Bloodstone (27 page)

“A man cannot be beautiful?”

“To a woman, I suppose.”

This time, she was the one to laugh. “You may go.”

The boy prostrated himself again, then rose and backed out of the reception chamber. Malaq lowered himself onto his cushion with a small sigh of relief.

“So.” The queen made a minute adjustment to one of the flounces on her skirt. “A red-haired virgin of—what? Fourteen?—who refuses congress with both male and female slaves. Who possesses the ability to speak with the adders. Who has the power to touch the spirits of others without the use of qiij. And who might—might—have used that ability to ride the spirit of a bird.”

“Yes, Earth’s Beloved.”

“But is he the Son of Zhe?”

“Impossible!” Xevhan burst out. “The Son of Zhe would never come to earth in the body of a barbarian.”

“What better way to test our faith?” Eliaxa asked. “Oh, my queen. If you could have seen him in the pit. When he shed.”

“He’s already admitted his father is a . . .” Xevhan fumbled for the title.

“Memory-Keeper,” Malaq supplied.

“He may not know his true parentage,” Eliaxa said. “His mother may have kept it a secret to protect him. Perhaps she does not realize it herself.”

“Not realize she was seduced by a winged serpent?” Xevhan scoffed. “I’d think few women would forget that.”

“Perhaps great Zhe came to her in another guise,” Eliaxa said.

“Perhaps,” Xevhan conceded impatiently. “But this boy’s powers are hardly unique. I’m told every priest in every village possesses them. Isn’t that right, Malaq?”

“They claim to have the ability to touch the spirits of others,” he said evenly. “But they spend years honing their gifts. For a boy so young to possess them is unusual.”

Malaq took a deep breath. If the gods existed, he hoped they would guide him now. “Earth’s Beloved. Does it matter whether or not he is the Son of Zhe? Of course, we will continue to test him, to observe. But meanwhile, we should learn more about his gift.”

“A gift he calls an abomination,” the queen said.

“He is afraid of it, true. But he longs to use it.”

“The gift or the power it might bring him?”

“He knows the joy—and the fear—that comes of possessing it, but I doubt he perceives the power. Earth’s Beloved, we have never seen such a boy before. Think of what we could learn from him. The ability to speak with the adders. To control the spirits of others—to touch them, cast them out, commune with them—without relying upon a drug that saps the body and breeds an insatiable hunger for more.”

“I am well aware of the addictive powers of qiij.”

“Of course, Earth’s Beloved. Forgive me.”

“I am also aware of the danger in allowing such knowledge to become widespread among the priesthood.”

“Knowledge can be controlled. Just as the supply of qiij is now.”

“He’ll never cooperate,” Xevhan insisted. “You said yourself he refused to allow you to touch his spirit.”

“He won’t cooperate if coerced,” Malaq said. “But he’s frightened. Far from home. Among people who perceive his power as a gift, not an abomination.”

“The same people who captured him,” the queen interjected. “Hardly an incentive to win his trust.”

“Among his people, the use of his power makes him an outcast,” Malaq said. “I believe we should encourage him. Win him over. Seduce him.”

“Your attempts at seduction have proven less than successful.”

“I speak of seducing him to our ways.” The queen frowned at his sharp tone. “Let us teach him our language,” he continued mildly. “Educate him about our culture. Offer him a life he never dreamed of.”

“To what end?” Xevhan demanded. “So he can pollute our priesthood with his foreign ways? It’s bad enough that you—” He broke off abruptly, then said, “Earth’s Beloved, I agree there might be value in learning more about his powers. But once we have, we must dispose of him.”

“No!” Eliaxa cried. “My queen, you cannot allow it.”

The queen held up her hand. “We will investigate this boy—and his gift—more thoroughly. But we should make inquiries in the slave compound as well. Perhaps we captured priests in this last series of raids who can provide additional information. I wonder we never thought to interrogate any before.”

Malaq returned her limpid gaze stolidly. Until today, the queen had never cared about the fate of slaves.

“Zheron, you will investigate the remaining slaves. Pajhit, provide the Khonsel any information that would help us target these priests in future raids. And continue to study the boy.”

“Thank you, Earth’s Beloved.”

“But enlist another to teach him our language. The Shedding is a moon away and the Midsummer rite follows hard on its heels. You have too many responsibilities to allow yourself to be distracted.”

“There are several scribes who—”

“The slave Hircha,” Xevhan suggested. “Who translated during the initial interrogation. She’s quite capable. And the boy will be more likely to reveal information to one of his own people.”

“A male slave might be—”

“No.” The queen smiled. “Use the girl.”

“Yes, Earth’s Beloved.” Malaq bowed his head, his fury carefully hidden.

The queen swiveled slightly on her throne. “Jholin. Dearest. Would you like Dax to take you to your chamber?”

The king opened his eyes. “Is the meeting over?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, good. What did we decide?”

“We will continue to investigate the boy. As you suggested.”

“Did I?” He smiled. “You’d remember. You remember everything.”

“Yes. I do.” The queen’s smile was pained, but when she turned back to their table, she was as composed as ever. “My brother and I thank you for your counsel and hope to see you at tonight’s banquet to celebrate our homecoming.”

Malaq rose with the others, but as he turned to leave, the queen’s voice stopped him. “A moment, Malaq.” She whispered something to her attendant who rose and left the chamber.

Dax entered and prostrated himself; he must have been waiting outside in anticipation of the summons. At the queen’s gesture, he approached the throne and gently lifted the king. Cradled against the slave’s broad chest, the king’s body looked even more wasted. After they disappeared through the doorway leading to the royal apartments, the queen sighed.

“Do you remember how beautiful he was after last summer’s Shedding?”

“Yes, Earth’s Beloved.”

“And will be again.”

“Yes, Earth’s Beloved.”

She favored him with an ironic smile. “I detect your hand, I think, in the selection of the Hosts. Thank you.”

Malaq bowed.

“Others pander to his tastes. Indulge him. Well. You know.”

Her rare confidences no longer shocked him, but he was wise enough not to voice his agreement.

“You don’t believe he is the Son of Zhe.”

The sudden change in subject and tone took him aback. “Earth’s Beloved, I cannot say. The gods offer the same riddles as the prophecy.”

“Riddles are the gods’ way of testing our faith. And our patience.”

A lesser being could be put to death for uttering the last words, but she was Earth-Made-Flesh and far above the judgment of mortal men.

“You’re drawn to this boy. Why?”

Since he was certain she’d seen his surprise, he must give her part of the truth. “Perhaps because of what happened in the pit. If you had seen him, covered by the adders—smiling.” Malaq shrugged. “Or perhaps it is only that he’s young and gifted and I . . . envy him.”

“Yes. It is hard to remember what it was like to be young.”

He’d rarely heard such wistfulness in her voice. It was easy to see only a beautiful woman, wise beyond her years, and forget that her spirit had lived for ten generations. How must it feel to be so ancient? To have seen everyone she had ever known die? Except, of course, her brother-husband.

“Xevhan is young as well,” the queen continued. “And eager to prove himself. But he is faithful to our ways.”

“As am I, Earth’s Beloved.”

“It was a reminder of Xevhan’s character. Not a criticism of yours.”

Malaq bowed his head, accepting the rebuke.

“Take care that your affinity for this boy—and your past association with his people—do not blind you to the danger he represents.”

“Earth’s Beloved—”

“Already you and Xevhan vie to control him. I am willing to permit this contention. It may even prove . . . fruitful. Use the moon of my seclusion to learn all you can about this boy’s powers. Especially his ability to touch spirits without the use of qiij. Discover how it is done. Determine conclusively whether he is the Son of Zhe. By Midsummer, I will require a report.”

“Earth’s Beloved, to learn about his gift is one thing. To master it is quite another.”

“We can always find other Tree People with this ability. It’s only a matter of time before we gain the knowledge we seek.”

“And if we don’t know by Midsummer whether or not he’s the Son of Zhe?”

“If he is willing to adopt our ways and worship our gods, I will consider—consider, Malaq—letting him live. If not, he will be the first sacrifice you offer to Heart of Sky.”

K
EIRITH SAT ON the stone bench, watching Niqia purring in the Pajhit’s lap. In the sennight since his arrival in Pilozhat, he’d gone from slave to suspect to . . . what? Three days after his audience with the queen, he still wasn’t sure.

His life had fallen into a routine. Mornings and afternoons, Hircha taught him the rudiments of the Zherosi tongue. Every evening, he shared a simple meal with the Pajhit. And every night, he returned to his little room and prayed the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He’d found the language surprisingly easy to learn; it was similar to the ancient words the Tree-Father spoke during their rituals. Still, by the end of the day, his head ached from the effort of mentally translating every thought into Zherosi and he was grateful when the Pajhit allowed him to lapse into his native tongue. When Keirith asked how he came to speak it so well, the Pajhit said he’d grown up in the north of Zheros where there was a good deal of trading and intermingling with the children of the Oak and Holly.

They spent most evenings here in the garden. Although you couldn’t describe the air as cool, it seemed almost refreshing after the sun went down. The Pajhit didn’t seem perturbed by his continued refusal to demonstrate his gift or by his reluctance to talk about his home. He seemed content to answer his questions about Zherosi food and daily life and religion.

“I know you are sun-priest. And the Motixa is earth-priest. And—”

“Priestess.”

“Priestess. Yes. Thank you. And Zheron is Zhe-priest. But who is Zhe? He is . . .” Keirith fumbled for the word “important” and gave up. “. . . very big god. He is your Maker?”

The Pajhit studied him for so long that Keirith wondered if he had committed another blunder. “Forgive me. I mean no disrespect.”

He knew those two sentences by heart; he was always apologizing for his lack of understanding or inability to choose the correct words.

“We will speak your tongue as I want to be certain you understand.” The Pajhit’s hand glided across Niqia’s head and down the striped back. “Zhe was born after the creation of the sky and the earth. Heart of Sky fell upon Womb of Earth and ravished her. Legend says the cataclysm of their union created Kelazhat, our sacred mountain.”

Keirith repressed a shudder. It made perfect sense to him that the brooding mountain had been created as a result of rape.

“To punish Heart of Sky, Womb of Earth imprisoned him in the mountain. Nine moons later, she gave birth to Zhe, the winged serpent. The mountain split open during her birth pains—you’ve noticed Kelazhat’s jagged peak?”

Keirith nodded; it looked like fangs.

“Zhe was seduced by his father’s warmth and light into defying his mother. He rose from the mountain at dawn to carry his father across the heavens. Womb of Earth ripped open crevasses in the ground and hurled boulders down the slopes of Kelazhat. In her deep, booming voice, she called out, ‘My son. My son. Why have you betrayed me?’ ”

The Pajhit swept his hand across the sky. “To escape his mother’s voice, Zhe fled west, but the longer he flew, the hotter his father burned. His scarlet wings turned black. His body shriveled. Furious that his father should betray him after he had freed him from his underground tomb, Zhe turned on Heart of Sky and devoured him, leaving only his father’s spirit-self—the moon—to light the ensuing darkness. And then he plummeted toward the Abyss.”

A bitter tale of rape and betrayal and death. How much kinder the gods of his people were, with Bel chasing his lover Gheala through the skies. And how strange to believe the moon was merely the shadow of another god instead of a goddess in her own right.

“But Heart of Sky couldn’t have died,” Keirith said. “He rises every day.”