Taliesin

CHAPTER SIX

Charis did not know whether avallach was in Kellios or whether he was away on yet another campaign of his endless war against Nestor and Seithenin. She was prepared to accept either situation: to confront her father at once, or to wait patiently until he returned. She was not, however, prepared for the spectacle that greeted her.

Since meeting with Throm she had been nervous and ill-at-ease. Not because he forecast the destruction of the world- that was too fantastic to comprehend-but because she feared that she would not be allowed to see her home again. This, as the miles stretched on and on, had become an obsession for her, and she hoped with each passing moment that she would not come too late.

But as the carriage rolled down the lowering hills to the dish-shaped harbor, Charis glimpsed the Isle of Apples floating serenely above its orchards across the bay. She sighed, feeling both pleasure and a little disappointment in the familiar sight. Nothing has changed, she mused. It is all exactly as it was the day I left.

This thought, comforting in its way, also produced a flat pang of disappointment. Something ought to have changed; I have been away seven years! she thought and realized that she had vaguely expected her home to have changed as much as she had in that time.

All the way up the long avenue from the harbor to the palace, Charis imagined her seven-year exile to have been in vain. She would walk into the great hall and Avallach would be standing there still: arms folded across his chest, eyes hard, chin outthrust like a. granite cliff, his scowl dark and fierce, hiding the thunder about to break. And she would hear his voice, echoing across the polished floor, bridging the distance between them. It would be as if she had only stepped from the room a moment ago. Nothing would have changed.

Even that might have been preferable to the scene which met her eyes as she made her way through a dim, filthy corridor toward the great cedar doors whose luster had been allowed to dull beneath a gray patina of dust. The palace was all but deserted. Upon her arrival she had been greeted by a young seneschal who was not at all certain who she was, then conducted without ceremony to the great hall. “Go find An-nubi,” she ordered as the seneschal stood looking on in a dilemma of confusion and indecision. “Tell him Charis has returned.”

The youth stumbled over himself in his eflfort to escape. Charis picked up the present she had brought for her father and turned back to the door, her haed trembling on the braided cord. She pulled; the huge panel opened without a sound and she entered the darkened hall. Even though it was bright daylight outside, the hall was steeped in twilight.

At first she thought the seneschal had led her astray and that Avallach was not there. She was just turning away when she heard a voice. “Who is it?” The voice was a raw, rasping whisper.

She turned and walked slowly to the center of the enormous room. “Father?”

From the dais at one end of the room came a dry cough. Charis stopped and looked toward the dais. There at the foot of the throne sat Avallach, leaning back against the footrest, legs splayed out before him. His eyes glittered back at her from the shadows.

“Eh?” he said. The utterance brought a fit of coughing that doubled him over.

“Father, it is me, Charis,” she said, coming closer.

The king raised his head and peered at her, then climbed slowly to his feet and came toward her, walking in a strange, halting gait. She saw that he was leaning on a crutch. “Have you brought my medicine?” he called as he came, his voice grating over the words.

“It is Charis,” she said again. “Your daughter… I have come home.” She stared at the ruin of her father in horror.

“Charis?” Avallach lurched closer. His hair hung in lank, ropy strands; his flesh was pale as parchment, his eyes weak and watery.

Charis wanted to run to him, to take him in her arms. But the shock of seeing him so changed kept her rooted to the spot.

“So you have come back.” Avallach lurched closer, breathing heavily, cold sweat glazing his brow.

“Father, what has happened? Where is everyone? You are ill; you should be in bed.”

“You should not have come.” He gasped with the exertion of walking across the floor.

“I had to come,” she said. “I had to come back to see you. I have been away so long. I wanted…”

“-should not have come,” Avallach repeated. He lifted his head and shouted, “Lile! My medicine!” The words echoed in the empty hall.

“I brought you something,” said Charis, remembering the present. She lifted the long, thin shape wrapped in oiled leather and lay it across his hands as he balanced on the crutch.

Avallach eyed the object without interest. “What is it?”

“Let me open it for you,” she said and began loosening the strips. Bright silver flashed under her hands and in a moment the wrap fell away to reveal a fine sword, its elegant length tapering to an imperial point. The hilt was fiery ori-chalcum inset with rubies and emeralds-the eyes of two crested serpents whose entwined bodies formed the grip. It lay across Avallach’s palms, glimmering with cold fire.

The blade was decorated with an intricate filigree and engraved with the legend Take Me Up on one side and Cast Me Aside on the other.

“You mock me with your gift, girl,” said Avallach. He thrust the sword back at her and turned away.

“No, please, I did not mean to”

“Lile!” the king roared again. “My medicine!”

Presently the door opened and a young woman hurried in.

She bore a silver tumbler on a tray and a long white cloth on her arm. “Your medicine, my hus” she began. She stopped so suddenly when she saw Charis that she almost sent the tumbler toppling from the tray. “What are you doing here?”

“I am Charis. I have returned.” She stared at the young woman-pale and slender, with large, dark, almost luminous eyes and long hair that spilled in a dark cascade to the base of her spine. Lile was not much older than Charis herself.

“I know who you are,” Lile replied. She stepped cautiously between Avallach and Charis and offered the king the tray. He seized the tumbler and lifted it to his lips, drinking noisily. “There, yes,” she told him, “drink it all.” When he finished, Avallach dropped the tumbler back onto the tray, and Lile dabbed his chin with the cloth as one would a forgetful child.

“Charis,” Avallach said, grinning stupidly, “did you not know I was remarried?”

“How should I know?” she replied, still looking at the dark-haired woman. “No one told me.”

“I thought you might have heard,” said Avallach.

“We’ve been married three years,” added Lile quickly. “We have a daughter.”

“Oh,” Charis replied. She fought down her roiling emotions and asked, “Where are my brothers? Where is Guistan, Eoinn, and Kian and Maildun?”

“Where I shall be when I have healed,” growled Avallach. “Fighting!” He coughed again and Lile blotted his chin with the cloth.

“I see,” said Charis. “And Annubi?”

“Oh, around… somewhere.” Avallach waved his hand absently. He was looking at his young wife Wearily with cloudy and unfocused eyes. Was the medicine a narcotic?

“Annubi keeps to himself these days,” Lile informed her. “No doubt you will find him in his stinking cell. You will excuse us… It is time to change the king’s bandage.”

Lile took Avallach by the arm and wheeled him around. Charis saw the wound then, or evidence of it, for a watery red stain had soaked through the king’s clothing just Below his ribs on the left side. The two shuffled off together and Charis watched them go. Then she turned and fled the room, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

Charis found Annubi where Lile had said he would be-in his cell among the lower apartments. She knocked on the red door and then crept inside without waiting for a reply. He was sitting alone in the light of a single taper, gazing at the Lia Fail before him on the table. His hands were not touching the stone, but were folded one over the other in his lap. His face was lined and tired, but his eyes lit up with the old spark when he saw her.

“I knew you were coming,” he said, his lips curving in a smile. “Until now I hoped you would stay away.”

“Oh, Annubi…” Charis rushed to him. She fell on her knees beside him and pressed her head against his chest.

The seer put his arms around her and gently patted her. “It has been a long time,” he said.

“I know. But I am home now.” She raised her head and peered into his tired face. “Oh, Annubi, what is it? What is wrong here? Where is everyone and what has happened to my father? Who is that woman up there?”

“Lile?” Annubi shrugged. “The king’s plaything. She is nothing.”,

Charis rose to her feet. She pulled Annubi by the hand. “Come with me. We must talk. I want to hear all that has happened since I have been away, but I cannot bear this stuffy room.”

So they left the cell and walked once more among the cool blue shadows of the columned portico as Annubi, speaking slowly, sadly, explained all that had happened.

“It was the war,” he said. “It was many things: your mother’s death, your leaving, Seithenin’s wicked treachery- these things weighed terribly on your father. He found solace in the fight, however; he Believed revenge would heal the hurt that had been done to him.

“And indeed the war went well for him at first. His hatred and blood-lust alone carried many a battle. But Seithenin and Nestor are skilled in deceit and cunning. When they saw they could not win against him by force-not with Belyn’s and Meirchion’s forces in support-they contrived to harry Aval-lach. They would not fight him in the open but lay ambush after ambush; they drew him away from positions where he would win, forcing him to give chase. And while he chased, they laid waste to the villages on the coasts and borders.

“Oh, they dared not face him fairly on the field, but they would raze a town and butcher the helpless townsmen as they ran from their home, then disappear to safety again just that quick. It makes me sick to think of what misery they have caused. In short, they forced him to fight with intrigue and guile-two weapons he has never favored and uses not at ail well.”

“How was he wounded? When?” Charis wondered.

“Three years ago. I cannot say just how it happened. After those first successful battles, when the war turned, I did not accompany him again.” The seer sighed deeply. “But he was riding to the defense of a town on the Coranian border- Oenope, I Believe. He arrived just in time to block Seithenin’s retreat. Seithenin was ready; he had held back a force in secret. For once there was a battle and Seithenin won. Aval-lach’s men were exhausted from the march and in no shape to go against fresh troops. Nevertheless, they fought and there were heavy losses on each side-the better part of both armies fell that day.

“In the end, Seithenin withdrew and left Avallach on the field-left him for dead. Make no mistake-Seithenin did not know Avallach was wounded, otherwise he would never have left the issue unresolved.”

Charis listened with dread fascination. She had never once imagined that any of this was taking place. Her world of the bullring was so remote from what Annubi was describing, never once did she receive anything but a most vague impression of fighting far away. There was a war, yes, and it was dragging on and on. That was all she knew.

“The king was carried into the town, or what was left of it. There was a house that had escaped the torch, and Avallach was settled there. A merchant’s house, it was; his daughter was on hand to look after the king. The wound was not thought to be bad. A day or two to heal and he would ride back to the palace.

“But he did not heal. And by the time Belyn got word and arrived to bring Avallach back, the king, in his weakness, had become infatuated with his young nursemaid.” Annubi paused and lifted his narrow shoulders by way of explanation. “She has yet to leave his side.”

“She told me they were married.”

“They were. Just after Avallach returned home. She came with him, of course.”

“They have a daughter. That is what she said.”

“Morgian, yes.” Anaubi nodded. “I keep forgetting about the child.”

“What of Belyn and my brothers?”

“Still fighting… on and off. They ride the coasts and borders and defend the towns. Belyn looks to Tairn, while Kian, Maildun, and Guistan keep Seithenin at his distance. Once in a while one of them will catch a raiding party and there is a fight. Mostly they just ride and watch.”

“It sounds so hopeless, Annubi.”

“It is hopeless, child. This war is despair itself. It cannot be won, but neither side dares quit. And the other kingdoms just sit looking on, thinking, I suppose, to take advantage of the loser-selling supplies, horses, weapons, and sometimes even men to the highest bidder. Oh, there are talks and treaties and alliances and more talks and more treaties, but they all keep their distance, hoping to pick at the bones. Only Meirchion remains our ally, and he is weary.”

“Eoinn?” asked Charis. “You did not mention him.”

Annubi stopped walking. “I thought you knew.”

She shook her head. “N-no…”

“He is dead, Charis. Last year.”

“How?”

“A night raid along the Coran. No one saw what happened. He just disappeared.” Annubi recited the words wearily. “Two days later they found his body downriver. There was not a mark on him. Apparently his horse threw him and he drowned.”

Charis bent her head. Poor, gentle Eoinn, so enraptured by his horses-how ironic that one of his beloved animals should bring about his death. How was it possible that he could die and she not know it?

“The king Was recovering whea it happened, but insisted on riding out to bring Eoinn’s body back. He returned the worse for it and has grown steadily worse ever since.”

“Can nothing be done?”

Annubi gave a quick shake of his head. “As long as she remains beside him… nothing. Bel alone knows what she puts in that foul concoction she gives him. She makes it herself and lets no one near it.” He paused and uttered darkly, “I think she is poisoning him.”

“Why?” Charis raised her head. “Have you told him?”

“It keeps him weak and dependent on her. And yes, I have told him. He laughs at me. I have talked with the shrew as well. She Believes me jealous of the king’s affection for her. She is the jealous one; the woman is crazed with it.

“I have tried to treat the king myself. She flies into a screaming rage-she threatens me.” He shook his head sadly. “As if I were a thief determined to steal the king’s linen. Me, Annubi, who has served the throne of Sarras for three generations. It makes no sense.”

They began walking again. Charis was silent a long time, listening to their steps pattering lightly among the immense stone columns.

“It does not matter, Annubi,” she said at last. “None of it matters-not now, not anymore. It is over.”

“What is over, Charis?”

“I met Throm again,” she explained, “on a hill near Atlas. He was just standing out there, waiting-waiting for the end. He told me the seven years were over and I remembered his prophecy. It is going to happen, Annubi, just as he has said.”

“So you know.”

“You have known all along too. Why have you never said anything?”

“What can be said?”

“There was an earthquake in Poseidonis; it happened when I was in the bullring. A small one-little damage, no one was hurt, but the temple crystal was shattered. The next one will be bigger, and the one after that…”

“What did the people of Poseidonis do?”

“Do? Why, nothing. There was no real damage. They went on about their business.”

“The signs are there for anyone to read,” Annubi told her, “but no one heeds them. Men go on with their business as if the world will last forever. It will not. It never does.”

“We could tell them… warn then.”

“Do you really Believe anyone would listen?” Annubi scoffed. “They will not listen. Throm has been telling them for years.”

“But… the earthquake. They would Believe”

“Oh, yes, the earthquake. They will Believe when their houses crumble upon them, when the lintels of the temple crack and the sacred edifice falls-then they will Believe. But it will be too late.”

“But surely” she began.

Annubi continued a few paces, stopped suddenly and whipped toward her. “Do you think this the first disaster to overtake Atlantis? There have been others.”

“I did not know.”

“Oh, yes. The last was a long time ago. A fireball from the sky plunged into the sea, penetrated the seabed, and disturbed the earth’s course. Cities toppled. Whole kingdoms in the south simply slid into the sea and disappeared. Disease, pestilence, and war followed. Survivors left the destruction and migrated to other lands. But it was no better elsewhere.”

“I had no idea.”

“The Magi do not speak of it, but they know. It is well recorded if one knows where to look. People forget what they do not wish to remember. They refuse to Believe disaster can ever invade their tight little lives. That is why they will not listen to you or Throm or anyone else who tries to warn them.”

“But we must try,” insisted Charis. “We must try to make them understand.”

“Why?”

“Because we have to save as many lives as we can, because we can survive.”

Annubi shook his head slowly. “No, Charis,” he said softly. “Our time is finished. It is the way of things. A new age is upon the world and we have no place in it. The center will shift once more as it always does and Atlantis will vanish beneath the waves.”

“We can get a ship. We can leave – leave it all behind. We can go somewhere else.”

“There is noplace else, Charis. Not for us.”

“I do not Believe that.”

Annubi sighed. “Believe what you like, Charis.”

“I will find my brothers; I will go to Belyn.”

“They will not heed you any more than the crowds in Poseidonis heeded the earthquake – no more than anyone ever heeded Throm. “

“Stop it!” Charis shouted angrily. “I will make them heed me! I will make them listen and I will make them Believe.”

To make them Believe, Charis had first to find them. She prevailed upon Annubi to locate them with the Lia Fail and to discern, if he could, where they were going. She would ride to that place in the hope of meeting up with one or more of them.

“I tell you that you are wasting your time,” he said after consulting the oracular stone.

“You have already told me that. Save your breath and just tell me where I can find them.”

“As you wish,” the seer relented. “Kian is the closest. He is making for the estuary of the Nerus. If he holds his present course and speed, he will be there in two days. Aval-lach has set up a watchtower on the tidewash where the headlands meet the river basin. You can easily reach it in a day. Wait for him there.”

“Thank you, Annubi. I am leaving now. I will be back as soon as I have spoken to him. It will not take long. Look after Father for me.”

Annubi snorted, “Lile will do that.”

“Just make certain she does not kill him.”

With that she went out. She had dressed herself in riding clothes: breeches and a short tunic gathered by a wide Belt. She wore long white calfskin boots and bound her hair with the white leather thong she had used in the bullring. She threw a light, red cloak over her shoulder and went to the stables for a horse. She chose one of Eoinn’s and ordered the stablemaster to have the animal saddled for her; she would leave the palace as soon as the horse was ready.

The morning was clear, the clouds high and light, the countryside peaceful. She followed the coast road north along easy hills, feeling the sun on her back, listening to the birds filling field and sky with pure hymns to the sun, to the day, to life itself. And she could almost persuade herself that none of what she had learned in the last few days was true at all. There was no war, no coming destruction; her father was not ill, her brother still alive… She had dreamed it all in a hideous dream that had no substance in the bold light of day.

The birds knew the truth and they sang it.

But she knew the truth as well, a dark and disturbing truth that would not vanish because the sun shone and birds sang. And it fell to her to convince as many as would listen, beginning with Kian, the king’s heir.

She had never been close to Kian. Of Avallach’s five children he was the first and well-grown by the time Charis was born. His world and hers were different from the beginning, which is why she felt she could talk to him now with some hope of persuasion. They had shared none of the small rivalries of nearer siblings, tending to regard one another from a generous distance.

Kian was much like Avallach in most respects but quite unlike him in certain important areas. He had the same head of thick, dark hair, the same quick eyes and strong hands, the staunch loyalty which could as easily be applied to an ideal as to a person-a steadfastness of purpose which many might regard as stony stubbornness. He could be influenced, however, with a well-considered appeal to reason. Unlike Avallach, his head was more likely than his heart to guide his course.

As Avallach’s firstborn, Kian had always possessed an indelible sense of security which the king’s other sons lacked. He would wear the circlet and robe of stars one day and that was that. There was no striving, no grasping, no need for proving strength or worthiness. All that spoke of doubt, and its attendant ambition, was absent in his makeup; there was not a false or wavering bone in his body.

Charis rode along, becoming reacquainted with her brother in memory as the miles passed easily beneath the horse’s hoofs. She followed the coast road north as far as Oera Linda, a small seaside town which boasted an immensely old library as its sole center of interest and activity. She had, as a child, accompanied her mother to Oera Linda many times and would have liked now to stay and see the place, but she did not want to risk missing Kian. So she hurried through the narrow central street and wondered that she did not see another human being as she passed. At the far side of the empty town, she turned her mount inland to cross the lip of land dividing the seacoast from the Nerus estuary.

The road was well marked and she had no difficulty in finding her way. Though the land seemed as peaceful as she remembered, she met few people abroad, either on the road or in the fields. Most of the roadside houses she passed were deserted as well.

By midafternoon she reached the divide and stopped to reconnoiter. On her right hand the slim peninsula carved away to end in a jumble of red rocks and surf; ahead the road slipped down to meet the Nerus, a broad silver band shimmering in the misty distance; behind lay the smooth, gold-rimmed line of the coast and beyond it the great arc of green-blue Oceanus, clean to the horizon.

She watered the horse at a nearby stream and then remounted for the final leg of her journey, arriving at the watch-tower as the sun sank toward evening wreathed in garish red-orange clouds. The tower, visible from a distance as it projected from its rocky promontory, was an easy landmark to locate and the road passed near it.

Charis arrived hungry and tired, but the exertion felt good to her as she bathed her muscles in the warm glow of fatigue. She felt only the slightest twinge from her wound as she slid from the saddle to stretch the tightness from her shoulders and thighs. She let the reins dangle so the horse could crop the grass that grew on the spongy turf of the promontory and began walking around the tower.

It was a rough stone square, rude and inelegant, broad at the base and tapering rapidly to its pinched-off top. The tower was a crude, cold thing erected by war’s expediency, and until seeing it up close Charis had not given a thought to the fact that she might have to spend the night alone there.

Neither had she given any thought to what she might eat. She had brought no provisions with her and had no way to make a fire. But the tower was strong, if gross, shelter and, she reflected, it would hardly hurt her to fast one night.

She stooped through the cramped archway and climbed the narrow, winding stone steps inside the tower to a bare wooden platform. She walked to the stone breastwork to view the wide mouth of the estuary and the sea beyond, now stained the color of weathered bronze. Deep green forest crowded the far shore opposite the tower, the tips of the trees holding the fading, orange-tinted light.

Although the air was still warm from the day, she felt cold in this place and wondered whether she would not be more comfortable elsewhere. She turned to inspect the platform. One portion was covered by a roof made of poles laid across the breastwork supporting a ragged thatch. Tucked away under this roof she found a blanket of sewn fleeces neatly rolled, and next to it a skin of water. There was a small brazier on a tripod with a crystal on a thong for starting a fire, but no fuel. Offered this scant accommodation, Charis decided to spend the night on the platform.

She descended once more and led the horse to a rivulet a little way down the hill and from the tower. When they had both drunk their fill, Charis led the animal back up the hill, unsaddled it, and brought it inside the hollow base of the tower where she hobbled it for the night. She climbed the stone steps once more and dragged out the fleece quilt, spreading it over the uncovered end of the platform. Then she lay down to watch a sunset sky alive with swifts, flitting and darting after invisible insects. But it was a dusk strangely quiet and Charis reflected that being so near the sea she should have heard the cries of seabirds.

She lay there until the stars came out and she fell asleep thinking about what she would tell Kian to convince him that the world was about to end.