “That is all it would take. Who needs the logical precision of the male to temper the leaps of intuition if harebell pollen could be tossed through the ring? Even Prydwin’s greatest triumphs—the realm of the chronoids, the realm of the reticulates—both could be challenged in a single judging. Yes, harebell pollen indeed.”

  Nimbia tried to say more but she clasped her sides again, unable to speak. Astron looked from side to side for explanation, but saw only other mirthful faces. His nose wrinkled. He turned back to face Kestrel with a shrug.

  Nimbia suddenly stopped laughing. She tapped Astron on the shoulder. He saw that her face was completely sober.

  “It is the way of the fey,” she explained. “We cannot sip life in only half measures, but must drink deeply from the cup of emotions. It is no less than the first dictum—reality must mirror passion. How else can we create with a vividness that will live of its own volition?”

  Astron started to reply but Nimbia shook her head. “For now, no more words,” she said. “Do not disturb the joyousness of the feast. I owe my people no less.” She reached out and gently touched his arm. “Even though you are no more than a demon, I wish that you would abide with me for a while. Abide with me, since your saving of a queen might not yet be complete.”