Anson stepped forward and entered the blackness, and now came Ohean, and then Inark and Sebastian, and as they entered there was a faint glow, and by the glow Sebastian wondered out loud. The walls were all of glass. Polished blocks of smooth glass like melting ice lined the entry above and to their sides. The path went for some time to an end, and then it turned to the right. Anson looked at Ohean. Ohean said nothing at all, only raising an eyebrow. And when Anson realized that Ohean wasn’t going to say anything he said, “I guess we should go.”
And then they began traveling down the path.
Anson was going to say: “Familiar, isn’t it?” because he expected to be in a labyrinth. Only after the first turn he remained in that direction for a long while, and there was light the whole time. The more they traveled, the broader the way grew, and the the brighter the light. Once they turned lrft and it seemed to Anson they were traveling in something like a deepening, ever brighter, ever higher, square. Now, as they came to the entrance of a great, bright hall, on the walls opposite them were carved, in frosted glass, trees, with tiny oval leaves, birds, sitting in the trees, lights burning in the glass heights of the path until at last they arrived in a white chamber.
“It is like that first time,” Anson said. “Below the earth. But… not.”
“It is fitting,” said Ohean.
Anson was used, now, to entering first, to the truth that Ohean had stepped back in order that he might truly be a prince.
This was a place whose walls seemed like water. The floors were clear and glistening and at the end of the chamber, over a rising mound, glinted a silver pillar.
“Is it always like this?” Sebastian whispered, “under this hill?”
“Nay,” Ohean said. “In the days when Iffan died I remained here, disconsolate for a long while, and there was light, but when I left, and when I sealed the stone so that none but Iffan himself might open it, then it darkened forever. And these thirty centuries it has remained so.”
Even while he was speaking, the top of the silver pillar opened and there were, unfolding from it, branches of silver, and budding from them, silver white leaves. All of the branches glowed, and now Anson saw this was a silver tree, and from it snowed softly, white stars, shedding a light over the once darkened place. Now, they beheld at the base of the tree a high casket of frosted glass, and at the top of it was a long transparent figure, a man in rest, Iffan First King of
Locrys.
With no noise, the casket melted like water and now, for only a brief moment, there was, full armored, the body of the King. And then the air of the chamber touched it, the armor crumbled, aging millenia as the body within fell to dust.
Anson let out a small noise, but Ohean, a hand to his mouth, murmured, “What matters the old body when this one is present? Go forth and take what is yours.”
Anson looked back dumbly at Ohean, but he nodded and walked toward what now was only a base with a heap of dust and ancient armor, and he saw, for just a moment, a shield, a sword, a necklace, a helm and then, suddenly, the heap of clothing rose up.
It rose and took form and suddenly, greaved hands clutched the sword and by the pressure on her hands, Inark realized Ohean had not expected this either, The helmet, which was tipped over, fell off, and from out of the neck hole there rose a head. The empty slippers filled and then firmed with feet and, before them, nut browned, green eyed, golden haired, stood one like Anson, but not like Anson, older, a thin beard bordering his face. Sebastian sank, trembling to his knees before Iffan, King of the Chyr and Locrys.
Anson, mouth half opened, went from Iffan, to Ohean behind him.
“But… how… But.. you said…”
“However many times a soul come into this life, each life is its own life,” Ohean said. “It is like… a signet ring. And you are the stamp. And…” Ohean looked to Iffan… “You are the stamp.”
He looked lovingly, strangely, at Iffan.
“I ended the day I died,” Iffan said. “There is nothing after me that I know.”
“But…” Anson looked to him. “I could… I would… remember you? Being you?”
Iffan nodded.
“I would remember all the lives,” Anson said. He looked to Ohean. “All of our lives. Even Avred Oss. For Avred Oss was not the first, but the last. I would be King of Locrys. The King before and the King to come and to come again.”
“For that is who you are,” Iffan told him.
“You would remember if you were joined to me. I would become you. We would not be two imprints, but one.”
“That is really why I am here,” Anson said, “Isn’t it?”
He looked to Ohean, and then to Iffan.
“Ohean thought you were here for other gifts,” Iffan said. “But true enough, it is for this.”
“Well,” Anson said as if this was a matter of fixing a wheel on a wagon, “how do I do this?”
Iffan stretched his hands out, and he said, “Press you hands to my own.”
Anson waited only a moment, and then he did, and when his palms touched Iffan’s he shuddered as one shocked, and their hands were like pools stones had been dropped in, rippling a little. Looking at each other gravely, they walked into one another while Inark and Sebastian looked on, amazed, and the merging form was light, pale white, and then there stood Anson, and he turned around to behold Ohean, but his face was graver now, and at the same time lighter than Ohean known since Anson’s boyhood. The old hurts, and bitternesses seemed to have dropped away and Ohean stepped forward to touch Anson’s cheek, looking younger now himself.
“My name is Iffan,” Anson said now. “That was what my mother called me before I was sent back to my father’s court, and that is who I will be. Iffan the Twice Born.”
He was quiet again. Now, they realized, he bore not only Callasyl with the gleaming beryl in its hilt, but the stone which hung about his throat and the shield with the green tree over the white. The light from the silver tree was snowing down, much slower now, and Anson, now Iffan, said, “This is my land, and I am the King, and I feel it crying, Ohean.”
He looked at the rest of them.
“We must go. It is day, and the battle has begun.”
SOUTHERN WESTRIAL
VAHAYAN HILL
They left the tent before sunrise, when all were tensed for battle. In the years since the Hale and Ayl came folk were of two minds, that magic did not work or that if it did it was from some evil place. But all night there had been nothing but chanting, no sign of magic and no magic as anyone on that dewy hill reckoned magic to be. Only three women chanting like old women praying in a chapel, and coming out shaky legged, not really looking like witches at all, the two of them who were queens looking like girls and one of them heavily pregnant.
As Cedd ran to Isobel, she said, “Take me to the edge of the hill. I want to see the army.”
Cedd did so. Myrne followedm then the dark woman. Now came Adrian and Cody, stirring from sleep, Linalla and Eva, looking sly. The archers were in place to rain arrows on the Daumans, and in the Dauman camp men were stirring when Isobel, suddenly stood straighter and shouted into the camp:
“RUFUS OF DAUMANY, DO YOU HEAR ME? RUFUS OF DAUMANY! SEND ME RUFUS OF DAUMANY!”
There was a stir in the camp below and in time, into the valley came Richard.
“I am the brother of the King, Richard Aublum.”
“You are not the King, and the King has chosen not to hear me!” Isobel sang down into the valley.
“Well, then,” she continued, “know that I am Isobel Tryvanwy, daughter of Raoul King of Sussail and daughter of Hermudis, Queen of that realm and High Princess of Armor. I am the Princess of Sussail, the land you have entered and Queen of all Westrial the which you would invade. I am mother to her next king and all the kings after him. Hear me, this Queen, who bears the blood of Ayl and Royan, Sincercia and Armor, I give you this day the chance, the very good fortune, to return to your homes and live or to, in this vale, die. What… say… you?”
From downbelow there were murmurs and then the beginnings of laughter and again, Isobel cried, “What say you!”
Cedd looked to Anthony and Anthony looked to Teryn. She was magnificent, but how much longer could this go on? They had ships and horses, men behind them and, in the end this is what men knew and what other men respected. A heavily pregnant twenty-two year old girl, no matter how royal she might be, was still a pregnant twenty-two year old girl.
“Is that Issa?” a voice called out from the valley.
And now they all saw, riding to his brother, Rufus of Daumany.
“Is this my cousin, little Issa? How like your mother you are! Full of so much bark! Such pluck. Where is your King? Does Caedmon send you to do a man’s work? Well, today you will learn what war is. You and all Locrys.”
“Then you will not turn back?” Isobel shouted.
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Richard, beside his brother, looked sad, but Rufus laughed, flashing white teeth and though Cedd looked sad, Wolf said, “This was the same look Edmund Kingslayer had on his face moments before my cousin’s lover killed him and I put his head in a bag and sent it to Ambridge. It was the same look, doubtless, he had, when he made his wife to feel so small, she sold him out and placed him in our hands. My master is a man who loves other men, but he was raised by women. The problem with you, your Majesty, is that you have been around men so long, for so much, you underestimate your women.”
“Oh, Issa!” Rufus called up the hill, “we will never turn back.”
Queen Isobel nodded her head.
“Then die,” she said.
And it was only as it was happening, that Cedd realized she had not shouted this, but everyone had heard it, and as she stretched out her hand, so did Queen Myrne, and so did the dark woman.
Rufus turned back in fury and he cried to his men, “Enough! Charge!”
But they were not full ready and did not come in order, and those who came were immediately shot by the archers. It was the antics of a poorly organized army playing out below. But it was as the large army finally began to gather itself and come toward the hill, that the air thickened and, before they had made it halfway up through the small vale, it was quickly covered in impenetrable mist.
“Mema ek dekak vē da Raven sadahaṭama
mava vē sohoyuriyō vē! "
mema ek, deka, tuna, vē,
sohoyuriyō mava vana atara,
ema diyaṇiya vana gnāṇaya æta!”
The women were chanting, and as their voices rose and fell, the thick mist, below, seemed to be pulsing.
“Samasta dæka æta manasikāraya
vaḍā behevin pahata, an̆duru
striya hā minisā saha
ādaravantayangē vē dakvā ihata,
kumarun vē, æta bera!”
Under the blanket of mists, Wolf could hear the muffled sounds of men screaming, armor clashing, and slowly now, the mist rolled south, past the vale, over the encampment, and further south as cries of anguish arose.
“æta maraṇa kaṭayutu rōda hatara,
paha nam, eya duma hā hayavana,
ginnen hā kuṇāṭuva, sadahaṭama
upan æta æta!”
While Cedd’s mouth went dry, Prince Adrian said, “They have turned the spirit of warfare inward. Everything they would have done to us has been put inside the mist. They cannot escape it. They cannot go outside of it, so everything is turned in.”
Horses neighed in horror. Men screamed in fear. Young boys cried out in agony, armor screeched while low moans escaped the fog.
“Is the mist killing them?” Cody wondered, covering his eyes and turning away.
“No,” Eva looked on in the first horror she had ever felt. “You do not understand what Adrian is saying. They are in confusion. They are killing each other.”
“It is enough,” Isobel said, at last, looking pale and shaken.
She raised her hand and the other women did as well.
The strange woman said, “There must be some left to tell the tale.”
At first the change was barely visible, but in time the mist began to float away like soup and, on the hill, they waited in horror for the revelation of heaps of the dead and dying.
Cedd looked on wide eyed.
“Boys,” he said.
As the mist rolled further back, into Sussail, it revealed death and ruin, a few, in the new light, dropping their bloody swords and blinking in relief, then horror, than relief again.
Cedd shook his head at the slaughter. It had not touched his land, but slaughter it was none the less.
“I have to vomit,” Anthony said, his voice hollow.
Myrne turned around, exhausted, and Wolf said, “This was a thing I had hoped to never see again.”
She nodded, and he said, “But this is better than the alternative.”
“Go see to the fields,” the nameless woman said. “Be horrified later. Your Queen has given you a battle, but you must still see to the dead and dying and take your prisoners. Go. Now.”
And as the army of Westrial stirred, the woman added, “King Cedd, you have taken care of one battle, but the men of Solahn are coming from the Saffern even now. You must join your brother and the new Queen in defending your westrn border.”
“Yes!” Wolf declared, looking at Cedd, “this is what we came for.”
But Cedd said, “New Queen? Tealora is defending Chyr against her husband?”
“Tealora is not their Queen,” the woman said.
But, just now, Isobel was coming to Cedd and Cedd said, “My wife. You have saved us. You have… Isobel?”
The golden skinned woman was nearly as white as Myrne, and when Cedd demanded, “What’s wrong?” it was Eva who gasped, seeing a dark patch on her dress and blood on the Queen’s foot.
Lips dry, and face exhausted, Isobel reported, “I think I’m having my baby.”
