Idol of Blood (16 page)

Eighteen: Resurrection

Soth
Szofl had its own Meer. They seemed not to remember that they'd had one before, though they recalled how the Age of Meer had ended in the Delta. But stories of the Deltan Expurgation didn't deter them. MeerZarafet was the answer to their prayers.

Pearl didn't care for the name, which meant “grace” in the local dialect, but Pike had given it to him, so he had to answer to it. His performance in depicting the fall of MeerHraethe had given him away, and though Pearl had recoiled from the mob when they tried to get close to him, fearing they meant to destroy him, their reaction had been one of wonder and not fear. Pike, ever the pragmatic entrepreneur, had stepped in and established himself as the Meer's regent.

He claimed to have raised Pearl in secret, protecting him from the Expurgation after his father was killed, and the people of Szofl were eager to believe it. Deltans were generally looked upon by the Eastern continental states as intellectually and culturally inferior. It pleased the Szofelians both to regard their distant neighbors as barbarians for their superstitious practices, and to have finally gotten something their rivals no longer had—even if it meant embracing that same superstition.

Because Pearl couldn't conjure in the usual way, Pike used Pearl's ability combined with the clockworks that were so ubiquitous here to fashion a sort of spinneret that turned the embossments of precious metals and gemstones into priceless filaments and fibers. From these, he had Pearl's wardrobe fashioned after engaging weavers and tailors who were more than eager to be part of the new Meeric retinue. After the Expurgation, trade in Szofl had dwindled when the Deltan city-states had slowed their exports of luxury goods and their imports of the more practical Szofelian minerals and grains, which the Deltans had begun to mine and cultivate on their own. What had remained and flourished on both coasts was the seedy wharf trade Pearl had seen on his travels.

Now Szofl's artisans once again had a market, and if that was because of Pearl, he couldn't fault them for eagerly embracing Meeric rule. He understood the need to create and to have an outlet for that creative expression. Accordingly, he added conjury of painters' pigments to his repertoire, and resins for perfume makers, as well as rich clays for those who worked in pottery and sculpting. Anything that could be extracted or extruded from his drawings, he could provide.

Not everyone, however, was pleased at first with the newly established Meerocracy. Those whose governance Pearl had displaced still held the power—at least, in name—but not the prestige. Though they resented him, the ruling body of
Soth
Szofl also coveted Pearl's ability, in addition to being somewhat afraid of him—despite the fact that he'd done nothing to threaten them other than to be what he was. But as in the Delta for the last millennium, that was more than enough.

And in more recent weeks, the rumors of the destruction of the prelates of Rhyman and In'La had made their way across the sea. Those who might otherwise have protested Pearl's establishment as the new potentate of the
soth
kept their objections quiet outside their private circles. No one wished to meet the fate of Prelates Nesre or Vithius. It was a delicate balance between greed, resentment and fear that formed the basis of Szofl's budding Meerocracy.

For Pearl's part, his new circumstances were at least an improvement over what he'd endured as Nesre's slave and Pike's prisoner. It wasn't a life he would have chosen if his life were his own, but so long as he didn't have to live in a cage or wear a collar, and so long as his meals came regularly, he considered his lot much improved.

The grand building of marble columns and stained glass that had been the governor's palace had become Pearl's new temple. Dressed in his silken finery, Pearl presided over his court in silence, granting
vetmas
, while the governor and his cabinet made the policy that determined who would see Pearl and what blessings he would bestow upon them. In this way, the presence of Pearl in Szofl could be viewed as an extension of the same rule that had been in place before. Pike, meanwhile, claiming to be the only one who could communicate with Pearl, was his voice.

Pearl had considered whether it would be wiser to admit he could speak for himself, but decided against it. As soon as anyone knew he had the ability to utter his
vetmas
aloud, they would demand grander things of him. Just the thought of having to use his voice for the many desires he saw in their heads as they coveted his
vetmas
made his throat hurt. And with Pike as his voice, it was a simple matter to keep the promise Pearl had made to obey him.

Pike, in turn, proved to be exceedingly cunning in matters of state. To mollify the wounded pride of the members of the Szofelian governing body, he kept them liberally supplied with any
vetma
Pearl could fulfill, which soon proved quite satisfactory to them after all. When Pike suggested they change the names of their roles to templar priests in the Deltan tradition, no one objected. It was the prestige they'd lost with Pearl's coming that they desired, and templars had always held the prestige in the Delta. A Meer was only as powerful as his templars allowed him to be. Pike was smart enough to know it.

Almost overnight,
Soth
Szofl had become what its citizens had long reviled, a place where privilege determined one's place in society, and where those who occupied the highest rung in that society granted their favor to those who curried it most effectively. Szofl had been an exemplary democracy, but with the prospect of having one's most fervent wishes granted for the right price, the art of currying favor with the templars had swiftly subverted the ideals of equality and fairness. Every petitioner imagined his or her own motives justified whatever manipulation was necessary to achieve what they desired.

Pearl drew wistful pictures of the golden-haired Meer of old—before the ancient madness had come, before the city had fallen into darkness—the bright-eyed, proud Meer who respected the autonomy of its citizens and who in turn had earned the loyalty of his
soth
. This version of Szofl seemed more real to Pearl, more alive. Even the colors were more vibrant, and the motion his strokes of pastels and inks inspired made it seem almost within reach.

But Pearl kept these drawings to himself. He wished he'd known the Meer. He reminded Pearl of his father, though Pearl had known neither man. The architecture of both cities, erected by their Meer, told him both Meer had possessed an unrivaled zest for life. It was a drive Pearl himself couldn't quite fathom. But creating, and the drive to create, he understood. It made him wonder what his own
soth
might be like if he were ever to have the freedom to make one.

The rubble of a civilization was beneath Ra's feet. Shiva had brought this into being, and Shiva had torn it down. It was a rust-eaten monument to her unchallengeable might. Ra recalled its splendor: unfathomable architecture of gargoyles, spires and iron convolutions. It was architecture that, like Shiva, could both terrify and delight. Ra's ordinary Rhyman was a feeble village next to the glory of
Soth
AhlZel.

Each Meer conjured according to skill and whim, resulting in the peculiar variety of cities such as
Soth
In'La, full of complicated industry and invention among its dull gray edifices, and
Soth
Rhyman, unassuming, unadorned and nearly archaic in its simplicity. The motorized bicycle Ra had conjured for Geffn was the pure invention of In'La's former Meer—not Shiva, who took refuge there now, but another, whose name escaped Ra for the moment, though it seemed she ought to remember. It was machination of which Ra could never have conceived, but, having once seen it in the Meeric mist, could easily duplicate.

Ra's
Soth
Rhyman had been in embryonic existence when he'd been solicited to rule it, and he'd multiplied the unimaginative white stone buildings, already built by men, without embellishment. The exception was his temple, which he'd formed over four centuries, a product of his ruminations. If not inventive, the effect was unexpectedly pleasant to the eye. The ornate temple with its mosaics of peacock and gold stood over the simple white in stark and sometimes breathtaking contrast. At the sun's height, the white stone radiated light across the desert-rimmed valley. It was a respectable accomplishment, and though Ra hadn't known it then, it was perceived as the finest city in the Delta.

But here was the unrivaled crown of all Meeric fabrication, destroyed because Shiva feared her son. Ra leapt among the ruins and saw once more their former magnificence. Her blood whispered to her how it had been, what terrifying ghoul had been carved here over a dark and brooding hall, what twisted coil of breathtaking delicacy was the spire of this narrow aerie above it. She could see it all, every detail of Shiva's imagining as it had come into being. She laughed. Shiva, the fool, had nothing now, and
Soth
AhlZel was, in the end, Ra's. Ra might lack the creative fluid of her mother, but she had begun to understand, after nearly four hundred years, what kind of power she had to conjure. Perhaps she surpassed Shiva after all. It remained to be seen.

“Here, the dark and brooding hall!” Ra shouted. “Here, its terrifying ghoul!” She danced across the dust. “Here, the narrow aerie! Here, its twisted, coiling spire!”

The ground began to move as though the mountain shook with a tremendous quake, and Ra whirled about, screaming with laughter until she was nearly sick. Shiva's mighty work was being resurrected, torrents of stone and wood and metal raining into solid shapes upon the ground. Ra ran through the dead streets shouting up each arch, each wall, each fountain that Shiva had doubtless birthed with agony. She swung from lampposts and climbed the mounting bases of clocks. It was simple. It was effortless. She was Ra.

Soth
AhlZel rose from the
fa
of
Soth
Zelman, legacy of Shiva left to Ra. The winds shifted as they were pierced by its heights towering above Munt Zelfaal itself, the climate disrupted. Rain of simple water began to join the shower of creation, and Ra climbed up onto the highest spire and laughed up into it. She crouched over the building, over AhlZel, a gargoyle more terrifying than any Shiva had carved, and screamed, at last, the temple into being.

“
Ludtaht
Shiva!” she cried as its open dome pressed round and pregnant against the darkening sky. Her voice echoed back at her from the many empty buildings. “
Ludtaht
Shiva, now
Ludtaht
Ra!”

Nineteen: Resignation

The trees through the ebony-banded window had become burning bushes, an ancient omen of the wrath of a Meer. Flames of copper, ruby and vermillion leapt in an infernal profusion, heralding the change of seasons. Ahr looked on the courtyard, ever the measure for him of the passage of time. The temperature couldn't have told him it was autumn, for though it was cool on the hill, it was the same sweet Rhymanic wind that blew in summer. He watched its erotic dance with the trees, provocative virgins with their veils flung down in deliberate temptation. The Anamnesis glistened like a garment of silver behind them.

There were no copulating ghosts in the courtyard today. They had never shared that carnal embrace in autumn. With autumn had come silence, and the qualm of forbidden life inside her.

“An exquisite view.” Merit's voice from the passage behind him startled Ahr from his reverie. Merit approached and stood beside him at the un-glassed window, looking out. “But perhaps you see something I don't. You don't seem to be enjoying it.”

Ahr moved his head in something noncommittal. A nod, perhaps, or a shrug.

“Why do you avoid me, Ahr?”

“I don't avoid you.” Ahr tried to sound insulted.

“Ahr.” Merit turned to look at him. “
Please
.” He shook his head in disgust at Ahr's transparent pretense, but his eyes held a glint of amusement. “You're a terrible liar.”

Ahr sighed and rested his elbows against the sill. “I'm sorry, Merit. But it's the way you look at me.”

Merit raised an eyebrow. “And what way is that?”

Ahr faced the courtyard, avoiding his eyes. “The lack of judgment,” he said angrily. “The lack of hatred.” He paused, his voice threatening to falter. “Your damned forgiveness!” It was ludicrous what he'd said, and he knew it, and an expulsion of laughter that was almost tears burst out of him.

“Ahr.” Merit's voice was gentle. “For Ra's sake.”

Ahr stopped laughing and breathed in wearily, letting it out with a sigh. “Why can't anybody hate me the way I used to hate myself?” he lamented. “I miss it.”

“Is that all you miss?” Ahr feigned ignorance at Merit's meaning. “You miss
him
,” said Merit. “Even more than I do.”

Ahr dropped his head into his hands, elbows still perched on the sill, and rubbed his face as though he could scrub Ra away. “Merit, Merit,” he said into them. “How can I?”

“Because you love him.” Merit cupped the back of Ahr's neck in his hand, thumb smoothing against his cheek. “You love him,” he said again, shaking Ahr, and then kissed him, irrevocably, drawing Ahr's head to him in a way that betrayed that this was no kiss of friendship.

Stunned, Ahr stood passive beneath the kiss, bringing the back of his hand to his startled mouth when Merit released him.

“Forgive me.” Merit backed away. “I don't know why I did that. Forgive me.” He turned and left Ahr to his speechless surprise.

In the evening, Ahr came down to dinner late, his head full of thought. Merit was seated as usual at the head of the table, taking a slice of lamb from a tray as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Ahr followed his example and ate without reservation, making idle conversation as they partook of their meal. He'd made a decision he was certain Merit wouldn't like, and he waited until the servants had cleared the remains of dinner and left them with tea before he broached it.

“I'm leaving Rhyman,” he said as Merit lifted his cup.

Merit's matchless composure crumbled. “
Ai
,
meerrá
, no, Ahr.” He dropped the cup into its saucer with a loud clatter. “It will never happen again, I swear to you. Please forget it.”

Ahr had known Merit would take it this way, and it pained him. He reached across the gleaming oak table and gripped Merit's anxious hand. “It isn't that, my friend. I know you'll find it impossible to believe, but it was a coincidence. I've been thinking of how to tell you this for days.”

“And I pushed you into the abyss.”

“No,” Ahr insisted. “Gods, no. There was nothing wrong with what you did. It surprised me, yes, but nothing more.”

“If it isn't that, then why?” Merit was crestfallen, his voice disbelieving.

“It's what you said,” Ahr confessed. “I love him. I love Ra. I love
her
.”

“Yes?” Merit shrugged as though this were no revelation.

“I can't resist her any longer. My veins hurt to know she lives and I'm not near her. I must follow her. Please understand.”

Merit smiled sadly. “Of course. I know. It's why I kissed you, I think, because I knew you were not long for Rhyman. And I beg you, Ahr, forgive me. I can't bear to have this between us and not see either of you again.”

Ahr wrapped his fingers between Merit's and squeezed his hand. “I've told you before, old man, I will not forgive you for things that aren't wrong.” He leaned in toward Merit and gave him an answering kiss, and Merit sat still, receiving it with tears trailing his cheeks. “You are not my father,” said Ahr as they parted. “Not after all. I love you, Merit.”

“Not as you love Ra.” It wasn't an accusation, only a statement of fact.

“No,” said Ahr. “Nor do you. No other as we love Ra.” He pressed Merit's hand between both of his. “I mean to leave tomorrow.” He looked pointedly at Merit. “But I am here tonight.”

It was Merit's turn to register shock, and he shook his head emphatically. “I could never—I am sworn to him—you are his!”

Ahr raised an eyebrow. “I am my own. And I can think of no better way to honor his memory, Ra who died, than the sacred rite.”

Merit's resistance was only halfhearted as they retired later to the bed that had been Ra's. Ahr lay back against the covers as though he were the maiden, waiting, receptive. Merit hovered over him. He had never desired a man, and didn't think he truly did now, but Ahr—Ahr was beyond such distinctions.

He'd seen her soft olive skin tenderly exposed, had smelled her perfume mixed with Ra's, and it was difficult to separate his love of Ahr from the beauty of those moments, and from his love for Ra. Ahr unbuttoned his shirt and Merit drew it off him, astounded that though the petite cups of her breasts were gone, the body was hardly different than it had been. Though his muscles were more developed, Ahr was thin-waisted and fine-boned, and his skin appeared as smooth. Merit found himself aroused, though arousal and Ahr were once again inextricably entwined with memory.

Ahr, himself, wasn't erect, as Merit discovered when he revealed the gently curving hips, but this didn't seem to matter to either of them. Ahr unbuckled Merit's belt and helped him remove his pants, bringing Merit down against his thighs: hard and warm and willing.

Merit at last experienced Ahr's skin against his as their legs intertwined, as soft as he had always imagined it would feel. Ahr kissed him gently and removed his shirt. They were naked against the Meeric peacock silk. Ahr had been so before, but Merit, never. He trembled.

“It's sacred,” whispered Ahr into his ear. “It's for the love of Ra.” He'd removed the tie from his hair, and it tumbled down over his shoulders, not as long as the woman's had been, but so like her that Merit gasped. “Enter me,” Ahr breathed against him.

Merit shook his head, clinging to Ahr without meeting his eyes. “I don't want to hurt you,” he protested, kissing the open slope of Ahr's throat.

“The oil.” Ahr nodded toward the shelf beside the bed.

Ra had left a small collection of belongings, perfumes and rouges she'd conjured. Among them was a bottle of sacred oil Merit had given her before they parted, the same that had been used upon MeerRa's hair for ritual anointment. Ra had pressed it back into Merit's hands with her palm against his cheek.
“I no longer reign
.
”
It had saddened him. It was all he had to give her. He'd placed it here among her things as though she were only away for a fortnight.

Merit swallowed. “
Ai
, no.”

“Anoint me with it,” said Ahr against his cheek.

“
Meerrá
, Ahr!”

“Or hurt me,” Ahr offered. “My virginity, taken again… It wouldn't matter.”

“
Ahr
,” protested Merit, silencing him with a kiss. He grasped the bottle and Ahr took it from him, removing the stopper and pouring a golden circle into his hand.

The midnight blue eyes looked into Merit's. “
Vetma ai meneut
,” Ahr murmured as he lowered his arm between them and cupped the oil over another kind of head than that to which it was customarily applied. Merit thrust into Ahr's hand involuntarily, the strong, smooth fingers encircling him, the delicate oil slipping over his skin.

“
Ai
, Ahr,” he gasped, his head against Ahr's shoulder.

“
Vetma ai meneut
,” Ahr said again, pronouncing the words deliberately, and moved the anointed icon beneath his thighs.

Merit pressed against him gently, afraid, but the sacred oil had served its purpose and his entry was quick. He pulled back, but Ahr grabbed him and shook his head. “That hurts more. Don't be afraid.” He pressed up against Merit and gasped, his mouth against Merit's cheek.

Merit groaned, unable to hold back. He was within Ahr now, and Ahr was astonishingly strong, pressed around him. Ahr cried out at Merit's thrusts, but they were low, throaty cries, punctuated by consonant moans, and Merit recognized that Ahr didn't mean for him to stop. Ahr's cock rose stiff between them, and Merit grabbed his mouth and kissed him with the same force as his other penetration. He was inside the exquisite Ahr, and there was nothing to compare to it.

“
Meerrá
, but you're beautiful,” he gasped.

It seemed a kind of completion, consummation of the day Merit had borne Ahr through Rhyman while his lord deflowered her. They had shared what no one ought to share after Ra's death. If she hadn't been a collaborator in it, they might have come together then, comforting one another with desire as they did now, so long overdue.

Merit gasped with the unexpected force of his climax, and Ahr gave an answering gasp, thrusting up against him as Merit's heat surged into him. He cried out with his own climax as Merit's subsided, and they were once more anointed.

“Merit,” whispered Ahr as their bodies stilled. “Servant of my love.”

Merit kissed him. “Ahr,” he returned. “My lord's joy.”

“Do you think I am still?” Ahr's cheek was wet against Merit's.

“I know it,” said Merit.

Ahr left Merit before dawn. He was terrible at good-byes, and he preferred to leave Merit with the memory of their bodies entwined in sleep. He penned a parting note and left it on the ebony desk with the leather-bound treatise he'd written on Merit's new government, taking only what he'd brought with him from Haethfalt—and two bags of gold and silver coin.

Merit woke to find the pillow beside him cool and without impression. He'd never known such loneliness. When Ra had been taken from him and Ahr had disappeared, he'd still been in his prime. He'd returned to his wife, and she was comfort to him, as he was nurse to her in her increasingly invalid state. Only that companionship had kept him from the dark hollows of despair. Nalise had understood his loss, and they'd become as close in those ten years that remained to her as they had ever been. But he was past fifty now, and not so resilient. The only comfort was that Ra lived, and Ahr had gone to him.

He didn't intrude upon the space that still held the scent and sense of Ahr until sunset, when he felt he couldn't bear the coming dark without some inkling of her. Of
him
, he amended. It was only then, as the dark room Ahr had preferred was braced with bands of mellow gold and patches of beet and orange where the falling sun was translated through the stained gemstone glass decorating the top of the arch in the window—it was only then Merit discovered Ahr's folded note and sat down on the bed to read.

Mené ut. Never question the purity or the beauty of our mutual anointing
, Ahr's fine, thin handwriting read.
I will cherish it always. If I could ignore the perfume of Ra's blood, it would satisfy my heart to stay with you as Second, friend…or lover, if you were desirous. But I might just as well spill out my own blood in its entirety upon the floor of Temple Ra as try to resist. Of course, you know it. I have no cause to think that Ra will have me after all I've done. She has found Jak, and I could never injure Jak. It may be enough for me to be near her, as it has always been for you; I cannot tell. If Ra will have none of me, I will come to you in Rhyman, and we will worship her from the solace of distance. Without Ra, there is only you.

I will send your love to Ra. Pray Ra I can send my own to her as well.

Your daughter, your lover, your friend,

Ahr Naiahn

Out of kindness, Ahr hadn't added “without Jak” as a condition of his love, though it had been transparent in the tenderness with which Jak had first been introduced—
“mene midt,”
Ahr had said, but
midtlif
had been undeniably evident. It was enough that Merit occupied a place in Ahr's affection that came close to these. No, it was an honor. Merit stretched against the dusk-grayed cover of Ahr's bed and wept.

Something dark and viscous was in his blood. Pearl felt it curling through his veins. It wanted out, wanted to be drawn, and so Pearl took to making his charcoal drawings once more, as he had all his life in the glass room.

Through the glittering surfaces of the furnishings of the Meeric suite, where everything had been done in platinum to match his hair, Pearl saw into a different river of images. These were not pictures as he'd known them before, but impulses. Impulses of cruelty, paranoia, malice, spite and loathing—every dark desire seeking to manifest from the poisoned spring that fed this river. He expressed these in thick strokes of charcoal, and in its absence. His drawings were unnerving amorphous shapes that boiled and bled across the white plain of his canvas.