The Woven End Page 16

  "My doing! Somehow I suspect you had a hand in it!" Nat peered through the mist of spirits in the Sálverøld and saw nothing."May the stars fall on you, reprobate! Show yourself! I want to look at you so I can curse you to your face! Where are you?”

  "Here."

  Nat looked about him. He saw nothing.

  "Here, where?"

  Ah, the point was made and driven into his brain like a spike by a mallet. He understood now.

  Unable to see his own soul, he did his best to grasp at it. He tugged and slashed at himself, but his spirits snapped back into place, unharmed.

  A strange, grating idea of a sound came in response.

  "You're…You're laughing!" Nat shrieked, aghast.

  "Calm yourself, sire. You've noticed, no doubt, the restoration of your health?"

  "Yes. What does it matter? An innocent woman is dead for it. It's not worth it! I remember now. I remember you told me it was the only way to escape…"

  "So it was. The life blood nourishes the blackness in you,” the slyte said. “It has made you well. It was the only way to escape an eternity of existence in that state. Are you certain that it is not worth it?"

  The prince wanted to spit out a resounding, bellowing, “NAY!"

  The words halted between his brain and mouth. The experience of the shock and loss of control was unbearable. He had the option to surrender to a solution and be free from his illness. Who would not take that choice under such extreme circumstances?

  "Ah," said the Slyte, "You're thinking at last."

  "It was wrong. If this is how the Sálverøld operates, I want nothing of it."

  "I couldn't let you remain in that state, Nat. You are the only hope for the salvation of the world when the Great Cold comes. I suspect I could never accomplish the task of attaining an incarnation such as you again. It would be a very long time, I'm sure."

  Nat removed consciousness from the Sálverøld and headed for the door, nearly stumbling upon the pitcher of water. He took it, rinsed his mouth, splashed his face and charged into the hallway. His uncle could be anywhere, but he took a chance that, given the present circumstances, he would be in his public meeting room.

  He flung the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

  A crime investigator sat across the desk from Cova.

  "Your Majesty." The investigator stood and bowed.

  Cova, startled by the intrusion, said, “Mercy! I thought you were your apar for a moment. Where, under the stars, is your shirt?”

  Nat paid no heed. "I need to speak with you alone, uncle."

  "Your Majesty I really must speak with the investig—"

  "No. I must speak with you, now," he replied, pointing to the ground.

  The investigator nodded and excused himself. As soon as his steps disappeared, Nat shouted, "How could you expose me to such a vile creature!"

  "Vile…What are you talking about?"

  "This slyte. It's in me." He slapped his chest with his hands. "I get that now. It's in me and I can't do a bore-driven thing about it."

  "Watch your language young man. You may be the prince but—"

  "You speak to me of bad language while you play with creatures who murder innocent women," came the acrid reply.

  "Creatures who murder…" Cova began the statement, but then the Star rose on him. "The Great Soul is… This is the Great Soul's doing?"

  Nat looked on Cova with a snide smile. "And its in-car-na-tion."

  "You. You did it?"

  Nat explained himself to the governor: The details of the previous Star fall and the various evidences he found on his journey to acknowledging his guilt. He sat down in a chair and cried.

  "By the stars! I thought you seemed exceptionally fit today. By the Great Soul, I will not let them know of this. You must be undiscovered. Justice for Tapa will be the salvation of the world. She would certainly have given her life now and again for that cause. She has already sacrificed greatly. Her consciousness will smile when that new Star shines in the sky."

  “Her consciousness would have smiled with a child upon her knee and a long life.” The prince held his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up. "You are mad," He mumbled. He stared at the floor as he continued, "Mad as I am and will be. I have no way of escape." He looked up. "Do I?"

  "I'd be a downright fool to tell you if you did," said Cova, pulling paper from his desk and scrawling on it. "I sent word to the king of the events of this day. I suspect he will send a return letter with several extra officers to escort you back to Tici. I want you to go, and I will come to you shortly with all of the information you should have. You are in this now, and there are things you should know."

  "Tell me now."

  "I will do nothing of the sort."

  At this, Nat stood up and pointed his finger at his uncle. "You may be my uncle, but I am still the prince, Governor Cova. We've grown close, yes, and I've permitted myself to be subjected to the disrespect of familiarity and have enjoyed it, but right now it is in poor taste on your part to behave so."

  Unbothered by Nat's assertion of his authority, Cova looked up disinterestedly and returned his attention to scrawling. He finished with a flourish and a tap of his quill.

  "There. This is for the boatman who will be taking you back to Tici. His name is Brádach, son of Sannindi.”

  Nat snatched the paprt from Cova's hand.

  "What is this? I saw this on your knife.”

  "Slytian, my boy. Another language, older than our own. It is the language of the slytes."

  "What does this say? I demand to know what it says."

  Cova pronounced the Slytian words to the prince, smiled, and then said, "Now, you ought to pack your things."

  "You’re a skovel! I want nothing to do with you again as long as I live. I will see to it that you are removed from your post. I will not surrender to this folly," Nat hissed, throwing the paper to the desk.

  "Calm yourself. Sit down, please. Let me speak with you."

  "Speak with me," Nat said, remaining on his feet."Speak to me quickly."

  Cova folded his hands and spoke calmly."There's nothing you can do to incriminate me without incriminating yourself. You tell the king that I deal with the so-called darker side of the Alchemine art and you will be delivering old news. You tell him that I'm mad, and he'll laugh and say, 'I always thought as much.' There is, therefore, no other accusation you can truthfully lay at my feet without telling the king your involvement in the death of your aunt.

  "Now, if you embrace what is happening to you, and acknowledge that the force that is within you has every right to take life as it did today, you will be much better off. I will cover any trail that may lead to you, and you will be preserved for the greater purpose your amar and the Great Soul destined you to."

  "Right to take life? Come now. Doesn't that disturb you? Death may not disturb you, but murder? I wish to depart immediately with or without my apar's permission. I need only my own personal guard, as we know that there is no longer need to fear for my safety."

  "The king would never forgive—"

  "The stars fall upon the king! I am the prince, and I wish to go home."

  Chapter Eighteen

  The 11th Star rise, Cotigo's Tunic,

  The 26th star of His Royal Highness, King Persenimos

  To: His Highness the Prince of the Trilands, son of Persenimos, King of the Trilands

  Word has reached me, and the entirety of the Trilands, I suppose, of the murder of your Aunt Tapa. I glanced back at the letters you sent to me to affirm what I thought I remembered. She is the lovely creature you told me of. I'm so very sorry to hear this news.

  Please, tell me how you are withstanding this trial and whether your heart and your constitution are well.

  Your affectionate friend,

  Y'Armos son of Etetuol

  #

  The 12th Star rise, Cotigo's Tunic

  The 26th star of the honorable King Persenimos

&n
bsp; To: Y'Armos, son of Etetuol

  It gladdens me to receive word from you. As my only confidant, I have a great deal that I would speak to you about. I cannot send the contents of my mind to you in writing. Please, will you come to me, and we shall discuss them? I am quite well in body.

  Your son in spirit,

  Nat

  #

  The 13th Star rise, Cotigo's Tunic

  The 26th star of our lord, King Persenimos

  To: His majesty, the king's son, Nat

  Dear Nat,

  I send for my son to stay with his aunt, and then I will to the palace.

  Y'Armos son of Etetuol

  #

  The 14th Star rise, Cotigo's Tunic

  The 26th Star of our lord, King Persenimos

  To: Y'Armos, son of Etetuol

  Friend,

  Meet me in the garden park where we took our lessons on fine days. I do not wish for my apar to know of our meeting. The 7th hour of the 16th Star rise.

  Friend L

  #

  Y'Armos left his sister's home as soon as he received word that his son would arrive the following day. He took the most reasonable rate on a tiny boat. In three hours, he docked near a small city, approximately a mile away from Sathas. He took a trila from his small leather satchel to purchase a broadsheet at a corner vendor. The vendor gave him a half trila in change.

  Was it worth it to pay for a cab, or would a walk be more suitable for him? He dressed the part of an upper class man, but certainly hadn't the money to maintain the upper class lifestyle at present. He was no youth, but he was no old man either. A man of exceedingly short stature, but sturdy, strong, and fit. On foot, then.

  He came to the garden park Nat wrote of and sought out their usual spot where they went—with guard of course—to have some of their lessons. Y'Armos never thought it healthy for someone who was to be committed to the welfare of a people to be separated from the public at all times by a royal carriage, a royal wall, or a royal fence.

  He stood at the edge of the grass and squinted. A young man sat on the stone bench beneath their tree at the far end of the park. Though the prince had a muscular physique, this young man was far more broad shouldered and—well, he was bigger and hardier. Nay, not the prince.

  How dreadful. This was the appointed time. He glanced up at the Star and nodded his head, moving his mouth without words. His small, sharp eyes darted this way and that in search of another location the prince may have chosen in lieu of their tutelary haunt. He blinked. The young man stepped out from under the tree and waved to him.

  He jerked his head back in surprise. He certainly resembled the prince now that he saw him in the Star light. He looked much more like his apar than he had when he last saw him. He smiled, waved, and proceeded onward. Nat greeted the little man with an enormous hug.

  "By the Stars, Prince Nat, what has happened to you?"

  Nat rubbed his well-whiskered chin and smiled a little.

  "I've been cured, I suppose," he said.

  "Cured! By what means?"

  The two silently agreed to sit on the stone benches.

  "A surgery."

  "Surgery!" Y'Armos pushed his spectacles up. "Does your apar…?"

  Nat laughed a little. "A spiritual surgery. I was cured in the Sálverøld. You might recall my wonderings on that matter?"

  "I do recall. I directed you away from it if I remember rightly."

  "Yes, you did," said Nat.

  "What prompted you to do it?"

  Nat’s lips twitched a few times before he forced them into a thin smile. "I was dying."

  "The pressure of that unknown chasm of death brought you to the choice, hm?"

  Nat nodded.

  "Well, my friend, I cannot say that I would not do the same in the face of 'the unraveling', as they say."

  Nat looked earnestly on Y'Armos' face for something. Reassurance that he would not be judged? Certainty of a friend? He bit his lip. "I regret it with all of my soul."

  "Oh?" Y'Armos did not seem surprised, but he was curious.

  "I have something to confess," Nat began, "I…I need you to vow to me that it will be our secret. When I explain it to you, I am sure you will see that I am innocent but…but it still wracks my conscience with pains worse than my heart or ears or eyes or…" He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Nothing I might have endured for all eternity would compare to living with this. Please, do your best to refrain from any outbursts and listen objectively. Let me tell you the story from beginning to end, and I will hear your unbiased remarks. Can I trust you?"

  Y'Armos nodded solemnly. "Implicitly, Your Majesty. You know this."

  Nat unfolded the unfortunate series of semi-fortunate events that made up his life. The matter of his amar's soul tampering before Nat's birth, the matter of learning the Alchemine art, and the discovery of the slyte which his uncle claimed was the Great Soul and—even more horrific—that he, Nat, was considered an incarnation. Last, and, most painfully shared, the nature of his Aunt Tapa's death.

  Y'Armos was true to his word as he listened in silence.

  "Is that the end?"

  Nat looked around the area for any spare words or facts that might be waiting to be remembered and picked up. He took a deep breath. "Aye."

  Y'Armos looked toward the star water. He had impeccable posture and looked noble as a hunting wingray with a full, angular nose and strong, straight forehead. His fingers, loosely clasped together, hung just between his small legs. With a grim grin, he looked on Nat.

  "This is true, Nat? As far as you know, this is all true?"

  "Aye." He looked to the star water to hide the tears. "I am in such a paroxysm of sorrow nearly every moment of my existence. I am lithe, healthy, and suited for my age, but my heart is a sinking rock. There is nothing I can do to escape. Nothing can be done.”

  "You need help, good prince," Y'Armos said, placing his hand on Nat's shoulder. "I understand the situation you are in is a peculiarly tragic one, but you must let someone into this with you. I cannot ease your conscience. If you wish to feel better, you must tell someone who can mete out justice.”

  "Justice. Justice would be my death! I cannot die. What would they do to me?"

  "Perhaps. I am only telling you what I think will rectify this. Confession and justice are the only way to make wrongs right."

  "No one will believe me, and my uncle would never incriminate himself in this. If the people were to hear and believe that a slyte inhabited the prince and killed a woman, there would be an upheaval of the spiritual system, outrage, and perhaps an uprising that might cost the king his life. He looked into the air as if seeing a vision. He shook his head with a spirit of passionate devotion to the king.

  "Nay, nay. What would happen if they behead me? Draw and quarter? Am I invincible? Would I live forever in pieces? I don’t know! My apar does not care enough for me to have mercy."

  "Nat!"

  "What!"

  "You do your apar a great injustice by saying such things! He's a good man, and he has a good soul that has been broken by much suffering and loss. Give him a chance to choose for himself what justice is for a young man in your predicament. I can do nothing else for you."

  "I sent for you to help me, and you just spit this in my face?" Nat cried as he stood. He turned away to face the water.

  "I spit nothing in your face, your highness," Y'Armos replied. "I have separated myself from this situation so that I might not lose control of my emotions. I am giving you objective advice, and I ween this is the best way to go about it."

  Y'Armos stood up and held his short self with much dignity. He jutted his chin up ever so slightly as he spoke, "If you wanted me to praise you or tell you that you are not at all culpable, then you are wrong. If you wanted me to pat you on the head like a child while I tell you to try harder the next time, then you are sadly mistaken in this, as well. I will not, and I cannot.

  "You are a man now, Your Majesty, and you have just confesse
d to murder. Murder under most unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps it was beyond your power, but your lips were upon her neck, and your teeth gashed it open to perform some perverse spiritual blood ritual. There is no doubt of that, judging by what you have told me. You, therefore, need to inform the king of this tale, in its entirety, and let him be the judge of what must be done. That is the only way you will alleviate the pain you are feeling.”

  "I fear our friendship is severed, my friend."

  "I will always have great love for you, my prince, but I will not aid you in the concealment of this crime, and I will not allow you to perpetuate your own suffering."

  Florid faced and heart pounding, Y'Armos called upon every ounce of temperance in his soul to restrain from withdrawing in disgust. His star pupil, the good prince in whose hands the Trilands might one day be, murdered a woman and—bore driven, star fallen day!—drank her blood. He must recuperate somewhere, and being certain that the prince would not tell the king himself, he must do the deed for him. It was his nature to do so, and he wondered that his pupil dreamt that his tutor would—nay! Could! — do otherwise.

  He blinked. took a deep breath, and stood to leave.

  "I know what you are going to do, and I beg of you…"

  When Y'Armos walked away, the prince silenced his pleas and presently Y'Armos' eyes felt as though they had combusted in their sockets. He removed the spectacles from his face and covered his eyes with his free hand.

  "Great Stars! How it burns!" Then, relief from the sensation of fire gave way to a sharp, merciless tug at the eyeballs themselves, like an invisible hand dug in to them and ripped them out, though they still remained in his head. He fell to his knees, screaming.

  All at once, it was over.

  "Nat!" He wailed. "Nat, what have you done?"

  He heard the shuffling of many feet around him. Mumbles and questions. Was he well? What happened? Was he mad?

  The firm touch of a man's hand rested on Y'Armos' back. The first assertive onlooker.

  "Good man, are you quite alright?" The man asked.

  "I’m fine," he said. The pain subsided, and he opened his eyes to look blindly up at the stranger. He tried again and still nothing but a black world.