“Yes, sweeting, but I keep hoping. We all used to have so much fun, with her.… I don’t understand—that’s one thing I don’t understand. Why she doesn’t share you with us anymore?” She turned to glance at Kirard Set, spreading her fingers in a shrug. “Do you have a clue, Kiri?” He shook his head, his mouth puckering with suppressed laughter. “She just isn’t the same woman, since the Change.” She giggled at her own wine-sodden whimsy, at the titillation of not knowing where the truth lay beneath the shimmering water of her fantasies. “Is she, darling?”
“You said it yourself,” Sparks snapped, losing patience. “She isn’t the same woman. She’s my pledged—my wife. And I was on my way home to my wife and my children.” He turned away from her, starting for the door.
“Whose children, precious—?” The words stabbed him from behind.
He swung back, saw Clavally and Danaquil Lu turn and stare, across the room; saw Kirard Set rise from the table, catching hold of Shelachie with a muttered, “Not now, for gods’ sakes—”
“Well, whose are they, anyway?” she called out, weaving where she stood, absurdly dressed in the clothes of another world and age. “Where did she get them? They don’t look like you! And why didn’t she give them special names, ritual names, if she got them during Mask Night? Even the Summers say—”
He didn’t stay to hear what even his own people said. His own people … He reached inside his shirt as he strode on up the nearly empty Street, feeling for the Hegemonic medal he wore, a gift to his mother from the stranger who had been her chosen on the Festival night when he was merry begotten… . His father was an offworlder, and he had never felt at home in Summer, among its superstitious, tech-hating people. When Moon had forsaken her pledge to him to become a sibyl, he had run away to Carbuncle. He had believed that among the Winters and offworlders he would find out where he truly belonged. He had found Arienrhod….
But Moon was his again, in spite of everything, because of it; and his children were proof of it. … Why did she give them those names? They should have had special names. Festival names— His own mother and Moon’s had come to the previous Festival, when the ships of the Hegemonic Assembly paid one of their periodic visits to this world and Carbuncle became a place where all boundaries broke down and everyone lived their fantasies for a night. Children born of the Festival nights were counted lucky, blessed; given special, symbolic names to mark their unique status. He and Moon both bore the names that marked them as merrybegots; so did Fate Ravenglass.
As a grown man he sometimes wished that he could shed the burden of his ritual name, sometimes felt selfconscious speaking it. Yet he had never changed it. He knew that he never would, because it was still the symbol of all he was, his heritage.
It had been Moon’s privilege as mother to name their children. But she had not given their Festival-night twins ritual names; instead she had given them names he was not sure any Tiamatan ever used. He had never asked her why—had been afraid to, he admitted angrily, because he knew that during the Festival she had been with another man—an offworlder, a Kharemoughi police inspector, the man who had helped her track him down.
Ariele looked like her mother; so much like Moon that seeing her made him ache sometimes with memories of his childhood, of running on golden beaches with Moon, racing the birds, laughing and alive. But Tammis … The boy looked like her too, but he was darker than any Tiamatan child should be … dark like a Kharemoughi. Sparks touched the medal he wore again. His own father had been halt Kharemoughi—his own skin was dark, by Tiamatan standards. He didn’t know what the other man had looked like; he had not seen him, before he went offworld with the rest. But there was nothing he could see of himself in his son’s face, no matter how much Moon insisted on the resemblance. He tried not to think about it, tried never to let his doubt show… . He loved his children. He loved his wife. He knew they loved him. Together he and Moon were building a new life, a future for themselves, as well as for their world.
So then why did he feel every day that it was harder to climb this hill?
Moon stood alone in the chamber at the top of the palace, at the top of the city—as close to reaching the stars as anyone on this world would come in her lifetime. It was late at night; she had lost track of the time, letting herself drift, ‘aching for sleep but without the strength to release the day and go to her bed.
She gazed out through the dome, looking at the sea. Its surface was calm tonight, a dark mirror for the star-filled sky. Its face turned back her gaze, turned back all attempts to penetrate its depths, or reveal the secrets hidden there. Only she knew the truth; that the hidden heart of the sibyl net lay here, in the sea below her; that the tendrils of its secret mind reached out from here to countless worlds across the galaxy. Only she knew. And she could never tell anyone….
Sudden motion disturbed the balance of sea and sky; she saw mers, a whole colony of them, celebrating the perfect night, as if her thoughts had caused them to materialize. It was their safety the sibyl net had charged her with ensuring; their safety was tied, in ways that she did not fully understand, to the well-being of her own people, and to the sibyl mind itself. She watched them moving with joyful abandon between two worlds, inside a net of stars; their grace and beauty astonished her, as they always did, until for that moment she remembered no regret.
Tiamatan tradition called the mers the Sea’s Children, and held their lives sacred; Tiamatans had lived in peaceful coexistence with the mers for centuries, before the Hegemony had found this world. There were countless stories of mers saving sailors fallen overboard, or guiding ships through the treacherous passages among island reefs; they had saved her own life, once.
But the offworlders had come, had been coming for a millennium or more, seeking the water of life. And the sibyl mind had suffered with the death of the mers, until after centuries of suffering it had reached out to her alone, out of all the sibyls in the net—chosen her to stop the slaughter, to save the mers and itself, to change the future for her own people, and perhaps for countless others. It had forced her to obey … forced her to become Queen. And then it had left her to struggle on alone, driven by a compulsion that never let her rest; to hope that she was doing its will as it had intended.
She looked down, focusing on the room around her as the night’s image suddenly lost all its beauty. All around her she saw the stormwrack of her life: the projects indefinitely postponed or forever abandoned that she had tried to find time to do simply for herself, out of love and not duty. There were piles of books from Arienrhod’s library, most of them in languages she did not know, but filled with three-dimensional visions of life on other worlds that she had longed to pore over; there were pieces of toys, fashioned from wood by her own hands but still unassembled; the unraveling body of a half-knitted sweater; clothes for the children with half the smocking done, that she had never finished before they had outgrown them… . And there were the fragments of Arienrhod’s past, so much like her own past, of which she possessed no mementos at all. Sometimes she began to imagine that those aged, softly fading things were actually her own; or that they were her legacy…
She shut her eyes. The darkness filled immediately with memories of the day, reminding her that she had been standing here alone with her grief for far too long. She had not even been down to kiss her children good night. She had been unable to face her grandmother’s gaze any longer, one more word, one more look or murmur of doubt. And still Sparks had not returned, tonight of all nights, to his disappointed son and daughter; to her, when she needed so much to talk to him.