Taltos (21 page)

Not bad that it had happened; it had been a marvelous evening. Stuart had stayed down with him. They’d spent the night talking together, even though Marklin had been confined to a borrowed robe and slippers and a small, charming bedchamber, and both had longed in vain to climb the tor in the midnight, and commune with the spirit of the sleeping king.

Of course, Marklin had never for a moment in his life believed that King Arthur slept beneath Glastonbury Tor. If he had believed it, he would have taken a shovel and started digging.

Stuart had come late in life to his conviction that myth was only interesting when a truth lay behind it, and that one could find that truth, and even the physical evidence of it.

Scholars, thought Marklin, theirs is an inevitable flaw; words and deeds become the same to them. That was at the very basis of the confusion now. Stuart, at eighty-seven years of age, had had perhaps his first excursion into reality.

Reality and blood were intermingled.

Tommy at last took his place at Marklin’s side. He blew on his cold fingers and then reached into his pockets for his gloves—a classic Tommy routine, to have walked up the hill without them, to have forgotten his gloves were even there until he saw Marklin’s leather gloves, the very ones he’d long ago given Marklin.

“Where is Stuart?” Tommy asked. “Yes, gloves.” He stared at Marklin, eyes enormous through his round, thick, rimless glasses, red hair clipped neatly short so that he might have been a lawyer or a banker. “Gloves, yes. Where is he?”

Marklin had been about to say that Stuart had not come, when in fact he saw Stuart beginning the very last leg of the ascent from his car, which he had brought as close as permissible up Wearyall Hill. Unlike Stuart to have done this.

But Stuart seemed otherwise unchanged—tall, narrow in his familiar greatcoat, with the cashmere scarf around his neck and streaming out behind him in the wind, his gaunt face looking as if it were carved out of wood. His gray hair resembled, as always, a jay’s crest. It seemed in this last decade he had scarcely changed at all.

He looked right at Marklin as he drew near. And Marklin realized that he himself was trembling. Tommy stepped aside. Stuart stopped some six feet from both of them, his hands clenched, his thin face anguished as he confronted the two young men.

“You killed Aaron!” Stuart cried. “You, both of you. You killed Aaron. How in the name of God could you have done such a thing?”

Marklin was speechless, all his confidence and plans deserting him suddenly. He tried to stop the tremor in his hands. He knew if he spoke his voice would be frail and without any authority. He could not bear for Stuart to be angry, or disappointed in any way.

“Dear God, what have you done, both of you!” Stuart ranted. “And what have I done that I set this scheme into motion? Dear God, the blame is mine!”

Marklin swallowed, but kept his silence.

“You, Tommy, how could you have been a party to this!” Stuart continued. “And Mark. Mark, you, the very author of all of it.”

“Stuart, you must hear me out!” Marklin declared before he could stop himself.

“Hear you out?” Stuart drew closer, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Hear you out, should I? Let me ask you a question, my brilliant young friend, my finest, my bravest hope! What’s to stop you now from killing me, as you’ve done with Aaron and Yuri Stefano?”

“Stuart, it was for you that I did it,” Marklin insisted. “If you would only listen, you’ll understand. These are but flowers of the seeds you planted when we began this together. Aaron had to be silenced. That he had not reported back, that he had not come home to the Motherhouse itself, was pure luck, Stuart! He might have any day, and Yuri Stefano would also have come. His visit to Donnelaith was
a fluke. He might have come straight home from the airport.”

“You speak of circumstance, you speak of detail!” Stuart said, taking yet another step towards them.

Tommy stood quiet, seemingly emotionless, his red hair tousled by the wind, eyes squinting behind his glasses. He watched Stuart steadily, his shoulder very close to Marklin’s arm.

Stuart was beside himself.

“You speak of expediency, but you don’t speak of life and death, my pupil,” he insisted. “How could you do it! How could you bring an end to Aaron’s life!”

And here Stuart’s voice failed him, and the grief displayed itself, monstrous as the rage. “I would destroy you, Mark, if I could,” said Stuart. “But I cannot do such things, and that is perhaps why I did not think that you could! But you’ve amazed me, Mark.”

“Stuart, it was worth any sacrifice. What is sacrifice if it is not moral sacrifice!”

This horrified Stuart, but what else could Marklin do, other than take the plunge? Tommy really ought to say something, he thought, but he knew that when Tommy spoke, he would stand firm.

“I put an end to those who could have stopped us,” said Mark. “That is all there is to it, Stuart. You grieve for Aaron because you knew him.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Stuart bitterly. “I grieve for innocent blood shed, I grieve for monstrous stupidity! Oh yes, that is what it was. Do you think the death of such a man will go unavenged within the Order? You think you know the Talamasca, you think with your shrewd young mind you could size it up in a matter of a few years. But all you’ve done is to learn its organizational weaknesses. You could live all your life in the Talamasca and not know the Talamasca. Aaron was my brother! It was my brother you killed! You have failed me, Mark. You have failed Tommy. You have failed yourself! You have failed Tessa.”

“No,” Mark said, “you don’t speak the truth, and you know it. Look at me, Stuart, look into my eyes. You left it to me to bring Lasher here, you left it to me to step out of
the library and plot everything. And to Tommy as well. Do you think this could have been orchestrated without us?”

“You miss a crucial point, don’t you, Mark?” Stuart asked. “You failed. You did not rescue the Taltos and bring him here! Your soldiers were fools, and so it must be said of the general.”

“Stuart, have patience with us,” said Tommy. It was his usual matter-of-fact tone. “I knew the first day we spoke that this couldn’t be accomplished without someone paying for it with his life.”

“You never spoke such words to me, Tommy.”

“Let me remind you,” Tommy said in the same monotone manner, “you said that we were to render Yuri and Aaron powerless to interfere, and erase all evidence that the Taltos itself had been born into the Mayfair family. Now, how was this to be done except in the ways that we did it? Stuart, we have nothing to be ashamed of in our actions. What we seek makes these things utterly insignificant.”

Marklin tried desperately to conceal his sigh of relief.

Stuart looked from Tommy to Marklin and then back again, and then out over the pale landscape of gently rolling green hills, and then up to the peak of Glastonbury Tor. He turned his back on them to face the tor, and he hung his head as if communing with some personal deity.

Marklin drew close, and he placed his hands very tentatively on Stuart’s shoulders. He was far taller now than Stuart, and Stuart in old age had lost some of his earlier height. Marklin drew close to his ear.

“Stuart, the die was cast when we got rid of the scientist. There was no turning back. And the doctor …”

“No,” said Stuart, shaking his head with dramatic emphasis. His eyes were narrow and fixed on the tor. “These deaths could have been blamed on the Taltos himself, don’t you see? That was the beauty of it. The Taltos canceled the deaths of the two men who could have only misused the revelation granted to them!”

“Stuart,” said Mark, very aware that Stuart had not sought to free himself from his light embrace. “You must understand that Aaron became the enemy of us when he became the official enemy of the Talamasca.”

“Enemy? Aaron was never an enemy of the Talamasca! Your bogus excommunication broke his heart.”

“Stuart,” Marklin pleaded, “I can see now in retrospect that the excommunication was a mistake, but it has been our only mistake.”

“There was no choice in the matter of the excommunication,” said Tommy flatly. “It was either that or risk discovery at every turn. I did what I had to do, and I made it damned convincing. I could not have kept up a bogus correspondence between the Elders and Aaron. That would have been too much.”

“I admit,” said Marklin, “it was a mistake. Only loyalty to the Order might have kept Aaron quiet about the various things he’d seen and come to suspect. If we made an error, Stuart, the three of us made it together. We shouldn’t have alienated him and Yuri Stefano. We should have tightened our hold, played our game better.”

“The web was too intricate as it was,” said Stuart. “I warn you, both of you. Tommy, come here. I warn you both! Do not strike against the Mayfair family. You have done enough. You have destroyed a man who was finer than any other I ever knew, and you did it for so small a gain that heaven will take its vengeance on you. But do not, for whatever remains to us now, strike against the family!”

“I think we already have,” said Tommy in his usual practical voice. “Aaron Lightner had recently married Beatrice Mayfair. Besides, he had become so close to Michael Curry—indeed, to all of the clan—that the marriage was hardly required to cement the relationship. But there was a marriage, and to the Mayfairs marriage is a sacred bond, as we know. He had become one of them.”

“Pray you’re wrong,” said Stuart. “Pray to heaven you’re wrong. Risk the ire of the Mayfair witches, and God himself couldn’t help you.”

“Stuart, let us look at what must be done now,” said Marklin. “Let’s leave the hill and go down to the hotel.”

“Never. Where others can hear our words? Never.”

“Stuart, take us to Tessa. Let us discuss it there,” pressed Marklin.

It was the key moment. Marklin knew it. He wished now
that he had not said Tessa’s name, not yet. He wished he had not played to this climax.

Stuart was eyeing both of them with the same deliberate condemnation and disgust. Tommy stood solidly, gloved hands clasped in front of him. The stiff collar of his coat rose to hide his mouth, and thereby leave nothing to scrutiny but his level, untroubled gaze.

Marklin himself was close to tears, or so he imagined. Marklin had actually never wept even once in his life that he could remember.

“Perhaps this is not the time to see her,” Marklin said, hastening to repair the damage.

“Perhaps you should never see her again,” said Stuart, voice small for the first time, eyes large and speculating.

“You don’t mean what you say,” said Mark.

“If I take you to Tessa, what’s to stop you from doing away with me?”

“Oh, Stuart, you hurt us both; how can you ask this of us? We aren’t without principle. We’re simply dedicated to a common goal. Aaron had to die. So did Yuri. Yuri was never really one of the Order. Yuri left so easily and so quickly!”

“Yes, and neither of you were ever members either, were you?” Stuart asked. His manner was changing, hardening.

“We are dedicated to you and always have been,” said Marklin. “Stuart, we waste our valuable time. Keep Tessa to yourself if you will. You will not shake my faith in her, or Tommy’s. And we will move towards our goal. We cannot do otherwise.”

“And what now is the goal?” Stuart demanded. “Lasher is gone now, as if he’d never existed! Or do you doubt the word of a man who would follow Yuri doggedly over land and sea only to finally shoot him?”

“Lasher is beyond destiny now,” said Tommy. “I think we are all in agreement on that. What Lanzing saw couldn’t be interpreted any other way. But Tessa is in your hands, as real as she was the day you discovered her.”

Stuart shook his head. “Tessa is real, and Tessa is alone as she has always been alone. And the union shall not take
place, and my eyes will close without ever seeing the miracle.”

“Stuart, it is still possible,” said Marklin. “The family, the Mayfair witches.”

“Yes,” cried Stuart, his voice out of control, “and strike them and they will destroy you. You have forgotten the very first warning I ever gave you. The Mayfair witches win over those who would hurt them. They always have! If not as individuals, they win as a family!”

They stood quiet for a moment.

“Destroy
you
, Stuart?” Tommy asked. “Why not the three of us, Stuart?”

Stuart was in despair. His white hair, blown back and forth by the wind, resembled the unkempt hair of a drunkard. He looked down at the earth beneath his feet, his hooked nose glistening as though it were nothing now but polished cartilage. An eagle of a man, yes, but not an elderly one, never that.

Marklin feared for him in the wind. Stuart’s eyes were red and tearing. Marklin could see the map of blue veins spreading up from his temples. Stuart was trembling in every limb.

“Yes, you’re right, Tommy,” said Stuart. “The Mayfairs will destroy all of us. Why would they not?” He looked up and straight at Marklin. “And what is the greatest loss to me? Is it Aaron? Is it the marriage itself, of male and female Taltos? Is it the chain of memory we hoped to discover link by link to its earliest source? Or is it that you are damned now, both of you, for what you’ve done? And I have lost you. Let the Mayfairs come to destroy the three of us, yes, it will be justice.”

“No, I don’t want this justice,” said Tommy. “Stuart, you can’t turn on us.”

“No, that you can’t do,” said Marklin. “You cannot call a defeat for us. The witches can bear the Taltos again.”

“Three hundred years hence?” asked Stuart. “Or tomorrow?”

“Listen to me, sir, I beg you,” said Marklin. “The spirit of Lasher possessed knowledge of what he had been, and what he could be, and what happened to the genes of
Rowan Mayfair and Michael Curry happened under the spirit’s knowing vigilance and to fulfill his purpose.

“But
we
have that knowledge now—of what a Taltos is, and perhaps was, and what can make it. And Stuart,
so do the witches!
For the first time, the witches know the destiny of the giant helix. And their knowing is as powerful as Lasher’s knowing.”