She ducked and grabbed an orange from the fruitbowl and threw it at his quickly-retreating back. "I hate you!" she yelled after him. The orange splattered on the marble floor and rolled, spilling juice as it went. Charis turned away in disgust.
"Was this welcome meant for me?"
Charis spun back to see a dark-haired woman in a flowing tunic and mantle standing in the doorway, the ruined orange at her feet. "Aunt Elaine!" she cried, and flew across the room to hug her aunt.
"Here," said Elaine taking Charis' hand, "put your hand just there." She held the girl's hand flat against the side of her protruding stomach. "Do you feel anything?"
"Mmm, no," replied Charis. Elaine moved her hand to a different place and almost at once Charis felt a quiver and then a bump beneath her hand. She pulled her hand away at once.
"Was that the baby?"
Her aunt nodded. "That was a foot or an elbow. He squirms around an awful lot these days, poor thing. He is cramped in there and wants to be free."
"Have you seen the garden?" asked Charis suddenly, taking Elaine's hand and leading her to the balcony.
"Only from my window."
"I have explored almost the whole garden; let me show you."
"Very well, but first let us find your mother. I have not yet greeted her."
"She will come with us and you can talk while I show you the garden." Charis dashed to the doorway. "I will bring her."
Charis found her mother in conversation with Ilean as the maidservant arranged the queen's hair. "Mother, Aunt Elaine is here—we are going for a walk and she wants you to come too."
"Thank you, Ilean." Briseis dismissed the servant and followed her daughter into the next room where they found Elaine where Charis had left her, standing in the sunlight on the balcony. Elaine turned and held out her arms. "Briseis!"
Briseis' step faltered. A shadow swept across her face and she stopped.
"Briseis? What is it?"
"Mother?" asked Charis.
The queen came to herself again and the moment passed. "Oh, it was just—it is nothing." Briseis stepped close and kissed the other woman on the cheek. "Elaine, how are you? Any change?"
"Not to speak of. The baby is due any day, they say—they have been saying it for months, it seems. I have my doubts."
"Let us walk," offered Charis. "I want to show you the garden."
"Yes, I desperately need some fresh air."
Charis led them out and down the stone staircase to the garden below. She struck off along the first path she came to and the women followed behind. For a while Charis darted back and forth, urging them to hurry. But gradually she got further and further ahead and when she looked back to see them stop to sit down on a stone bench beside the path, she despaired. "We will never get to see any of the garden this way," she thought.
She started toward them, dragging her heels. Her mother saw her and waved her on. "You go ahead, Charis!" she called. "We will come along soon."
Glad for the freedom, she dashed away and soon lost herself in the winding pathways of the High King's lush and elaborate garden. She flitted along a neatly-trimmed hedge, over a quaint wooden bridge, and into a lemon grove. The trees were still in flower and the scent of the blossoms slowed her; she walked along, humming to herself, wandering in the sweet, heady fragrance.
Further into the grove she came to a shaded pool fed from a stone fountain in its center: a great green, marble fish with a gaping mouth. Sparkling water spouted from the fish's mouth to fill the quiet pool. Charis knelt and held her hands in the flowing water and then patted her forehead and neck. The cool water felt good on her skin.
She lay back on the grassy slope and watched the clouds floating across the sky, then closed her eyes. The sound of singing drifted in her ears—a clear liquid melody, like drops of water falling in the pool. She listened for a moment; the words were strange and curiously uttered, as if the singer were speaking an unknown tongue.
Charis rose and made her way toward the sound, walking around the rim of the pool, ducking under the drooping branches of a katsura tree growing at the water's edge. She came to a wall of cinnamon ferns, pushed her way through the pungent green fronds, and stepped cautiously into a sunlit glade.
There, on a tall three-legged stool, sat a woman with hair of flaming gold, wearing a shimmering tunic of deep emerald green. She held a silver embroidery hoop in her hand, but there was no cloth on it, and no needles or thread nearby that Charis could see. As soon as Charis stepped from the shadows, the song ended. The woman turned her head and regarded Charis openly, her lips curved in a welcoming smile.
"I wondered who was listening to me," the woman said. "Come closer, girl."
Charis took a slow, cautious step.
The woman laughed lightly; it was the sound of dew falling on the leaves. "I believe you fear me."
Charis moved more quickly and came to stand beside the woman. "How did you know I was listening?" she asked.
"What a pretty girl you are, Charis."
"Do you know me?"
"If I did not know you, how should I know your name?"
"Who are you?" Charis asked, and then blanched at the impertinence of the question.
"Why be afraid?" the woman asked. "I consider a forthright question a kindness. So much can be hidden behind false courtesy."
Charis just stared. There was something very familiar about the woman, and yet…
"Oh, you do not recognize me, do you?" said the woman. "Perhaps if I were to wear my silk and circlet you would remember."
The woman made a sweeping motion with her hands and her image shifted in the air and rippled, as if it were a reflection in the water. And Charis saw before her the figure of the High Queen, dressed in bright red silk, with a long cloak and a narrow band of gold on her brow, her braided hair bound in golden rings.
Charis bowed and raised her hands in the sun sign.
The queen laughed. "So you do recognize me after all. I am glad. How tedious it would be if we were to go on speaking and neither one of us knowing who she addressed."'
When Charis looked again the image faded and the High Queen assumed her proper appearance. Charis blinked her eyes in amazement; her jaw dropped.
"Why surprised, Charis? It is a simple enough illusion."
"My queen," replied Charis a little breathlessly. "I have never seen such a thing."
"Oh, there are many such things one could do—and many greater things as well—if one knew how. But you may call me Danea, for I think we are going to be friends." The High Queen held up the silver hoop. "Do you know what this is, Charis?"
"An embroidery hoop?"
"Very like, but no. It is an enchanter's ring. I will hold it up so—" She displayed it between her palms. "And you tell me what you see."
The girl looked and at first saw nothing but the queen's shoulder and the glade beyond. She opened her mouth to speak, but Danea said, "Wait! Concentrate. Look deeply."
Charis' brows knitted in concentration. She stared into the hoop and the objects within grew hazy. There was a swirling motion, like the circular swipe of a whirlpool. Charis felt dizzy, as if she would swoon. But she forced herself to look, and when the motion ceased she saw a palace on a hill surrounded by apple groves. "Why, it is my home!" she replied in surprise. "Our palace in Kellios."
"What else do you see?"
Charis peered into the enchanted ring as if into a mirror and saw a slim young girl running across a wide courtyard, followed by a barking brown dog. The girl stopped and threw a stick high in the air and the dog danced on its hind legs to catch it. "That is Velpa, the master cook's daughter."
"And now?"
The image within the hoop swirled again and resolved itself. This time it was a picture of the garden itself. Two women walked side by side, deep in conversation.
"There is Mother and Elaine," said Charis, and her mother glanced up. "Can they hear me?"
"No, but she sensed your presence when you spoke." The High
Queen lowered the hoop and placed it in her lap. "That was very good, Charis. Not everyone does so well; some see nothing at all. You may have a gift for enchantment."
"Was Velpa really there?"
"You saw her as she is now, yes."
"Does it always show what you want it to show? Or is it like the Lia Fail?"
"Do you know how to use the Lia Fail?"
Charis nodded. "Annubi is teaching me."
"But you have used it yourself on occasion without telling anyone. Am I correct?"
"Yes," admitted Charis reluctantly. "But I meant no harm."
"Of course not. You are curious, and that is a wonderful attribute for someone who wishes to become an enchantress."
"Are you an enchantress?"
The High Queen inclined her head regally. "So some would say."
"Could you teach me? I would give anything to learn."
Danea smiled and leaned forward. "Would you? It is far more difficult than you imagine; it would take many years to learn what I know, and that is just a beginning. You would have to leave your home and family and work very hard. Such learning comes at a very high price and there are not many willing to pay it."
Charis fell silent.
"Do not despair, child. Your love for your family is commendable. There are other things besides enchantment," Danea consoled, and Charis realized that the High Queen seemed to read her thoughts almost before they appeared in her mind. "But life is never as certain as it appears, Charis. One does not require enchantment to see that impossible things happen all the time."
From the far side of the pool came a call: "Charis, where are you? Char-ris…"
"Your mother and aunt are looking for you. Go to them."
Charis turned to leave. "Will I see you again?"
"Oh, yes. We will meet again."
"How will I find you?"
"As you found me today."
Charis retraced her steps to the ferny curtain, parted the fronds and, as she made to step inside, turned to wave farewell. But the High Queen had vanished, leaving not so much as a bent blade of grass to show that she had ever been there at all.
Beside the pool in the lemon grove, Charis found Briseis and Elaine strolling toward her. "Charis," her mother said, "where have you been? We have been looking for you."
"I lay down by the pool…" she began. "I—I must have fallen asleep," she replied, and then wondered why she had lied. "I am sorry."
"No harm," put in Elaine. "But I have had enough of a walk for today and we should be going back."
They started back together, the two women talking softly and Charis wandering idly behind them, her head filled with thoughts of the strange and wonderful enchantments she would perform when she became an enchantress.
* * *
"No," said Avallach, shaking his head gravely. "Seithenin is right. We cannot go to the High King yet. We have no proof of what Nestor intends."
"We all know well what he intends!" said Belyn angrily. "What about spies? I have their documents with me. Were we to present them to Ceremon, he would have to agree. I say we must put it to him now—before Nestor has had time to poison opinion against us."
"But if we go to Ceremon now and he demands proof—proof of war, proof we do not have—that, too, will poison opinion against us."
"And if we wait but a little longer," put in Seithenin, "Nestor himself may provide the very proof we need. His failure to attend the banquet last night was a slight that will not go unnoticed. Perhaps his next act will be even more condemning."
"Waiting can hurt nothing," said Avallach.
"And it will give us time to win more support to our side."
Frowning, Belyn relented. "Very well, but it galls me to wait while that—that serpent continues laying his plans with impunity."
"Belyn," said Seithenin softly, "this is a most grave and serious charge. The Nine Kingdoms have known peace for more than two thousand years. We must do all we can to preserve that peace."
"Including fight for it," put in Belyn.
"If we must. But only when all else has failed," said Seithenin. "If we loose the hounds of war, we must be ready to follow, whatever the cost. Therefore, we must be certain—more than certain—that we know what we are doing."
"I will not be caught unawares," said Belyn. "We all know what kind of man Nestor is."
"Yes," said Avallach, "he is the kind of man who proves his own downfall. We have only to watch and wait."
"As long as we are not found watching and waiting when the wheels of his chariots raise the dust of death in our own courtyards," said Belyn. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "I will leave you now." He raised his hands in the sign of the sun, then turned and walked from the room.
"Ah," sighed Seithenin when Belyn had gone. "So impetuous."
"He feels things strongly. A gift from our father who was a very intense man."
"Yes, King Pelles, I remember him. In fact, I remember the first time we met, you and I. You were a boy—not much older than your own Guistan—when your father brought you with him on some matter."
"I am surprised that you should remember that. You were not much older than that yourself. Our houses have been linked a very long time."
"Yes, yes. Good friends," Seithenin agreed readily. His eyes shifted slightly.
Avallach leaned back in his chair and smiled. "And you know, I have been thinking of recognizing our alliance formally."
"A treaty?"
"No, a marriage."
"I see."
"What would you say to a marriage between my daughter and your oldest son—Terant, is it?"
"I welcome the prospect. Terant is a worthy young man, and your Charis, from the look of her, will grow into a fine woman. I would say that a better match would be difficult to find."
"Let us call it a match then."
Seithenin picked up his rhyton from the table and lifted it. "To eternal friendship between our houses."
"To eternal peace." Avallach raised his glass to Seithenin's and drank. He replaced the glass and stared at it silently for a long moment. "The world is changing, you know. We cannot hold our place in it much longer."
"Perhaps," said Seithenin gently. "But we will hold it yet a little longer. Our time is not finished."
Avallach looked up and smiled. "No, I suppose not. And anyway, who can say the new age will not be better?"
While they talked, the deep, resonant peal of an enormous bell tolled through the open window. Avallach and Seithenin pushed themselves from the table and moved toward the door. "The convocation begins. I had hoped to have a day or two to talk with some of the others before meeting in council," remarked Avallach.
"The matters before us are not pressing. There may still be time later. The important thing is to discover what Nestor has been up to."
Avallach stopped. "Despite my words to Belyn, I fear in my heart that he is right."
"Come," said Seithenin, "put those thoughts from you. We will need all our wiles to outwit Nestor."
They walked out into a wide corridor and continued toward the sound of the bell until they reached a large vestibule. In the center of the vestibule was a tree of wrought gold on whose branches were hung cloaks of royal purple. A few kings were already gathered around the tree as a Mage with a gold hook on the end of an ebony pole reached up among the branches and gently lifted down die cloaks.
Another Mage then placed the purple cloak on the shoulders of a king, who tied the bands at the throat and moved off. Avallach and Seithenin took their places at the tree and received their cloaks. Each cloak was silk, richly embroidered—the right side in gleaming gold sun signs, the left in silver moon disks. The hem was worked in orichalcum thread as was the collar and bands which secured the cloak.
After donning the cloak, each king made his way to the rotunda beyond: a great circular hall filled floor to ceiling with niches. Nestled in each was the bust of a king, carved in marble by a master sculptor. The presence of these
images gave the room the appearance of being thronged with a silent yet ever watchful audience.
The kings entered the room by way of an arched doorway and proceeded to their chairs, which were set in a great circle around the room. Each chair was carved from a single piece of ironwood which had been enameled with the colors of the kingdom it represented; over each stood a sun disk whose rays formed the back of the chair. Behind the ring of chairs were stepped ledges where attendants and onlookers could gather to watch the proceedings.
Avallach took his place and watched as the others were seated. He saw that the chair directly opposite him remained empty: Nestor's. Avallach glanced at Seithenin and indicated the empty place. Seithenin nodded thoughtfully.
Once the kings had been seated, doors in the side of the rotunda were opened and the audience took its place. A gong sounded in the outer vestibule and everyone rose as the High King entered, carrying a staff in his right hand and an orb in his left. The staff was of myrtlewood and had a gold sun disk at its head; the orb was a sphere of pale moonstone.
All those gathered in the council chamber bowed and raised their hands in the sign of the sun. Stewards brought forth a tripod and stand; the orb was placed on the tripod and the staff was set in the stand. The High King was seated and a footstool placed under his feet. "Let the first convocation of the Great Council begin."
The kings and the audience sat down and Ceremon said, "We are here to deliver justice to our people. May Bel in his wisdom guide our thoughts. Let the Keeper of the Record call the first case."
A serious-looking man in white approached with a scroll in his hand. "Let Jamalc of Azilia come forward and present his grievance," he called, his voice ringing from the dome of the ceiling.
From an upper ledge behind the ring of kings came a man dressed in the garb of an ordinary laborer. He came to stand before the Keeper of the Record, who demanded, "Do you know the penalty for speaking falsely before this assembly?"
Jamalc wrung his hands and bobbed his head.
"Very well," said the Keeper, withdrawing, leaving the man alone in the center of the circle. "Relate the truth of your grievance in as few words as possible."
Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle Page 14
