10,000 Suns

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Foolishness, she scolded herself, and went back to arranging her hair. She was the daughter of Shazzur the Seer. She would hold herself with dignity and refuse silly daydreams.

  And yet ... she tried to recall the sensation that threatened to make her knees wobble, as she joined her father at the gates of their courtyard when the soldiers appeared.

  "Greetings and long life to you, Doni'Hobad'Shazzur'Conia, Seer to the King who is the adopted son of Mother Matrika!” the man leading the mounted soldiers roared.

  Challen grinned, despite the apprehension that had dogged her ever since her father's revelations an hour before. The soldier sounded most cheerful. The situation in Bainevah couldn't be that dire.

  "Father?” Challen tugged straight the pale green pleated skirts of her formal Court sheath, and wondered for the first time if it was out of fashion. She had made the dress based on her memories of her mother. Would her soldier—if he was in this company at all—laugh or think her beautiful?

  Stop this foolishness, she scolded herself silently, and stepped back into the shadows of the gate.

  "Mother Matrika gives us what we wish before we even think to ask,” Shazzur murmured.

  He raised the bowl of wine that was the customary greeting for welcome travelers. The commander laughed louder and waved to them. He kicked his horse into a faster trot.

  Challen swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders and watched the soldiers ride past them, to enter the sheltered courtyard around the base of their tower home.

  The high stone walls were clotted with blown sand, worn down with decades of scouring, but they still protected from the dust storms and provided shade in early morning and late afternoon. She decided she would miss this sandy, dusty, dry place. Twenty soldiers entered through the archway, sitting tall on their horses when camels and their riders had to stoop. Challen pitied the horses, struggling across the scorching sands when camels were better suited.

  The soldiers threw back their white desert robes, revealing bronze-plate shirts and armbands and conical helmets touched with gold and turquoise. They belonged to the Host of the Ram, the elite of Bainevah's soldiers, where the princes trained. Shazzur was indeed in high royal favor, to send soldiers from the Host to escort him. Every one had oiled beards and black kohl lines extending their eyes. How long ago had they stopped to put on ceremonial decorations? From the lack of sweat smearing their faces or dust dulling the shine of their beards, Challen calculated they had stopped in the shade of the dune that filled the eastern horizon, two hours of walking away.

  Her vision soldier wasn't among them. She could tell that in an instant, and her disappointment shocked her.

  The soldiers were here to take them to Bainevah with honor. There were empty pack mules and two riderless horses—royal black horses, no less—among the soldiers, obviously intended for Shazzur and Challen and their household goods. Challen brushed her tightly pleated skirts out and stepped up next to her father. She was glad she had taken the time to wrestle her hair into the coronet of braids wrapped around her head, studded with gold, turquoise and pearl pins. It was worthy of her father's renewed place. Did she look proud and noble to these strangers, or like a silly child dressed in her grandmother's discarded robes?

  "Sweetmeat? Is that really you?” The commander stumbled as he dismounted. He stared at Challen.

  Shazzur burst out laughing. He set down the welcoming wine and opened his arms. The commander roared laughter as he stepped up to meet him, arms spread wide. The two men hugged and thumped each other's backs. Challen and nineteen soldiers studied the toes of their boots and sandals. She smiled as memories flitted through her mind.

  Only one man in all Bainevah would dare to call Shazzur's daughter “Sweetmeat.” Commander Asqual, Lord General of all Bainevah's armies. He always gave her treats during ceremonies, to keep her quiet while her father stood with the King or her mother officiated at the altar. He had carved her dolls and told her stories about desert birds and captive princesses during the flight into exile long ago. Some of the letters to her father each fall and spring referred to her as “our little Sweetmeat.” He always had a little gift for her along with the scrolls and reports and supplies he sent to Shazzur.

  Challen swallowed hard and assayed a smile at the black-haired, broad-shouldered, leathery man with such a rough yet comforting voice. She had forgotten what he looked and sounded like, and yet he held a warm place close to her heart.

  "Welcome, Uncle,” she said with a smile.

  "If only I were your uncle. Hopeful young soldiers would drown me with gifts, to put in a good word with your father.” Commander Asqual let out another roaring laugh.

  Challen took deep breaths to fight the horrid blush filling her face, rushing through her body. She wanted to retreat to the tower, but didn't dare. Appearances were everything.

  "Enough, old friend,” Shazzur said, thumping Asqual's arm. “I sent for you, but I see some disaster has prompted the King to send for us, instead. Is our exile truly finished?"

  "Ah, it's impossible to surprise seers.” The commander shook his head, sighing. His eyes sparkled despite his rueful tone. “You are once again desperately needed at Court. The King threatens to behead three-quarters of his Council. You were the only one who gave him solid advice to stave off the trouble."

  "The Three have fallen?” Challen clutched her father's arm.

  "Vanished. Along with all their priesthood and the Hidden City. Thread Woman, Color Man, Weaver Girl—all gone. The rains stopped at spring equinox. The Sacred Marriage failed at summer solstice. Now the King remembers you predicted disaster when others screamed the words you and your Naya spoke would destroy the kingdom.” Asqual spat to ward off the ill omen of his words.

  "We are needed immediately, then?” Shazzur murmured. He stroked his newly-braided beard and gazed out over the desert.

  "Yesterday, if the King could have it. If I know you, you're already packed and ready for us.” He winked at Challen.

  "Of course.” Shazzur shook his head. “I knew this, but I didn't want to believe it. Come, we must drink and sleep away the rest of the day's heat. We will leave with dusk."

  Challen choked down a cry of protest. Their possessions were indeed packed and ready. All that remained to do was gather up food, fill skins with water, and dismantle her wall loom. Still, she felt four hours notice was too short to prepare to leave the only home she truly knew. She smoothed the pleats of her sheath dress and shifted her shoulders against the bite of the bronze clasps into her bare skin. She couldn't wait to take off this dress and put on sensible, light clothes, even if it was to work.

  A prickling sensation crept over her body. She glanced up to meet the gazes of most of the soldiers. Some smiled. Most nodded respectfully to her and looked away, as was polite. A few looked her over as Challen imagined a man would do when buying a horse or slave. She envisioned flames traveling up the linen undertunic of the blond soldier who licked his lips.

  She turned in a swirl of pleats and stalked back to the shadowed cool of the tower. Behind her, Shazzur and Asqual discussed the rigors of crossing the desert in summer, dust storms and bandit bands roaming the thin necklace of oases. Faintly, she heard the startled cries of a man and the laughter of others. The breeze brought her the scent of burned linen.

  CHAPTER 3

  Second Descent Moon

  "How long ago did Commander Asqual leave?” Elzan demanded, barely giving the eunuch, Jushta time to open the door before bursting into his mother's workroom in the Healers Temple.

  "Good morning to you, my son,” Lady Mayar said, as if he had greeted her properly. “You are home in time to celebrate the moon fullness with me. I am pleased."

  She put down the wax slate she had been reading, likely a report on activities in the temple during the night. She wore the simple, dark green robes of the healers. Sitting before her long worktable, straight and poised in her green-cushioned chair of ebony, she was as regal as the king in Court. />
  As always, her impeccable appearance made Elzan feel eight years old and grubby. Indeed, he was grubby after riding six days and not even taking time to splash his face when he reached the palace. The news he had heard was more important than washing before racing to the temple to greet his mother.

  "It may surprise you to learn I do not know everything that occurs in the palace.” Mayar nodded, dismissing Jushta so she and her son were alone in her workroom with its wide windows and green-tiled floor. “As a member of the Host of the Ram, Captain of the East Gate and the Water Gate, I would expect you to know the activities of the army better than I."

  "Mother...” Despite the slow burn of frustration, Elzan smiled. Only his mother could rebuke without screaming. That had always set her above the King's other concubines. He settled onto the edge of the table covered with slates and jars and boxes of healing powders and salves, slightly to her right. “For the last two moons the East Gate has been trying to beat some skill into the Host of the Water Gate. We never heard about the failure of the Sacred Marriage until we were two days away.” He scratched at the stubble of beard grown during his long, hard ride back to the capital. “How is my—how is the King, since that happened?"

  "Shaken.” Mayar contemplated her unadorned fingers in her lap. “Rumors circle the palace and fly out into the city, my hawk. It is hard to quiet them, when the drought proves them true. We should have had torrents of rain, but there was no virgin blood spilled. The maiden was not inhabited by Mother Matrika. And before we could gather the priests and learn who was at fault, she or the King, she vanished."

  "Ran away?"

  "If she lost her virginity while living in the Sanctum, I would expect her to flee for her life. The remains of her body were found three days later, eaten by dogs. Rumors say she was killed to hide the fact that the King was at fault."

  "No.” Elzan stood to pace as he thought through implications and possibilities. “My father—the King would never order it. He would admit his guilt and willingly take the punishment from Chizhedek. But others would act to protect him, if they thought he was guilty. How do we find the truth and prove it?"

  Elzan's head ached and he was tired and gritty from his long ride. He wore his traveling leathers and they stuck to his bruised, sweaty flesh like an unpleasant second skin, scraping as he paced. For the first time in moons, Elzan looked forward to his summer Court costume of short kilt and bare chest. He was glad tradition forbade him to grow a beard until he was invested in his permanent rank; whether as a soldier, on the Council, or as the Crown Prince. With the growing heat, the less hair and costuming he had to endure, the better.

  "Could the Bride have been drugged to block Mother Matrika?” he finally asked.

  "If Matrika wished to bless Bainevah, could mere drugs keep her away? Many believe the foretold disaster is coming on us. I am among them,” his mother admitted.

  "What haven't I heard?” He went to his knees beside her chair and clasped her hands. It surprised him, as always, that he was taller than his mother, his hands larger. She was still the guiding light of his world, the source of calm and wisdom and strength—how could she be small?

  "The Hidden City and the Three have vanished,” Lady Mayar whispered, closing her eyes.

  "The Prophecy."

  "Yes."

  "Anath made me believe Shazzur was being brought home in punishment, not to help us.” Elzan bared his teeth. “The King must believe now only Shazzur understands the Prophecy. Only Shazzur can guide Bainevah from disaster."

  "Therefore, he sent Asqual to bring him home in honor. And with speed."

  "And?” he prompted, when she began to speak, then hesitated.

  "And with his daughter. My dear friend Naya's child. We must prepare to protect her, my hawk."

  "Protect?” He tried to recall dim memories of a quiet child with big, gray eyes. What was her name?

  "Naya did not die simply because the ignorant and foolish thought she spoke blasphemy. Many priests agreed with her warnings of disaster. She was slaughtered in front of the altar to harm Shazzur, more than any other reason. Theirs was a great love—losing her could have stolen his mind and made him useless to the King. If he had not had their daughter to protect, he might have indeed followed her into death."

  "You think someone will try to kill her daughter, for the same reason?"

  Lady Mayar shook her head as the roses faded from her cheeks. “Use her, twist her, degrade her to harm her father. The enemies of Bainevah will not try the same tactics again. They know she will be protected as if she were the only Sanctum Bride in the entire world. Indeed, that might be a wise idea...” Lady Mayar's gaze grew distant and she nodded, smiling grimly. Then she blinked and seemed to come back to the moment.

  "Whoever will try to take Shazzur's wisdom from the King will do it subtly, attacking his heart by discrediting Naya's daughter. Promise me, you will protect the girl as if she were your own full-blooded sister."

  "I swear, Mother.” Elzan clenched his fist, pressing his signet ring against his breastbone, so the sapphire in the ram's mouth left a dent in his flesh.

  "Forgive me.” She cupped his rough, dirty cheek in her hand and gazed into the luminous black eyes he inherited from her.

  "For what?"

  "For not giving you a host of full-blooded brothers to stand with you. These are perilous times we enter, and you have so few friends among the princes."

  "The ones I have are true and worth ten times the others.” Elzan flinched as he remembered what had slipped his mind. “Mother, Rushtan was poisoned while we were at battle games."

  "How is he?” She stood, reaching for her healer's bag.

  "Fine. I ... healed him.” He stayed kneeling, feeling again like the impetuous little boy who had tried for grand things and only made a mess.

  "Ah. I see.” Lady Mayar sat again and caught his chin with two fingers to tip his head back and look into his eyes.

  A faint, golden glow sprang from her fingers and encircled Elzan's head. She frowned as the healing aura faded.

  "Elzan, will you let me call Vandan to examine you?"

  "Please, Mother. I heard strange voices when I fell into the blackness.” He shook his head. “Do full healers hear voices, as if dark spirits were arguing over souls?"

  "Not that I am aware. Vandan would know.” She reached for the jade mallet to tap her silver gong, to summon Jushta. “These are perilous times. Matrika guards Bainevah, but what if the guardians of other lands attack her? It is not for mortals to know what the Unseen permits among the demi-gods."

  * * * *

  Two hours later, shaved and washed, oiled and dressed for Court, Elzan walked the long hallway reserved for the royal family, which led to the King's Council chamber. He went to formally present himself to the King and announce his return to the city, as required. He hoped also to learn the preparations for Shazzur and his daughter's return to Bainevah.

  Vandan, a third rank healer, had looked into his mind to determine what Elzan had witnessed after healing Rushtan. The priest had no idea, though he agreed with Lady Mayar's theory. He promised to research the matter with the keeper of the archives and send word to Elzan when they had an answer. He warned it might never be more than his mother's theory. Elzan had to be satisfied with that.

  His white summer Court kilt whispered against his knees and the edges of the star-shaped plates of his green enameled belt scratched his bare midriff. Elzan tried to ignore the itch of the kohl around his eyes and the heavy slipperiness of the wide enameled pectoral collar he wore. It didn't take long to get used to a simple lifestyle, he reflected; and to grow un-used to the jewels and costuming of Court. Sometimes he wished he could renounce his royal blood, take himself out of contention for the throne, and become something less hazardous to his health and sanity; a soldier living on the border with Dreva or constantly chasing the raiders from Chadrasheer, for instance.

  Rushtan and other half-brothers could do that without fear of repr
isal from the next king. They had not been considered heir apparent from the day they were born. As the King's firstborn, son of the First Concubine and High Priestess of the Healers Temple, Elzan was too public a figure to give up the throne without outcry from both commoners and nobles. People would rally to him and rebel against the next king, whether Elzan wanted it or not.

  More important, Elzan believed only two other princes able to lead Bainevah if he did not. He loved the kingdom and the people too much to entrust them to the other contenders.

  "Back so soon?” Anath said, as Elzan rounded the final corner in the hallway to reach the Council chamber.

  Three princes sat in the round room before the closed door, all dark of hair and eye, with wide shoulders and the square faces they all inherited from the King; a face that could look noble one moment and ugly as an enraged bear the next.

  "You can't go in,” he added with a smirk, as Elzan opened his mouth to respond. “Can he?"

  Abrak and Mornan shook their heads. Neither one ever said much in Anath's presence.

  All three were dressed to the height of fashion, their kilts heavily embroidered with gold and precious stones so Elzan thought the cloth would tear from the weight. Their collars hung nearly to their navels. They wore enough rings and armbands for a merchant's shop, and their slippers were heavy with gemstones. In contrast, Elzan's gold-painted leather sandals looked almost naked with simplicity.

  Elzan felt half-naked compared to his three half-brothers—and he felt more like a man than they looked.

  "Is the King with Council, or is he ill? Rumors say he might have been poisoned,” Elzan added. Lady Mayar had told him all the news of the city. Poison was one of many explanations for the failure of the Sacred Marriage and the dearth of rain.

  "The rumors say more than that.” Anath slouched against the wall and daintily crossed his ankles.

  Elzan looked at his three perfumed and painted brothers and knew the disaster Shazzur predicted was already on them. If King Nebazz died tomorrow and enemies stormed the gates by noon, Bainevah was gravely in trouble. All the princes had nominal charge of different Hosts and Gates, to lead in the defense of the city. Elzan imagined his brothers squabbling over their hierarchy of command instead of concentrating on defending Bainevah. The country would be torn apart while they argued over who had the right to wear gold while the others wore silver and who would coordinate all the army units.