“Vazkor Javhovor,” Ammath cried, deferring already and apparently instinctively to Vazkor, “let me send men after him. The insult to the goddess must not go unavenged.”
“Goddess?” Vazkor turned to me.
I did not know what to say. I was oddly shaken, for I could see the tortoise had judged me very well, despite his stupidity.
“Let him go,” I muttered.
They bowed low to me, and the meeting ended.
A little later in the day, while Eshkorek’s Javhovor was riding in the square, ordering preparations for departure from Za and the journey eastward to his mountains, a tiny piece of tile, dislodged from one of the turrets-by a bird presumably-fell and struck him. It entered the brain and killed instantly. It was a freak accident, yet none were particularly surprised that unseen forces had struck him down after his insult to me. The death had an enlivening effect on the City lords. They began to press for Vazkor’s sovereignty. Murder can be a useful lesson, and Vazkor’s men, of whom there were many, were everywhere.
After Eshkorek’s death, there was strange weather at Za. A three-day storm came from the east and blanketed the world in blackness. Candles and lamps burned in the palace night and day. In this eerie and unnatural light Vazkor was made overlord. There were various ceremonies, but I do not remember them very well, only the flicker of the false gold light on gold, and the greenish-dark sky, and the thunder. I saw less of him privately than ever before, though I saw him more often in public.
The crowds in Za were afraid of the storm. When it cleared they chanted prayers of thanks to me in the square. I
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do not know why they did not thank their own goddess, whoever she was, but then she had not woken yet.
There were other meetings after this, though he sent me word I need not be present. I was very tired, and glad enough not to go.
Five nights passed. On the sixth Vazkor came through that mysterious door which joined our apartments.
“Goddess,” he said, “everything has been settled for the winter campaign. We shall be riding southward in two days, by which time the bulk of the armies of Kmiss, So-Ess, and Ammath will have joined us here.”
“And Eshkorek?” I asked him.
“We shall meet them on the way to Purple Valley.”
“Who is lord there now?” I asked.
“A man,” he said.
“Yours?”
“Yes. I had been planning for this time, goddess, a long while before your fortunate advent. Your arrival made this day sooner, that is all. It would have come anyway.”
He used a different tone with me, and he had come unmasked. I felt weaker than usual; the tiredness was intense. I had needed sleep a good deal in the past days, as seemed necessary with me from time to time, and the clock had made sure I had not got it
“Well, then,” I said, “we ride in two days.”
“No, goddess. We do not. You will remain at Za.”
I saw then that it had finally come, the moment of my elimination-not to death, but to womanhood and uselessness-and I had not been ready for it. It is true I did not want to ride with him across the bitter white wastes to make war on a name. But I wanted less the role into which he was so gently thrusting me.
“I, too,” I said, “ride southward.”
“Though a goddess,” he said, “you are a woman. I have heard of your brawl with my soldiers over the village slut, but that is not enough to carry you through a battle.”
“I know nothing of you,” I said, “and you, Vazkor, know nothing of me. The world beyond the Ring would not interest you, so I will not tell you what I did there.”
“You lay with a man named Darak,” he said, “who resembled me.”
Of course it was quite logical he could have deduced as much from our first meeting, but it was shocking and painful to have him talk of it in this way, as if he knew all of it. Suddenly I began to tremble, and could not speak to him. I
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turned from him and walked toward the doors of my bedchamber, then stopped because he had followed me.
“I believe you did as I told you to in the matter of So-Ess’ wife,” he said behind me. “I gather she is both happy and hopeful. I have set you very high, and it is time you carried my seed to remind them you are mated with me.”
I stood in the doorway, petrified. It was not the act I feared, it was the act’s intention and purpose, and this man, so totally passionless in all he did, who was prepared to lie with me as passionlessly. I could not imagine such a thing between us. And yet I could. Suddenly my sense came back to me. There was nothing to be gained by denials. This moment was his, and it would be foolish to struggle against it.
“You are my husband and lord,” I said courteously, “you may lie with me whenever you choose, since I have found you acceptable and pleasing to me.”
We went into the large dove-carved room, and he shut the doors behind us. There was no one else there, the women had long since gone away. A few candles flickered, almost burned out, casting a dim thin light. One of Asren’s jeweled books lay by the bed.
I removed my garments without speed or hesitation, and let them lie where they fell. I began to think of Geret whom I had helped elect leader of the wagon people, Geret who feared me and raped me–though it was little enough to me what he did. Turning to Vazkor, I saw him standing quite still, clothed and silent. I lifted my hands, and pulled the mask from my face. His eyes narrowed, that was all. There was no longer any power in my ugliness to protect me against him. I let my hands fall. I went, and lay down on the silken bed. After a moment, he came and stood over me.
“You see, Vazkor,” I said, “I am quite submissive.”
Two candles fluttered and went out together, then another, and another. Darkness was settling. He did not bother to remove his clothes, only what was necessary. Geret. Yet Vazkor could not sicken me or make me laugh at him. I could not best him afterward with cold water, and the threat of a fat white god. I had forgotten he must touch me, I had forgotten he would be clever in what he did, I had forgotten his weight on me would feel like Darak in the dark, the hands would be Barak’s hands, even without their scars. Even the moving shaft between my thighs. … Despite his silence, there was a kind of opening in me I could not help, and yet I hung above it, watching my own responses as if it were a dream. I do not know if he found pleasure in it. He
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did not seem to. For him it was another achievement, something else settled. He was so perfectly controlled, so perfectly indifferent, I did not even know his moment of helplessness until it was past.
His long hair brushed my face as he pulled away and left me, not Barak’s hair at all. The candles were dead. In the dark he said, “Thank you, goddess. I hope I shall return before the birth.”
It was ridiculous, his certainty, yet it chilled me. I said nothing, and soon he went away. I lay cold on the bed until at last the moon shone in on my nakedness and I found my sleeping mask and put it on. The clock began to strike the second hour of morning, and then the third, fourth, and fifth hours. My sleep had not been good in Za the Dove.
3
For two days the armies of Ammath, So-Ess, and Kmiss rumbled and clattered into Za. There was a great deal of noise and confusion, but I heard little of it, nor of the dreadful clock. I had sent for a physician, and, sorting out from among his herbs and drugs things my time with Uasti had taught me to recognize, I made myself a sleeping draft. It seemed absurd I had not thought of it before. For two nights and the day between I slept without waking. I opened my eyes in an oddly silent dawn, and they were gone, Vazkor and his war-force and the wagons of their train.
I rose, bathed and dressed, and called Mazlek to me.
“Is there more of the fighting force to pass through Za?”
“Yes, goddess,” he said, “there are several blocks of troops still to come, and a great deal of foot. They’ll be marching through the City for many days.”