Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (52 page)

           
Kellin knew it at once. She does not
understand—she has no comprehension of what we did here, in drinking from the
cup.

           
Ginevra tore free of his grasp.
Between them she built a wall of conjoined, blazing runes.

           
His own shredded it. "I drank
of the cup," he told her. "What I know is not forgotten."

           
Ice-gray eyes were black in
comprehension.

           
"What have I done?" she
whispered. "What have I wrought?"

           
Oddly, he wanted to laugh. "I
think—peace."

           
His mind moved ahead to means.
Kellin turned.

           
"Only one thing remains—"

           
She saw what he meant to do.
"No! Not that—"

           
He did not heed her but went
straight to the glassy basalt pedestal, all twisted upon itself, and snatched
up the heavy links. He would take the chain to his father and prove himself
worthy of being Aidan's son.

           
He turned back to Ginevra. Her face
was bathed in light, but the shadowed hollows beneath her cheeks underscored
the exquisite architecture of her face. Gods, but she is magnificent. They
wrought well when they made her. Hoarsely, he said, "Now we go."

           
"No! Not me!"

           
She was pride incarnate, and
beautiful, blazing with determination. Light from the Gate glowed in her hair.
All of it was silver now save for the pure white frame around her face. She did
not know. She had not comprehended what the god had stolen from her in addition
to what was offered.

           
Knowing what she is alters nothing.
NOTHING. I want her as much now as I did before. And—I need her as badly.

           
Yet looking at her, knowing what he
knew of the woman who was Ihlini, but also whom he loved, Kellin was keenly
aware of a strange division in his soul. He, too, had been raised to believe in
certain assurances, in certain absolutes, such as a conviction that only one
race could—and should—survive. Assumptions were made predicated on traditional
beliefs; he wondered now if perhaps disservices were done in the name of
service.

           
To the Ihlini, service to the Seker
is as binding—and as honorable—as ours to Cheysuli gods. In that moment he
understood. He comprehended at last how his father could, in the name of
prophecy, give up a son.

           
Should he not be able to sacrifice
something as well to serve a greater purpose?

           
He looked at the woman. A small part
of him wanted to say she was Ihlini, and enemy, and therefore worthy of hatred;
but the greater part of him recalled the other woman. Had he not said it
himself? "Prejucide and hatred is created, not born."

           
He had loved her as an Ihlini,
knowing no different; now that he did know, why should all things change?
Ginevra was simply Ginevra.

           
Kellin laughed painfully, cognizant
of a truth that no child could comprehend. He gave up his son's childhood, but
will have him in adulthood. I give up old prejudice so I may have a woman, and
therefore serve the greatest purpose of all.

           
Ginevra scrambled up as he rounded
the Gate.

           
"I gave you your freedom! Now
go!"

           
His hand closed upon her wrist. The
other clutched the chain. As she struggled to break free he caught handfuls of
her hair, all tangled with bloodied fingers and links of rune-wrought gold.

           
He held her imprisoned skull very
still between his palms. "I want—" He could not say it. It filled all
of his being, he overflowed with it, but he could not say it. Her face twisted.
"You want the child!"

           
Lips drew back. He did not mean to
snarl, to bare his teeth before her, but much of him recalled what it was to be
a cat in place of a man.

           
She was Lochiel's daughter.

           
Kellin laughed. He saw the spasm in
her face, the anguish in her eyes, and knew he had to explain. If he could but
find the words. "Ginevra—" He shut his teeth together. Why not let
her believe it is because of the child? It would be easier.

           
But he no longer desired to
predicate decisions on what was easiest- "I have— I have lost too much . .
." He would say it; he would. "In the past—too many people." His
breath stirred her hair, stark white around her face, silver in his hands- Say
the words. Say them so she knows—say them so YOU know. "If—if it is
heresy—" He drew in a hissing breath. "If it is heresy to love
Lochiel's daughter, then burn me now."

           
Her eyes were blackened sockets.
Ginevra said nothing.

           
His breath rushed out of his mouth.
"I thought it was a lie. This Lion, I swore, would never lie down with the
witch." His eyes were avid as he cradled her face. "But he has, and
found it good—"

           
"How can you say that?"
she cried. "Knowing what we are—"

           
"Knowing what we are is why I
can say it." Kellin clung to her more fiercely, wanting very badly to find
the proper words, but not knowing how.

           
He was afraid, suddenly. Afraid he
could not win.

           
"Ginevra—"

           
A gout of godftre burst from the
Gate. It showered them with sparks. An eerie wailing whistle accompanied smoke.

           
Ginevra flinched, then her eyes
opened wide.

           
"He knows—the god knows—"

           
The ground beneath their feet shook.
High overhead, one of the arches shattered. Glass rained down.

           
"No more time—" Kellin
dragged her with him as he headed toward the colonnade that led from the Gate
to the passageway beyond. More glass shattered. The chime of its landing was
swallowed by the keening from the Gate. Godfire lapped at the edges, then
spilled onto the floor.

           
She staggered next to him, fighting
to regain balance. "I told you to go at once, so he would not renew his
interest! You lingered too long!"

           
He had, but it was for her.
"Then we had best make haste."

           
The voice echoed in the cavern,
carrying easily above the keening of the Gate. "Ginevra shall go nowhere.
She is my daughter—and within the Seker's keeping."

           
They spun in place. Lochiel stood on
the far side of the Gate. In his outstretched palms danced crimson runes. His
cloak smoked of godfire, purling around his body. The ale-brown eyes, in lurid
light, were molten bronze in their sockets. The clean architecture of bone, so
clear and pure in line, was visible behind the human mask that hid perverted
purpose -

           
"She made a mistake," he
said, "but it is easily rectified." The runes in his hand flared
higher, brighter, though the brilliance did not distract him. They twisted into
knots, then broke apart and reformed. "First, there is the child. We
cannot permit it to live. Ginevra knows that. You have only to look at her
face."

           
Kellin did not. He knew what he
would see there. She was profoundly Ihlini; he did not know if she loved him
enough to bear the child whose presence in the world would alter hers forever.

           
Scalloped arches broke from the
ceiling in sheets and fell behind them, shattering against basalt. A splinter
cut Kellin's cheek. The floor trembled again. The Gate ran white with fire,
bubbling over its edges. Kellin had mastered the art of working godfire in
order to make runes, but he knew better than to believe he might turn back the
flood. Lochiel was Lochiel: his arts were more powerful, and his intentions
deadly.

           
Kellin moved back two paces and took
Ginevra with him.

           
Lochiel's eyes were fixed on his
daughter. "She knows what must be done."

           
Color stood high in her face.
"I serve the Seker."

           
"Aye," he said, "you
do. In all ways necessary—and in certain sacrifices."

           
"Wait—" Kellin blurted.

           
Ginevra cried out, then fell to her
knees. Her body shuddered once. Her face was alive with pain as her mouth
formed a rictus, then loosened its hideous tension into slack astonishment.
"—kill me . . -" she gasped. "—to kill it, you kill me—"

           
"Sufficient punishment."
Lochiel's runes blazed more brilliantly. "You made a mistake."

           
Kellin dragged her up and turned her
from the Gate, pushing her onward. "Go on—go .. . get out of the
cavern!"

           
Ginevra screamed. "—inside
me—" she gasped.

           
"—so black—" She thrust
out her hands and clawed at the air. Godfire sparked from fingertips.

           
Her hair, in the light, glowed
silver. "My own—father—"

           
Lochiel said calmly, "I can
make other children."

           
Kellin built his own rune and hurled
it across the Gate, bleeding godfire as it flew. Lochiel's blazed up, then
shattered Kellin's rune into a shower of impotent fragments.
"Tricks," the Ihlini said, and looked again at his daughter. "I
would kill a thousand Ginevras to destroy the Firstborn."

           
"You—will not . .. you will
not—" She reached out to Kellin, clawing. "Take—" She bit deeply
into her lip as his fingers closed on hers. "I—will not—permit—"

           
"What choice have you?"
Lochiel asked. "This is your sacrifice. Accept it willingly, so you do not
shame me."

           
"Shame you! You?" Ginevra
writhed against the pain, laughing breathlessly. She clutched Kellin's hand.
"I need make no choice ... you have made it for me—"

           
Godfire rose up in the Gate, then
fell back, splashing, to pool again on the floor.

           
She clutched his hand more tightly,
"Kellin."

           
Her grin was ghastly as she bared it
to her father.

           
"You are Lochiel the Ihlini,
servant of the Seker—but we—we—are more ... in my body lies the Firstborn. Do
you think he will allow you to kill him?"

           
Lochiel laughed. "It is unborn,
Ginevra! And will stay that way."

           
"No—" She bit again into
her Up. Blood ran red, unsullied; she had given up immortality. "He drank
. .. and I drank. The child has tasted also. What we are together is more than
even you can withstand." She bared her bloodied teeth in the travesty of a
smile. "The god, like your cats, is hungry. I think it is time he was
fed."

           
Kellin felt her fingers bite into
his own, setting fingernails. He saw then what she meant to do.

           
"—help—" she gasped.
"I cannot do it without you."

           
No. Nor could he without her, or the
child in her body.

           
"Earth magic," Kellin
murmured. "This is a Gate, like the Womb of the Earth. Here it is
perverted, but there is still a stronger power—"

           
"Now!" Ginevra cried, and
the walls around them trembled. Archways tumbled down, shattering to fragments
against the floor.

           
Godfire blazed up. At its heart it
burned white.

           
In its reflection, as its servant,
Lochiel's face was without feature. He was, in that moment, the avatar of the
god. "GINEVRA."

           
"He is hungry!" Ginevra
cried. "He cries out for food!"

           
''In the name of the Seker, in the
name of Asar-Suti~"

           
"Aye!" she cried. "In
his name always, in all ways. You are his creature; let the god have you!"

           
Lochiel's eyes were livid. "I
will raze this fortress before I permit you to take that child from here!"