Orson Card - Maps in a Mirror - The Short Fiction of Orson Scott Card

The Captain took a nylon cord and bound Ansset’s hands together behind him, first at the wrists, and then just below the elbows. The constriction was painful.

“You’re hurting me,” Ansset said.

“I may be saving my emperor’s life,” the Captain answered blandly. And then Ansset passed through the huge doors to the Great Hall, his arms bound, surrounded by guards with lasers drawn, preceded by the Captain of the Guard.

Ansset still walked proudly, but he felt a hearty fury toward the guards, toward the courtiers and supplicants and guards and officials lining the walls of the unfurnished room, and especially toward the Captain. Only toward Mikal did he feel no anger.

They let him stop.

Mikal raised his hand in the ritual of recognition. Ansset knew that Mikal laughed at the rituals when they were alone together—but in front of the court, the ritual had to be followed strictly.

Ansset dropped to his knees on the cold and shining platinum floor.

“My Lord,” he said in clear, bell-like tones that he knew would reverberate from the metal ceiling, “I am Ansset, and I have come to ask for my life.” In the old days, Mikal had once explained, that ritual had real meaning, and many a rebel lord or soldier had died on the spot. Even now, the pro forma surrender of life was taken seriously, as Mikal maintained constant vigilance over his empire.

“Why should I spare you?” Mikal asked, his voice old but firm. Ansset thought he heard a quaver of eagerness in the voice. More likely a quaver of age, he told himself. Mikal would never allow himself to reveal emotion in front of the court.

“You should not,” Ansset said. This was leaving the ritual, and going down the dark road that met danger head-on. Mikal must have been told of the Chamberlain’s fears. Therefore, if Ansset made any attempt to hide the danger, his life would be forfeited by law.

“Why not?” Mikal said, impassively.

“Because, my Lord Mikal Imperator, I was kidnapped and held for five months, and during those months things were done to me that are now locked behind blocks in my mind. I may, unwittingly, be an assassin. I must not be allowed to live.”

“Nevertheless,” Mikal answered, “I grant you your life.”

Ansset, his muscles strong enough even after his captivity to allow him to bow despite his bound arms, touched his lips to the floor.

“Why are you bound?”

“For your safety, my Lord.”

“Unbind him,” said Mikal. The Captain of the Guard untied the nylon cord.

His arms free, Ansset stood. He went beyond form, and he turned his voice into a song, with an edge to his voice that snapped every head in the hall toward him. “My Lord, Father Mikal,” he sang, “there is a place in my mind where even I cannot go. In that place my captors may have taught me to want to kill you.” The words were a warning, but the song said safety, the song said love, and Mikal arose from his throne. He understood what Ansset was asking and he would grant it.

“I would rather, my Son Ansset, I would rather meet death in your hands than any other’s. Your life is more valuable to me than my own.” Then Mikal turned and went back into the door that led to his private chambers. Ansset and the Captain of the Guard followed, and as they left the whispers rose to a roar. Mikal had gone much farther than Ansset had even hoped. The entire Capital—and in a few weeks, the entire empire—would hear how Mikal had called his Songbird Son Ansset, and the words, “Your life is more valuable to me than my own,” would become the stuff of legends.

Ansset sighed a song as he entered the familiar rooms where Father Mikal lived.

Mikal turned abruptly and glared at the Captain of the Guard. “What did you mean by that little trick, you bastard?”

“I tied his hands as a precaution. I was within my duties as a warden of the gate.”

“I know you were within your duties, but you might use some common decency. What harm can an eleven-year-old boy do when you’ve probably already skinned him alive searching for weapons and you have a hundred lasers trained on him at every moment!”

“I wanted to be sure.”

“Well, you’re too damned thorough. Get out. And don’t let me ever catch you being any less thorough, even when it makes me angry. Get out!” The Captain of the Guard left, Mikal’s roar following him. As soon as the door closed, Mikal started to laugh. “What an ass! What a colossal donkey!” Then he threw himself to the floor with all the vigor of a young man, though Ansset knew his age to be one hundred and twenty-three, which was old, in a civilization where death normally came at a hundred and fifteen. Under him the floor that had been rigid when his weight pressed down on the two small spaces touched by his feet now softened, gave gently to fit the contours of his body. Ansset also went to the floor, and lay there laughing.

“Are you glad to be home, Ansset?” Mikal asked tenderly.

“Now I am. Until this moment I wasn’t home.”

“Ansset, my Son, you never can speak without singing.” Mikal laughed softly.

Ansset took the sound of the laugh and turned it into a song. It was a soft song, and it was short, but at the end of it Mikal was lying on his back looking at the ceiling, tears streaming down from his eyes.

“I didn’t mean the song to be sad, Father Mikal.”

“How was I to know that now, in my dotage, I’d do the foolish thing I avoided all my life? Oh, I’ve loved like I’ve done every other passionate thing, but when they took you I discovered, my Son, that I need you.” Mikal rolled over and looked at the beautiful face of the boy who lay looking at him adoringly. “Don’t worship me, boy, I’m an old bastard who’d kill his mother if one of my enemies hadn’t already done it.”

“You’d never harm me.”

“I harm everything I love,” Mikal said bitterly. Then he let his face show concern. “We were afraid for you. Since you were gone there was an outbreak of insane crime. People were kidnapped for no reason on the street, some in broad daylight, and a few days later their bodies would be found, broken and torn by someone or something. No ransom notes. Nothing. We thought you had been taken like that, and that somewhere we’d find your body. Are you whole? Are you well?”

“I’m stronger than I’ve ever been before.” Ansset laughed. “I tested my strength against the hook of my hammock, and I’m afraid I ripped it out of the wall.”

Mikal reached out and touched Ansset’s hand. “I’m afraid,” Mikal said, and Ansset listened, humming softly, as Mikal talked. The emperor never spoke in names and dates and facts and plans, for then if Ansset were taken by an enemy the enemy would know too much. He spoke to the Songbird in emotions instead, and Ansset sang solace to him. Other Songbirds had pretty voices, others could impress the crowds, and, indeed, Mikal used Ansset for just that purpose on certain state occasions. But of all Songbirds, only Ansset could sing his soul; and he loved Mikal from his soul.

Late in the night Mikal shouted in fury about his empire: “Did I build it to fall? Did I burn over a dozen worlds and rape a hundred others just to have the whole thing fall in chaos when I die?” He leaned down and whispered to Ansset, their eyes a few inches apart, “They call me Mikal the Terrible, but I built it so it would stand like an umbrella over the galaxy. They have it now: peace and prosperity and as much freedom as their little minds can cope with. But when I die they’ll throw it all away.” Mikal whirled and shouted at the walls of his soundproofed chamber, “In the name of nationalities and religions and races and family inheritances the fools will rip the umbrella down and then wonder why, all of a sudden, it’s raining.”