“The gift shall be returned to the giver.”
At her words, the zeloka's head emerged from beneath its wing. It snatched the golden chain and flew upwards following the spiral of the white stair.
“Lady,” Kerish said, “must it be me?”
Imarko answered him tenderly. “No, dearest child. Turn and look behind you.”
Kerish looked back through the seven gates to the Desolation of Zarn.
At first he only saw the grey hills. Then his eyes focused on a thin huddled figure, already half covered by dust.
“I understand,” whispered Kerish. “All that I am and all that I ever shall be.”
Imarko nodded. “You have unlocked the Gate of Death. No one will force you through it again. Now look up.”
The ramparts had fused into a great rainbow, curving to enfold the garden of Imarko. At the center of this shining circle was the white stair. It climbed up far beyond his sight and as Kerish looked at the stair it seemed to change. He realized that each step was as huge as a country. Tiny as he seemed in comparison to the stair, Kerish found that his eyes could range over those countries as if he were flying above them.
On the lowest step was a city overlooking a turquoise sea; its silent streets walked by a single figure. The man looked up and seemed to salute Kerish. His face was noble and sad. It was only by his silver gloves that the Prince recognized Shubeyash.
Within moments he had been swept higher and was looking down on a rocky island and the ruins of a temple, its dark stones split open to let in the light. Beside the ruin stood Khan O-grak, with his arm around a brown-haired woman. In front of them, thigh-deep in the earth, was the Khan's soul figure. Its dark wood was mellowing to a rich gold and it grew tall and straight and human. The wooden hands seemed raised in greeting to Kerish as he floated higher.
The third step was covered by grasslands. Where they met the turbulent sea a silver-haired girl was walking with a great green cat bounding at her side. Kerish knew that they were immeasurably distant and yet they seemed to see him. The cat gave a noise halfway between a growl and a purr of welcome. Gwerath smiled. It was a smile full of loving friendship, as if all that she had once felt for Forollkin now belonged to him too, with no possibility of jealousy to mar their triple happiness.
“Wait for me . . .” Gwerath nodded. Surely she had heard, but the vision was fading as he was drawn upwards. As he hovered above a wild and beautiful garden Kerish glimpsed Gankali and Lord Jerenac among the trees, but he did not at first recognize the two figures who stood beside a crystal pavilion. The silver-haired woman looked like an older Gwerath, but a Gwerath who had known great happiness. The man might have been himself, older and tired, but purged of all bitterness. When he smiled, Kerish knew him, though he had never seen such a look on that face before.
“Father . . . Mother!”
As he spoke, he sensed Taana's presence, rich with the love that was his legacy, and knew that he was the completion of his parents' joy. Then, under the trees, he noticed a third figure - Rimoka his stepmother. He felt his parents' tenderness reach out to her, but the Empress buried her face in her hands and would not look up. Kerish knew that they would not cease to implore her forgiveness until she too was drawn into their happiness. Kerish longed to be with them.
“Wait for me . . .” They promised with their eyes, but the vision faded. Kerish hovered for a moment over the step where the temples of Hildimarn rose anew and Ka-Metranee and her mother walked together on the white beach. Then he was swept up into the mountains where Izeldon stood. He knew at once that the High Priest had the strength to climb to the very summit of the stair, but something held him back.
“Is it me?” murmured Kerish.
Izeldon looked up, the eyes of the Godborn shining with compassion in his strong, peaceful face. “I will wait for you.”
Kerish knew that the words came to him across a distance far greater than he could comprehend. For a terrifying moment he thought his vision would sweep him even further up the stair than Izeldon had climbed.
“Imarko!” he cried, and she was with him at the foot of the stair. “Lady, have you waited for me here?”
“Since the day of my death.”
Each strand of her hair seemed resplendent with more colors than the rainbow rampart, but the hand she held out to Kerish was frail and human.
“What must I do?” he asked.
“You have let Zeldin shape you,” said Imarko. “There is no other Saviour Prince, but you have carried more than your share of the world's sorrows and you have won the right to peace. Mount the stair. The climb is hard, but you will never be alone.”
Kerish took one step forward and then stopped. “But if I do, what will happen to Galkis?”
“Our children are grown now,” said the first Empress of Galkis. “We have offered them everything, but we shall not force them to take it.”
“What will happen?” repeated Kerish, “to my brother, to Viroc . . . ?”
A tear shone on Imarko's cheek. “Viroc will fall.”
“Show me,” whispered Kerish.
All Galkis was mirrored in the tear of Imarko. In the moment of its fall, Kerish saw the walls of Viroc crimson with the cloaks of Fangmere. The night was filled with fire as half the city burned, but on the royal road two hundred horsemen, gaunt as their half-starved mounts, were fleeing north. In their midst rode Kelinda, her hair brightened by the flames. The horseman beside her held in his arms the wounded and unconscious figure of the Lord Commander of Galkis.
The scene blurred and was followed by a swift succession of images, as if weeks and months were slipping past. Kerish saw his brother fight battle after battle as the army of the Five Kingdoms thrust deeper and deeper into Galkis. He watched the barbarians reach the capital and strip the gold from its walls. The Inner Palace burned and Follea died, stabbed as she struggled with the warriors looting her jewels.
The Emperor and his brother, High Priest Im-lo-Torim, had taken refuge in the temple of Zeldin, high in the mountains. When a trembling novice reported that the barbarians were close, they drank irandaan till the starflowers bloomed in the darkness of their minds bringing madness and death. Little Princess Koligani refused to drink and was taken captive by warriors from Chiraz.
As Kerish watched, the dead faces of his half-brothers dissolved into a vision of Li-Kroch flinching as Zyrindella placed a copy of the Imperial Crown upon his head. Last of all Kerish saw Hildimarn's deserted temples and the white strand on which Imarko had walked in the morning of the world. Three ships stood off the shore and people were wading through the shallows towards them. The last to come aboard were a woman with pale copper hair and a man who looked back towards Galkis with a desperate longing.
*****
The tear of Imarko struck the ground and the visions broke.
“Must this happen?” asked Kerish.
“Child, it has happened as you watched.”
Kerish bowed his head. “Then there is no hope for Galkis?”
“There is always hope for the souls of Galkis,” answered Imarko. “The gift of my death is always with them. The gift of your life has yet to be offered. Galkis needs one last Emperor to teach my people that they are all Godborn and must rule themselves under Zeldin's mercy.”
“An Emperor?”
She looked at him steadily. “Galkis still remembers the Third Prince and his quest. The faithful wait for your return.”
“But he . . . I am dead,” whispered Kerish. “There is nothing more that I can do for them.”
“Except to live again, beloved,” said Imarko. “There is hope in the jungle of Jenze where Gidjabolgo mourns you and teaches the Ferrabrinth what you were. There is hope among the exiles, in the love that is growing between Forollkin and his Queen. There is hope in the faith and goodness and courage of thousands of Galkians and in many whom you have called enemies.”
“Must I be born again?”
At his tone, Imarko took him in her arms like the starry night enfol
ding the troubled earth. “Born to pain and sorrow and death. Beloved, do you think that I cannot remember how much life hurts us? Climb the stair and be at peace.”
She was weeping, for she already knew his answer.
“No,” said Kerish-lo-Taan, as the dust of Zarn covered his bones, “I will live.”
Epilogue
The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows
Our lives are spent shaping gifts for the future, to bring pleasure or pain that we shall never see.
The child moved cautiously amongst the maze of rock, pausing to stare at each tortured shape. He had crawled among them before he could walk and he was not afraid. He knew that once these rocks had screamed but now they were always silent. Lichens and spring flowers blurred their monstrous strangeness. His startling eyes seemed the only live thing in the grave young face as the child stealthily continued his search. He came to the rock which always reminded his father of a snarling marsh cat. The cat-rock looked the same as ever but when the child touched it he heard a faint rumbling purr.
“I've found you!” His yell of triumph turned to a squeal of mock terror as the rock shimmered and a flaxen-haired young man swept him off his feet.
“Hah! A Dik-bird who's forgotten his own nest would have been quicker finding it than you've been finding me.” Ellandellore's green eyes sparkled as he whirled the child round before setting him down on the white sand. “Much longer and you would have missed seeing your father's ship come in.”
“He's really back?”
“Do you doubt my word?”
“I wish I could see things from far off, like you do. Will you teach me?”
“No.”
“Then will you show me how to make myself look like a rock?”
“No,” repeated Ellandellore but with his most charming smile.
“Will you make the rocks scream for me again?”
“No!”
King Ellandellore was still smiling but the child looked up at him sharply. “Have I made you angry, or sad? Didn't you like it when the rocks screamed?”
“No, no, and no,” answered Ellandellore, with varying degrees of truth. “Come on, we must climb to the Citadel to see the ship come in.”
“Why won't you teach me things?” persisted the child.
“You learn too fast by yourself,” muttered Ellandellore as they began walking.
“Is it because Father was angry when I told him what he was thinking? I did explain that it wasn't your fault.”
“Thank you for that.”
They came to the edge of the rocks and took the path that climbed to the crest of the highest hill on Cheransee.
“Then why?”
“I might risk your father's anger, but I made a promise to your mother that I dare not break.”
“Dare not? But mother wouldn't hurt anyone.”
Ellandellore looked down at the child's puzzled face. “There is a great strength in gentleness like hers. I had to learn that and so must you, Kerish.”
They climbed in silence for a while, with their backs to the sea. As the path curved southward, the plain spread out before them and the jumbled noises of daily living floated towards them. The city of exiles was still growing. There were newcomers' tents among the simple turf and timber huts defiantly flying the flags of Tryfania, Morolk, Jenoza and Galkis. Refugees were arriving from all over the fallen Empire, rebelling against the oppressive rule of Zyrindella in the north or fleeing from southern cities occupied by warriors from the Five Kingdoms. Ellandellore gazed down at the young city he had sworn to protect but the child was tugging at his arm for attention.
“Can I come and stay with you again?”
“Not this year. You'll be away from your parents long enough on your visit to Vethnar. Don't sulk. He'll be delighted with you, since you ask almost as many questions as he does. I think you'll like him too.”
“Oh I do...I mean, I will”
Ellandellore knelt to embrace the trembling boy. “What is it, Kerish?”
The answer was always the same. “I don't know. The other one came.”
No-one could stop the boy believing that another person lived inside him, or prevent these sudden tremors.
“Will it be all right when I'm older?” Kerish would ask. “Will we grow together?” Most adults tried to reassure him with vague promises but he sensed their disquiet. His father refused to talk about it.
The boy wriggled out of Ellandellore's embrace. “Come on. We mustn't be late!”
The Sorcerer King straightened, his green eyes dangerously flecked with gold.
“True. So race you to the summit!”
*****
Queen Kelinda stood beneath the tower of Tir-Racneth watching her husband's ship negotiate the one safe channel through the rocks that surrounded Cheransee. No hostile vessel would ever find it. The new King of Ellerinonn retained enough power to protect the Galkian exiles from the fleet of Fangmere. The ship had nearly reached the shallows and they would soon be lowering the longboat to come ashore.
“Shall I fetch you a cloak, my lady,” said an eager voice. “The wind turns cold.”
“No, I hardly feel it, but thank you, Feernax.”
Kelinda gave her slow sweet smile to the young Tryfanian lord who had travelled so far to join them.
“Lady, if the Queen your sister will lend us only ten ships, I swear we can clear the Footsteps of those murderers from Fangmere. Then the Jorgan Islanders will surely rise against them.”
“Not unless they are assured of help from Tryfania,” answered Kelinda.
“That will come!” declared Feernax.
He had brought a letter from Kor-Li-Zynak himself, begging the exiles to rescue him from his mother and uncle. Everything that Zyrindella had done was for a son who feared and hated her. Now that she was a mother herself, Kelinda could not help feeling a little sorry for Zyrindella.
“Far-Tryfarn has rebelled once already,” Feernax was saying, “and Yxin and Zyrindella are hated now even in Montra-Lakon.”
“Yes, but who is hated more – Queen Zyrindella or the barbarians squatting in the south? However bad her government, she will always find supporters as long as she defends her borders against the Five Kingdoms. That is the worst of wars.”
Feernax frowned. “Then perhaps we should start in the south. If we seized Ephaan...”
“With ten ships? Ah, don't look so downcast. You are right, Feernax, we must be bold, but I was always one to see the shadows rather than the sunlight.”
“Lady, you are our sun!” He seized her hand and kissed it. “You keep our faith bright. When I am near you, I know that Zeldin will deliver his people. He will send back the Third Prince to be our Saviour and we shall be ready!”
Kelinda smiled tightly, glad that Forollkin wasn't there to be hurt by the young zealot's words.
“If only King Ellandellore would allow us to anchor war-ships in the harbors of Ellerinonn...”
Feernax broke off as the King himself ran over the brow of the hill with Kelinda's little son at his heels.
“There, I told you'd I'd win.”
“But you cheated!” The boy ran into Kelinda's arms. “Mother, he turned into a bird and flew most of the way. That's not fair, is it?”
“No indeed. Shame on you, my Lord of Ellerinonn.”
“I wither before your just rebuke, oh Queen.”
Ellandellore bowed extravagantly, though in the presence of his former citadel, his face was sombre. The crooked tower of Tir-Racneth was deserted but the children of the exiles sometimes rummaged among its treasures, trying on the jewels of the drowned as carelessly as Ellandellore had once done.
Down on the shore, the boat was beached and the returning Galkians climbed the hill by the shortest path. The Lord Commander was the first to reach the summit. His son tore across the grass to greet him. He had jumped up to kiss the scarred cheek and begun to chatter before Forollkin could say, “How's my boy?”
“I can recite half The Book of Sorrows
now, well almost, and I'm nearly as tall as the next mark on the wall. Meyvinn's had a daughter and Ellandellore hid in the cat-rock and it took me ages to find him. Did Aunt Pellameera send me any presents?”
“Perhaps she did. You'll have to wait and see.”
Forollkin had almost flinched at the mention of Queen Pellameera. He hadn't expected the years to treat her so unkindly and he couldn't forget her twisted smile as she listened to the lying praises of her young lovers.
“Forollkin....”
He turned with grateful love to the Queen of Seld's sister and kissed her. Their son was still clinging round his neck.
“What sort of presents did she perhaps send me? How long do I have to wait?”
From a discreet distance, Lord Feernax studied them, trying to find the parents in the child. Kerish-lo-Kelin would never be as tall as his father. Perhaps the fine bones and slight frame came from his mother. The rich brown hair with its red glints was a mixture of them both and you could trace Forollkin in the strength of the chin and Kelinda in the gentleness of the smiling mouth. Yet the eyes were purely Godborn, huge and fathomless, purple, golden and black. “An omen,” the exiles had whispered when those eyes first opened, “the best of omens for Galkis.”
The little group broke up as Forollkin's companions reached Tir-Racneth and came forward to greet their Queen. In Galkis such a collection of soldiers and farmers, priests and craftspeople, nobles and ex-slaves would never have known each other. In exile, they worked together. Feernax was soon among them eagerly asking questions but it was Lord Forollkin himself who answered, “The Queen of Seld will spare us nine ships and all the young trouble-makers of her court. Now that the alliance between the Brigands of Fangmere and the Men of the Five Kingdoms is broken, Pellameera concedes that there is hope for us.”
“Father, why are our enemies angry with each other?”
Forollkin set his son down on the grass and answered him seriously, “Because the Brigands of Fangmere think that the Men of the Five Kingdoms don't honor the Dark Goddess as they should. The Brigands wanted to murder your cousin, Koligani to please the goddess. They will never forgive Cil-Rahgen of Chiraz for saving and marrying her. The Princes of Oraz and Mintaz are angry with him too, since they argue about everything they steal from Galkis.”
The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) Page 26
