“Oh, Loth…”
“And so the old man came back, and he drilled again. And then again the next week when still the pain did not abate. And each week for seven weeks after that until I swear my skull was nothing but searing holes that leaked black vileness. Eventually the pain in my head did abate…and the old man packed up his bone drills and let me be…but as my skull re-grew about the holes he’d drilled into its bone, so it grew in strange humps and lumps, and thus…”
His free hand waved vaguely at his head. “Thus I am marked. But…but in a strange way I did not mind all that pain and despair…for amid the worst of it Og came to me, and held me and comforted me. He said I had shown strength and endurance, and that this strength and endurance, bolstered with his love, would see me throughout my life.”
He looked at me, a peculiar light in his eyes. “I thought to have lost his love and support, Cornelia. I thought Og was dead. But tonight I find I have hope again.”
I was still holding his hand, and now I let it go and backed away, fearing Loth would try once more to persuade me to plot against Genvissa.
But Loth’s face suddenly clouded over, and all the hope and light in his eyes dimmed.
“My father,” he said in a hoarse voice. “My father. He is dying.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Genvissa lowered her head over Aerne’s struggling chest, her eyes dutifully moist. Behind her stood her three daughters, Brutus, and some fifteen or sixteen Mothers all crowded into the house.
Witnesses.
This was a terrifying moment for most of the Mothers. With Aerne’s death, they were launched totally into the unknown. Always there had been a Gormagog and a MagaLlan, guiding and directing them in the love and care of Og and Mag. But Og was dead, and his final representative, Aerne, was dying also.
Aerne’s final breath would herald a new age, frightening for its unknowability.
For Genvissa and Brutus, contrariwise, it was merely another step towards their ultimate goal.
Nevertheless, Genvissa appeared truly saddened at Aerne’s dying. She wiped his brow, and brushed back his hair with a soft hand. She leaned and kissed his cheek, and smiled so that his final sight would be pleasing.
“I have let you down,” Aerne whispered. “Everyone. If only I hadn’t lain with Blangan—”
“Hush,” said Genvissa, “you were not to know she was such a Darkwitch.”
“I tried so hard to make matters well again,” Aerne continued. “You cannot know what a bitter blow this has been to me that I have failed.”
“There was nothing any more or any different that you could have done,” Genvissa whispered, stroking Aerne’s brow. “May all the gods in the Far World bless you and defend you.”
“If only Loth…if only Loth…” Aerne said, weeping.
“Loth is here,” said a gentle, loving voice, “and Loth will do all he can to take your regrets and rectify them.”
Brutus turned around, very slowly, and looked at the man—the deformed monster—who was now walking calmly through the throng of Mothers to Aerne’s bedside.
Gods, no wonder Cornelia was so terrified of him.
“What do you here?” Genvissa’s voice was flat, and very cold.
“I come to farewell my father,” Loth said. “He may have regretted my mother, but I have never regretted him.”
“Go away, Loth,” Genvissa said, but Loth ignored her, and sat down on Aerne’s bed, taking his father’s hand.
“There is no hope, save for Genvissa,” Aerne said.
“There is always hope, and in the strangest places,” Loth said.
“Promise me you will aid her,” Aerne said. His eyes were watering, his lip trembling with the effort of speaking.
“I will do everything I can for this land,” Loth said, wiping away one of his father’s tears, “and if the only way to do it is by aiding Genvissa, then that is what I will do.”
Genvissa gave a hard, triumphant smile, and Loth looked at her.
“I will do everything I must in order to protect this land,” he said softly, and Genvissa’s smile slipped.
For some time no one spoke, all eyes back on Aerne. The old man’s eyes were now closed, although tears still trickled from under their lids; his skin was grey, his breathing was becoming ever more erratic. Genvissa laid her hand on his brow, and Loth’s hold on his father’s hand tightened.
Softly, regretfully, weeping, Aerne died, and one among the Mothers wailed.
Loth raised his face, tears streaking down his cheeks. “I am my father’s heir,” he said, looking between Genvissa and Brutus. “Never, never forget that!”
Then he rose, and was gone.
Genvissa’s eyes locked into Brutus’, and they knew they had a bitter enemy.
Not so far distant, a matter of several days’ journeying only, King Goffar of Poiteran stood and stared unbelievingly at his wife.
She stood before him, trembling, her head bowed, her hands splayed over her stomach.
She had just told him that after so many years of barrenness, she was now some five or six weeks gone with child.
Goffar burst into laughter. “I shall have a son,” he roared. “A son!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Genvissa bent her head back and let the late autumn sunshine wash over her face. Winter was rushing upon them: the nights were heavily frosted and the days bitter with northerly winds and miserable flurries of icy rain. This hour or two of sunshine was to be treasured, a gift perhaps from her foremothers watching over her from the Far World, wishing her love and wellness in these days leading to the final accomplishment of their dream.
To reconstruct the Game, to build a citadel of power, to ensure that they could never ever again be thwarted: to cement their power in the walls of this city and the labyrinthine enchantments of the Game.
It had taken so long…but Ariadne’s dream would shortly be realised.
Genvissa tipped her head forward again and looked about her. She stood on Og’s Hill, the Llan and Llanbank spread before her, Pen and Llandin at her back. Brutus, her partner in her dream, was conferring with Hicetaon a few paces away, talking of walls and foundations and water levels. Their faces were animated, their voices excited—now raised in frustration at the complications of an errant stream across the proposed line of the city wall, now energised with purpose as they discussed the local rock, a grey sandstone, and whether it would be strong enough to carry not only the weight of the proposed walls, but the weight of the years and expectations it would of necessity have to bear.
Genvissa smiled, content. Whatever Loth had rambled about at his father’s deathbed, Og and Mag were surely gone, or so enfeebled as to be of no threat whatsoever.
Asterion…well…not even he could darken Genvissa’s happiness. She knew he had been conceived by Goffar…but it was too late, far too late, to stop her.
There was just her and Brutus now, and this land.
Soon no one would remember Og’s and Mag’s names; all would celebrate hers and Brutus’.
As if her thoughts had communicated themselves to him, Brutus looked up, and smiled at her.
Ah, but how she adored him. He was everything to her; so strong and virile (and how she looked forward to their first bedding, that magical moment when she would bind him to her entirely, and when he would sire her daughter-heir), he was the one who would turn her dreams, and all the dreams and hopes of her foremothers, into a reality.
The astonishing reality: Troia Nova, citadel of dreams, keeper of the Game, their road to immortality.
His smile deepened, and she wondered if he, too, was thinking of that moment when they could allow their lust free rein. If they had just been man and woman, then they would undoubtedly have already consummated their passion.
But they were not just man and woman. They were the Kingman and the Mistress of the Labyrinth, and that meant their physical desires must be played out to the steps of the Game so that both it, and they, would be the stronger f
or it.
They would be wedded to each other and to the Game, for there could be no other possible existence for them.
“We will enclose these three mounds,” Brutus said, his eyes still locked into Genvissa’s. “The southern wall of the city will run along the Llan, making full use of the cliff faces of its northern bank. Then,” his eyes moved away from Genvissa, to the north, and he gestured with his hand, “the wall will curve in a flattened semicircle above the Llan, enclosing the White Mount, and Mag’s and Og’s Hills. This will be a good city, strong and easily defended and, sitting atop these mounds, it will command the entire Llan valley.”
She walked down to join him and Hicetaon. “Will it have grand bastions and walkways, Brutus? Will the wall shine in the sun, dazzling all who gaze upon it?”
Brutus laughed, sharing a glance with Hicetaon. “If we can make the foundations strong and deep enough, then yes, Genvissa, it will be a dazzling city, surrounded by the mightiest wall in the world.”
“We can entirely enclose the Wal,” Hicetaon said enthusiastically, referring to the wide stream that flowed between Og’s Hill and Mag’s Hill into the Llan. “Troia Nova will have a permanent and secure water supply. No one will ever be able to lay successful siege to it.”
“Llangarlia will be strong,” said Genvissa.
“Indeed,” said Hicetaon, then forgot what else he was going to say as his eyes shifted. “Ah, here comes Cornelia. You have not yet shown her the site, have you, Brutus? Perhaps you can point out where you will build you and her a palace.”
He was looking at Cornelia as he spoke, and missed entirely the furtive glance shared between Brutus and Genvissa.
Genvissa sighed and straightened, moving away from Brutus to look down the hill.
Her face tightened, irritated beyond measure. Cornelia was indeed making her way up the slope, a somewhat forced smile on her face and a sway to her hips that the silly thing undoubtedly thought was attractive.
Then, stunningly, Genvissa felt a moment’s queasiness in her stomach, as if a darkened fate walked up that slope rather than Cornelia, and she kept her face expressionless only with great effort.
Why was Asterion’s name so allied with this girl? Why? Why? Genvissa sent a short, but fervent, prayer to whichever gods were listening that Brutus would rid himself of this girl. Soon. Permanently.
And if he did not…Genvissa nodded slowly to herself, her dark, hard eyes not once moving from Cornelia. If Brutus did not, then Genvissa would.
Soon. The night of the Dance of the Torches.
She almost smiled. How…balanced. A conception and a death, and the Game would be safe forever.
Cornelia threw Genvissa another glance, even more apprehensive now that she saw the cruelty in the older woman’s eyes, and walked to Brutus’ side.
“Cornelia,” Brutus said, and Genvissa’s determination increased as she sought, but failed, to detect any discernible irritation in Brutus’ tone.
Cornelia spent a moment studying the view, apparently riveted by its beauty, then turned to her husband. “Are you planning your city?” Cornelia said. “Will you show me?”
Genvissa rolled her eyes, knowing Cornelia could see her, and turned away, hoping that Brutus would dismiss Cornelia.
But he didn’t. He merely sighed. “I had not thought you to be interested,” he said. “Will you not be bored with talk of masonry and footings?”
“I have not come all this way to be bored,” she said, trying too hard to appear relaxed. “I want to know. Please, will you show me?”
Brutus looked at her, wondering if this was coquettishness on her part (when had Cornelia ever been interested in what he planned?), but, seeing only genuine interest, he began to feel a little guilty. Since his arrival at the Veiled Hills he’d made no secret of his alliance with, and deep attraction to, Genvissa. Cornelia must surely be certain they were already lovers, and yet she had said nothing to him. Indeed, she had made no complaint, acceded to his every request and demand without hesitation or question, and had been compliant and submissive.
Almost as if her spirit had been broken.
Feeling guiltier than ever, Brutus gave her a small smile. “Well,” he said, “I would have shown you before if I’d known of your interest.”
He put a hand on Cornelia’s waist, hesitated, then drew her in close to his body, and began to point out the course of the walls.
Genvissa watched, unbelieving.
“This city will be astounding,” Cornelia said, as Brutus finished.
“Three times the size of Mesopotama,” Brutus said, his voice rich with good humour at Cornelia’s reaction, “but it will not all be built over. There will be gardens and orchards, light and shade.”
“Space enough for me to play with our children,” Cornelia said, smiling again as she looked into Brutus’ eyes. She was glowing at his attention and favour. “Space enough for them to grow.”
Genvissa had endured enough. “Children?” she said, arching one of her eyebrows, and walking close to Brutus herself. “I thought you only had one.” She made that “one” sound like a desperate failing. “Not all women are as blessed as I in their fertility.”
She rested one of her hands on Brutus’ shoulder, and leaned close…too close, if the sudden flush in Cornelia’s cheeks was any indication.
Genvissa smiled.
“Not every woman,” Cornelia said, with a surprising, quiet dignity, “has had the numerous opportunities you have taken to catch with child.”
Now it was Genvissa who flushed, and her hand tightened on Brutus’ shoulder.
“Cornelia,” Brutus said with some slight remonstration, but his eyes sparkled, and he moved away from Genvissa.
“Ahem,” Hicetaon put in, almost as red-faced as the two women were. “Perhaps you can show Cornelia where the main buildings will be, Brutus. I confess some curiosity myself, lest this dazzling city of yours is to be all wall and no buildings.”
Genvissa made a dismissive sound, and turned away.
Brutus bit the inside of his lip, trying to keep the grin from his face. “There,” he said, pointing to the White Mount. “I have a great desire to build a palace atop that mound, Cornelia. Will you enjoy the view, do you think?”
“It will be most agreeable,” Cornelia said.
“And there,” he pointed to the top of Mag’s Hill, “a large market, commanded by a civic hall.”
“And on this hill?” said Cornelia. “On Og’s Hill?”
“Here?” Brutus looked at Genvissa. “Here we will play the Game, Genvissa and I. Here we will construct the labyrinth, and there,” he pointed to the western slope of the hill that sloped down towards the Magyl River, “will be the main gate of the city.”
Cornelia’s face had fallen at Brutus’ easy coupling of his name with Genvissa’s. “A labyrinth?” she said. “On this hill? But I thought—”
“A labyrinth—” Brutus began to say, but was interrupted by Genvissa, staring with baleful iciness at Cornelia.
“We will make this city between us,” she said, making no effort to hide the triumph in her voice, “Brutus and I.”
They lay in their bed that night, close, their skin filmed with sweat, their breathing slowly returning to calmness. This had been the first time since their arrival in Llanbank that Brutus had lain with Cornelia, and he wished he hadn’t left it so long. She’d pleased him today with her interest in the city he planned, and he also had to admit he’d enjoyed the spat between her and Genvissa.
Brutus ran a hand very slowly down Cornelia’s back, feeling and caressing every nub of her spine. She had been sweet and pliable, eager even, and Brutus was well pleased with her.
She trembled, and he smiled against her forehead, enjoying the manner in which she made him feel so strong, knowing it would be a long time yet before he allowed her to sleep.
“I love you,” she whispered, and Brutus cradled her face in his hands, and wondered if, finally, he should lay his mouth to hers. Kiss
her, at last, as he should have done that first night.
He smiled, and his head moved forward, and then, suddenly, his mind was filled with a memory.
Genvissa, standing before him, her hands splayed across her huge belly.
“Only I can give you immortality,” she whispered. “Only I.”
Brutus let Cornelia’s head drop back to the pillow. “Sleep,” he said, “for we are both tired.”
Then he sighed, and rolled away, and Cornelia was left staring at his back.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You lay with her.”
Genvissa’s voice was harsh, her stance stiff and unyielding.
They were walking along the northern line of the walls, inspecting the trenches and foundations.
“She is my wife.”
Genvissa was silent.
“You have no need to be jealous of her,” Brutus said. “She is nothing compared to you.”
You almost kissed her, thought Genvissa, not knowing why that would have been catastrophic, but knowing it nevertheless.
“What is a kiss?” said Brutus, laughing at the thunder of Genvissa’s face. “There are more intimate things between a husband and a wife.”
They walked in silence a few more paces.
“Perhaps you should live with me in my house,” Genvissa said. “There is space enough for you.”
“In your bed?”
Genvissa almost cried in frustration. “You know that cannot be, Brutus. Not yet!”
“Then I shall stay where I am.” He stopped, and took Genvissa’s face in his hands as he had Cornelia’s the previous night. This time he did not hesitate when he leaned forward to lay his mouth to that of the woman he held. “Gods, Genvissa, there is nothing for you to fear. When we start the Game then nothing will undo us. We will be together, bound, tied and conjoined as few men and women ever are. Nothing will separate us. Nothing.”
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