‘They’re killing my children, Sephrenia!’ ~APhrael wailed. ‘All
over Eosia the Elenes are killing my children! I want to die!’
‘We have to go to Sarsos,’ Sephrenia said to Sparhawk and
Vanion a short while later when the three of them were alone.
“I have to talk with the Thousand.’
“I know that it’s breaking her heart,’ Vanion said, ‘but it can’t
really hurt her, can it?’
“It could kill her, Vanion. The younger Gods are so totally
involved with their worshipers that their very lives depend
on them. Please, Sparhawk, ask Bhelliom to take us to Sarsos
immediately. ‘
Sparhawk nodded bleakly and took out the box and touched
his ring to the lid. ‘Open!’ He said it more sharply than he’d
intended.
The lid snapped up.
‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said, ‘a crisis hath arisen. The Child
Goddess is made gravely ill by reason of the murder of her
worshipers in far-off Eosia. We must at once to Sarsos that
Sephrenia might consult with the Thousand of Styricum regarding
a cure.’
“It shall be as thou dost require, Anakha.’ The words came
from Vanion’s mouth. The Preceptor’s expression turned
slightly uncertain. ‘is it proper for me to tell thee that I feel
sympathy for thee and thy mate for this illness of thine only
child?’
“I do appreciate thy kind concern, Blue Rose.’
‘My concern doth not arise merely from kindness, Anakha
Twice hath the gentle hand of the Child Goddess touched me,
and even I am not proof against the subtle magic of her touch.
For the love we all bear her, let us away to Sarsos that she may
be made whole again.’
The world seemed to shift and blur, and the three of them
found themselves outside the marble-sheathed council hall in
Sarsos. Autumn was further along here, and the birch forest
lying on the outskirts Of the city was ablaze with color.
‘You two wait here,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Let’s not stir
up the hot-heads by marching Elenes into the council chamber
again.’
Sparhawk nodded and opened Bhelliom’s golden case to put
the jewel away.
‘nay, Anakha,’ Bhelliom told him, still speaking through
Vanion’s lips. “I would know how Sephrenia’s proposal is
received.’
‘An it please thee, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk replied politely.
Sephrenia went on inside.
“It’s cooler here,’ Vanion noted pulling his cloak a little tighter
about him.
‘Yes,’ Sparhawk agreed. “It’s farther north.’
‘That more or less exhausts the weather as a topic. quit worrying,
Sparhawk. Sephrenia has a great deal of influence with the
Thousand. I’m sure they’ll agree to help.’
They waited as the minutes dragged by.
It was probably half an hour later when Sparhawk felt a sharp
surge, almost a shudderr pass through Bhelliom. ‘Come with
me, Anakha.’ Vanion’s voice was sharp, abrupt. ‘What is it?’
‘The Styric love of endless talk discontents me. I must needs
go past the Thousand to the Younger Gods themselves. These
babblers do talk away the life of Aphrael.’ Sparhawk was a bit
surprised by the vehemence in Vanion’s voice. He followed as
his Preceptor, walking in a gait that was peculiarly not his own,
stormed into the building. The bronze doors to the council
chamber may have been locked. The screech of tortured metal
that accompanied Vanion’s abrupt opening of them suggested
that they had been, at any rate.
Sephrenia was standing
before the council pleading for aid when Vanion came
through the door.
‘We don’t allow Elenes in here!’ one of the council members
on a back bench shrieked in Styric, rising to his feet and waving
his arms.
Then a sort of strangled silence filled the chamber. Vanion
began to swell, spreading upward and outward into enormity
even as an intensely blue aura flickered brighter and brighter
around him. Flickers of lightning surged through that aura, and
ripping peals of thunder echoed shockingly back from the
marble-clad walls. Sephrenia stared at Vanion in sudden awe.
Prompted by an unvoiced suggestion which only he could
hear, Sparhawk raised the glowing Sapphire Rose. ‘Behold Bhelliom!’
he roared. ‘And hearken unto its mighty voice!’
‘Hear my words, ye Thousand of Styricum!’ The voice coming
from the enormity which a moment before had been Vanion
was vast. It was a voice to which mountains would listen and
which waves and torrents would stop at once to hear. “I would
speak with your Gods! Too small are ye and too caught up in
endless babble to consider this matter!’
Sparhawk winced. Diplomacy, he saw, was not one of
Bhelliom’s strong suits.
One of the white-robed councillors drew himself up, spluttering
indignantly. ‘This is outrageous! We don’t have to…’ He
was suddenly gone, and in his place stood a confused-looking
personage who appeared to have been interrupted in the middle
of his bath. Naked and dripping, he gaped at the huge, bluelighted
presence and at the glowing jewel in Sparhawk’s hand.
‘Well, really…’ he protested.
‘Setras,’ the profound voice said sharply. ‘How deep is thy
love for thy cousin Aphrael?’
‘This is most irregular,’ the youthful God protested.
‘How deep is thy love?’ The voice was inexorable.
“I adore her, naturally. We all do, but… ‘
‘What wouldst thou give to save her life?’
‘Anything she asks, of course, but how could her life be in
danger?’
‘Thou knowest that Zalasta of Styricum is a traitor dost thou
not?’
There were gasps from the council.
‘Aphrael said so,’ the God replied, ‘but we thought she might
have been a little excited. You know how she is sometimes.’
‘She told thee truly, Setras. Even now do Zalasta’s minions
slaughter her worshipers in far-off Eosia. With each death is
she made less. If this be permitted to continue, soon she will be
no more.’
The God Setras stiffened, his eyes suddenly blazing. ‘Monstrous!’
‘What wilt thou give that she may live?’
‘Mine own life, if need be,’ Setras replied with archaic formalism.
‘Wilt thou lend her of thine own worshipers?’
Setras stared at the glowing Bhelliom, his face filled with
chagrin.
‘Quickly, Setras! Even now doth the life of Aphrael ebb away!’
The God drew in a deep breath. ‘There is no alternative?’ he
asked plaintively.
‘None. The life of the Child Goddess is sustained only by love.
Give her the love of certain of thy children for a time that she
may be made whole again.’
Setras straightened. “I will,’ he declared. ‘Though it doth rend
mine heart.’ A determined look crossed that divine face. ‘And
I do assure thee, World-Maker, that mine shall not be the only
children who will sustain the life of our beloved cousin with
their love. All shall contribute equally.’
‘Done, then.’ bhelliom seemed fond of that exPression.
‘Ah…’ Setras said then, his tone slightly worried and his
speech slipping into less formal colloquialism. ‘She will give
them back, won’t she?’
‘Thou hast mine assurance, Divine Setras,’ Sephrenia
promised with a smile.
The Younger God looked relieved. Then his eyes narrowed
slightly. ‘Anakha,’ he said crisply.
‘Yes, Divine One?’
‘Measures must be taken to protect Aphrael’s remaining children.
How might that best be accomplished?’
‘Advise them to go to the chapterhouses of the Knights of the
Church of Chyrellos,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘There will they be kept
from all harm.’
‘And who doth command these knights?’
‘Archprelate Dolmant, I suppose,’ Sparhawk replied doubtfully.
“It is he who doth exercise ultimate authority.’
“I will speak with him. Where may I find him?’
‘He will be in the Basilica in Chyrellos, Divine One.’
“I will go there and seek him out that we may consult together
regarding this matter.’
Sparhawk nearly choked on the theological implications of
that particular announcement. Then he looked somewhat more
closely at Sephrenia’s face. She was still regarding Vanion with
a certain amount of awe. Then, so clearly that he could almost
hear the click in her mind, Sephrenia made a decision. Her
whole face, her entire being, announced it louder than words.
‘Ulath,’ Kalten said irritably, ‘pay attention. You’ve been woolgathering
for the past two weeks. What’s got you so distracted?’
“I don’t like the reports we’ve been getting back from Atan,’
the big Genidian replied, shifting the Princess Danae, rollo and
Mmrr around in his lap. The little princess had been confined
to her room for ten days by her illness, and this was her first
day back among them. She was engaging in one of her favorite
pastimes – lap-switching. Sparhawk knew that most of his
friends really didn’t pay that much attention, responding automatically
to her mute, wan little appeals to be picked up and
held. In actuality, however, Aphrael, with toy and with cat, was
very busily going from lap to lap to re-establish contact with
those who might have drifted out of her grasp during her illness.
As always, there were kisses involved, but those kisses were
not really the spontaneous little demonstrations of affection they
seemed. Aphrael could change minds and alter moods with a
touch. With a kiss, however, she could instantly take possession