Riding the Serpent's Back (10 page)

“I’ve been waiting, but now I can sense my time is near. You talk of my Talents, yet you take them for granted: I’m True Blood, so of course I can heal and Charm.”

Leeth watched Chi closely. “What do you mean?” he asked again.

Chi met his look. “You’re right, in a way: my blood is, indeed, True – the Truest of all. I am the son of Donn. It’s from Donn that I inherited my Talents, and it was Donn who always insisted that one day I would play this central role in the future of our Age.”

Leeth was shocked. Donn was a mage who had acquired a near-legendary status. Stories about him went back generations, so that it was not even clear if he was one man or if the stories had merely accreted about his growing myth.

Chi nodded, although Leeth had asked no question. “I didn’t know until I was into my teens,” he said. “I came from a well-placed family in Tule. True Blood was strong in both lines – that still mattered to me at that age. When my mother told me she said Donn had deceived her, and I believed her. She said Donn had known his time was nearing its end, and that he had determined to perpetuate his line. He disguised himself, using his powers to distort his body so much that she took him for her husband. I believed her, then, but now I think he only disguised himself to the degree that she could
persuade
herself she had been tricked – he never really fooled her, he just gave her what she wanted. After my father died, when I was still only seven and knew nothing, Donn started to visit occasionally. I grew to like him a lot. When my mother explained to me the circumstances of my conception, she also, inadvertently, made me see that this old man, who I had come to trust and respect, had been lying to me for six years. I hated them all. I hated the deceit. As much as anything, I hated it because I had to reassess who I was: no longer Chichéne Pas, from the lines of Egréne Hanesh and Tomas Pas, suddenly my paternal line went back to Donn and stopped, for I knew nothing of his ancestry, except that he must be True. I was suddenly a different person, in the terms I used back then.”

“Does it matter so much now?” asked Leeth, without really thinking. “You deny the importance of heritage now.”

Chi stared at him. “I loved my father,” he said. “But he was not my father, only filling the role.”

“But he did fill the role,” said Leeth.

“I still see him sometimes,” said Chi. “My father. In dreams, or in visions when I meditate. But his features blur – I can’t remember him well enough to picture him. And then, sometimes, his face becomes the face of Donn...I can’t shake him out of my head.”

“Is Donn still alive?” asked Leeth.

Chi shrugged. “I don’t know. But whether alive or dead, I see him all the time – ghost or real man, he comes to me in my head all the time.”

Leeth felt immensely sorry for Chi, just then. He wondered if these visions might merely be a result of the young mind struggling to cope with its adult contents, but he didn’t know how to suggest this in a sensitive manner: the boy was still capable of the sudden mood swings Leeth recalled from his time on the Serpent’s Back. “Can’t you rid yourself of these dreams?” he asked, deciding to risk the boy’s anger.

“Do you think I’ve not tried? But always he comes back to me, reminding me of what he told me many times as a boy: that one day I would have to make a stand. One day I would have to fight.”

“Fight what?”

“Haven’t you worked it out?” Chi shook his head disgustedly. “Lachlan of course! He’s got the True Church in his pocket; his people have control of most of the Senates in the Rift. The art of government is all about recognising the limits of your authority, but Lachlan knows no limit. I loved him as a son once, but he’s gone way beyond that now. He needs to be stopped.”

“Does he know you’re alive?”

“I’ve done nothing to hide my identity,” said Chi. “But it doesn’t really matter if he knows who opposes him or not. You’ve heard all the reports from the north: he’s building up his forces, gathering them on the plains. Nobody seems to know what he’s planning, but it’s certain he’s planning something. I suspect he fears what might happen if resistance grows on the Shelf, or out on the Serpent’s Back. He wants to protect the supply route up the Rift. He could move south at any time to crush the opposition before it develops a voice and a force of its own.”

“Do you really think you can fight him? Apathy is so ingrained into the souls of the Lost People, you’ll never turn them into a fighting force!”

“That’s true,” said Chi. “Logic dictates that we take the Junction before Lachlan uses it to take the Shelf, but if we do so it will only guarantee that he moves against us. All we can do is organise wherever possible – the Raggies, the police squads – and hope that resistance won’t collapse if the Army moves south. We can do nothing until we can inspire the people.”

It was growing dark around them, although the steam remained hot from the Burn Plain. “Come on,” said Leeth, trying to disguise his unease. “Let’s get back.”

Seconds later, Sky materialised through a swirl of mist, and Leeth and the boy strapped themselves onto the great beast’s back.

Home
, thought Leeth at his courser, although he suddenly had little idea if the term had any meaning for him.

Sky deposited them on the road, part of the way up the hill. Leeth swung Chi up onto his shoulders and set off along the narrow track to their hut, stepping over legs and toys as he went, stepping past fires, nodding and exchanging a few words with the people in their homes.

When they arrived a strange sight greeted them.

Standing awkwardly on the narrow track between the wall of their shack and the drop to the next row of palm-leaf roofs was a black horse, and on the horse’s back was a stout man in the full traditional battledress: a round shield across his shoulder; bronze placket covering his chest; heavy cotton padding on his arms to deflect missiles, all decorated with the faces of the gods; sandals with straps designed in snake patterns; a heavy blanket tied across his legs; a pillbox helmet, trailing eagle and hawk plumes.

“What’s this?” demanded Leeth. “You can’t bring a horse along here!”

The man looked vaguely embarrassed. “If I could leave him I would,” he said. “But I’m afraid we’re rather attached at the moment.”

He twitched his legs and an edge of the blanket lifted. Beneath it, Leeth saw that the skin of the man’s legs merged seamlessly with the flesh of the horse’s flanks like honeysuckle grown into a tree: man and horse were a single beast.

The instant passed, the blanket covered the boundary between man and beast.

Leeth looked away, still unable to believe what he had seen. Surely...?

“I had a disagreement,” the horseman said, by way of explanation. “Let me advise you: never gamble with a mage. Or if you do, always ensure that you can meet your debts.”

“You took your time getting here,” said Chi, from his perch on Leeth’s shoulders.

The stranger looked at him closely. “So you’re the one,” he said. “They said there was a boy who claimed to be Chichéne Pas. No one said he was so young, though.” He didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Who is he?” asked Leeth, turning his head up towards Chi.

“Let me introduce you,” said the boy. “Joel, this is my very good friend Leeth. And Leeth, let me introduce you to my half brother, Joel Carmady.”

Leeth looked from the boy to the horseman in surprise.

“We share a father,” explained Chi. “Before you ask.” It seemed that the mage, Donn, had gone to some lengths to perpetuate his line.

“Sir! If it was not that I was so humble before you then I would present myself as your servant, my name being Red Simeni, envoy of the good lord, Principal Pieter Lammer of Totenang.”

Red Simeni stood with his head bowed lower than his waist in the hall of Tomas Aviesta, Governor of Harrat, in the north-eastern province of Averna. He did not need to look up to be sure of the expressions of approval on the faces of the Governor and his wife: it could not be often that an outsider presented himself before them, expressing himself not only in their native tongue but in the correctly respectful phrasing required of one addressing a noble in this pretentious little backwater.

Finally, he glanced up, observing that both smiled broadly. They were a plump, self-satisfied looking pair. The Governor had the look of a middle-ranking bureaucrat elevated above his position, and particularly smug because he
knew
he had risen above his rank and he thought this little self-admission made him very clever indeed. His wife merely looked smug because she had been born that way.

“Pieter has had his messenger boy coached well,” said Governor Aviesta, in the True Tongue.

Red straightened and made his smile spread. It was only to be expected that he should get none of the credit for having learnt the obscure language of this hole. “The good lord, Principal Pieter is a most attentive master,” he said, persisting with their language so that they would know he had not merely learnt a single sentence. “Just as I am sure, if it were my place to judge such an issue, that the good lord, Principal Pieter, will be the most attentive husband for your daughter.”

The match was purely political: Pieter had made it quite plain that his third wife should bring with her the political allegiance of another neighbouring province. If Red did not know his master better, he might think the Principal was making efforts to accumulate influence to rival that of Tule itself.

But it was not his place to think such thoughts.

He looked at Governor Aviesta and his wife and wondered how much longer he would have to be polite to these people. Their ritualistic point-scoring bored him. They did it only to reassure themselves of their own superiority.

The Governor was talking, and Red made himself seem interested.  “...saying her farewells to her friends at the Academy, but of course she will be here later. You must try your use of the Avernian tongue on her: she will be most entertained.”

“Of course,” said Red, returning to the True Tongue, and bowing once again. “It would be an honour.”

~

Estelle Aviesta was pleasant enough to look at. She had the rounded beauty typical of a wealthy provincial family. Her dark hair was pinned back from her face in a way that somehow emphasised the fullness of her mouth and eyes. She could be no more than seventeen years old, Red thought.

He had taken a great deal of trouble with his appearance that evening, lingering over the choice of a jacket that emphasised his tightly corseted figure, powdering his face to the near-white finish that was currently popular in Tule. Estelle had taken similar pains to dress herself in a black silk gown that emphasised the pinched narrowness of her waist. Such a waspish figure could only be attained by the wearing of corsets from childhood, so that the rib-cage tapered down to a waist Red felt sure he could span with finger and thumb. His own narrow waist had been cultivated from a later age and would never approach the perfect tapering of Estelle’s.

A banquet was held in Estelle’s honour and a number of local dignitaries and merchants had been invited. Red maintained a good humour throughout the evening, despite the stifling talk of trade codes and taxes and the benefits of engaging wholesaling agents in the more remote regions.

He was seated several places away from the Governor’s daughter, which he took as a thinly coded reminder that no matter how amusing he was, he was still a servant. He supposed he should feel honoured to be at this feast at all and not down in the kitchens with his men. From the little he had heard of Estelle’s conversation, he was not terribly disappointed to be seated away from her: she had the brittle, supercilious tones of her kind, and a superficial turn of conversation that betrayed total ignorance of most of what was being discussed.

Some time after the meal, when the guests had left their places and were free to mix, Red introduced himself to the Governor’s daughter. “Lady-daughter of the good lord, Governor Tomas,” he said, bowing generously. “Your good father suggested that I, as no more than a humble servant, should use your tongue before you. If it was not that I was so humble before you then I would present myself as your servant, my name being Red Simeni, envoy of the good lord, Principal Pieter Lammer of Totenang.”

He straightened, and saw a lopsided smirk on her face. In the True language, she said, “You use my tongue well for a mere servant. Did you learn it especially for me?”

“Madam, I would have learnt every language there had ever been if it were my lord’s command.”

She smirked again, then turned away, dismissing him.

~

In the morning, Red was up and ready early. Before it was even light, he had checked the coach and four that was to take Estelle to Totenang. He found the squad of twenty soldiers who were his escort and made sure they were ready, exchanging a continual stream of ribald banter with them. He was a slight and pale man, prone to any minor illnesses that were in circulation. He knew all the soldiers thought him and his sophisticated ways foppish and unmanly, but it was far better that they could laugh at him behind his back than that any resentment should be expressed more directly. It was a balance he cultivated carefully. And behind
their
backs, he could reflect that, as an orphan, he had probably started from lower down the social scale than most of these men, yet he had climbed far higher and he was still only in his mid-twenties. He would prefer to be successful and cultured than poor and macho.

The Governor lived in a small mansion with palatial pretensions. All Governors lived in the hope that one day their province would climb so high in status that they would become a Principal, yet such upgrading was a rare thing.

Red rode his horse out in front of the carriage as it was pulled round to stop on the wide expanse of cobbles before the Governor’s house. When they were in position, he dismounted and went to stand at the foot of the wide stairway that led down from the intricately carved front doors.

A short time later, the doors swung open and Estelle trotted out before her parents.