Hart's Hope Part 4

The Royal Progress She came to the mouth of Burring with her father's fleet of tall s.h.i.+ps. Palicrovol had a thousand singers meet her at the port. So perfect was their singing that the deafest sailor on the farthest s.h.i.+p heard all the words.

She was rowed up the river on the only galley that her father ever built, but the oarsmen were free, not slaves, and all of them wore robes of flowers. Every day of the voyage, a hundred women sat below deck, winding fresh flowers into new robes, so that every day the robes were new. And when she reached the great city Inwit, a thousand bags of flowers were released upstream, and all of Burring, from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, was a pond of petals for the coming of the Flower Princess.

Palicrovol himself met her at King's Gate, with the white-robed priests of G.o.d surrounding him, and white-robed virgins from the nunnery led the Flower Princess from her father's s.h.i.+p. Palicrovol knelt before her, and the carriage that met her began the Dance of Descent.

The Dance ended in the palace, in the Chamber of Answers, a room not opened for a century because it was too perfect to be used. Ivory and alabaster, amber and jade, marble and obsidian were the walls and floor and ceiling of the Chamber of Answers, and there the Flower Princess chose to wear her ring on the middle finger of the left hand, but high on the finger, to promise fecundity and faithfulness; and lo, of all miracles, Palicrovol also wore his ring on the middle finger of his right hand, high on the finger, to promise wors.h.i.+p and unwavering loyalty. The watching hundreds cheered.

And then an imperious woman walked out onto the floor, leading a grotesque black dwarf on a golden chain, and Enziquelvinisensee Evelvenin turned to face the woman, and the wedding was broken at that moment.

The User Used "I see," said the strange woman.

The dwarf piped up in a strange little song.

Ugly Bugly, Mercy Me, You are not as fair as she.

Palicrovol spoke from behind the Flower Princess. "Who are you? How did you get into the palace?"

"Who am I, Urubugala?" asked the strange woman.

"This lady is Beauty, the greatest of all the G.o.ds," said the dwarf. "First she chained the Hart at the root of the world. Then she captured the Sweet Sisters and trapped them into such comical bodies. Then she bent G.o.d and imprisoned him. And at last she came home to poor Sleeve, and undid him, undid him, undid him."

"Sleeve," said Palicrovol. "Came home to Sleeve."

"Do you know me, Palicrovol?" asked the strange woman.

"Asineth," he whispered.

"If you call me by that name, you do not know me yet," she said. Then she turned to the Flower Princess. "So you are what he loves best in all the world. I can see that you are beautiful."

Again the dwarf chanted in his strange voice.

Beauty is fair, Beauty is fair, But Beauty chose the wrong body to wear.

"I can see that you are beautiful," said the stranger, "and so it is only fitting that Beauty should have that face and form."

Enziquelvinisensee saw the woman change before her eyes, into a face that she knew and did not know. Knew because it was her own face. Did not know because it was not mirrored, as the Flower Princess had always seen it, but exactly as others had seen it. "This is what others have seen in me," she whispered.

"Do you wors.h.i.+p?" asked Beauty. "Am I not perfect, Flower Princess?"

But Enziquelvinisensee Evelvinin had taken a vow to tell only the truth, and she had none of her women beside her to lie for her, and so she destroyed herself by saying, "No, Lady. For you have filled my eyes with hate and triumph, and I have never felt such things in all my life."

Beauty's perfect nostrils flared a bit with rage, and then she smiled and said, "That is because you have lacked the proper teachers. So let me teach you, Flower Princess, as I was taught."

The Flower Princess did not feel a change, but she saw the watching people look at her and gasp and turn away. She was afraid of what had been done to her, and spun on her toes to face her husband, gracious Palicrovol, who loved her. But Palicrovol, too, was revolted at what he saw, and stepped back from her. It was only a moment, and then he came to her again, and held her close to him, but in that moment Enziquelvinisensee Evelvinin knew the truth: Palicrovol thought of her beauty as part of herself, just as everyone else did; he did not know her without her face. Yet she was comforted that he still embraced her, and that he spoke with courage against Beauty.

"Did you think I could be so easily deceived, Asineth?" he asked. "You may startle me, but my heart belongs to another heart, not to a face."

Beauty only smiled again. Suddenly the Flower Princess felt Palicrovol take her brutally by the waist and throw her from him onto the floor. She looked up at him in horror, and saw the anguish of his face as he cried out to her, "It wasn't I!" Then, though he tried to speak, he fell mute, but the Flower Princess had heard enough to understand. It was Beauty, it was Asineth who had used his arms to hurl her away.

"Lie on the floor, Weasel," said Beauty. "Lie on the floor, and see what your husband does when he finds a virgin body to despoil. Your Your body, Weasel. Too bad you won't be wearing it when your fine new husband takes his pleasure." At first Palicrovol moved jerkily, as Beauty learned to control his body. It cost her more power than anything else she did, to battle the King for control of his flesh and win-it was the rarest of the powerful acts she did. But she was clever, and soon learned to overmaster him. Then his body moved smoothly, and others forgot that Palicrovol did not act of his own free will. But the Flower Princess, now named Weasel, she knew truth as no other knew it, for her lips had never spoken a lie, and she remembered easily that Palicrovol acted with another will. Beauty had power, but not wisdom yet. At that time she was still a child, and thought vengeance would come at the price of a cheap and easy show. body, Weasel. Too bad you won't be wearing it when your fine new husband takes his pleasure." At first Palicrovol moved jerkily, as Beauty learned to control his body. It cost her more power than anything else she did, to battle the King for control of his flesh and win-it was the rarest of the powerful acts she did. But she was clever, and soon learned to overmaster him. Then his body moved smoothly, and others forgot that Palicrovol did not act of his own free will. But the Flower Princess, now named Weasel, she knew truth as no other knew it, for her lips had never spoken a lie, and she remembered easily that Palicrovol acted with another will. Beauty had power, but not wisdom yet. At that time she was still a child, and thought vengeance would come at the price of a cheap and easy show.

So Palicrovol's hands cut the clothing from Beauty's body, which was the body of the Flower Princess. And Palicrovol, act for act, ravished her as he had ravished Asineth two years before. Only this time he did not disdain her attempt at seductiveness. Now when the body of the Flower Princess moved so subtly for him, he cried out with the pleasure of it. Now when his arms lifted his body from her, he moaned in protest. Let it not be over, cried his flesh. Let it not finish. And as long as he looked at her naked before him, as long as he remembered the pleasure that her body and her power had given him, his body again and again convulsed in pleasure; even after his seed was spent, even after the pleasure had turned to agony, he writhed against the impossibility of having her, the memory of having her, the longing to have her forever.

"Kill her!" he cried, but his guards had long since fled.

"Help me," he whispered to Urubugala, but the dwarf only said a little rhyme: In the morning Heed no warning.

In the night, No respite.

"Weasel," said Queen Beauty, "you know how I was served. Tell me-is my vengeance just?"

"You were wronged," said the Flower Princess.

"Is my vengeance just?"

"You are just to take vengeance."

"But is my vengeance just?" Beauty smiled like the blessing of a saint.

"Only if you avenge yourself on those who harmed you, and only if your vengeance is equal to the wrong done you."

"Come now, I heard I could count on Weasel Sootmouth to tell the truth. I ask you a fourth time-am I just?"

"No," said the Flower Princess.

"Good," said Beauty. "I was unjustly treated, and unless my vengeance is monstrously unjust I won't be satisfied."

"I'm the one who wronged you," Palicrovol said. "Take your vengeance on me."

"But don't you see, Palicrovol, that it is part of my vengeance on you, that you know your woman and your friends suffer unjustly for your sake?"

Palicrovol bowed his head in helplessness.

"Look at me, Palicrovol," said Beauty.

Against his will he looked up and convulsed again in pa.s.sion for her.

"Here is my vengeance. I will not kill you, Palicrovol. I despise you even more than you despised me when I was weak. You may keep your army-as many as you want. Fill the world with your armies and bring them against me-I will vanquish them with a thought. You may keep your Antler Crown-I need no crown to rule here. You may govern all of Burland outside this city-I can overrule you any time I please. You will send me tribute, but not so much that it will harm the people-I do not have my father's greed. I will not undo your laws or your works. This city will still be called Inwit. The new temple you are building to your G.o.d may continue to rise. All the wors.h.i.+p they give your G.o.d will please me, for I also rule G.o.d. I will leave you everything except for this: you will never enter this city again while I am alive, and you will never be alone again while I am alive, and you will never know a moment of peace again while I am alive. And Palicrovol-I will live forever."

Urubugala somersaulted and sprawled on the floor between them. "There are limits on the life of a daughter and a wife!" he cried.

"I know that," Beauty said. "But when my power wanes, I will simply have another child. Next time, I think, a twelvemonth child. Find some wizards, Palicrovol. Have them study that that in their books. She laughed then, and compelled Palicrovol to gaze upon her, throwing him into paroxysms of rapture until he sprawled on the floor, exhausted and retching. in their books. She laughed then, and compelled Palicrovol to gaze upon her, throwing him into paroxysms of rapture until he sprawled on the floor, exhausted and retching.

As she laughed, a powerful-looking man strode boldly into the hall, carrying a sword and wearing heavy armor, though the helmet was cast away.

"Zymas, run!" cried Palicrovol.

"Oh, stay, Zymas," said Beauty. "Today would not have been complete without you."

Zymas did not pause to listen to either of them, just kept moving relentlessly toward Beauty, his sword rising above his head. He was nearly upon her, and they all knew a moment's hope that perhaps Zymas's direct action was the antidote to this sudden sickness that had come upon the world. But no. Suddenly his hair turned steel grey, his face went old and wrinkled, the sword dropped from gnarled, arthritic fingers, and he staggered feebly under the weight of the armor.

"Zymas, so bold, so brave, is dead," said Beauty. "In his place is the Captain of my palace guard. Craven, I call him. Craven, we all call him. Because he was such a coward that he was afraid of a woman."

Beauty looked around at those she had hated so long, and smiled. There was real beauty in her smile, and the Flower Princess knew that when the face had been her own, it had never worn such an expression of ecstasy. "Craven, Urubugala, and Weasel. My strength, my wit, and my fair face. I will keep you with me always, Captain, Fool, and Lady of Ladies. You will be the jewels of my crown. And outside Inwit, where he must forever dwell, will be Palicrovol, King of Burland, always remembering me, always longing for me. If he ever begins to feel sorry for himself, he can always remember you, you, and imagine what I do to and imagine what I do to you, you, and that will cheer him up immeasurably." She walked to the writhing Palicrovol and touched him gently on the flank. He cried out, he reached for her, and then he fell back witless. "Carry him out," said Beauty. And the guests who had watched the scene in helpless horror obeyed her, carried him out of the palace, out of the castle, out of Inwit through West Gate. and that will cheer him up immeasurably." She walked to the writhing Palicrovol and touched him gently on the flank. He cried out, he reached for her, and then he fell back witless. "Carry him out," said Beauty. And the guests who had watched the scene in helpless horror obeyed her, carried him out of the palace, out of the castle, out of Inwit through West Gate.

Outside the city waited a few of his bravest men, who dressed his naked body and carried him away. A nun was there, and she prophesied that the man who killed Beauty would enter through that same gate. Because of that, Beauty had the gate sealed up, never to be used again.

Within a remarkably short time, the city of Inwit was back to normal and better than normal. All the laws of Palicrovol remained in force, and all the freedoms he had granted remained intact. Beauty ruled gently enough in her city that the people did not mind the change of rulers. And her court became a dazzling place, which the kings of other nations loved to visit. They soon enough learned not to visit Palicrovol's court themselves, for they found that if they gave Palicrovol the honor due him as King of Burland, they would develop the most uncomfortable infections. So they had to send amba.s.sadors, who soon learned to revile Palicrovol whenever they spoke to him, in order to avoid the plagues that otherwise came upon them.

Beauty ruled in Inwit, and the exile of Palicrovol had begun. Yet as the years pa.s.sed, she knew that her vengeance was empty and incomplete. For with all her abuse, she did not change you, and she did not change your three captive friends. Our flesh she could alter, our lives she could fill with misery and shame, but we were still ourselves, and short of killing us she could not make us other than what we were. We remained always beyond her reach, even though she had us always within her grasp.

5.

The Captive King This is how a man may be a slave, though he is free to go all places in the world but one.

The Torments or Beauty Shall I catalogue the suffering of your exile for you, Palicrovol?

The foreign amba.s.sadors reviled you, or their bladders would burn when they urinated.

Your own soldiers spat when you came near, or they would be infested with lice.

No matter how the cooks labored, all food served to you was covered with mold, all drinks were filmed with slime.

You fenced yourself with wizards, to give you a few moments' respite now and then; Beauty tore away their feeble barriers whenever she chose, and whatever wizard helped you was incapable of coupling from that moment.

You called also upon the priests, even though G.o.d had lost all power and was silent in the world; the priests that comforted and honored you all developed huge goiters and tumescences on the head and neck.

For a week she would make you strain at stool, to no avail; then for another week she would give you dysentery, and open your bowels in public places, so that you were forced to diaper yourself out of courtesy to those who kept you company.

You awoke itching unbearably in the middle of the night. You froze in summer, could not bear clothing in winter because of the heat she forced on you. For days terrible dreams would waken you; then for weeks you would doze off even as you sat in judgment, or led meetings of your generals.

One of her worst tricks was to trade vision with you. She would look out of your eyes and see whatever was going on around you, and at the same time you would see whatever she saw within the palace. She did not do it in order to spy on you-she had her Sight, and could sense the whole Kingdom of Burland at will. She did it so that you would be forced to see Weasel being beaten for some offense or other; Craven feebly carrying some burden, or leaning on a serving boy; Urubugala cavorting before a laughing audience of baronets and scions of wealthy merchant families. Your friends, suffering for your sake, and you helpless to save them. So you fas.h.i.+oned golden cups and covered your eyes with them, so that no light could enter at all. That was how you came to be known by one of your names: the Man with the Golden Eyes. They also called you the Horned Man, the Man Who Cannot Be Alone, and the Husband of Far Beauty. And your people were not fooled: You might be Beauty's toy, but you were a good King, and they prospered and lived mostly free, and paid your slight taxes willingly enough, and submitted to your judgment with trust.

Yet, ironically, her plagues did you good as well as harm. You knew if a man stayed to serve you that he was not with you for pleasure or honor, or even because he pitied you or hated Queen Beauty. Those who stayed with you in those hard times, who lived closely with you, and were privy to your inmost thoughts-you knew that they served you either because they knew your heart and loved you or because they loved good government and endured you and the life they had to live with you for the sake of the people of Burland. You had a gift few kings are ever given-you could trust everyone near you.

That good was matched with evil. With bitter injustice, your very justice made it all the harder for you to raise and keep an army-for whose heart stirred to oust Beauty from Inwit, when things went so well for Burland as it was? Only adventurers came to your army, and the G.o.dsmen who hated her for silencing G.o.d, and the ne'er-do-wells who had no hope of any other trade. To fill your fifties and your regiments you had to conscript soldiers, which gave you an unwilling, weakish army, on the whole. It was enough to keep the enemies of Burland at bay, but rarely enough for you to hope to overcome the Queen herself.

And thus it was for days, for weeks, for years, for decades, for centuries. Your loyal followers would come to you and serve you, grow old, and die, but still you lived on, and Urubugala lived on, and Craven lived on, and Weasel lived on, for Beauty, broken as a child, could never grow straight however many years she lived: she would live forever exacting painstaking vengeance for a brief and unwilling cruelty so many years before.

Three times you brought your army to the gates of Inwit. Three times Queen Beauty let you hope for deliverance. And then she sent terror into the hearts of your soldiers, faced them with whatever they feared most in all the world, and all but the most resolute handful of them fled from your army, and you retreated from the city that you had won from her father so many years before, forced to begin again, ashamed again before the other nations of the world.

The Harts Hour After three centuries and more of exile, on a day when you wore the golden cups over your eyes, there came a vision to you. At first you thought it came from Beauty, but in only a moment you knew that it did not. You saw the Hart, the great s.h.a.ggy stag, the one that Zymas had seen. The eagle clung to his belly, holding closed the wound there. And the Hart stopped, and turned his heavy head to face you, and you saw that he wore an iron collar around his neck, and his hooves were also banded and chained, and he bade you follow him, and set him free.

I cannot, you said.

Come, he told you, though you heard no words.

It will do no good, you said. Beauty will see me, and thwart all my works.

Come, he said. For this hour, she sees not, and sees not that she sees not.

So you took the golden cups from your eyes, and walked forth from your camp into the forest, and armed with your bow you followed the tracks of a deer into the wood, and went where the deer chose to lead you.

It was all the power that the G.o.ds could muster, exercised for you that day in the woods not far from the town of Banningside. Did you not wonder why they led you where they led you, why you did what you did? Will you now kill what came from that hour? It was your salvation, Palicrovol. It was your only son.

6.

The Farmer's Wife Now the life of Orem Scanthips, the Little King, began this way: with a man following a hart through the wood; with a woman bathing at a stream.

She Was a Poet of All Things That Grew of Themselves Molly the farmer's wife had her six sons and didn't long for more. Six sons, three daughters: too many sons to divide the farm among them, too many daughters to marry them off with any sort of dowry. It was not a son she longed to make when she went that spring morning to her hidden place on the banks of the Banning. She went with a twist of magic in her fingers, so none could follow; but she was followed. Or rather, she was found.

It was a dark place, a still place, where the river ran narrow and deep and so swiftly that a twig was lost in an instant, so quietly that all songs were heard, all footfalls noted. The trees reached out over the water and met in a dense roof so that the sun did not dance upon the stream. It was cold here, even in the summer. A cave made of leaves and water, all the cold and terrible things of a woman: it was Molly's truest home, the place where she dared to call herself by her most secret name.

Bloom, she whispered, naming herself.

Hush, spoke the river in reply. Hush, for the end of your life is coming, following the traces of a deer.

The Pandering Hart A great grey hart stood across the stream from her. Molly knew him well, knew that in the hart and hind were magics beyond the reach of the silly farm women of Waterswatch. Beyond even her own reach, and she was the best of them. The blood of the Hart, they say, stains all the world. So she watched as the hart condescended to drink from the stream; watched as water fell silver from his mouth back to the river; watched as behind the great beast a hunter came, arrow nocked, bow down but ready to be drawn in an instant.

Do not dare to harm the horned head, she cried silently.

And, as if obedient to her utterance, the hunter stood and watched the deer drink, letting the nock slip from the string, letting the bow grow slack. No death today for the hundred-pointed head.

Molly studied the hunter as the hunter studied the hart. He was a strong-looking man. Not tall, and as dark as men of the west always were. He wore the deep green of the King-a soldier, then. But not like most soldiers, for Molly had never seen a slogger who had the wit to recognize the beauty of a deer; nor did she know any man at all who could fix his attention on one thing for such a long time. The man's eyes gleamed in the darkness of her green and silent cave. He was so still, and yet even slack his arms had power in them. Even silent, his lips commanded attention. And she knew, or thought she knew, or dreamed it even as it happened: she knew that this was no common soldier of the King. It was Palicrovol himself, yes, Palicrovol the Exile, the Husband of Far Beauty. No wonder, she thought, no wonder he stares with such longing at the hart. He wishes some G.o.d could be freed to bring him ease. Well, Queen Beauty, if you watch today, see how I bring him ease, thought Molly, thought fecund Daughter Bloom, for I will have this man, will have the life of him in me.

I am a chaste woman, a part of her cried out. And his children are born monsters.

But a part of her answered, with peace only the Sweet Sisters could bring, My children are not bom monsters, and a woman is not truly chaste if she refuses what man the Hart brings. Her womb, which had been so often full, cried out to be filled again. But this time, this time with a King's son, this time with the Hart's child.

"Man," she whispered. Such was the stillness of the place that he heard and yet was not afraid.

"Woman," he said, and his face showed cold amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Are you strong as this river?"

"Are you," he answered, "as deep?"