Lord of Lies

‘And of course,’ Master Juwain said, pointing at the space above my forehead, ‘there is Flick. Of all the Timpum, only he has ever made such friends with a man. And only he left the Lokilani’s wood – to follow you.’

I looked over toward the tea table, where Maram sat squeezing my grandmother’s hand. Then I turned back to Master Juwain and said, ‘There is evidence, yes, but it’s not known … how the Maitreya will be known.’

‘I believe,’ Master Juwain said, ‘that the Maitreya, alone of all those on earth, will have a true resonance with the Lightstone.’

‘But how is this resonance to be accomplished?’

‘That is one mystery I am trying to solve. As you must, too.’

‘But when will I solve it?’

In answer, he pointed out the window at the clouds glowing with colors in the slanting rays of the sun. ‘Soon, you will. This is the time, Valashu. The Golden Band grows stronger.’

As men such as he and I lived out our lives on far-flung worlds like Ea, the Star People built their great, glittering cities on other worlds closer to the center of the universe. And the Elijin walked on worlds closer still, while the Galadin – Ashtoreth and Valoreth and others – dwelled nearest the stellar heart, on Agathad, which they called Star Home. It was said that they made their abode by an ancient lake, the source of the great river, Ar. The lake was a perfect silver, like liquid silustria, and it reflected the image of the ageless astor tree, Irdrasil, that grew above it. Irdrasil’s golden leaves never fell, and they shone even through the night.

For beyond Agathad, at the center of all things, lay Ninsun, a black and utter emptiness out of which eternally poured a brilliant and beautiful light. It was the light of the Ieldra, beings of pure light who dwelled there. This numinous radiance streamed out like the rays of the sun toward all of creation. The Golden Band, it was called, and it fell most strongly on Agathad, there to touch all living things with a glory that never failed.

But other worlds around other stars, on their slow turn through the universe, moved into its splendor more rarely: with Ea, only once every three thousand years, at the end of old ages or the beginning of new ones. The Brotherhood’s astrologers had divined that, some twenty years before, Ea had entered the Golden Band. And it was waxing ever stronger, like the wind before a storm, like a river in late spring gathering waters to nourish the land. Now men and women, if they listened, might hear the voices of the Ieldra calling them closer to their source, even as they called to the Star People on their worlds and to the Elijin on theirs – and called eternally to the angels on Agathad to free the light of their beings and return home as newly created Ieldra themselves.

‘The Golden Band,’ Master Juwain explained, ‘is like a river of light that men do not usually see. It shimmers, the scryers say. There are eddies and currents, and a place where it swells and flows most deeply.’

He gazed out the window for a moment, then shook his head as if all that he could see was the blazing sun and the drifting clouds – and two golden eagles that soared among them.

‘The constellations,’ he said to me, ‘somehow affect the Band’s strength – and direct it, too. It’s known that the Band flared with great intensity on the ninth of Triolet, at the time of your birth.’

I, too, looked out the window for this angel fire that remained invisible to me.

‘I believe,’ Master Juwain said, ‘that a Maitreya is chosen. By the One’s grace, through the light of the Ieldra where it falls most brightly.’

I looked back to the tea table to see that Maram and my grandmother were attending his every word.

‘The Maitreya is made, Val. Made to come forth and take his place in the world. And he must come soon, don’t you see?’

Soon, he said, the Golden Band would begin to weaken, and a great chance might be lost. For men’s hearts, now open to the light that the Maitreya would bring, would soon close and harden their wills yet again toward evil and war.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘all the other Maitreyas failed. Of those of the Lost Ages, of course, we know almost nothing. But at the end of the Age of the Mother, it’s said that Alesar Tal entered the Brotherhood and grew old and died without ever setting eyes upon the Lightstone. And at the end of the Age of Swords, Issayu was enslaved by Morjin and the Lightstone kept from him. Godavanni was murdered at the moment that the Lightstone was placed into his hands. Now we are in the last years of the Age of the Dragon. This terrible time, the darkest of ages. How will it end, Val? In even greater darkness or in light?’

Out of the window I saw cloud shadows dappling the courtyard below and darkening the white stone walls of the castle. The foothills rising above them were marked with indentations and undulations, their northern slopes invisible to the eye, lost in shadow and perhaps concealing eagles’ aeries and bears’ caves and the secret powers of the earth. I marveled at the way the sunlight caught the rocky faces of these hills: half standing out clearly in the strong Soldru light, half darkened into the deeper shades of green and gray and black. I saw that there was always a vivid line between the dark and the light, but strangely this line shifted and moved across the naked rock even as the sun moved slowly on its arc across the sky from east to west.

‘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.

2 (#ulink_3117adf6-b5c4-5316-8551-a95c585452e9)

The great hall adjoined the castle’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, past 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 beer; 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 countenance 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, nor did it rest upon a long and gracefully shaped base, as with a chalice. It did not, except at rare moments, 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 oldest 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 sightless 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.’