Here he crouched, head pressed against his knees. Here he prayed to be liberated from the spirit that had invaded him.
He named the names of gods. He named the names of kings—the secret names, the names they had worn as princes, before they became the newest Harinamur. He called upon all the forces of the universe to free him from—
Me.
The words came pouring out of him in a wild, keening howl, weird and strange-sounding. “I have strayed from the path of my fathers,” he cried, sobbing. “I know not how, but I have sinned, and I have been punished for my sin, and now I am accursed. Tell me my penitence, O gods! Tell me how I can set myself free!”
And knelt there, shivering in the volcanic heat, waiting for the grace of his gods to descend upon him.
For one crazy instant I actually thought it was going to work—that I would be scraped from his mind and hurled into some unthinkable limbo. It was terrifying. Whirlwinds swooped and roared about me. The walls of the chamber seemed to be closing in on me. The mountain was pressing down.
Ram seemed completely in charge, Ram and his gods. I could feel him searching around for me, trying to get a grip on me and pry me loose.
I had to fight like a—well, like a demon. I pushed him away from me, set up defense blocks around myself, fled down the corridors of his mind. There were moments when I felt him seizing me, prying me free, thrusting me out.
I suppose there must have been some way for me to take control of his mind and keep him at bay, but just then that didn’t seem possible. I was on the run. For one long scary moment down there in that sweltering room in the belly of the mountain, he had the upper hand and I was helpless. I hunkered down tight and tried to make myself very small within him, invisible, unfindable.
And the moment passed. I reached out and linked myself to his mind again, and found the levers of control. I felt the pressure ease. I was the rider again, and he was the vehicle. I was safe.
The whirlwinds died away. Everything that had been crowding close upon me now retreated. After a time Ram rose from his crouch.
He was very calm—relaxed, even. Did he think he had succeeded in expelling me? Perhaps. Perhaps. Or maybe he was simply content to have come so close to victory over me. He swung his arms cheerfully, he stretched his legs, he filled his lungs, like an athlete who has just completed a grueling match and is beginning to unwind.
And started back up the winding passageway, feeling his way quickly, carving by carving, until in a surprisingly short time he had reached the mouth of the cavern.
As he stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight he said—inwardly, speaking directly to me—
—So even the Labyrinth is of no avail.
His words hit me like blows.
You have not fooled me, demon! I know you are still there. But I will not let you rule me. I will not let you be my master.
There was a strange new strength flowing from him. He was determined now to fight me to the finish, and I knew it.
Can he possibly do it?
He’s strong and tough. But I know how to operate his mind, and he doesn’t know how to operate mine. Not really. He was close, back there in the Labyrinth, but not close enough.
Still, I could feel him resisting me when I put him in trance to write this last section of this very long letter. I was able to win out, of course. But the next time it could be a lot harder. I have a real tiger on my hands.
The situation looks messy. I’ll try to keep you posted. That may not be so easy, though.
—Roy
8.
Day 18, Western Wind, Great River.
Where I left things in the last letter, it all seemed pretty dire. But actually I’ve had a few days of respite. Much to my surprise, Prince Ram has been behaving as though the exorcism in the Labyrinth really did work and the evil spirit has been cast forth from his soul. At least, that’s what he told Counsellor Teneristis when he returned to the palace later that day. And he hasn’t tried to aim any more direct communications my way.
I have these four explanations for the way he’s acting:
1) He really has convinced himself that the exorcism must have worked, despite what he said to me as we were coming out of the cavern.
2) He’s trying to fake me out, so that he can blindside me when he thinks my guard is down.
3) He’s afraid that Teneristis, upon hearing that the Labyrinth didn’t do the job, will send him off on some even more dangerous and strenuous pilgrimage that he really doesn’t want to undertake.
4) With the Rite of Anointing coming up very shortly— the grand ceremony by which Prince Ram becomes virtual co-monarch with his father—he simply doesn’t want to have to deal with the distraction of thinking about the demon that may or may not be possessing him.
Any or all of these four may be correct. Or none.
If Ram really thinks I’m gone, why did he tell me that he knows I’m still here? Doesn’t make sense. Nor can I easily believe that he’s afraid of Teneristis, or of any new penitence that Teneristis might saddle him with. The Prince didn’t seem at all hesitant about going into the Labyrinth. What could possibly be worse than that?
The theory about the Rite of Anointing has a little more substance. It’s the biggest event of his life so far. What if it’s dangerous in some way, or blasphemous, to try to undergo the rite while you’re possessed by a demon? Maybe Ram’s so eager for the Anointing that he doesn’t want the rite postponed, which might happen if he let Teneristis know that he’s still carrying that stubborn demon around in his head. On the other hand, Ram is honorable, above all else. Can he honorably conceal the fact that the exorcism didn’t work, and let himself go through with this immensely significant ceremony while he’s in a ritually impure state?
That leaves #2, which unfortunately seems all too plausible. Ram has been trained to be a king, and that involves being crafty. If there’s a pesky enemy bothering you who won’t go away, one way to handle him would be to lay low and clobber him when he’s not expecting it.
There’s also the possibility that Ram’s worried that this whole demonic possession business could lead to his being disqualified to become king at all, that he might be passed over in favor of his younger brother, unless he sweeps the entire thing under the carpet as fast as he can.
Whatever the reason, the Prince is keeping quiet these days. And so am I.
Three hours later. And everything is completely different now. Just for starters, let me tell you that the Prince is not in a trance as I write this. He’s completely conscious, aware of what’s going on, though of course he has no idea of the meaning of the words that his hand is shaping under my control.
I may be making the worst mistake of my life. And the last mistake of my life, too. But somehow I think everything is going to be all right. Let me tell you what happened.
The thing that kicked it off was the arrival of the diplomatic pouch from Naz Glesim. It contained the second of your letters, the one in which you talk about the mammoth hunt. (I think they have to be nuts to go out hunting gigantic beasts like that in the middle of a driving snowstorm. Even if they do believe that warm weather will never come unless they do it.) As before, the scroll was packed as if it had come from Provincial Governor Sippurilayl and was addressed to Prince Ram, so the bureaucrats downstairs brought it straight to the Prince in his study.
This time the Prince waited until they were gone before opening it. I waited, too, figuring I’d pounce on him and put him in trance just as he started to unroll it, so that he wouldn’t even have a phantom memory of once again having glimpsed something written in English. But he was way ahead of me.