Marune: Alastor 933 (20 page)

Efraim bowed his head. “This is a most gracious offer, Force, and nothing could accord more to my own inclinations. But you are fatigued from the journey; I must allow you to refresh yourself. In two hours we shall meet in the Grand Parlor.”

“Excellent. I may assume that you have found no further objections to my little scheme?”

“You may be sure, Your Force, that good relations between our two realms, on the basis of equity and cooperation, are the foundation of Scharde policy.”

Rianlle’s face darkened. “Can you not respond to the point? Do you or do you not intend to cede the Dwan Jar?”

“Your Force, let us not transact our important business upon the front steps.

When you have rested an hour or two, I will clarify the Scharde point of view.”

Rianlle bowed, swung about. Under-chamberlains conducted him and members of his party to the chambers which had been prepared for them.

Maerio stood by a tall arched window looking out across the valley. She rubbed her hand on the stone sill, thrilling at the coarse contact. How would it be to live here at Benbuphar Strang, among these tall shadowy chambers, surrounded by echoes? Many strange events had occurred here, some of which made dreary listening; nowhere in all the Realms, so it was said, could be found a castle so riddled with mirk-ways. Efraim had changed; as to this there was no denying. He seemed more mature, and he seemed to obey the Rhune conventions tentatively, without conviction. Perhaps this was all to the good. Her mother, Dervas, had once been as gay and as artless as herself, but Rianlle (whom she supposed to be her father) had insisted that the Kraike of Eccord must exemplify the Rhune Code, and Dervas was impelled to orthodoxy for the good of the realm. Maerio wondered about Efraim. He hardly seemed the sort to insist on orthodoxy. In fact, from her own experience she knew better!

A slight sound behind her; she whirled about. A panel in the wainscoting had slid aside and there stood Efraim.

He crossed the room and stood smiling down into her face. “Forgive me for startling you. I wanted to see you secretly and alone, and I knew no other way.”

Maerio looked toward the door. “Let me shoot the bolt; we must not be discovered.”

“True.” Efraim bolted the door and returned to Maerio. “I have been thinking of you; I cannot get you out of my mind.”

“I have been thinking of you too, especially since I learned that the Kaiark planned to join us in trisme.”

“That is what I must tell you. As much as I long for such a trisme, it will never occur, because the eiodarks intend to fight rather than give up the Dwan Jar.”

Maerio nodded slowly. “I knew this would happen … I don’t want to go in trisme anywhere else. What shall I do?”

“For now nothing. I can only make plans for war.”

“You might be killed!”

“I hope not. Give me time to think. Would you run away with me, away from the Realms?”

Maerio asked breathlessly, “Where would we go?”

“I don’t know. We would not be privileged as we are now; we might be forced to toil.”

“I will go with you.”

Efraim took her hands. She shivered and closed her eyes. “Efraim, please! You will lose your memory again.”

“I don’t think so.” He kissed her forehead. She gasped and drew back.

“I feel so strange! Everyone will recognize my agitation!”

“I must go now. When you have composed yourself, come down to the Grand Parlor.”

Efraim returned through the mirk-way to his chambers, and arrayed himself in formal garments.

A knock at the door. Efraim looked at the clock. Rianlle so soon?

He opened the door to find Becharab, the new First Chamberlain. “Yes, Becharab?”

“Your Force, before the castle stand several natives. They wish to speak with Your Force. I told them you are resting, but they are insistent.”

Efraim ran past Becharab, across the reception hall and foyer, to the haughty astonishment of Singhalissa who stood conversing with one of the eiodarks from Eccord.

Before the terrace stood four Fwai-chi - ancient brown-red bucks, all tatters and shags. A pair of footmen, making fastidious faces, attempted to shoo them away. The Fwai-chi, discouraged, were starting to sidle off when Efraim appeared.

He ran down the steps, motioned the footmen aside. “I am Kaiark Efraim. You wished to see me?”

“Yes,” said one, and Efraim thought to recognize the old buck he had met up on Whispering Ridge: “You claim that you remember no covenant in regard to the Dwan Jar.”

“That is true. The Kaiark of Eccord who wants the Dwan Jar is here now.”

“He must not have it; he is a man who demands much. If he were to control the Dwan Jar, he would demand more, and we would be forced to glut his avarice.” The Fwai-chi produced a dusty vial containing half a gill of dark liquid. “Your memory is locked and there are no keys to the locks. Drink this liquid.” Efraim took the vial and examined it curiously.

“What will it do to me?”

“Your corporeal substance itself contains memory; it is called instinct. I give you a medicine. It will prompt all your cells to erupt memories - even those very cells which now block your memory. We cannot unlock the doors; but we can batter them open. Do you dare take this draught?”

“Will it kill me?”

“No.”

“Will it make me insane?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Will I know everything I knew before?”

“Yes. And when you have your memory, you must protect our sanctuary.”

Efraim went thoughtfully up the steps.

By the balustrade Singhalissa and Destian stood waiting. Singhalissa asked sharply: “What is that vial?”

“It contains my memory. I need only drink it.”

Singhalissa leaned forward, her hands quivered. Efraim moved back. She asked: “And will you drink it?”

“Naturally.”

Singhalissa chewed at her lip. Efraim’s vision suddenly seemed totally keen and clear; he noticed the lack of bloom on Singhalissa’s skin, the minute wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, the bird-like thrust of her sternum.

“This may seem an odd point of view,” said Singhalissa, “but consider. Events go well for you! You are Kaiark; you are about to make trisme with a powerful realm. What else do you need? The contents of the vial may well disturb these conditions!”

Destian spoke with an air of authority: “If I were in your position, I would let well enough alone!”

Singhalissa said: “You had best confer with Kaiark Rianlle; he is a wise man; he will advise you.”

“The matter would seem only to concern myself,” remarked Efraim. “I doubt if Rianlle’s wisdom can apply in this case.” He passed into the reception hall, to meet Rianlle coming down the grand staircase. Efraim paused. “I hope you enjoyed your rest.”

Rianlle bowed politely. “Very much indeed.”

Singhalissa came forward. “I have urged Efraim to solicit your advice in a very important matter. The Fwai-chi have provided him a liquid which they claim will restore his memory.”

Rianlle reflected. “Excuse me a moment or two.” He took Singhalissa aside; the two conversed in mutters. Rianlle nodded and thoughtfully returned to where Efraim waited.

“While I rested,” said Rianlle, “I reviewed the situation which has caused a tension between our realms. I propose that we postpone further consideration of Dwan Jar. Why allow so paltry a matter to interfere with the trisme I have suggested? Am I not correct?”

“Entirely.”

“However, I have no confidence in Fwai-chi drugs. Often they promote cerebral lesions. In view of our prospective relationship I must insist that you do not dose yourself with some vile Fwai-chi potion.”

Very odd, thought Efraim. If the truncation of his memory were so advantageous to other folk, then the disadvantage to himself would seem correspondingly great. “Let us join the others who await us in the parlor.”

Efraim seated himself at the red table and looked around the faces: fourteen Scharde and four Eccord eiodarks; Singhalissa, Destian, Sthelany; Rianlle, the Kraike Dervas, Maerio, and himself. He carefully placed the vial on the table before him.

“There is a new circumstance to be considered,” said Efraim. “My memory. It is contained in this bottle. At Port Mar someone robbed me of my memory. I am intensely anxious to learn the identity of this person. Of the folk who were with me in Port Mar, two are dead - by coincidence, or perhaps not coincidentally after all, both were murdered.

“I have been advised not to drink this draught. I am told that it is best to let sleeping dogs lie. Needless to say, I reject this point of view. I want my memory back, no matter what the cost.” He unstoppered the vial, raised it to his mouth and poured the contents down his throat. The flavor was soft and earthy, like pounded bark and mold mixed with stump water.

He looked around the circle of faces. “You must forgive this act of ingestion before your very eyes … I feel nothing yet. I would expect a delay while the material permeates my blood, courses around my body … I notice a shifting of lights and shadows - your faces flicker. I must shut my eyes … I see splashes of light: they shatter and burst … I see everywhere in my body . .

. I see with my hands and inside my legs and down my back.” Efraim’s voice became hoarse. “The sounds - everywhere …” He could speak no more; he leaned back in his chair. He felt, he saw, he heard: a jumble of impressions: whirling suns and dancing stars, the froth of salt spume, the warmth of swamp mud; the dank flavor of waterweeds. The thrust of spears, the scorch of fire, and screaming women. Timelessness: visions swarmed past, then back, then away, like shoals of fish. Efraim became faint; his legs and arms went numb. He fought away the lethargy, and watched in fascination as the first furious explosion of images retreated and swirled away. The succession of sensations continued, but at a pace less blurred, as if to the control of chronology. He began to see faces and hear voices: strange faces, strange voices, of persons inexpressibly dear, and tears ran down his cheeks. He felt the extent of space; he knew the grief of departures, the exultation on conquest; he killed, he was killed; he loved and knew love; he nurtured a thousand families; he knew a thousand deaths, a thousand infancies.

More slowly came the images, as if the source were almost drained. He was the first man to arrive on Marune; he led the tribes east from Port Mar; he was all the Kaiarks of Scharrode and of many other realms as well; he was many of the ordinary folk; he lived all these lives in the course of five seconds.

Time began to decelerate. He watched the construction of Benbuphar Strang; he prowled by mirk; he scaled the Tassenberg and struck a blond warrior toppling down the face of the Khism. He began to see faces to which he could almost put names; he was a tall auburn-haired child who grew into a tall spare man with a bony face and short thick beard. With beating heart Efraim followed this man whose name was Jochaim through the chambers of Benbuphar Strang, by aud, isp, umber, and rowan. By mirk he wandered the mirk-ways, and he felt the intoxication of striding forth, clad only in shoulder-piece, man-mask, and boots into the chamber of his sometimes terrified elect. To Benbuphar Strang came the maiden Alferica from Cloudscape Castle, to be taken in trisme by Jochaim, and in due course a child was born who was named Efraim, and Jochaim faded from consciousness.

Efraim’s youth passed. His mother, Alferica, drowned during a visit to Eccord; presently to Benbuphar Strang came a new Kraike, Singhalissa, with her two children. One of these was dark vicious Destian; the other, a pale big-eyed waif, was Sthelany.

Tutors educated the three children; they chose cogences and eruditions. Sthelany professed the writing of poetry in an abstruse poetic language, the working of mothwing tapestry, and star-names, as well as the contriving of fumes and fragrances which all well-born ladies were expected to include among their skills. She also collected Glanzeln flower vases, glazed an ineffable transparent violet, and unicorn horns. Destian collected precious crystals, and replicas of medallions on the hilts of famous swords; he also, professed heraldry and the intricate lore of fanfares. Efraim professed the architecture of castles, mineral identification, and the theory of alloys, although Singhalissa considered the choice insufficiently erudite.

Efraim politely acknowledged Singhalissa’s remarks and put them to the back of his mind. He was First Kang of the Realm; Singhalissa’s opinions need not concern him.

Singhalissa herself professed a dozen skills, didactics, and expertises; she was quite the most erudite person of Efraim’s acquaintance. Perhaps once a year she visited Port Mar, that she might buy supplies and materials for the specialized needs of those at Benbuphar Strang. When Efraim learned that Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord, with the Kraike Dervas and the Lissolet Maerio, planned to accompany Jochaim and Singhalissa to Port Mar, he decided to join the party. After considerable discussion, Destian and Sthelany also decided to undertake the journey.

Efraim had been acquainted with Maerio for years, under the formal circumstances imposed upon all visits between kaiarkal households. At first he considered her frivolous and eccentric. She lacked all erudition, she was clumsy with the vials, and she seemed always to be restraining herself from some reckless spontaneity, which caused Singhalissa’s eyebrows to twitch and Sthelany to look away in ostensible boredom. These very factors induced Efraim to cultivate Maerio. Gradually he noticed that her company was extraordinarily stimulating, and that she was remarkably pleasant to look at. Forbidden thoughts wandered into his mind; he ejected them from loyalty to Maerio, who would be shocked and horrified!

The Kaiark Rianlle, Kraike Dervas, and Maerio flew over the mountains to Benbuphar Strang; on the morrow all would journey to Port Mar. Rianlle, Jochaim, Efraim; and Destian gathered in the Grand Parlor for an informal talk; bobbing their heads behind etiquette screens they discreetly took small cups of arrack.

Rianlle was at his best. Always a remarkable speaker, on this occasion his conversation was brilliant. Like Singhalissa, Rianlle was most erudite; he knew the Fwai-chi signals and all the trails of their “Path through Life”; he knew the Pantechnic Metaphysic; he had collected and studied the insects of Eccord, and had indited three monographs upon the subject. Additionally Rianlle was a notable warrior, with remarkable exploits to his credit. Efraim listened to him with fascination. Rianlle was discussing Dwan Jar, the Whispering Ridge. “It has occurred to me,” he told Jochaim, “that here is a site of sublime beauty. One of us should make use of it. Be generous, Jochaim; let me build myself a summer garden with a pavilion on the Dwan Jar. Think how I would rest and muse to the wild whispering sound!”