Child of Flame

  “You believe none of it,” said Sanglant softly.

  Henry sipped at his wine, then spun the empty cup in his fingers as he contemplated his son in the same manner he might a rebellious young lord. “How can I believe such an outrageous story? I am regnant. We had this discussion before. If you wish my forgiveness, you must ask for it. But you know what obligations your duty to me entails.”

  “Then I will look elsewhere for support.”

  The words struck the assembly like lightning.

  Villam stepped forward. “Prince Sanglant, I beg of you, do not speak rash words—”

  “I do not speak rashly,” said Sanglant harshly. “You have not seen what I have seen. You do not understand Anne’s power nor her ruthlessness.”

  “What do you mean, brother?” asked Theophanu. She had distanced herself so completely from Rosvita after the escape from St. Ekatarina’s that Rosvita could no longer even guess what might be going on in her mind. “If your words and the words of your mother are true, then it would appear to me that this woman, Anne, seeks to protect Earth from the Aoi. Why, then, would you act against her unless you have thrown in your lot with your mother’s people? This might all be a diversion to aid them.”

  Blessing woke up crying. She struggled in Heribert’s arms, but she wasn’t reaching for her father. She was reaching for the middle of the room, tiny arms pumping and face screwed up with frustration.

  “Ma! Ma!” she cried, wriggling and reaching so that Heribert could barely keep hold of her as she squirmed.

  The air took on form.

  Mist congealed at the center of the chamber, in the space ringed by the hanging lamps. Like a window being unshuttered, pale tendrils of mist acted as a frame. Rosvita staggered, made dizzy by this abrupt displacement of what she knew and understood while all around her the people in the room leaped backward or fled into the other chamber, sobbing in fright. Adelheid rose to her feet. Henry remained seated, but his hand tightened on one of the dragon heads carved into the armrests of his chair.

  “Ma!” cried the baby.

  There came a voice in answer, faint and so far off that it might have been a dream.

  “Blessing!” Changing, made hoarser by pain or sorrow, that disembodied voice spoke again. “Sanglant!”

  Sanglant leaped forward. “Liath!” he cried.

  Alia grabbed him by the elbow and jerked him back, hard. Her strength was amazing: Sanglant, who stood a good head and a half taller than her, actually staggered backward.

  Blessing twisted out of Heribert’s arms. Henry cried out a warning as she fell, and Sanglant flung himself toward the baby, but he was too far away to catch her.

  But some thing was already under her.

  Blessing sank into folds of air that took on a womanlike form, a female with a sensuous mouth, sharp cheekbones, a regal nose, a broad and intelligent forehead, and a thick fall of hair. She was not a human woman but a woman formed out of air, as fluid as water, made of no earthly substance. A veil of mist concealed her womanly parts, but she was otherwise unclothed, and she had the ample breasts of a nursing woman. In her arms, Blessing calmed immediately, and she turned her head to nurse at that unworldly breast.

  Henry’s face whitened in shock as he rose. “What obscenity is this? What manner of creature nurses the child?”

  Sanglant stationed himself protectively in front of the creature. “Liath was too ill to nurse her after the birth. Blessing wouldn’t even take goat’s milk. She would have died if it had not been for Jerna.”

  “What is it?” murmured Theophanu. Her ladies, clustered behind her, looked frightened and disgusted, but Theophanu merely regarded the scene with narrowed eyes and a fierce frown.

  Everyone backed away except Heribert. Adelheid’s hands twitched, and she leaned forward, quite in contrast to Theophanu’s disapproving reserve, to stare at the nursing aetherical with lips parted. Hathui remained stoically behind Henry’s chair.

  “It is a daimone, I believe,” said Rosvita. Fortunatus, at her back, whistled under his breath. He had not deserted her. “One of the elementals who exists in the aether, in the upper spheres.”

  “Do such creatures have souls?” asked Adelheid.

  “The ancient writers believed they did not,” murmured Rosvita reflexively. A collective gasp burst from the people pressed back against the far walls. No one spoke. The baby suckled noisily as everyone stared. Ai, Lady! What manner of nourishment did it imbibe from a soulless daimone?

  “It is true, then.” The mask of stone crashed down to conceal Henry’s true feelings. “You have been bewitched, Sanglant, as Judith and her son said. You are not master of your own thoughts or actions. Lavastine was laid under a spell by Biscop Antonia. Now you are a pawn in the hands of the sorcerer who stole you from me. Where is Liathano? What does she want?”

  “I pray you, Your Majesty,” cried Rosvita, stepping forward. She knew where such accusations would lead. “Let us make no judgment in haste! Let a council be convened, so that those best educated in these matters can consider the situation with cool heads and wise hearts.”

  “As they did in Autun?” replied Sanglant with a bitter grimace. He eased Blessing out of the grip of the daimone. The baby protested vigorously, got hold of one of his fingers, and proceeded to suck on it while she stared up at his face. The daimone uncurled herself; Rosvita knew no other way to explain it—the creature simply uncurled into the air and vanished from sight. Just like that.

  With a deep breath to steady himself, Henry took a step back and sat. “I will call a council when we reach Darre. Let the skopos herself preside over this matter.”

  “You expect me to bide quietly at your side?” demanded Sanglant.

  “Once you would have done what I asked, Son.”

  “But I am not what I was. You no longer understand what I have become. Nor do you trust me. I have never abandoned this kingdom, nor will I now. I know what needs to be done, and if you will not support me, then I will find those who will act before it is too late.”

  “Is this rebellion, Sanglant?”

  “I pray you,” began Rosvita, stepping forward to place herself between the two men, because she could see the cataclysm coming, the irresistible force dashing itself against the immovable object.

  “Nay, Sister,” said Henry, “do not come between us.” She had no choice but to fall silent. She saw in the king certain signs of helplessness before the son he had loved above all his other children, the way his lips quirked unbidden, the tightness of his left hand on the throne’s armrest, his right foot tapping on the ground in a rapid staccato. “Let him answer the question.”

  Sanglant had never been a man to let words get in the way of actions. “Heribert!” He gathered his daughter more tightly against him and strode to the door with Heribert following obediently at his heels. At the door, he turned to regard his sister. “Theo?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, Sanglant. You do not know what I have witnessed. I will not follow you.”

  “You will in the end,” he said softly, “because I know what is coming.” His gaze flicked over the others, resting briefly on Rosvita, but to her he only gave a swift and gentle smile. “Counsel wisely, Sister,” he said in a low voice. He bowed toward Adelheid, and left.

  The lamps swayed. One of the lamps blew out abruptly, with a mocking hwa of air, like a blown breath, and an instant later a second flame shuddered and then was extinguished. All was still.

  If not quiet. Everyone began whispering at once.

  “I pray you,” said Henry in a voice so stretched that it seemed ready to break.

  They gave him silence.

  “You do not go with him,” observed Henry to Alia. She stood by the door that led into the gardens.

  She smiled, not a reassuring expression. Lifting a hand, she murmured something under her breath and gestured. At once, the two doused lamps caught flame. As the folk in the room started nervously at this display of magic, she smiled again in that collected
way a cat preens itself after catching a particularly fat and juicy mouse.

  “He is young and hot-tempered. What I am not understanding is why you are not listening to me, Henri. Is so much knowledge lost to humankind that you refuse to believe me? Do you truly not remember what happened in the long-ago days? I come as—what would you say?—walking as an emissary, from my people to yours. To tell you that many of us are wanting peace, and not wanting war.”

  “Where are your people? Where have they been hiding?”

  She gave a sharp exhalation of disappointment. “I am offering you an alliance now, when you are in a position of strength. Many among our council argued against this, but because I gave of my essence to make the child, I was choosing to come now and they could not be stopping me. I was choosing to give you this chance.” She walked to the door and paused by the threshold. “But when I appear before you next, Henri, you will be weak.”

  She walked out of the chamber. No one tried to stop her.

  There came then a long silence. Fortunatus brushed a hand against Rosvita’s elbow. From somewhere beyond the garden, she heard a woman’s laugh, incongruous because of its careless pleasure. The lamplit glow made the chamber like the work of an ancient sculptor, every statue wrought in wood or ivory at the artisan’s pleasure:

  There sat the regnant with his dark eyes raging in a face as still as untouched water. There stood the queen whose high color could be seen in the golden light of burning lamps. The old lord rubs habitually at the empty sleeve of his tunic, as though at any moment a breath of sorcery will fill it again with his lost arm. The princess has turned away, ivory face in profile, jewels glittering at her neck, and a hand on the shoulder of one of her ladies, caught in the act of whispering a confidence.

  The King’s Eagle had folded her arms across her chest and she seemed thoughtful more than shocked, as was every other soul. As were they all, all but Henry, whose anger had congealed into the cold fury of a winter’s storm. St. Thecla went her rounds on the tapestries, caught forever in the cycle of her life and martyrdom, an ever-present reminder of the glory of the Word. Villam coughed.

  The king rose. He glanced at his Eagle and made a small but significant gesture. The Eagle nodded as easily as if he had spoken out loud, then left the chamber on an unknown errand.

  “I will to my bed.” Henry took two strides toward one of the inner doors before he paused and turned back toward Adelheid, but the young queen did not move immediately to follow him.

  “Do you believe it to be an impossible story, Sister Rosvita?” she asked.

  At first, Rosvita thought she had forgotten how to talk. Her thoughts scattered wildly before she herded them in. “I would need more evidence. Truly, it is hard to believe.”

  “That does not mean it cannot be true.” Adelheid glanced toward the garden. The cool wind of an autumn night curled into the room, making Rosvita shudder. What if it brought another daimone? “We have seen strange sights, Sister Rosvita. How is this any stranger than what we have ourselves witnessed?” She beckoned to her ladies and followed Henry into the far chamber.

  “You have won Queen Adelheid’s loyalty,” said Theophanu to Rosvita. “But at what cost? And for what purpose?”

  “Your Highness!”

  Theophanu did not answer. She retreated with her ladies into the chamber where they had been playing chess, and where beds and pallets were now being set up for their comfort.

  How had it come to this?

  “Do not trouble yourself, Sister,” whispered Fortunatus at her back. “I do not think Princess Theophanu’s anger at you will last forever. She suffers from the worm of jealousy. It has always gnawed at her.”

  “What do you mean, Brother?”

  “Do you not think so?” he replied, surprised at her reaction. “Nay, perhaps I am wrong. Certainly you are wiser than I am, Sister.”

  Servants and guards dispersed to their places, but Villam lingered and, at last, came forward, indicating that he wished to speak to Rosvita in complete privacy. Fortunatus moved away discreetly to oversee the night’s preparations.

  “Do you believe their story?” Villam asked her. The lamplight scoured the wrinkles from his face so that he resembled more than ever his younger self, hale and vigorous and handsome enough to attract a woman’s gaze for more reason than his title and his estates. Hadn’t she looked at him so, when she had been a very young woman come to court for the first time and dazzled by its splendors? In her life, few men had tempted her in this manner, for God had always kept a steadying hand on her passions, and Villam respected God, and the church, and a firm ‘No.’ They had shared a mutual respect for many years.

  “I cannot dismiss it out of hand, Villam. Yet it seems too impossible to believe outright.”

  “You are not one to take fancies lightly, Sister, nor do you succumb to any least rumor. What will you advise the king?”

  “I will advise the king not to act rashly,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Villam, is it possible you can go now and speak to Prince Sanglant?”

  “I will try.” He left.

  The king’s particular circle of clerics, stewards, and servingfolk had the right to sleep in his chambers, and Rosvita herself had a pallet at her disposal. Despite this comfortable bed, she spent a restless night troubled by dreams.

  A pregnant woman wearing a cloak of feathers and the features of an Aoi queen sat on a stone seat carved in the likeness of an eagle. Behind her, a golden wheel thrummed, spinning her into a cavern whose walls dripped with ice. Villam’s lost son Berthold slept in a cradle of jewels, surrounded by six attendants whose youthful faces bore the peaceful expression known to those angels who have at last seen God. But the golden calm draped over their repose was shattered when a ragged band of soldiers blundered into their resting hall, calling out in fear and wonder. Ai, God, did one of those frightened men have Ivar’s face? Or was it Amabilia, after all, come to visit her again?

  Amabilia was dead. Yet how could it be that she could still hear her voice?

  “Sister, I pray you, wake up.”

  Fortunatus bent over her. A faint light limned the unshuttered window and open door that led out into the garden. Birds trilled their morning song.

  Soldiers had come to wake the king. Henry emerged from his bedchamber with a sleepy expression. He was barefoot. A servingman fussed behind him, offering him a belt for his hastily thrown on tunic.

  “Your Majesty! Prince Sanglant just rode out of the palace grounds with more than fifty men-at-arms and servants in attendance. He took the road toward Bederbor, Duke Conrad’s fortress.”

  Henry blinked, then glanced at Helmut Villam, who at that moment walked into the room. “Did no one make any effort to stop him?”

  The sergeant merely shrugged helplessly, but Villam stepped forward. “I spoke to him.”

  “And?”

  Villam shook his head. “I advise you to let it rest for now.”

  “Bring me my horse,” said Henry.

  Before the others could rouse, he was off. Rosvita made haste to follow him, and she reached the stables just in time to commandeer a mule and ride after him. Besides a guard of a dozen soldiers, he rode alone except for Hathui, whom he engaged in a private conversation. When Rosvita caught up with the group, he glanced her way but let her accompany him without comment.

  At first, she thought he meant to pursue his son, but once past the palace gates they took a different track, one that led past the monastery and into the forest, down a narrow track still lush with summer’s growth.

  The path wound through the forest. Alder wood spread around them, leaves turning to silver as the autumn nights chilled them. A network of streams punctuated the thick vegetation, low-lying willow and prickly dewberry amid tussocks of woundwort and grassy sedge. A rabbit bounded away under the cover of dogwood half shed of its leaves. The hooves of the horses made a muffled sound on the loamy track. Through a gap in the branches, she saw a buzzard circling above the treetops.

>   The track gave out abruptly in a meadow marked by a low rise where a solemn parade of hewn stones lay at odd angles, listing right or left depending on the density of the soil. One had fallen over, but the main group remained more or less intact.

  “Here?” asked Henry.

  “This far.” Hathui indicated the stone circle. “She went in. She did not come out, nor have I seen any evidence she walked through the stones and on into the forest beyond. There isn’t a path, nothing but a deer track that’s mostly overgrown.”

  He beckoned to Rosvita. “Your company passed through one of these gateways, Sister. Could it not be that the Aoi have hidden themselves in some distant corner of Earth, biding their time?”

  “It could be, Your Majesty. But with what manner of sorcery I cannot know.”

  “Yet there remain mathematici among us,” he mused, “who may serve us as one did Adelheid.”

  She shuddered, drawing in a breath to warn him against sorcery, but he turned away, so she did not speak. Light spread slowly over the meadow, waking its shadows to the day, and these rays crept up and over the king until he was wholly illuminated. The sun crowned him with its glory as he stared at the silent circle of ancient stones. A breeze stirred his hair, and his horse stamped once, tossed its head, and flicked an ear at a bothersome fly. He waited there, silent and watchful, while Hathui made a final circuit of the stones.

  “What news of the mountains?” he asked as the Eagle came up beside him at last.

  “Most reports agree that the passes are still clear. It’s been unseasonably warm, and there is little snow on the peaks. If God will it, we will have another month of fair weather. Enough to get through the mountains.”

  On the ride back he sang, inviting the soldiers to join in. Afterward, he spoke to them of their families and their last campaign. At the stables, a steward was waiting to direct him to the chapel where Adelheid, Theophanu, and their retinues knelt at prayer.