A Business of Ferrets (Bharaghlafi Book 1) (30 page)

"A form of mind work," Kerigden replied.

"I thought you said you needed me," the flute-maker said a little reproachfully.

"We do. I want you to play while we work. We need an anchor."

Worry knit Arre's brow. "Kerigden," she protested. "Work with an anchor is beyond—" She broke off as she remembered the feel of his mind: banked coals; power waiting for some enlivening touch. "I cannot balance you," she whispered, painfully. "My gifts are not as strong as yours."

The High Priest touched her shoulder gently. "Trust me. I will not hurt you; but I need your help."

Venykhar looked from one to the other, mystified. "What are you talking about? What are you planning to do? How dangerous is it—and, gods above and below, what good will it do? Arre, you're as brave as a lioness; if you're afraid of whatever Kerigden has in mind, it
must
be dangerous." As the priest turned toward him, he added, waspishly, "And don't just say: 'Trust me.' I do trust you, but I want to
know
."

Kerigden sighed. "My Lady Windbringer has some
interest
in the outcome here. She required me to help; she appeared to Owl in a dream and gave him a warding stone; and she aided me with the Ghytteve and the Imperial Guard. But there is more she wants, more at stake—
and I need to know what!
When she appeared to Owl, she mentioned a wager and said perhaps she had nothing to fear from her brother. It puzzles me; and it makes me tremble. You know the histories of the gods. My Lady Windbringer has not always fared well in the company of the gods; perhaps in this matter, she is in some danger, or facing some threat. Owl told me
he summoned her
, that he used the focus Arre and I taught him and
called
Talyene. With a human anchor instead of merely a focus stone, Arre and I might be able to do that, or to read more fully the future, using Arre's Sight Gifts, or—possibly—to link with Owl and persuade him to summon the Windbringer."

Venykhar looked uncomfortable. "Wouldn't she tell you if she wanted you to know?"

"Only if asked, I think," Kerigden replied.

"Very well. And how dangerous is this?"

"There is a risk," Kerigden admitted. "Not as much for you, Ven, as for Arre and me. But there are also possible benefits. By our asking, my Lady Windbringer may be empowered to act directly, to help us save Owl and to defeat Ycevi. It seems to me that is worth a considerable risk."

Venykhar glanced at Arre, who nodded agreement. "Very well," he said. "Tell me what I must do."

It was Arre who answered him. "You must play your flute—and you must not stop, no matter what. Think of your music as a beacon which will show us how to return if we should travel too deeply into the country of the mind."

"Just play? Play anything?"

Despite her own uneasiness, she smiled. "Play melodies to call us home."

Venykhar was silent for a moment; then, he bowed his head in acquiescence. Arre and Kerigden seated themselves at the table while the old lord locked the door and got his flute. He began to play, the thread of melody sweet in the dim room. Together, the priest and the seer entered their trance; and the flute both held them anchored and gave their minds the courage and freedom to range far.

It was like nothing else Arre had experienced. Kerigden's mind swept her up, into such a sea of feelings and images that she was bewildered. Power gathered in their joined minds: a river in spate, fire driven by wind, souls in ecstasy: harmony, union, power. The power built; their minds strained to contain it. Then, Kerigden called:
Talyene. Talyene!

There was nothing, no answering power. It wasn't enough. And then, like a glimmer of inspiration, Arre knew what lacked. Carefully, she used a little of the power they had gathered to make the illusion of sound: music to answer and incorporate the voice of the almost unheeded flute.

Yes
, Kerigden cried, and he twined his music into theirs.

It was beyond explaining, beyond words. They poured love and need and power into the crafting, and the music answered them. Of their minds and the gathered power they wove a music so yearning, so entreating that even a stone would answer. Kerigden began to sing: an ancient song in an ancient language, which repeated, each time more beseechingly, the goddess's ancient name. Talyene. Talyene. Talyene.

And she came.

Chapter Thirty-two—Retribution

Owl, bound to a chair in the shadowy gallery, couldn't stop shivering. Elkhar stood behind him, tense and eager. Later, others brought Cithanekh and tied him to a chair opposite the boy. When Owl greeted his friend, Elkhar snapped: "Keep still." So he held his tongue, but still shivered.

Ycevi joined them. Her gown kissed the tiles as she ghosted to Owl's side. Silent, she traced the planes of his face with a fingertip; she smiled when she noticed his shivering.

Servants brought a small table and a glowing brazier on a wrought iron stand. "Put it near the boy," Ycevi told them with a secretive smile. "I think he's cold." Owl felt the brazier's warmth on his skin, but he couldn't stop shivering.

Finally, Myncerre came. She laid a long wooden box on the table and put a squat stoneware jar down beside it. Then, she took a folding wooden tripod and a small metal bowl out of her pocket and set them up beside the other things. The Lady surveyed the preparations and nodded. She went to Cithanekh's chair, touched his face in the same way she had Owl's.

"Can you guess what I intend?" she asked in a voice brittle as frost. When the young lord shook his head, she smiled. "Then it will be a surprise." At the table, she opened the wooden box and removed a silver skewer, which she placed in the brazier.

Owl's throat dried; his visions had shown him what atrocities to expect, with Kitten's murder. Across the span that separated them, he sought Cithanekh's eyes; but though Owl's terrified face was limned in firelight, Cithanekh's was shadowed.

"Don't hurt him, Ycevi." Cithanekh's voice came, broken, out of darkness. "Please don't hurt him."

***

"Don't hurt him, Ycevi. Please don't hurt him." Through a trick of the secret ways, the voice—
Cithanekh's
voice—sounded impossibly close. Ferret's hand closed warningly on Donkey's shoulder. They were near a series of spyhole niches that gave a view of a seldom used gallery.

Swiftly but silently, they found places from which to watch—all save Mouse, who was not tall enough comfortably to reach these spyholes. Stifling irritation, the girl crouched beside the secret entrance. The panel was thin enough to conduct sound reasonably well. She strained to catch Ycevi's answer; they had to be talking about Owl.

***

"Please don't hurt him," Cithanekh repeated.

"His fate is in your hands. Tell me: why did you save the Emperor's witch?"

"I told you! Because the Scholar King would have brought you down over Arre's murder!"

She stalked to the brazier; seizing the skewer, she drove it into the boy's thigh. Unable to stop himself, Owl screamed.

"But I'm telling the
truth!
" Cithanekh cried.

Ycevi returned the skewer to the brazier. "Truth?" she laughed scornfully. "Perhaps that's a part of it, a part of the truth. But truly, I don't care. How did you know where Antryn was? How did you know when Arre was taken? How did your accomplices find them?
Who told you?
Was it Owl?" She rounded on the boy, suddenly. "
Who owns you
, body and soul?
Who commands your loyalty?
" She seized the skewer and advanced. "
Answer me!
"

"Cithanekh," he said, half-wonderingly. Ycevi drove the skewer into his leg again and he screamed.

"Cithanekh," Ycevi repeated. "
Cithanekh?
What kind of clever double game are you playing, my fine young puppy?"

"It's not like that," Owl protested, desperate. "It's no game we play, Lady; it's real. It's not politics, nor power; I'm not his tool, nor his toy. It is true that I would cut off my arm if he needed it, but he would also cut off his own for me. Don't you understand? We're
friends
."

Ycevi looked from one to the other. "Do you still seek to play me for a fool?
Friends!
" She spat the word as though it were an obscenity. "I have no patience with fairy tales, boy." Then she turned to her steward. "Make ready the
ymekkhai
." 

Myncerre took an elegant pair of silver tongs out of the wooden case, opened the stoneware jar and extracted several long strips of a light colored substance. She laid the strips in the metal bowl then set the tongs down and moved aside.

"A useful substance,
ymekkhai
," the Lady said in a terrifyingly objective voice. "It burns with a particularly intense white light; it is unwise, however, to watch it burn, as it can do irreparable damage to one's vision. Elkhar, hold his head."

Elkhar's fingers found Owl's eyelids and peeled them open; he held him firmly but not ungently, while Ycevi picked up the tongs and chose a glowing coal from the brazier.

The reddish glow from the brazier lit Ycevi's terrible smile. Her voice was soft as the whisper of steel from scabbard. "You said you would cut off your arm for your
friend
, little Owl; would you pluck out your eyes?"

***

The goddess loomed through the music as though she were parting mist. Kerigden's song ended, though the power hummed like an echo.

Lady Windbringer
, he began. But she held up one hand.

I am constrained. I have come, for you have summoned me with power, need and music; but your questions I am not permitted to answer without forfeit; and I can afford no forfeitures
.

Arre's music wound down to silence.
Could you answer for me, Lady Windbringer? I am no priest, but a Kellande Seer.

They must be your own questions. Kerigden, I bind silence on you.
He bowed his head in submission, then picked up the threads of power which Arre had let fall and wove them back into the music.
Ask, Seer, three questions
, the goddess commanded,
and I shall answer
.

Arre cast her mind over all that had gone before.
What is your wager?
she asked at last.

Talyene smiled faintly.
I argued with my brother over hopeless causes. We wagered that I could not prove that loyalty, idealism and determination could triumph against self-interest, power, privilege and ruthlessness. He chose the proving ground: the court of Bharaghlaf; and I the players: a hente of Slum children.

What are the stakes?
Arre asked.

If I lose, I relinquish any right to the hearts of the people of the Bharaghlafi Empire; if he loses, he forfeits his right to their power
.

Arre hesitated, weighing the third question carefully. Kerigden might want to know which of the other gods opposed her, though he might already be able to guess; or he might wish to know what specific effect losing would have upon his goddess; or—Suddenly, Arre remembered what the Windbringer had said: that they must be her questions.
How can I best aid your cause?
she asked.

Keep the boy Owl alive and sane,
the goddess answered, her mental voice bleak.
If you can.
Then, posing her hands like a temple painting, she vanished into the music.

***

The coal in the tongs glowed like a baleful eye in the dim room. Ycevi drew it to hover over the bowl of
ymekkhai
.

"
NO!
" Cithanekh cried. "Stop! Whatever you want to know, I will tell you. I'll tell you; I'll tell you!"

Ycevi replaced the coal in the brazier; Elkhar released Owl who blinked fiercely stinging eyes. "So. You want me to believe you are at last ready to be reasonable. Very well. Proceed from the beginning."

"I never wanted to be part of your plan; you knew that. I chose to work against you as best I could; I've been aiding Rhydev Azhere. At the time, he seemed to offer the best chance of foiling your plans and freeing me. Recently I've come to see he only wants you out of the game so that
he
can be the one to make me Emperor and pull my strings. I got Arre away from Elkhar more to foul Rhydev's scheme than yours, truly. I didn't
know
you'd finally caught Antryn—I thought it was just Arre. So I told the Windbringer's High Priest; he and Arre are friends. I thought he'd help me rescue her."

"And Ferret?" Elkhar interjected.

"I had nothing to do with Antryn's escape—or at least, I didn't mean to. Those other people's presence was as much a surprise to me, I think, as to you, Elkhar."

"And little Owl is completely innocent, of course," Ycevi scoffed. "Never mind that he kept me and my bodyguards out of the way while you affected your rescue. Come, come, Cithanekh; I thought you were ready to tell me whatever I want to know. You haven't yet; your
explanation
is as full of holes as
myrakke
lace."

"Lady, please believe me: I've learned something from all this. Truly I can't bear to have Owl hurt. I can't possibly work against you any longer when it means risking harm to my friend." He leaned forward, straining against the bonds that held him. Firelight caught in the tears on his face. "Please, Lady. I dare not ask you to forgive me—but do
believe
me: you've won. I'll cooperate. I'll do whatever you require in exchange for Owl's safety." His face twisted with bitterness and defeat. "I'll be your obedient hound, just—
please
—don't hurt Owl."

The Lady gazed at him, then brushed his wet cheek with her fingers. "Tears, even. How impressive. I never knew you were such an actor. You plead very convincingly, Cithanekh—but I cannot fail to notice
you still evade my questions
."

"
What more can I tell you?
" he demanded, anguished. "Owl told you why he came to you: his visions showed him what would happen to you if Elkhar killed the Emperor's lover. Perhaps he also saw what you would do to me if you found me trying to thwart your plans. Even if you don't believe that he would act to protect you, you must understand that he would risk a great deal to protect me."

"Why would he risk himself? Why would he court pain and mutilation?" she cried; then she rounded on Owl. "
Why?
"

Owl's eyes brimmed with tears. He said, despairingly—for he knew she would not understand, "Because I love him, Lady; and I do not reckon the cost the way that you expect."

Lady Ycevi studied him, her expression inscrutable. "And does he love you, boy."

"Yes."

"And I suppose that means that he will forever be counting costs in unexpected ways, as well?"

"I daresay," Owl admitted.

"And do you expect me to use
unpredictable
tools, then?" she hissed.

Before Owl could respond, Cithanekh said, "Please, Lady; listen to me. I meant it when I said you've won. I promise I will be your obedient hound; I will do whatever you require. But please, don't hurt Owl."

She half turned toward Cithanekh; something in her posture told him that she was not convinced. She did not believe the young lord. As he watched her obdurate profile, he realized that she meant to kill them both.

"You have displeased me very deeply," she said, starting toward Cithanekh. "But you plead so pitiably, so touchingly. Perhaps I should give you a last chance. But you must first be punished, Cithanekh; I cannot allow you to flout me so and escape with a scolding."

"Punish
me
, then," he begged. "Not Owl."

A gloating edge shaded her voice; Owl could hear her poisonous smile. "But it will hurt you so much more if I use the boy." She turned suddenly to Myncerre. "Blind the boy."

"
Me?
" Myncerre protested. "Lady—"

"Do you
dispute
me? Do it." Warning thrummed in her tone.

For a moment, Owl thought Myncerre would refuse. Her face, usually so impassive, showed horror and denial. The Lady didn't see it; she had issued her order and turned away. Myncerre looked across at Owl, and he saw the shadow of some irrevocable decision in her expression. Then, the steward bowed her head. "As my Lady commands. Elkhar?"

As Owl's eyelids were forced open again, Elkhar growled, "Ready." Owl watched Myncerre's steady hand on the tongs, followed the path of the glowing coal from the brazier to where she held it over the metal bowl. On the edges of his vision, Owl saw the Lady covering Cithanekh's eyes with her hands. As she held the coal, its light gilded the track of tears on her face. Then, Myncerre opened the tongs. The coal fell like a meteor, and the world exploded in searing, white fire.

***

Arre screamed. White fire exploded in her vision, seared away control, loosed the power; a maelstrom of images drew her down, pulled her deep. She was inundated with visions, trapped in a firestorm of prophecy, buried in foresight. It was like trying to breathe fire, or walk on the wind; nothing made sense. Despair avalanched over her, crushing and battering. Madness leered and gibbered. Her soul fled—and was caught.

Kerigden's mind was there, its banked embers flaring to life. He gave her his power, invited her to take it, to remake order, sense, sanity with the strength of his mind. She steadied herself and set to work. It was a heady feeling; a temptation. Her own poor gifts were as nothing to this; and he gave it freely. She could take it, strip him of it, build the kind of powerful gift Owl bore and for which she had often wished. But no; there was something else that needed doing. There was Owl, and he was screaming.