'Val? Are you all right?'
Master Juwain's voice brought me back to his comfortable room high in the Adami tower. I bowed my head to him, then asked if I could borrow his copy of the
Saganom Elu.
It took me only a moment to flip through its pages and find the passage I was seeking. I read it aloud word by word, even though I knew it by heart:
'"If men look upon the stars and see only cinders, if the sun should be seen to set in the east - if a man comes forth in falseness as the Shining One concealing darkness in his heart, if he claims the Lightstone for his own, then he shall become a new Red Dragon, only mightier and more terrible. Then red will burn black and all colors die; the heavens' lights will be veiled as if by smoke, and the sun will rise no more."'
I closed the book and gave it back to him. I said, 'I must know, sir. If I am truly this one who shines, I must know.'
We returned to the table to rejoin Maram and my grandmother. Master Juwain made us more tea, which we sat drinking as the sun fell behind the mountains and twilight stole across the world. Master Juwain reasserted his wish that I might come forth as Maitreya in sight of the emissaries who had assembled in my father's castle; it was why, he said, he had hurried home to Mesh. As much as I might need to know if I were really the Lord of Light foreseen in the prophecies, the world needed to be told of this miracle even more.
At last, as it grew dark and the hour deepened into full night, I went over to the window one last time. The sky was now almost clear. The dying of the sun had revealed the stars that always blazed there, against the immense black vault of the heavens. The constellations that my grandfather had first named for me many years before shimmered like ancient signposts: the Great Bear, the Archer, the Dragon, with its sinuous form and two great, red stars for eyes. I searched a long time in these glittering arrays for any certainty that I was the one whom Master Juwain hoped me to be. I did not find it. There was only light and stars, infinite in number and nearly as old as time. Then Maram came up to me and clapped me on the shoulder.
'It's time for the feast my friend. You
might
very well be this Maitreya, but you're a man first and you have to eat.'
We walked back across the room, where I helped my grandmother out of her chair and took her arm in mine. Then we all went down to the great hall to take food and wine with many others and view the wonder of the Lightstone.
T
he great hall adjoined the cattle's keep where my father and most of his guests resided. By the time we had gone outside and made our way through the dark middle ward, post the Tower of the Moon and the Tower of the Earth, and entered the hall through its great southern doors, it was almost full of people. Brothers from the sanctuary near Silvassu stood wearing their brown robes and drinking apple cider in place of wine or heer; nobles from Alonia gathered In a group next to their table. I immediately recognized Count Dario Narmada, King Kiritan's cousin and the chief of his emissaries. With his flaming red hair and bright blue tunic emblazoned with the gold caduceus of the House Narmada, he was hard to miss. In this large room, opening out beneath its vaulted ceiling of stone, were many Valari: simple warriors and knights as well as great princes and even kings. Lord Issur, son of King Hadaru of Ishka, seemed to be discussing something of great importance with a tall man who displayed many battle ribbons in his long, gray hair and great longing on his much scarred face. This was King Kurshan of Lagash, whose ferocious coun tenance hid a kind and faithful heart. I knew that he had journeyed to Mesh to make a marriage for his daughter, Chandria - and to stand before the Lightstone like everyone else.
On a long dais at the north end of the room, beneath a wall hung with a black banner showing the swan and stars of the House of Elahad, was an ancient white granite pedestal. On top of it sat a plain, golden cup. It was small enough to fit the palm of a man's hand; indeed, it had been my hand that had placed it there some months before. At first glance, it did not seem an impressive thing. No gem adorned it. No handles were welded onto its sides, not did it rest upon a long and gracefully shaped base, as with a chalice. It did not, except at rare momenta even radiate much light. But its beauty stole away the breath, and in its golden shimmer was something lovely that drew the eye and called to the soul. Not a few of those gathered in the hall were staring at it with tears streaming down their cheeks. Even the older and hardest of warriors seemed to melt in its presence, like winter's ice beneath the warm spring sun.
Standing to either side of the pedestal were fifteen knights, each of whom wore a long sword at his side, even as did I. They wore as well suits of mail like my own; to the various blazons on their surcoats had been added a unique mark of cadence: a small, golden cup. For these were thirty of the Guardians of the Lightstone who had sworn to die in its defense. I had chosen them - and seventy others not presently on duty - from among the finest knights of Mesh. They, too, seemed in awe of that which they protected. Their noble faces, I thought, had been touched by the Lightstone's splendor, and their bright, black eyes remained ever watchful, ever awake, ever aware.
Before we had crossed ten paces into the hall, a stout, handsome woman wearing a black gown came up to us, with her dark eyes fixed on Maram. He presented her as Dasha Ambar, Lord Ambar's widow. After bowing to my grandmother, she smiled at Maram and asked, 'Will we go riding tomorrow, Sar Maram?'
'Tomorrow?' Maram said, glancing about the hall as he began to sweat. 'Ah, tomorrow is Moonday, my lady. Why don't we wait until Eaday, when we've recovered from the feast?'
'Very well,' Dasha said. 'In the morning or the afternoon?'
'Ah, I must tell you that the morning, for me, quite often
begins
in the afternoon.'
Dasha smiled at this, as did my grandmother and I. Then Dasha excused herself and moved off toward the throng of knights who had gathered around Lord Tomavar's table.
'You're playing a dangerous game,' I told Maram as his eyes drank in Dasha's voluptuous form.
'What am I to do?' Maram said, turning toward me. 'Your Valari women are so beautiful, so bold. The widows especially. And there are so many of them.'
'Just be careful that Lord Harsha doesn't make Behira a widow before you even have the chance to marry her.'
'All right, all right,' Maram muttered. He gazed across the hall toward the Lightstone as if hoping its radiance might bestow upon him fidelity and other virtues. Then he seemed to forget his resolve as he looked away and said, 'But
someone
must console these poor women!'
Again, my grandmother smiled, and she told Maram, 'When the Ishkans made
me
a widow, it was not possible for me to marry again. But had it been, it would have been my wish to marry for love, not just for my husband's renown.'
'Then you are different from your countrywomen, my lady.'
'No, not so different, Sar Maram,' My grandmother turned her sight less eyes toward his face. Her smile radiated warmth. 'Perhaps in you they hope to find both.'
'Do you see?' Maram said to me as he held his hands toward the ceiling. 'Even in your own grandmother, this damn Valari boldness!'
We all had a good laugh at this, my grandmother especially. She let go of my arm and took Maram's as if grateful for his strength. And strong he truly was, growing more so by the day. Now that he wore in his silver ring the two diamonds of a Valari knight, he was obliged to practise with his sword at least once each day. His body, I thought, was a sort of compromise between this fierce discipline and self-indulgence: the layers of fat, which fooled the undiscerning, covered great mounds of muscle and battle-tempered bone. There was about him a growing certainty of his prowess and physical splendor, and this attracted women like flowers to the sun.
Just then Jasmina Ashur, who had lost her husband in the war against Waas, espied Maram and hurried over to him. She was graceful and slender as a stem, barely eighteen, and her adoring eyes fell upon Maram with an almost smothering desire. After greeting us, she began discussing with Maram the poetry-writing session he had promised her.
'Someone,' she told Maram, 'must put the account of your quest to verse. Since you are too modest to hoist your own banner.'
'Ah,' Maram said, the blood rushing to his face, 'I
am
too modest, aren't I?'
'Yes, you are. Even so, the world needs to be told of your feats, before others make free with your story.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well I overheard Count Dario claiming that you are really Alonian.'
'Why, that's not true! My grandmother was the daughter of the old Baron Monteer of Iviendenhall before King Kiritan's father conquered it and added it to his realm. Does that make me Alonian?'
'They're saying other things, too. About the Maitreya.'
Maram fell silent as my grandmother squeezed his arm and Master Juwain looked at me. Then Master Juwain rubbed the back of his bald head and asked Jasmina, 'And what are they saying about the Shining One?'
'That he has almost certainly been found. In a village near Adavam. They say that he's the son of a blacksmith and has made miracles: healing the blind and turning lead into gold.'
Adavam, I remembered, lay only fifty miles from Tria, and was clearly within the bounds of Old Alonia.
'But have these miracles been verified?' Master Juwain asked. 'In Galda, before it fell, came stories of a shepherd removing growths from people's bodies with his bare hands. We sent Brother Alexander to investigate. It turned out that the shepherd was showing his poor patients sheep offal through sleight of hand.'
Jasmina grimaced as if such trickery disgusted her. Then she said, 'Who can trust the Galdans? Or the Alonians? It seems to me more likely that the Maitreya would be one of those who found the Lightstone.'
Here she smiled at Maram, and again his face flushed bright red. He coughed out, 'No, no - I'm not Maitreya! Do diamonds bleed? Can you make a silk purse out of a sow's ear?'
'Only in Alonia,' Jasmina said with a little laugh. Then she bowed her head to me and laid her hand on my arm. 'But if not Sar Maram, then perhaps you, Lord Valashu. Many are saying this, that you were the first to touch the golden cup, and much of its light passed into you.'
Maram removed Jasmina's hand from my arm and stood holding her questing fingers in his. 'Val, the Maitreya? No, no - he can't be!'
'But why not?'
'Why, ah, because he just
can't'.
Maram paused to take a deep breath as he looked at me. 'The one you speak of, my lady, would be more like the wind than the mountains and rivers over which it blows. He would have fire in his veins, not blood. And it would be a cold fire, I think, like that of the stars. Too pure, too . . . evanescent. How could such a one ever bring himself to slay his enemies or love a woman? I've
seen
Val's blood, you know, too many times, too bad. It's as red and hot as mine.'
At that moment, Maram's face fell rigid, and he dropped Jasmina's hand as if it were a hot coal. I turned to see Lord Harsha and Behira enter the hall. They made their way straight toward us with surprising speed, considering the lameness of Lord Harsha's smashed leg, which caused him to limp badly. Despite his age, he was still straight and sturdy, and as hard as the rocks in the fields he still plowed with his own hands. A black eye patch stood out against the long white hair that flowed from his square head; his single eye, like a black diamond, gleamed at Maram, upon whom he advanced with his hand gripping the hilt of his kalama.
'Oh, no!' Maram muttered. And then, as Lord Harsha and his daughter drew up to us, Maram called out, 'Good evening, my lord. Behira, I've never seen you look so beautiful.'
Behira, who was as plump and pretty as a well-fed swan, was dressed in a white silk gown that failed to conceal her large breasts and even larger hips. Her raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders nearly down
to
her waist. Her oval face, usually quite pleasant to look at, was now marred by some of the darker passions. I knew her to be generous of heart and sweet as the honey that Maram loved, but she was also quite spirited, and there was within her more than a little of her father's steel, sharpened to a razor edge.
'Jasmina,' she said, 'has Maram invited you yet to our
wedding?
We were considering making vows at the end of Soal - what do you think?'
Valari women wield weapons only at times of life and death, but at that moment Behira's black eyes were daggers that tore Jasmina open. Jasmina allowed that Soal would indeed be a good month for marriage. Then she excused herself and moved off toward a table of young knights.
'Ah, Behira,' Maram said as she turned her cutting gaze on him. 'We were just discussing the Maitreya.' He coughed into his hand, twice, and then extended it toward Behira as if to present her to me. Then he said, 'Do you see, Val? Why should one look to the stars when there is such beauty on earth? Do you want heaven? Then I say you'd be more likely to find it in a woman's kiss - at least a woman such as my beloved.'
'Here now,' Lord Harsha said, moving forward between his daughter and Maram. 'We'll not speak
of that
until we've spoken of a date. What about Soal, Sar Maram?'
'Ah, Soal is a good month,' Maram said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. 'Of course, Ioj might be even better, with the aspen leaves going gold, or even Valte after the harvest is -'
'The question must be asked,' Lord Harsha said,
'are
you looking for a better match than my daughter?'
'No, no - of course not!'
'Then why all these flirtations of yours?'
'My
flirtations? Ah, Lord Harsha, you don't understand - it is they who flirt with me.'
'Well it must stop.' Lord Harsha was as blunt as a river stone 'Do you wish to wound my daughter's heart beyond all repair?'