“If this had been a battle, you would be dead.” He jerked his head at the shaved competitor. Desist. The man nodded, sheathed his knife.
The other swallowed, eyes widening in relief. “My Lord,” he rubbed his throat, where the knife had raised a red line. “Thank you.”
“You wish to express gratitude?” Will said. “Then fight better next time.”
“My lord.” The man hesitated. “In your estimation, did I do wrong?”
The young fighter’s humility pleased Will. Perhaps he was willing to learn; and a fighter willing to learn might go far.
“Next time you two fight,” Will indicated the other fighter, “use staves. So you do not accidentally kill each other. And slow your movements.”
“Lord?”
“Completing stances slowly …” – Will demonstrated: guard; attack; lunge; feint – “requires control. Strength. Patience. Qualities required in the arena, yes?” All the guards nodded, and Will saw excitement in their eyes; they were learning from the Warrior Prince, killer of the Eternal One, and, it was rumored, the greatest fighter of his age. “So,” Will spoke a little louder so the men at the back could hear, “think not of the tournament, of the glory of winning. Think only of the moment. Strive to do the best you can, in the moment you have, and greatness will come.”
* * *
“I heard you gave quite a speech.” TeSin broke the bone with a crack, and putting it to his mouth, loudly sucked at the marrow.
Will shrugged. “Hardly that.”
His friend wiped his hands on a napkin. “Mai-Long said otherwise. She said they cheered you when you finished.”
“I told them what you told me. About slowing the action, and focusing only on the now.”
The Emperor and the Warrior, together at table. Remember me, said the gypsy woman, when you come into your own. Had she seen this? The gold plates, the score of servants, the red silk hangings?”
“Ah.” TeSin waved a servant to remove the food. “Bring fruit,” he said curtly. “And withdraw. Tell me, what did you think of the competitors?”
“They were adequate.”
TeSin’s eyebrows lifted. “Faint praise.”
Will shrugged. “Mai-Long has trained them well.”
“So, as a teacher, you recommend her?”
A golden platter, heaped with fruit, was set before them. TeSin hesitated, considering the pile, and selected a pomegranate. Taking a small knife, he cut it into quarters, exposing the flesh. Will took a fig. At the edges of the rooms, the servants stepped back, seemingly disappearing into the drapery. There were doors there, leading to a hidden hallway that led beside the dining room and allowed the servitors to come and go at a moment’s notice.
Will shifted slightly on his padded bench. This custom of reclining to eat was not something that came naturally to him, but TeSin had insisted he became used to it, as this was the way of nobility. Not that there were many nobles remaining. TeSin had seen to that.
“My friend?” TeSin was waiting for his answer.
“Perhaps,” Will thought of Mai-Long’s high-pitched voice, her quick-to-flare temper. “Given time.”
“But not yet?”
“She is young.”
A half-smile. “So are you, Will Baker.”
“Me?” Will shook his head. “In years, perhaps.” He did not feel young. He had lived a life of hard travel. He’d seen battles aplenty, and horror enough. Sometimes he doubted he’d ever recover. Many a time he felt the only thing remaining was death.
“Tell me.” TeSin put a pomegranate seed in his mouth. “Would you take Mai-Long to wife?”
Will, about to sip his wine, choked.
TeSin laughed. “I see your excitement. You would be a good match, you know.”
Will shook his head. He could not help it, although he knew that to disagree with the Emperor, friend though he might be, was dangerous. “My lord –” He stopped, then added flatly: “No.”
Putting another pomegranate seed in his mouth, TeSin bit hard. Crunch. “Take your time.” And now he was not smiling.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dreams And Visions
“Hello, sleepyhead.” Mother, sitting beside my bed, set down her book and smiled.
I remembered fading light, and the sound of Rosa, crying. What had happened? I felt strange; heavy, ungainly, and curiously short of breath.
Mother handed me a cup of steaming liquid. “Nurse made you this.”
The brown liquid smelt bitterly acrid. I made a face and went to hand the cup back. Nurse’s remedies were almost always awful.
Mother shook her head. “If you don’t drink it, she’ll be annoyed.”
Good point. I lifted the beaker to my lips.
When something prodded my toes, I nearly spilt it. At the end of the bed stood Rosa. Without the necklace she seemed healthier: there was color in her cheeks and her brown eyes were bright.
“Hello, Dana. Nice to see you awake.”
I blinked at her. “What time is it?”
“Early afternoon.”
Outside, the sky was covered in white fluffy clouds, moving rapidly in a strong wind. Distantly, I heard the tinkling of the weather-bells. “Afternoon? What day?”
“Drink your medicine,” said Mother.
Obediently, I took a sip.
I shuddered. “That is truly horrible.”
“Good.” Mother sounded pleased. “That’s how you know it’s working.”
“Nurse’s medicines.” Rosa shook her head sympathetically. “I still remember them. They are awful, aren’t they?”
I took another, smaller sip and made a face.
“Where’s Leovane?” Rosa glanced at Mother. “Surely he should be here?”
“He was,” Mother replied. “But once we knew Dana was over the worst, he said he had to do something. He gets restless with nothing to do. I told him to go and check my bookwork. Oh good. You’ve finished.” Mother took the empty cup. “A glass of water?”
I nodded, anything to wash away the taste.
I thought I was going to die. There had been blood, so much blood. And pain, agony ripping through me, tearing me apart. I did die. So why am I still here?
“Dana? How are you feeling?” Rosa’s eyes were intent.
I stretched, enjoying the sensation of soft mattress and clean sheets. Moving about in bed was difficult; like I was carrying a heavy weight below my chest, and I could not bend because something was in the way.
“You’ve been asleep for a long time,” Rosa said, as I stared wide-eyed at my swollen stomach. I poked at my belly. It was hard, firm, and definitely mine.
My belly jumped suddenly, like a strong hiccup. I pressed my hand to it, tried to feel where the movement had come from, and yes! There it was again. “Holy Mother!” I pushed back, and thought, it’s a girl! How had I known this?
“Dear?” Mother said anxiously. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” I pushed on the stomach again. Gods, I felt awkward. My back ached and my breasts were full and uncomfortable. “How long,” I asked, still staring at my belly, “have I been asleep?”
I must have been asleep for ages. Months, perhaps. Perhaps the baby was nearly ready to be born! I need more time, I thought frantically. I need time to get used to this.
Mother squeezed my hand gently. “We are so glad you’re awake.”
Nurse bustled in. “What, all of you here?” She made shooing motions with her hands. “Just a few minutes awake and already there’s a gathering.”
“There’s only two of us,” Mother said.
“Two is too many,” she said. “All of you – out! Begging your pardon, Majesty,” she added and dropped a perfunctory curtsey.
Mother sighed. “Come on, Rosa. Let’s go and see what mess Leovane’s made of my addition.”
“Ferryman’s with him too,” Nurse said. “And that wanderer. What’s his name? Jed? Strange man. Finished your medicine already, my duck? Have another.” She pass
ed me another cup. If anything, this smelt worse than the first.
Rosa tucked her arm into Mother’s. “After you, Cyrilla.”
As though I was a child, Nurse plumped up my pillows then poked vigorously at the fire, muttering about the chambermaids under her breath.
I lay back, feeling guiltily luxurious. I was no longer in pain.
“Nurse,” I said sleepily. “How long was I ill?”
She peered at me, poker in hand. “Near on eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks!” I glanced out the window, at the gray clouds scudding across the sky. “So long?”
“Aye, lamb.” Her voice was gentle. “You lost a lot of blood.”
I remembered now. In the pool had stood a bright-skinned creature. Or perhaps that was just my dreams. “Nurse?”
“You should go to sleep.”
“Just one question,” I pleaded.
She raised an eyebrow – she knew well that one question was never enough. “And then you rest?”
I nodded. “What happened? Nurse?”
She shook her head, as though she did not want to say.
I propped myself up on an elbow. “Nurse? I have to know. I felt myself die.” Her silence made me feel like crying.
She hesitated.
“It was the ... thing.” I lay back down. “You know. Below the castle.”
She prodded the fire unnecessarily, then, setting the poker down, sighed. “It was and all.”
“Did she, it, he … what happened?”
Nurse quirked her mouth, shrugged a shoulder. “You’ll find out. In time.”
“Nurse? What was it?”
“One question only,” she said.
“You haven’t answered me.”
“You’re not ready to hear,” she said flatly, adding, “Perhaps none of us are.”
She stepped over to my bed, a little woman, clad all in cream and gray, and smiled at me. There were lines in her face that had not been there before, and the hand she reached out to me shook a little. “An in any case, does it matter? I have my girl returned to me, healthy and hale, aye, and her babe too.” She touched my cheek.
“My baby.” I prodded my swelling stomach with surprise; in the time of my illness this being inside of me had made her presence known. I felt a gentle flutter beneath my hand. “She’s awake.”
“Oh, a she is it?” Nurse tucked the sheet around my shoulders. “Well, time will tell if you’re right, missy.”
“I’m right,” I said sleepily. “I’m always right.”
The last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep was Nurse chuckling.
A true dream is when the events I see in my sleep have, or will happen. It’s a talent that runs in my family. In true dreams, the dreamer is a watcher only, powerless to change events. Unless, unless, one has power and passion, and then there is nothing one may not do. And that night, ah, that night I had both.
That night, I dreamed.
This was my dream.
On a sandy arena, a red and gold dragon danced. Drums throbbed; cymbals clanged. The dragon’s feet kicked sand into the air. The audience, on terraced stands that ringed the arena, shouted good-naturedly to one another. Torchlight shone on shining faces, bright eyes. The place had the air of a festival.
High above the arena, facing the entrance, was an elaborate booth made of ornately carved, dark wood. I settled onto a vacant seat, near two women who didn’t seem to see me, and watched. There was a sense of expectancy, of tension. Something was about to happen.
A gong sounded loudly, once, twice, three times. The dragon bowed awkwardly to a suddenly silent crowd, and shuffled backwards, disappearing into the iron-barred entranceway. The crowd settled to their seats; those at the rear stood motionless. With a shout, soldiers marched into the arena. When they stopped at attention, the crowd was silent.
The gong rang again and into the arena, under a canopy of gold, came the Emperor. Garbed in red and yellow silk, he trod slowly across the sand. The drum stopped; the Emperor turned to the crowd. North, south, east and west, he faced, each time bowing to the audience, and they cheered him loudly. I did not cheer. I knew this man; less than a year had passed, but the weight of the empire had fallen on TeSin, and he seemed altogether older.
The canopy-bearers escorted him to the imperial box, and waited, motionless, as he settled himself on the wooden seat. He nodded regally to the soldiers; they beat their chests in a giant crash in reply. A gong sounded.
The tournament began. The first few bouts were of some interest, the warriors patently skilled, but it had the feeling of a dance, each step choreographed, so although the crowd enjoyed the wrestling and the swordplay there was little enough to hold my interest.
There was an interlude. The soldiers left the arena and TeSin sat staring into space. Sweet-sellers, carrying wooden trays, shuffled along the terraces. I wanted to ask what was happening but no one seemed to see me, and I could not speak the language, and anyway this was only a dream. So I sat and watched and wished that I knew why I was here, and what was about to happen.
That gong again. The sweetmeat sellers disappeared as the audience settled into their seats. To a roar of applause and a crashing of cymbals two figures entered the arena: a woman, small and graceful, clad in white, and a man, tall and broad-shouldered, in black. Both carried wooden staves. They were masked; the man in black silk, but the woman’s mask was of white porcelain, making her look like a possessed puppet.
Silently, the figures bowed to each other and then, deeply, to the Emperor.
“Ha!” TeSin lifted a white handkerchief, dropped it down.
The fight began. The blows fell fast and hard. Staves knocked together, sounding like a fist on wood. The crowd watched tensely. Soldiers stood at the side of the tournament square, hands on swords. Their eyes were intent, like they were about to rush onto the sand at any moment.
The fighters said nothing; only the pad of their feet, the puff of the arena sand, the blows of wood on wood. The white-faced fighter was cunning, using her height to advantage, hiding under the guard of her opponent. She was graceful, too, bending to avoid the blows, twirling away. She moved like a dancer. Sweat trickled down her back, dripped onto the sand.
“Aargh!” She flinched from a sudden blow to the arm.
But the dark fighter, ah, he was terrifying. He was like the night; inexorable, powerful. I felt his restraint, how he held back, to let the white-faced opponent step close, how he allowed his guard to drop. The guards moved closer, watching, circling.
He pushed her away, contemptuously. She staggered, nearly fell. TeSin, scowling, leapt to his feet. The guards moved closer.
The black-masked fighter glanced around like a man looking for escape. The white-faced opponent seemed to smile. Panting, she stopped, just waiting; as though she knew the battle was hers to win. The tall warrior hesitated, lifting his staff then, in a blur of speed rushed at her. Three quick blows, one to the shoulder, one to the chest, the third to the back of the knee and she fell to the ground.
When the man put back his mask, my breath caught.
Will! I may have cried out. Those near me in the arena shuffled anxiously, sidling along the benches and away, as though they’d heard something just beyond earshot.
He stood in the arena with a wooden weapon in his hand, his face angry. His chest heaved and his skin shone with sweat. Oh, I knew that look. He had been asked to do something, something he did not agree with. The guards about him and the angry Emperor seemed to trouble him not a bit.
TeSin shouted. To me, watching, it seemed as though fire leaped from his hands. This was the Noyan I had seen in the forest, long ago. Then, he had fought with fire, and then he had nearly won.
But almost lazily, Will lifted his hand – here I gasped, making those beside me move aside uneasily – and turned the flames away. They dissipated, harmless, into the air.
The white-masked warrior leaped. “Aai!”
She pushed the staff against his chest.
If it had been a blade it would have pierced his heart. Impossibly, it broke the skin, lodged in his chest. It was a blade! She had used a sword stick against him!
Will stared down at the wooden hilt, face frozen in disbelief. For a second he stood unmoving. Then, slowly, slowly, he crumpled, toppling to the ground. He lay on his face, unmoving.
The audience leapt to their feet, shouted again and again. Some stomped and cheered. Others hissed, and shook their fists in anger. The guards glanced uneasily at each other. Some crept aside, toward the edge of the arena, as though seeking shelter. Others milled about, uncertain. TeSin, his face expressionless, resumed his throne. Will lay still and silent.
His opponent tore off her mask. Mai-Long! She raised her arm, victorious. Some of the crowd cheered. I wondered why – surely they could see that the Will had deserved to win?
She nudged Will with her foot. There was a bloody red smear on the sand of the arena. His hands were covered in it, and more blood dribbled from his mouth. But his lips moved; he was alive, but barely.
I flew, faster than thought, to the midst of the arena, where the soldiers milled about uncertainly and Mai-Long stood, flushed and triumphant, holding a naked sword-stick and looking smug.
“Will,” I said, “hold on. I’m here, I’m here.”
He lifted his hand, touched my cheek. His fingers were cold. “Hello, you.”
“You mustn’t die.” I shook him by the shoulders. “You can’t die.”
His eyes, gazing into mine, were growing cloudy. Blood dripped from his mouth.
“Will! Wake up!”
“She was pretending to be you.” His eyes turned to Mai-Long. “But she’s a lousy fighter. I couldn’t let her win.”
He was delirious. I put my hand on his chest, tried to feel for the wound, tried to stop the blood. But there was too much; it oozed through my fingers, dark red.
Save him! I begged, calling to the skies, to the bright shining creature that had lived in the cavern. I called to the Guardians and the necklace.
But there was nothing, only Will, and his desperate, damp breaths. “I love you,” he murmured. “I’ve always loved you.”
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 73
