[page back]
He knows the feeling coursing through his veins and hammering in his breast. Faunos is young and untried, but Mykenos sired no fools. It is love that torments my sweet boy, and he has the wisdom to know it, though many a mortal will deny it to his dying breath. Men are vile and petty creatures whose vanity and stupidity is only outdone by their lust and greed.
Soranchele Izamal-xiu Ulkan is not the same, and Faunos has seen the world of difference in him. The blue eyes are filled with doubt, shadowed with pain, for he has seen and done too much of which he is ashamed. The longing and desperate need expressed in his face unnerve Faunos, and spur fear as much as grief.
Knowest thou not, fair boy, he is thy soulmate? Or is Faunos Phinneas Aeson also a coward, without even the courage to admit his own fault?
The Oracle grieves while the moon rides higher, and the last scion of Diomedas makes his way, for the final time, out of the ruins of all that was Zeheft. Blue-back darkness engulfs him, and from the safety of the clifftop he looks back across the shambles of the city. The witchfinder’s fine horse is tethered on the clifftop, dozing there. For a moment Faunos thinks to take the animal, and then passes by. The horse will be too easy to follow, and to recognize. Taking it would brand him a thief as well as a witchboy, and the penalties for thieving are harsh in Vayal.
Soldiers are at work among the ruins -- a caravan of asses and mules has labored for hours to fetch in every drop of oil on the island. While Faunos pauses to rest and watches, they pull out the pack animals and shout for peasants to come in. Midnight is an hour past, and they will work for another hour, carrying in kindling, tinder, firewood. Then flaming arrows will ignite the pyre of Zeheft, and it will burn for days.
Grief for all that is lost floods Faunos’s eyes with tears, and he turns his back on Zeheft. The bags are heavy over both his shoulders, but the weight comforts him. Soran will sleep for an hour and wake groggy, confused; he is in no danger. He should be out of the ruins in time to watch the archers light the pyre.
And Faunos has a long way to go. He is on the cliff trail, which was recently a street on the landward edge of the marketplace. The moonlight is bright enough for him to look down into the waters and recognize the sunken buildings. The last thing he sees it the Temple of Naxos, Queen of Heaven, where dolphins play in the light of Selena.
He murmurs to the goddess -- mumbled prayers to send him a ship that will take him out of these waters on the dawn tide. Does she listen? Do the gods ever listen to the pleas of mortals -- or even the immortals? Even Iridan does not speak with the gods, for what would he say to them? He, who was innocent and is held forever, caught in an enchanter’s net and able only to watch as the ages pass by.
My pleasure, now as always, is to watch young men, for they fetch back the sweeter memories of my own mate. He was the warrior, the soldier, much like sweet Soran, who sleeps now, and dreams of days that might have been, while Faunos makes the long and bitter march to the dunes where the water gypsies’ ships are beached.
The moon is setting, the stars are bright, as he plows through the sand, tired, weary, heartsore. The tide is almost fully in, the galleys are almost afloat. Two stand off, waiting to beach; one more is leaving after swift repairs and a night of trading and revels.
Iridan whispers in his ear. Choose the galley with the high prow, whose figurehead -- arched over the stern to guard the vessel and her crew -- is Naxos in her serpent guise.
The Queen of Heaven soars over the face of the ocean in the form of a serpent woman with vast, feathered wings. In the outer realms she has another name, when she spreads those wings and flexes her eagle's talons. She becomes Quezelus -- human, god, woman, serpent and seaeagle at once. She is the daughter of Gaya and Hurucan, sister of Aphrataya and Apollonos, at home in all words, at rest everywhere, mistress of the cosmos.
The glow of false dawn has begun, and Faunos knows time is short. He quickens his pace and calls ahead to the camp riggers who are hauling their last goods aboard before the ship floats off completely.
The galley is one of the Incari designs, long and low, sleek as a leopard, broad and safe in the water. Twenty oars line each side of her, pulled not by slaves but by crewmen. The Incarimen are free traders with little use for slaves, whose labor cannot be trusted when the wind is capricious, the sea vengeful, and pirates haunt the horizon.
Faunos does not see the ratlike face of Keffek, the camp master who sold his pavilion for a night to Soran, for a silver coin. And nor should Faunos fret about the contemptible one, for Keffek’s ship is still out in the bay, and the man has no connection with the vessel that catches Faunos’s eye.
Still, Keffek sees the Zehefti boy at once -- recognizes him -- and like all his kind, he has a passion for one more piece of silver, one last flake of gold.
The men from the Incari galley named Quezelus see nothing amiss in a Zeheftiman leaving these shores. Their kind have been fleeing for years, and in the last few days, with Hurucan and Volcos behind them, they have been leaving in droves. Faunos calls up to the deck, and Iridan sighs a little in satisfaction as the captain sends down two hooked lines -- one for the Zehefi boy’s bags, one for himself.
Agile, graceful, sure of his body and himself, Faunos rides the line up and swings over the side onto the deck. He lands lightly beside his precious bags, and only then notices how light the sky has become.
The false dawn is blooming, but the greater brightness does not come from the sky. He stands with the crew of this trading galley and gazes into the west, where Zeheft is burning.
They watch for long minutes while the city’s pyre brightens, but when the first choking waft of smoke drenches the deck, the galley’s captain summons all hands to work. In minutes the oars are manned. A drum beats to set the rhythm. Muscles flex, sinews strain, as the crewmen drag their vessel out into deeper water. There, the steersman throws over the massive oar in the stern. It bites into the water with a heavy sound of timber and ocean --
O, how does Iridan recall the wind and sharp salt spray, the creak of taut rope, the billow of canvas, the smell of tar and cured wood, as a ship leans into the wind. Such memories taunt and delight with their lure of freedom, and the sweet-sad recollections of love.
Helios sits bloated and red upon the horizon as the galley begins to run before the wind. The great sail is gold and ivory in the dawn light, and Faunos stands in the stern, under the likeness of the Queen of Heaven, and watches Zeheft vanish into the pall of its own pyre smoke.
He leaves behind all he has ever claimed as his own: the city of his fathers, the teacher who would have ushered him properly to manhood, and the lover he knows full well he cannot have. Ahead of him lie a number of familiar islands where he grew up, and others -- dark, strange, forbidding. Most are no more than names on the map, but soon enough they will be places with their own pleasures, their own dangers.
The air chills as the galley heads out across the bay, bound for ports unknown. Faunos draws a cloak about himself, sits by the rail with the precious bags between his feet, and with angry, rebellious eyes watches Helios rise.
Turn page to Chapter Eighteen...
Return to Chapter Seventeen...
He knows the feeling coursing through his veins and hammering in his breast. Faunos is young and untried, but Mykenos sired no fools. It is love that torments my sweet boy, and he has the wisdom to know it, though many a mortal will deny it to his dying breath. Men are vile and petty creatures whose vanity and stupidity is only outdone by their lust and greed.
Soranchele Izamal-xiu Ulkan is not the same, and Faunos has seen the world of difference in him. The blue eyes are filled with doubt, shadowed with pain, for he has seen and done too much of which he is ashamed. The longing and desperate need expressed in his face unnerve Faunos, and spur fear as much as grief.
Knowest thou not, fair boy, he is thy soulmate? Or is Faunos Phinneas Aeson also a coward, without even the courage to admit his own fault?
The Oracle grieves while the moon rides higher, and the last scion of Diomedas makes his way, for the final time, out of the ruins of all that was Zeheft. Blue-back darkness engulfs him, and from the safety of the clifftop he looks back across the shambles of the city. The witchfinder’s fine horse is tethered on the clifftop, dozing there. For a moment Faunos thinks to take the animal, and then passes by. The horse will be too easy to follow, and to recognize. Taking it would brand him a thief as well as a witchboy, and the penalties for thieving are harsh in Vayal.
Soldiers are at work among the ruins -- a caravan of asses and mules has labored for hours to fetch in every drop of oil on the island. While Faunos pauses to rest and watches, they pull out the pack animals and shout for peasants to come in. Midnight is an hour past, and they will work for another hour, carrying in kindling, tinder, firewood. Then flaming arrows will ignite the pyre of Zeheft, and it will burn for days.
Grief for all that is lost floods Faunos’s eyes with tears, and he turns his back on Zeheft. The bags are heavy over both his shoulders, but the weight comforts him. Soran will sleep for an hour and wake groggy, confused; he is in no danger. He should be out of the ruins in time to watch the archers light the pyre.
And Faunos has a long way to go. He is on the cliff trail, which was recently a street on the landward edge of the marketplace. The moonlight is bright enough for him to look down into the waters and recognize the sunken buildings. The last thing he sees it the Temple of Naxos, Queen of Heaven, where dolphins play in the light of Selena.
He murmurs to the goddess -- mumbled prayers to send him a ship that will take him out of these waters on the dawn tide. Does she listen? Do the gods ever listen to the pleas of mortals -- or even the immortals? Even Iridan does not speak with the gods, for what would he say to them? He, who was innocent and is held forever, caught in an enchanter’s net and able only to watch as the ages pass by.
My pleasure, now as always, is to watch young men, for they fetch back the sweeter memories of my own mate. He was the warrior, the soldier, much like sweet Soran, who sleeps now, and dreams of days that might have been, while Faunos makes the long and bitter march to the dunes where the water gypsies’ ships are beached.
The moon is setting, the stars are bright, as he plows through the sand, tired, weary, heartsore. The tide is almost fully in, the galleys are almost afloat. Two stand off, waiting to beach; one more is leaving after swift repairs and a night of trading and revels.
Iridan whispers in his ear. Choose the galley with the high prow, whose figurehead -- arched over the stern to guard the vessel and her crew -- is Naxos in her serpent guise.
The Queen of Heaven soars over the face of the ocean in the form of a serpent woman with vast, feathered wings. In the outer realms she has another name, when she spreads those wings and flexes her eagle's talons. She becomes Quezelus -- human, god, woman, serpent and seaeagle at once. She is the daughter of Gaya and Hurucan, sister of Aphrataya and Apollonos, at home in all words, at rest everywhere, mistress of the cosmos.
The glow of false dawn has begun, and Faunos knows time is short. He quickens his pace and calls ahead to the camp riggers who are hauling their last goods aboard before the ship floats off completely.
The galley is one of the Incari designs, long and low, sleek as a leopard, broad and safe in the water. Twenty oars line each side of her, pulled not by slaves but by crewmen. The Incarimen are free traders with little use for slaves, whose labor cannot be trusted when the wind is capricious, the sea vengeful, and pirates haunt the horizon.
Faunos does not see the ratlike face of Keffek, the camp master who sold his pavilion for a night to Soran, for a silver coin. And nor should Faunos fret about the contemptible one, for Keffek’s ship is still out in the bay, and the man has no connection with the vessel that catches Faunos’s eye.
Still, Keffek sees the Zehefti boy at once -- recognizes him -- and like all his kind, he has a passion for one more piece of silver, one last flake of gold.
The men from the Incari galley named Quezelus see nothing amiss in a Zeheftiman leaving these shores. Their kind have been fleeing for years, and in the last few days, with Hurucan and Volcos behind them, they have been leaving in droves. Faunos calls up to the deck, and Iridan sighs a little in satisfaction as the captain sends down two hooked lines -- one for the Zehefi boy’s bags, one for himself.
Agile, graceful, sure of his body and himself, Faunos rides the line up and swings over the side onto the deck. He lands lightly beside his precious bags, and only then notices how light the sky has become.
The false dawn is blooming, but the greater brightness does not come from the sky. He stands with the crew of this trading galley and gazes into the west, where Zeheft is burning.
They watch for long minutes while the city’s pyre brightens, but when the first choking waft of smoke drenches the deck, the galley’s captain summons all hands to work. In minutes the oars are manned. A drum beats to set the rhythm. Muscles flex, sinews strain, as the crewmen drag their vessel out into deeper water. There, the steersman throws over the massive oar in the stern. It bites into the water with a heavy sound of timber and ocean --
O, how does Iridan recall the wind and sharp salt spray, the creak of taut rope, the billow of canvas, the smell of tar and cured wood, as a ship leans into the wind. Such memories taunt and delight with their lure of freedom, and the sweet-sad recollections of love.
Helios sits bloated and red upon the horizon as the galley begins to run before the wind. The great sail is gold and ivory in the dawn light, and Faunos stands in the stern, under the likeness of the Queen of Heaven, and watches Zeheft vanish into the pall of its own pyre smoke.
He leaves behind all he has ever claimed as his own: the city of his fathers, the teacher who would have ushered him properly to manhood, and the lover he knows full well he cannot have. Ahead of him lie a number of familiar islands where he grew up, and others -- dark, strange, forbidding. Most are no more than names on the map, but soon enough they will be places with their own pleasures, their own dangers.
The air chills as the galley heads out across the bay, bound for ports unknown. Faunos draws a cloak about himself, sits by the rail with the precious bags between his feet, and with angry, rebellious eyes watches Helios rise.
Turn page to Chapter Eighteen...
Return to Chapter Seventeen...
