Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (58 page)

 
          
"
'
'Tis
cold, " she agreed.
"All this stone, and no fires—"

 
          
"Not
that," he muttered, then moved farther into the hall. "I imagine
there were pelts, and furniture—" He broke off yet again, staring.

 
          
"
Aidan
," Shona gasped.

 
          
They
had moved from behind a column, angling into the hall. Now the dais came into
sight. They stood far to one side of it, nearly behind it; from their view all
they could see was one side of dark wood, sweeping forward like haunches, and
the upward curve of the back. It arched up, then over, forming a wooden canopy.

 
          
"The
Lion," Aidan blurted. And then, in relief, "No. No. This one is
smaller, less elaborate…" He drew in a deep breath of relief. "Even
the head is different. The jaws are not open—" He laughed, moving closer.
"How could I—"

 
          
And
then he stopped dead, for there was movement in the throne.

 
          
He
thought, improbably, of yet another dead Mujhar, come to take him to task, to
upbraid him for his failings. But there were none left. He had met with all he
knew, those in his immediate ancestry. Those before Shaine did not matter, save
for knowing their histories. Shaine had been the one most responsible for the
plight of the Cheysuli, and for furthering the prophecy by
forcing
the Cheysuli to act.

 
          
Shona
laughed. The sound rang in the hall and blotted out the darkness. " 'Tis
Blais
—oh, gods, we should have
known." And she took Aidan's hand and pulled him around the side of the
dais.

 
          
Blais,
slumping negligently against the scrolled back, hooked a muscled, trew-clad leg
over an armrest to dangle a boot. He arched one raven brow. "It suites me,
I'm thinking."

 
          
Shona
made a derisive sound. "No more than
me
,
ye
skilfin
."

 
          
Aidan
loosed his hand from Shona's and took two paces closer. The dark stone dais was
low, barely raised above the floor, and the throne itself a much smaller
version of the Lion in Homana-Mujhar, but it spoke to him nonetheless of
majesty and magnificence; of power too long forgotten. Of things he needed to
know, while knowing none of them.

 
          
"D'ye
want it?" Blais asked lightly. "Will you fight me for it?"

 
          
Dimly,
Aidan knew his cousin only jested. Blais was, for all his arrogance, a decent
man, if uncommitted. Undoubtedly he jibed for the fun of it, no more; but to
Aidan, transfixed by the throne, it whispered of heresy.

 
          
He
climbed the dais. Blais, so casually ensconced with his
lir
at his other foot, did not move. Not even when Aidan paused and
put out a hand to touch the armrest.

 
          
Its
shape was a lion's foreleg, with a downward-curling paw forming the place for a
hand. It was very like the Lion Throne in Homana-Mujhar in appearance, and yet
Aidan was conscious of an entirely different presence.
That
throne had repudiated him. This one, somehow, did not.

 
          
Blais
uncoiled himself and stood. "There. 'Tis yours. You've more right than I,
I'm thinking—at least, until I settle things with my father."

 
          
Distantly:
"Your
jehan
is a traitor. A
heretic. He is
kin-wrecked;
do you
wish to become tainted yourself?"

 
          
Blais'
tone hardened. He spoke in Old Tongue to match Aidan's unexpected change of
languages. "My
jehan, leijhana
tu'sai
, does not even know I exist. My
jehana
never saw fit to tell him she had conceived,
or
that she had borne me, before sailing off to Erinn with Rory
Redbeard." He slipped back into Erinnish. "I'll do whatever I choose,
kin-wrecked
or no. 'Tis due the both
of us."

 
          
The
wood was satiny. Aidan's
kivarna
spoke to him of tasks yet undone; of knowledge yet unlearned; of a people yet
unborn. "Aye," he said quietly, answering Blais, and then took his
hand away. He turned to face Shona. "Will you stay here? There is
something I must do."

 
          
She
stared. "Now? Here? But—"

 
          
"Will
you stay?"

 
          
Shona
and Blais exchanged glances. Eventually she nodded. "I'll wait. Blais and
I can argue about which chamber was used for what…" Her voice trailed off.
"Are you well, Aidan?"

 
          
"I
have to go," he said.

 
          
Shona
pointed. "There is the door. And
that
way lies the ship—if you take too long, I'll be there."

 
          
Grinning,
Blais resettled himself in the throne. "And I'll be
here
. This beastie suits me well."

 
          
"
Skilfin
," Shona muttered, but Aidan
walked away from them both and heard nothing more of their wrangling.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Aidan
walked out of the palace through the front doors, though hardly conscious of
it. And then directly across the cobbled bailey to the open gates, thinking nothing
of Keely's escape or Taliesin's death or even Strahan's defeat. Instead he
thought of the flicker of awareness that guided him. It was not precisely
kivarna
, nor was it the
lir
-bond that gave him access to the
earth magic. It was something older, something stronger… something rooted more
deeply in the fabric of his life—and countless lives before him—that drew him
out of the old Cheysuli palace, where another lion crouched, into the forested
depths of the Crystal Isle.

 
          
He
heard a fluttering in the trees and glanced up to see Teel settling onto a
branch. The raven's tone was almost too quiet for Teel. Too
gentle
.

 
          
Are you certain this is the way you wish to
go?

 
          
Aidan
stopped.
This is the way I have to go
.
Something skittered out of his awareness, whispering of apprehension. He
appealed to Teel at once.
Should I go
back
?

 
          
I did not say that, nor did I suggest it. I
merely asked: are you certain this is the way you wish to go?

 
          
Aidan
drew a steadying breath and looked around. A path lay before him, though little
more than a twisted, narrow passage through the trees and thick foliage. No one
had passed for decades, and yet he made his way easily enough, even through
snagging creepers and sweeping boughs. But he saw no reason not to go. He had
felt no premonition of danger, and surely Teel would warn him if what he did
might prove deadly.

 
          
He
released the breath evenly.
If seems the
thing to do. A thing I should do
.

 
          
The
raven studied him a lengthy moment, as if weighing his worth. His eyes were bright
and black.
Well enough
, Teel said
finally, and flew away into shadows.

 
          
Aidan
went on. He rounded a curve in the twisted path and saw the ruins before him:
tumbled, rectangular stones that once had stood upright in a meticulous circle,
warding a chapel. The stones leaned haphazardly upon one another, or lay fallen
in the dirt. The doorway was shallow and lopsided, its lintel stone cracked.
The stones themselves had once been a uniform gray; now they were pocked and
stained with age, wearing green lichen cloaks to hide blackened pits and scars.

 
          
He
approached slowly, peeling aside foliage. He was very much alone. Teel was
gone, the link suspiciously empty. Aidan knew the raven was within calling
distance if he chose to summon him, but obviously he was intended to go on
without benefit of company. Not even that of a
lir
.

 
          
A
single stone stood three paces from the door. Aidan passed it, paused, then
ducked beneath the cracked lintel and went in.

 
          
The
interior of the chapel was even worse than the exterior. Rotted beamwork had
fallen like tossed rune-sticks in a fortune-game, hiding much of the floor. The
place was little more than a shell, but Aidan felt the power. It was a tangible
presence.

 
          
The
altar leaned crazily to one side like a drunken man, propped up by fallen
brothers. Sunlight penetrated the gaps between the standing stones and slanted
deep inside, stripping the altar gold and gray. Worn runes were dark against
the stone, nearly indecipherable, but they snared Aidan's attention and drew
him to the cracked plinth and tilted altar like an infant to the breast.

 
          
He
found himself on his knees. He could not recall when he had knelt, or if he had
fallen; he knew only he felt dampness seeping through his leathers. His hands
were pressed against the altar stone as if he worshiped it; he began to think
he did. Or that he must.

 
          
"Gods,"
he whispered hollowly.

 
          
Did
he pray? Or did he merely express awe, as so many did, not thinking at all of
gods? Aidan could not answer. He only knew he hurt deep inside. Wracked with
doubt, contempt, confusion, he was exquisitely certain he was insignificance
personified.

 
          
He
knelt before the altar of his ancestors, and cried. Because of anguish, of
doubt, of uncertainty. Because he was so unworthy. Because his color was so
dull within the tapestry of the gods; his link so weak, so fragile, so very
sure to break. He was Aidan, and he was nothing.

 
          
"You
are what you wish to be."

 
          
Aidan
jerked upright and spun on his knees, one hand slipping instinctively to his
knife. But the hand fell away as he saw the man. The Hunter.

 
          
He
tingled unpleasantly from subsiding shock. With effort, he managed to speak.
"Will you give me my answers now?"

 
          
"If
you ask the proper questions." The Hunter came into the chapel and found a
stone on which to seat himself. The incongruity struck Aidan; here was a god
for whom the chapel had been built, perched upon the wreckage with perfect
equanamity.

 
          
Aidan
shook his head. "How do I even begin?"

 
          
The
Hunter smiled warmly. "You began quite some time ago. As a boy, in fact.
The dreams, Aidan… all those turbulent dreams that troubled your sleep."

 
          
"I
have them no longer. Not since I sailed from Erinn."

 
          
The
Hunter's mouth quirked. "Aye, well… women often have the ability to make a
man think of things other than troubling dreams." The smile widened.
"Enjoy your peace—and sleep—while you may. You have spent much of your
life with neither." He paused. "Are your knees not growing
numb?"

 
          
They
were. Aidan took the question as an invitation to rise. He stood slowly,
unsticking damp leather from knees, and fixed the Hunter with what he hoped was
a compelling gaze. "Why are you here? Did I summon you?"

 
          
"In
a way, but not through any prayer or muttered invocation." The Hunter's
tone was dry. "I came here because it is time for you to know more. To
answer all those questions you have had, and no one of whom to ask them."

 
          
"Good,"
Aidan said, before he thought about it.