Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (42 page)

 
          
Aidan
nodded. Of course.

 
          
"Chained
warrior; chained prince; chained raven." Siglyn smiled. "Your choice.
To break it, or make it whole."

 
          
Aidan
unbuckled his leather belt and slid the three matching links into his hands. A
brief examination told him they were of the same making as the joined links in
Siglyn's hands.

 
          
"How?"
he asked. "How do I make it whole?"

 
          
"That
is your choice?" Siglyn asked.

 
          
"Aye:
to have it whole."

 
          
"Be
certain of it."

 
          
He
smiled. "I am. I would have it whole."

 
          
Siglyn's
eyes were very still. "Give one link to Tye. One to Ashra. The last to
me."

 
          
Aidan
did so.

 
          
"Name
them."

 
          
Aidan
looked at the link in Tye's hand. "Shaine," he said quietly.
"Shaine the Mujhar."

 
          
"And?"

 
          
"Carillon."
He looked into Ashra's emotionless face. "Carillon of Homana."

 
          
The
link glittered in Siglyn's hand. "The last?"

 
          
"Donal,
who was Cheysuli."

 
          
Siglyn
nodded once. "The links are distributed. The chain is for you. The joining
is for you."

 
          
Slowly
Aidan knelt in front of the old man. From him he took the chain of four joined
links. He touched the one he had named Donal to the single link Siglyn held,
and in the snapping flash he squinted, knowing the joining complete.

 
          
He
repeated the ritual with Ashra, then Tye. Four links were joined to three: the
chain at last was whole.

 
          
Aidan
waited, staring fixedly at the fifth link. Waiting. When it remained unbroken,
he smiled joyously at Siglyn. "Whole," he exulted. "
Not
shattered.
Not
broken. Its name is not Aidan!"

 
          
Relief
was overwhelming. Aidan cast a glance at Tye, at Ashra, looking for some sign
of acknowledgment, but they gave him nothing more than silence. It did not
matter. Aidan laughed at them all, then yawned a tremendous yawn into Siglyn's
face.

 
          
"Forgive
me" he said, when he could. "I did not mean to do that."

 
          
"Magic
does tire a man," the old Ihlini said gravely. "But not so much as
dealing with gods." His hand was on Aidan's head. "Sleep, child of
the Firstborn… and dream your dreams in peace."

 
          
He
slept dreamlessly, knowing peace for the first time in too long. When he awoke
he fully expected to be alone. But the wagon still stood by the tree, and Ashra
sat by the fire.

 
          
Memory
rushed back. Aidan sat up, pushing a hand through tangled hair. "I thought—"
But he broke it off raggedly, no longer certain what he thought.

 
          
Ashra
smiled. "You thought you would be deserted. No. Not yet."

 
          
He
looked beyond her and saw Tye with the horses, hitching them to the wagon.
Siglyn was absent; probably
in
in the
wagon. Teel, perched on the canopy, croaked a morning greeting.

 
          
Aidan
looked back at the girl. "Why?" he asked roughly. "What was all
of it for?"

 
          
"You
should know, by now." Ashra tossed her head and sent ringlets flying.
Copper hoops in her ears flashed. "It is because of you we are here."

 
          
Certainty
increased. "But you are not gods."

 
          
"No."
Her smile was sweet. "We are what you see: Singer, Dancer, Magician. But
we are servants of the gods, as you witnessed last night. We do their
bidding."

 
          
Aidan
recalled too well what had occurred the night before. "Are you real?"

 
          
"As
real as can be, as the gods made us." Ashra's bold eyes were bright, full
of unself-conscious awareness of what her body had promised. "We are as
you wish us to be. It remains for you to decide."

 
          
The
image of her dancing rose before his eyes. He recalled her supple, seductive
movements; the bright promise of her eyes. And the burning of his flesh as she
put her hands upon him. "Real," he said hoarsely. "I want you to
be real."

 
          
Her
smile enveloped him. "Then I am."

 
          
His
traitor's body betrayed him. "And if I said I no longer wanted you to share
Tye's bed?"

 
          
Ashra
laughed aloud. "I have shared Tye's bed since before you were born. Since
before your father was born, and his. I think it very likely I will go on
sharing his bed."

 
          
It
hurt. "Then there is no hope for
us
—"

 
          
"No,"
she agreed solemnly. "That is what dreams are: wishes, and the illusion of
reality. And truth. If you lay with me, you would never know if it were real or
false. And that would not satisfy you."

 
          
A
dry irony shaped his tone. "For a while, it might."

 
          
She
laughed again and rose with the supple motion of a born dancer. The chaplet in
her hair gleamed against black ringlets.

 
          
"Wait."
He put out a hand to delay her. "If none of this is real, why did you let
it go so far? Last night…" Shrugging, he let it go. "I am not a celibate
man, nor a boy misinterpreting a woman's intent. I have seduced women myself,
and I have been seduced. You lured me last night with promises of coupling.
Why, if you meant nothing of it?"

 
          
A
graceful hand swept across breasts, then down to touch curving hips. So easily
she seduced him, though her eyes were serious. "Because you
are
a man," she said, "and a
man must recognize his own mortality, his own weaknesses and flaws, before he
can set them all aside. Desire is one of the strongest of all emotions. A man
cannot always control it. He cannot always set it aside when it must be."

 
          
He
thought of countless times he had allowed himself to lose control. Much of it
had been genuine desire. But
as
much
had been the need to lose himself in something to forget what drove him so.

 
          
"I
have slept with many women…"It was a statement of truth, not a boast. He
had never been that kind. Women to him were special, because of the
kivarna
. He knew what they felt in his
bed. It deepened his own pleasure, to know what it was for the woman. But he
had
used
the women…

 
          
though
very considerate, he had not looked for anything more.

 
          
Ashra's
exotic face softened. "I did not tease you out of cruel perversity. I did
it so you would see how easily it is done, so it would not lead you into
misfortune. You are a man, not a god, and you must know it always. Even when
you might believe yourself more gods-blessed than most."

 
          
He
grunted skepticism. "Am I?"

 
          
Her
smile was slow, serene. "You are many things, Aidan. But you must be only
one
, before you understand."

 
          
Tye
came up beside her, slipping an arm around her waist. "How fares the
lesson?"

 
          
She
smiled and squeezed him briefly. "He does not yet understand."

 
          
Tye
nodded. "The learning will come of its own time and place. We have done as
much as we dare… it is time we moved on."

 
          
"Siglyn?"
she asked.

 
          
"In
the wagon." Tye kissed her on top of her head. "Go and see to his
comfort, while I bid our prince farewell."

 
          
Ashra
moved away. Aidan looked at Tye, bitterness lacing his tone. "Have I
amused you?"

 
          
Tye's
face was solemn and inexpressibly lovely. It was not womanish after all, Aidan
decided, merely the work of a master's hand. "The struggles of a man never
amuse me," Tye said quietly. "I have seen too much to laugh at anything.
Ashra, Siglyn and I have been about this for a very long time… you are not the
first, and certainly not the last. But for now, as you travel toward your
tahlmorra
, you will feel yourself quite
alone. Quite apart from the rest. But never think yourself
better
." His green eyes were level. "Do you
understand?"

 
          
"I
think I understand nothing," Aidan admitted truthfully.

 
          
Tye
laughed. "It will come." He briefly inclined his head. "Nothing
is done without purpose. Remember that, Aidan."

 
          
Aidan
watched the singer walk toward the wagon. Tye climbed up onto the wide seat and
took up the reins. Beside him sat Ashra, chaplet glinting in the dawn. The
wagon jolted into motion as Teel lifted from the canopy. As it trundled away,
the mists closed around, muting the canopy's brilliant colors. In a moment the
wagon was gone.

 
          
Aidan
looked down at his pallet of skins and wool. The chain lay there. A whole,
unbroken chain, as he had made it the night before.

 
          
He
knelt down and touched it. Took it into his hands. And knew, for the first
time, the journey he undertook would lead him to different roads, and to
choices rarely offered.

 
          
It
was up to him to make them.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
The
first thing Aidan noticed about Kilore was the scalloped line of chalk cliffs
thrusting upward out of the seashore like a mailed, white-gloved fist. Atop the
fist, he knew, perched the Aerie of Erinn, where all the proud eagles were
hatched. His own mother had been. It seemed odd to think of it, so far from
Homana. But this was Aileen's home. Homana was his.

 
          
The
second thing Aidan noticed about Kilore was the pungent smell of fish. Its
pervasiveness was oppressive; he grimaced quiet distaste as the ship was
carefully docked. He deserted it at once, walking hastily onto the dock, and
promptly tripped over a tangle of net and kelp as he twisted his head from side
to side in a bid to see everything.

 
          
He
made an effort to recover his balance with some show of aplomb; nevertheless,
he was embarrassed. He was half Erinnish himself, with sea-blood in his veins.
Surely it meant something.

 
          
But
no one seemed to have noticed; if they had, no one cared. The day was nearly
done. Fishing boats were coming in brimming with the day's catch. No one had
time for him.

 
          
Aidan
left the docks and went into the city proper, a tumbled collection of buildings
clustered between ocean and cliffs, meticulously avoiding dray-carts and
baskets full of fish and effluvia. He soon found himself in the markets where
the catch was fully displayed. Here the stench was worse.