Balsin.
And started killing taralians, our King Fralialal was thinking of taking who remained of us and trying to cross the Sea—underneath, by the Caves.
CHAPTER 16
On her last night there was another enormous feast, in the same meadow as the feast held for her father, near the border between Rhiandomeer and Balsinland. She stood on the edge of that meadow as the pegasi set up the tables, chewing on a stem of llyri grass, naming the wildflowers to herself, because she knew them now; knew the names of the birds she could hear singing in the trees—recognised the fornol moving not quite silently through the undergrowth. The llyri grass was sweet and succulent, the first shoots of the new season, but she doubted it would give her wings.
This time the tall chair was for her. When the pegasi brought it out from the shelter, rocking on its poles, she said, But that’s my father’s chair. For a wild moment she thought, Perhaps he’s come back for the last night, and felt a rush of emotion so confused it made her dizzy. Those first nights in the pegasus country seemed a century ago; she was almost used—almost—to being a queer upright wingless biped—with hands—among the graceful pegasi. She stood quietly, watching the pegasi setting the chair down and releasing it from its transport poles. Two of them carried it, but another four released the cords and slid the poles free. Aloud she repeated, “ That’s my father’s chair.”
“Tonight it’s for you,” said Hibeehea.
Sylvi turned toward him; she had not heard him approach. You speak human as well as a human. Why—why—
Why don’t I? said Hibeehea. Why don’t I come to your country and become a translator and make everything right between your people and mine? Because I feel ill and faint in your country, so ill and so faint that I can no longer speak your language, and after a day or two I cannot understand it either. This is true of all our shamans—the healers may remain a little longer than the rest of us—Hissiope is unusual in that he can bear up to a fortnight at the palace, but, he says, he pays for this strength by being less strong at home. It seems to us that this is true generally: the stronger our magic here, the weaker we are as soon as we cross the human border.... The last time I came to the palace I could barely fly home again; we had to keep stopping for me to rest.
Then it is true, Sylvi said. It is not just a way of—of speaking. It’s like—it’s like flying or not flying—having wings or not having wings. Our magic and yours is—somehow—antipathetic.
The traditional pegasi nod of agreement was a quick shaking of the head, more like the human gesture of no. Hibeehea first gave a quick pegasi shake and then a slower, human nod. Yes. It is—to us—as clear as—as clear as wings or no wings. Your magic is, perhaps, more like rock, while ours is more like water. And your magicians are very strong. We . . . we seep. Hibeehea smiled, but Sylvi, who had been immersed in pegasi for the last three weeks, could see the strain in him.
A few of us shamans go with Lrrianay when there is some important occasion upon us; I was there for his binding to your father, and for your father’s marriage to your mother, and for Danacor’s name-day, his binding to Thowara and his acceptance as heir. There is always at least one healer present at the palace, but that may be all. We do not stay long, and we do not—talk.
You’ve never—
Admitted it? There is little to admit, in the palace of the human king. I am considered slightly mad for having pursued the learning of your language as diligently as I have done when there is no use for it. In every generation of shamans since the signing of the treaty there are a few who learn to speak aloud as you speak; I found I had a talent for it, and so I went on with it—on and on—hoping that I would find at last some border to cross, some gate to pass through, that, once I had done so, I would have your language as I have my own. This has not happened. I come often to your country—
Sylvi involuntarily shook her head, in human negation and disbelief. Oh, she said, srrrwa, fwif, forgive me, it is only that I have never seen you and I—I have thought I am—am aware of the pegasi who visit us.
You offer no discourtesy, Hibeehea replied. Another of my talents is that of being overlooked when I choose.
With great self-restraint Sylvi managed not to shake her head again, but a faint smile briefly appeared on Hibeehea’s face, and faded at once. I often travel alone, he continued, and I rarely remain at the palace—and I will myself to be disregarded. Mostly I wander through your towns and your countryside, listening to humans talk. It is easier for me outside the Wall.
There are fewer magicians outside the Wall, said Sylvi. The guilds’ offices are by the southeast gate; the Hall of Magicians is at the centre of the palace.
Yes, said Hibeehea.
The Hall of Magicians is at the very centre of the palace, Sylvi thought slowly, and ordinary humans aren’t allowed in it unless there’s some great ritual thing going on.
Every shaman as a part of training and acceptance must go once to your palace, Hibeehea continued. We are still hoping that one day there will be a shaman who can speak to you in your own country.
Then . . . that is why humans don’t come here. It’s the other way around too, somehow. To herself again she thought, I wonder if any magician has ever tried to cross the border? If they are rock while the shamans are water . . . I guess they cannot.
We believe so. It is nothing there is any record of. It is certainly why I was extremely reluctant to agree to your visit. For both your sake and ours. We did not know if you as king’s daughter might bring some unknown, protective human magic with you that would disrupt ours; and we were—I was—very afraid of having to send you home early, weak and ill and confused, and the reaction such an outcome would provoke among your people. I am not unaware of the difficulty your father had in persuading his council and his senate to permit you to go.
Boldly Sylvi said, Then why did you agree?
He didn’t answer for a moment, and she was afraid he would not—and that she had gone too far. He said, I drank water from the Dreaming Sea, and Redfora told me to let you come.
She could not meet his eyes. The pegasi had brought the long table out and fitted the three sections together and set the tall chair at its head. By the time Sylvi had thought of something more to say to Hibeehea, when she turned back to him, he had gone.
At the banquet she found that she stood and wandered, the way the pegasi did. It had been like this at the first banquet, but then it had seemed odd, slightly embarrassing—perhaps slightly rude, as if, as a human, she was behaving inappropriately. This second time it merely was the thing to do: Why would anyone want to sit down for an entire banquet? She wished she could introduce wandering to her father’s state dinners.... At first she thought she was avoiding sitting down because she did not want to sit in her father’s chair; or perhaps that she did not want to be marked out among the pegasi any more than she inevitably was. But she realised she was standing and wandering because she wanted to—because she was more comfortable that way. And her banquet dress, far less crushed by its three weeks rolled up in the bottom of a pannier than she had expected—perhaps some fragment of pegasus fabric magic had worked its way into her clothing bag—made a nice swishing noise as she walked. She remembered that, three weeks ago, the swish and swirl had given her courage.