Taliesin

CHAPTER SEVEN

When the sun orb flared above the great azure rim of the sea, Charis rose and poured scented water from a ewer into the basin, splashed herself, dried, and dressed in a linen tunic of light blue. She donned white leather sandals, tied them hurriedly, grabbed two fresh figs from a bowl on the table near the door and ran down to the palace courtyard where she found the youngest of her brothers, Eoinn and Guistan, already in the courtyard supervising the loading of the wagons and the hitching of the horses.

Neither boy had a word to spare for her, their attention wholly taken with their assumed duties. She slipped among the porters and satisfied herself that her own chest had been carefully stowed, then retreated a safe distance to watch.

Stablemen arrived leading saddled mounts, and both boys fell to fighting between themselves for the best one. Kian, the oldest of Avallach’s children and already a young man, stepped in and undertook to settle the dispute between his younger siblings with typical autocratic dispassion. Maildun arrived while the others wrangled and, smiling to himself, quietly claimed the best horse for himself.

Kian was so like his father that he seemed at times merely a more youthful twin. Maildun, on the other hand, a few years younger than his older brother, did not resemble the king at all. Tall and slender as a young cypress, he was soft-spoken and kept to himself for the most part. But he could be shrewdly calculating and was given to violent rages when crossed.

After Charis came Eoinn, younger than his sister by several years, and like her he had inherited his mother’s golden hair as well as her fondness of learning and letters. His love for horses was his own, however, and if he could have discovered a way to read while on the bare back of a horse plunging ahead at full gallop, Eoinn would have considered himself the most fortunate boy alive.

Guistan, the youngest, was dark like Avallach, but had Briseis’ light-blue eyes and something of her grace. He shared none of his brother’s keenness for books and had early developed the knack of disappearing whenever studying seemed likely. He was clever with his hands and eyes; he could render anything he saw with uncanny skill, but would destroy the drawing if anyone so much as mentioned his artistic ability, let alone praised it. He took enormous pleasure goading his older brothers and playing elaborate tricks on them, even though he often paid dearly for his fun.

The four were, for Charis, necessary evils. They were male and therefore inhabited a world separate from hers. She was not ill-treated by them; as a rule, she was not noticed at all. Or, if she did happen to impress them with her presence in some way, they expressed either surprise or resentment at the intrusion. At the best of times, she was a novelty to them, an exotic pet; at worst, a bothersome nuisance.

Charis, however, quickly tired of their inbred condescension and learned to go her own way, tolerating her brothers when circumstances required, ignoring them the rest of the time, as they ignored her.

On this day, Charis was feeling particularly magnanimous. It was a special day, for at last, for the first time in a very long time something out of the dull ordinary, something exciting even, was about to happen. And nothing-not even the grossly self-involved behavior of her brothers-could dim her bright enthusiasm.

While Charis surveyed the scene with rising anticipation, Annubi appeared carrying a small, plain gopherwood box as his only baggage. She greeted him and asked, “Is that all you are taking with you?”

The seer appeared preoccupied; he smiled absently and muttered, “Oh, Charis, yes. Taking with me?”

“The box. Is that all?”

He stared at the hubbub around him in a dazed way. “Too many people, too much noise. It is happening too fast.”

“Too fast? I cannot wait to leave this boring place.”

Annubi shook his head and looked at the girl before him. “Teh, the hunger for excitement will kill us all.”

He strode off, and Charis noticed that he had chosen sturdy, thick-soled walking shoes rather than the soft leather boots of a horseman, yet his long legs were encased in riding breeches; he wore a formal red mantle rather than a riding cloak. His attire was a curious combination-as if he could not decide how or where he was going.

The king’s driver came into the palace yard with the king’s parade chariot hitched to a trio of milk-white horses. Avallach would not use it until his entrance into Poseidonis and after, When the kings paraded from the temple along the Avenue of Stars in the final council ceremonies.

Avallach arrived next, stood with hands on hips, and took in the activity before him. Charis sidled up to him and slipped her hands around his arm. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and patted her hands. “Happy, Charis?”

“Yes, Father. Very happy.”

“Good.”

He smiled briefly and turned his attention back to the loading. Kian strolled up, exchanged a few words with his father and both walked off together, leaving Charis to herself once more.

Assembling all the baggage and provisions seemed to take forever. Charis grew tired of waiting and went back into the palace. She entered the pillared vestibule and saw Annubi talking to her mother. Briseis held her hands before her as if to push something away; her head was bent as she listened to the seer. The queen nodded when Annubi finished, then, laying a hand on his arm, smiled wistfully and walked away. Annubi watched her for a moment and then followed.

Charis wondered at this exchange as she continued on her way. Ilean, the queen’s handmaid, found her a little later in the small side kitchen, sitting at a table with one of the scullions eating dates and honey cakes. “Princess Charis, it is time for leaving. I have been looking for you everywhere.”

“I grew tired of waiting and got hungry.”

“It is no wonder you are hungry,” said Ilean. “You eat little enough when given the chance. Well, come along now. They are ready for you.”

Charis got up slowly. “Remember your promise,” the scullery girl said as Charis stood, choosing a last cake to take with her. “If you should receive two presents the same”

“You may have the one I do not want-I will remember.” Charis broke the cake in half and popped one of the halves into her mouth. “Farewell.”

When Charis and Ilean reached the palace yard, the passengers were climbing into the carriages. The young princes were already mounted and riding around the yard, loudly expressing their impatience to be off. The carriage rode on four large, slender wheels; there was room for four passengers on its two wide benches. A crimson sunshade was raised on hoops over the rearmost bench, and two crimson banners, one on either side of the driver’s high seat at the front of the carriage, fluttered in the light breeze.

“We nearly left without you,” said Briseis as Charis scrambled into the seat beside her mother. A small force of mounted soldiers, the royal guard, rode into the yard, the sharp points of their long spears glittering in the midmorning sunlight. Their captain exchanged a few words with Avallach. The king mounted his horse while the soldiers ranged themselves at the head of the train, and a moment later the carriages began to roll. They passed slowly through the great archway and beyond the palace gates, and rolled out onto the causeway which joined the palace with Kellios below.

“At last,” sighed Charis, squirming in her seat to see the palace walls recede behind them. “I am finally leaving.”

King Avallach’s train of wagons and chariots rolled over stone-paved roads through the royal cify and into the dense wooded hills to the south, leaving the coastland far behind. There were many towns along the way, and at each the populace gathered to watch the royal procession pass, lining the road, waving, giving gifts. The travelers camped near a town or village-Iraklion, Parnitha, Kardis, Oenope, Xanthini, and others-where they were entertained by the local inhabitants each night until they began the gentle, rippling descent to the basin of the Coran River which formed the southern border of Avallach’s realm. The great river’s broad, fertile valley stretched from the heart of the continent to the sea, dividing Sarras from Corania. Upon crossing the river, the procession traveled through forested uplands for two more days before reaching Seithenin’s palace on the terraced hill overlooking the great harbor of Ys.

Riders were stationed at the approach to the palace. As the procession drew near, they rode to herald Avallach’s arrival so that when the king’s train came close it was met by a troop of soldiers wearing smoke-gray cloaks and carrying silver spears affixed with gray banners. The soldiers parted and formed columns on either side of the road, where they stood at attention, spears outthrust, banners flying.

Avallach’s train passed along this review until it came to a great wall. The road passed through the wall at an immense brazen gate which sported the images of two gigantic octopi, one on either doorpanel, their tentacles squirming toward one another. There, waiting before the gate, was Seithenin himself in his parade chariot. “Greetings, friend, and welcome!” he called as Avallach rode to meet him.

Seithenin stepped down from his chariot and Avallach dismounted. The two came together and embraced; then Seithenin bade Avallach join him in his chariot, so the two drove together through the gate and up the broad, stone-paved road to the palace on its hill above.

Queen Briseis in her carriage observed the greeting and remarked, “Seithenin’s welcome is most gratifying.”

Annubi, who was sitting opposite the queen, squinted in the sun and said, “With too much circumstance, it seems to me. A spectacle is made for many eyes-whose, I wonder?”

“Why, for our own, I should think. His welcome seemed genuine.”

“Perhaps. But there is more purpose behind it than that, you may be sure.” Upon saying this, he fell silent and would speak of it no more.

Charis heard what was said and turned away from her perusal of Seithenin’s palace to stare at Annubi. The seer seemed fidgety and out of sorts, his long hands gripping his knees impatiently. As the train passed beneath the shadow of the palace, he gave a start and looked up at the walls towering above.

Briseis placed a hand on his arm, saying, “Annubi, what is wrong?”

He raised a shaking hand to his face and cupped his eyes. “No… nothing. Nothing, my queen. A momentary chill, that is all.” He forced a weak smile.

Charis wondered at his answer, for she too had felt something like a chill, although not as forcefully as Annubi. She would have questioned him further, but something told her this was not the time to do it. I will ask him about it later, she thought and turned her attention back to the palace.

It was a vast, sprawling edifice, attesting to the ambitions of its various tenants as each succeeding monarch enlarged upon its design-adding a wall here, a rampart there, a tower or hall or storehouse or residence somewhere else. All this was surrounded by parks and gardens and vineyards, dovecotes, fishponds, and stables. Century upon century of continuous building had produced a rambling monument to the wealth of the Coranian kings.

As the carriages passed through gates and over bridges into the heart of Seithenin’s sprawling palace, Charis could not suppress her amazement any longer. “Look at it,” she said. “Is there a palace greater than this in all Atlantis?”

“Only the palace of the High King in Poseidonis,” answered her mother. “But Seithenin’s must be nearly as large.’

“And look at all the people!” Charis gazed at the crowds lining the breastworks of the inner walls, waving and tossing flowers onto the road below. “Do they all live in the palace?”

“Many of them,” said Briseis. “Although I suppose some must live in the city.”

“How many wives has Seithenin?” wondered Charis.

Her mother laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“A king with such a palace must have a great many wives to help fill it up. And if he has many wives, there must be many children-and perhaps one or two my age.”

“Oh, I think there will be at least one your age. Seithenin has seven wives and many children. You are certain to find a friend.”

Charis grew thoughtful for a moment and then asked, “Why does Seithenin have seven wives, while Avallach has but one?”

The queen smiled. “The ways of love are mysterious-as you will learn soon enough.”

“The ways of politics, you mean,” sniffed Annubi.

“I would not like being one of seven,” declared Charis. “If I am ever to be married, I want to be the only wife.”

“You have little cause to worry,” replied the queen lightly. “The taking of many wives is a custom dying out in Atlantis.”

“Good,” remarked Charis firmly. “But why is it dying out?”

“Times are changing, girl. Look around you!” said Annubi, almost shouting. He looked embarrassed and muttered, “Forgive my intrusion.”

“No, please go on,” coaxed Briseis. “I would hear what you have to say.”

“I have said too much,” the seer grumped. He turned away and whispered under his breath, “Words come without bidding.”

“Please, Annubi,” said Charis. “Tell us.”

He stared at the sky for a moment. “Times are changing,” he repeated. “Men roam far from their homes-whole nations wander; the world grows ever smaller. People do not respect authority; learning diminishes. Kings plot war in their hearts or devote themselves to idleness and folly. The gods are not worshiped ia the old way; the priests of Bel have grown fat and stupid, but no one cares anymore, no one cares…”

“Speak a good word to us,” said Briseis, trying to cheer him, “for certainly things cannot be as bad as you suggest.”

“A good word?” He placed a long finger to his pursed lips and scowled at Seithenin’s palace. When he turned back, his eyes glinted with perverse delight. “Here is a good word for you: whatever is done cannot be undone, but whatever is lost can sometimes be found.”

“And sometimes, Annubi,” said Briseis, “I think you just enjoy confounding people.”

Charis listened to this exchange and wondered what was wrong with Annubi. He seemed distant and anxious-not at all his normal, if slightly sour, self-ever since the visit of Belyn’s men. What could they have said to upset him so? Then again, maybe it was something else.

They rode on in silence and came at last into the inner courts of the palace where Seithenin’s retainers waited, dressed in their best livery. It was an impressive sight, for there were over four hundred people gathered to welcome them: cooks and Charis and stewards, couriers, ushers and attendants, manservants, maidservants, chamberlains, seneschals and advisors of various rank, and each with a specific charge and place in Seithenin’s household.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Charis’ eyes swept over the throng. “Where are they?” she asked.

“Who?” asked her mother.

“King Seithenin’s children.”

“You will meet them soon.”

The visitors were handed down from their carriages, and Avallach’s party was escorted into the palace. Charis marveled at the great gilt doors and lintels and the massive columns bearing up the weight of enormous cedar beams which in turn supported the brightly painted ceiling. Upon entering the receiving room they were met by Seithenin’s wives and a small host of children, each one bearing a gift wrapped in colored silk.

With formal words of welcome they stepped forward and presented each guest with a gift. Charis was dismayed to see that, except for a few infants in the arms of their nurses, Seithenin’s offspring appeared much older than she, and most of them were boys. She frowned and looked to her mother. “There is no one for me!” she whispered tersely.

Her mother smiled as she accepted a gift from a woman wearing a dazzling orange tunic with a long vest of bright red and a necklace of red coral. “Be patient,” Briseis said, and turned her attention to the gift and its bearer.

Charis lowered her eyes and shuffled her feet. She was kicking at the flagstones when she noticed a pair of smallX brown feet encased in blue leather sandals. A small girl half \ her age stood before her, arms outstretched, holding a tiny gift wrapped awkwardly in a scrap of wrinkled yellow silk.

Charis accepted the gift politely but without enthusiasm. The girl smiled, revealing a gap where she had lost a tooth. “I’m Liban,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Charis.”

“Open your gift, Charith,” the girl lisped, nodding toward the parcel in Charis’ hands.

Charis untied the silk and out tumbled a bracelet made of bits of angular polished jade inexpertly strung on colored thread. “Thank you,” said Charis glumly, turning the thing over in her hand. She looked around at the extravagant gifts the others were receiving, boots and sandals of fine leather, silver rings and armbands, a gold dagger with a winking sapphire in its handle for Avallach, horn bows and quivers of arrows for the princes, an amphora of olives in oil for An-nubi, a lacquer box inset with pearls and containing three crystal vials of expensive perfume for Briseis.

She looked once more at her own gift, a cheap jade bracelet of the kind one could find among any street vendor’s wares. Her obvious disappointment went unnoticed by her benefactress, however. “I made it mythelf,” said Liban proudly, “ethpethially for you.”

“I am pleased to accept it,” replied Charis. “How did you know I would be coming?”

“My mother told me. Go ahead, put it on.” Liban stepped close and took the bracelet. Charis extended her hand, and the girl slipped it onto her wrist. “Ith a little big,” Liban observed, “but you will grow. What number are you?”

“Number?”

“Which printheth, I mean. I am number five. I have four sisthers, but they are older-ten brothers. Three are juth babies, though.”

Charis smiled; despite their differences in age, she found herself liking Liban. “I suppose I am number one then, because I am the only princess.”

“The only one?” Liban shook her head in wonder. “That must be very lonely.”

“Yes, sometimes,” Charis admitted.

“Do you want to thee my room?”

“Well” began Charis uncertainly, looking around. The room was filled with people, but no one seemed to be interested in her except Liban. “All right, I would like to see it.”

“You can thtay with me if you want to,” said Liban as they started off. “We can have a bed moved in. There ith plenty of room.”

They left the reception, striking off down a wide corridor of polished green marble. Liban chattered happily, tugging Charis along as if she was afraid of losing her. Charis fingered her clumsy bracelet and it occurred to her that no one had ever made her a gift before-that is, a gift made especially for her and no one else.

After his guests had rested and refreshed themselves, Seith-enin sent seneschals to invite Avaliach’s company to join him on the meadow. Avallach accepted and all were conducted to a pavilioned plain within the outer walls, a meadow now festooned with banners and lanterns strung from pole to pole. Huge iron braziers filled with hot coals were situated in the center of the meadow, and over these whole oxen and hogs turned slowly on spits while master cooks basted the meat wiih swabs of herbed butter from a wooden tub.

In^the center of the inner circle of tents stood a riser with several dozen seats overlooking a roped-off field. As the carriages rolled to a stop at the edge of the meadow, a group of young people wearing garlands and colored ribbons came running to meet them. They were led by Liban and carried armfuls of flowers which they bestowed upon the passengers in the royal carriages. Charis accepted a large bouquet from the smiling girl, and then the young people raced oif to begin forming circles on the field.

Liban tugged on Charis’ hand, but Charis pulled back.

“Oh, go with them,” the queen said, nudging her daughter and taking the bouquet. “You have done nothing but ride in a carriage for days.”

Charis accepted Liban’s hand and together they joined the dancers. A boy removed his crown of ribbons and placed it on the princess’ head; hand drams beat time, flutes and lyre broke into a lively melody and they all began to dance.

Avallach dismounted and handed Briseis down from her carriage to be formally greeted by an official delegation of Coranian nobles. Annubi and others of rank in the Sarrasan procession were included, and all moved off to the nearest pavilion where sweetened wine was poured into golden phytons from amphorae sunk deep all day in a spring-fed pool.

The four princes, still sitting in their saddles, saw nothing to pique their interest until some of Seithenin’s older sons appeared with bows and targets. The princes clambered down from their mounts to join their new friends, all of them eager to demonstrate their skill at archery.

As Bel’s red-gold disk sank toward the rim of the western horizon, the travelers and their hosts took their places in the stands. Musicians with pipe and tabor, lyre and horn began to play, while Coranians dressed in colorful costumes presented tableaux of early history: Atlas wrestling with the demiurge Calyps for the new-made land; Poseidon carving the trident into the slopes of the sacred mountain while his wife, Gaia, slays Set, the dragon who has invaded the nursery to devour the infant, Antaeus; Deucalion and Pyrrha emerging from the waterlogged chest after the deluge and raising an altar to Bel.

Charis thought each one better than the last and would have watched the whole night if it had not grown too dark to see. With the coming of night the lanterns were lit, transforming the field into a green velvet sea awash in the soft glow of three hundred golden moonlike orbs. The guests were conducted to the tables which had been prepared and when all were seated the food was brought forth. The long tables sagged beneath the weight of steaming platters piled high with food: great joints of roast meat sliced into slabs, whole nets of fish, each one wrapped in grape leaves and steamed with lemon slices, mounds of fresh-baked breads, baskets of sweet fruit from the far southwest, stewed vegetables in bubbling caldrons, tart-resinated wine.

Avallach and his family were given seats of honor, surrounded by Coranian nobles and worthies. After a very long series of ritual toasts, the meal began. Charis sat between Guistan, the youngest of Avallach’s line, and a tall, gawky boy who was the son of a Coranian patriarch. The boy leaned over her constantly in order to talk to Guistan about hound racing, which apparently was the only diversion available to the youth of Corania.

“I have four hounds myself,” said the boy, whose name Charis promptly forgot. “Someday I will race them and they will win. They are very fast.”

“If they are really fast, you must race them at the Royal Oval in Poseidonis. Only the fastest may race there.”

“They are fast,” insisted the boy, “faster than any in the Nine Kingdoms. One day I will race them in Poseidonis.”

“I prefer horse racing,” sniffed Guistan importantly.

Not to be outdone, the youngster said, “My uncle races horses. He was won wreaths and chains at every important race.”

“What is his name?” inquired Guistan around a mouthful of food.

“Caister; he is very famous.”

“I have never heard of him,” replied Guistan.

The boy huffed and turned away. Charis felt sorry for him, having been baited and bested by Guistan. She gave her brother a jab in the ribs with her elbow. “Ow!” he cried. “What was that for?”

“He was only trying to be friendly. You could be polite,” she whispered.

“I was being polite!” Guistan hissed angrily. “Did I laugh in his face?”

The feast continued, Guistan’s bad manners notwithstanding, and the night stretched on with more eating and laughter and dancing. Charis ate until she could not hold another morsel, and then joined the dance with some other young people. They assembled beneath the lanterns and formed a serpentine to weave among the lantern poles and pavilions.

The dancers chanted as they wound through the feast site, lifting their voices as the serpentine moved faster and faster, until they could no longer hold on and tumbled over one another to fall sprawling to the grass. Charis laughed as she lay on the ground, lanterns and stars spinning dizzily above her.

She closed her eyes and panted to regain her breath. The laughter in the air died. She sat up. Others were standing motionless nearby, staring into the darkness. Charis climbed to her feet.

A looming, dark shape waited just beyond the periphery of the light. As Charis watched, the shape moved, advanced slowly toward them. The silent dancers backed away. The mysterious shape drew closer to the light and the mass of darkness resolved itself into the arms and legs, head and torso of a man.

He did not advance further but stood just at the edge of the light, looking at them. From a place just a little above his shoulder Charis saw a cold glimmer of yellow light, a frozen shimmer, like the wink of a cat’s eye in the dark.

Charis felt an icy sensation of recognition. She knew who stood there watching them. The stranger made no further move toward them, but Charis could feel his unseen stare. Then he turned and walked away as silently as he had come.

Some of the older boys snickered and called after him- rude taunts and insults-but the man had vanished in the darkness. The others quickly formed another serpentine, but Charis did not feel like dancing anymore and returned to her place at the table, where she sat for the remainder of the evening despite Liban’s repeated urging to join in the fun.

The moon had long ago risen and now rode a balmy night breeze, spilling its silver light over the land. When the guests had had enough of food and celebration, the carriages were summoned and people began making their way back to the palace.

Charis, half-asleep, was bundled into the royal carriage where she curled into a corner and closed her eyes.

“Look!”

The voice was sharp in her ears; Charis stirred.

“There… another!” someone else said.

Charis opened her eyes and raised her head. All around her people were peering into the heavens; so Charis too raised her eyes to the night-dark sky. The heavens glimmered with the light of so many stars that it seemed as if a tremendous celestial fire burned in the firmament of the gods, shining through myriads of tiny chips in the skybowl.

As she watched, keen-eyed in the darkness, a star slashed across the heavens to plunge into the sea beyond the palace. Instantly another fell, and another. She turned to her mother and was about to speak when she saw a light flash on her mother’s face and all cried out at once.

Charis glanced back and saw the sky flamed in a brilliant blaze, hundreds of stars plummeting to earth, arcing through the night like a glittering fall of fire from on high. Down and down they came, striking through the night like burning brands thrown into dark Oceanus.

“Will it ever stop?” wondered Charis, her eyes bright with the light of falling stars. “Oh, look at them, Mother! All the stars of heaven must be falling! It is a sign.”

“A sign,” murmured Briseis. “Yes, a very great sign.”

As suddenly as it began, the starshower was over. An unnatural stillness settled over the land-as if the whole world waited to see what would happen next. But nothing did happen. Mute spectators turned to one another as if to say, Did you see it too? Did it really happen or did I imagine it?

Slowly the nightsounds crept into the air again, and the people started back to the palace once more. But the queen stood gazing at the sky for a long time before taking her place in the carriage with others in the party. Charis shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands, feeling the breath of a chill touch her bones.

The carriages rolled over the starlit meadow to Seithenin’s palace. When they arrived, guests alighted and filed slowly into the hall, many talking in hushed but animated tones about what they had seen. Briseis turned to see Annubi standing alone, gazing into the sky. “I will join you in a moment,” she told the others and returned to where he stood. “What did you see, Annubi?” she asked when they were alone together.

The seer lowered his eyes to look at her and she saw sadness veil his vision like a mist in his eyes. “I saw stars fall from the sky on a cloudless night. I saw fire rake the furrows of Oceanus’ waves.”

“Do not speak to me in Mage’s riddles,” said Briseis softly. “Tell me plainly, what did you see?”

“My queen,” replied Annubi, “I am no Mage or I would see more plainly. As it is, I see only what is permitted me, no more.”

“Annubi,” Briseis chided gently, “I know better. Tell me what you saw.”

He turned to stare at the sky once more. “I saw the light of life extinguished in the deep.”

The queen thought about this for a moment and then asked, “Whose life?”

“Whose indeed?” He gazed into the star-filled night. “I cannot say.”

“But surely”

“You asked what I saw,” Annubi snapped, “and I have told you.” He turned brusquely and started away. “More I cannot say.”

Briseis watched him go and then rejoined the others inside.

Annubi walked the terraced gardens alone, lost to the world of the senses as his feet wandered the shadowy pathways of the future which had been so fleetingly revealed in the glittering light of the starfall.