But Ceravanne turned away so that not one child remained.
And when the Rodim were all dead, the Swallow put a single red rose upon the grave of Belorian, and another upon the grave of the chieftain of the Rodim, to signify that she forgave him and his people, though she had not spared them. Then she proclaimed a year of mourning for the Rodim who lay dead, and for those who were forced to kill them.
None who beheld her could miss the horror on her face, nor deny her torment. And hours later the Swallow disappeared, and her crystal scepter was found in the mud of her courtyard. Many thought she had chosen to die rather than live without Belorian; while others imagined that she was so horrified by the genocide that was done in her behalf that she turned her back on mankind forever; but her friends swore that she would return when her grief had run its course, and so the legends said that someday she would come back to lead the Accord.
“Four hundred and eighty years ago the Swallow left rich Indallian,” Gallen intoned. “And still her heart knows no peace. Yet in songs and legends, people here remember the days of the Accord.”
Maggie looked toward the door that led to the tower, understanding why Ceravanne sought refuge in silence. Ceravanne had said earlier that her love, Belorian, was fresh on her mind, and Maggie felt the pain of knowing that she was surely losing Gallen to the Inhuman, just as Ceravanne had lost Belorian to the Rodim.
Gallen lay beside Maggie and stared into the fire, unable to sleep for a long time. Sometimes, he thought he could hear snatches of whispers, and he saw brief visions, tatters of memories that belonged to other people. But the song of the Inhuman was weak tonight, possibly because of the storm. Even as this thought struck Gallen, he heard the distant rumble of thunder, confirming his suppositions.
He got up quietly so as not to rouse Maggie, and he put some twigs on the fire.
“How many lives you recall?” Tallea whispered, letting the sound of her voice fill the night.
“Just the seven,” Gallen answered. Then to fill up the silence that followed, he said, “I wonder how many more the Inhuman has in store for me.”
“A hundred lives to be remembered,” Tallea said. “You fortunate, remember them slowly, over days. Should be easy.”
“Yes.” Gallen smiled wanly. “I’m fortunate.” A cold shiver of fright wriggled down his backbone. He went to his pack, dug around for a moment, then pulled out a thin film of translucent material and applied it to his face.
His face suddenly shone like blue starlight as he put on the mask of Fale, and he stood for a moment, his black robes draped over him, weapons bristling on his back and thighs. He recalled how the witnesses at his trial back home had imagined he was a sidhe when thus garbed, a magical being with malevolent intent, and now Gallen could indeed feel it. With his face gleaming in the dark like a ghost, there was little human left in him. He looked like a thing.
Gallen stood at the door, as if he would walk out into the night rain, and for a moment he wanted to do that, just walk away into the dark and the cleansing rain that was sweeping down in misty sheets.
Instead he went to a back corridor of the great hall. The floors were thick with dust and moss, old leaves, and the husks of pine nuts carried in by squirrels.
He stood for a moment, testing the air to see whether the Inhuman would try to send him more memories. But there was nothing. It seemed that for the time being, he was free.
Using his mantle’s night, vision, Gallen negotiated the passageways until he found some stairs curving up the wall of a tower. Muddy footprints showed that Ceravanne had been here recently, and though Gallen mistrusted her, he felt drawn to her.
He climbed the winding stairs for twenty meters, till he found a room that opened at the top. There, several arching windows were still intact; weathered stones surrounded casements that had long ago rotted into dust. Ceravanne stood beside one such window. Ivy grew in dust on the floor, so that she stood as if in a meadow, surrounded by foliage, staring out into the rain. Her back was to him, and she shivered.
Gallen went to her, stood for a moment. He could feel the heat of her body near his, and he inhaled her clean scent. He knew that it was only pheromones that drew him so vigorously, yet he found himself wishing to hold her, to comfort her.
“I hoped you would come,” she said, and she turned. With the light amplification provided by his mantle, he could see that she’d been crying, and she stared into his face, at the mask, and he wondered what she saw. A blue glowing phantom, with dark holes for eyes.
She took his hands, held them lightly, and studied his face. She was breathing heavily, and she said, “That song—I have to ask—from whom did you learn it?”
“From a minstrel named Tam, who lived here ages ago,” Gallen answered.
“But this man, did he remember me? He didn’t know the Swallow in person?”
“You were but newly gone when he composed the song,” Gallen said.
“And Belorian? Did he know Belorian?” Her voice was nearly hysterical, as if she hoped for some word of her long-dead lover.
“No,” Gallen whispered. “He never knew Belorian.”
Ceravanne gasped and began weeping, fell against Gallen’s chest. “Ah, I thought he had. I thought you remembered his face.” Then she sobbed from the core of her soul, and Gallen clumsily put his arms around her, tried to ease her pain.
“So many tears, for one long dead,” Gallen whispered.
Ceravanne looked up, stroked his chin. “You look much like him,” she said. “When we first met, I kissed you inappropriately. I guess I wanted you to love me. Being near you has been hard. Forgive me if I’ve offended you with my affection.”
Gallen licked his lips, stepped back. He’d been aware of Ceravanne, of her graceful movements, of the longing glances she sometimes gave him. He’d imagined that it was all a ploy, a sly attempt to manipulate him. And the Inhuman, with its clever tongue, whispered that this was true-another cruel attempt by the Tharrin to ensnare him. Gallen had never dreamed that Ceravanne could really have felt anything for him, and now he saw that he was but a shadow to her.
“I’m sorry.” He found himself unaccountably apologizing. “I didn’t know.”
She looked at him oddly, as if wondering if he told the truth. “Of course you couldn’t have known.” She turned away. “What of Maggie? Have your feelings for her changed?”
“Today, I learned of the most marvelous people, far to the south. The Yakrists, they are called, and they care for others more than they care for themselves. They love one another perfectly, and as I lived the life of a Yakrist, I came to understand how weak and imperfect my love for Maggie has been.”
“So your feelings for her are changed?”
“I will try to be more … understanding of her needs,” Gallen said. “Perhaps if I were Inhuman, I would love her more perfectly.”
Ceravanne nodded, obviously distraught, and Gallen realized that she had hoped he would answer differently, that he would say he was abandoning Maggie.
“And you believe that by enslaving others, the Inhuman is showing that kind of great love?”
“Ceravanne,” Gallen whispered. “I think there is something you should know. The Inhuman is not completely wrong, here. It only wants us to understand one another, to help one another.”
There was a cruel laughing, something that Gallen could almost not imagine hearing from Ceravanne’s throat. “Don’t tell me that,” she whispered fiercely. “I’ve seen what the dronon are up to. They care nothing for us, nothing for each other. They love only their Golden Queen, and they serve her ruthlessly.”
“And yet they want peace,” Gallen said. “They want us to unite with them, and they’re offering … so much in return.”
“What are they offering?”
“Life. Rebirth,” Gallen said. “They’re going to open restrictions on giving rebirth to nonhumans. And anyone can be reborn into the body of their choice, experience life as they desire.
“An
d peace!” Gallen continued. “In the past, the people of Babel have been slaughtered in ruthless wars, with everyone trying to conquer their neighbors. But among the hosts of the Inhuman, everyone will live fuller lives. I know what it is to be a Yakrist, and now that I know them, I could never harm one of them. That is what the Inhuman offers, a knowledge of our own brotherhood. And the Dronon will take care of the people of Babel.”
“Gallen,” Ceravanne said, looking at him as if he were mad, and a knife of fear stabbed him, for Gallen wondered if he was mad. “The dronon don’t care for us,” she said reasonably. “You can’t imagine that they do. When their own infants are sick or crippled, they grind them up to fertilize their fields. You’re trying to make sense, but the dronon are using your own compassion against you. And it’s damned unfair of them to ask you to be compassionate, when they lack that capacity themselves. They don’t want to free us from our wars and infighting, they want to create nations of slaves with them as our masters. All of the technologies they offer to benefit mankind are technologies we’ve already developed. If they succeed in taking over, just watch them. They’ll give rebirth only to those who serve them best. And they want you to feel good about it.”
Gallen listened to her words carefully, tried to hold on to them, but somehow their meaning evaded him. I used to think like she does, Gallen realized. But when? It seemed to him that his fears of the dronon had stemmed from a dream—a long time ago. Something about Maggie, wearing a Guide, while trapped in a dronon fortress. But just at the moment, he couldn’t recall. Instead, a more pressing argument came to mind. “You are no more human than a dronon is,” Gallen said, brightening. “Why should you rule us?”
“Because humans created me for that purpose,” Ceravanne countered. “And I crave to serve them. But unlike the dronon, I never force my rule on anyone. If humans desire to elect a human leader, that is their option. But the dronon will not let you serve as equals. They will never accept human leaders.”
There was a long pause, and Gallen listened to her words but could not understand how any sane person could arrive at her conclusion. He finally managed, “The Dronon will accept us. Maggie and I, we are the leaders of the Sixth Swarm. We could take our rightful place, show them how to live together with us in harmony!”
“But humans don’t want to live with them!” Ceravanne said.
“Agreed, most of them don’t,” Gallen whispered, and there was an unusual intensity in his voice. He felt almost as if his mouth moved of its own accord, and he merely listened to the words it said. “But what of the people of Babel? They are not humans. Can’t you see how your policies afflict them? They have no sense of purpose, so few social bonds across tribes. They have no law, no access to technology. You created them, then abandoned them. They need what humans and the dronon have!”
“Gallen, I was not formed to be a judge of the peoples of Babel. I can’t take care of them, any more than the dronon could. I don’t understand all of their needs, all of their hopes. I don’t even force my judgments on humans.
“But let me ask you this, Gallen. Is it our obligation to govern other peoples, or to find a purpose in life for them, or to be their friends?” Ceravanne asked, and her voice was desperate. “You are human, from a world not unlike Tremonthin: who ever tried to give you a purpose in life? Who ever protected you? Can’t you see—all of these things that you say the humans owe the people of Babel, in your own country, you don’t even force them on your own children. It would be wicked to do so. If these people in Babel want law, then they have to figure out how to create and enforce their own laws. They weren’t designed to live by human standards, and I can’t take the right to govern themselves away from them.”
“But you deny them life …” Gallen objected, angry that she would not or could not see his point.
“And we deny most of our own people more than one life,” Ceravanne said. “Even the best of us often only get our lives extended by a few decades.”
“But the humans of Tremonthin created these people,” Gallen objected. “You owe them!”
“Since we created them, doesn’t it stand to reason that they owe us for the blessing of life?” Ceravanne countered. “Think of it. Do we owe them more than we owe our own children? Even for our own children, we make no guarantees. We make no promises of love or acceptance or wealth. No society can promise all of these things to its individuals. Happiness comes as a reward for a life well lived. It cannot be an entitlement.”
“But …”
“There are no buts,” Ceravanne said. “Gallen, all of your thoughts, all of those confused feelings, those are just the Inhuman talking. Those notions don’t make any sense when you look at them closely. But the dronon want you to believe them. The dronon want you to believe that their Golden Queen will take care of us. But you’ve seen what the dronon offer on other worlds. They want to feed off us, as parasites. Gallen, the dronon showed you the lives of a few folks. They told you a story, providing the sights, the smells, the emotions. They told you a lie.
“But more importantly, I want you to realize that you are spouting dangerous dogma that doesn’t necessarily follow from the information you’ve been given. Think about it, and you’ll know I’m right. The dronon are teaching you on a subconscious level, altering your thought patterns. The memories they feed you only serve to cover the deeper alterations, and to make you think that you changed your mind on your own.”
Gallen was stunned. She had all the answers, all waiting in her hand like needles to prod him with. It seemed obvious that she had argued against the Inhuman before. He felt confused, and a buzzing sounded in his ears, sounded so loudly that he had a hard time thinking. He wanted to speak against her, but he could not think what to say next. The room seemed to be spinning, and Gallen found himself wanting to take Ceravanne by the throat, shake some sense into her. For the moment he seemed certain of only one thing: she was his enemy.
He grabbed her neck and pushed her against the wall. “Liar! Deceitful little vixen!” he said, and the room spun mightily so that he wondered if he could even stand. In his mind, her presence registered only as some hateful creature, a woman with long skeletal hands, groping for him.
Ceravanne hit the stone wall and slid down, her mouth open as if she would cry out, her eyes wide with fear, and Gallen knew that if she spoke again, he would have to silence her. Lightning struck outside—once, twice, a third time.
But the Tharrin only sat heavily in the ivy leaves. For a long moment, she only breathed, and Gallen’s anger began to pass. The room quit spinning, and Gallen’s mantle whispered, Seek shelter below, next to Maggie, quickly! And suddenly Gallen knew that the Inhuman had been communicating with him, trying to download its arguments directly into his mind.
Gallen stood gazing down at Ceravanne. “Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, and she folded her arms, sat gazing up at him, a helpless child.
Gallen found that his sword had unaccountably appeared in his hand. Some time in the past minute, he had drawn it. And he’d been prepared to kill her, without thinking.
He shoved it back into his scabbard, and he wanted to run then, wanted to rush down the stairs and hide in the woods for what he’d almost done. He felt terribly embarrassed.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, white shock registering in his brain only as numbness. “The Inhuman can be … subtle.”
“You’re forgiven,” Ceravanne said with a tiny nod. She reached up her thin hand, so that he could help her up.
He took it, pulled her to a standing position. His heart was hammering with fear, and something else … The air in the room was moist and closed, and Ceravanne’s scent was thick. She was trembling, frightened, and he wanted to ease her mind. So he kissed her hand, looking into her eyes. She was small and pale, like a porcelain figure. Her hand, when he kissed it, tasted sweet. He’d almost forgotten how sweet the taste of a Tharrin could be.
Ceravanne reached up, and she was shaking, leaning against him. Her whole bod
y trembled. She gazed deeply into his eyes. “You see,” she whispered desperately, “that I was right when I told you that I needed your heart. If you do not give it to me, the Inhuman will take it. Gallen, give me your heart!”
She kissed his chin experimentally, then brushed her lips against his. A burning passion rose in him, and Gallen kissed her full on the lips, pulling her close. She drew tight against him, her flesh folding into his like a lover’s, her arms embracing him. All thought retreated, and for one moment, there was only that passionate kiss blossoming like a field of wild poppies in his mind. Every nerve in his body tingled, her touch was lightning, and she groaned, tried to pull him to the floor there among the ivy.
Desperately, he pushed her away. “No!” Gallen cried. “I am married to Maggie!”
And he fled across the room from her, stood by the doorway. Ceravanne was on her knees now, breathing heavily, gazing at him, stunned. “No man has ever rejected me,” she said, hurt in her voice.
He turned for the door, and she said, “If it is Maggie you want, then be faithful to her, Gallen—remain as faithful to her in Moree as you have been tonight.”
Gallen hurried down the stairway, almost running. When he reached the bottom he found the fire still going. Tallea was hunched over it, putting in some more dry dung. Everyone else had gone to sleep, but Gallen stayed awake for the rest of the night while the others rested. He stared off into the rain, letting the full powers of his mantle keep watch while he remained on guard duty.
And through the night, ghosts came, the memories of people long dead, and they took him on journeys he could not sleep through and could not hope to escape. He felt like a child on a sandy beach, with water rushing in upon him with tremendous force, and with each crashing wave, the sand beneath him would shift, so that he felt as if something essential were being dragged away.
It did not matter where he stood in that little room. It did not matter that his mantle tried to block the signals. The Inhuman was overpowering him moment by moment, so that sometimes while the others slept, Gallen sobbed or cried out softly.
Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) Page 28
