Read Requiem for the Sun Online
Authors: Elizabeth Haydon
Requiem for the Sun (10 page)
“I have seen too much death to risk it, Aria; I have known too many divinations that have been misheard, misunderstood. With the very last words of advice my father gave me he warned me that I should not trust prophecies, that their meaning is not always as it seems.”
“If you are discounting prophecies, then why does the first one worry you at all?” Rhapsody said, taking his hand. “It seems to me that you are giving credence to those that would prevent us from living our lives as we see fit, in order to avoid peril, but shun those that nullify those dire warnings. Either accept both, or neither, but do not choose to fear one and refuse comfort in the other.”
Ashe's skin darkened in the light of the afternoon sun. “There are so many children in your life, Rhapsody, in
our
lives. Anywhere you go, from this very keep you live in to the mountains of Ylorc, from the Lirin forest to the Hintervold, you have âgrandchildren' to love and look after. I don't think it is wise to tempt Fate by risking your life giving birth to the child of wyrmkin, an infant with dragon's blood in its veins. There are enough motherless children to tend to without bringing another into the world.” His voice carried a bitter sting.
our
lives. Anywhere you go, from this very keep you live in to the mountains of Ylorc, from the Lirin forest to the Hintervold, you have âgrandchildren' to love and look after. I don't think it is wise to tempt Fate by risking your life giving birth to the child of wyrmkin, an infant with dragon's blood in its veins. There are enough motherless children to tend to without bringing another into the world.” His voice carried a bitter sting.
Rhapsody took him by the arms and turned him around, slipping into his embrace.
“I refuse to make my choices based on the maniacal rantings of your aunt,” she said humorously, “which is why I never use the hideous brocade table linens she sent us as a wedding gift.” Her tone grew more serious, and she caressed his cheek tenderly. “I want to make the life with you that we planned, Sam; I want to mix my blood with yours, to carry your children within me, to raise a family of your line and mine that is entirely our own. I thought this is what you wanted as well.”
Ashe did not break his gaze away from the windy plain.
More than you can know
, he thought.
More than you can know
, he thought.
“If there is good reason not to have children, I will yield the idea in a heartbeat, but in the face of two conflicting prophecies, I see no need to live in terror of something that she has told you will
not
happen. Besides, the
prophecy you fear has already been fulfilled; it was not directed at me, but at the mother of the last child fathered by the F'dor we destroyed.” Her eyes darkened at the memory. “I witnessed the birth, and the death. The mother died. The child lived. It's over. The prophecy was fulfilled.”
not
happen. Besides, the
prophecy you fear has already been fulfilled; it was not directed at me, but at the mother of the last child fathered by the F'dor we destroyed.” Her eyes darkened at the memory. “I witnessed the birth, and the death. The mother died. The child lived. It's over. The prophecy was fulfilled.”
“You don't know that for certain, Rhapsody.”
She threw up her hands in exasperation and turned away from him. “What do we ever know for certain, Ashe? Moment to moment, life is unsure â you can't live in fear of it.” Another thought occurred and she turned back. “Manwyn cannot lie, can she?”
“Not directly, but she can obfuscate and evade, and she knows the distant future as well as the immediate, so she can give an answer to a question that qualifies as truthful, but may not be pertinent for a thousand years. She is not to be trusted.”
“But if she answers directly, yes or no, that cannot be false, can it?”
Ashe shook his head. “Supposedly not.”
“Well, then, since I am headed to Yarim in the next few days, and Manwyn's temple is in Yarim, I will have ample opportunity to ask her directly, yes or no, if giving birth to your children will cause my death or permanent infirmity. Perhaps she can lay this ambiguity to rest then and there.”
Ashe's face went pale, then red. “A moment ago I was grateful beyond measure that you had returned home,” he said stonily. “Now I wish you had remained in Tyrian, where at least you would be safe from your own foolhardiness. Rhapsody, didn't you learn the last time we addressed Manwyn in her temple that it was an experience not to be repeated?”
“Apparently not,” she snapped, pulling away and turning back to the tower doorway. “Apparently I've also been wrong in assuming you shared my desire to have a child; if you did, you would not be deterred by so flimsy an excuse.” She started down the stairs, only to be caught by the arm and turned around.
Ashe stared down at her for a long moment. Rhapsody's anger, white-hot a split second before, cooled at the sight of the pain in his dragonesque eyes, the depth of the agony she knew he had suffered, and the love that ran even deeper. Inwardly she cursed herself for the pain she was causing him now, the fear her selfishness had rekindled. She opened her mouth to recant but was stopped when he rested his forefinger on her lips.
“We will go together,” he said, cupping her face gently. “We will put the question before her, and I will try and live with her answer. It's the only way to reclaim control of our lives.”
“Are you certain you want to do that?” she said, arching an eyebrow. “If memory serves,
you
were the one she attacked last time we were there. She didn't give me any difficulty.”
you
were the one she attacked last time we were there. She didn't give me any difficulty.”
“Well, she and I are family, after all,” Ashe replied, a hint of humor returning to his eyes. “If you can't fight with family, with whom can you fight? Look at my grandparents. Their marital spat led to a war that took down an entire empire.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps we should reconsider adding to our family after all,” Rhapsody said. She looked off across the whipping highgrass and smiled as a brightly colored kite in the shape of a copper dragon caught the wind, streaking suddenly higher on a strong updraft. She waved to the tiny figure in the distance, and Melisande waved back.
Ashe exhaled. “No, you're right,” he said at last. “If it is at all possible, I would dearly love to see the children of the House of Navarne and those of the lines of Gwylliam and Manosse playing in these fields once more.”
“Well, in a sense that decision is entirely up to you.” Rhapsody spoke the words gently, knowing that to do so heavily would sting; as a descendant of a Firstborn race, Ashe had to make a conscious decision to procreate. “But once you decide in favor of it, whenever that may be, I promise to make that decision worth your while.”
Ashe laughed and kissed her hand, then went back to watching Stephen's daughter draw pictures in the sky with her dragon kite, lost in memory.
TEMPLE OF THE ORACLE, YARIM PAAR
T
he darkness of the inner sanctum of Mawyn's temple was broken intermittently by fires burning in decaying receptacles and the tiny flames of countless candles, thick with the stench of burning fat barely masked by pungent incense.
he darkness of the inner sanctum of Mawyn's temple was broken intermittently by fires burning in decaying receptacles and the tiny flames of countless candles, thick with the stench of burning fat barely masked by pungent incense.
Mother Julia stared across the jagged well in the floor to the dais suspended above it, trying to hold the Seer's gaze and failing; the eyes of the mad prophetess were perfect mirrors of quicksilver, devoid of any iris, pupil or sclera. They reflected the myriad flames, making Mother Julia's head spin crazily.
“How â how long will I live?” she whispered, dotting her gray forehead with the colorful fringe of her shawl.
The Seer laughed, a maniacal, piercing sound, then rolled suddenly onto her back, pointing the ancient sextant in her hand at the black dome of the temple above. She began to swing the dais wildly over the jagged pit beneath her, singing in mad, toneless words.
Finally she righted herself and leaned over the edge of the platform, fixing her reflective gaze on the trembling crone.
“Until your heart stops beating,” she proclaimed smugly. She waved a dismissive
hand at Mother Julia, her rosy golden skin, scored with tiny lines of scales, gleaming in the half-light.
hand at Mother Julia, her rosy golden skin, scored with tiny lines of scales, gleaming in the half-light.
“Wait,” the old woman protested as the doors to the inner sanctum opened. “That is no answer! I made a generous offering, and you have told me nothing!”
A blank look of confusion crossed the Seer's face. Mother Julia turned away from the guards gesturing at her, realizing that she had phrased her objection incorrectly; Manwyn could not comprehend the Past, only the Future and enough of the Present to allow her a stepping-stone in Time. With a trembling hand she reached into the folds of her garments and extracted her last gold crown. She held it up; the light caught the surface and reflected in the prophetess's eyes.
“You are not telling me anything. You will cheat me for Eternity if you do not provide me more of an answer. I will be forever a bad debt of yours.”
Manwyn cocked her head to one side, her tangled mane of flame-colored hair billowing in the updraft from the dark well; its metallic silver streaks caught the reflection of the candlelight for a moment and flashed, causing Mother Julia to wince in pain. Her lips pursed as she considered, then nodded briskly like a child.
“Very well. One more question. Consider carefully; I shall answer no more for you in this lifetime.”
The old woman shuddered, racking her brain to combine her questions into one which would suffice while the ancient Seer spun the wheel on the sextant beneath her fingers, humming tunelessly. Finally Mother Julia took a deep, ragged breath and squared her shoulders.
“Who shall tell me what the disk of blue-black steel is?” she stammered.
The prophetess looked into the sextant, then up at the crone again. When she spoke, her voice was plain and clear of madness or singsong.
“Your son Thait will tell you what you have been commanded to discover,” she said simply. “Five weeks and two days hence this night.”
From the depths of her belly the old woman sighed, relief glistening in her eyes and on her brow. She bowed to Manwyn, tossed the coin into the well, muttered her thanks, and hurried out through the heavily carved cedar door past the guards, eager to quit the temple as quickly as possible.
As the cedar door closed behind the woman, Manwyn looked up as if startled. She nodded to herself, then called softly into the darkness in the distance.
“He will whisper it to you through his tears as he sits beside your grave, arranging the stones.”
Indigo
Night Stayer, Night Summoner
Luasa-ela
6
PORT OF ARGAUT, NORTHLAND
T
he scent of fire in the wind was always an exciting thing, the seneschal thought, inhaling deeply. Pungent ash mixed with the tang of salt sea air was like a perfume to him, especially in the aftermath of morning, when the white smoke of the infernos gave way to the stolid gray miasma that hung like dirty wool in the wind above the smoldering coals, the dingy causatum of so much glorious flame the night before. It was an odor he had loved all his life, but in the last thousand years or so it had taken on a special appeal, particularly when laced with the olfactory undertones of human flesh, which added a pleasant causticity to it.
he scent of fire in the wind was always an exciting thing, the seneschal thought, inhaling deeply. Pungent ash mixed with the tang of salt sea air was like a perfume to him, especially in the aftermath of morning, when the white smoke of the infernos gave way to the stolid gray miasma that hung like dirty wool in the wind above the smoldering coals, the dingy causatum of so much glorious flame the night before. It was an odor he had loved all his life, but in the last thousand years or so it had taken on a special appeal, particularly when laced with the olfactory undertones of human flesh, which added a pleasant causticity to it.
The previous night he had stood in the darkness of the reviewing stands, watching the burning pyres be lighted like signal flames along a giant battle wall. It had been an unprecedented inferno; the chorus of wailing, rising and falling on the summer wind, had been especially melodic, a symphony of pain that enflamed his soul with excitement.
The thrill had still not worn off, even in the bitter light of dawn observed now from the rolling deck of the
Basquela
on which he stood. The bonfires had burned down to seething ash, cooling, waiting for the farmers of the Inner Crescent to come and haul the detritus away, sowing it into their fields to enrich them.
Basquela
on which he stood. The bonfires had burned down to seething ash, cooling, waiting for the farmers of the Inner Crescent to come and haul the detritus away, sowing it into their fields to enrich them.
The seneschal ruminated on that for a moment, the beneficial balance he had achieved since coming to power. The shipping lanes had never been so profitable; Argaut's fleet was one of the most commanding and respected in maritime trade throughout the civilized world, plying the seas in extended cycles, braving some of the most dangerous coastlines in the process â the rocky archipelago of the Fiery Rim; the shark-infested waters of Iridu and the Great Overward, where the predatory fish could reach a hundred feet in length; the burning swells that still foamed over the watery grave of the sunken Island of Serendair in the south seas, its former mountaintops of Briala, Balatron, and Querel now making for treacherous pocketed reefs of boiling volcanic blasts.
The real danger in those places was not the natural phenomena that existed there, but the pirates who used them as hunting grounds. Privateers from deadly, centuries-old familial lines, their ships, swift and silent, plied the shoals and crosscurrents as if immune to the perils of the sea, mastering the wind
with merciless efficiency. The remains of the vessels they plundered were never found, the able-bodied among the crew and passengers sold as slaves in a variety of ports around the world, most especially in the diamond fields of lower Heraat in the Great Overward, and the gladiatorial arenas of Sorbold. The old, the sick, and the weak were used as chum for the sharks.
with merciless efficiency. The remains of the vessels they plundered were never found, the able-bodied among the crew and passengers sold as slaves in a variety of ports around the world, most especially in the diamond fields of lower Heraat in the Great Overward, and the gladiatorial arenas of Sorbold. The old, the sick, and the weak were used as chum for the sharks.
The Brigands of the Sea Wind, as the pirates like to call themselves, were the scourge of the shipping lanes, the terror of the seas, and made the passage of travelers and the plying of trade hazardous at best. Even the nations that supplied military forces to escort their merchant vessels watched in hope that turned frequently to dismay for their return. Owning a strong, reliable fleet of swift ships that could run the privateers' blockades, outsail them, and escape with their crew and contents intact was one of the greatest assets any merchant guild or nation could have. Argaut's merchant fleet and navy were without peer in the world.
Because the Baron of Argaut, who owned the fleet, also owned the pirates.
It made for a perfect cycle, a very profitable way to suppress competition. The seneschal was extremely proud of the beautiful simplicity and interconnectivity of it all. The Brigands occasionally attacked ships in the waters near Northland, but by and large stayed far enough away from port to avoid suspicion. The slave trade fostered friendship in places like Druverille, the frozen wasteland to the north of Manosse, and Sorbold, a key nation in the western continent on the southern border of the Wyrmlands. The northern continental coastline of the Wyrmlands had been held in protection for thousands of years by the dragon Elynsynos, who allowed no ship to broach the misty shores. The slave traders of Sorbold were Argaut's favorite trading partners, paying a high premium for captives who could serve in their famed gladiatorial arenas.
And so the cycle had continued, year after year, century after century. The shipping lanes filled Argaut's coffers with the bounty of respectable trade by the merchant fleet and the booty of privateering by the Brigands. The slave trade provided an easy dumping ground for any victims of piracy who would have survived to tell the tale; the less valuable captives were accused, along with the occasional local upstart, of being the pirates themselves and were burned in great bonfires that lighted the night sky, sating the righteous indignation of the population while convincing them of the efficiency of their government. The remains of the unfortunates were sown into the fields to produce a bountiful harvest, or rendered as fat for tallow candles, both of which in turn provided more products for the shipping trade.
And, above all else, they satisfied the bloodlust of the seneschal and the baron, both of whom craved the thrill of the fire.
Indeed; I have no wish to abandon this.
The seneschal whirled, caught off guard by the baron's voice.
“M'lord â”
Disembark.
We are not leaving.
We are not leaving.
The pleasant musings vanished, leaving the sensation of acid burning in the seneschal's eyes.
“Forgive me, m'lord, but we are.” Involuntarily he winced at the stabbing pain in his head.
The voice, when it whispered again, was low and soft; the seneschal could barely make out the words over the waves of nauseating thrum in his head and the crying of the gulls.
In sixteen centuries you have only dared defy me once; remember what you wrought.
“Twice,” the seneschal corrected. He clutched his brow in agony, shaking his head like a boar shaking off the hunting dogs beset upon its neck. He glanced woozily in the direction of the dark hold where Faron waited, frightened, in his transplanted pool of gleaming green water. He had been secreted aboard in the middle of the night, carried in soft blankets, while the fires were burning down and the sea winds tugged at the moorings. The terror in the child's eyes haunted at him again, and feelings of protective rage rose inside his breast. “And what I wrought is a lifeline for you; remember that.”
The threat in the reply was unmistakable.
You remember it as well.
“Yer Honor? Sea-shakes got hold o' ya already? We haven't even cast off yet.”
The seneschal struck violently at the air behind him, knocking the man flat with a gesture.
“Leave me in peace.”
The sailor, long accustomed to the strong arm of command, rose quickly from the deck and slipped away. When the sailor had gone, the seneschal focused his attention again on the voice in his mind, the demon that shared his soul.
“I will not be questioned by you in this,” he said in a low voice, fighting the grip behind his eyes.
You are taking us away from our place of power, where our dominion rests, unchallenged. Why?
The seneschal stood a little straighter.
“A debt is owed me, a debt I had written off a lifetime ago and a world away.”
So if you decried this debt a lifetime ago, why pursue it now?
The seneschal ran his fingers angrily through his hair, as if seeking to gouge the nagging voice from his scalp.
“Primarily,” he spat, “because I choose to. And I do not wish to answer to you about it.”
The dark fire of F'dor spirit that clung to his essence burned blacker within him, making him nauseous.
I can see we have a misunderstanding of roles here.
“Yes,” the seneschal agreed, “though I am certain we have differing opinions on who is transgressing on the terms under which we have agreed to associate with one another.”
The voice of the demon was silent for a moment, leaving only the sound of the wind and the sea, the cry of the gulls, and the distant noise of the port growing busy as morning came. When it spoke there was a crackling sound in its tone, like a fire, the flames calm but seething underneath in the coals.
I have allowed you far more autonomy, far more independence, than most with our arrangement would have.
The seneschal exhaled sharply.
“Perhaps that is because I took you on voluntarily, if you recall,” he said. “You have benefited greatly from my strength, from retaining my independence. If you wanted a passive host whose life essence you could suck out, use as a parasitic moss uses a tree, surely there were thousands of sickly, pathetic rabble after the Seren War ended that you could have taken on; a flower-seller, perhaps; a fishwife, an infant? You chose me because I offered you a host healthy of body and mind, a soldier, a leader of men, with power of my own that you could share, but it was never part of the bargain that you would possess that power outright. If you had wanted a servile lackey, you should have chosen a host within your ability to subdue, with strength less than your own, one you could conquer, could make your own unwillingly, could hollow out and feed off of until you moved on to someone better. You would never have been able to take me on then, never would have conquered me against my will.” He paused, feeling the ebb and flow of the demon's spirit coursing through his veins. “You cannot do it now.”
The sea wind gusted again, snapping the mains'l violently, then settling into a calm breeze again. The seneschal felt the heat within him dim as the demon considered his words.
You have not done poorly in this bargain yourself,
the voice said when finally it spoke again.
You wanted life unending. You have had it.
the voice said when finally it spoke again.
You wanted life unending. You have had it.
“Yes,” the seneschal acknowledged, “yes, I have. And so have you. I might point out that when I came to you your host was dying, alone, unable to drag
the sorry remains of his crumbling body out of the water that was filling the dungeon in which you were held captive. I saved your sorry life, have brought untold glory to you, the power of elemental wind to mix with your fire â”
the sorry remains of his crumbling body out of the water that was filling the dungeon in which you were held captive. I saved your sorry life, have brought untold glory to you, the power of elemental wind to mix with your fire â”
In return for immortality
.
.
“Yes. A fair trade. And all in all, it has been a beneficial, in fact, inspired pairing.” The seneschal clutched the railing, prepared for another onslaught of demonic rage. “Except on those occasions when you forget that I have the final decision as to where we go, what we undertake. You, sadly, have no choice but to come along. Unless you wish to leave now.”
The demon chuckled; it was a harsh, rasping sound that scratched against the seneschal's ears.
You always were foolhardy. Think which of us will have the worse of the bargain if I should decide to do that.
You always were foolhardy. Think which of us will have the worse of the bargain if I should decide to do that.
“My wager is on you,” the seneschal said as the sun crested the horizon, splashing the ocean with golden light. “After sixteen centuries of unquestioned dominion, feeding your hunger for fire and ruin, I think it would be amusing to see how you fare as a cabin boy or a whore strolling the docks. Look around you; is there anyone in particular that you crave to move on to? Perhaps there is a tavern wench you might like to have as your host? Then perhaps you too can know the feeling of being fornicated over and over again, as I do when you try to assert yourself.”
The voice of the demon cackled.
It might be interesting to take you up on that. Were we to part company in the next beat of your heart, I would not die; I would be weaker, 'tis true, but when one is immortal, a setback is merely a delay, not an ending
.
It would almost be worth the loss of stature and power to take up residence in another, any other, just to watch your body shrivel to dust and blow away in the wind before my eyes.
The fire returned, soaking into the internal edges of the seneschal's consciousness.
You do know that is what would happen, do you not?
Without my essence you would not only be a dead man, but one who owes Time a dear debt he has no means to repay
.
.
It would almost be worth the loss of stature and power to take up residence in another, any other, just to watch your body shrivel to dust and blow away in the wind before my eyes.
The fire returned, soaking into the internal edges of the seneschal's consciousness.
You do know that is what would happen, do you not?
Without my essence you would not only be a dead man, but one who owes Time a dear debt he has no means to repay
.
“Go then,” the seneschal snarled. “Cast yourself out. Better still, allow me to do it for you.”
Your rashness will be your undoing, if not now, then later,
the demon said solemnly.
the demon said solemnly.
Again the voice fell silent, and the seneschal gripped the deck railing. The demon was the embodiment of chaos, of destructive impetuosity. He prepared himself for battle, or being tossed into the sea, or into oblivion.
You are in pursuit of a woman,
once again.
once again.
The seneschal clenched his teeth, seeking to bar the F'dor spirit from the inner reaches of his mind, but it was like trying to hold back the sea; the hot fingers in his brain probed mercilessly, unyieldingly, violating what little space
was left to him. He could feel it searching the hidden realms within his head, finally coming upon the thoughts he had sheltered from it, grasping them, digging them out like a root from the dirt.
was left to him. He could feel it searching the hidden realms within his head, finally coming upon the thoughts he had sheltered from it, grasping them, digging them out like a root from the dirt.
Other books
Jackson's Dilemma by Iris Murdoch
Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) by Silvers, Shayne
Lucia Victrix by E. F. Benson
Hermit's Peak by Michael McGarrity
Bastial Steel by B. T. Narro
Dragon's Melody by Bell, Ophelia
The Royal Wizard by Alianne Donnelly
Jaxson's Angel by Serena Pettus
Death at Dawn by Caro Peacock
Foundation And Chaos by Bear, Greg
