The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) (28 page)

*****

The tear of Imarko struck the ground and
the visions broke.

“Must this happen?” asked Kerish.

“Child, it has happened as you watched.”

Kerish bowed his head. “Then there is no
hope for Galkis?”

“There is always hope for the souls of
Galkis,” answered Imarko. “The gift of my death is always with them. The gift
of your life has yet to be offered. Galkis needs one last Emperor to teach my
people that they are all Godborn and must rule themselves under Zeldin's mercy.”

“An Emperor?”

She looked at him steadily. “Galkis still
remembers the Third Prince and his quest. The faithful wait for your return.”

“But he . . . I am dead,” whispered Kerish.
“There is nothing more that I can do for them.”

“Except to live again, beloved,” said
Imarko. “There is hope in the jungle of Jenze where Gidjabolgo mourns you and
teaches the Ferrabrinth what you were. There is hope among the exiles, in the
love that is growing between Forollkin and his Queen. There is hope in the
faith and goodness and courage of thousands of Galkians and in many whom you
have called enemies.”

“Must I be born again?”

At his tone, Imarko took him in her arms
like the starry night enfolding the troubled earth. “Born to pain and sorrow
and death. Beloved, do you think that I cannot remember how much life hurts us?
Climb the stair and be at peace.”

She was weeping, for she already knew his
answer.

“No,” said Kerish-lo-Taan, as the dust of
Zarn covered his bones, “I will live.”

Epilogue

The Book of the Emperors:
Sorrows

Our lives are
spent shaping gifts for the future, to bring pleasure or pain that we shall
never see.

The child moved cautiously amongst the maze
of rock, pausing to stare at each tortured shape. He had crawled among them
before he could walk and he was not afraid. He knew that once these rocks had
screamed but now they were always silent. Lichens and spring flowers blurred
their monstrous strangeness. His startling eyes seemed the only live thing in
the grave young face as the child stealthily continued his search. He came to
the rock which always reminded his father of a snarling marsh cat. The cat-rock
looked the same as ever but when the child touched it he heard a faint rumbling
purr.

“I've found you!” His yell of triumph
turned to a squeal of  mock terror as the rock shimmered and a flaxen-haired
young man swept him off his feet.

“Hah! A Dik-bird who's forgotten his own
nest would have been quicker finding it than you've been finding me.”
Ellandellore's green eyes sparkled as he whirled the child round before setting
him down on the white sand. “Much longer and you would have missed seeing your
father's ship come in.”

“He's really back?”

“Do you doubt my word?”

“I wish I could see things from far off,
like you do. Will you teach me?”

“No.”

“Then will you show me how to make myself
look like a rock?”

“No,” repeated Ellandellore but with his
most charming smile.

“Will you make the rocks scream for me
again?”

“No!”

King Ellandellore was still smiling but the
child looked up at him sharply. “Have I made you angry, or sad? Didn't you like
it when the rocks screamed?”

“No, no, and no,” answered Ellandellore,
with varying degrees of truth. “Come on, we must climb to the Citadel to see
the ship come in.”

“Why won't you teach me things?” persisted
the child.

“You learn too fast by yourself,” muttered
Ellandellore as they began walking.

“Is it because Father was angry when I told
him what he was thinking? I did explain that it wasn't your fault.”

“Thank you for that.”

They came to the edge of the rocks and took
the path that climbed to the crest of the highest hill on Cheransee.

“Then why?”

“I might risk your father's anger, but I
made a promise to your mother that I dare not break.”

“Dare not? But mother wouldn't hurt anyone.”

Ellandellore looked down at the child's
puzzled face. “There is a great strength in gentleness like hers. I had to
learn that and so must you, Kerish.”

They climbed in silence for a while, with
their backs to the sea. As the path curved southward, the plain spread out
before them and the jumbled noises of daily living floated towards them. The
city of exiles was still growing. There were newcomers' tents among the simple
turf and timber huts defiantly flying the flags of  Tryfania, Morolk, Jenoza
and Galkis. Refugees were arriving from all over the fallen Empire, rebelling
against the oppressive rule of Zyrindella in the north or fleeing from southern
cities occupied by warriors from the Five Kingdoms. Ellandellore gazed down at
the young city he had sworn to protect but the child was tugging at his arm for
attention.

“Can I come and stay with you again?”

“Not this year. You'll be away from your
parents long enough on your visit to Vethnar. Don't sulk. He'll be delighted with
you, since you ask almost as many questions as he does. I think you'll like him
too.”

“Oh I do...I mean, I will”

Ellandellore knelt to embrace the trembling
boy. “What is it, Kerish?”

The answer was always the same. “I don't
know. The other one came.”

No-one could stop the boy believing that
another person lived inside him, or prevent these sudden tremors.

“Will it be all right when I'm older?”
Kerish would ask. “Will we grow together?” Most adults tried to reassure him
with vague promises but he sensed their disquiet. His father refused to talk
about it.

The boy wriggled out of Ellandellore's
embrace. “Come on. We mustn't be late!”

The Sorcerer King straightened, his green
eyes dangerously flecked with gold.

“True. So race you to the summit!”

*****

Queen Kelinda stood beneath the tower of
Tir-Racneth watching her husband's ship negotiate the one safe channel through
the rocks that surrounded Cheransee. No hostile vessel would ever find it. The
new King of Ellerinonn retained enough power to protect the Galkian exiles from
the fleet of Fangmere. The ship had nearly reached the shallows and they would
soon be lowering the longboat to come ashore.

“Shall I fetch you a cloak, my lady,” said
an eager voice. “The wind turns cold.”

“No, I hardly feel it, but thank you,
Feernax.”

Kelinda gave her slow sweet smile to the
young Tryfanian lord who had travelled so far to join them.

“Lady, if the Queen your sister will lend
us only ten ships, I swear we can clear the Footsteps of those murderers from
Fangmere. Then the Jorgan Islanders will surely rise against them.”

“Not unless they are assured of help from
Tryfania,” answered Kelinda.

“That will come!” declared Feernax.

He had brought a letter from Kor-Li-Zynak
himself, begging the exiles to rescue him from his mother and uncle. Everything
that Zyrindella had done was for a son who feared and hated her. Now that she
was a mother herself, Kelinda could not help feeling a little sorry for
Zyrindella.

“Far-Tryfarn has rebelled once already,”
Feernax was saying, “and Yxin and Zyrindella are hated now even in
Montra-Lakon.”

“Yes, but who is hated more – Queen
Zyrindella or the barbarians squatting in the south? However bad her
government, she will always find supporters as long as she defends her borders
against the Five Kingdoms. That is the worst of wars.”

Feernax frowned. “Then perhaps we should
start in the south. If we seized Ephaan...”

“With ten ships? Ah, don't look so
downcast. You are right, Feernax, we must be bold, but I was always one to see
the shadows rather than the sunlight.”

“Lady, you are our sun!” He seized her hand
and kissed it. “You keep our faith bright. When I am near you, I know that
Zeldin will deliver his people. He will send back the Third Prince to be our
Saviour and we shall be ready!”

Kelinda smiled tightly, glad that Forollkin
wasn't there to be hurt by the young zealot's words.

“If only King Ellandellore would allow us
to anchor war-ships in the harbors of Ellerinonn...” 

Feernax broke off as the King himself ran
over the brow of the hill with Kelinda's little son at his heels.

“There, I told you'd I'd win.”

“But you cheated!” The boy ran into
Kelinda's arms. “Mother, he turned into a bird and flew most of the way. That's
not fair, is it?”

“No indeed. Shame on you, my Lord of
Ellerinonn.”

“I wither before your just rebuke, oh
Queen.”

Ellandellore bowed extravagantly, though in
the presence of his former citadel, his face was sombre. The crooked tower of
Tir-Racneth was deserted but the children of the exiles sometimes rummaged
among its treasures, trying on the jewels of the drowned as carelessly as
Ellandellore had once done.

Down on the shore, the boat was beached and
the returning Galkians climbed the hill by the shortest path. The Lord
Commander was the first to reach the summit. His son tore across the grass to
greet him. He had jumped up to kiss the scarred cheek and begun to chatter
before Forollkin could say, “How's my boy?”

“I can recite half
The Book of Sorrows
now, well almost, and I'm nearly as tall as the next mark on the wall.
Meyvinn's had a daughter and Ellandellore hid in the cat-rock and it took me
ages to find him. Did Aunt Pellameera send me any presents?”

“Perhaps she did. You'll have to wait and
see.”

Forollkin had almost flinched at the
mention of Queen Pellameera. He hadn't expected the years to treat her so
unkindly and he couldn't forget her twisted smile as she listened to the lying
praises of her young lovers.

“Forollkin....”

He turned with grateful love to the Queen
of Seld's sister and kissed her. Their son was still clinging round his neck.

“What sort of presents did she perhaps send
me? How long do I have to wait?”

From a discreet distance, Lord Feernax
studied them, trying to find the parents in the child. Kerish-lo-Kelin would
never be as tall as his father. Perhaps the fine bones and slight frame came
from his mother. The rich brown hair with its red glints was a mixture of them
both and you could trace Forollkin in the strength of the chin and Kelinda in
the gentleness of the smiling mouth. Yet the eyes were purely Godborn, huge and
fathomless, purple, golden and black. “An omen,” the exiles had whispered when
those eyes first opened, “the best of omens for Galkis.”

The little group broke up as Forollkin's
companions reached Tir-Racneth and came forward to greet their Queen. In Galkis
such a collection of soldiers and farmers, priests and craftspeople, nobles and
ex-slaves would never have known each other. In exile, they worked together. Feernax
was soon among them eagerly asking questions but it was Lord Forollkin himself
who answered, “The Queen of Seld will spare us nine ships and all the young
trouble-makers of her court. Now that the alliance between the Brigands of
Fangmere and the Men of the Five Kingdoms is broken, Pellameera concedes that
there is hope for us.”

“Father, why are our enemies angry with
each other?”

Forollkin set his son down on the grass and
answered him seriously, “Because the Brigands of Fangmere think that the Men of
the Five Kingdoms don't honor the Dark Goddess as they should. The Brigands
wanted to murder your cousin, Koligani to please the goddess. They will never
forgive Cil-Rahgen of Chiraz for saving and marrying her. The Princes of  Oraz
and Mintaz are angry with him too, since they argue about everything they steal
from Galkis.”

“There's fresh news from Jenoza,” said
Feernax, “of fighting between the forces of Oraz and Chiraz.”

“This could be the moment,” began
Forollkin, “to widen the split by negotiating with Chiraz...”

Neither of them had heard the temple bell,
so Kelinda intervened. “It is time for the noon service. We should all give
thanks for the safe return of our travelers. Then they can eat and rest.”

Everyone but Ellandellore walked down to
the settlement. Craftsmen and women among the exiles had begged wood and stone
from Ellerinonn to build and adorn a small temple to Zeldin and Imarko. Many
priests and priestesses had fled persecution by the Brigands of Fangmere. One
pair celebrated the noonday service exactly as it would  have been  carried out
in the temples of the Nine Cities but Viroc was burned, Joze struggled to raise
enough tribute, Hildimarn was deserted, and Ephaan was occupied by an enemy
fleet: Tryfis, Montra-Lakon, Yxis and Far-Tryfarn suffered under the tyranny of
usurpers, and Galkis itself was no longer golden.

As he joined the crowd assembling on the
grass in front of the temple, Forollkin thought of the stifling rituals of the
Inner City he had grown up in. His son would never veil his face, never learn
to fear the Ceremony of Presentation, never, by him, be taught to trust in a
Gentle God. “How can I trust?” he had so often cried to Kelinda. “Kerish
trusted Zeldin and believed in our quest, but he didn't come back. I, who
wasn't certain about anything, I am alive and have so much, but Kerish never
came back.” She had only once asked him if he believed that his brother was
dead. He had answered her honestly, “I don't know. There was a terrible day,
not long after we left Viroc, when I felt that I had lost him, but sometimes he
feels so close...”

The officiating priest read a passage from
The
Book of Prophecy
and then spoke of Zeldin's place in the circle of time. “Do
not think that because Zeldin knows our future, we have no part in making it.
He gave us our choices, he watches us choose, and he has already seen the
results of our choosing.”       

His thoughts racing ahead to decisions
waiting to be made, Lord Commander Forollkin hardly listened. Nor did he join
in the hymn of thanksgiving:
“Lady of the Stars, you cleanse us with your
tears: Lord of Gentleness you have broken us with your love so that we may know
that we are not whole...”
Forollkin did smile as his son's pure treble rose
unselfconsciously above the other singers. Perhaps he had inherited his uncle's
voice as well as his eyes. Looking into those eyes, he sometimes found it
difficult to believe that this was his son.

After the final prayer, food was brought
out to be shared, just as in a village temple. The King of Ellerinonn rejoined
them then and greeted Forollkin. They exchanged news but, as always, there was
a coolness between them. When the exiles had first arrived in Ellerinonn to
find Elmandis dead, Forollkin had asked the new King over and over again to
tell him what had happened to Kerish. “He completed his quest,” was all that
Ellandellore would ever say. 

Now the Sorcerer-King crouched down beside
Kerish-lo-Kelin to share his portion of honey-bread. After listening for a
while as his father talked about stopping at Gultim and how happy Prince
Hemcoth seemed to be with Kelinda's niece, the little boy interrupted.

“I played Hide and Seek this morning, just
like Uncle Kerish did once.”

“How did you know that?” demanded
Forollkin.

“I told him,” answered  Ellandellore
quietly, “I thought it best that your son should know the truth about me.”

“Oh I knew about the wicked games.
Sometimes I hear the drowned people crying.” Kerish suddenly looked frightened.
“Don't let me play games like that,” he implored. “Please don't let me!”