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The house was dark when Faunos stepped back inside. The hearth was cold, and as the sun westered the chill had begun to creep back in. He struck flint to steel and breathed life into a new fire, but Galen did not stir. The shadows leaping on old walls and broken plaster looked odd, disturbing, and Faunos tried to ignore the flutter of dry wings he heard, as if he could hold off the sunbird through denial.
He had fetched water, lit a lamp and brought it to the bedside before the old teacher’s eyelids fluttered. How old Galen looked, as if his skin were parchment and the life force in him burned feeble as a candle. Tears stung Faunos’s eyes as he sat down and hunted for the old man’s hands.
They were cold and limp. “I tried,” he said softly. “I found a physician, but he wouldn’t come anywhere near the ruins. The soldiers will be here from Vayal before long, to burn them.” He swallowed several times before he could speak again, and his voice was raw. “Galen, we can’t stay here any longer.”
And yet the old man was dying. He seemed barely to breathe, and a faint mauve glow surrounded him. It was the strange, cold light of another world, Faunos knew. He had heard it described many times, and he was a scion of Diomedas, quite sensitive enough to the forces beyond the vision of common men to see it.
But Galen’s eyes had fluttered open now, and they were sane. Exhaustion brought him a kind of serenity. He was already at peace while Faunos was filled with restless urgency and dread. “Hush, boy,” he whispered, “there’s nothing to fret about. It’s quite simple. You must take the books and go.”
“Not without you,” Faunos said too quickly, and the tears spilled. “Galen, where will we go? I don’t know anyone here. Zeheft is gone, Pahrys was arrested, the people left with the fishing fleet. There’s only Vayal -- and the water gypsies.”
“And you’ll leave with the wandering people,” Galen murmured. Speaking was an effort of willpower, and mortal weariness dogged him with every breath. “Keep the books secret. Hidden. Sew them into the goatskins, let no eyes see them … not till you’ve learned what you must and found your place.”
“Found my place?” Faunos echoed. “Galen, for the love of Helios, I have no place. I can’t learn all this, not without you.”
“You can … you must.” Galen reached up and brushed a tear from Faunos’s cheek. The tender gesture shook Faunos deeply. “The books are your heritage,” Galen whispered. “Use them. Everything you must know is in them. Only find safety, give yourself time … learn, and never forget all that was Zeheft. You are Zeheft now. You, my boy, and the books, and the Eye of Helios, which was you father’s, and his father’s.”
“The focus.” Faunos took a long breath and courted peace. It was difficult to find. “You used to tell me the stories of the foci when I was small. You’d tell me how three were discovered by an old shaman, and two were lost. One is said to be in the Temple of Sehket, though no one has seen it in so long, the tale has become legend. And one rests in the tomb of Hellas, which was sealed and forgotten, untold years ago.”
Galen chuckled. The sound was no more than a rasp in his throat, and made him cough. “You learned the stories by heart, you could recite them with me! I had a dream, when I was your age. Younger. I would daydream that I was a great adventurer, perhaps even a warrior. I would have a magnificent galley with blood red sails, and a gallant crew of master mariners, and we would explore the face of Peseden, ten years and more … hunt down the foci, fetch them back to Zeheft, and vanquish Vayal. Zeheft’s glory days would return.” He shook his head on the goatskin pillow. “Such dreams are the pleasure of young men. Fetch it out now, boy. Fetch out the Eye of Helios. Let me see it.”
One last time. He did not say the words, and did not have to. Faunos heard them. The great blue diamond lay in its silk pouch, safe with the books. He brought it out, and the bracelet into which it would be set, when a great enchanter intended to work with it. The bracelet was made of woven gold filaments and fit his forearm like a glove, from his wrist halfway up to his elbow. It had been made to fit Diomedas, and without asking, Faunos knew why it fit his own arm just as well.
He wore the bracelet on his left forearm, as tradition demanded. The Eye of Helios slipped into the big setting on the back of his wrist and pulsed there. The blue shimmers danced inside the crystal, as if a fire sprite lived deep in the stone, and Faunos watched, entranced as always. It was so beautiful, it was easy to forget that it was also supremely dangerous.
“I was always afraid of it,” Galen confessed, though he had never admitted it before. Perhaps this was a time for truths, secrets, to be spoken while the opportunity remained. “If I were to hold it in my palm the way you do, my lord prince, the Power would burn my hand away.”
“My lord prince?” Faunos echoed, looking down into old teacher’s eyes.
He smiled wearily. “You are Faunos Phinneas Aeson. Upon the natural death of your father, which should have been many years from now, you would have become the sovereign of Zeheft, known to history as Aeson. You would have set aside the common things of men and the world, and become the vessel for whichever god answered you, when you called from the highest altar in Zeheft, on the eve of your ascension. If Gaya answered, you would have become the vessel of the goddess. If Hados answered, he would have worn your flesh, your bones, when he walked among men.”
“Not like the priest-kings of Vayal,” Faunos mused, “who are vowed to Helios and accept the will and word of no other god.”
“No other god would have them,” Galen said disdainfully. “Helios is the great destroyer. Know you this: his light burns out the eyes, what his heat touches perishes, he dries the soil to dust and scorches the crop in the field. Mankind is no more than corn to Helios. Where is the surprise, that destroyers like the Vayalish should venerate the destroyer?”
“I’ve prayed to Helios,” Faunos said slowly.
“And to Selene, and to Hurucan, and Peseden, and --” Galen coughed and groaned. “No matter. The gods grant favor where they will, and if they don’t, all the begging in the world won’t make them.” His slitted eyes fixed on the great crystal on Faunos’s wrist. “If you had all three of the foci in your hands, Vayal would have cause to dread you! I never told you this, my lord prince … I wouldn’t have told you till you were of age, five years hence … but all the long years of our hiding, I hoped and dreamed that when you were a man, you would undertake the quest I never did. Time passed me by and duty shackled me. But once, I hoped you might find the foci, fetch them back and be avenged upon the City of the Sun. With the Power in your hands, you could have set Zeheft back into its rightful place.”
Faunos was speechless for a long moment. “I never imagined any such thing. The Eye of Helios is just enough to get me killed!”
“To protect you,” Galen corrected. “And, please gods, I’ve taught you enough for you to use it just a little, for this purpose.” His eyes closed. “I don’t have long to tarry here, and you’re so young. Too young.” His voice was fading. “Find Pahrys, your cousin.”
“Pahrys is dead,” Faunos murmured. “Don’t you remember? The witchfinder took him.” He swallowed hard, as if he were swallowing his heart. “Soranchele Izamal-xiu Ulkan took him, you know that. Galen? Galen!” The old teacher’s eyes opened again, but they were dull, and seemed not to focus on his face. The soft mauve glow which wreathed the old man was stronger, and his hands were cold as ice. “Galen,” Faunos whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
“I can teach you no more.” Galen drew a long, difficult breath. “You know enough to practice your craft, the way your forefathers practiced.”
“Alone?” Faunos’s voice was a rasp.
“You know enough, my lord price.” Galen reached up, drew a caress about Faunos’s face, and clasped one of the strong, young hands between both of his own. “My lord prince,” he repeated, almost soundlessly. “You are the son of my heart, Faunos Phinneas Aeson. Know always, I love you.” His hands fell back to the sheepskins and were still.
Faunos dragged both palms across his face. “I’ll try. You believe I can do it, but in the name of Hados, where do I begin?”
There was no answer, and when he looked down into Galen’s eyes, no one looked back. Grief choked him, and he put his head down on the old man’s chest. No heartbeat throbbed against his ear, nor was he listening for one. The tears came, hot and bitter, and he welcomed them.
He had fetched water, lit a lamp and brought it to the bedside before the old teacher’s eyelids fluttered. How old Galen looked, as if his skin were parchment and the life force in him burned feeble as a candle. Tears stung Faunos’s eyes as he sat down and hunted for the old man’s hands.
They were cold and limp. “I tried,” he said softly. “I found a physician, but he wouldn’t come anywhere near the ruins. The soldiers will be here from Vayal before long, to burn them.” He swallowed several times before he could speak again, and his voice was raw. “Galen, we can’t stay here any longer.”
And yet the old man was dying. He seemed barely to breathe, and a faint mauve glow surrounded him. It was the strange, cold light of another world, Faunos knew. He had heard it described many times, and he was a scion of Diomedas, quite sensitive enough to the forces beyond the vision of common men to see it.
But Galen’s eyes had fluttered open now, and they were sane. Exhaustion brought him a kind of serenity. He was already at peace while Faunos was filled with restless urgency and dread. “Hush, boy,” he whispered, “there’s nothing to fret about. It’s quite simple. You must take the books and go.”
“Not without you,” Faunos said too quickly, and the tears spilled. “Galen, where will we go? I don’t know anyone here. Zeheft is gone, Pahrys was arrested, the people left with the fishing fleet. There’s only Vayal -- and the water gypsies.”
“And you’ll leave with the wandering people,” Galen murmured. Speaking was an effort of willpower, and mortal weariness dogged him with every breath. “Keep the books secret. Hidden. Sew them into the goatskins, let no eyes see them … not till you’ve learned what you must and found your place.”
“Found my place?” Faunos echoed. “Galen, for the love of Helios, I have no place. I can’t learn all this, not without you.”
“You can … you must.” Galen reached up and brushed a tear from Faunos’s cheek. The tender gesture shook Faunos deeply. “The books are your heritage,” Galen whispered. “Use them. Everything you must know is in them. Only find safety, give yourself time … learn, and never forget all that was Zeheft. You are Zeheft now. You, my boy, and the books, and the Eye of Helios, which was you father’s, and his father’s.”
“The focus.” Faunos took a long breath and courted peace. It was difficult to find. “You used to tell me the stories of the foci when I was small. You’d tell me how three were discovered by an old shaman, and two were lost. One is said to be in the Temple of Sehket, though no one has seen it in so long, the tale has become legend. And one rests in the tomb of Hellas, which was sealed and forgotten, untold years ago.”
Galen chuckled. The sound was no more than a rasp in his throat, and made him cough. “You learned the stories by heart, you could recite them with me! I had a dream, when I was your age. Younger. I would daydream that I was a great adventurer, perhaps even a warrior. I would have a magnificent galley with blood red sails, and a gallant crew of master mariners, and we would explore the face of Peseden, ten years and more … hunt down the foci, fetch them back to Zeheft, and vanquish Vayal. Zeheft’s glory days would return.” He shook his head on the goatskin pillow. “Such dreams are the pleasure of young men. Fetch it out now, boy. Fetch out the Eye of Helios. Let me see it.”
One last time. He did not say the words, and did not have to. Faunos heard them. The great blue diamond lay in its silk pouch, safe with the books. He brought it out, and the bracelet into which it would be set, when a great enchanter intended to work with it. The bracelet was made of woven gold filaments and fit his forearm like a glove, from his wrist halfway up to his elbow. It had been made to fit Diomedas, and without asking, Faunos knew why it fit his own arm just as well.
He wore the bracelet on his left forearm, as tradition demanded. The Eye of Helios slipped into the big setting on the back of his wrist and pulsed there. The blue shimmers danced inside the crystal, as if a fire sprite lived deep in the stone, and Faunos watched, entranced as always. It was so beautiful, it was easy to forget that it was also supremely dangerous.
“I was always afraid of it,” Galen confessed, though he had never admitted it before. Perhaps this was a time for truths, secrets, to be spoken while the opportunity remained. “If I were to hold it in my palm the way you do, my lord prince, the Power would burn my hand away.”
“My lord prince?” Faunos echoed, looking down into old teacher’s eyes.
He smiled wearily. “You are Faunos Phinneas Aeson. Upon the natural death of your father, which should have been many years from now, you would have become the sovereign of Zeheft, known to history as Aeson. You would have set aside the common things of men and the world, and become the vessel for whichever god answered you, when you called from the highest altar in Zeheft, on the eve of your ascension. If Gaya answered, you would have become the vessel of the goddess. If Hados answered, he would have worn your flesh, your bones, when he walked among men.”
“Not like the priest-kings of Vayal,” Faunos mused, “who are vowed to Helios and accept the will and word of no other god.”
“No other god would have them,” Galen said disdainfully. “Helios is the great destroyer. Know you this: his light burns out the eyes, what his heat touches perishes, he dries the soil to dust and scorches the crop in the field. Mankind is no more than corn to Helios. Where is the surprise, that destroyers like the Vayalish should venerate the destroyer?”
“I’ve prayed to Helios,” Faunos said slowly.
“And to Selene, and to Hurucan, and Peseden, and --” Galen coughed and groaned. “No matter. The gods grant favor where they will, and if they don’t, all the begging in the world won’t make them.” His slitted eyes fixed on the great crystal on Faunos’s wrist. “If you had all three of the foci in your hands, Vayal would have cause to dread you! I never told you this, my lord prince … I wouldn’t have told you till you were of age, five years hence … but all the long years of our hiding, I hoped and dreamed that when you were a man, you would undertake the quest I never did. Time passed me by and duty shackled me. But once, I hoped you might find the foci, fetch them back and be avenged upon the City of the Sun. With the Power in your hands, you could have set Zeheft back into its rightful place.”
Faunos was speechless for a long moment. “I never imagined any such thing. The Eye of Helios is just enough to get me killed!”
“To protect you,” Galen corrected. “And, please gods, I’ve taught you enough for you to use it just a little, for this purpose.” His eyes closed. “I don’t have long to tarry here, and you’re so young. Too young.” His voice was fading. “Find Pahrys, your cousin.”
“Pahrys is dead,” Faunos murmured. “Don’t you remember? The witchfinder took him.” He swallowed hard, as if he were swallowing his heart. “Soranchele Izamal-xiu Ulkan took him, you know that. Galen? Galen!” The old teacher’s eyes opened again, but they were dull, and seemed not to focus on his face. The soft mauve glow which wreathed the old man was stronger, and his hands were cold as ice. “Galen,” Faunos whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
“I can teach you no more.” Galen drew a long, difficult breath. “You know enough to practice your craft, the way your forefathers practiced.”
“Alone?” Faunos’s voice was a rasp.
“You know enough, my lord price.” Galen reached up, drew a caress about Faunos’s face, and clasped one of the strong, young hands between both of his own. “My lord prince,” he repeated, almost soundlessly. “You are the son of my heart, Faunos Phinneas Aeson. Know always, I love you.” His hands fell back to the sheepskins and were still.
Faunos dragged both palms across his face. “I’ll try. You believe I can do it, but in the name of Hados, where do I begin?”
There was no answer, and when he looked down into Galen’s eyes, no one looked back. Grief choked him, and he put his head down on the old man’s chest. No heartbeat throbbed against his ear, nor was he listening for one. The tears came, hot and bitter, and he welcomed them.
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