Song of Unmaking

by Caitlin Brennan

  Once she was rid of it, she began to feel better. She could not look at breakfast without feeling her stomach heave all over again, but a little herb tea with honey went down and stayed down.

  By the time she was bathed and dressed, she was almost herself again. The clothes she was wearing were new, a rider-candidate’s uniform in white. It fit well, though the coat was a whisper tight across the chest.

  She went back alone to the palace, eluding any servants who might have tried to escort her. The solitude of the riders’ passage was welcome. Wards protected it from magical attacks and shielded anyone inside it from awareness of the world.

  She could be tempted to stay there, but the emperor’s burial rite would not wait for her. She quickened her pace.

  The great hall was full, with people spilling out of the doors and gates and into corridors and courtyards. There was a space around the bier, with the stallions guarding it. The Lady stood with them, her deep red coat drinking the early sunlight.

  Briana and Kerrec stood in the space the gods had cleared. The priests of Sun and Moon surrounded them, all in white vestments. Mages stood to the north and east and south and west.

  Valeria recognized the Chief Augur and the Master of Stones. One of the others must be the Master Cantor in black and crimson, startling amid so much white, and the last would be the Mistress of the Sea Magic in a gown that shimmered like water. Valeria could have sworn she saw schools of tiny silver fish swimming in it.

  The door through which Valeria had entered was hidden in the wall. She would have stayed near it, but Sabata’s summons brought her across the hall. It reshaped patterns so that each moment as she made her way through the crowd, a space opened, then closed behind her.

  She would have liked to study that, to see how he did it, but they both had too much else to think about. Just as she slipped around the bier and into Sabata’s shadow, the burial rite began.

  The Cantor invoked the powers of air and darkness and the wings of the storm. The Sea Witch sang of water springing from the earth and falling from the sky and roaring in the sea. In a voice like boulders shifting, the stone mage woke the strength of earth. Last of all, the Augur called on the sun’s fire and the moon’s cold light.

  The priests took up the chant from the Augur. Its slow rolling cadences crept under Valeria’s skin. She rested her hand on Sabata’s neck to steady herself.

  He curved his head around to blow sweet breath in her face. She rested her cheek against his for a moment before he straightened into immobility again.

  The hymns the priests sang were older than the empire. They called on elder gods than Sun and Moon and the gods of the Mountain—gods of the elements and powers of earth and rulers of the deep places. They were only remembered in the rite of burial, when they were invoked to receive and cherish the dead.

  Valeria’s mind followed the intricate weaving of voices in the chant, tracing the pattern that took shape there. It was a strange pattern, no little bit disturbing. Something in it made her hackles rise.

  She glanced around her. No one else seemed troubled. Neither Briana, whom she could see standing with the Lady at the head of the bier, nor Kerrec, who was on the other side but who was also in Valeria’s heart, showed any sign of alarm. The stallions and the Lady were quiet.

  It must be an aftershock of the battle and her nightmares since. She forced her breathing to slow and her heart to stop pounding. She would not have said she was exactly calm, but she was less unsettled than she had been.

  Mercifully, the chant ended soon after. The Master of Stones stepped forward. He had a ring on his finger with a stone like an ember, and a rod in his hand, tipped with another fiery stone.

  He bowed to the bier and paused. Valeria felt the gathering of power from below. The Master’s stones caught fire.

  He lowered the rod until it touched the paving in front of the bier. For a long count of breaths, nothing happened. Then, so slowly at first it was imperceptible, the floor opened.

  Valeria had expected the breath of cold stone and the smell of tombs. That rose up out of the opening, to be sure, but there was also the heated-metal scent of magic wielded strongly and often.

  The tombs of the emperors were warded as strongly as anything she had seen. Even the Mountain’s defenses were no stronger than this. But for Sabata, she would have fallen, struck down by the power of it.

  She wondered what was down there that needed such protections. Emperors were mages more often than not, and some had wielded powers that rivaled the Unmaking. But they were all dead long since.

  Or were they?

  It was odd how much that shook her world. She had seen more of the imperial family than she would ever have believed possible, and gods knew she had studied their history and lore. But this was out of her reckoning.

  While she dithered inside herself, the honor guard had come forward to take up the bier. Steps descended directly in front of it, down into darkness lit by a cold light. It was fitting illumination for the journey of the dead.

  Sorrow pierced Valeria so suddenly that she gasped. Artorius had been a warm man. He loved plain daylight and the taste of good wine and the sound of laughter. It seemed peculiarly horrible that he should be laid in so chill a place.

  The bier began its descent. Briana and Kerrec walked slowly behind it. The mages and priests followed.

  Valeria would have loved to run away into the sunlight, but she could not bear to lose her lover or her friend to the darkness. She gathered every scrap of courage and forced herself to go after them.

  The Lady and the stallions stayed in the hall. Oddly, that comforted Valeria. They were on guard as they had been since the bier came into the palace. Between them and the massive structure of wards, whatever was imprisoned below could not break loose.

  After so much dread and creeping terror, the reality was rather disappointing. A long, wide stair descended into a vaulted hall. Tombs lay along the curve of its walls and had begun to work their way inward to the center in rays like the sun on the emperor’s banner. Some were starkly plain, with nothing on them but a carved name, whereas others were elaborate works of art crowned with effigies of the deceased. Those effigies were often painted in the colors of life, so that there seemed to be a small crowd of men and women in antique dress standing in a circle, watching the arrival of their latest descendant.

  Artorius’s tomb had been built for him through the years of his reign. It was neither as stark as the simplest nor by any means as elaborate as some of the tombs from three and four hundred years ago. It was made of alabaster, moon-pale and translucent. Images were carved on it in bas-relief, a legion marching toward a fort and a river, a troupe of dancers at a banquet, a company of nobles on a hunt.

  Its lid was ornamented with the beginning of the Dance, the entry of the stallions into the hall. Sun and Moon shone above them. A forest of woven trees lay below, with patterns in their weaving that Valeria committed to memory. Later she would try to understand them.

  Mages opened the tomb with a Word and a working. Priests blessed it and sweetened it with incense. The honor guard laid down the bier and uncovered the coffin. It was made of oak and cedarwood lined with lead, its lid brushed with gilt to honor the royalty within.

  When the guards lifted it from the bier, Kerrec was there with Briana to lend a hand. They helped raise it over the tomb and then lower it carefully.

  Valeria held her breath. No one’s fingers slipped. The coffin made no move to escape the hands that held it. It slid down smoothly into the tomb.

  There was a pause. Briana rested a hand on the coffin’s lid, near where the heart would be. Kerrec’s hand covered hers. They stood for a moment, then drew back.

  Slowly the lid came down over the tomb. The priests sang a hymn of rest and farewell. Their voices were soft in the deepening gloom. The cold light was fading little by little.

  Just before it sank into dark, torches leaped to life. The priests had brought and lit them. Their light w
as smoky and unsteady and not particularly bright, but it had a mortal warmth that the other had altogether lacked.

  Briana bowed low to her father’s tomb. “Good night,” she said. “Sleep well. May the gods grant you peace.”

  Fifty-Six

  The floor of the hall was closed again. The dead were warded below. The priests blessed the now hidden gate and cleansed the hall with chanting and incense.

  Then the air was clean again. The emperor was dead. The empress would not be crowned until winter had passed and spring had come with its brighter omens, but the power was hers—as it had been from the moment her father died.

  Briana had to sit through the whole of the funeral feast, with its twenty-four courses and intricate entertainments and endless memorials to the late emperor. Kerrec lingered only through the fourth course, when he could honorably plead indisposition and make his retreat.

  Valeria might have stayed longer because the patterns forming in the court were so fascinating, but Kerrec was a stronger lure. She had missed him badly last night. Even if he only wanted to sleep, he would be there with her.

  He wanted to do more than sleep. He startled her, and maybe himself, with how much he wanted it. In saying farewell to the dead, he had reminded himself that he was alive—and nothing spoke more strongly of life than this.

  Valeria’s mind emptied of thought. The world was pure pleasure. When she swam out of it with her body singing, he was lying beside her, propped on his elbow, smiling.

  She smiled back and ran her fingers down his cheek. “Pretty,” she said.

  He hated when she did that, but tonight he only frowned a little and brushed his own fingers across her lips. “Beautiful,” he said.

  “You’re still prettier.” She wound her fingers in his. “Will we be going home soon?”

  “I think so,” he said.

  “You won’t stay? The boys are still coming to ride. They’re keeping the school going.”

  “So I heard,” he said. “I suppose you know the other thing, too.”

  “Sabata and the mares.” She sighed. “He’s horribly smug.”

  “So is my sister,” said Kerrec. “She’s getting half a dozen prodigies of nature.”

  “She’s devious,” Valeria said admiringly. But she had not forgotten what else they had been talking about. “So? Are you staying to carry on with your school?”

  “I do intend to carry on,” he said, “but first I have to go back to the Mountain. If it will accept me—if it doesn’t try to break me again.”

  “That wasn’t the Mountain,” said Valeria. “You know that. You’re whole again. I’ve never seen you stronger.”

  “I feel strong,” he admitted. “I’m ready for the test. But I should warn you—”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said.

  “I’m thinking of you,” he said. “You realize you could be expelled for what you did. If you want to stay here—at least until the furor dies down—I’ll understand.”

  “I have to go,” she said. “If there’s a punishment to face, I’ll face it.”

  “Even if you’re expelled?”

  “Even then,” she said steadily. It was hard, but she was telling the truth. She could choose to stay here and teach the boys until Kerrec came back—but she could not do that. If she had been a nobleman instead of a farmer’s daughter, she would have said it was a matter of honor.

  Kerrec nodded. He could follow her thoughts if he was minded, and these were no secret. “I would do the same. I promise, whatever happens, I’ll stand by you. It was my fault you left at all.”

  “We’ll let the other riders lay the blame,” she said with a touch of dark humor. Then she paused. After a while she said, “There’s something else.”

  He raised a brow.

  “There’s somewhere I have to go on the way home. If you want to stay longer here, or ride ahead, I won’t mind.”

  “Imbria?” he asked.

  She blinked. “How did you—Who told you? Have you been talking to General Tibullus?”

  “I know what’s done when a soldier dies honorably,” Kerrec said, “and I know you. You wouldn’t let a stranger do it. I’m not going to ask if you think you’re up to it. I know what you’ll answer. But I will ask this. Will you take me with you?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because it’s not something you should have to face alone. Even if I camp outside the village and pretend we have nothing to do with each other, I should be there.”

  Valeria drew a breath. She wanted him with her—desperately. But that same desperation made her mistrust her judgment. “You don’t get to hide,” she said. “If you go, you go beside me. I won’t lie, either, about what we are to each other. My mother may not be merciful.”

  “All the more reason for me to stand at your back.”

  Valeria smiled crookedly. “Well, then,” she said, “we’ll face our demons together. Though if you’re not sure—if you would rather not go—”

  “You followed me to the ends of the earth,” Kerrec said. “Should I do less for you?”

  “Just remember,” she said. “Once you’re committed, you’re bound. You don’t get to back off when you meet my mother.”

  “I’m sure your mother is perfectly charming.”

  Valeria gaped, then burst out laughing. “If a she-bear in the spring is charming, then that’s my mother.”

  “Surely she’s not as bad as that.”

  “You’ll see,” Valeria said darkly.

  The funeral feast and the festival of the emperor’s passing lasted eight days. The first day had been the burial. The following seven saw a new feast each day in the city as well as the palace, for the people to share.

  The festival ran in and around the feasting. There were games and dances and sacred dramas, but no Dance. Artorius’s future was ended. There was nothing to foresee.

  On the eighth night, Briana dined privately with her brother and his rider-candidate. She should properly have been concluding the days of feasting in hall with the court, but she had made a brief appearance there and then withdrawn.

  “There is a slight advantage in being empress,” she said. “If I decide to break protocol, no one can stop me.”

  “No one but the whole empire,” Kerrec said, pouring wine for them all.

  “The empire isn’t here tonight,” said Briana. “You’re sure, then? You’re leaving in the morning?”

  “It’s time,” Valeria said.

  Briana nodded. “You know that if the worst happens, you have a place here. Both of you. We’ll found a new school if we have to.”

  “I don’t think we will have to,” Kerrec said. “We’ve both committed serious offenses against order and tradition, but the school can’t afford to lose us—especially now. The war between legions and warbands might be over, but the Dances have made it clear. Something else is coming, and the Mountain will be part of it. For that, the school will need every scrap of power it can find. Whatever penalty we have to pay, it won’t be as dire as expulsion. We’ll still be riders.”

  “For your sake I hope so,” Briana said. She raised her cup. “Travel safe, prosper well, come back as soon as you may.”

  They bowed to the blessing and then drank to it, murmuring thanks.

  Briana shook her head. “You deserve more. No one knows or understands what you’ve done. I wish—”

  “It’s better this way,” Kerrec said. “Mages know what we do, and there are stories enough in the markets. People understand well enough that we have power to protect the empire. They don’t need to know exactly what we’ve done or how.”

  “Thank the gods for that,” Valeria said. “None of us could stand being followed everywhere we go, or having songs sung about us. When we ride the Dance, we should be invisible. Watchers should only see the stallions.”

  “As a target born and bred, I envy you,” Briana said. “Still, it seems less than fair that you should have saved Aurelia twice,
and no one knows your name.”

  “Maybe there should be fewer mysteries about us,” said Kerrec, “but some things are better left alone. We aren’t in it for the glory.”

  “You are all very frustrating,” Briana said.

  Valeria laughed. Kerrec frowned, but his lips were twitching. “That’s our greatest gift,” he said.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she said.

  “I’ll be back by spring—the Master permitting. I’ll hope to ride the Coronation Dance. Then, if I’m given leave, I’ll continue what I’ve started. There should be another school besides the one on the Mountain—a real one, with real magic and real stallions.”

  “Yes,” Briana said. “And maybe, if it does well here, we can open others elsewhere. Instead of a single beating heart, the empire will have strong and capable branches all through its provinces.”

  “Some will argue that the more diffuse a power is, the weaker it becomes,” Kerrec said.

  “We’ll deal with that as it comes,” said Briana. “Drink up now, and eat. We have a long night ahead of us. There’s so much you haven’t told me—all your adventures, and the battle, and the long ride here. How did you win the battle? I heard it was a Dance, but it couldn’t have been anything like the ones we’ve seen here or on the Mountain.”

  “It was a Dance,” Kerrec said. “Two stallions and a Lady, two horse mages and a wisewoman’s son. There was never a Dance like it.”

  Valeria sat back while Kerrec told the story, sipping wine and nibbling bits of dinner. Her stomach was still intermittently unsettled. It seemed to be behaving itself tonight, though she would not be surprised if she regretted it again in the morning.

  Kerrec’s voice soothed her into a drowse. Now and then it paused, then Briana asked a question or told a story of her own. Their ease together, the comfort of blood kin, reminded Valeria of how she had been with Rodry.

  She was far enough along in her dream that the pain was blunted, but it was still so sharp she caught her breath.