The Lost King (13 page)

"Will your death
stop the grandfathers?" he asked suddenly.

"I—I don't
know," Maigrey faltered, unable to meet his eyes. "I hope
so."

"We will hold the
funeral many days," the old man promised pathetically, spreading
his hands. "Many days we will celebrate and beat the drums.
Surely they will hear and go away?"

Maigrey had a sudden
vision of her corpse, lying for days in the jungle heat. "Yes,"
she murmured. "Yes, they will hear and they will leave."
Rising to her feet, she was about to offer the old man food and
drink, as was customary.

Her eyes opened wide.
The words caught in her throat; she nearly strangled.

The old man, watching
her closely, saw her pale face become paler still, her eyes stare in
disbelief. His back to the door, he turned his head quickly to see
what had terrified his ruler.

It was a spirit.

The old man had never
seen a spirit, but he wasn't particularly surprised by this one's
appearance in his camp. At the old man's time of life, nothing much
surprised him anymore. He might have been frightened if the spirit
had appeared hostile. It didn't. It just looked tired, as though it
hadn't slept in a long, long time. It made no threatening move or
gesture, but stood in the doorway, staring inside with a wistful
expression.

And it suddenly
occurred to the old man that no one had greeted the spirit or asked
it to enter.

The old man gathered
himself together and rose to his feet.

"Welcome, spirit,"
he said with a bow that sounded—from the cracking bones—as
if he'd been snapped in two. As near as he could recall, a spirit had
to be invited inside a dwelling or it couldn't pass beyond the
threshold. He glanced at Maigrey. It was her dwelling, after all. She
said nothing, simply stared at the spirit, the bag of lovepoison
clutched tightly in her hand.

Edging over to the
woman, the old man gave her a poke with his finger. "Ask it in!"

"Platus!"
Maigrey whispered.

The old man looked back
at the spirit, thinking that perhaps this was some sort of
invitation, spoken in the strange language that the woman spoke to
herself sometimes. But apparently it wasn't. The spirit remained
standing in the door, regarding the woman with sad eyes.

Maigrey turned her back
on the spirit.

"No, no!"
screeched the old man, appalled. He'd never visited with a spirit
before, and, by the gods, he wasn't going to lose this one. "Come
in, honored spirit, " he said, shoving his own fresh mat across
the floor with his foot. "I am not the owner of this lodge"—a
rebuking look at Maigrey—"but I am the elder of the
village"—a proud lifting of the head—"and as
such I invite you to be our guest."

The spirit looked from
Maigrey to the old man and back to Maigrey again with some
astonishment.

"I don't know,"
Maigrey said in a helpless tone. "I don't know why he can see
you, Platus. Unless Whoever sent you needs a witness."

"He needs no
witness, sister," Platus said in the mild voice Maigrey
remembered so well, though she had not heard it in seventeen years.
"He is all-seeing, all-knowing. And all-forgiving, as I have
reason to know."

The old man had no idea
what was being said, since the two spoke in an unfamiliar language.
He saw the spirit still standing in the entrance to the hut and poked
Maigrey again.

"Come in,"
she said dully, with a halfhearted, despairing gesture. She pressed
the knuckles of the hand that held the bag into her mouth, but it did
no good. She began to cry.

The spirit entered and
came to stand beside the woman. Its hands reached out to comfort her,
but there is no comfort the dead can offer the living. It must be a
new spirit, the old man thought, not to know that.

The spirit was kin to
the woman, the old man realized: slender build, pale hair, the
features were similar though the mold from which they had been cast
seemed to have been made stronger when it formed the woman. This was
a family matter, then. The old man knew he must leave. He did so, but
not before he had spoken his mind.

"I mistrust you
are from the grandfathers, spirit," he said. "Perhaps you
have been sent to lead your kin to her rest. I hope she will not keep
you waiting long." The old man cast a meaningful glance at the
bag Maigrey held in her hand. "Tell the grandfathers they do not
need to come. The funeral will be a fine one, very fine." He
repeated this several times, bobbing in the entrance of the hut.
Then, finally, he was gone.

The evening air,
fragrant with the perfume of growing things, drifted into the hut. It
was the wind's gentle touch that Maigrey felt on her shoulders, not
the hands of the spirit. But the fingers grazed her soul, if not her
flesh. Raising her head and moving away from the spirit, she stared
straight ahead defiantly, blinking the tears from her eyes.

"It's good to see
you, Platus. How have you been?" she started to ask casually,
then broke off with a hysterical giggle that ended in a sob. God!
What a stupid question!

"I meant, where
are . . .
were
you living? What have you . . .
were
you
doing ... all this time?" she stammered. Rubbing the heel of her
hand in her eyes, she dragged it across her nose, sniffing.

"Still the same as
when you were young," Platus said, smiling sadly, fondly. "Never
a handkerchief. What was the name of that captain friend of yours who
used to carry a spare for you in his uniform—"

"Don't start,
brother!" Maigrey whispered, her eyes on the ground at her feet.
"I can't bear it. Not now."

"I lived on a
planet named Syrac Seven. Stavros, Danha, and I chose it because it
was on a major trade route with good channels of communication and
there are large portions of it that remain undeveloped. It was easy
for me to lose myself there—with him," he added in wistful
tones. "Danha and Stavros left me, and went their separate ways.
You know, I suppose, what happened?"

Maigrey glanced at him
unhappily. "I know about Stavros," she said, a catch in her
throat. "But . . . not Danha, too?"

"Five years ago.
And others before. One by one, Maigrey, Sagan tracked them down,
broke them, forced them to betray their fellows. And so the end came,
inexorably."

"And so it will
come to me. I've made my decision."

"Your decision is
the wrong one. You know it, Maigrey. Seventeen years ago you fought
for your life—"

"Did I?" she
demanded, turning suddenly to confront him. "Did I? Or did I
betray us? Seventeen years ago, did I betray my king?"

"Maigrey"—Platus
appeared confused—"I don't understand! What do you mean,
did you betray us? Of course, you didn't! You led the fight against
Sagan!"

"Perhaps that was
all part of his plan! Don't you see? I must have known!" Maigrey
cried, twisting the leather bag in her hands. "He must have told
me in advance! He told me everything! I knew him, better than anyone!
We were mind-linked! How could I not have known?"

"Maigrey, this is
. . . irrational! Because of you, we escaped him! Don't you
remember?"

"No, I don't
remember!" Her clenched fists pressed her forehead. "I
remember only fragments of what happened that night! The doctors said
I might never remember."

"Maigrey, I can
tell you what happened—" She shook her head impatiently.
"I
know
what happened! I've been
told
what
happened! In the hospital, when I was recovering, I saw them look at
me. I saw them thinking, 'Why you? Why did you survive when so many
others died?' Don't you see, Platus?" She stared at him,
beseeching him to understand. "He let me live! There had to be
some reason! That's why I ran away. I didn't want to hear him say,
'Let us congratulate ourselves, my lady. Our plan worked. None of
them suspect.'"

"No! No, I don't
believe it, Maigrey. You were wild, willful. But you were always
honorable. A true daughter of our father. My God," Platus
continued in a low voice, "don't you remember that time our
father made us watch when he tortured that man? The one who had
betrayed a friend—"

"And Sagan was my
friend! No matter what choice I made, I ended up betraying somebody!"
Her laughter cracked and she gritted her teeth, fighting not to lose
control. "But that is all past. The mind-link is reforged. He is
coming to seize me and you say that he should find me alive? You know
the danger. He will use me to locate the boy."

"No, sister. You
will use him."

Maigrey looked at her
brother, puzzled. He did not explain, and she shook her head.
"Riddles! You haven't changed," she muttered, regarding
Platus with the same impatience and frustration she had felt around
him seventeen years ago.

When his spirit had
first appeared to her in the hut, she saw him as she had known him
earlier—the older brother, the scholarly genius, whose
sensitive, expressive face no amount of armor or military training
could mold into the hard, cold face of a warrior. The spirit seemed
to age, though, when he spoke of his past, and Maigrey saw Platus as
he must have looked when he died—a man in his late forties with
the mild face and vacant eyes of one who had taken to gazing far away
in search of a reality that is close at hand.
You will use him
.
Suddenly, she understood.

"Oh, no!" she
protested.

"I am sorry,
Maigrey," Platus answered, the thin, shimmering shoulders
slumping in defeat. "I failed. You see, the boy has no idea of
... of anything."

Maigrey regarded him
silently, impassively. "Nothing?"

Platus shook his head.
"I hoped they'd forget about him. I hoped they would never find
out. I love Dion, Maigrey. I love him as I have loved nothing in this
life! All I wanted was that Dion be—" Platus drew a soft
breath—"ordinary."

If a spirit could have
wept, this one would have. But tears are a comfort the dead are
denied.

"You still don't
understand, do you, brother?" Maigrey said, wearily dragging her
sweat-damp hair back from her face. Walking to the door of the hut,
she stood there, letting the evening breeze dry her fevered skin. Her
gaze went to the stars, burning coldly above. She hadn't looked at
them for a long, long time and now her heart ached with memories. "We
are born to be what we are. We can't escape it. The boy can't escape
it!" Turning to face her brother, she asked impatiently, "Surely
he must have wondered. Didn't he ever question? Around other people,
didn't he—"

"He was never
around other people. I raised him . . . isolated, alone. We didn't
need other people. We had our studies, our music. He was happy,
Maigrey. He truly was! And so was I. These last seventeen years of
peace were the blessing of my life."

"Yes, I can
imagine," Maigrey answered, looking around at her own peaceful
surroundings. The two stood silently, their thoughts on the boy—one
recalling pleasant memories, one trying desperately to recall any
memories at all.

"Who does ... he
look like, Platus?"

"He takes after
his father's side. Anyone who knew the Starfires will recognize him
instantly—the cobalt blue eyes, the red-golden hair that gave
them their name."

"What is there of
. . . Semele?" This question was so low, the spirit could not
have heard it spoken had he not heard it first in his heart.

"Her spirit. The
boy has strength, resolve, firmness of purpose. In that, he is
not
like his father."

"Thank the
Creator," Maigrey muttered.

"Thank Him? For
what?" Platus retorted. "I did everything possible to
protect the boy, to save him . . . but it was all wrong, it seems.
Even my death was meaningless, since it revealed you to our enemy.
Now Dion is out there alone, with no knowledge of who he is, no
understanding. You must find him, Maigrey. You must try to warn him,
to ... to tell him. To ... to do something!"

"But if I find
him, Sagan finds him! And how long do you think Derek will let me
live after that?"

" 'Two must walk
the paths of darkness to reach the light . . ."' Platus
murmured.

"Don't ever speak
that, brother . . . ever! I fulfilled their damned prophecy! I walked
the paths of darkness! For seventeen years, I've walked them! How
could you understand? You were always weak, Platus. You wanted to
save the boy, you say. Save him from what? Himself? From being one of
us? Ordinary! Yes, yOu fought all your life to be ordinary! And
that's the reason you've been doomed to living death! Because in life
you refused to accept what you were!"

"And I would do it
all over again," Platus returned with quiet dignity. "I
came because I thought you could help, Maigrey. I hoped time had
changed you. But now I wonder if I did right. When you find Dion,
sister, look at him, look at him closely. You will see a gentle,
sensitive, caring young man. Hold that image of him in your heart,
because it will not be there long. You and Sagan, between you, will
corrupt him." The spirit's face became anguished, his voice
broke with the tears he could not shed. "May the Creator grant
that my spirit finds rest before I see that happen!"

The incorporeal body
began to fade.

"Platus!"
Maigrey stretched forth her hand as though she could grasp the
ephemeral being and hold it fast. "I'm sorry! Don't leave me.
I'm frightened! I can't face this alone!"

"Who is it that
you fear, sister? 'Know your enemy.' Wasn't that what our commander
always told us? Do you know the enemy, Maigrey? The true enemy?"

The voice died away on
the fragrant winds; the presence of the spirit died in Maigrey's
heart. But the words remained, rankling, like a barbed arrow that
could not be removed without drawing life's blood with it.