Legacy of the Darksword Read online

  I saw myself a catalyst, standing in a crowd of catalysts. We were dressed in our best ceremonial robes, all blending together, our tonsured heads bowed in respect. And she walked past us, regal, gracious, clad in silks and jewels, our queen. I lifted my head, greatly daring, to look at her and she, at that moment, turned her head and looked at me. She had been searching for me in the crowd and she smiled to see me.

  I smiled at her, we shared a secret moment, and then, fearing my superiors would notice, I lowered my gaze. When I next dared look again—hoping that perhaps she was still looking at me—I saw only her back, and even that vanished, for she was followed by all her courtiers, every one of them walking. Walking. Why did that seem strange to me?

  The image faded from before my eyes, but did not fade in my mind. Indeed, it was so clear and well defined that the words Your Majesty were on my lips and I think I would have spoken them aloud, had I been able to speak. As it was, I felt bewildered and disoriented, much as when Mosiah released us to return to our own bodies.

  Recovering, I signed that I was honored and pleased to meet those who held a special place in my master’s heart.

  Eliza’s eyes widened at the sight of my flashing hands. “What is he doing?” she demanded, with the frank and open honesty of a child.

  “Reuven is mute,” Saryon explained. “He talks with his hands.” And he repeated to them aloud what I had said.

  Gwendolyn gave me a preoccupied smile and said I was welcome. Eliza appraised me, those blue eyes studying everything about me with unabashed curiosity. What she saw was a young man of medium height, medium build, long blond hair pulled back from a face that always seemed to inspire women with sisterly affection. Honest, sweet, gentle were words women used to describe me. “At last, a man we can trust,” they would say. And then they would proceed to tell me all about the men they loved.

  As for what I saw in Eliza, the statue was gaining life and warmth, becoming human.

  Gwendolyn cast a glance at me and it seemed that she suddenly had a new worry. A glance at Eliza reassured her somewhat. Turning back to Saryon, Gwen drew him away, to speak to him in a low, pleading tone. Eliza remained, staring at me.

  My situation was extremely embarrassing and uncomfortable. Never before had I cursed my handicap as I cursed it now. Had I been a man like any other, I could have made polite conversation.

  I considered bringing out my electronic notepad, writing on it. Writing what? Some inanity? What a lovely day. Do you suppose we shall have rain?

  No, I thought. Better to keep my notepad shut.

  And yet I wanted to do something to hold her interest on me. Already, she was starting to turn her head, to look back to her mother and Saryon. I had some notion of plucking a flower and handing it to her, when I heard a plop at my feet.

  Eliza gave a glad cry. “Teddy!”

  At my feet sat a stuffed teddy bear; well worn, most of its fur rubbed off, one ear missing.

  Eliza swooped down, picked up the bear, and held it up, calling in delight, “Look, Mother, Reuven’s found Teddy!”

  Gwen and Saryon turned from their conversation. Gwen smiled, a strained smile. “How nice, dear.”

  Saryon flashed me an alarmed glance. All I could do was helplessly shrug.

  Around his neck, Teddy wore an orange ribbon.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Nevertheless, there I sat, a perfect teapot upon his desk.”

  TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD

  “I. ‘ve had Teddy ever since I was a little girl,” Eliza said, cuddling Teddy in her arms.

  I have never seen a more self-satisfied and smug-looking stuffed bear. I wanted very much to throttle it.

  “I found him in one of the old parts of the Font,” she continued, “where I used to play. It must have been a nursery, because there were other toys there. But I liked Teddy best. I used to tell him all my secrets. He was my companion, my playmate,” she said, and a wistful tone crept into her voice. “He kept me from being alone.”

  I wondered if Eliza’s mother knew the truth, that Teddy was, in reality, Simkin—although one might contend that Simkin and reality had little to do with one another.

  Gwendolyn bit her lip and cast a warning glance at Saryon, asking him to keep silent.

  “I lost Teddy years ago,” Eliza was saying. “I don’t remember quite how. One day he was there and the next day, when I went to look for him, he was gone. We searched and searched, didn’t we, Mama?”

  Eliza looked to me, then to Saryon. “Where did you find him?”

  My master was, for the moment, struck mute as myself. He was hopeless at lying. I made a sign, indicating that we’d found the bear somewhere near the Borderlands. It was not quite a lie. Saryon, in a faint voice, repeated what I had said.

  “I wonder how he came to be there!” Eliza exclaimed, marveling.

  “Who knows, child?” Gwendolyn said briskly. She smoothed her skirt with her hands. “And now you should go find your father. Tell him—no, wait! Please, Father? Is there no other way?”

  “Gwendolyn,” said Saryon patiently, “the matter on which I come is very urgent. And very serious.”

  She sighed, bowed her head. Then, with a forced smile, she said, “Tell Joram that Father Saryon is here.”

  Eliza was doubtful. Her delight in recovering the bear faded at the sight of her mother’s troubled face. For a moment she had been a child again. The moment passed, gone forever.

  “Yes, Mama,” she said in a subdued voice. “It may take me a while. He is in the far pasture.” And then she looked at me and brightened. “Could I—could Reuven come with me? You say he was born in the Font. We must go through it on our way. He might like to see it again.”

  Gwen was doubtful. “I don’t know how your father would react, child. To have a stranger come suddenly on him, without any warning. It would be better if you went by yourself.”

  Eliza’s brightness began to dim. You could see it fade, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

  Her mother relented. “Very well. Reuven may go if he wishes. Make yourself presentable first, Eliza. I can refuse her nothing,” she added to Saryon in an undertone, half-proud, half-ashamed.

  And that was why they had not taken “Teddy” away, when both Gwen and Joram knew quite well that the bear was not a real bear. I could imagine the guilt both felt, forced to raise their child in isolation. Joram’s own childhood had been one of bitter loneliness and deprivation. He must have believed it a sad legacy to pass on to a daughter, a legacy that pained him deeply.

  Eliza set Teddy in a flower basket and gave him a laughing admonition not to go and get himself lost again.

  “This way, Reuven,” she said to me, smiling.

  I had gained great favor with her by the “discovery” of the bear, which hadn’t been my doing at all. I glanced back at the bear as I followed after Eliza. Teddy’s black button eyes rolled. He winked.

  I deposited the knapsack next to the bear, though I took my electronic notepad with me. Saryon and Gwendolyn sat together on a stone bench in the shade. Eliza and I walked together through the garden. Eliza shook her skirts down, covering her legs. She pulled the broad-brimmed hat over her head, hiding the shining black hair and leaving her face in shadow. She walked swiftly, with long strides, so that I had to adjust my normally slower pace to match hers.

  She said nothing the entire way across the garden. I, of course, maintained my accustomed silence. But the moment was a comfortable one. The silence was not empty. We filled it with our thoughts, making it companionable. That her thoughts were serious I could tell by the somber expression on her shadowed face.

  A wall surrounded the garden. She opened a gate and led me through it, down a flight of stone steps, which crisscrossed the cliff face. The view from the mountain, overlooking the other buildings of the Font—some whole, many crumbling—was breathtaking. The gray stone against the green hillsides. The mountain peaks against the blue sky. The trees dark green clumps against the light green
of the grass. As of one accord, unspoken, we both stopped on the narrow steps to gaze and admire.

  She had gone down before me, to lead the way. Now she looked back up at me, tilting her head to see me from beneath the brim of her straw hat.

  “You find it beautiful?” she asked.

  I nodded. I could not have spoken had I wanted to.

  “So do I,” she said with satisfaction. “I often stop here on my way back. We live down there,” she added, pointing to a long, low building attached to another, much larger building. “My father says it is the part of the Font where the catalysts used to live. There is a kitchen there and a well for water.

  “Father made looms for Mother and me. We use the rooms up here for our work. We spin our own thread, weave our own woolen cloth. That comes from the sheep, of course. And the library is here, too. When our work is finished, we read. Sometimes together, sometimes separately.”

  We were walking down the stairs as we talked. Or I should say, as she talked. But with her I did not feel as if I were in a onesided conversation. Sometimes people, embarrassed by my handicap, talk around me instead of talking to me.

  Eliza continued to discuss books. “Papa reads the books on carpentry and gardening and anything he can find on sheep. Mama reads cookery books, though she likes best the books about Merilon and the treatises on magic. She never reads those when Father is around, though. It makes him sad.”

  “And what books do you like?” I asked with sign language, moving my hands slowly.

  I could have used the notepad, but it seemed out of place in this world, an intrusion.

  “What books do I like? That’s what you said, wasn’t it?” Eliza was delighted to understand me. “The Earth books. I know a great deal about Earth’s geography and history, science and art. But my favorites are fiction.”

  I looked my astonishment. If there had ever been Earth books on Thimhallan, they must have been ancient, brought here at the time of Merlyn and the founders. If she has learned science from those, I thought, she must think the Earth is flat and that the sun revolves around it.

  I remembered then that, according to Saryon, Simkin had once gotten hold of a copy of Shakespeare’s plays. How he managed to do this, Saryon was not certain. He speculated that back before the Iron Wars, before Simkin’s magical power began to wane as the magic Life in Thimhallan began to wane, Simkin had once traveled freely between Earth and Thimhallan. It’s possible that he either knew Shakespeare or—as Saryon used to say ironically—perhaps Simkin was Shakespeare! Had “Teddy” given Eliza books?

  Eliza answered my questioning look. “After Thimhallan was destroyed, the evacuation ships came to take the people to Earth. My father knew he would be staying here and he requested that the ships bring supplies, tools, food until we could raise our own. And he asked them to bring books.”

  Of course. It all made sense. Joram had spent ten years of his life on Earth, before returning to Thimhallan. He would know exactly what he needed to survive with his family in exile, what was needed for both body and mind.

  We had, by this time, reached the portion of the Font where Joram had taken up residence. We did not enter, however, but skirted around the Gothic-style buildings (I was reminded of Oxford ). We followed various meandering paths and walkways past the enormous edifice and I soon became quite lost. Leaving the buildings behind, we continued down the mountainside, but only for a short distance. Ahead of me was lush green hillside. Running against the green grass of the hill, I saw a white blotch—a flock of sheep, and one dark spot—the man tending them.

  At the sight of Joram, I halted. My coming did not now seem like such a good idea. I pointed to Eliza, then out to her father. Touching my breast, I patted the top of the stone fence, which was, by the smell and the sight of one or two sheep resting in sheds, the sheep pen. I indicated I would wait here for their return.

  Eliza looked at me and frowned. She knew quite well what I had said; indeed, the two of us were communicating with an ease which, had I thought about it, was quite remarkable. I was too dazzled and overwhelmed to think coherently about anything then.

  “But I want you to come with me,” she said petulantly, as if that would make all the difference.

  I shook my head, indicated that I was tired, which was true enough. I am not much accustomed to physical exertion and we must have walked two kilometers already. Taking out my notepad, I typed, Your mother is right. You should see him alone.

  She looked at the notepad and read the words. “Father has something like this,” she said, touching it hesitantly with one finger. “Only much larger. He keeps records on it.”

  She was silent. Her frowning gaze turned from me to the sheep and the distant, dark, roving figure that kept watch over them. Her frown eased; her gaze was troubled. She turned back to me. “Mother lied to Father Saryon, Reuven,” Eliza said calmly. “She lied to herself at the same time, so perhaps it doesn’t really count as a lie. Papa is not happy. He was content, before that man Smythe came, but ever since then Papa has been brooding and silent, except for when he talks to himself. He won’t tell us what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to worry us. I think it will be good for him to have Father Saryon to talk to. What is it,” she asked, in a pretty, wheedling tone, “that he plans to say?”

  I shook my head. It was not my place to tell her. I indicated again that I would wait for them here and motioned that she should go to her father. She pouted some, but I think that was mostly reflexive, for she was really very sensible and finally agreed—though reluctantly—that perhaps this way was best.

  She ran off down the hill, her skirts flying, her hat blown back, her dark curls rampant.

  I thought about her, when she was gone. I remembered every word she said, every expression on her face, the lilt and tone of her voice. I was not falling in love. Not yet. Oh, maybe just a little bit. I had dated several women before now—some of them seriously, or so I thought—but I had never been this at ease, this relaxed with a woman. I tried to figure out why. The unusual circumstances of our meeting, the fact that she was so open and unabashed and free to speak her mind. Perhaps the simple fact that we had been born on the same world. And then the oddest thought came to me.

  You did not meet as strangers. Somewhere, somehow, your souls know each other.

  I grinned at this impossibly romantic notion, though the grin was a little shaky, considering the vivid image I’d experienced of Eliza as Queen and myself as one more dull, plodding catalyst.

  Banishing such foolish notions from my mind, I reveled in the beauty of my surroundings. Though I could see wounds upon the land, wounds caused by the war and later the storms and quakes and firestorms which had raged over Thimhallan, the wounds were healing. Young trees grew amid the ashes of the old. Grass covered the ragged scars and gouges on the landscape. The constant wind was softening the tooth-sharp cliffs.

  The solitude was peaceful, quiet. No jets roared overhead, no televisions yammered, no sirens wailed. The air was crisp and clean and smelled of flowers and grass and far-off rain, not petrol and the neighbor’s dinner. I was immensely content and happy as I sat there on the low stone wall. I could picture Joram and Eliza and Gwen living here, reading, working in the garden, tending sheep, weaving fabric. I could picture myself here and my heart suddenly yearned for a life so simple and serene.

  Of course, I was oversimplifying, romanticizing. I was deliberately leaving out the hard work, the drudgery, the loneliness. Earth was not the horrid place I was picturing by contrast. There was beauty to be found there, as well as here.

  But what beauty would be left to any of us if the Hch’nyv destroyed our defenses, reached our world, and ravaged it as they had ravaged all others? If the power of the Darksword could truly be used to defeat the aliens, then why shouldn’t Joram relinquish it? Was this the conclusion Saryon had reached?

  I worried and wondered and dreamed as I sat upon the wall, watching Eliza on the hillside, a bright speck against the green. I saw her meet
ing with her father. I could not see, from this distance, but I could imagine him staring over to where I sat. They both stood still, talking, for long moments. Then they both began to round up the sheep, driving them down the hill and back toward their pen.

  The stone wall on which I sat grew suddenly very cold, very hard.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The sword was made of a solid mass of metal—hilt and blade together, possessing neither grace nor form. The blade was straight and almost indistinguishable from the hilt. A short, blunt-edged crosspiece separated the two. The hilt was slightly rounded, to fit the hand… . There was something horrifying about the sword, something devilish.

  FORGING THE DARKSWORD

  Eliza and her father came back, driving the sheep before them. I watched them the entire way, the sheep flowing like a huge woolly caterpillar across the grassy hillside. Joram walked steadfastly behind, reaching out now and then with his shepherd’s crook to guide an errant ewe back into the flock. Eliza dashed about them like a sheepdog, waving her hat and flapping her long skirts. I have no idea, knowing nothing of the tending of sheep, if she did harm or good, but her grace and exuberance brought joy to her father’s dark eyes and so of course she was permitted to have her own way.

  That joy dimmed considerably and vanished altogether when those dark eyes turned their intense and unsettling gaze upon me.

  The sheep flowed past me in a woolly wave, smelling strongly of damp wool—for it had rained upon the hillside—bleating and baaing so that it was impossible to hear. I stood to one side, keeping out of the way, trying not to hinder Joram’s work. I was very uncomfortable and wished devotedly I had not come.

  Joram’s gaze raked me from head to toe as he came up the hillside. When he was level with me and I started to bow my greeting, he abruptly withdrew his gaze and did not once glance in my direction again. His face was so cold and set that it might have substituted for the granite cliff face opposite me and no one would have noticed the difference.