Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (62 page)

 
          
"There
is." Aidan's face spasmed. "I have done it before… with other dead
Mujhars."

 
          
"Oh,
Aidan—"

 
          
"I
have
."

 
          
Brennan
hooked rigid hands over the clawed handrests and pulled himself forward, from
under the Lion's maw. "Now is neither the time nor the place to speak of
dreams—"

 
          
Aidan
was on his feet. "But I
do
speak
of them—because they are more than dreams!" He took two long strides
forward, stopping at the first of three dais steps. "
Jehan
, you have no idea how it is for me—how it has
been
for me—"

 
          
"I
have every idea!" Brennan cried. "By the gods, do you think we have
not stayed awake at nights? Your
jehana
and I have spent countless days and nights discussing you and your dreams,
trying to make sense of seemingly senseless things… Aidan, have
you
any idea how it has been for
us?" He clutched the dark wooden throne. "And now you come on the
night of your grandsire's death to say you can
summon
him!"

 
          
"
I can
," Aidan whispered.

 
          
Silence.
Brennan's' eyes were ablaze with grief and something akin to frustration.
"We all loved him. We all would like him back. But none of us concocts a
story—"

 
          
"
'Tis
not a story!"'
Aidan
shouted. "I have spoken with dead Mujhars: Shaine, Carillon, Donal—why not
with
Niall
now?"

 
          
Brennan's
face was ashen. His hands shook on the throne.

 
          
"I
can," Aidan repeated.

 
          
Brennan
closed his eyes.

 
          
I will prove it to him. I will prove
me
to him—
Aidan clutched the links on his
belt.
If I cannot prove this to him, he
will never trust me again. This is necessary
.

 
          
"No,"
Brennan croaked.

 
          
Aidan
twitched, staring. He had begun to concentrate.

 
          
"No,"
Brennan repeated. "You will not do this thing."

 
          
"If
I do not—"

 
          
"He
is dead. Let him be dead."

 
          
"The
others have come,
jehan
—"

 
          
"I
said
let him be dead
!" Brennan
leaned forward. "I do not know what—or
who
—you
are… for the moment I would like you simply to be my son." His face worked
a moment. "I need you to be my son."

 
          
Stricken
mute by the magnitude of his father's emotions, Aidan could only stare. And
then, when he could, he nodded. He took his hands from the links.

 
          
Eventually,
Brennan eased himself back in the throne. His posture was less rigid, his tone
less intense. He smoothed the fit of his jerkin with a deft, yet eloquent
gesture. "So, you have settled on Keely's girl."

 
          
Aidan
understood very well what Brennan did. The change in topic was intended to
change also the knowledge of what they had only just shared regarding Aidan's
congress with dead Mujhars. Neither would ever forget it, but Brennan wanted it
set aside so he need not deal with it.

 
          
Aidan
shrugged. "Neither of us 'settled' on one another. The gods took an
interest… there was no other choice."

 
          
"She
is not much like Keely… more like Sean."

 
          
Aidan
smiled faintly. "She is very like Keely on the inside. On the outside—well,
there is Keely there as well. Once you get past the Erinnish height and
stature, and Sean's coloring…" He smiled more broadly. "Shona is
mostly Shona."

 
          
"You
realize the wedding will have to wait," Brennan warned. "There is the
Homanan mourning custom for a deceased Mujhar… they would look askance on any
wedding, even a royal one, so close to the Mujhar's passing."

 
          
Aidan
shrugged. "Then we will wait. It does not matter. Shona is not a woman
much taken by ceremony… it will hardly blight her life if we wait a while
longer to have a priest mumble the words."

 
          
"A
woman with sense." Brennan smiled faintly. "Of course Aileen will
attempt to change her mind…" He let the words trail off. He could not
avoid the topic he had tried diligently to close. "Those things you said
to me… things you have said before."

 
          
Aidan
waited.

 
          
"Are
they true?"

 
          
He
was tired, confused, grieving. But no less than his father. "Did Ian say
anything when he came back from the Solindish-Homanan border?"

 
          
Brennan
frowned. "Say anything?"

 
          
"About
me." Too clearly he recalled the Weaver's storm and Ian's shattered hip.
"About anything that happened."

 
          
"Only
that you and he felt it best you go on alone." Brennan shrugged. "I
did not argue. Ian would never have left you had he believed there might be
danger, and you have never been the sort to seek it out." He paused.
"Why? Is there something he should have said?"

 
          
"No.
He left it to me." Aidan scrubbed wearily at gritty eyes. He had tried to
sleep, but could not. "
Jehan
—I
told you once before about speaking with gods."

 
          
The
recoil was faint, but present. "Aye." Brennan's tone was guarded.

 
          
"What
if I said there was more to it than that? That I met with them
personally?"

 
          
Delicate
objectivity;
kivarna
stripped it
bare. "As you have with the Mujhars."

 
          
"Aye.
With all of them."

 
          
Brennan
sighed deeply, giving in. "I would say perhaps you are putting too much
weight in the things you dream."

 
          
Aidan
smiled. "I have always dreamed. I have never dreamed about talking to
gods, or with
meeting
them."

 
          
Clearly
unsettled, Brennan shifted in the throne, looking infinitely older. "Men
do not talk
with
gods, Aidan. They
talk
to
them, through petitions and
prayers. For the
shar tahls
, it may
be different… but even the Homanan priests say they serve out of faith and
belief, not because of personal contact."

 
          
Aidan's
mouth hooked down in irony. "I am not a priest,
jehan
… I cannot say
what
I am, other than to agree the circumstances are quite unusual."

 
          
Brennan's
black brows met. "Aidan, this is not possible—"

 
          
He
said it matter-of-factly. "Then I must be mad."

 
          
It
stopped Brennan cold. He stared fixedly at his son, trying to read the truth.
"But—with
gods
, Aidan?"

 
          
"Only
three of them. They assumed human form for it, so as not to frighten me
senseless. And they spoke—they speak—in riddles, telling me there is a task I
must perform, and sacrifices, and the fashioning of a chain." He paused.
"That much I have done."

 
          
Brennan
stared blankly at the heavy chain depending from Aidan's belt. What he thought
was clear: Aidan could have bought it, or had it made. That was the only
explanation.

 
          
Aidan
sighed. "The task remains. But I wanted you to know, so you and
jehana
could stop worrying about
me."

 
          
"
Stop
worrying!"

 
          
"I
am not cursed after all; rather, I am blessed. Chosen for some specific
purpose."

 
          
"
What
specific purpose?"

 
          
Aidan
shrugged. "They have not shown or told me yet."

 
          
Brennan
struggled with comprehension. Objectivity lost. "You will be Mujhar one
day," he growled. "That, I should think, is task—and blessing—enough.
As for a special purpose, how many men are born to inherit a throne, least of
all the Lion?"

 
          
Aidan
shook his head. "There is more. They know very well I am in line for the
Lion—they made it so, did they not?—and yet they have made it very plain there
is something else I must do."

 
          
Slowly
Brennan shook his head. "How can a Mujhar rule a realm when he converses
with the gods as if they were mortal men?"

 
          
"I
would think it is something far out of anyone's ken," Aidan answered.
"And perhaps a beneficial thing. If a man
knew
he acted with the blessings of the gods…" He shrugged,
scratching an eyebrow, dismissing implications to increasing weariness.
"It is so vague a thing…"

 
          
"
Aye
," Brennan agreed heartily. He
stared pensively at his son, clearly concerned as well as baffled. "How is
it Aileen and I got you? You were never what we expected, not from the very
first."

 
          
Deep
inside, something twisted. "And are you disappointed?"

 
          
Brennan
sat bolt upright. "No! Never
that
,
Aidan—you are everything a man and woman could desire in a son. But you
are
—"

 
          
"—different?"
Aidan smiled, thinking of the last discussion with gods he had had. "But I
have been clearly advised that it does not make me
better
."

 
          
Brennan
sighed and sat back in the Lion. He rubbed both eyes wearily, stretching the
flesh out of shape. When he looked at Aidan again, dawn etched lines and
shadows where there had been none before. "There will be more
responsibility for you now. You are Prince of Homana. Men will seek you out,
asking your opinions on all manner of things, and asking you to plead their
cause before me. They will hound you night and day…" He smiled crookedly.
"All the honor will be yours, but also the weight of it. And there are
times it grows so heavy…" His hand closed over the massive black ring he
now wore. "You will never again know the peace you have experienced up
till today."

 
          
Aidan
thought about the "peace."

 
          
"Things
will never be the same. Prepare as best you can."

 
          
Aidan
stared hard at the ring glowing bloody on his hand. "
Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu
."

 
          
Brennan
shook his head. "
Cheysuli i'halla
shansu
."

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
With
meticulous precision, Aidan crossed his bedchamber to the chair beside the bed
and sat down, settling himself slowly. The candle on the table was too bright;
squinting, he leaned over and pinched it out.

 
          
Shona
closed the door. Mutely she went to him and reached down two-handed to remove
the gold circlet he wore. "Here," she said calmly. " 'Twill ease
the ache, I'm thinking."