The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (17 page)

Leth-Kar stooped and drew a second mask
from the box. Midnight tresses framed a milk-white face of lambent beauty. “Come
to me, lady of the stars, loveliest of mortals.”

Marliann knotted back her grey hair and put
on the mask. When she spoke Kerish shivered with joy.

“In the morning of the world, our long
journey ended and I walked on the white shore and was glad. Then you came to
me. I knelt in worship but you raised me up. I am Imarko, the mother of my
people.”

Marliann and Leth-Kar joined their ageing
hands across the circle and their voices were young.

“A son was born of our love, the Golden
City was his cradle, an Empire his heritage, and for his people - comfort in
life and joy beyond death. Rejoice, rejoice, O heirs of the Godborn!”

Out of the chest two more masks were drawn:
a valiant Prince and a shining Princess. Leth-Kar placed the Prince's mask on
Viarki and Marliann put that of the Princess on Desha.

“Generation upon generation shall our love
enfold.”

Desha spoke first, every trace of temper
and spite gone from her high sweet voice. “I am the Virgin Priestess of Holy
Hildimarn who walks the white shore in the footsteps of her Foremother. I am
the beloved of the Poet Emperor, for whom all things wept. I am the daughter of
Emperors, let all men reverence my beauty and no man fear it.”

Last of all Viarki joined the chant and in
his voice alone Kerish detected a quaver of doubt. “I hunted the Trieldiss high
in the mountains and did not loose the arrow. I vanquished the Enchantress. I
followed the messenger of Zeldin and dared all perils for my people. I am the
son of Emperors and all men prosper from my blessing.”

“I am Zeldin who summoned men into Zindar
that I might love them . . .”

“I am Imarko who bore pain and age and
death, and love sustained me . . .”

Listening to their interweaving words
Kerish thought, `This is the heart of Galkis - the people's faith in Zeldin and
Imarko. The Godborn are nothing in themselves. We are no more than patterns to
be acted out by every generation of our people.'

The players' voices rose, each to their own
climax, and died away. Kerish slowly realized that Feg was still playing and
that the tune had changed. Now the music seemed to catch and bind him to small
earthly things, lamplight instead of starlight, nursery songs instead of hymns.
The players took off their shining masks. Viarki placed them carefully in the
chest and closed the lid.

“We must go to our night's quarters,” said
Marliann briskly, “or our good baker's daughters will think we've fled the
prospect of their company.”

The women left without further words and
the men unrolled their blankets and gathered up the cushions. Viarki lay down
close to Kerish and Gidjabolgo.

“I thought it was your fourth player's job
to be the hero prince,” murmured the Forgite.

“It is. I didn't want to do it,” murmured
Viarki. “Leth-Kar said strength would come, and I suppose it did, but I am not
made to receive heroes. The way I felt tonight . . . Oh, I can't explain, but
it was like a fever. To feel like that too often would break me.”

“It would break even a Prince of the
Godborn,” whispered Kerish. “No one can live on the heights too long.”

“But it's different for them.” Viarki
sounded quite shocked. “They are truly children of Zeldin, not adopted like us.
I wish I'd seen the Third Prince in Viroc. People who saw him unveiled said he
had the face of Zeldin. Did you ever play for him at court, Zelnis?”

Feg hissed at them to be quiet but Kerish
answered briefly, “Yes, before he began his long journey. I'd scarcely
recognize him now.”

Dawn came far too quickly and the temple's
single bell rang out for the brief morning service of praise to Zeldin the
Giver of Gifts. Viarki snuggled deeper into his pile of cushions and Feg
muttered something about there being no more gifts, but Leth-Kar rose at once
and Kerish asked to go with him.

“Of course, Zelnis. I will lead you since,
by your friend's scowls, he would rather sleep longer.”

Kneeling to tie on Kerish's sandals,
Gidjabolgo felt the Prince flinch, but only said, with an exaggerated yawn, “You
are right. To a barbarous foreigner a warm pillow is more attractive than
giving thanks to somebody else's god.”

“He would be your god too, if you wished
it, Master Gidjabolgo.”

“I do not wish it,” said the Forgite. “Dealing
with men is difficult enough without a god to take into account.”

“I have sometimes felt so too,” said the
old priest unexpectedly. “Are you ready, Zelnis?” He gave Kerish's arm a gentle
tug and reluctantly the Prince went with him.

At the foot of the stairs they were joined
by Marliann, the embroidered veil of a priestess covering her long grey hair.
Kerish heard her kiss her husband and then felt his other arm taken. So he was
walked to the little temple like a young child between protective parents.

Because of the strangers, the sanctuary was
full and people were sitting on the steps and squatting down in the square.
Since they were priests, room was made close to the simple altar for Leth-Kar
and Marliann and their young companion. The old village priest opened a
yellowed scroll of
The Book of Sorrows
at a passage concerning the
appearance of Zeldin to the twin princes, Jair-Kil and Mair-Kol, at their coming-of-age.
He no longer needed to read the words:

“And Zeldin said to them, `Name the wish
of your hearts and it shall be yours, but you must agree, one with the other,
what you shall ask.' Jair-Kil said, `Let us ask for the destruction of the
enemies of Galkis!' But Mair-Kol answered, `No, let us rather desire wisdom to
rule our people.' 'That we will gain with age, but the strength of others we
cannot control. Therefore,' declared Jair-Kil, `let us not ask for qualities
for ourselves, but for weakness in others.' `And what joy would such a gift
bring?' cried Mair-Kol. `What I achieve shall be by my own skill, or all is
bitterness. Let us ask for courage that you may feel thus too.' Then Jair-Kil
was angry and shouted, `I am the elder. We shall ask as I decree.' And they quarreled,
one with the other, and Zeldin departed from them and they heeded not his
going.”

Kerish could not help wincing as the
familiar words were distorted almost out of recognition by the old man's thick
southern accent and imperfect grasp of High Galkian.

As a compliment to a visiting priest,
Leth-Kar was then asked to retell the story in Low Galkian. He did so in
compelling fashion, his voice filled with sweet nobility for Zeldin and with
pride and anger for the quarrelling princes. Another priest from Viroc then
spoke for a few minutes on what it was proper to ask of Zeldin, and a hymn of
praise was sung. Finally, the villagers brought out food to be shared together
after the night's fast. Fresh fruit and a cup of warm milk were pressed on
Kerish and the actors, and the holy meal soon relapsed into the usual
opportunity to gossip and exchange news before the day's work began.

In the square the refugees were already
preparing to leave. There were a few new additions who had heeded the captain's
warning of possible future raids. Most of the sick were left in the villagers'
care so that the convoy could move more quickly. Two soldiers remained behind
to organize resistance in the village and patrol the surrounding hills. At the
baker's house, thanks and farewells were already being exchanged as the
players' luggage was loaded on to the cart.

Marliann still held on to Kerish's arm. “Zelnis,
before we begin our journey again, let me bathe your eyes. I have found my box
of herbs now and I know of an ancient remedy . . .”

“No,” said Kerish brusquely. “Nothing will
help and I can't bear them to be touched.”

“As you will, but remember, if you need
help of any kind, I am close.” She let go of his arm. “Ah, here is Master
Gidjabolgo to claim you.”

The escort finally got the convoy moving
and the refugees continued their journey towards Joze, deeper into the one
region of the Galkian Empire scarcely affected yet by invasion or civil strife.
Joze, the City of Dreamers. Some said it had gained its name through sleepiness
and sloth but Kerish knew that it came from the city's many poets and the
strange dreams that inspired them. He had always wanted to go there and see the
famous covered statues in the temple precincts.

Long ago the priests of the temple of
Zeldin of Joze had commissioned a local sculptor to carve statues of the god
and his bride, in honor of a visit by the High Priest himself. The man lived
and slept in the temple and would let no one watch him as he worked. The
statues were finished on the night of the High Priest's arrival. When the
priests saw them their cries of horror and astonishment reached to the city.
They would have destroyed the statues at once but the High Priest had already
been told of the gift and the next morning he asked to see them. Reluctantly
they led him to the sculptor's chamber and they heard him suck in his breath,
but his face betrayed nothing. The High Priest sent for the sculptor and spoke
with him for a long while. Then he ordered that the man be richly rewarded but,
for his own peace, banished from Joze. “There is no fault in him,” he told the
priests, “he received the vision that was sent to him, as all artists must.”

The High Priest ordered that the statues be
covered with impenetrable veils and set up in the temple precincts. Since that
time every High Priest of Zeldin had travelled once in his reign to Joze to
uncover the statues for one brief moment.

As the ox was finally persuaded to lumber
off down the royal road, Kerish remembered how, as an inquisitive child, he had
once plucked up the courage to ask Izeldon what he had seen when the veils were
lifted. The High Priest had smiled and said,

“That must remain hidden, my child, but I
will tell you this. When I fought the Brigands of Fangmere in my youth I was once
very close to being killed. I remember how it felt when the axe swept towards
me and it was not so frightening as the moment when I saw those statues.”

Kerish gripped the cart and walked steadily
on, wishing that he was really travelling to Joze.

“How did you enjoy the service?” asked
Gidjabolgo.

“It was very unlike a palace service, but
that's no criticism. I'm beginning to feel as much a stranger here as you.”

“I trust Leth-Kar looked after you well. He
led you out as if he was carrying an ornament too precious to drop. You're as
much of a curiosity to them as I am.”

“He cared for me kindly but I prefer to be
led by you.”

“Still casting me as your servant?”

“Not so long ago I'd have wasted half a
morning trying to refute that.”

Kerish smiled warmly at the Forgite who
said, rather too quickly, “Don't imagine I'm fool enough to think myself
indispensable.”

“You are as important to me as anyone can
be,” answered Kerish.

“What? More than your beloved brother?”
said Gidjabolgo cruelly. “You don't seem to have found him so indispensable.”

Kerish would not be baited. “He is part of
everything I do. I couldn't shake him off if I tried.”

“You'll find that's true of me as well.
Careful, the cart's turning. “

As the road curved round to enter a long
lush valley, Viarki came to walk beside them and the difficult conversation
ended; yet it lingered in Kerish's thoughts all day as they walked in the
oppressive heat.

They were still on the road at sunset when
Kerish began to clear his mind of the noises of the journey: the wheezing of
the ox, the monotonous creaking of the cart, birdsong and the confused murmur
of a dozen different conversations. To the stillness he created came nothing
but the clash of distant battle. He stood white-faced in the dusty road till
Gidjabolgo shook him by the shoulders.

“You're being stared at. What's the matter?”

“Forollkin. He's in danger, a battle . . .”
He stopped at the sound of Desha's voice.

“Marliann sent me to ask if you were
feeling ill.”

The fragile contact was shattered and Kerish
shook his head. “Only for a moment.”

“She also told me to offer you a place in
the cart but I suppose you won't take it. Would it be against court etiquette?”
asked Desha eagerly.

Kerish smiled. “To my knowledge, ox-carts
do not feature in court etiquette.”

“The Godborn are carried in litters hung
with purple silk, aren't they?” persisted Desha. “Lord Jerenac wasn't. I
suppose that was because he was a soldier, but a lot of people thought he ought
to have been anyway, to show the proper reverence. He hardly ever came to the
temple to see us. People used to say that he didn't really believe in Zeldin
and our Lady so he could never lead us to victory. Did they say the same at
court?”

“Despair makes a good fighter,” began
Gidjabolgo. “Perhaps `people' should have held their tongues.”

Desha ignored him. “I expect you didn't see
much of Lord Jerenac at court, but you must have met the Princes and Queen
Kelinda of course, and the Empress.”

Kerish nodded.

“And the Emperor too?”

“I scarcely ever saw him,” said Kerish
bleakly.

“You must have heard a lot about him
though. Did he really hate his wife and all his children except the Third
Prince?”

“Is that what people say?” asked Kerish,
his knuckles whitening as they gripped the cart.

“Oh yes. I've even heard some whisper that
he was mad but I don't believe that,” confided Desha. “He just grieved for his
third Queen and everyone loves him for that. We have a new play about her. In
the first scene Viarki plays the Governor who brings the Lady Taana as a gift
and the Emperor falls in love with her and makes her his Queen. Leth-Kar is the
Emperor, of course, and in the central scene he walks with the Queen in the
gardens and they describe their happiness and Feg plays a lovely solo on the
zildar.”