[Firebringer 03] - The Son of Summer Stars (25 page)

Jan called the herd together on the fourteenth day, moondark, the time of portents and miracles. On the open meadow below the milkwood cliffs that housed the sacred mere, he sang them the lay of his journey through Pan Woods and across the Mare’s Back in pursuit of Korr. He sang freely, in the manner of the Plain, of his travels with Calydor, his overtaking the mad king. His voice was strong and sure and omitted nothing, not dying Korr’s revelation of Tek’s parentage, not his own lost wandering across the Salt Barrens, not his encounter with Oro in the Smoking Hills, nor his sojourn below ground with the Scouts of Halla, nor his long rumination with Wyzásukitán.

Nothing he told his folk was by that time news to Tek or his closest kith. He had told them all in private, days before, starting with his mate. He had watched her hark to his news with tangled emotions: relief to discover at last her unknown sire, horror to find him to be Korr. And she had answered nothing, neither flying at Jan nor cursing, nor weeping, nor fleeing, nor falling into frozen gloom, nor any of the other wild responses he had dreaded. Instead, she had only stood beside him and nuzzled him, till he had cried out in helpless exasperation,

“And knowing this, what will you do?”

“I will think on it,” she had told him quietly. “Come, love, let us bury our dead.”

So they had done, while the cinders fell, till the rain of the midwife washed clean a world newly born of ashes and dust. Now Jan told the rest of his folk as well. Their reaction was stunned silence. Yet none cried out in condemnation against him or Tek. Any outrage was for Korr, and he was dead. Rather, his people heard Jan to the end. Doing so, he realized, because they loved him for his deeds alone. Prince or Firebringer mattered not.

Finishing his tale, Jan turned to me, Jah-lila, to verify my daughter’s parentage. I did so, affirming that I had indeed loved the black prince of unicorns in his youth, a year before he had taken the pale mare Ses as mate. I had encountered him upon the Plain shortly after my escape from captors far to the south. Not yet then a unicorn, I had known naught of unicorn ways. Korr had pledged himself to me, but later broke the vow, deserting me upon the Plain and returning to his folk, sure I would be unable to follow him.

But follow I did, already in foal, and found him in his Vale. He pretended not to know me, to mistake me for a Renegade. I saw that should I attempt to lay a claim on him, he would declare me outlaw and cast me from the herd. So I called Teki, who sheltered me, my mate. In exchange for my silence, Korr allowed me to remain. I pledged never to reveal my knowledge of him until he himself had spoken. Still the prince’s mistrust and fear begrudged me any peace. I left the Vale, exiling myself. When my daughter was weaned, I brought her from the wilderness and left her in Teki’s care, that she might be reared within the herd and perhaps one day reclaim her birthright.

Jan bowed to me as I concluded, then turned once more to address his folk:

“A year ago, I knew nothing of these things. Until his dying words, I was ignorant of Korr’s deception. When I succeeded him as prince, I did so in good faith, believing myself to be his heir. But I am not. Tek is the late king’s firstborn. It is she who must reign now in his stead. Though I have been your prince, I cannot become your king. I call upon the Council to proclaim Tek queen. Would that you follow her as loyally as you have followed me.”

The herd stood silent, like wights amazed. Plainly few had realized until this moment the import of Jan’s revelation that Tek, not he, was the late king’s heir. Slowly at first, and then more vigorously, murmurs of affirmation rose. They swelled, never quite becoming cheers—for Korr’s treachery and the wrong my daughter had suffered could be naught to cheer—but serving as clear and unmistakable approval. The children-of-the-moon accepted my daughter as ruler in Jan’s stead. The pied mare stepped forward.

“I accept with gratitude your acclamation,” she told them warmly. “Though Korr was my sire and I his eldest-born, I would not impose myself upon you without your assent. You and I have looked to Jan as our leader these last five years. I would not take him from you to advance myself. But if you will have me, then gladly will I serve as queen.”

Her head came up, nostrils flaring, particolored mane thrown back.

“After four hundred years in arms, we find ourselves at last at peace, and sovereignty reverts from warleader to queen. But hark me. I’ll not reign without Jan at my shoulder. Battleprince no more, consider him now harbinger of this new peace that we have won. Let the title he has so ably borne remain. As my first edict, with our Elders’ leave, I proclaim him forever prince of the unicorns.”

This time the cheers were thunderous. Members of the herd threw back their heads, pealed forth wild shouts, struck hooves to earth and drummed up sparks. The din took some little time to subside. That done, Tek bowed her head and stepped back, yielding once more to Jan.

“Know this as well,” her dark prince bade them. “Neither Tek nor I harbored any suspicion of her lineage when we pledged one to another four summers gone. Korr concealed this knowledge from us, and Jah-lila bought her daughter’s safety and place among the herd with a vow of silence to Korr.”

Jan squared himself before his folk.

“For my own deed, I accept no censure. If trespass has been done, be it on Korr’s head. With pure intent, I swore myself under summer stars, by light of Alma’s thousand thousand eyes. Such a covenant cannot be foresworn. It is unshakable. I will not regret it now. Nor will I abandon Tek and the twin issue of our deepest joy.”

Blacker than starless night he stood, head high, beard bristling in the wind.

“What has passed between us can be neither recanted nor denied. It is done. No word or feat can now undo it. Tek was my mate. She can be mine no more. Yet though we never again summer beside the Sea or bring forth new progeny, she remains the only such love I will ever know. I’ll seek no other in her stead. Though I sire no more young till the end of my days, I will never pledge my heart to another.”

The herd stood speechless, thunderstruck. Not a murmur or a snort disturbed the hush. Doubtless none had yet reasoned through the full consequence of the blood Jan and Tek believed they shared. Bemused or troubled glances, expressions of cautious approval, rank distaste, even dread passed like wildfire among members of the herd to hear Jan preparing to renounce his sacred marriage vow and the reason therefore. My daughter came forward to stand at Jan’s shoulder again.

“I, too, concur,” she announced. “Though I remain barren from this day forth, I’ll neither disown my past nor plight any other suitor my troth. Can you accept this of me and continue to call me queen? Will you honor the now severed bond betwixt me and my one-time mate, who cherish still the offspring we once, unwitting, bore? Can you spare ill will against our young and welcome them as my heirs? Among us all, their innocence is absolute.”

Again, silence. Then gradually, murmurs—not grudging, only thoughtful. Beside the healer, Teki, who once to safeguard me and mine had called himself my mate, Dhattar and Aiony chivvied, the black-and-silver filly snorting at flitter-bys, the white foal scrubbing his young horn against one knee. They paid no mind to anything else, as though unaware or unconcerned or, perhaps, already certain of the day’s outcome. Acknowledging them as their future princess and prince, the children-of-the-moon could feel no hardness of heart. In muted tones, but without cavil, the herd assented. Tek closed her eyes. Jan touched his cheek to hers, then drew breath.

“So be it. Tek, I therefore renounce…”

I gave him no time to complete the phrase.

“No need!” I cried. “No reason to abjure your vows, no need to wonder at the welcome of your heirs or forgo future young.”

The young prince stumbled to a halt. Frowning, so puzzled I could not hold back my joyous laugh, he and his queen turned to look at me.

“Children, forgive my holding tongue till now, for I meant all the world to know your mettle. Aljan Moonbrow,” I declared to him, “called also Firebringer and Dark Moon, you have spoken earnestly in the belief that Tek is our late king’s firstborn child and you, his secondborn. The former is true. The latter, not. You are
not
half brother to your mate. She is not your sib. You and Tek are no kin whatsoever to one another. No blood ties you. Henceforth let none ever question your union or your offspring already born or as yet unborn.”

Jan stared at me like a sleeper startled from his dreams. Beside him, his pied mate shook her head as one kicked smartly in the skull, half stunned. Jan roused.

“What?” he murmured, hoarse. “How can that be?” His voice gained strength. “What do you mean: Tek and I share no blood? Have you not confirmed her as Korr’s heir? How is she then not sib to me?”

Smiling, triumphant, I held my peace, for it was not mine to answer now. I glanced toward Ses, who flanked me on that meadow’s slope, and as we had already agreed, she stepped forward to face the prince, her child.

“Because you are not Korr’s son, my son. My mate who reared you was never your sire. You are not king’s get.”

Her voice was collected, decisive, clear. Before us, the whole herd rippled, some shying in surprise, others sidling, snorting. I heard whinnies, whickers of disbelief manes tossing, tails slapped, hooves stamped. Ses waited them out. A look passed between her and Tek, the young queen’s so intent, it was almost a plea. When the pied mare spoke, though, her words were calm.

“Tell us how this may be.”

“I loved another,” the pale mare said. “The summer before I swore myself Korr’s mate. He was one of the Free Folk. We met and loved upon the Plain after their custom, without exchange of any vows, and then we parted.”

She met Jan’s eyes.

“That autumn, when I pledged to Korr, I knew not then that I carried a foal. I meant my pledge. I intended to be his lifelong mate and bear his heir. It was not to be. I bore you to my lost Renegade come spring and carried you to term. You did not drop early, as others thought.”

The pale mare glanced at me, then down, away.

“Except the midwife, who understood. When I guessed her secret in turn, each of us held silent after, protecting our own and one another’s children from a capricious ruler. In time, I brought Lell, too, into the world, sired by my mate, the king.”

She found Lell with her eyes. The half-grown filly, her dark-amber coat merled now with gold, stood pressed against the shelter of Illishar’s folded wing. Like hers, his sandy pelt was brindled now, his grass-green fletching silver flecked. Amazement lit Lell’s gaze, but she watched her dam without condemnation or grief.

“I will tell you this,” continued the poppy-maned mare, addressing her son once more. “Though I spoke no pledge to my wild love of the Plain so many years ago, his memory has haunted me. Korr’s death pains me deep. I loved him well. Had he renounced his madness and deceit, willingly would I have returned to him.”

Her gaze lifted, skimming the assembled unicorns toward the unseen Mare’s Back beyond.

“But Korr did not. Now he is dead, and I am free. The Hallow Hills are won, and my daughter grown beyond colthood—faster than I could have dreamed. I find my thoughts straying to the Plain, ever and always, night and noon. There, the one I once loved awaits me still.”

Her voice grew quiet. I had to prick my ears to hear.

“I long for him I so lately found again, who guided us across the Plain, shared battle with us, and begged me to depart with him, as I nearly did so many summers past when instead I chose otherwise, returning to the herd to swear my pledge to Korr.”

Watching her red mane furl and toss, I could only approve the coolness with which she spoke, shirking none of the blame, but neither shouldering any not hers to bear. My daughter leaned against her mate, still staring at Ses. Beside her, the pale mare’s son stood dumbstruck, as did all the herd before them. I thought the jaws of some might brush the ground.

“Korr not my sire?” he whispered, stammering as one struggling against a gale. “If not Korr…, then who?”

“Calydor,” his dam replied, “whose name means Summer Stars.”

For accords with the gryphons and the pans were but the start of his alliances. He traveled far across the Plain as Tek’s envoy, forging pacts with many tribes. The unicorns are done with war. My daughter’s reign has been a long, lazing dream of peace. Truly a new world her Dark Moon has made, and is making still. For though I am ancient, very near to Alma now, the world is young. Aljan and his mate are but elders. Many seasons lie ahead before they ascend the starpath to merge with the summer stars.

Thus the Battle of Endingfire initiated the passing of the old and set in motion the new dance that is still becoming, even as we speak. No more than a moon after, Jan stood upon the moonpool cliffs, gazing up into dusky heaven thick with distant suns. The infinite expanse of the void encompassing those myriad stars seemed to enter him, pervading his senses and filling him with a deep, lulling wonder. He became aware of a presence, vast as the starry sky. Only a moment passed before he knew her.

“Alma,” he whispered.

The presence answered, “Aye.”

“Where have you been?” he asked her.

She laughed gently, silently, within his mind. “With you,” she answered. “Always. Even when you do not know it.”

Inwardly, he felt his ears prick with surprise. “Your voice sounds like the dragon queen’s.”

“I am many voices,” the goddess told him, “that never cease to speak.”

He turned to her within himself. “Why did you not tell me?” he asked. “Why did you let me believe myself prince?”

Again, amused laughter. “But you are prince,” the presence replied.

“By acclamation,” he retorted, “not by right. Prince at my mate the queen’s behest.”

The goddess answered nothing, only smiled.

“Why did you never give me any inkling Korr was not my sire?” Jan demanded, stung.

The other’s air of tolerant amusement never faded. “Why should I concern myself with that?” she asked indifferently. “Have I not said before I do not make kings or rings of Law? Those things are yours to make or to unmake, exactly as you choose.”

Jan held his silence.

The deity asked, “Is being my Firebringer not honor enough?” The dark prince flushed, chagrined—then let it go, unable to muster true affront.

“Aye: born out of a wyrmqueen’s belly,” he murmured, recounting the old prophecy, “foaled at moondark, and sired by the summer stars.” He paused, considering. Alma’s eyes burned very bright all around. Finally, he said, “I did not lead the battle against the wyverns.”

The goddess whispered, “Did you not?”

Jan shook his head. “Tek did. Nor did I carry the brand against Lynex. That deed was Lell’s.”

The goddess nodded. “But you wakened the dragon that bore him away and danced fire through all the stinging wyverns’ dens, expelling them from my Hallows forevermore.”

Still troubled, Jan felt his brow furrow. “What sets me apart?” he breathed. “All the fire I ever found, I gave away: now my people’s heels can all strike sparks. Their fire-tempered horns have grown as keen and hard as mine, their blood as venomproof.”

Again the other nodded, laughing. “Of course. Did you think I had intended otherwise? Flame is not the only fire.” Her tone turned almost stern. “You have brought your folk another spark far greater than any flame. You have opened their eyes to the world, Aljan, shown them lands and peoples formerly beyond their ken. You have whistled them out of their cramped, closed, inward-facing ring and led them into my Dance, the Great Circle and Cycle encompassing all.”

She seemed to sigh, not with sadness but with joy.

“Such has always been my plan for the unicorns, that they dwell in harmony among my other favored children. You drove the followers of Lynex out because they would have none of that peace. Nay, flame has not been the greatest of my gifts to you. Knowledge, Aljan, that even now remakes the world. Knowledge is the fire.”

Dusk had wholly faded now. Sky above had darkened to true night. The full moon, barely hidden by horizon’s edge, was just beginning to rise. He knew he must return to his folk for the dance, and yet he did not stir. Gazing heavenward, he felt the goddess recede, not departing, merely withdrawing from his uppermost awareness. She was everywhere, he knew, in the heavens, in the stars, in dragons and unicorns. In him. He could not lose her. The knowledge warmed him to the heart.

Hail, dwellers of the Plain! I will let you go. Your kindness goes beyond counting to have harkened to me so long. Close cousins to my adopted herd, you know so little of us still. Hostilities between our two tribes have long since ceased, yet we see you too seldom, though your kind may pass as freely into the Hallow Hills as members of my herd now cross the Plain. Ere Jan, such amity could never have been. Yet he was not always the great peacemaker and singer you esteem. In his youth he was a battleprince, by Alma blessed: a warrior, a dancer, a bringer of fire.