Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 (57 page)

           
I am Kellin to them, no more—except
perhaps to my jehan, who understands very well.

           
He smiled at Aidan and saw the answer
in yellow eyes; indeed, his father knew. The shar tahl knew many things. He
was, after all, the mouthpiece of the gods.

           
One day they will know. They will
come to understand. It has nothng to do with me.

           
Kellin glanced at Sima. Then he
looked back at the others and gave them their answer. "I will have none of
your realms." Their startlement was palpable in the minute stirring of
their bodies, the intensity in their eyes. "Should you predecease me, you
may be certain I shall respect and cherish your lands, doing what I must to
keep the people content—but I will name none of them mine. I will serve only as
regent until such a time as my son comes of age." He looked at his father;
Aidan's smile was content. "The Lion may swallow the lands, but it is the
Firstborn who shall rule them in the name of ancient gods."

           
The Lion's claws curled down beneath
Kellin's hands. His fingers followed the line, tracing gilt-etched wood. He
sought the Lion's strength to carry him through the ceremony that would, in its
celebration, herald a new age.

           
His arms were heavy with lir-gold;
his brow ablaze with more. The weight at his left ear, after its emptiness, was
infinitely reassuring. He was, at last, Cheysuli in all things; a lir-blessed
warrior who also knew his balance.

           
Kellin drew in a deep breath, held
it a long moment, then released it slowly. He was aware of approval emanating
from" beside his right leg, snugged between Mujhar and Queen to offer them
both support: Sima sat in silence with tail tucked over paws- Great golden eyes
were fixed on those gathering to witness the investiture of a new Prince of
Homana.

           
So many people. His kinfolk, of
course, grouped near the firepit: Aileen first, wearing the fir-torque Brennan
had given her decades before. Their son, Aidan, with a raven upon his shoulder
and his mother's hand in his. Hart with Rael, and Lisa; Corin and Kiri with
mute Glyn; Keely flanked by Scan. And lir, so many lir, in rafters and windows
and comers.

           
Others also: the Homanan Council,
complete in all regards, and the castle staff; Gavan, clan-leader of Clankeep,
with Burr and other shar tahls; plus the multitudes of warriors, and women with
large-eyed children, from all the keeps of Homana. Ihlini also, from Solinde,
who did not honor Asar-Suti. No one was turned away. Those who could not fit
into the Great Hall gathered in corridors, in other chambers, in the baileys;
even, he had been told, in the castle kitchens.

           
The firepit blazed. The sun beyond
stained glass slanted into the crowded hall, glinting off lir-gold and other
ornamentation, tinting into a likeness the fair Homanan faces and dark Cheysuli
ones.

           
Kellin noted it. He noted
everything, but nothing stood out so much as the woman at his side.

           
She stood quietly at his right,
holding linen-swathed Cynric, She wore a velvet robe of deep bloodied wine that
was, in its folds, in its richness, very nearly black. At her ears she wore
rubies and jet; her slender neck was weighted with the gold of his /ir-torque.
Unbound silver hair fell in sheets to her knees. The white around her face
framed an exquisite, alien beauty even more remarkable for her pride, for the
blazing of her spirit, for the determination housed in icy Ihlini eyes.

           
This was her son. If it be her task
alone, they would none of them forget it.

           
Kellin smiled. They will remember
her from this day. No matter what else may happen, they will never forget
Ginevra.

           
He looked out again at the
multitude, then rose from the throne. He extended his right hand. Ginevra put
into it her left, as her right arm cradled Cynric. Two steps only, and they
stood at the edge of the marble dais steps.

           
Aidan moved out from the throng. His
voice was pitched quietly, but no one in the hall could not hear what he said.
"He is the sword." A shower of sparks rose up from the firepit.
"He is the sword and the bow and the knife. He is darkness and light. He
is good and evil. He is the child and the elder; the girl and the boy; the wolf
and the lamb."

           
No one spoke. No child protested, no
lir ruffled wing.

           
Aidan's eyes were black. "I am
no one; I am everyone. I am the child of the prophecy; child of darkness and
light; of like breeding with like until the blood is one again."

           
Stained glass shattered. Empty
casements displayed a sudden darkness: the moon slid across the sun and did not
depart. Inside, the hall was black; outside, the world was.

           
People cried out in fear; Homanans,
Kellin knew. Cheysuli feared no gods.

           
Aidan's voice whispered: "The
sword—and the bow—and the knife."

           
Flames roared up in the firepit. The
iron lid that covered the stairway to the Womb was flung back on its hinges,
crashing into piled wood. In the flurry of ash and flame came a greater, more
complex motion: the rushing torrent of dozens of lir issuing from the hole. In
the flames they were creamy marble, with blind creamy eyes, but as they burst
forth into the light, into the darkness of eclipse, marble shapechanged itself
into the clothing of living lir.

           
Ginevra's hand gripped Kellin's. He
felt her trembling; sensed the wonder in her heart, and his own, that their son
could be the inheritor of so much power.

           
"I am Cynric," Aidan said,
"and I am Firstborn of those who have returned."

           
Lir upon lir, freed of imprisonment,
joined brother and sister lir in hammer-beamed rafters, in rune-rimmed sills,
at the edge of the firepit. Others gathered near the dais.

           
Firepit flames died. The hall was
left in darkness.

           
"Cynric," Aidan said,
"who will bring light to the darkness so all men may see."

           
The darkness was complete. Silence
was loud.

           
Then Kellin understood. He looked at
Ginevra, marking the sheen of silver hair in the dimness of the hall.
"Unwrap him."

           
Her mouth parted as comprehension
filled her eyes. Ginevra deftly freed the week-old infant from embroidered
linen wrappings. With an avid tenderness she handed him to Kellin, who raised
him up, naked, to the multitudes.

           
Tiny arms waved. In the darkness
fire bloomed.

           
A pale, luminous gold born of
infant-etched runes, that encompassed the darkness and defeated it. Its heart
was livid white.

           
Upturned faces were illuminated.
Kellin heard murmurings, saw groping hands reach out to one another. Homanans and
Cheysuli were bound together by awe-

           
He looked at his kinfolk standing
near the dais: Aileen, crying; Hart and Lisa; Corin and Glyn; Keely and Sean, all
clasping hands. Their expressions were rapt.

           
Aidan raised his hands to encompass
everyone.

           
"From among them shall come a
lir worthy of the Firstborn. Worthy of the child who had united, in peace, four
warring realms and two magical races."

           
His voice soared above them.
"Cynric, child of prophecy; the Firstborn come again!"

           
There was a shifting among the crowd
as warriors looked at lir, and an abrupt apprehension that was palpable. Kellin
himself felt it.

           
He looked sharply at Sima. What is
this? Will we lose the lir after all?

           
Sima's eyes were fixed on him in an
unwavering intentness. Pupils were nonexistent. You have wrought well. Decade
after decade, until years became centuries, the Cheysuli have labored well. It
is time now for two races to become one; for the power to be fixed as it was
once before. From you and Lochiel's daughter will come others, and they in
their turn shall sire their own, until the Firstborn as a race is viable again.

           
He felt a clutch of trepidation.
What of us? What becomes of the Cheysuli and the Ihlini? Do we die out? Are we
replaced? He cast a harried glance at the gathered lir. Desperately he asked.
Have I destroyed my own race to elevate yours?

           
The tip of her tail twitched.

           
Kellin began to tremble. Sima—am I
to lose you after all? To my son? He could not bear it. He could not bear the
idea. Gods—do not do this! Would you have me be a monster to my people?

           
Behold, Sima said.

           
"Behold!" Aidan cried.

           
Kellin heard it. At first he was not
certain. Then he heard Ginevra's gasp and swung awkwardly, clasping the infant
against his shoulder. He could not help himself; he stepped off the dais even
as Sima preceded him; even as Ginevra fled.

           
But he knew. He knew. And his doubts
spilled away.

           
He looked at Sima. She was fully
grown and magnificent. You knew all along.

           
Golden eyes blinked. I know many
things. I am, after all, lir.

           
"Look," Ginevra whispered.
"Look what we have done!"

           
Kellin looked again. Words filled
his mind, his mouth; too many words. He could not say them all; could not think
them all.

           
In the end, he said the only ones he
could manage. "Leijhana tu'sai—" he whispered, "for a lir such
as this. With meticulous precision, the throne unbent itself. Wood split and
peeled away; gilt cracked and was sloughed as dust. The shoulders broke through
first, heaving free of imprisonment, and then the head, twisting, as it freed
itself from an ancient, rigid roar. The gaping jaws closed. The crouching beast
dropped to all fours and shook its heavy mane, spraying chips of wood and gilt.

           
In the hall, people cried out:
Homanan, Cheyuli, Ihlini. Some fell to their knees. Others mouthed petitions to
various gods.

           
Wood cracked and popped. From the
tattered prison emerged a male lion full-fleshed and in his prime. Golden eyes
gleamed, stripped now of age-soiled gilt to display the soul inside. A flame
burned there, kindling into a bonfire as he gazed upon the hall.

           
The lion shook himself. Wood chips
flew into the hall; those that landed in the firepit popped once and hissed
into smoke.

           
The grime of antiquity, the sheen of
a thousand hands, was sloughed off with a single shrug of massive, mane-clad
shoulders. Littering the dais was the wooden pelt newly shed; what stood before
them now was the Lion of Homana as he once was, before a power wholly perverted
had shapechanged him to wood.

           
The massive jaws opened, displaying
fearsome teeth. His roar filled the hall. Fragments of glass still clinging to
their casements shattered into colored spray.

           
The roar died. The lion scented,
tasting the air, then took note of the tiny infant- Golden eyes sharpened. He
padded forth to stand at the edge of the steps, gazing down upon the child who
was unafraid of his roar. The rumble deep in his chest was one of abiding
contentment, of a lir newly bonded.

           
Ja'hai-na, Kellin thought.
Imprisoned or no, this moment alone, here within the hall, has always been his
tahlmorra.

           
He looked down at the infant he
cradled in his arms. The eyes were not open. The fists were impotent. But
Kellin knew his son would never be measured by such things; he was Cynric, and
Firstborn; he would measure himself against a personal criteria more demanding
than any other.

           
The lion roared again. The moon
moved off the sun. Sunlight filled the Great Hall, where a week-old, naked
infant shaped tiny glowing runes.

           
Ginevra cried in silence, Kellin
clasped and kissed her hand, raising it in tribute; he would have everyone know
he honored his queen. "Shansu," he whispered. "The war is
ended,"

           
As the Lion lay down behind them, Kellin
turned to the gathering and raised his son once more. "His name is Cynric.
In the name of Cheysuli gods, who conceived and bore us all, I ask you to
accept him as my heir, the Prince of Homana—and the Firstborn come again!"

           
He was met at first by silence. Then
a murmuring, a rustling of clothing, a clattering of jewelry; and at last the
acclamation, wholly unrestrained, echoed in the rafters. The tongues conjoining
were two: Homanan and Cheysuli. But the answer was encompassed in single word
said twice.

           
"Ja'hai-na!"

           
"Accepted!"

           
Aidan came first, followed by
Aileen. And Hart, Corin, Keely. Sean, Glyn, and Lisa. Each of them approached
the infant Prince of Homana to offer the kiss of kinfolk; only they could.