Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXV Read online

  "I have no intention of dying," she'd said.

  So, now here she was, high on the windswept mountain, crouching on naked granite, the chill thin air searing her lungs. A thready waterfall cascaded down from the peaks, feeding this blue ice-melt lake. And though she had hardly credited the wild stories, they were real. An actual star spun down there in the water's depths so that they rivalled the night sky itself.

  She dangled her fingertips in the frigid water. "How did you come to be here?" she whispered.

  I fled.

  Startled, she fell back on her rump. "What—?"

  I fled from the sky.

  She scrambled up to her feet, gazing down into the water. "Why don't you go back?"

  It's cold and empty, the voice said. I like it down here.

  "More than the sky?" She found that hard to believe.

  Join me. We will dance.

  "You can't dance," she said. "You have no legs."

  Can't I?

  Magick was infernally clever, deceiving far more than it ever told the truth. Four had already died trying to carry out this task, three never even returning from the mountain. Were their bones scattered down there in the icy water? "I can't join you," she said. "I will drown. Come up here and dance with me."

  Down here I have many fine rooms. Come into the water and I will sustain you.

  "How can I believe you," she said, "when the others all died?"

  The first did not ask for my help. He did drown.

  Well, she had not spent all day climbing up from the valley just to give up now. Removing her scabbard, she laid it aside and pulled her boots off. Then she waded into the water up to her knees. It was so cold, it stole her breath away. "It's freezing," she said, her teeth already chattering. "I will die from the chill."

  Then I will warm you.

  The water heated then until several minutes later the little wavelets steamed like a newly drawn bath. It was glorious against her chilled feet. "Did you do this for the others?"

  Not for the second. He did not ask.

  That accounted for two of the deaths. She shivered at the thought.

  Are you still cold?

  "No," she said, then summoning all her courage, plunged into the deliciously warm water. It closed around her like the embrace of a lover as she dove down, down, toward the spinning white presence. She could hear eerie singing now, the notes off-kilter from any music she had ever encountered. They insinuated themselves into her bones, vibrated behind her eyes, hummed through her marrow. She felt her center shifting as something vital within her changed. Hands outstretched, she made herself keep diving though her lungs craved air and black dots obscured her vision. When she must inhale or die, she headed back to the surface, eyes aching, lungs bursting.

  Do you not mean to dance with me?

  She clawed her way upward, but far too slowly.

  Something hot grasped her ankle and pulled her back down into the depths.

  Sparks raced through her body, replaced her blood so that she was filled with fire. Saelil fought to free herself but it had been so long since her last breath.

  She flailed, but more weakly now. Aerit, damn his eyes, this was his fault. She never should have let him goad her so.

  The living fire drew her into its burning arms. Breathe, little one, it said.

  If I do, I will die! Saelil thought.

  Perhaps, it said. If you have not the courage to try.

  She opened her mouth to protest that she had faced down every challenge so far in her life—and warmth rushed in, not water, nor air, something—else—that tingled into her lungs, then surged throughout her body, bringing a heady feeling of tremendous well-being.

  The white fire that clasped her close laughed. Multicolored sparks tingled over her skin.

  She gazed down at her hands; they glowed. "This cannot be!"

  Then you have danced with a star before?

  Saelil saw the star turning and turning there beneath the blue water in an endless dance. It was twice the height of the tallest man Saelil had ever known with a beautiful narrow face and sleek horns that twined about one another. Its eyes were almond-shaped and so bright, she felt them burned into her sight even after she turned away.

  "I—" she began, but then could not remember what she had meant to say.

  Dance! cried the star. It spun Saelil, and then the two of them whirled like tops, side by side beneath the water.

  For hours, for days, for years, they spun. It might well have been longer, or only a heartbeat. Saelil could not tell. She could feel its star thoughts, too bright to look upon, too hot to touch, and so exotic, so far beyond the surface world, a human had no way to interpret them.

  She threw out her arms, then pulled them close again. "Why did you come here?" she said as they spun.

  Why not?

  It was a difficult question. Why not indeed? She considered that for another age, and all the while, fire crept through her body, replacing blood, bone, and sinew. "Because," she said. "Because you had the sky itself before."

  Those dark silent reaches? The star swept its arm outward and then she saw that they were in a sumptuous room filled with cushions and rugs and lushly padded divans, draperies and scrolls, books scattered about.

  "What is this place?" she asked.

  The star abandoned its spinning dance and strolled through the great room, running bright fingers over the fabrics. Whatever you want it to be. Already your mind gives it shape.

  It was far richer than the Kalip's palace, more ornate than any domicile she had ever encountered in her years of escorting and protecting caravans for the wealthy. "My mind?"

  In the sky, I had no need of such, it said. There is only dark silence in the reaches that separate my brethren and me, and the blaze of our own substance. It turned back to regard her with fiery eyes. Down here, your minds create for me.

  A man walked into the vast room, gazing about, clothed in fine garments of living light. He was not a star, though, but human.

  "Who are you?" she said.

  "Argelio," he said.

  The third man sent on the Kalip's errand who had never returned, she thought. "What are you still doing here?"

  He blinked as though just waking up from a heavy sleep. "I don't know."

  "This is not your place," she said. "You must go back to the world of men."

  Argelio turned away from her and the star. "Why?"

  "Why not?" Saelil settled upon a velvet divan, saw a bowl of golden pears on a nearby table and picked one up. The fruit glimmered round and plump in her hand. She could feel the enticing warmth of it surge up her arm.

  "I like it here," Argelio said.

  "Didn't you have family," she said, "a wife, children, perhaps, a sweetheart?"

  "A wife," he said, as though trying the words out, "children, yes, I had those."

  "Then you should go home to them," she said.

  He gazed down at his hands as though he'd never seen them before. They were outlined in pure coruscating light that flashed purple, green, gold. His head cocked to one side. He turned his palms up, examining them. "Why?"

  He is mine now, the star said. He no longer thinks upon his former life.

  She would be the same, if she lingered here much longer. She dropped the pear onto the bright carpet and stood. It rolled, then disappeared in a shower of sparks. "I need you to come back with me."

  I bide here under the water.

  "But there is so much to see out in the wide world," she said. "You're missing it all hiding down here."

  On the surface, there is wind, the star said. There is rain, sometimes ice and snow, rocks and twigs, dirt and sand, ants and worms. Here, I shape my vast halls to please myself.

  "The Kalip's daughter wishes the pleasure of your exalted company," she said. "Surely Argelio explained."

  What are that paltry human child's wishes compared to mine?

  "They say the Kalip's palace is magnificent," Saelil said, "much more so than this ta
wdry collection of junk." She knocked the bowl of golden pears over. They spilled to the carpet and fizzed into nothingness. "Nothing here is real anyway." She pulled a sumptuous throw off a divan and tore it in two. The fabric crackled into bright nothingness.

  She reached for another, but Argelio seized her wrist. "Don't."

  "Why not?" She twisted but could not free herself.

  "It doesn't like it." His eyes glimmered with reflected fire.

  He was more than half star himself, she realized. "Who cares what it likes?" she said. "It isn't human."

  "It is immortal," he said, thrusting her back onto the divan. "Our lives are no more than a gust of wind to it."

  "All the more reason not to cower down here!" She broke free of his grip and turned back to the star's beautiful and indifferent face.

  You no longer amuse me, the star said. Go.

  "I didn't come here to amuse you," she said.

  It intensified so that its brightness overwhelmed. Her eyes burned and she could open them but a crack. Hands out, she flailed until she found a chair and sat down.

  You came to steal my fire.

  "I came to persuade you to go on a great adventure," she said. "Aren't you tired of skulking down here in the mud at the bottom of this stupid lake? Once, you had the freedom of the skies themselves. Now, you're only a banked fire, spinning down here in the dark until you go out."

  The star crossed the room and seized her hand so that sparks jumped from its inhuman flesh to hers. Her arm was outlined in living fire that tingled as though her muscles had been cramped since birth and only now were coming back to life. It brightened, brightened, then flashed and was—gone.

  There, it said inside her head. Now, go to the Kalip's daughter.

  Her lungs warmed, her heart, her eyes. The scene around her heightened, as though she were seeing colors in their true shades for the first time. She breathed deeply and the air-that-was-not-air seemed saturated with honey.

  Argelio gazed at her with eyes of red/blue/orange flame. "Go!"

  She rose, but then—

  Hadn't there been a fourth man sent on this wretched errand? A man who returned and burned into ashes at the Kalip's feet, raving about fire?

  He stared at her, waiting.

  "I can't go, can I?" she said. "Not and survive."

  "Then stay," Argelio said and turned away.

  Dwell here under the water, her veins crawling with sweet fire, her ears filled with star music? It was a fate not altogether terrible, but her brothers and their families remained at risk back in the city of Quernon, hostage to the Kalip's displeasure. The faces of her nieces and nephews rose in her mind. The Kalip never made idle threats. She and the rest of the country had good cause to know that.

  "I have to go back," she said, struggling to throw off the allure of the celestial music.

  Argelio threw his arms out and spun. His features were changing, she saw, his eyes elongating, his ears growing, his skin crawling with living motes of light.

  She caught hold of his arm. "Stop that!"

  He only pulled her into his exhilarating spin. His simple musical thread wove through the richness down here under the water and it was so intoxicating. Once again, she lost herself, and for another age, she... spun.

  Inside her, the star whirled in a riotous dance of its own, so warm, so lovely, she could think of nothing else but how to protect it so that they would never be apart.

  I am not yours, it said. I belong to no one but myself.

  "I will make you mine!" Saelil said.

  You cannot.

  The music ebbed, faded, until she was left alone in the icy blue water. The vast finely appointed rooms shivered into nothingness. The furniture burst into bubbles that rose over her head, bound for the lake's surface. The water's chill resurged.

  But in her heart, the white-hot star still whirled.

  Water pushed at her face, trickled down her nose, then flooded into her lungs, and she was drowning. Flailing, choking, she struggled upward. But her arms and legs were so heavy and the water pressed down on her. It was too far, too far, she thought, but finally, gagging and sputtering, broke through to the surface.

  The sky above was pinpricked with stars. Mountain wind howled against the rocky peaks which silhouetted black against the deep-blue of the night. Shivering, coughing, Saelil crawled onto the chill rocks, dripping icy water, and collapsed.

  Wherever she looked, beams of light illuminated the darkness. The cold rocks, wet from the water she had shed, steamed in their wake. She rolled over on her back. "Star," she said, laying a hand on her breast which was warm despite her dunking in the frigid lake, "what is wrong with my eyes?"

  They are mine now, it said. I will use them as I please.

  A wet stalk of bracken burst into oily flames. Saelil hastily covered her eyes with her hands. "You will burn me up!" she said, remembering the fate of the fourth man sent to fetch back a star.

  Perhaps, it said, if you are not strong enough to contain me. Few are.

  She was still shivering, though her skin and leggings had already dried. Opening her eyes but a crack, Saelil pulled on her boots, fumbled with outstretched hands for her cloak and sword.

  Then she turned her face downhill. She'd left her pinto mare tethered far below, but she had not the slightest idea of how long she'd been submerged in the lake. It could have been only minutes or it could have been years. Her mare might be a pile of bleached, picked-over bones by now, or some enterprising stranger might have come upon her and taken the beast for his own.

  Ah, well, she could but go down and find out. Using only her right eye, and that one but barely slitted open, she began to clamber back over the tumbled rocks, feeling her path more than seeing.

  Not that way, the star said.

  "But that's how I came," she said. "It's the way home."

  For mere flesh, perhaps.

  "I am mere flesh," she said.

  For the moment, you are more.

  "You are born of heavenly fire," Saelil said as the chill mountain wind buffeted her face, blowing her off-balance. "I am only the human where you have decided to take up residence—and uninvited residence, I might add!"

  You came to take a star back to the Kalip's daughter, it said. This is the only way.

  "You will burn me up!" Saelil said.

  Very likely, the star said, unless you find a way to prevent such.

  And if she did not, Saelil thought, the Kalip would still take revenge on her family because, from the time he had been very young, not getting all that he desired had never been an option. She had to find a way to deliver the star without losing her own life.

  Now, the star said, we shall walk between.

  "Between what?"

  Everything.

  Light surged behind her eyes. Even though she closed them reflexively, colors filled her head, reds as hot as newly kindled flame, blues as gelid as the heart of a glacier, greens as fresh as newly sprouted grass, yellows as fierce as the gaze of the naked sun, purples dark and heavy with mystery.

  Walk, the star said.

  "But—" she said.

  Walk! The way is now open.

  She opened her eyes. The mountainside had disappeared and all she could see was the blaze of pure twisting bands of color surrounding her. "What is this?"

  The other side of existence.

  "Where did all these colors come from?" she asked.

  They are all the colors inside the heart of a star.

  Saelil took a tentative step, wading into a river of gold that frothed against her skin. She tasted rum on the back of her throat, smelled baking bread and just-cut peaches.

  That way, the star said, leads back up into the sky to my fiercest brother, the Sun himself, who would surely crisp the skin from your fragile bones with only an instant of his attention. Try again.

  The blues writhed before her, deepest midnight, the frosty pale blue of mountain ice, restless sea-blue, and the intense blue of a cloudless sky. B
ending down, she trailed her fingers in each shade as though testing the water of streams. Midnight felt eerily cold, the chill seeping instantly into her marrow, while sea-blue smelled of salt and fish. Pale ice-blue was sweet as though she'd bitten into a freshly baked apple tart, its coolness that of just fallen rain, and sky-blue—

  —was cool and warm and cold, all at the same time. She stepped forward and shivered, now filled with blue from head to toe. Sparrows fluttered in this blue, storms raged, wind blew, grasshoppers darted, sun shone.

  Think of where you wish to go.

  The palace, she thought. The Kalip's daughter. She walked forward, stepping where there should be raw granite, but finding something else, soft and springy.

  She took a few steps, then heard faint weeping and turned her head, seeing only blue, blue, blue on every side. "Who is that?"

  The weeping grew louder.

  Almost there, said the star.

  Six more steps and then the blue frothed away like water disappearing down a drain. Her eyes felt dangerously hot. Shuddering, she closed them to mere slits to contain the star's deadly fire. Turning her head, she saw that she stood in a finely appointed chamber, full of rich imported red and green and gold carpets, lushly upholstered divans, urns filled with freshly cut lilies, cages alive with finches.

  A golden haired girl of about fifteen years lay on one of the divans, sobbing into a pillow.

  "Why do you weep?" Saelil asked, crossing the room.

  The girl looked up, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Who are you?"

  "Saelil," she said. "Are you Linana, the Kalip's daughter?"

  "Would that I were not!" the girl cried, then buried her face once more in the pillow.

  "I have brought the star you asked of your father," Saelil said. She touched the damp pillow and it burst into flames.

  Inside her breast, the star laughed.

  Linana gasped, then beat the pillow against the divan until the fire was out. Her reddened eyes turned to Saelil. "Where is it?"

  "Here." Saelil gestured at her chest. Flames leapt behind her eyes and she closed them tightly. Her blood seemed to boil in her veins. She was so very hot!

  "You should have brought it in a pot," Linana said. "Does my father hire no one but idiots? Now you'll just burn up like the last one. You might as well take it, and yourself, away."