It was not that Rapture was unworthy. She was, objectively, the equal of Orb. She was a Princess, as Orb was not, but Orb was self-assured, as Rapture was not. Orb could stand alone by day and by night; Rapture was forever vulnerable. That was a mark against her. What man wanted a totally dependent woman?
He became aware of something else. He focused on it, and realized that it was Rapture's suppressed thought. She was trying to shield it, to prevent him from reading it—and that made him curious.
THREE TIMES YOU HAVE FAILED ME!
Mym saw another head upon a spike, and this time there was no doubt about its identity. It was Rapture's.
He leaped up and charged to her suite. She was there, sitting naked on the bed, a knife at her breast. Now the muffled thought was clear to him. She was about to kill herself!
"No!" he cried. "You must not!" He ran across and grabbed her hand just as the sharp point touched her flesh. A streak appeared, as she fought to complete the act.
He forced her arm away, outward, but she clung to the knife with the strength of desperation. "Three times I have failed!" she cried.
They fell to the bed, his left arm against her right, fighting for the knife. His face banged into her bosom, and he tasted the blood.
Then a storm formed within him, as the blood brought on the berserker madness, bereft of his conscious control. He squeezed her wrist, causing the knife to fall away, and clutched her to him as the storm hurled them both into a chaos of passion.
The madness spread to her own being, for they were inextricably linked in emotion as well as body. Her lips drew back from her pearly teeth and her eyes slitted. Something like the whine of a chained killer-animal sounded in her throat. Her jaws parted, and those strong teeth snapped at his shoulder. In a moment she had drawn his blood and tasted it. Reddish froth bubbled between her teeth.
Then the storm intensified in their minds as their bodies strove against each other. Never before had Mym fought another berserker. Her strength and speed matched his, and her rage matched his. Whirling funnels developed, gouging out segments of the atmosphere, their ferocious winds screaming like banshees. His funnel advanced on hers, and hers met it eagerly, and the two danced about each other, seeking devastation.
Then the two aspects of the storm charged together, while his teeth and hers attacked their physical targets. Their snarling mouths met and struggled for purchase, but could find none. Locked together, tooth against tooth, nullified, they paused. Now their tongues sought battle, wrestling against each other. The two storm-funnels merged, and their winds formed into an overlapping pattern, doubling the force.
The coursing winds expanded, forming a larger funnel, a larger eye, bringing a new kind of order to the chaos of the storm. Steadily the air became organized into a huge circular pattern, savage in its force. And steadily their mouths, gnashing against each other, modified into a different kind of contact.
In this whirling intensity and stasis the thoughts that were the most focused aspects of their feelings and experience were stripped of their clothing of qualification, and stretched out in full view before being dissipated. I expected a tough, callous, overbearing brute, who would ravish my body but never touch my soul, she thought involuntarily.
And I expected a cold, aloof woman who would never risk her heart, he thought.
Their lips were softening into a sustained, deep kiss.
Or an inconsequential courtier type, of no practical use, perhaps more interested in young boys than in genuine women.
Or a seductress, set to vamp any man regardless of his merit—a concubine in the likeness of a princess.
The kiss intensified, and their bodies slowly relaxed against each other.
But I found a decent and caring man, who tried to treat me with courtesy, though he loved elsewhere.
And I found a woman who was competent and beautiful by day and vulnerable by night.
I could have despised the brute or ignored the courtier.
I could have ignored the aloof or used the seductress.
And so she had discovered in him a man she could genuinely respect. But because of that, she did not wish to corrupt him. He had another love; she would not attempt to interfere with that, despite her mandate from her father. But her good intention was subverted by her female nature. When he protected her at night, she came to appreciate him more than she wished. Unable to prevent the development of what she strove to avoid, she had finally set out to solve the problem in the only way possible.
That is why I have to die, her thought concluded. It is the only decent thing to do. I could not face my father, after failing him for the third time, but I could not allow myself to corrupt you.
And he had discovered in her a woman the equal of the one he loved, and one he might have loved had he met her first. But because he did love another, he had no right to compromise this one. He had exerted his discipline to act with propriety, despite the devices of the Castle. When she had required protection at night, he had done what was required—and no more.
But I could not allow you to die, his thought concluded. That was no decent thing to do.
And so their dilemma was upon them, for both knew that if she did not die, she would corrupt him. The ambience of the Castle made that inevitable.
He did not like that term, "corrupt."
And even if you did not love elsewhere, I would not be worthy of you, she thought. The one you love is strong, while I am weak.
She is strong, while you are weak, he agreed.
Therefore I must be sacrificed, that you may return to her.
But Orb, he realized, could survive without him—because she was strong. A woman like her could have any man she chose. She had blessed him with her love and done more for him than any woman before had done—but she did not truly need him. While Rapture could not, at this stage, survive without him.
So let me die! she pleaded.
Rapture loved him; this could no longer be concealed. So she chose to die, solving her problem and his. She had never sought the selfish way that would bring her the praise of her grim father; she had never tried to capture him, despite her emotion and her need of him.
He considered her, while their bodies remained locked in the kiss and their emotions swirled in a monstrous pattern about them. Rapture was the perfect woman, except for her single great weakness, her dependence on him. She was terrified of being alone. Yet she had had the courage to do what she felt necessary—to abolish her own life, to free him. This had been no pretense, no play for sympathy; she had made her decision and sought to implement it. He was assured of this, for no false thoughts were possible here. The courage she lacked for herself, she had risen to in her effort to protect him.
It is already too late, he realized.
I would be dead now, if you had not prevented me! You would have been safe from corruption.
I prevented it because I was already corrupted. Then he laughed, mentally, at the irony of the term.
Even now, let me go and you will be free! she persisted.
How can I be free by letting you die—when I love you?
Like startled birds, her thoughts and emotions swirled, finding no anchorage. But I am weak where she is strong!
Therefore you need me more than she does. No woman ever truly needed me before.
But this made no sense, she protested. No one would choose another to love because of a weakness!
No woman would, he agreed. But a man—desires a dependent woman. Whatever he might say to the contrary. A man wanted his woman all to himself. It wasn't nice, it wasn't generous, but that was what he most truly desired—when his illusions were stripped away. A lovely, talented, and completely dependent woman.
And while her confusion swirled about them, he shifted his body, encountering no resistance, and took her in the manner they both desired. The storm intensified, obliterating all else, carrying them both into the rapture of their passion, the physical expression of their love.
Then they emerged into the center of the storm—and it was completely calm, a region very like nirvana. For a thousand years they floated there, gently sharing their unbound love. The intense ecstasy of the breakthrough had become the enduring pleasure of complete acceptance, physical, emotional, and mental, and the latter was more wonderful than the former. Then it was morning.
They spent the remainder of the month as true honeymooners, going hand in hand by day, sharing a bed by night. They shared thoughts, coming to know all the details of each other's existences. They agreed that they would be married as soon as was feasible, but would keep company in the interim. It had been a desperation measure of the two Rajahs, sending them unwed to the Honeymoon Castle, because of course it guaranteed that the bride would not be virginal—but this was, after all, the twentieth century, and the rulers of nations did what they deemed expedient, regardless of the ancient proprieties. A contraceptive spell would keep Rapture from becoming prematurely pregnant; that would suffice.
"But Orb," she inquired, concerned. "What of her?"
"I gave her my magic serpent-ring," he sang. "It always informs its user of the truth, if asked. I have no doubt she knew of my defection long before I did. She had only to ask it 'Will Mym return?' and it would squeeze twice. Two years have passed; she may already have found another man. I sincerely regret putting her through this business, but she knows that I loved her when I was taken from her, that I intended to return to her, but was prevented."
"By another love," Rapture said pensively.
"That I would prefer to spare her—but surely she knew it also, if she wanted to. My respect and feeling for her has not really been changed; it has merely been superseded. But I think it will be best if I do not see her again."
"Perhaps I should see her, to explain—"
"No. She knows—if she wants to. We must leave her to her own life, which will surely be a rich one. With the ring, she may be able to find the Llano, the song she sought; that much, at least, I may have done for her."
"If you are sure—"
"You fought to protect her, to avoid diverting my love from her," he reminded her. "You meant to kill yourself. But it happened anyway, because you are what you are, and I am what I am, and the Castle is what it is. We have a new reality, and I would not change it now if I had the power."
"Still I feel guilt—"
"And I feel it when you feel it. But I think it will pass."
And by the time the month was done, it had passed.
Chapter 5 - SWORD
A single carpet arrived, but it was capacious enough to support them both. They boarded, drew closed the curtain, and made love again while it carried them back to one Kingdom or the other.
It turned out to be Gujarat, and the Rajah was waiting.
Mym got out and held out his hand to assist Rapture. She had had to reassemble herself rather hastily, but looked stunning nevertheless.
"Sire, I accept this woman, the Princess Rapture of Malachite, as my betrothed," Mym sang formally. "She alone will I marry."
The Rajah nodded with glacial satisfaction. "It shall be arranged."
The arrangements proceeded. In the interim, Rapture was an honored guest at the Rajah's palace at Ahmadabad. Nominally she slept alone; in practice she joined Mym. Of course the palace staff knew, and therefore so did the Rajah; it hardly mattered, since this was exactly the commitment the Rajah wanted. The two Kingdoms were now engaged in the complex negotiations for the precise size and nature of the dowry, but it was certain that in the end a suitable contract of marriage would be drawn up. In the interim, Gujarat and Maharastra were allied, and this well served the political interests of both. Mym plunged into the business of the Kingdom, for with his commitment to the betrothal had come his participation in contemporary matters. He would be the next Rajah and he had only three years to gain some solid experience. He talked in singsong, to avoid the stutter, and if any person thought that was funny, that person concealed his opinion most carefully, for the Rajah had issued a notice that any person caught making light of any other person's manner of speaking would be summarily beheaded. On the first day Mym had gone out, a man had laughed at a comment made by another, probably on some unrelated subject; the cavalrymen had charged into the crowd, knocking down those who failed to scurry clear, and lopped off the laugher's head—and that of his companion for good measure. Now no one found any subject the slightest bit humorous while Prince Pride was in the area.
Gujarat was not in ideal shape. There was a great deal of poverty, and some starvation in the nether castes. The problems were dual; a bad drought in the central region that had disrupted the rice harvest; and overpopulation along the coast. It would have been difficult to feed all those people if the harvest had been good; as it was, it was impossible.
Mym floated his royal carpet to the most distressed region. There he saw people spread out on the ground, having no place to go and no ability to work. Officers of the Kingdom were dispensing soup, but it was thin and insufficient; it only extended lives, without reversing the course. The distribution was being done in a fair and orderly manner; there simply was not enough soup to do the job.
Mym thought of the two years he had spent confined to the palace. He had been served the rarest delicacies, which he had not appreciated, and all his servants and concubines had been excellently fed. Now he cursed himself for his selfish neglect of the Kingdom, where the present situation had been developing. Had he done his duty earlier and been on the job where he belonged, he might well have been able to accomplish some amelioration of misery. How many good citizens had starved to death, while Mym had taunted his father with his refusal to do his duty?
As he stood surveying the ugly situation, he saw a figure walking among the dying. He signaled a minister, who hurried forward. "Who is that man?" Mym inquired.
The minister looked, but was baffled. "Prince, whom do you mean? I see none but the dying on their pallets."
"That man in the ebony-black cape," Mym sang.
The minister gazed again, his brow furrowed. "I see no such man."
Mym had had enough of this. He strode forward, the minister scurrying after him. He approached the caped figure, who was leaning over one of the pallets. "You!" he called in his fashion. "Identify yourself!"
The figure ignored him. Angry at this contempt, Mym confronted him face to face. "Speak, or suffer the consequence!" he sang.
Slowly the figure raised his head. Under the cowl, the face took form. It was emaciated beyond belief, a virtual skull, the eyes sunken and the teeth protruding. "You perceive me?" the strange man asked.
Mym was taken aback. This was obviously no ordinary person! "Of course I see you! I want to know who you are and what business you have here!"
The hollow eyes seemed to focus more specifically on him. The mouth-orifice opened. "I am Famine."
"Famine!" Mym exclaimed. "What kind of a name is that?"
"The name of my office."
"Office?" Mym demanded. He turned to the minister. "What do you know of this?"
The minister looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Prince Heir, certainly there is famine. This is why we are here. I confess I do not understand your reference to an office."
"The office this man who calls himself Famine refers to!" Mym sang angrily.
The discomfort intensified. "My Lord, I see no man."
"Th-th-this one h-here!" Mym exclaimed, forgetting to sing. He reached out to touch the gaunt finger, not caring that the man was probably casteless.
His hand passed through the figure, encountering no resistance.
Mym paused, taking stock. "You are an apparition?" he asked Famine.
"I am the Incarnation of Famine, the associate of War, on a temporary mission for Death," the figure said.
"And no one else can see you?"
"I do not know why you can see me," Famine confessed. "Normally no mortal can perceive an Incarnation, unless he has intimate business with that Incarnation." br />
"Well, I am concerned about the starvation occurring here," Mym sang. "I need to ascertain the extent of the problem and decide how best to alleviate it. Do you have advice on that?"
"Feed your people," Famine said, with a grisly grin. "How? We have neither food nor sufficient distribution facilities."
"I do not give advice; I merely invoke the consequence."
"Well, put me through to your superior, then," Mym sang, angrily, while the minister backed surreptitiously away, deeming him crazy.
Famine made some kind of magical gesture, "I have summoned Thanatos," he said. Then he faded, until there was nothing to see.
Mym glanced about and saw the minister retreating. "Hold!" he snapped, and the minister, still greatly ill at ease, paused. "I have just spoken with the Incarnation of Famine and am about to speak with the Incarnation of Death. You will remain."
"As my lord wishes," the minister said nervously. It was evident that he would have preferred to be anywhere but here.
There was a flurry in the sky, and a figure appeared. Quickly it approached. It was a beautiful pale horse, galloping through the air without benefit of wings, bearing a cloaked rider. The horse drew to a halt before Mym, snorting vapor, and the rider dismounted.
If Famine had been gaunt, Thanatos was completely skeletal. His bone-fingered hand extended. "Greetings, Prince," the skullface said.
Mym took the hand. The bones were bare but firm. "Greetings, Thanatos. Um—would it be too much to ask that you make yourself visible to the minister, here? He thinks I'm hallucinating."
Thanatos turned to the minister. "Greetings, Minister," he said.
The minister's mouth sagged open. "G-G-Gre—" he began.
"Try singing it," Mym suggested in singsong.
Thanatos faced again toward Mym. "My associate asked me to speak with you."
"I am concerned with the suffering here," Mym sang. "I want to alleviate it, but am bound about by circumstances I can not adequately control. I thought that, since you have an interest in this matter, you might proffer advice."