Ghost Legion (45 page)

They left her room, walked through corridors that were lined with
latticed windows, permitting air and sunlight to enter freely. Wind
chimes filled the air with their musical vibrations. They walked
outdoors, into a garden whose beauty brought tears to Kamil's eyes.
Snowcapped mountains soared above them. Far below, in a valley, the
spires and towers of the main city of Ceres, also named Ceres, spread
over the land.

The city was removed from the temple, kept at a distance. It was not
a distance of disdain, but one of love and respect—the mother
who permits her child to stand on his own, yet watches over him. A
broad highway led from the city to the temple, a lifeline that was
never cut.

The walled garden was vast and open to the skies. No tall trees grew,
for the Goddess was said to look down upon the garden and bless those
who walked it and it would never do to impede Her sight. A feeling of
peace and serenity always touched those who walked in it. Kamil felt
it in spite of herself and she wrestled against it.

The two walked side by side, alone. The few people they met bowed in
respect to Astarte, then left her presence with respectful
consideration for her privacy. Astarte did not mention the last
garden the two had walked together, for which Kamil was grateful, but
she couldn't help thinking about it.

Astarte was explaining the benefit of some particular herb that grew
along the pathways, when Kamil came to a sudden halt.

"This is all very pretty, Your Majesty"—she refused
to call her by her given name—"but let's face it, I'm a
prisoner. Is this how you plan to win Dion back? To use me as
hostage?"

Astarte regarded her intently, then said softly, "What I have to
say will not be easy for me to say or for you to hear. I want the
Goddess to witness our conversation. Will you agree to that?"

"I ... I suppose." Kamil faltered. "You know I don't
believe in your Goddess," she added defensively.

"That is all right" Astarte returned, smiling. "She
believes in you. Will you come?"

Kamil had no choice, apparently, not if she was going to find out
what this woman had in mind.

They came to an arbor, covered with grape leaves. And here, it
seemed, they had reached the end of the garden. The ground sloped
upward steeply from this point, was covered with thick brush and
trees.

Astarte led the way through the arbor. Parting a curtain of morning
glory vines, she revealed a small path, hidden from sight from anyone
loitering in the garden.

"This is the Walk of the High Priestess," she said. "It
leads up there." She pointed. "To the Cavern of the Holy
Goddess. Only I may go there, or those I bring with me. The climb is
steep, but not treacherous, and you will be able to rest once we
reach our destination. I will help you over the rough parts, Give my
your hand."

Kamil protested that she could walk on her own and she did, up the
first several meters. Then she found she needed help, needed two good
arms to pull herself up over the rocks. Reluctantly, she gave Astarte
her hand, allowed the queen to assist her.

Kamil was out of breath, hot and sweaty when they reached the top.
The queen looked as cool as if she had been strolling the shaded
corridors of the temple. But then, Kamil told herself irritably,
Astarte probably makes this climb every day.

The cavern was dark, shadowed, smelled of moist rock and soil and
water and smoke. It was large; a stone statue of the Goddess stood in
the very back. Kamil could not see much, for very little light
entered the cavern. A small flame flickered on an altar before the
statue.

"Stay here, please," Astarte commanded.

Leaving Kamil at the front of the cavern, the queen moved to the
back. She knelt before the Goddess, prayed quietly for several
moments, placed an offering of flowers that she had gathered from the
garden on the altar.

Returning, she brought a pitcher, which she filled at a running
stream that bubbled near the cavern. She handed Kamil a cup, poured
the water. It was sweet and cool. Kamil drank thirstily. The view
from the cavern was breathtaking— encompassing the temple
grounds and, far, far below, the city itself, all spread under the
cloudless blue sky.

Kamil ignored it. "Very well," she said. "We're here.
I'm your prisoner. You can hold me hostage. But I tell you right now
it won't work."

"I know," said Astarte. "I am aware, as you are, that
such a plan would not work. Dion would do anything, of course, to
save your life. He would even, I think, give up the throne. And that
must not happen. He is all that is holding the galaxy together. The
chaos into which it would fall would be destructive, unimaginable.
The Corasians wait for just such a moment. Ask the cyborg, Xris. He
has recently returned from there. He knows."

Kamil was taken aback. "That's not true. Dion would never give
up the throne."

"You don't believe so? What would you give up to save him?"

"I'm different," Kamil protested. "I'm nobody—"

She stopped, remembering.

When I was nobody, I didn't want to be. Now that I am king, I wish
I was nobody again
. Dion's words.

Though Kamil hadn't spoken them aloud, she knew she might as well
have. Astarte heard her thoughts plainly, or perhaps saw them on her
face.

"You see?" the queen said.

"He didn't mean it." Kamil defended him. "Everyone
gets frustrated with his life sometimes. Wishes for a change."

"Would you love him if he were nobody?" Astarte asked
softly.

"Yes," Kamil replied. She smiled, thinking back to the time
she'd first met Dion. He'd been nobody then. A little boy again,
playing in a lake. "I'd love him no matter what he was. But you
wouldn't," she added accusingly, turning on Astarte. "You
wouldn't have anything to do with him if he weren't king."

"What you say is true," Astarte agreed. "Though not
precisely the way you mean it. Because he is king, I am queen—a
role I do not seek for self-aggrandizement. I took it only after many
hours of prayer. It was the Goddess's wish, that I could better serve
her and also serve the people, work for their welfare, strive for
peace. No matter what you think of me, you must admit I have at least
done that much."

"Yes," answered Kamil readily, "and I've said as much
to Dion. He agrees. You've been a perfect consort. But not the
perfect wife. He doesn't love you! You don't love him! And using me
to blackmail him isn't going to change that."

"You still do not understand, Kamil. I'm not going to use you to
blackmail Dion. He doesn't know you are here. And he won't know. I'm
not going to tell him."

"You won't have to," Kamil retorted. "The baroness,
your mother, will tell him."

"As long as you are here, within the Goddess's hand, my mother
has taken an oath to keep your whereabouts a secret. I chastised my
mother severely for her attempt to murder you. It was an attempt I
had not sanctioned, I had not approved. She undertook to act anyway,
behind my back. She still thought of me as her daughter, you see. Now
she knows better. Now she knows I am her queen."

"But what do you want of me, then?" Kamil wondered,
confused. "Why am I here? People will miss me," she hedged.
"When I don't come back to my dorm. When I don't show up for
classes. The authorities will contact my parents. My father and
mother will be frantic—"

"The Academy has been told you returned home for personal
reasons, family business. As for your parents, I have spoken to your
father and mother. I have explained to them exactly what I have done.
I told them why and what I now intend to do."

Kamil gaped. "My father? ..."

"They approve," Astarte continued gravely. "They have
given roe their blessing."

"I don't believe it." Kamil leaned against the cavern wall.
She felt suddenly weak. "You're lying. This is a trick. My
father would never permit—"

"Your father is a good man, an honorable man," Astarte
interrupted. "Have you ever asked him how he felt about your
illicit love affair with Dion? What would his answer be? Would he do
such a thing himself? Would he break the vows he took to honor your
mother?"

"No, he wouldn't. He loves my mother. And that's why he would
understand," Kamil argued passionately. "I love Dion! He
loves me! That's what's important."

"More important than stability, than order, than peace? More
important than the lives of countless billions of people?"

"What do you want from me?" Kamil cried, turning away.

She found herself staring into the stone eyes of the goddess, stern
and unwavering.

"I want you—of your own free will—to release Dion. I
want you to tell him that this liaison is ended. You must be firm.
You must mean it. Then, and only then, will he give you up and come
back to me."

"I won't," Kamil said thickly. She didn't look at either
Astarte or the statue. "I can't. That's like asking me to stop
breathing. It would be like .. . like . . . dying. Except dying would
be easier!" She flung herself back against the wall, winced at
the pain that shot through her arm.

"Nevertheless, Kamil, it must be done. For his sake, you must
make this sacrifice. I don't expect you to reach this conclusion
immediately. It will require thought, prayer—to whatever deity
you favor. Take your time. The peace and serenity of these
surroundings will encourage you to look inward, come to know
yourself. When you do, you will agree."

"Never," said Kamil firmly. "Our love is sacred—more
sacred than some vows that you spoke with your lips, not your heart.
Besides, you read the letter. Dion intends to start divorce
proceedings—"

"He won't. His advisors will urge him against it. They will
counsel time, patience, an attempt at reconciliation. I think he will
listen to them. Especially now that I've muzzled Mother,"
Astarte added dryly.

She gazed long at Kamil, then said, "I may not love him as you
do, but I know him. I have faith in him to do what is best for his
people. And I have faith in you. I think you are a good person, an
honorable one. Eventually you, too, will determine what is right and
you will have the courage to act upon your determination."

Kamil turned her back on the queen, started to walk back down the
path. She slipped. Unable to catch herself with her broken arm, she
fell heavily. Pain, frustration, anger at both Astarte and herself,
fear, and unhappiness blinded her with bitter tears. Lying sprawled
on the path, she wept.

Cool hands touched her; gentle arms cradled her.

"You can't keep me here forever!" Kamil gulped, pulling
away.

"I don't intend to, Kamil. After a fortnight, you may leave in
peace, no matter what your decision."

"You already know my decision. You may as well let me go now."

"We shall see. A lot may happen in a fortnight."

Don't count on it, Kamil said, but she said it to herself. She was
tired, her arm throbbed painfully, her head ached. Her legs were
scratched and bruised from the fall.

"Just leave me alone!" she mumbled. "I can get down by
myself."

"There is an easier path," Astarte said. "A path we
use during festival. It is on the opposite side of the cavern. The
way is much longer, but the road is smoother. You may take either one
you wish."

The queen left, wending her way down the steep and rocky path.

Kamil sat on the hillside. From somewhere below, the flute music
resumed, pensive, unhappy. Kamil dried her tears, sighed. Her very
own father, against her. He'd always seemed so understanding, so
supportive and sympathetic. But then, she'd never told him that she
and Dion had become lovers. Not because she was ashamed of it, but
... well, it just wasn't the sort of thing girls discussed with their
fathers. It wasn't his business.... It wasn't anybody's business!

If we were nobodies, nobody would care.

Kamil lay back on the ground, gazed through the leaves of the trees
up into the empty sky.

There was her answer.

"If we were nobodies ..."

. . . and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword.

The Bible,
Revelation 1:14

Flaim gave a celebratory banquet to honor Sagan and his pledge of
fealty to the prince. The meal was gracefully served by the prince
himself in homage to the two older men—his mentors and
advisers. Food was placed on a large wooden tray on the tent floor.
The tray revolved at the touch of a hand, bringing all the food upon
it within reach of the guest.

The fare was simple, plain: cold meats, cheeses, breads, fruits, and
candied nuts. It was intended to be eaten with the fingers, no plates
or implements necessary. The men lounged on the floor, leaning
against the silken embroidered bolsters. Outside the tent, another
fire—this one much smaller than the bonfire of the previous
night—blazed brightly. Drink was served in silver goblets.

"Wine for me, my prince," said Pantha, holding out his
goblet. "Since you insist upon waiting on me."

"It is an honor, I assure you, dear friend. An honor to serve
both of you—mentor, father; new friend, adviser. Which will you
have, my lord? Wine or water?"

"Water, please, Your Highness."

"My choice, as well. I detest alcohol." Flaim poured cold
water from an iced carafe for himself and Lord Sagan. "It clouds
the senses, robs a man of control."

"At my age," Pantha remarked, sniffing critically at the
wine, "a little clouding of the senses is a thing to be honored.
I can afford the luxury of relaxation. Let other, younger, stronger
hands do the work." He raised the glass of wine solemnly to the
prince.

"I took a vow, when I joined holy orders, never to drink strong
spirits," Sagan commented, giving the tray a gentle push to
bring the apples within easy reach.