He expected no more of Faraataa than he had of Dominin Barjazid. But he was Valentine still, and still he believed in the possibility of the triumph of love.
—Faraataa?
—You are a child, Valentine.
—Give yourself over to me in peace. Put aside your hatred, if you would be who you claim to be.
—Leave me, Valentine.
—I reach to you.
—No. No. No. No.
This time Valentine was prepared for the blasts of negation that came rolling like boulders toward him. He took the full force of Faraataa’s hatred and turned it aside, and offered in its place love, trust, faith, and had more hatred in return, implacable, unchanging, immovable.
—You give me no choice, Faraataa.
With a shrug Faraataa moved toward the altar on which the Metamorph queen lay bound. He raised high his dirk of polished wood.
“Deliamber?” Valentine said. “Carabella? Tisana? Sleet?”
They took hold of him, grasping his hands, his arms, his shoulders. He felt their strength pouring into him. But even that was not enough. He called out across the world and found the Lady on her Isle, the new Lady, the mother of Hissune, and drew strength from her, and from his own mother the former Lady. And even that was not enough. But in that instant he went elsewhere. “Tunigorn! Stasilame! Help me!” They joined him. He found Zalzan Kayol. He found Asenhart. He found Ermanar. He found Lisamon. Not enough. Not enough. One more: “Hissune? Come, you also, Hissune. Give me your strength. Give me your boldness.”
—I am here, your majesty.
Yes. Yes. It would be possible now. He heard once more the words of old Aximaan Threysz: You will save us by doing that which you think is impossible for you to do. Yes. It would be possible now.
Faraataa!
A single blast like the sound of a great trumpet traveled out from Valentine across the world to Piurifayne. It made the journey in the smallest part of a moment and found its target, which was not Faraataa but rather the hatred within Faraataa, the blind, wrathful, unyielding passion to avenge, destroy, obliterate, expunge. It found it and expunged it, draining it from Faraataa in one irresistible draught. Valentine drank all that blazing rage into himself, and absorbed it, and took from it its power, and discarded it. And Faraataa was left empty.
For a moment his arm still rose high above his head, the muscles still tense and poised, the weapon still aimed at the Danipiur’s heart. Then from Faraataa came the sound of a silent scream, a sound without substance, an emptiness, a void. Still he stood upright, motionless, frozen. But he was empty: a shell, a husk. The dirk dropped from his lifeless fingers.
—Go, said Valentine. In the name of the Divine, go. Go! And Faraataa fell forward and did not move again.
All was silent. The world was terribly still. You will save us, said Aximaan Threysz, by doing that which you think is impossible for you to do. And he had not hesitated.
The voice of the water-king Maazmoorn came to him from far away:
—Have you made your journey, Valentine-brother?
—Yes. I have made my journey now.
Valentine opened his eyes. He put down the tooth, he took the circlet from his brow. He looked about him and saw the strange pale faces, the frightened eyes: Sleet, Carabella, Deliamber, Tisana.
“It is done now,” he said quietly. “The Danipiur will not be slain. No more monsters will be loosed upon us.”
“Valentine—”
He looked toward Carabella. “What is it, love?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m all right.” He felt very tired, he felt very strange. But—yes, he was all right. He had done what had to be done. There had been no choice. And it was done now.
To Sleet he said, “We are finished here. Make my farewells to Nitikkimal for me, and to the others of this place, and tell them that all will be well, that I promise it most solemnly. And then let us be on our way.”
“Onward to Dulorn?” Sleet asked.
The Pontifex smiled and shook his head. “No. Eastward. To Piurifayne, first, to meet with the Danipiur and Lord Hissune, and bring into being the new order of the world, now that this hatred has been thrust from it. And then it will be time to go home, Sleet. It will be time to go home!”
THEY HELD THE coronation ceremony outdoors, in the great grassy courtyard by Vildivar Close, where there was a fine view of the Ninety-Nine Steps and the uppermost reaches of the Castle. It was not usual to hold the ceremony anywhere but in the Confalume throne-room, but it was a long while since anyone had given much heed to what was usual; and the Pontifex Valentine had insisted that the ceremony take place outdoors. Who could gain-say the express wish of a Pontifex?
So they all had gathered, by the express wish of the Pontifex, under the sweet springtime sky of Castle Mount. The courtyard was lavishly decorated with flowering plants—the gardeners had brought in halatinga trees in bloom, miraculously potting them into huge tubs without disturbing their buds, and down both sides of the courtyard their crimson-and-gold flowers cast an almost luminescent glow. There were tanigales and alabandinas, caramangs and sefi-tongals, eldirons, pinninas, and dozens more, everything in full bloom. Valentine had given orders that there be flowers on all sides; and so there were flowers on all sides.
It was the custom, at a coronation ceremony, to arrange the Powers of the realm in a diamond-shaped pattern, if all four of them had been able to attend: the new Coronal at the head of the diamond, and the Pontifex facing him, and the Lady of the Isle to one side, and the King of Dreams to the other. But this coronation was different from all other coronation ceremonies that Majipoor had ever known, for this time there were five Powers, and a new configuration had had to be devised.
And so it was. Pontifex and Coronal stood side by side. To the right of the Coronal Lord Hissune there stood, some distance away, his mother Elsinome the Lady of the Isle. To the left of the Pontifex Valentine, at an equal distance, stood Minax Barjazid, the King of Dreams. And at the farthest end of the group, facing the other four, stood the Danipiur of Piurifayne, fifth and newest of the Powers of Majipoor.
All about them were their closest aides and counsellors, the high spokesman Sleet on one side of the Pontifex and the lady Carabella on the other, and Alsimir and Stimion flanking the Coronal, and a little cluster of hierarchs, Lorivade and Talinot Esulde and some others, about the Lady. The King of Dreams had brought his brothers Cristoph and Dominin, and the Danipiur was surrounded by a dozen Piurivars in shining silken robes, who clung close together as though they could not quite believe they were honored guests at a ceremony atop Castle Mount.
Farther out in the group were the princes and dukes, Thmgorn and Stasilaine and Divvis, Mirigant and Elzandir and all the rest, and delegates from the far lands, from Alaisor and Stoien and Piliplok and Ni-moya and Pidruid. And certain special guests, Nitikkimal of Prestimion Vale and Millilain of Khyntor and others like them whose lives had intersected that of the Pontifex in his journey across the world; and even that little red-faced man Sempeturn, pardoned now for his treason by his valor in the campaign in Piurifayne, who stared about in awe and wonder and again and again made the sign of the starburst toward Lord Hissune and the sign of the Pontifex toward Valentine, acts of homage that appeared to be uncontrollable in their frequency. And also there were certain people of the Labyrinth, childhood friends of the new Coronal, Vanimoon who had been almost a brother to the Coronal when they were boys, and Vanimoon’s slender almondeyed sister Shulaire, and Heulan, and Heulan’s three brothers, and some more, and they too stood stiffly, eyes wide, mouths agape.
There was the usual abundance of wine. There were the usual prayers. There were the usual hymns. There were the traditional speeches. But the ceremony was by no means even at its halfway point when the Pontifex Valentine held up his hand to indicate that he meant to speak.
“Friends—” he began.
At once there were whispers of astonishment. A Pontifex
addressing others—even Powers, even princes—as “friends”? How strange—how Valentine-like. . .
“Friends,” he said again, “Let me have just a few words now, and then I think you will very rarely hear from me thereafter, for this is Lord Hissune’s time, and this is Lord Hissune’s Castle, and I am not to be conspicuous here after today. I want only to give you my thanks for attending us here this day”—whispers again: did a Pontifex give thanks?—”and to bid you be joyful, not only today, but in all the time of reconciliation that now we enter. For on this day we confirm in office a Coronal who will govern you with wisdom and mercy for many years to come as our time of rebuilding this world goes forth; and we hail also as a new Power of the realm another monarch who was of late our enemy, and who will be our enemy no longer, the Divine willing, for now she and her people are welcomed into the mainstream of Majipoori life as equal partners. With good will on all sides, perhaps ancient wrongs can be redeemed and atonement can begin.”
He paused and took from a bearer a bowl brimming with glistening wine, and held it high.
“I am almost done. All that remains now is to ask the blessing of the Divine upon this festivity—and to ask, also, the blessing of our great brothers of the sea, with whom we share this world—at whose sufferance, perhaps, we inhabit a small part of this huge world—and with whom, at long last, we have entered into communion. They have been our salvation, in this time of making of peace and binding of wounds; they will be our guides, let us hope, in the time to come.
“And now—friends—we approach the moment in the coronation ceremony when the newly anointed Coronal dons the starburst crown and ascends the Confalume Throne. But of course we are not in the throne-room now. By my request: by my command. For I wished one last time this afternoon to breathe the good air of Castle Mount, and to feel the warm sun upon my skin. I leave this place tonight—my lady Carabella and I, and all these my good companions who have stayed by my side through so many years and so many strange adventures—we leave for the Labyrinth, where I mean to make my home. A wise old woman who is now dead said to me, when I was in a place far away called Prestimion Vale, that I must do that which I think is impossible for me to do, if we are to be saved—and so I did, because it was necessary for me to do it—and then I would have to do that which I least desired to do. And what is it I least desire to do? Why, I suppose it is to leave this place, and go down into the Labyrinth where a Pontifex must dwell. But I will do it. And not bitterly, not angrily. I do it and I rejoice in it: for I am Pontifex, and this Castle is mine no longer, and I will move onward, as was the intent of the Divine.” The Pontifex smiled, and gestured with the wine-bowl toward the Coronal, and toward the Lady, and toward the King of Dreams, and toward the Danipiur. And sipped the wine, and gave it to the lady Carabella to sip.
And said, “There are the Ninety-Nine Steps. Beyond them lies the innermost sanctuary of the Castle, where we must complete today’s rite; and then we will have our feast, and then my people and I will take our leave, for the journey to the Labyrinth is a lengthy one and I am eager to reach my home at last. Lord Hissune, will you lead us within? Will you lead us, Lord Hissune?”
About the Author
Robert Silverberg has won five Nebula Awards, four Hugo Awards, and the prestigious Prix Apollo. He is the author of more than one hundred science fiction and fantasy novels—including the best-selling Lord Valentine trilogy and the classics Dying Inside and A Time of Changes and more than sixty nonfiction works. Among the sixty-plus anthologies he has edited are Legends and Far Horizons, which contain original sort stories set in the most popular universe of Robert Jordan, Stephen King, Ursula K. Le Guin, Gregory Benford, Greg Bear, Orson Scott Card, and virtually every other bestselling fantasy an SF writer today. Mr. Silverberg's Majipoor Cycle, set on perhaps the grandest and greatest world ever imagined, is considered one of the jewels in the crown of speculative fiction.
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The Majipoor Chronicles
BY ROBERT SILVERBERG
Lord Valentine’s Castle
Majipoor Chronicles*
Valentine Pontifex
From HarperPrism
*coming soon
Credits
Cover illustration by Jim Burns
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
VALENTINE PONTIFEX. Copyright © 1983 by Agberg, Ltd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780061760389
First HarperPrism paperback printing: March 1996
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About the Publisher
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Contents
Dedication
Epigraph
Book I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Book II
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Book III
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Book IV
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Book V
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Map
Majipoor
Zimroel
Alhanroel
Castle Mount and Glayge Valley
Isle of Sleep
About the Author
The Majipoor Chronicles
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Robert Silverberg, Valentine Pontifex
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