Dreams of the Compass Rose (33 page)

“
By the time Cireive was a young man, he was veiled in layers of only himself. And such solitude, such separation from the world, made him first bitter, then panicked and frightened like a fluttering caged bird, and then a thing somewhat mad. For he no longer heard the world around him, no longer heard pain or joy, and only the ringing inner silence. And, being thus deaf, he was more than anything vulnerable to illusion.

“
They say the Lord of Illusion took hold of him earlier than most. The Lord of Illusion spun a web of gentle comforting softness to fill in the emptiness and the fading memories, and to buffer him against the noise of silence. Then, from the embers of Cireive’s own memories, Illusion spun a new thread of brightly shining silver in place of the one that had been his mother’s song. And this thread connected Cireive not to the world but to things beyond and outside the universe, to the primeval dark that lies beyond the false wonder and veneer of Illusion—”

“
What an odd story . . .” Egiras interrupted suddenly.

Her words came low and jarring, and everyone surfaced out of the spell of the Tale. Annaelit paused mid-sentence, also thrown out of the rhythm she had created, and said, “It is actually a true story, my Lady. It happened to a real man, a very long time ago.”

“
That’s what you storytellers always say,” said Egiras. “All your stories are invariably true and all your heroes sympathetic and fallible—for, no matter how powerful they are, they are always weak in some sense, vulnerable to one thing or another, and fall into temptation, even though in the end they may redeem themselves and save the world. How mortally dull! I am in the mood to hear a different tale. I want no weakness. No human weakness, do you understand, girl? I am tired of such.”

“
But,” muttered Princess Makeia under her breath, “I would rather hear the end of this one.”

Annaelit bowed, and said, “What would you like to hear then, my Lady Egiras? I am afraid that most human tales deal with mortal weakness. Would you rather hear stories of gods?”

“
I would like,” said Egiras, staring away into the distance at a lamp casting a golden sphere of glow, “tales that spin bright visions not of things that have been but of things that might come to pass. And no, gods are dull also, in their omnipotence. Tell us instead a tale never heard before, not of human pain but of impossible wonder.”

“
And what is wonder, my Lady? And in what way does it differ from Illusion?” whispered Annaelit.

“
If you need ask, then you do not know it. What kind of a Teller of Tales are you? I’d thought better of you, girl.”

Annaelit smiled. “I ask you because wonder is a personal thing that is different for each of us. I would know
your
wonder, for this is your House, and it is to you that I will tell this tale.”

“
Ah, then you are a wise reader of souls after all, Teller of Tales. Very well. To me, wonder is that which I do not know and cannot know. Do you understand? It is something I can only just sense at the edge of my vision, something that pulls at me and gives me the urge to live, and which lies in the future ahead of us. And, unlike Illusion, wonder is a thing true.”

“
Wonder is your next breath, Egiras . . .” Nadir said unexpectedly. “And Illusion is this very breath that you take now.”

“
And what is that supposed to mean?” said the Princess, turning around to glance at the dark man with sudden intensity.

From Nadir came soft laughter. “Nothing,” he said. “It can mean nothing at all, my Lady. Take it however you will.”

But Egiras stared at him, without blinking, and said, “Maybe I should be the one to tell a tale. I will tell the story of you, Nadir, of how you came to be what you are now.”

“
Then it would be a very boring tale indeed,” he retorted. “For I have spent most of my time serving you, and the rest of it studying the mystical art of war and the mundane soldier’s trade.”

“
Yes,” said Egiras, “your tale is mostly dull and pathetic. And yet—may all the rest of this noble company listen closely now—I sent you away from me to learn from the masters in my own distant homeland. You have been to the Kingdom that lies in the Middle, and have seen the sun dissolve in exquisite gossamer mists of lilac and gold over the land of my ancestors—a land which I myself have never seen, since I was a tiny horrid child. Why do you think that would bore my guests, to hear of my homeland, an exotic place they will never know?”

“
Maybe because it would only satisfy
your
wonder, and not theirs,” replied Nadir, a deepening remoteness in his voice.

“
The Kingdom in the Middle—is that where you learned your impossible techniques of hand combat, Lord Nadir?” asked one of the guests.

“
I learned there the art of defense,” Nadir said gently. “It is quite different from the art of aggression, with which I was already familiar in my soldiering. I came to the Kingdom in the Middle as a warrior and left it as a priest.”

“
A priest? You never told me this,” Egiras said abrasively.

“
You never asked. But do not fear, my Lady, it is irrelevant. For the god I serve has no name, and the god’s Secret Temple has no place. Besides, it is enough, this talk of times past. Let us instead allow the Teller of Tales to continue with the practice of her craft. Did you not want to hear a tale of the future?”

“
Unfortunately,” said Annaelit, once again speaking, “I can only tell a certain type of tale today, one which is of the past and the present only. A tale of things that are real.”

“
And why is that?” Egiras regarded her without blinking.

“
Because, my Lady, that is the will of the gods. Tonight is the Night of Truth,” said Annaelit, with a look in her eyes that made even Egiras finally glance away. “And on this night I can speak only of things that have come to pass, or things that are happening even as we speak. I can tell you many wondrous tales of mortal lives. Some of these lives you have heard of previously. And yet tonight you will hear their stories told differently, unembellished and real, as they really came to pass.

“
If you crave wonder, there is the true tale told to me by one called Ierulann, once a Guard of Law and now a storyteller, who related to me the details of the final changing of the City of No-Sleep from a state of oscillating madness to one of serene permanence. And, if that is not to your taste, there is the even more peculiar tale of a woman captain, called Lero and reputed to be insane, who commands an unsinkable ship.”

“
Lero . . .” Egiras repeated. “Why do I know this name?”

“
Because we have once been on her ship,” said Nadir. “Long before we came to this city, we sailed the
Eye of Sun
to cross the endless ocean that you hated so. . . .”

“
The
Eye of Sun!
Yes, I remember now, the ship, the endlessness,” mused Egiras. “The sun itself was different, not like it is in the desert, but sharper than daggers striking my eyes, as it reflected off the green then gray then blue expanse of cruel water, everywhere, as far as the edges of the world. I remember being onboard, and the balmy wind and the sour rotting stink of salt, all permeated with nausea. . . .

“
I would watch the huge canvas sails unfurl and fill with ravenous wind. The main sail had the image of a great almond-shaped eye on it, within a golden sun—an intensely peculiar symbol painted in garish shades of blue. Then, having tired of sails and with nothing else to observe but your shadow at my side, Nadir, I would watch for days and nights on end how the tall strange captain stood staring at the heavens, noting the position of the noonday sun at the zenith, and the stars attached to the celestial dome, and comparing them to old charts and objects in the seascape unnoticed by the rest of us.

“
There was a strange object on deck, to which the captain often referred—a marvelous thing floating in a bowl of water, with sixteen points, like a star. They called it the wind rose, and also a compass, for it pointed North always, and one could tell the rest of the directions from it.

“
I never knew the captain’s name, never cared to notice she was a woman. And yet I remember somehow, despite myself: Lero. How odd. They all seemed to obey her as though she could sink that ship with one word. What perfect terror she invoked.”

“
Not terror,” whispered Nadir. “There are other reasons why one would serve.”

At that, Egiras laughed. Her beautiful face contorted, marring the smoothness of her ocher porcelain skin, and then she spoke in sarcasm. “If one serves for any other reason then one is a fool, and deserves the fate of servitude.”

“
There is another tale I can relate,” said Annaelit, sensing the pressure of unspoken things resonating between the Princess and the man, “a tale of a woman we all know, Belta Digh, who owns a popular tavern in this very city. It is rumored, and surely it is true, that Belta Digh’s tavern serves a drink that takes your pain away. They say she once made a deal with death itself, and in the doing she redeemed a mortal life, and redeemed death also from the old curse of a goddess. Oddly enough, this is the very same goddess, Risei-Ailsan, that came into being through the will of the man called Cireive, the one whose tale I began to tell you.”

“
Strange indeed,” Egiras said, “that these tales of yours seem to be connected, almost in a circle. Or did you intend for this to happen, sly Teller of Tales, so that you could return to the original story?”

“
Oh, good!” put in Princess Makeia. “I care not what is connected, but I do want to hear of this ancient
taqavor
with his sun-hair and his mysterious bargain with the Lord of Illusion.”

“
Not intentional at all,” said Annaelit. “Rather, these tales have one thing in common, and that is the share of truth they convey. And there is one more tale I have not mentioned yet, one of such immediate truth that I do not dare to even speak of it, for it will bring fear to all of your guests, my Lady. And to you.”

Saying that, Annaelit lowered her eyes.

Egiras’s attention was caught. She watched the storyteller in silence, pondering. And then she said, “You make me curious. What kind of tale would make me afraid? And why? I would hear it.”

“
Yes!” came the voices of the guests, as many in the room began to shiver with delicious anticipation and others came alive from their torpid complacency. The warm lamplight cast a persimmon radiance upon their glittering forms, the smooth jewels winking in the women’s hair and the great chains of expensive metal in the robes of the men, earlobes hung with fine rings.

Annaelit took several steps away, and stood in the center of the room, looking from one face to another, finally meeting the haughty, slanted gaze of the Princess Egiras.

“
This is a tale, my Lady, that unfolds even now, and has no ending,” she said gently, folding her hands at her waist. “It is a tale of
you.
For here you sit, Princess Egiras, in your finery, in a beautiful hall that stands within a fine House, in a city that has been built in the heart of the desert. Around you unfolds the rest of the world. Behind you is the past of your life. And before you your next breath indeed lies. And with each breath, yes, even now as you draw it in, lies beckoning wonder. Or Illusion.”

“
What . . .?” whispered Egiras, her pupils dilating like those of a serpent in the primeval night.

But Annaelit continued speaking, ignoring her. “I tell your tale,” she said, “and you live it. Whether you choose wonder or Illusion is for you decide. And for that reason I cannot end your tale. For, the tale has not yet played itself out. . . .”

“
This is complete nonsense!” Egiras interrupted suddenly.

“
What in the world are you saying, girl? What—?”

“
It is a strange night,” said Nadir, interrupting her in turn. He arose from his seat, his shape of awe-inspiring stature.

“
I’ve had enough of tales,” he said gently, and then walked across the chamber, past the seated guests, and stepped out onto the balcony. Lamplight faintly illuminated the simple cotton of the robe clothing his back and drowned in the tight curls of his jet-black hair. The curls grew so close to his scalp as to define the shape of his skull.

The man stood with his back to them all, watching the night.

“
Nadir has the right of it,” said Egiras with a blank expression, also rising from her soft chair. “I too grow restless with your strange stories tonight, Annaelit. You no longer please me. . . . Go and collect the payment at the doors for your dubious services. I will not be calling you back again.”

Annaelit cast down her gaze politely and then bowed. “As you wish, my Lady. I humbly beg pardon for your displeasure. I did not mean to frighten you or your guests. . . .”

“
Frighten?” The voice of Egiras rose like a sudden gust of scalding wind. “You do not frighten with your idiot blathering. You merely bore! How dare you suggest that your foolish nonsense stories would have an effect on me? Out!”

And the Princess lifted a slim pale hand encased in bands of spun gold and encrusted with pearls, delicate and deadly as the neck of a swan that culminates in a sharp beak. With one finger she pointed to the door.

Annaelit, knowing that the best recourse was silence, wordlessly complied. As she humbly left the hall she could feel a gaze of sympathy upon her back. Its power was almost physical.

She knew it could be none other than Lord Nadir.