Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) (41 page)

“That’s where I’m going.”

She looked extremely uncomfortable. “I have orders to let no one pass. But I don’t think the Prince meant me to keep you out.”

I laughed softly, at her innocence in thinking she could. “There’ll be no Morning Ceremony if you do. May I?”

After a moment’s consideration she stepped aside to let me pass, giving out the birdlike call that let the other sentries I was coming.

I checked the lamp wick out of habit, though it had only a short while left to burn. Axfel was sleeping in the shadow beside the bronze altar, and since the rain was still falling I didn’t have the heart to disturb him. I had caught him using this refuge before; YY-Mother never seemed to mind. I paused to scratch his fur where it tufted between the ears, murmuring his name.

Someone was in my room. The sound of breathing. At the flap opening I paused, watching Kirith Kirin, his large frame dwarfing the cot, hair tangled about his head, tunic twisted half off his shoulders. I could see him clearly, and his innocence, his look of utter rest, closed round my heart like a hand. I sat beside him on the tent floor. At first I was afraid to touch him and tried to convince myself it would be impolite to waken him. But I could feel dawn coming in my bones. I traced a curl on his forehead, saying his name.

He opened his eyes at once, seeing me and fighting his way upward from sleep. I gathered my bath coat and oil while he watched, blinking. “Where have you been?”

“Working nearby.”

“Don’t you need to sleep?”

“Not always. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to look in on you. Tired as I was, I couldn’t rest. When I saw you weren’t here I decided to wait.”

“It’s close to dawn,” I knelt to get a clean tunic from the chest, “I don’t have much time.”

“It’s still raining outside?”

“Oh yes. We’ll have rain through most of the day I expect. Our friend to the south is not happy.”

He sat up on the cot, running a hand through his hair. “This will be your last morning as kyyvi,” he announced while I was folding the felva. “Savor it, if you’ve enjoyed your time here.”

This news stopped me cold, and I sat back on my heels, looking round the tent. “I suppose I should have thought of it.”

“A magician can’t serve in the shrine. We’ll select a new temple servant today. As for you, you’ll have duties of your own, my dear.”

“This will take some getting used to.”

He stood close to me as he adjusted his tunic, watching me with affection and amusement. “Yes, it will indeed.”

“How soon will the news go out?” I asked.

“Today.” He was smiling with mischief, though I thought nothing of it at the time. “This is part of the custom. You’re in my court, now.” He was studying my face, seeing more in it than I wished. “You’re afraid.”

“Yes, I think I am. I’m more afraid of the Nivri and the Finru than I am of Drudaen.”

“You’ve charmed half of them already. You don’t need to worry.”

He sent me off to the ritual bath with those words in my ears. The last instruction was that I should not ride suuren this morning, but wait behind the shrine for his instructions. If he thought the moment right, he would speak to those who assembled for Morning Ceremony. I was running behind, of course, having lingered too long to talk to him, and so I didn’t wonder enough about what he had in mind. One can’t think of what is to come and do justice to the bath ritual. I finished and returned to the tent as folks were gathering, with barely enough time to spread the lamp-cloth in the workroom.

That morning’s was a good crowd, with many of the Nivri and Finru houses in attendance, and soldiers from the barracks tents and merchants who had been hardy enough to follow us to Nevyssan. But Velunen sometimes draws a good crowd anyway; what made that morning notable was the intensity with which they watched me, as if I had suddenly grown horns on my head. Only when the sun struck fire in the muuren stone and I extinguished the lamp did I understand.

Word of Gnemorra had reached camp, even though the sentry with whom I had spoken was ignorant of it. They were no longer watching the son of Kinth, a farm boy dragged into Arthen at the behest of an oracular dream. They were watching the Witch of the Wood who had killed the Witch of Karns.

I sang Velunen with that thought in mind, holding my head high, making certain I showed no fear. I believe I sang well, though I’d rather have given the song itself more attention since that was my last morning to sing it for the shrine. I lifted the warm lamp from its cradle and carried it to the workroom without a backward glance.

I could hear the hubbub in the before-shrine even from there, the word “Gnemorra” from every side, along with “pirunuu”, “Karns,” and “Kyminax”. Accompanied by waves of anxiety.

Humans fear magicians. The lake women had warned me in more ways than one; and anyway it’s to be expected. My task was to claim my place among these people. As I was thinking this, fingering the tasseled edge of the lamp-cloth, silence fell in the tent.

I straightened, feeling the rush of anticipation, understanding that into this pool of quiet would drop Kirith Kirin’s voice. Wiping my hands clean of lamp oil, I hurried to the tent opening, paused there, and saw his shadow falling against the sheer hanging behind the altar. The mouth of the shrine tent had been opened wide, so that those who were in the clearing could see; the chamber flooded with rose wash from the east, the sun rising beyond violently colored clouds. One could hear the rain beating down on the leaves and in the clearing, so quiet were those assembled once it was clear Kirith Kirin would speak.

“People of Aeryn and soldiers of the Woodland Guard, I ask that you listen a while.” His voice had a way of filling any space, and cut through the rain as if it were not there. Not a soul stirred. “As many of you have learned, Fort Gnemorra has fallen to us, General Nemort is our prisoner, and Julassa Kyminax has perished. These urgent events were the reason for my return to camp. Other events have prevented my addressing you directly until now. You will soon learn of all these things.

“Those among you who are knowledgeable about the history and traditions of our country understand that we are at the beginning of a long conflict that has been prophesied for many years. Certain signs, known to the Evaenym and others, have been awaited as proof that the years are fulfilled and the time of disorder is on us. One of these signs was the coming of a wizard to Arthen, whose form would not be that of other wizards. As those of you who have heard the story of the battle for Gnemorra will understand, the magician has come, and indeed is the same the son of Kinth who has walked among us for many months.”

The effect of this was electrifying: one could hear the collective intake of breath. I hurried quickly to my room, found the bundle in which the Diamysaar Cloak was still tied, quickly cutting the knots with my knife.

The cloak fell out like shimmering starlight, a cool silkiness to my hands, shot through with color like bolts of lightning, smelling of the wind over Illyn and the fragrant tea brewed of sweet lake water. The scent hit me, rich and sudden, and stung my eyes since suddenly the lake seemed so far away, and I figured I would never go back. But another breath and that was gone. I shook out the cloak’s fullness, found the clasp.

Kirith Kirin called me by name, his voice booming.

I could feel the movement of power all around, a presence like nothing I had ever felt at Illyn Water nor on any of the lower circles of magic. The Prince of Aeryn is a magic thing in and of himself, and I could feel the protection of YY that guarded him now that I was able to use my full senses in the real world. I fastened the Diamysaar Cloak over my shoulders, noting, when I did, a slip of paper that fell onto the floor. I picked it up, not pausing to read it.

The cloak hung round me like the singing of many voices. Wearing it, I felt the shadow of Commyna falling on me from behind. I could hear her voice plainly, saying, “Stand up straight boy, and look lively. Did we teach you all these years to have you shame us before the simpletons of Aeryn?” I stood up straight. With that voice in my ear I returned to the shrine.

The gentry and soldiers had drawn back from the altar, and at the sight of the Sister-Cloak they gasped. I gave them something to talk about myself. I kindled a light from the cloak, colors that shot out like fire, as well as a wind that swept down cold and white from the highest clouds. At Kirith Kirin’s feet I knelt.

He said, in the same deep-timbered tones, “Before all gathered here and all the worlds beyond I do affirm by my life and honor as Kirith Kirin, Prince of Aeryn and Lord in Arthen, that you have been rightly and truly taught, you who were once known as the son of Kinth, who will be called hereafter Lord Thaanarc of Arthen, Ruler of Lands and Peoples that will be named hereafter, Defender of the Law of Changes. Keeper of the Keys to Ellebren Tower over Inniscaudra.”

He had warned me of none of this, nor had anyone else. The words rushed over me like thunder, as if his voice and a hundred other voices were uttering the words. I felt the weight settle over me. I heard the echo of far-off singing. Kirith Kirin drew me to my feet.

He sang a song I had never heard before, strange archaic forms of words, verses of great beauty powered by the strength of his voice, a part of Kimri not sung for ages, maybe. Heads were bowing throughout the clearing, and I bowed mine too.

Here in darkness

help is come

marked by the Eye in Heaven

light is breaking

in a time of war

shadow from horizon to horizon

bringing night

here in the darkness

help is come

light is breaking

in a time of war

When he was done, it was as if a light faded, and those who were in the shrine caught their breath. Kirith Kirin spoke again, more quietly. “Return to your stations, begin to disassemble camp as you will be asked to do. By morning we’ll march out of this country, and by nightfall you’ll know where you’re going. Tell what you’ve heard to others. Tell them this is only the beginning of news.”

Signaling to the rest of us to follow, he strode through the crowd. I hesitated only until Kiril Karsten took me by the elbow. Outside the detachment of bodyguards met us, and we hurried from the shrine to Kirith Kirin’s tent. I still clutched the note that had fallen from the cloak when I put it on. On the fine-grained paper were written characters for my eyes alone. “The name for the Cloak is Fimbrel,” the note said. “When you wear it we are near you.”

I folded the paper, swallowed it and dispersed the writing into myself. Drawing the fabric close round me, I felt the rain beat down. The voice in the south had not relented. Full morning broke grayly over Arthen.

3

As we hurried through the storm, not toward Kirith Kirin’s tent but in a less familiar direction, through the confusion of camp being struck, wagons loaded, miserable wretches scurrying about in the rain, I wondered why such urgency when no destination had been announced. Where our destination might be I could not guess, but it was plain from all these preparations Kirith Kirin had not been alone in his sleeplessness.

Breakfast had been ordered for us in Prince Imral’s tent, and a guard was posted on the grounds in the interest of privacy. The chief clerk from the clerk’s tent was awaiting Kirith Kirin with packets of letters and other items of business. Kirith Kirin glanced at the letters, selecting only two documents for unsealing. When he had done this he nodded leave to the chief clerk, who bowed and exited.

Karsten passed round jaka cups, and I sipped the aromatic brew, steam to caress my face. I found a space beside Pelathayn, who had finished a first cake and was reaching for a second. The hunter was more thoughtful than usual, and when he noted me watching, he said, “Now and then it’s good to be reminded YY is still in the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“This morning. What Kirith Kirin said in the shrine. Have you ever heard the King use his voice before?”

He had called Kirith Kirin the king, so naturally. “No, not like that.”