Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (74 page)

 
          
Please, do not let me fall… do not let me
lose everything, not here, not now… not before this man
—

 
          
Lochiel
nodded. "Better to leave you alive."

 
          
Aidan
stumbled forward, catching himself against the heavy cradle. Swaddled babies
slept on; he wanted to touch them, to wake them, to learn which was his son,
but his body failed him. His legs gave way beneath him and he knelt against his
will, before Lochiel the Ihlini, whose smile was oddly triumphant.

 
          
"Choose,"
Lochiel commanded.

 
          
Trembling,
Aidan clung to the cradle.

 
          
"Choose,"
he repeated intently. "This time it is not a game."

 
          
"W-why?
Why not?"

 
          
"Because
this time I will abide by it. Choose a child, Aidan. Then walk free of
Valgaard."

 
          
"Why?"

 
          
"Because
I want you to go back. I want you on the Lion. I want you where all can see
you, so they can see what you are. A man who succumbs to fits… or a man who
succumbs to demons?" Lochiel made a fluent gesture of multiple
possibilities. "I want you
there
,
not here. As you are, you will do much more damage to the power of the Lion. To
the power of the Cheysuli. Do you think the Homanans will keep you? Do you
think they will trust you?" Lochiel shook his head. "I want you
on
the throne, so they can throw you
off. Turmoil eases my task…" He shrugged. "But you will not go
without a child. You would sooner remain here and die of a fit—or my
displeasure—than go back without a child." He paused. "So
choose
."

 
          
Aidan
still clung to the cradle. "I could choose your daughter—"

 
          
Lochiel
lost his temper. "Do you think I care? If it
is
my daughter, you will still have to take her with you to
Homana-Mujhar… an Ihlini witch raised in the bosom of the Lion." Pale eyes
glittered. "To destroy the prophecy, I will risk a daughter. I will risk
ten
daughters. But will
you
risk a son in order to save
it?"

 
          
Aidan
pressed his forehead against the cradle, letting the rim bite in. He shut his
teeth on his tongue, trying to deflect the pain gnawing at his limbs. With
great effort he pulled himself to his feet, standing rigidly. "Is that
all?" he rasped. "Or is there something more?"

 
          
"The
chain," Lochiel declared.

 
          
The
trembling died on the instant. Aidan clutched a link depending from his belt.
"You want—
this
—?"

 
          
"Aye.
Is it not worth the price of a child who could well be your son?"

 
          
"Why?
What is this to you?"

 
          
"The
embodiment of a man, and all the men before him." Lochiel's smile was
wintry. "Give me the chain, Aidan. And you are free to go."

 
          
The
Ihlini knew. He
knew
. "Will you
break it?" Aidan asked.

 
          
"Only
one link," Lochiel answered. "Only one is required. And the pattern
will likewise be broken." He shrugged off-handedly. "This alone will
not destroy the prophecy, but it is a beginning. If I remove that link from the
pattern, small changes shall become large."

 
          
Aidan
knew the answer. If he refused, Lochiel might well kill him anyway, thereby
removing him from the pattern in flesh as well as link. If he stayed alive,
there was always a chance he could undo things later. And there was the child;
if he walked out of Valgaard with his son, he kept the seed of the prophecy
alive. And the human link, he thought, was stronger than the other.

 
          
And if I choose the girl
—? But Aidan
knew that answer, also: choice was a risk everyone took. Choice, and risk, was
required.

 
          
Aidan
unbuckled his belt. Slowly he unthreaded the leather from the links, sliding
them free until the chain lay in his hands. He gazed at it, head bowed,
realizing in some distant portion of his mind that the weakness in his body had
gone. He stood perfectly still before the Ihlini and pondered the ending of his
tahlmorra
.

 
          
There will be no afterworld… but without
Shona, do I want one?

 
          
Shona.
The Lion. The chain. So many broken links. So many turbulent dreams, harbingers
of his fate. So very many
questions
,
asked so many times.

 
          
But
Aidan at last understood.

 
          
He
pulled the chain taut in his hands. He recalled the binding before Siglyn and
Tye and Ashra; how he had drawn the chain from the fire and made it whole
again, merely because he believed it. Because it had been required.

 
          
Smiling
contentedly, Aidan took a final grasp on either end of the chain and looked
directly at Lochiel as he jerked the chain apart.

 
          
The
weak link shattered. Remnants of it rang against stone as they fell,
glittering, to scatter apart like dust. He held the dangling end of a sundered
chain in either hand, knowing the name of the broken link was Aidan after all.

 
          
Lochiel's
tone was dry. "Impressive," he remarked. "Now choose a child,
and go."

 
          
He
moved to the cradle. Under his feet crunched bits of broken link. He ignored
it.

 
          
Two
bundled babies. Aidan put down in the cradle the two halves of linked chain. He
picked up one of the babies without bothering to rely on
kivarna;
it was as dead as the rest of him. He would take his
plight to chance.

 
          
"Go,"
Lochiel said. "You have my leave to go."

 
          
Aidan
turned and walked from the room, cradling against his chest the son who might
rule Homana.

 
          
Or
the daughter who might destroy it.

 
          
«
^»

 
          
Wind
whistled through the defile as Aidan walked out of the canyon. Beyond, the
wailing stilled. Winter wastes were summer. Trees, once wracked by Ihlini
malignancy, now displayed the dignity of smooth young limbs. Buds sprouted
leaves.

 
          
Smiling,
Aidan nodded. With Teel and the horse waited the brown man called the Hunter.

 
          
The
god matched his smile. "You looked at the child."

 
          
"Aye."

 
          
"What
did you discover?"

 
          
"My
son."

 
          
The
brown eyes were wise and calm and very kind. "Do you think the milk he
took from an Ihlini woman's breast will curdle his spirit?"

 
          
Aidan,
turning a shoulder to the sun to protect the child tucked beneath his cloak,
sighed. "I think not."

 
          
"Good."
The Hunter gestured to a boulder near his own. "Sit you down, Aidan, and
tell me what you have learned."

 
          
Aidan
eyed the rock. "It will be too cold. I have a child to care for."

 
          
The
Hunter said nothing. Lichen and grass crept up the rock, nestling into hollows,
until the boulder was covered. A handful of violet clover blossoms bloomed. The
throne was offered in silence.

 
          
After
a moment Aidan sat down. He looked at the Hunter. "I have learned it is
sheer folly for a man to try and discern what the gods intend for him," he
began quietly. "I have spent my entire life trying to know what you wanted
of me, attempting to interpret troubling dreams that denied me a throne and
gave me a chain I could not keep whole, no matter how hard I tried." He
smiled briefly. "And I have learned how helpless is a man when the gods
choose to meddle in his life."

 
          
Brown
brows arched. "Meddle? Do we meddle?"

 
          
"Aye."
Aidan grinned at him. "It is your way, I suppose… so I will not take you
to task for it."

 
          
The
brown eyes were assessive, the calm face devoid of familiar expression. After a
moment the mouth moved into a faint smile. "You have also learned to hold
us in some disregard, it seems—to judge from your tone."

 
          
Aidan
laughed at him, pulling his son more closely against his chest and resettling
the shielding cloak. "Not in
disregard
.
I have simply surrendered, that is all. You will do with me as you will,
regardless of what I want, so I will no longer cause you—
or
myself—any difficulties with my waywardness."

 
          
"We
cannot
tell
you what to do. We never
have."

 
          
Aidan's
tone was abruptly cold. "No. But you remove impediments from my life. Like
Shona."

 
          
The
Hunter's expression was briefly sorrowful, and then it passed. "There is
another way of looking at it."

 
          
Grief
blazed up momentarily, overpowering in its strength. Then died away to ash,
much as desire had. Aidan let it go. He could not, just now, lose control.
"What way?" he asked. "Is she not
dead
?"

 
          
"She
is dead. But do not in any way believe we considered her an 'impediment' to be
removed from your life. She was not, nor did we remove her. Shona existed
because of her singularly great worth. She was the catalyst. What we did was
put her
into
your life… and give you
such joy in her arms and bed you would not want to share it with another,
ever." The eyes were steady. "Was she not worth it, Aidan? The
submission of the heart… the sacrifice of the body. Even for so short a
time?"

 
          
He
had lost what men most treasured, though they perverted it to common lust too
many times in the quest for mere gratification. He himself had done it,
regardless of the reasons. But with Shona, he had not. Even knowing, Aidan had
not believed the sacrifice of so much would be required of him. Now he
understood why.

 
          
And
did not hesitate. "She was worth everything."

 
          
After
a moment, the Hunter nodded. "It remains, Aidan: we cannot tell you what
to do."

 
          
"There
is no need for that. I know what to do.
Now
."

 
          
"Do
you? And what is that?"

 
          
Aidan
stared beyond the god a long moment, lost in thought, in memory. Then he
stirred. Smiling, he stripped the glove from his right hand. The ruby ring
glowed bloody in the whiteness of winter wastes only recently touched by
summer.

 
          
He
pulled it from his finger. "First," he murmured, "I rid myself
of this, and the title that goes with it."

 
          
The
Hunter was unmoving upon his rock. His eyes were very dark, and infinitely
compelling. "By that, you renounce your rank."

 
          
"I
do."

 
          
"It
is a rank many men would kill for, craving the power for themselves, and the
promise of more. It is an ancient and honorable title. Your
jehan
held it, and his
jehan
, and his before that… many men,
Aidan. Very many men. I ask you: do you know what you do?"