Quintessence Sky (27 page)

"Does England have no priests? Surely she
would sooner confess to one of her own countrymen, if to anyone at
all."

"England has priests enough, but they are all
English. The hearts of this country are rash and too easily
captured by a pretty young woman. I wish Elizabeth to be attended
only by my own countrymen. Besides, you worked with the torturers
in Spain, I believe?"

Ramos swallowed. "Briefly, Your Grace. But
the sacrament of Holy Confession . . ."

The king waved his free arm. "Still your
fears. I do not want her body touched. That would only fuel the
fire were it to become known, as I have no doubt it would. Somehow,
it always does. You should speak with her only. Manipulate her.
Learn her fears and insecurities. Gain her trust, and find out how
much she knows. You are an intellectual, the sort she admires.
Argue with her. Insinuate doubts about her Protestant faith into
her mind. Try to discover with whom she communicates, and how.

"There are few people I can trust to this
duty. With anyone else, I would fear betrayal, that they would
themselves become the means for Elizabeth to communicate with her
allies. I know you are loyal to the True Church and to me."

The king met his eye. He wasn't just talking
about Ramos's faith. He was talking about Antonia. He knew that
Ramos's dedication to the Church was strong, but more than that, he
knew that Ramos could silenced by any threat to Antonia. He was an
exotic pet, but a safe one. A tiger with his claws clipped.

Head bowed, Ramos accepted the king's other
hand and trimmed and filed the nails, troubled by his thoughts, but
knowing he would obey.

CHAPTER 17

IT was the largest gathering of manticores in
the memory of Rinchirith's family, and his family went back
hundreds of years. There was unrest in the deep places, and the
tribes were afraid. Rinchirith was not afraid: he knew that
marvelous things were happening, which was why, at long last, the
tribes were looking to him to lead them.

They gathered at Judgment Gorge, the largest
of the great rifts in the mountains, where the deep places
sometimes glowed red, and steam rose from vents in the rocks.
Cracks like this had been opening more frequently as of late,
emitting foul odors and sometimes gouts of hot water. One of the
fountains of forgetting had actually boiled.

All of these things increased fear among the
families, and more memory bonds had been traded than Rinchirith
could remember. The tribes were becoming one unified nation, and
he—he, Rinchirith!—was at its head, finally earning the loyalty and
respect of them all. Even the reds, those weak advocates of the
humans, had sent a delegation. Soon, the manticores would rid
themselves of the human plague and become the powerful people they
were meant to be.

Perhaps they would even travel across the sea
to the human land. It must be a small place, compared to the
vastness of Horizon. The manticores would build their own ships
and, in time, conquer the humans, as well as any other new lands
and creatures they might discover. It was their birthright. And it
would all be because of him, because of Rinchirith!

"The earth snakes are rising!" Rinchirith
yelled. The Gorge made low groaning and cracking noises from deep
inside, loudly enough that it was hard to hear voices. Others
relayed Rinchirith's words through the crowd, so that every time he
spoke, an echo of shouts carried what he said through the
gathering.

"They have accepted the star-bird as our
sacrifice," he said. "Now they urge us to finish the work. We must
eradicate the human plague from our land!"

There was a surge of noise from the
manticores at that, some disagreeing, but most roaring their
approval. As they should. They owed nothing to the humans, who had
brought only death and destruction. Those who had joined the cult
of Christ, worshipping a human god, were the worst of all. Who ever
heard of a god that lived in the sky? It was ridiculous. The
converts were not ridiculous, however. They were traitors to their
own race, and deserved a traitor's death.

He would not suggest that to this crowd,
however. One victory at a time. First, destroy the humans and
solidify his own primacy. Then he would have the power to kill
whoever deserved it.

Rinchirith lifted high a hollowed plant
stalk. Behind him, the Gorge rumbled. "Witness the dance of the
lords of the earth!" he screamed, and drank the contents of the
stalk.

A thick, sticky liquid filled his mouth. It
was a diluted quantity of a poisonous sap, lethal in larger
quantities. Rinchirith had drunk it so many times that he could
handle a dose that would kill a younger manticore. When it didn't
kill, it gave the drinker strong and powerful visions which, if he
were wise, he could interpret and communicate to the rest of his
tribe. Rinchirith drank it now in order to see the earth snakes and
know, for certain, what they wanted him to do. He also did it
because it was expected; without this rite, the manticores would
never follow him. If he was to be their leader, he had to be in
communion with the spirits of the deep.

He choked the liquid down and coughed
violently. It wasn't long before he felt its fire ripping through
his bones, his tails, his skull. His head felt like it was lifting
off, stretching up and away and out of his body. His limbs jerked,
and he fell on his face. He stumbled up again, and his body
convulsed, stiff limbs moving of their own accord. The world
swirled and twisted through his vision, changing shape, stretching
and smearing like sap. Somehow, he kept his balance, and began the
spasmodic, involuntary dance of the earth.

Faster and faster he danced, raising his arms
and tails and shrieking as he spun. He felt vomit soaking his fur,
but it was nothing to him, unimportant compared to the rush of
motion. "The lords of the earth speak!" he shouted. Then the
visions began.

CATHERINE put her arms around Maasha Kaatra's
neck and climbed onto his back. It was like climbing a rock face;
his muscles were granite, and he barely shifted to support her
weight. His black skin glowed, and he was hot to the touch.

"Hold tightly," he said.

"What if I can't?"

"I will not leave you," Maasha Kaatra said,
prompting another twinge of guilt on Catherine's part. It was her
fault that any of this had happened to him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It must have been
awful for you down here, all alone."

"But I am not alone," he said.

He raised his arms. She clung to him. His
skin glowed, but the light was warm, not harsh. From above them,
the swirling river of spirits suddenly dipped and flowed directly
toward them. It rushed around them like a flock of birds, each one
darting and veering but moving together as a group. More streams of
the spirits poured in through every crack and tunnel, lighting up
the cavern like the evening sun.

The spirit lights began to alight on Maasha
Kaatra's skin, and on Catherine as well, like moths touching down,
soft and delicate. She could hear them all speaking like the noise
of a faraway crowd, a murmur without words or meaning. Before long,
they were covered in lights.

"Now," Maasha Kaatra said, lifting his arms
still higher, "we rise."

At his words, they lifted into the air. The
walls of the cave shaft glowed bright with their ascent.

THE growling of the earth behind Rinchirith
grew louder. The gathered manticore assembly started to snap their
pincered hands together in steady rhythm, and the sound was like
rocks breaking. Rinchirith danced and screamed, screamed and
danced. Others wailed and danced, too, and the beat of their
snapping pincers gradually sped up and intensified.

The Gorge was like a great beast's mouth,
rising to swallow him. As he watched, it grew eyes and claws and
clambered out of the earth. It was a vision, real and yet not real,
and Rinchirith faced it without fear. He danced for its delight,
and it snapped at him, but he was not devoured.

A red glow came from the mouth of the Gorge
beast, like a furnace of flame. The grass under Rinchirith's feet
split and formed a chorus of a million tiny voices, shrieking and
biting at his ankles. He screamed and fell again, and the
grass-mouths tore at his flesh as he writhed. These were the
visions. If he endured them and did not quail, he would eventually
gain mastery over the spirit and force it to answer a question.

The combined tribes were with him, the
relentless snapping of their pincers audible even through his
anguish. The rhythm gave him strength, and he rose, crushing the
grass-mouths under his feet. The snapping raced ever faster,
speeding him toward the moment when he would take control.

He saw, in his mind's eye, the human nations
far away. He saw their spirits, millions of them, covering an
endless land far larger than Horizon, more land than he had ever
imagined could exist. He saw the humans landing on Horizon in great
numbers, ship after ship after ship, inexorable. There were so
many
of them. He had hoped to destroy them, but no one could
destroy this multitude.

The earth shook. At first, Rinchirith took it
for part of the vision, but the pincer rhythm faltered, and many of
the manticores in the assembly fell down. The ground bucked again,
harder this time, and Rinchrith went sprawling, suddenly afraid.
What sort of spirit had he summoned?

He sat up and found that the human spirits
were here, already surrounding him. Tiny, diffuse patches of
brightness whirled everywhere, spinning and fluttering and landing
on him. He leaped to his feet, trying to brush them off, but he
couldn't. This was unlike any vision he had ever had before, but he
couldn't show fear, not now.

The ground shook hard enough to rattle his
teeth in his skull, and the Gorge started to tear, the edge
shifting back like a huge flower opening. Rinchirith tumbled down
the slope, and suddenly a geyser of the spirit lights erupted out
of the hole. They filled the sky and the air around him. The crowd
of manticores panicked, running in every direction. And in the
densest cluster of lights . . . it couldn't be.

A human man stood on the edge of the Gorge, a
man Rinchirith recognized and had thought long dead. And on his
back, the star-bird, Catherine Parris. Only now did Rinchirith
succumb to the fear. It bubbled up in him like boiling water, and
he knew that this time, he would not be taking control.

The lords of the earth had spoken, but they
had not spoken for Rinchirith.

CHAPTER 18