Seven Kings

24

The sun blazed high above the azure sea. The Kingspear sat with sails furled, the Sword and Tree banner waving silver and scarlet above the wharves. The Mumbazan flagship had sailed out of the bay in early morning to rejoin the fleet. Undutu wished to consult with his admirals regarding Iardu’s visions. Khama the Feathered Serpent in his manly guise had accompanied the Mumbazan King as always. The Yaskathan flagship lingered foremost in the bay full of Khyrein vessels.

Tong had offered each visiting King a chamber in the shattered palace, yet none had accepted his hospitality. Something about those barbed towers still reeked of ancient depravity. D’zan remained quartered on the Kingspear, perhaps waiting for Sharadza there. He certainly had not sent anyone to summon her.

In the shape of a white gull she soared above the forest of ships’ masts, circling the bay in an effort to spot D’zan walking the decks of his ship. Behind the palace walls Tong worked tirelessly to restore order to his city and prepare a new army for the coming war. Iardu had lingered to assist the King of New Khyrei in his daunting task. Tyro still lay in his tent, lost in the grip of fever, and Vireon was nowhere to be found among Giants or Men. Perhaps he had braved the red jungle for a morning hunt. Yet it was D’zan she must find now. She must face her faithless husband one last time. She did not anticipate kind words and loving reconciliation. She wondered if he would speak to her at all.

D’zan strode across the Kingspear’s foredeck to stand beneath the rippling banner. He wore a shirt of silver mail and a crimson cloak bearing the royal insignia. The greatsword with its graven sun sigil hung across his back. His blond hair had grown longer and wilder since Sharadza had fled Yaskatha. A light beard had sprouted across his chin and jaws. He looked older, even from her lofty vantage point. He was no longer the boy who had stolen her heart; he had become a man she no longer recognized. He stared at the black city and the milling legions camped about its walls, then turned to survey the double fleet as if weighing these assembled forces against the host of Iardu’s vision. Now seemed as good a time as any to do what she needed to do.

She circled down to alight on the deck a few paces behind D’zan. When he turned at the sound of her flapping wings, she stood already in her human form. A simple gown of white silk hung upon her shoulders. Her feet were bare, as she had always preferred, comfortable against the warm wood of the deck. Her green eyes met his own. His had inherited that color when she and Iardu forged him a new body eight years ago. Except for those emerald orbs, so like her own, everything about him seemed changed. The smiling Prince had grown into a grim-faced King carrying all the worry of the world on his broad shoulders.

“Sharadza.” He greeted her with a nod. There was a time when the sound of her name on his lips weakened her knees and set butterflies loose in her stomach. Now it sounded like nothing less than a royal decree. “I have missed you.”

She wondered if that were true. “How fares your wife and child?” she asked. Immediately she regretted her biting tone.

“Cymetha is well,” he said. “And Theskalus-my son-will soon be born.”

She forced a smile. “Congratulations on your good fortune.”

He took a step nearer to her, still far enough away that she could not touch him.

“You look lovely,” he said.

She gazed eastward at the horizon dotted with white and golden warships. “The time for sweet words is past, D’zan. I’ve come to say goodbye.”

A look of shock spread across his face. “But… you are my Queen. I love you. She is only my Second Wife. Try to understand…”

“I have tried,” she said. “I do not belong in Yaskatha. The mother of your child should be your First Wife. I… will not be returning with you.”

He stared at the spreading mass of tents where laughing Giants waded carefully among Men and horses. “This would sadden me more if I believed any of us would be returning to Yaskatha. This Zyung may well be the end of us all.”

“Iardu and I will help however we can. There is still hope. You must believe this.”

“I suppose I do,” he sighed. “Or I would sail from here with all speed and never look back. Yet I’ve always found it best to confront one’s terrors instead of running from them.”

“Iardu has worked long and hard to make this unity of nations possible. It is the greatest weapon any of these kingdoms possesses.”

“Will you be the bride of Iardu, now?”

She laughed. He could be dense at times. “Of course not. He is as old as the hills.”

Older. Far older.

D’zan shrugged. “Love is blind, they say. Therefore it must be ageless as well.”

“I do not love Iardu,” she said. “Not in that way. He is… like a father to me.”

“Where will you go, Sharadza? Your home is with me. You will grow to accept the ways of Yaskatha. I promise you.”

She shook her head, dark locks whipping from side to side. “I will never accept sharing my husband with another woman.”

D’zan’s eyes fell to the polished boards of the deck. He offered no response.

“Iardu has offered me sanctuary on his island,” she said. “I will make a home there. At least for a while.”

“I do not like your decision,” he said. “Yet I must accept it. But know this: you can always come back. I will leave your chambers untouched.”

She gifted him with a warm smile. “You are most kind.”

“There is a war council tonight,” said D’zan. “Kings and wizards will form battle plans, calculate our strategies. None of us will sleep well until we do.”

“The world has reached a turning point,” she said. “Nothing will ever be the same, no matter what happens. Be brave, D’zan, as you have always been. Be strong, as I know you are. Remember that you have already conquered death. And call upon me when you need me.”

“I will do all of these things,” he said. She came forward and kissed his cheek. He grabbed her about the waist and pressed his lips against hers. One last moment of shared passion. She let it run through her body, explored his mailed back with her hands. She pulled away.

“Until tonight,” she said. It was far better than saying goodbye again. To do that would only force the welling tears from her eyes. “Farewell, King of Yaskatha.”

“Farewell, Sharadza.”

His eyes lingered on her as she shifted back into the gull’s shape and rose toward the pearly clouds. She flew toward the palace at the heart of the city, looking back once to see him staring after her with those unnatural green eyes.

She met Iardu on a high balcony overlooking the ashes of a palatial garden. Already palace attendants were shoveling the charred remains into buckets while gardeners planted new trees and vines in the dark soil. In a matter of months the splendor of the royal courtyards would be restored, and without those blood-hungry jungle plants so favored by Gammir and Ianthe. The Gardens of Tong would grow wholesome and verdant, a symbol of his reborn kingdom.

Iardu sat with a decanter of red wine overlooking the garden workers and the bustling streets beyond. Occasionally a great cheer rang across the city, the sound of another prisoner executed in the Court of Justice. She wondered how much of the killing here was truly just, and how much was simple vengeance. Yet it was not her place to condemn the long-suffering Khyreins for their actions. She had seen their plight from the inside out; she had participated in it while snared in the grip of Gammir’s will. Part of her longed to join the spectators and watch the last of Khyrei’s evil stamped out forever. Yet another part knew that these were only empty gestures. As long as Men had free will they would choose good or evil for themselves, and they would not always choose the former.

She dropped to the balcony and assumed her womanly shape once more. Iardu beckoned her into the empty chair beside his own. He poured a cup of the red vintage for her. Perhaps he sensed her uncertain mood, or perhaps he had seen her flying from D’zan’s ship. She took the cup and drank deeply. An Uurzian vintage, quite old. It must have come from a ship raided by Khyrein pirates. For a moment she wondered at the morality of drinking away such a purloined treasure, then she considered how ridiculous it would be to carry all the stolen wine in the vaults of Khyrei back to Uurz.

“How is D’zan?” Iardu asked.

“He is well,” she said. “Anticipating the joy of a strong son. Yaskatha will have its heir.”

Iardu turned from his city inspection to search the shadows of her face.

“You told him?”

“I did.”

“You will enjoy life on the island,” he said. “There is no more peaceful place in all the world.”

“Eyeni called you father…”

Iardu grinned briefly. “She is one of my many… singular creations. Beings too gentle to be tossed into the brutal world. They would not survive it. The island is their home as well.”

The sound of a cheering mob floated across the city. Another oppressor silenced forever.

“How much more do you know about this God-King?” she asked. “Have you known all along that he existed? Have you visited the other side of the world?”

“So many questions all at once. I have known Zyung since the time before recorded history. Yes, I have visited the other side, but it was long, long ago. Before he had even begun to build his empire. It was a wild and savage place then. As were all places in this world.”

“Gammir said Zyung was of the Old Breed. You told me I was of that same breed, as are you. How many more of the Old Breed still live?”

“All of them, I suppose,” said Iardu. “You must understand that the Old Breed are primal forces, entities from outside the world who chose long ago to make this place their home. In the early days we formed empires and religions, spawned lesser races to worship us and build monuments to our glory. All this I have already told you.

“Some of the Old Breed grew tired of ruling the world. Others fostered civilizations for ages, only for the joy of ultimately destroying them. Some fell into the world itself, becoming part of it, forgetting their true natures. There are several of these Dreaming Ones scattered across both halves of the world. Others continue to manipulate the affairs of Men and their nations. Ianthe was such a one, and you can be sure that she will return eventually. She was the worst of us all, entirely consumed by her own selfish appetites and worldly lusts. There can be no reaching an understanding with someone like her. She can only be confronted and defeated time after time. This is the pattern of her existence, which even she cannot change.

“You are descended from the Old Breed, as are all Giantkind. There are other races descended directly from us. And there are those of us who never forgot who we are, those who continue to strive and shape and guide this world to a place where we believe it needs to go. Khama and I have spent ages doing exactly that. Unlike me, Khama owes his allegiance to one people. He is the ancient guardian of the Mumbazans. That is his pattern. I take a broader view, moving freely among the nations. I tell stories, foster legends, and sometimes create them.”

“Like you did with Vod,” she said. “And now Tong.”

“I choose not to destroy but to build, to create, to define. That is my pattern.”

“What about Zyung? What is his pattern?”

Iardu looked once again toward the busy gardeners below, trying with all their skill to replace death with beauty. He poured another cup of wine and sipped at it before he answered.

“Dominance. Conformity. Order. Constancy. Zyung does not believe in free will. His empire is built upon the twin pillars of fear and obedience. Those who defy him are crushed without mercy. Only those who recognize his right to supremacy and their own place in his order are allowed to prosper. His is the pattern that drives all tyrants.”

“Most tyrants rule from fear,” she said. “Is there nothing this God-King fears?”

Iardu looked at the sky, as if searching for his next answer among a flock of birds winging toward the distant jungle.

“Perhaps the word ‘fear’ is not applicable to one such as Zyung,” he said. “What he desires above all is the peace of absolute order.”

“Peace?” She blinked. “He commands an army greater than any in history and seeks to conquer all free nations. How is this peace?”

“His absolutism knows no bounds,” said Iardu. “His empire stands strong in his image because he forged it with blood and iron. All those who oppose him are dead. There are no wars in his empire, no border conflicts, no piracy or rebellions. By uniting every kingdom beneath his banner of total control, he has driven war from his side of the world. There is only one monolithic kingdom, which bears his name and venerates his image. He deems his long work a success because of its vast imperial order. His people thrive until the moment they grow defiant; then they are chastened by his ruthless power.

“Do you see the paradox? Zyung has brought ultimate peace by denying the freedom of his people. He has slaughtered millions to achieve this, and he counts it as no great cost. Each succeeding generation becomes more obedient, as he pulls malcontents from his continental garden like weeds. Now there are no more weeds.”

Sharadza savored the tartness of the wine on her tongue.

“So Zyung believes he does what is best for all?”

“He does,” said Iardu.

“And he seeks to spread this ultimate peace across the rest of the world. No matter how many Men, Giants, or families he has to murder.”

“Now you understand,” said Iardu. “Only his ends matter. He cares nothing for individual lives. They are of no consequence to him.”

“Unlike you,” she said, “who fostered the development of the six kingdoms over the course of ages. Did you never think to conquer them all, like Zyung? To put an end to these wars?”

Iardu chuckled. “Of course I considered it. If I had listened to Zyung all those millennia go, I would have subjugated my half of the world in exactly the way he conquered his own. Then we would unite to form a perfect world. Or so he believed. Yet I rejected this theory.”

“Why?”

“All living things have the right to decide their own fate. I nudge them, guide them, whisper wisdom in their ears. Some listen, many do not. But ultimately the individual determines his own role in the universe. This is the essential joy of living, Sharadza, the infinite power of creative consciousness. Sorcerers tap into this more easily than most, but any living being can do the same. Most live their entire lives without realizing this. The ones that do are called wizards, saints, or heroes. To eliminate free will is to destroy the core nature of sentient beings. Zyung and I will never agree on this point.”

“So you must confront him, as surely as any of us,” she said. “Or bow to his absolute authority.”

“These are the choices before us.”

“Who is he, really?” she said. Already a spark of revelation had kindled within her.

“Have you not guessed?” Iardu said. “He is what Men would call my brother.”

Sharadza sat quiet while Iardu drank. It was not easy for him to admit such a secret. She considered its implications.

“You refused his offer a long time ago,” she said. “If you had not, the world I know would never have existed.”

“Perhaps…” His eyes gleamed like prisms; the blue flame on his chest guttered low.

“Ianthe…” She hesitated. “Is she also…”

“Yes,” he said. “All the Old Breed are brothers and sisters, as all Men and Giants are related by a common bloodline stretching back to the primordial mud. Yet unlike these mortal races, our spawning grounds were the gulfs between the stars.”

She sighed. “So you spend your life shaping the world in one direction, while Zyung spends his shaping it in the other. A final confrontation was inevitable.”

“Inevitable.” His voice echoed her word with a heaviness born of remorse. What a terrible weight he must bear, knowing that his own existence was the cause of the coming conflict. Would anything he built survive? Or would the endless legions of absolute control break the world apart and reshape it in Zyung’s image?

“You spoke of others from the Old Breed,” she said. “We must call them out, wake the Dreaming Ones, convince them to join us against Zyung.”

“We must try,” said Iardu with a sigh. “And soon.”

“After tonight’s war council?”

He nodded and drank. Sunlight gleamed on his silvery beard and hair. She could not imagine the true depth of his age, could not even attempt it. He must be older than the Four Gods themselves. She dared not ask him the truth about those intangible objects of Men’s worship, whether they were real or entirely imagined. She feared what he might reveal. As long as Men believed in Gods, they served their purpose. She chose to keep that part of her understanding untouched.

“What really happened to Ianthe when you stole her physical form?”

Iardu snapped his fingers. “Her spirit fled. Where I cannot say. It would have emerged in the high tower again if we had not destroyed it. So with Gammir.”

“When I held him in the grip of the living flames, Gammir said I had freed him.”

“So you did,” said Iardu. “You freed him to find another manifestation somewhere else in the world.”

“Have you any idea where they will find rebirth?”

He looked at her. “Can you not guess?”

“Can any of the Old Breed be destroyed?” she asked. “Forever?”

Iardu considered the question, rubbing his chin.

“Nothing in this universe is ever truly destroyed,” he said finally. “Matter and energy only exchange forms in the endless dance of Being and Nonbeing. What you consider death is simply… change. There is never truly an end.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means that I cannot answer your question.”

She sat alongside him on the balcony until they had finished the last of the wine.

Patterns.

Everything she knew, and everything she did not know.

All those who lived, and all those who had died.

All that existed now, and all that would ever be.

Patterns, all of them.

Combining and evolving into the Grand Pattern that was the cosmos itself. There was no distinction between the part and the whole. To be in the pattern was to be the pattern. All of these things Iardu had taught her.

Somewhere deep inside the pattern that was everything there lay an answer for her.

This was her duty: to seek and to find that answer, before the pattern itself crumbled, only to be replaced by a new one. If Zyung reshaped her world into his own image, would she even miss the old one? Or would the emerging pattern swallow her and everyone else into its ineffable weave?

Like Iardu, she had no answer. But perhaps questions mattered most.

Questions led to wisdom.

Or to death, which was itself a kind of wisdom.

The wisdom of change.