Fallowblade (39 page)

Weathermages were not accustomed to being thus spoken to. Between being incensed at his presumptuousness, annoyed at his having deliberately misinterpreted her comment and used it exasperatingly, and baffled as to his true meaning, Asr
ă
thiel experienced a kind of delightful paralysis, as if transfixed by the stare of a basilisk, mingled with consternation that there could be any trace of delight at all in her response to such an address. She could not look at him, could not speak; nor did he seem to require a reply. She sensed, too, the element of anger behind his mockery, but could not account for it, unless she had some power over him of which she was unaware, which meant it irked him, despot that he was, to be thwarted.

He left off his teasing and remained silent awhile. At length the damsel became intensely aware that the very attractive incarnation of wickedness was seated very close beside her, and that his arm, in the soft, loose fold of a black sleeve, rested along the back of her chair, behind her head.

Together, earth-harp and trow-drums had been a rousing combination of sounds, but when uncanny violoncellos awoke, waves of fibrillation sawed up and down Asr
ă
thiel’s spine as if she were the instrument being played. The lyrics of a simple yet expressive ditty she had heard once or twice flashed arbitrarily though her memory:

Upon an exalted platform a group of four beautiful knights—three cellists and a bass violist—was creating stirring music, swaying to and fro with the passion of their outpourings, their calf-length coats and long hair flying. Another accompanied them on drums, tubular bells and tambourine. The pouring hair of the musicians curtained the left side of their faces as they bent to their bows—for all were left-handed; indeed, their hair, being so long, must have become entangled with the strings, though this never interrupted their performance; conceivably, part of the reason their music was so thrilling was because it was played upon the living strands of their eldritch hair.

Back and forth they swept the bows, with the deftness of artists executing precise brushstrokes, but their performance was utterly
unlike
that of some dignified human chamber quartet with heads solemnly bent, peering short-sightedly at pages of written score propped on a one-legged stand, motionless save for the fingers of one hand spidering up and down the instrument’s fingerboard and the elbow of the other sailing in and out like a pompous barque.

Quite the contrary.

The goblin musicians seemed to be lifted up with the sheer energy of the performance, tossing their extravagant hair in time to the beat, feet pounding the rhythm; vigorous, fully alive. Their instruments seemed as alive as they—as if fused, an extension of the musicians’ bodies—so that nerves linked them in one neural entirety, impulses flowing in a circuit through fingers, arms and bows, hair and strings, across the shoulders, up and down the spine, up and down the fingerboard, from head to bridge to base, engendering all the exultation that wild music can convey. Nor did the cellists remain glued to their seats, for from time to time they leaped up spiritedly, instrument and all, still playing, wielding the weight and cumber of the cello as easily as if it were a violin; jumping or spinning before flinging themselves back into their places to incite their dark, raw melodies with redoubled zeal.

Asr
ă
thiel had no recollection of joining the dance. Across the floor she whirled in the arms of a partner who was thrilling to look upon, and she became lost in a darkness that held a scent of lightning and thunderclouds, and she thought some honeyed corrosive had excoriated her immortal spirit, and she must perish of the wounds.

Y
et the dance came to an end, and Asr
ă
thiel was soon sitting beside the goblin king once more while a trow-gaffer served beverages. The minstrels put away their eerie strings and bows, trows commenced a soft background tootling on breathy pipes, and the knights of unseelie fell to drinking, laughing and playing a confusing dice game.

Zaravaz took up his chalice and swallowed a draught of wine. ‘I will expound further on the reason I treat the other hostages differently from you,’ he said gravely, regarding Asr
ă
thiel over the vessel’s rim. ‘It is because of what they are, and what you are not.’

Is it possible he knows that I am immortal? Despite their long incarceration, the goblins seem to know all about everyone in Tir—the trows and other wights must be industrious informers indeed. Can my immortality be the reason for his indulgence?

‘Since you seem unaware, I will make clear to you,’ he continued, ‘why my kindred do not love yours.’

‘Prithee,’ the damsel said, thinking,
Surely humankind must have done more to offend the goblins than simply being subject to death, whilst they are not!
‘Prithee, tell on. Your words will fascinate me, sir, for I can imagine no offence that justifies such terrible revenge as you have proposed to exact on my race. You have waged war on us simply for being human.’

‘Our aversion stems from humanity’s belief,’ said Zaravaz, placing the chalice on the table and reclining against the padded arms and back of his chair, ‘that by virtue of their species they are superior to all others. Each one considers himself so special, yet in truth he might equally have been born a chicken or a cow. This mistaken conviction leads your people to commit atrocities most horrific against any beings that do not resemble themselves. You say we waged war on your kind, but what we did was nothing by comparison to what humanity has done. Every day, hundreds of thousands of nonhumans are victims of the longest-running, largest-scale war in history. They are robbed of their land, their freedom, their children, their lives, simply because your kind are capable of doing it. Within the culture of the Argenkindë and indeed of all the Glashtinsluight, such abuse is considered an utmost crime. For centuries we strove to open the eyes, the minds and the hearts of humankind—to no avail. Ultimately, your people have not the humility to accept that they are one of many different animal nations, dwelling beneath the same stars, all struggling to stay alive, to avoid pain and to experience joy.’ Musingly, the handsome knight let his fingers trace the rich ornamentation on the sides of the silver cup. ‘Having observed that human beings could not be taught to behave otherwise,’ he said, ‘we judged that they had forfeited the right to be part of the world. Our solution was to wipe out the human race.’

‘Genocide is as much a crime as any of the offences you so detest!’ Asr
ă
thiel exclaimed feelingly.

‘When you submitted to being my hostage,’ said he, ‘was it not because you believed that the sacrifice of one person is worthwhile, for the greater good of many?’

She nodded.

‘Similarly, the sacrifice of one species may be beneficial to the rest.’

‘Who are you to judge?’ Asr
ă
thiel found herself instinctively shrinking from her host, repelled by his emphatic affirmation of misanthropic intent. The goblins were manifestly devoid of moral principles, yet they justified their fiendishness in the name of righteousness. The sharp eyes of Zaravaz missed nothing, she knew; but other than a twitch at one corner of his mouth that might have indicated wry contempt, he gave no sign that he noted her recoiling.

‘We are immortal beings,’ he said, ‘who have existed since the world was young. We have seen it grow sad and dim since the rise of humanity. You yourself have lived for only a handful of years. You cannot know how it used to be. Yet you are different from most, because you are no persecutor, like the rest.’

Asr
ă
thiel’s voice trembled. ‘If you wipe out humanity, you destroy the goodness as well as the iniquity.’

‘What goodness? Tell me about the great beneficence of humankind.’

‘There is love, for a start—love and compassion.’

‘Bitches love their pups, and guard them with their very lives. Adult elephants will take pity on an orphaned rhinoceros and protect it as if it were their own child. Elephants grieve for loved ones too, and weep tears at the death of family members. A bereaved lioness may nurture a motherless gazelle. Whales live in harmony with one another and never wage war. If you speak of love and compassion, plainly it exists in greater abundance amongst nonhumans.’

‘You name creatures I have never heard of—but then, you have lived long and travelled far. What of the other virtues and achievements of humanity—music, literature, art? Do you mean to be rid of them too?’

‘Amongst their own species, birds and dolphins teach songs to one another. With regard to art, what more wondrous work of art can there be than the world itself—a bird in flight, a tree in blossom, a stormy sky? And as for literature, well, what advantage does that bestow on the world at large? It entertains and informs human beings, no more, no less. Being a toy and instrument of the human race, it is rendered redundant if there are no human creatures alive to consume it.’

‘This, then, is the paradox of your race,’ said Asr
ă
thiel in wonder, ‘that you are cruel because you oppose cruelty. Truly, I cannot fathom your ethos. There is an unbridgeable chasm between your culture and mine.’

Was it a flash of pain or of anger she glimpsed in those dark-fringed pools of violet?

‘A scission exists indeed,’ her companion said darkly. ‘Goblinkind is far more highly principled than humankind.’

Asr
ă
thiel wanted to shout, ‘What nonsense!’ But the awareness of being surrounded by a horde of unseelie wights some twenty-five thousand strong clamped her tongue.

‘How can you say so?’ she cried, managing to remain relatively composed despite her indignation.

‘To put it plainly, goblins slay men, but men do exactly the same to each other. One difference of consequence is that goblins do not wage war on one another. Humanity never seems to leave off making war on itself.’