The Prize in the Game (11 page)

Today it was different. He just wanted to talk to Darag about what he'd said, and apologize. He doubted very much if Darag's mother had done anything she shouldn't. In any case, she was dead, and it was no reflection on Darag. He just wanted to say sorry, but he couldn't get Darag on his own, even for a moment. It wasn't as if Darag wanted to be with Elenn as well as Ferdia; it was as if he wanted to be with her instead. The only way Ferdia could think of to deal with this was to act as if he really wanted to stay with Elenn, too. Leary was doing the same, as usual. So they had ended up in a nonsensical wrangle about who Elenn was going to dance with, which Ferdia realized halfway through he could only lose, whatever happened. What he wanted was to dance with Darag, and they couldn't do that. This wasn't a dance men could do together, the dances of Bel were men and women dances. Conary had taught them that when they realized the thing they wanted wasn't on the table, it was time to stop negotiating. Unfortunately, as so often, life turned out more complicated.

He danced with Elenn. She danced very well, in the southern fashion of Connat and Lagin and Muin, quite unlike the way it was done in Oriel and the Isles. He could feel Leary shooting him jealous glances as they danced. He hoped Darag wasn't doing the same. He tried not to look.

After the dance, he took her safely back to the Red Hall, with the children. Elenn hadn't taken up arms with the rest of them, so she had to go inside. She said she wanted to. Ferdia smiled and said she was taking the light inside with her. He had heard his father saying that.

There was a guard on the door of the Red Hall, to stop the children coming out again. It was gray-haired Senna, leaning sleepily on her spear. He supposed she had grown too old to mind missing the rest of the feast.

He had come straight back, and he couldn't find Darag. He had found Nid, who had danced the first dance with Darag. She had drunk more ale than was good for her and insisted on kissing Ferdia for luck. And after that, she didn't even know where Darag was, only that he had been dancing with Orlam when she had last seen him.

The dun was crowded. There were people and animals everywhere, all moving. It was impossible to find anyone. The music never stopped; when one player got tired they handed their harp on to another. Ferdia realized after a while that as everyone was moving, he had more chance of finding Darag if he stayed in one place. So he had been leaning against the Speckled Hall, watching the crowd. He had seen lots of people, but not Darag. He hadn't seen Conal either.

Then he spotted Laig. Laig was drunk. His clothes were disordered and his hair was rumpled.

Ferdia thought almost everyone looked better with their hair tied back. He didn't know why keeping it loose at festivals was a sign of respect for the gods. If he was a god, he'd prefer people to stay tidy. If there was ever a chance to mention it to Inis ap Fathag, he thought he might, because it would be interesting to know. Just looking at Laig made Ferdia want to straighten and smooth down his own hair. Elenn's hair always looked smooth; he wondered how she did that.

"Have you seen Darag?" he asked.

Laig stopped and ran a hand backwards through his hair, which might have accounted for the state it was in, except that it also seemed to have grass in it. "Yes, he's down by the hurley field,"

he said, his voice slurring a little. "But don't go and disturb him. Tonight all the young married women are looking for dancing partners.

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Darag's got his hands full. Even I have had offers. More than offers." Laig leaned towards Ferdia confidingly.

Ferdia shrank back a little from the ale on his breath. "That's where I was," Laig said. "Pressing the grass flat. Plowing the fields. And with a champion, too. I won't tell you her name, that isn't the thing to do, but definitely not one of the ugly ones."

As Ferdia remembered Conary's champions, that left two possibilities, and one of them had three children already. Though Laig might be counting charioteers as champions, being a charioteer himself, which left much more scope. Not that Ferdia wanted to guess, but how could anyone avoid it when he said things like that? "Well done," he said, because Laig was definitely expecting some such response.

"You should try it yourself," Laig said. "Plenty of them would want you, being a king's son.

You'd be even more popular than Darag, and Darag is very popular." He laughed.

Ferdia shook his head, absolutely certain. "I don't want to," he said.

Laig giggled. "You might find you liked it if you tried it. But it's up to you. The unwilling gift isn't a gift at all, better a gift unoffered than a gift spurned, and all that. Well, I'm going to find more ale and then see what other dances I can learn tonight."

He wandered away unsteadily. Ferdia set down his own cup in sudden disgust. There wasn't anything here for him. He wished he was back home in Lagin. He wished he were still a child to go to bed after the first dance.

He thought he might as well go to bed anyway as stand here watching the people dancing in the firelight. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that it wouldn't be quiet enough to sleep for hours yet. Standing here wasn't good, but being inside awake listening might be worse.

Ferdia hesitated, then decided he could always stuff his blanket into his ears. He set off through the press towards the Red Hall.

Everyone seemed to be laughing and touching. Several women, some he barely knew, insisted on kissing him for luck. He realized that Laig was right, he would have no trouble finding partners if he wanted them. He was quite sure he didn't, not at all. He was glad to win safely to the shelter of the Red Hall. He made his way to the other side of the building, where the door was, away from the crowd.

Old Senna had left the door, there was nobody there now but Inis, who was sitting on a stool by the door, rocking to and fro a little. He did not look up until Ferdia was almost up to him.

His eyes seemed very bright in the lantern-light.

"Well met on the Feast of Bel, son of Cethern," Inis said.

"Well met, ap Fathag," Ferdia said uncomfortably. He wanted to get past Inis and go in to bed.

He hated the necessity of being polite while making sure to ask no questions, even the most innocent.

"Not dancing?" Inis asked.

"I've had enough of it for tonight," Ferdia said. "I'm tired and ready for my bed."

"Seeking your lonely bed," Inis said.

Ferdia didn't know if he was making a comment or quoting something. It sounded like a quote, but it wasn't from any song he knew. He didn't know if it was something he might reasonably be expected to know but had never heard. With Inis, it could be something really unusual, or something from another country or even another world. The worst, the absolute worst, would be if it was something from another world written about him, now, and Inis knew that.

The problem with Inis was that he was both very mad and very wise, which made him just impossible. Most people were limited in what they would say by politeness, but never Inis.

Sometimes Ferdia thought the Vincans were right to kill all the oracle-priests or drive them out of their empire. But then, Inis was especially rude even for an oracle-priest. It might have been because he was the

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king's father. Nobody even dared reproach him.

Whatever Inis meant about the lonely bed, Ferdia didn't want to talk to him about it. He realized he'd just been staring at him for a long time without saying anything.

"I don't mind if it's lonely as long as I can lie down," he said, and faked a yawn.

"Darag won't be there," Inis said plainly.

Ferdia wanted a god to swoop down from the sky and catch him up to the clouds. He wanted the hill to open so he could dive inside. He felt his cheeks heating so much he feared that Inis would see. He swallowed and tried hard for a casual tone. "No, he's still dancing. He'll probably get to bed late. Or maybe not until tomorrow." He tried to sound amused rather than distressed, and thought he did quite well.

"I wish you could stay boys forever," Inis said, and he sounded really sad. What did that mean?

"Too late," Ferdia said. "We are men already and have taken up arms."

"He has killed the deer and the swan. Soon he will add a man. All of my grandsons will, and you will fight, too, son of Cethern." Inis rocked again and closed his eyes. Ferdia bit back questions.

"Soon" must mean this summer, it had to. He didn't want to know more than that. He didn't want to know anything. He knew he would have to deal with oracle-priests all his life, but he just wanted to do things without it all being doomed and prophesied. Often enough if you listened to them, you ended up worrying about things that didn't happen anyway. His father told him that. He took a step toward the door. Inis's eyes shot open again. Ferdia froze.

"So, though you are a man, you go to bed early on the Feast of Bel, like a boy?" Inis asked.

"I'm tired," Ferdia said, and was horrified to realize it came out like a whine, like the child Inis said he was.

"This could be a night you would get strong sons," Inis said.

Inis knew that sort of thing. Everyone knew that he did. He was one of the three best reckoners of lucky days in the island of Tir Isarnagiri. The story was that years ago King Nessa had asked him what the day was fortunate for, and he had replied that it was a lucky day for begetting a king on a king. As he was the only man around, she had taken him to her bed, for all that she had a husband and he had a wife, and the result was Conary. Nobody could deny that Conary was a king, and one of the best kings Oriel had ever had. But even if Inis did know it, what good would it do anyone? "I could beget sons maybe, but not sons of my house,"

Ferdia said. "They would be neither heirs for Lagin nor grandsons for my father."

"No," Inis agreed. "But children of your body. Heirs for Mother Breda. A son might come of this night who may not bear your name but who will take your face down the years."

"That would be a child denied to the wife I will one day marry," Ferdia said.

"Now there is the thought of a man who would live long," Inis said. Ferdia stared at him again, the whole world narrowed to Inis on his stool. What did he mean? That he was going to die soon? Or that he wasn't?

"I have two sisters and a brother," Ferdia said at last, as the thought came to him.

Inis smiled sadly and gestured to the darkness. "Then you may deny a wife nothing, if you can find her here tonight."

Ferdia didn't want a wife, or a child, not yet, not now, not like this. He just wanted to go inside and go to bed, and maybe later Darag would come back and it would be like every night. Or not. He didn't want to do things

Inis suggested, wide things without edges. He didn't want to go to the hurley field and lie down with any of those laughing, kissing, teasing women. Yet, to go inside past Inis now would be like running away. Though to do something he did not want to do for fear of Inis was also cowardice. What Laig had said to him earlier came back. "The unwilling gift is no gift," he said.

"No, it could not be unwilling," Inis agreed calmly.

Then he stood up and walked away into the night, around the hall toward the lights and the dancing, leaving

Ferdia gaping. He hesitated. Nothing constrained him now. He could go inside to bed. But he
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did not move.

He stayed on the threshold, thinking it through. He shrank from the thought of doing it. Yet somehow it felt impious to turn aside from so clear an oracle. He wondered if this was how Darag had felt when Inis spoke of a fortunate day for taking up weapons. He took a step toward the door, then stopped again. No man was bound to have children. If he let this lucky time go, then the gods might never smile on him and bless his eventual marriage bed.

Inis's words came back to him, the thought of a man who will live long. That might have meant that he would die this summer. It was a chance any champion took. Leaving a child of his getting

in someone else's marriage bed would not make much difference. Did he want to leave a child who would grow up like Darag, fumbling at questions about the Feast of Bel? That was no legacy to leave. And yet, what if turning away now meant no child ever?

He turned and looked up at the moon, who looked back at him, offering no counsel.

"Help me, Nive," he murmured. No answer came. Then around the corner of the hall came a woman. Ferdia knew her a little, though he didn't remember her name or how to address her. She was one of the people who looked after the king's dogs. She smiled when she saw him. He didn't know whether Nive the Beautiful had sent her to him to make up his mind.

But he decided he should make a willing offering, if she had. The woman came straight up to him as if they'd arranged to meet. She kissed him, and he embraced her. It felt strange. He could feel the softness of her breasts pressed up against him, and for a moment, he wanted to push her away in revulsion.

Then she took his hand and led him down to the hurley field.

3

ATHA AP GREN

9

(CONAL)

On the waking edge of sleep, Conal drifted a little, half-dreaming across the worlds. He held as tight as he could to place and time. Even deep down in sleep, he had known he was in Edar.

There was a smell to the place, that particular mixture of burning peat and heather bedding and hams hanging from the roof that told him he was home. He always slept better here than in his father's house at Ardmachan. Edar he knew as well as he knew anywhere. But this was not childhood. He could feel Emer curled up beside him, familiar and homely as his own heartbeat.

Emer, in Edar, this place, this time, and no others. Drifting, he held to time and denied the gift.