Bringer of Light (55 page)

Escori Garnon himself was sitting up in his bed. At first the monitor thought nothing was amiss – then he looked at the Escori’s face, which was frozen forever in an attitude of awestruck terror. His hands were bent into claws that gripped the counterpane as if it were the only thing that could save him. It could not, of course.

Nual took off the robes of office, and with no one to witness them, she and Kerin dragged the two bodies out of Kerin’s room and rolled them into the chasm. Nual suspected they would not be alone down there. Then she and Kerin did their best to clean up, though the Cariad’s room still stank, despite their efforts. Nual sensed Kerin thawing a little; she had expected Nual to claim such unpleasant chores were below her.

By the time they were done, Urien had recovered enough to sit up. Nual listened to him and Kerin talking with interest, and answered the few questions they had for her. She had never been in on discussions about the future of an entire world before. Afterwards, Urien, who was chafing at being kept away from his sources of information, insisted he was well enough to go out, though Kerin made him take a wrist-com with him. He only needed to be shown how to work the device once.

Then Kerin put on the Cariad’s robes and went out to announce the name of Garnon’s successor.

Just two days ago, Kerin could not have countenanced being in the same room as a Sidhe. How much had changed!

Garnon’s replacement entered the audience chamber at noon, as he had been instructed. Kerin’s knowledge of Dinmael came largely from Urien’s trove of information: he was relatively young, with a strong streak of personal integrity. That was one good reason for choosing him. The other was the late Escori Garnon’s negative feelings for him, as uncovered by Nual. Dinmael would be eager to prove himself a better man than his power-hungry predecessor.

He looked suitably awed when he entered, and when Kerin asked him to cross the chasm on the bridge, he hesitated before circling his breast and complying. Kerin suspected he had not expected to be called onto sacred ground.

He made to kneel as soon as he was on her side of the chasm, but Kerin told him to remain standing. She could see he was shocked by that; it felt unholy not to offer obeisance to the Skymothers’ representative on Earth.

Without any preamble, she said, ‘There are three, sometimes complementary, reasons to become a priest. There are those who seek the certainty of faith, and who take solace in unquestioning belief in a higher power. There are those who desire knowledge and personal power, and see the priesthood as a way to achieve these aims. Finally, there are those few who wish to help their fellow man.

‘I cannot imagine anyone rising to the rank you are about to attain with their faith intact; you will have seen too much that is bad in people to believe fully in divine goodness. And you will enjoy the power you wield; that is only natural. However, you must never forget your responsibility to those below you, because you do not just rule your sect, you help rule this world.’ She paused.

Realising he was expected to speak, Dinmael said resolutely, ‘Aye, Divinity. I will do my best.’ He looked predictably confused: he had expected formal ceremony, not thoughtful observations.

Kerin felt her lips curve into a bitter smile. ‘Dinmael, look at me,’ she said softly.

He did, reluctantly. He would see only the Cariad’s veil, hiding the face of his goddess.

Kerin continued, ‘You are used to thinking that you – that all the priests – command your own small domain, with the permission of the Cariad.’

‘As you will it, Divinity,’ he murmured.

‘No,’ said Kerin firmly, ‘not so. Not any more.’ Kerin reached up to lift her veil, and the priest gasped, circling his breast and averting his gaze.

‘Dinmael!’ commanded Kerin. ‘Please, do not look away!’

She saw his expression change when she drew the veil aside to reveal a very un-divine countenance.

‘As you see, I am no goddess.’

‘Is . . . Is this some sort of test?’ he stammered. ‘Or an illusion—?’

‘No. I am as you see me: a mortal woman. Yet I rule –
we
rule, I and the Escorai, as allies. That is how it must be now. If you cannot accept that, then’ – she smiled, a little grimly – ‘you should not accept this job.’

‘I . . . Forgive me, but there were rumours. I did not want to believe them—’

‘No doubt some of them were lies; others, however, were quite true. That does not change the fact that we must work together to guide our people.’

‘But— But the miracles of the Tyr, what are they if not divine?’

‘They are devices, and I
do
have control of them, something you would be wise to remember in the coming days.’

‘
You?
But you are a mortal woman . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Is this Urien’s doing?’

Kerin sighed. ‘Urien is my staunchest ally. He is
not
my master. You will have to get used to taking orders from mortal women, Dinmael. Can you do that?’

Dinmael’s expression worked through disbelief to cautious, if somewhat bemused, acceptance. Finally he said, ‘Has it always been thus?’

‘No, Dinmael, it has not. For many years we were ruled, cruelly, by an outsider, though she was no goddess. That unjust rule is over. It is time for us to take control of our own destiny.’

Dinmael digested what she had said. Then he asked, ‘If I cannot accept this strange and unlikely truth, then what? Will you have me killed?’ He sounded more amazed than fearful.

‘No,’ said Kerin shortly, ‘but you will not become an Escori, and I can promise you that you will leave here with no memory of this conversation.’

On cue, Nual stepped out of the shadows.

Dinmael’s eyes widened in further confusion.

‘
I
am not a goddess,’ Kerin continued, ‘but my companion here can do everything the woman who once occupied this throne could.’

Nual turned to Kerin and said, ‘He hasn’t lied to us yet.’

‘Good,’ said Kerin. ‘Then let us find out if he ever will.’

The other three Escorai were summoned an hour apart. Urien reported that the Tyr was already abuzz with news of Garnon’s fate; the senior priests were predictably apprehensive about being called into the Divine presence.

Like Dinmael, they reacted with confusion to Kerin’s frank confession.

After that, it was over to Nual, who probed their minds to determine their basic intent, after which she wordlessly showed each Escori an edited version of the truth about Serenein; the main detail she omitted was the fate of the Consorts. Where needed, she carried out a limited degree of programming.

Though the Escorai of Carunwyd and Medelwyr gave no trouble, the Escori of Turiach, the last to be called in, had been planning dissent. Nual put him to sleep and told Kerin her findings.

‘Can you influence him to be loyal?’ asked Kerin. She briefly considered summoning Urien to ask his advice, before realising that she already knew what he would say.

‘Not without impairing his ability to do his duties.’

‘But you could stop him being a threat without killing him?’

‘Yes, I could make him docile and obedient. He would be no use to you as an Escori, but he would be alive – even happy, in a way. He would not know what he had lost.’

Kerin examined her options, and quickly acknowledged how few they were. ‘Aye, do that, please,’ she said at last.

After Nual was done, Kerin called monitors into the audience chamber and instructed them to remove the inanely smiling Escori and turn him out on the streets of the city. She knew his vacant face would join Siarl’s agonised one in her nightmares.

Naturally Urien already had a replacement in mind. He also approved of her treatment of the failed Escori. ‘The people could use a little fear,’ he said tartly.

By the time they finally returned from installing the new Escori of Turiach, it was evening. Damaru was awake; when he stared suspiciously at Nual Kerin realised how much her own attitude to the Sidhe had changed in just one day. She took no joy in her son’s dislike, although she was more relaxed when Damaru was present to offset Nual’s powers. But there was a link between her and Nual now, if only in their shared complicity.

‘Did you wish to rest now?’ she asked Nual, who looked exhausted. ‘Damaru will most likely wander off soon.’

‘No, thank you; I want to get back tonight. And we cannot wait any longer for this.’

Kerin had to agree. The final imposition was the worst, but it was also the most vital.

She remembered flinching away from a man, but being too weak to resist when he bound her. She remembered the horror of recollection breaking over her, and wishing desperately she could forget it again. Then she remembered being given a sweet drink that brought the oblivion she craved.

She had washed in and out of consciousness for some time; after a while there had been voices, not inside her but outside, which meant she was alive. She tried to hide from them, because she was not sure she wanted to live.

Yet she could not ignore the fact that she had survived.

Ifanna opened her eyes. Above her was a stone ceiling. Was she still in the Cariad’s chamber? Or was this a cell? She was constricted, wrapped in a bed-sheet, and there were loops of something around her wrists, but she was no longer tightly bound. Her body ached from having lain on a hard stone floor, and she was abominably thirsty. She began to wriggle free of the sheet and bindings, then stopped as she noticed the finely made cup next to her. She reached out tentatively. The cup appeared to have water in. Was it for her? Was it safe? The worst that could happen was that the drink killed her, and that was still a prospect she would welcome. She pulled the cup across, raised herself on one elbow and drank. It tasted like water, pure and cool.

The drink brought her fully to her senses and for the first time she realised she was not alone. She struggled to sit up, and saw that this was indeed the Cariad’s room. A boy watched her from the strange revolving seat Escori Urien had been sitting in. He had an open, innocent face, and she reached out to get a sense of who and what he was, but her regard slid off him like water from oiled cloth. The attempted contact sparked off odd, complex feelings, some of them echoing other feelings she had had recently; so wrong, so very wrong—

‘Can you stand up?’ He asked the question as though he had no idea how she might answer, and was genuinely curious.

It came to her who he must be and she went to make the circle, then stopped. The gesture meant
nothing.

The boy’s brow furrowed, and he said again, more slowly, ‘Can you stand up?’

‘I will try,’ she said, her voice shaking. Why not? Lying on the ground wishing she were dead was no way to spend the rest of her life.

It took a while, for she was weak, and kept getting tangled in the sheets. The Consort watched her silently, his expression between impatience and curiosity. When she finally got to her feet he said, ‘Come with me.’

‘I— Please, I have to know something.’

The boy stared at her; of course he would not react like anyone else. But the question was one she had to ask before she faced whatever fate the future held for her. ‘Is . . . is Maelgyn dead?’

Seeing the boy’s confused expression, she added, ‘The priest who came here, with the monitors. Is he dead?’

‘Dead. Aye.’ The boy spoke as though it was a foregone conclusion. Perhaps it was. She had known the truth in her heart; to hear it confirmed lifted some of the weight from her – though she knew that was not how she
should
feel.

The Consort continued, ‘We must
go
!’ He half-walked, half-capered across the room and pulled open the door. He did not wait to see if Ifanna would follow.

She took a last look around. Aside from the strange seat and oddly decorated wall behind it, the room was ordinary, though well appointed. She followed the Consort out. The boy led her back to the audience chamber, and Ifanna felt fear wash over her, which redoubled when she saw the woman standing there wearing the Cariad’s black and silver robes. But the woman’s head was bare, and her face was as ordinary as the room where Ifanna had awakened. She stood next to the throne, one hand resting lightly on its high back. Whilst the front of the great chair was ornate, the back was plain. The imposing façade was not made to be viewed from this side.

The room beyond the throne was dim and, as far as Ifanna could tell, empty.

The false Cariad spoke, her voice more heavily accented and less resonant than the last time Ifanna had heard it. ‘Do you wish to live?’

What a question! Had she asked if Ifanna
deserved
to live, she might have been able to answer more easily. She had committed a terrible sin of the flesh, then repeated it – and then she had committed murder. Of course she did not
deserve
to live.

But that was not the question.

The woman did not appear to mind waiting for her answer: she just stood there, her face composed but not unfriendly. From the corner of her eye Ifanna saw the Consort leaving. For all the unease he inspired in her, she found herself half wishing he would stay. And in thinking that, she had her answer.