Margaret Weis - Into the Labyrinth

“That is because your heart is true, Daughter. And therefore you cannot conceive of one that is false.” He paused, then said, “If Haplo is proven a traitor—not only to me, but to our people—what punishment would he merit?”

“Death, Lord,” said Marit calmly.

Xar smiled, nodded. “Well spoken, Daughter. Tell me,” he added with that same piercing stare, “have you ever rune-joined with any man or woman, Marit?”

“No, Lord.” She was at first startled by his question, then understood what he was truly asking. “You are mistaken, Lord, if you think that Haplo and I—”

“No, no, Daughter,” Xar interrupted smoothly. “I do not ask because of that—although I am glad to hear it. I ask for another, more selfish reason.” Walking to his desk, Xar lifted a long bodkin that lay on it. Also on his desk was a jar of ink, so blue as to be almost black. He muttered over the ink several words of the rune-language used by the Patryns. Then he drew his hood back from his face and lifted the long hair that fell over his forehead to reveal a single blue sigil tattooed there.

“Will you rune-join with me, Daughter?” he asked gently. Marit stared at him in astonishment; then she fell to her knees. Her fists clenched, she bowed her head. “Lord, I am not worthy of this honor.”

“Yes, Daughter. Most worthy.”

She remained kneeling before him, lifted her face to his. “Then, yes, Lord, I will rune-join with you, and count it the greatest joy of my life.” Reaching to the open-necked blouse she wore, she ripped it open, laying bare her rune-marked breasts.

Over the left breast was tattooed her own heart-rune.

Xar brushed back Mark’s brown hair from her forehead. Then his hand sought her breasts, which were firm and small and rode high upon the strong muscles of her chest. His hand moved down over her smooth, slender neck to cup and fondle her left breast.

She closed her eyes and shivered, more in awe than in pleasure, at his touch. Xar noticed. His gnarled hand ceased its caress. She heard him sigh. “Few times I regret my lost youth. This is one.”

Marit’s eyes flared open. She burned with shame that he should so mistake her.

“Lord, I will gladly warm your bed—”

“Ah, that is what you would be doing, Daughter—warming my bed,” Xar said dryly. “I am afraid I could not return the favor. The fire died in these loins of mine long ago. But our minds will join, if our bodies cannot.” He placed the point of the bodkin on the smooth skin of her forehead and pricked her flesh.

Marit shuddered, though not at the pain. From the moment of birth, Patryn children are tattooed at various times throughout their lives. They not only become accustomed to the pain but are taught to endure it without flinching. Marit shuddered at the rush of magic into her body, magic which flowed from the lord’s body to her own, magic which would grow stronger as he formed the sigla which would bind them together—his heart-rune, entwined with hers. Over and over he repeated the process, inserting the bodkin into Marit’s smooth skin more than a hundred times until the complicated pattern was completely drawn. He shared her ecstasy, which was of the mind rather than the body. After the ecstasy of rune-joining, sexual coupling is generally a letdown.

When he had finished his work and set down the blood—and ink-stained bodkin, he knelt before her and took her in his arms. The two pressed their foreheads together, sigil touching sigil, the circles of their beings closing in one. Marit cried out in gasping pleasure and went limp and trembling in his grasp. He was pleased with her and held her in his arms until she grew calm again. Then he put his hand on her chin and looked into her eyes.

“We are one. No matter that we are apart, our thoughts will fly each to the other as we desire.”

He held her with his eyes, his hands. She was transfixed, adoring. Her flesh was soft and pliable beneath his fingers.

It seemed to her as if all her bones had dissolved at his touch, his look.

“You did once love Haplo.” He spoke gently.

Marit hesitated, then lowered her head in shameful, silent acquiescence.

“So did I, Daughter,” Xar said softly. “So did I. That will be a bond between us. And if I deem that Haplo must die, you will be the one to slay him.” Marit lifted her head. “Yes, Lord.”

Xar regarded her doubtfully. “You speak quickly, Marit. I must know for certain. You lay with him. Yet you will kill him?”

“I lay with him. I bore his child. But if my lord commands, I will kill him.” Marit’s voice was calm and even. He would sense no hesitation, feel no tension in her body. But then a thought came to her. Perhaps this was some sort of test...

“Lord,” she said, clasping her hands over his, “I have not incurred your displeasure. You do not doubt my loyalty—”

“No, Daughter—or, I should say, Wife.” He smiled at her. She kissed the hands she held in hers.

“No, Wife. You are the logical choice. I have seen inside Haplo’s heart. He loves you. You and you alone, among our people, can penetrate the circle of his being. He would trust you where he would trust no one else. And he will be loath to harm you—the mother of his child.”

“Does he know about the child?” Marit asked, astonished.

“He knows,” said Xar.

“How could he? I left him without telling him. I never told anyone.”

“Someone found out.” Xar asked the next question, frowning. “Where is the child, by the way?”

Again Marit had the sense that she was being tested. But she could make only one answer, and that was the truth. She shrugged. “I have no idea. I gave the baby to a tribe of Squatters.”

Xar’s frown eased. “Most wise, Wife.” He disengaged himself from her grasp, rose to his feet. “It is time for you to depart for Arianus. We will communicate through the rune-joining. You will report to me what you find. Most particularly, you will keep your arrival on Arianus secret. You will not let Haplo know he is under observation. If I deem he must die, you must take him by surprise.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Husband,’ Marit,” he said, chiding her gently. “You must call me ‘Husband.’ ”

“That is far too great an honor for me, Lor—Hus—Husband,” she stammered, alarmed that the word should come to her lips with such difficulty. He brushed his hand across her forehead.

“Cover the sigil of rune-joining. If he saw it, he would recognize my mark and know at once that you and I have become one. He would suspect you.”

“Yes, Lor—Husband.”

“Farewell, then, Wife. Report to me from Arianus at your earliest opportunity.”

Xar turned from her, went to his desk. Sitting down without another look, he began to flip through the pages of a book, his brow furrowed in concentration. Marit was not surprised at this cold and abrupt dismissal by her new husband. She was shrewd enough to know that the rune-joining had been one of convenience, made in order to facilitate her reporting to him from a far distant world. Still, she was pleased. It was a mark of his faith in her. They were bound for life and, through the exchange of magic, could now communicate with each other through the combined circle of their beings. Such closeness had its advantages, but its disadvantages as well—particularly to the Patryns, who tended to be loners, keep to themselves, refuse to permit even those closest to them to intrude on their inner thoughts and feelings. Few Patryns ever formally rune-joined. Most settled for simply joining the circle of their beings. [7] Haplo describes such a ceremony in Dragon Wing , vol. 1 of The Death Gate Cycle . Xar had conferred on Marit a great honor. He had set his mark [8] Either the elder inscribes the rune on the younger, or the one who is first joined inscribes the rune on the one who is not. If both have been previously joined, they inscribe the runes on each other. Once rune-joined, Patryns are forbidden to join with any other, so long as their rune-mate remains alive. on her, and anyone who saw it would know they had joined. His taking her to wife would increase her standing among the Patryns. On his death, she might well assume leadership of her people. To Marit’s credit, she was not thinking of that. She was touched, honored, dazzled, and overwhelmed, unable to feel anything but her boundless love for her lord. She wished that he would live forever so that she could serve him forever. Her one thought was to please him.