As he entered, the four unlit lanterns in the room flickered into bright life, sharp shadows forming in the three arches that led to his garden. Sofarita sat up.
“Do they still seek to kill me?” she asked him.
“They have other problems on their minds,” he told her.
“Come to me,” she commanded him. And, to his surprise, he obeyed her. Sofarita rose and took his injured hand in her own. All pain vanished. Lifting his hand he curled his fingers into a fist. The bones were completely healed. “You were very brave, Questor Ro,” she said, softly. “When you loosed the third bolt you thought the weapon would explode in your face. You thought you were going to die.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And yet you fought on. That was noble.”
The little man reddened. “Why did you come here?”
“You will still need my help, Avatar. Tell me, how is the soldier whose legs I broke?”
“Resting. It will take time for such breaks to heal.”
“I hurt him badly,” she said. “I allowed my anger to overwhelm me. It will not happen again. Tomorrow I will heal him also.”
Ro sat down in a chair opposite hers. “How soon will they return, do you think?” he asked her.
Sofarita shrugged. “I do not believe they will attack the cities by sea again. But they have landed an army to the south. Three thousand men, and beasts. Another army is sailing down the Luan. There will be great slaughter and destruction.”
“What can we do?”
“What else can you do but follow your natures?” she told him. “You are what you are.”
“Do you hate the Avatar so much?” he asked, hearing the contempt in her voice.
She gave a wistful smile. “You misunderstand me, Questor Ro. I was not talking of the Avatar. I was speaking of Man. So much is clear to me now and every day it grows clearer still. We do what we are born to do. My Aunt Lalia has a cat. It is well fed, and wants for nothing. Yet it will—with its belly full—creep into the meadow and kill a bird. It does not eat the bird. Why then does it kill? One might as well ask why a flower grows or the rain falls. It kills because it is designed to kill. That is its purpose. It has fangs and claws and great speed. It is a hunter. If then it does not hunt what purpose does it serve?” Sofarita fell silent for a moment. Then she spoke again. “A few weeks ago I was a widow living in a small village. I knew my role, and I played it well. I was demure in the company of men, and I worked in the fields with the other women. When my period of mourning was done I would have accepted my father’s choice of a new husband and I would have borne him children. I am no longer that village girl. I see the world with larger eyes. And I can fly on the winds of time. Today I journeyed far, I saw Man. I watched him as he crept from the deep jungles, his body covered in thick fur. I saw his intelligence develop and his skills increase. Those skills were always allied to death. Do you know the greatest discovery made by man six hundred thousand years ago?” Ro shook his head. She laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “He learned that a javelin’s weight must be heaviest a third of the way from the point. It ensures good flight and maximum killing. He had a language based on grunts and gestures, but he learned to make a javelin. I have seen many things, Questor Ro. Events to break the strongest heart. Man is like the cat. No matter what wealth he possesses, no matter how contented his life, no matter how advanced his learning, he will yearn to fight, to defeat and kill a perceived enemy.”
“Not all men behave in this way,” said Ro.
“That is true,” she conceded. “And what is their fate? I have watched them also, the poets, the spiritual leaders, the dreamers of harmony. Can you name more than a handful who were not murdered?”
“I cannot. What you say is true, but what choice do we have now? The Almecs are evil and seek to destroy us. What else can we do but resist them?”
“You can do nothing else. For you are a man. But beware when you speak of their evil. They are merely a distorted reflection of the Avatar. They live on the blood of others, ritually sacrificing thousands, tearing out their hearts. You Avatars are little different, save that your crystals draw life without the accompanying gore. If the Almecs are evil—then so are you. And they are evil, Questor Ro.”
Ro settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was weary now, and the truth of her words hung on him like the weight of death. “Why is it that I could not see this before?” he asked her. “Why is it so clear to me now?”
“I had not touched you then. The power is new to me, and I have not yet learned how to control it. I inadvertently opened a window in your soul that had long been closed. I could close it again for you, should you desire it.”
Ro shook his head. “I do not want to lose it again. I feel whole now. Like when I was a child, and the world was full of wonder. What happened to me? How did I lose that youthful passion, that belief in humanity?”
“Speck by speck,” she told him, “so that you did not know what you were losing. It is the nature of men to build walls around themselves. They think it will protect them from hurt. It does the opposite. The hurt still gets in, but now it rattles around the walls, unable to get out. So you build more walls. You are now seeing the world without walls. You are free, Ro. Free to hurt and free to heal.”
“What would you have me do?”
She smiled then, a radiant smile, and, leaning forward, took his hand. “Go and take your bath. Then rest. Tomorrow I shall speak with the Questor General. You will bring him here.”
“You are still willing to help us?”
“I will aid you in your battle with the Almecs.”
Chapter Nineteen
As Ro left the room the lanterns died down once more. Sofarita closed her eyes and freed her spirit, flying high over the ocean. Such was the speed of her flight that she chased down the setting sun, watching it appear to rise majestically from the west. As a simple villager she had assumed the earth to be a vast flat plate, the sun slowly revolving around it. She had been surprised and delighted to discover its true shape and its place in the heavens. Now she experienced another delight. The western continent was bathed in sunshine while the eastern lands were covered by a cloak of darkness. She had moved from midnight to mid-afternoon in the space of a few heartbeats.
The land below her was rugged and mountainous, the valleys lush and green, the rivers huge and sparkling. To the north she could see yet more mountains, snow-covered and ancient. South she flew, over mountains and hills and vast plains. Far below her she saw what appeared to be a colossal brown snake gliding slowly over the grassland. Dropping lower she realized she was gazing at a massive herd of shaggy brown animals moving along the line of a river. There were too many to count, and the herd stretched back for miles.
On she flew, soaring above forests of tall trees, and glittering lakes fed by rushing water from the melting snows of the mountains.
The first people she saw were living by a lake, their few dwellings created from hides stretched over poles. Several children were playing by the water’s edge, while four women were stretching out hides and scraping the grease from them with sharp stones. There were no men to be seen, and Sofarita decided they must be hunting.
As she flew further south she came across larger camps. As she hovered over one that stretched on both sides of a wide river she felt a prickling sensation, as if someone had reached out and touched her.
Surprised—and a little fearful—she sped away.
Sixty miles farther on she saw vultures below her, feeding. Others circled in the sky. She dropped toward the earth and saw hundreds of human bodies sprawled in death. The vultures had torn at them, but she saw several that the birds had not yet violated. Each had its ribs splayed open, the hearts torn from the chests.
Anger touched her then, and she rose into the air. To the south she saw another Almec army, camped beyond a small wood. There were some 500 warriors, each armed with fire-clubs and short swords. And away to the left were a score o
f krals, sitting in a circle around a fire. A hundred prisoners, roped and tied, sat forlornly in the open.
On she flew until she reached a towering escarpment, like a wall stretching across the land. Two hundred feet high and sheer, it seemed eerily out of place. At its base a forest grew. Sofarita glanced down and saw that hundreds of trees had been crushed there, as if the whole escarpment had dropped down onto the forest like a hammer from Heaven.
This was the land of the Almecs.
Higher now she flew, over cities of alien stone, built with craft and cunning, with canals and wide avenues, teeming with people. There was evidence of earthquake damage in all of the cities. Many buildings showed jagged cracks, others had crumbled. One canal was completely dry, its walls collapsed. The farther west she flew, the greater the damage. At the farthest western edge of this new land she came upon the remains of a city. It had been spectacularly ruined, the earth rising sharply, the buildings that remained jutting from the earth at an incredible angle. Most had been torn away, the ruins scattering the slope below. Sofarita scanned the area. It was as if a giant hand had grabbed this 100-mile section and wrenched it upward. Moving west again she saw the reason.
The transported lands of the Almecs had appeared mostly above a vast, flat plain. The impact had caused the earthquake damage she had seen to the east. But here there was no escarpment. This small section of land had descended upon a range of mountains, which had thrust up through the invading earth like spear points. The death toll among the Almecs must have been enormous.
Sofarita flew back toward the east. The Almec capital loomed in the distance, and in the light of the setting sun she could see the gleaming golden ziggurat that housed the Crystal Queen.
The Crystal Queen!
The title surprised her. From where had it come? She had told Questor Ro that the golden ziggurat was somehow alive, but now she knew instinctively that it contained the … soul? … of a woman. Once again she felt the sensation of someone reaching out to her but, unlike the almost gentle whisper of movement she had felt above the tribal encampment, this was harsh and chillingly malevolent.
“Who are you?” The voice was sweet and compelling, but beneath its tone Sofarita felt raw and terrible power.
She fled instantly, flying faster than ever before, hurtling toward the night-dark lands of the east.
Back in her body she gestured towards the fireplace. Two chunks of wood rose from the log pile and settled in place upon the dying fire. As the flames sprang up Sofarita gazed down at her trembling hands. They were shining as if oiled. Lightly she stroked the skin of her knuckles. It was as smooth now as glazed pottery. She flexed her fingers. They felt stiff and sore.
“That is just the beginning,” came the voice in her mind. It was the same woman’s voice, the tone cold and infinitely cruel. Sofarita shivered.
A vision danced into her mind. A young woman, white-haired and sleek, with large eyes of shimmering green. The face floated closer. Sofarita saw that the eyes were crystals, multi-faceted and gleaming. “I am Almeia,” she said.
“You rule the Almecs. You are the Crystal Queen.”
“That is what they call me.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want for nothing, child. I am eternal and complete. I had also thought myself unique. Imagine my surprise when I sensed you above my home, my resting place, my tomb. How does it feel, Sofarita, to possess such power, to roam the skies, and read the hearts of men?”
“Frightening,” said Sofarita.
“Frightening? Yes, I remember that feeling. But it passes. Everything passes. Except knowledge. It grows and it grows. Of course there is a price to pay—as you will see. Some might call it a terrible price. I used to think so.”
“What price?”
“Once I was like you, a creature of soft flesh and transient desires. And I recall how fine that felt, the grass beneath the feet, the scent of summer blooms in the air, the taste of wine upon the tongue. Most of all the feel of a man’s warm body pressing upon the skin. All these things are lost to me now. As they will soon be lost to you.”
“What are you saying?” asked Sofarita, the beginnings of an awful fear rising in her belly.
“I think you already sense the answer, Sofarita. There are certain humans who should never be touched by the healing crystals. Some—perhaps lucky, perhaps unlucky—become crystal-wed. They swiftly turn to glass, and they shatter and die. More rare are those who become crystal-joined. All the powers of the crystals are unleashed in them. And why? Because they are destined to become the ultimate crystal. Oh yes it is slow. And yes it is infinitely painful. First you notice—as you have already—a sheen to the skin, brows and cheekbones, knuckles and chin. That is only the beginning. Within a year you will scarce be able to move. Within two you will be paralyzed, locked like a statue. Within five your body will no longer be discernible. It will twist and change. Slowly, so slowly. By the twentieth year there will be little hint of humanity. After fifty years you will be merely a block of beautiful crystal. Within it you will survive for a little longer. Another hundred years perhaps. Unless fed, of course. Unless life washes over you in the richness of blood. As long as this is done you will remain, powerful and eternal. Is this what you desire?”
“No. I will not allow it. I will die first.”
Sofarita’s mind was filled with pealing laughter, a sound metallic and artificial. “I do believe I said the same thing,” Almeia told her. “But I can help you, my dear.”
“Why would you do this?”
“Is the answer not obvious? What would be the advantage of having two crystal queens? Would you like my help?”
“You are evil,” said Sofarita. “This I know. And evil is not to be trusted.”
“Such silly words are for smaller minds, Sofarita. Is the sun evil? Or the sea? Each kills, each gives life. That does not make them evil. Everything I do is for self-preservation. All creatures of flesh and blood understand this. I kill to live. As do you. Each mouthful of meat you devour comes from a living creature who would not have chosen to die for you. Are you evil, Sofarita?”
“I do not have children buried alive to feed me, nor do I tear the hearts from prisoners taken in war.”
“Ah, we are talking merely of scale, then. One lamb is food, ten lambs is a feast, a thousand lambs is gluttony. What then creates evil, the deaths of a million lambs? And what is the difference between a man and a lamb? Everything dies. Most men die uselessly. Those whose lives feed mine at least serve a purpose. In return I give my people prosperity, freedom from want and disease. My trusted councillors also gain eternal lives. They might argue that everything I do is for the general good.
“However, let us talk about what would be good for you. I can take away your powers, draw them into myself. It will not harm me. And you would become a farm girl again, soft of flesh.”
Sofarita’s spirit eyes looked deep into Almeia’s green crystal orbs. “How would you do this?” she asked.
“All you need to do is relax. You will be free to live your life as you choose.”
She lies, came another voice. She means for you to die!
Sofarita lay back in the chair, her mind sleepy, her limbs relaxed.
She is already doing it! Push her out, woman. Your life is at risk!
Sofarita blinked and tried to sit up. She felt weak and nauseous. The floating face before her was all eyes now, huge, and green and luminous. Anger flared within her, roaring up like a tidal wave. The image of Almeia flickered—and was gone.
Sofarita shivered. You must beware, said the voice. She will attack again. You are her mortal enemy. She will not rest until you are slain.
“Who are you?”
Another face flickered into her mind. A middle-aged man with leathery skin and deep-set dark eyes. He wore a beaded headband over his black and grey braided hair. Two eagle’s feathers were embedded in the band.
“I am the One-Eyed-Fox,” he said, “shaman to the Anaj
o, the First People. I tried to reach you when you flew over my village.”
“I remember. Did you hear all that she said to me?”
“Most of her words.”
“Was it true? Am I doomed to become like her, a block of crystal?”
When he spoke there was sadness in his voice. “I am not strong enough to fight her, only to hide from her. Yet I sense the truth in those words. What she spoke of did indeed happen to her hundreds of years ago. I have walked the Gray Road and have seen this. Once she was gentle and caring, and used her power to heal. Now she demands thousands of sacrifices. Her need for blood and death is insatiable.”
“Then I shall destroy her before I die.”
“Someone must destroy her before we all die,” he said. “Where is Talaban?”
“I do not know the name. Is he an Avatar?”
“He is the captain of the black ship. He will know where the last battle must be fought.”
“And where is that?” asked Sofarita.
“I do not know yet. But Talaban will when the time comes. He and Touch-the-Moon will stand upon the mountain, like lanterns against the dark.”
His voice faded away—and Sofarita was alone.
Alone and dying! There had been so many small plans in her young life. To find love and to raise a family. To build a home in the mountains, near a waterfall, and to have a flower garden. Tiny dreams that had comforted her in the first year of widowhood. She had, after a fashion, loved her husband. Veris was a good man, but twenty years older than Sofarita. Her father had made the match because Veris owned land abutting his. The bridal price was two meadows. Sofarita had made no objection. She had known Veris all her life. He was a kind man, given to laughter. His lovemaking had been gentle and Sofarita knew she could be content with this man. On the last morning of his life, eleven weeks after the wedding, he had kissed her cheek and left for the fields. As he reached the doorway he paused, then turned back and hugged her.