David Zindell - The Diamond Warriors

‘Is this the news that Karimah brought you?’

‘Yes, in part.’

‘Sajagax,’ I said, remembering, ‘is a great man. But most of the tribes favor Morjin, do they not?’

‘Yes, most,’ she told me, nodding her head. ‘But not the Niuriu, nor the central Urtuk. Nor the Adirii, most of the clans, and probably not the Danladi. And then there are the Manslayers.’

At the mention of these most willful of warriors, drawn from every Sarni tribe, I gazed at Atara and waited for her to say more.

‘My sisters,’ she told me, ‘will not keep allegiance with their tribes – this has been decided. The Manslayers are to be a tribe of our own. But what my sisters could not decide when they met at the council rock a year and a half ago was whether to go to war against Morjin. Only a chiefess, my sisters say, can lead them against such an enemy.’

I listened to her deep breathing for a few moments. Then I said, ‘But the Manslayers have no chiefess.’

‘No, they do not – not yet. But there is to be another gathering, in the Niuriu’s lands, where the Diamond River joins with the Poru. We are to choose a chiefess.’

I bowed my head to her. ‘You, then?’

‘That is Karimah’s hope. And Sonjah’s, and Aieela’s – and others.”

I looked over at the long table where my father had once sat at council with his most trusted lords. And I said, ‘For you to be Chiefess of the Manslayers – that would be a great thing.’

‘That is what Karimah tells me,’ Atara said with a sad smile. ‘If the Marituk, with the Zayak and Janjii, attack my grandfather, we could ride to his aid.’

I looked around for a pitcher of water so that I might ease the aching in my throat. And I said to her, ‘Then you have already decided, haven’t you?’

She slowly nodded her head. ‘I cannot allow the Kurmak to be trampled under. We cannot, Val.’

‘ I cannot let you go,’ I said, wrapping my hand around her hand even more tightly. ‘I need you here, beside me.’

She brought my hand up to her lips, whose softness seemed to burn against my fingers. Then she told me, ‘I shall stay with you until you become king.’

‘ Will I become king, then?’

‘Only you know that. Isn’t that what you want?’

‘Does it matter what I want?’ I asked her. I gazed into her gelstei as if I could see within its sparkling clarity not only the shape of future events but the calamities of the past. ‘Once, I wanted nothing more than to climb mountains and play the flute in the company of my family. And to marry you.’

‘And now?’

I blinked against the burning in my eyes, and turned away from her crystal because I could not bear what I saw there. And I said, ‘After Morjin murdered my mother and grandmother, and my brothers, everything seemed to burn away. Everywhere I looked, at myself most of all, I could see only fire. I was this fire, Atara. You know, you must know. I thought only of murdering Morjin, in revenge. As I now think only of destroying him. Everything that he is – even his memory in the hearts and minds of those he has deluded. I can almost hear the wind calling me to do this, and the birds and the wolves and every child that Morjin’s Red Priests have ever nailed to a cross or put to the sword. Sometimes, it seems the very world upon which we sit cries out for me to put my sword into him.’

She positioned her head fully facing me, then she said, ‘Do you remember the lines from the Laws ?’

She drew in a breath, and then recited from the twenty-fourth book of the Saganom Elu:

You are what your deep, driving desire is:

As your desire is, so is your will;

As your will is, so is your deed;

As your deed is, so is your destiny

I smiled at this, as Kane might smile at a whirlwind sweeping down upon him. And I asked her, ‘Have you seen my destiny then?’

‘I have seen your desire,’ she said to me, taking hold of my hand again. ‘I have felt it, Val – I can’t tell you how deeply I’ve felt it, this beautiful, beautiful thing that burns me up like the sweetest of fires. It is not to do this terrible deed that you dream of. Not just. A marriage you would make with me, you have said. A child we would make together, I have said. But I will not see him born into this world.’

I stared down by my side where I had set my sword. ‘But what other world is there?’

‘Only the one that you dream of even more than you do Morjin’s death.’

‘Oh, that world,’ I said, smiling. ‘That impossible world.’

She smiled back as if she could really see me. ‘What was it that your father used to say?: “How is it possible that the impossible is not only possible but inevitable?”’

‘He was a wise man,’ I told her. ‘He would have wanted me to believe it is inevitable that I will marry you. That this is not just my own desire, but the will of the world.’

‘That is a beautiful, beautiful thought,’ she told me.

‘But it will never be, will it? Not unless we defeat Morjin. And that will never be if I keep you from aiding Sajagax.’

She held up her clear gelstei before me. ‘Very little of the future is set in stone, but I can tell that you cannot prevail against Morjin alone, without the help of the Sarni tribes.’

I considered this as I drew out the handkerchief that I always kept close to me. I unfolded it, and I gazed at its center, at the single long, coiled, golden hair, no different from any of Atara’s other hairs. And I whispered to her, ‘One chance for victory, you said, as slender as this hair. And one chance only that I will marry you.’

‘One chance,’ she said, squeezing her crystal. ‘And I must make it be. And so must you.’

I felt a stream of fear burn down my throat as if I had swallowed molten silver. And I asked her, ‘Will I ever see you again?’

She smiled in her mysterious way, and said, ‘The better question might be: will I ever see you again? As the king you must be?’

‘Tomorrow will be the test of that,’ I told her.

‘No,’ she said with a wave of her hand, ‘I do not mean King of Mesh, but King of the World. And not this world, as Morjin wishes to rule, but a true king, of starfire and diamond, such as has never been before on Ea.’

I considered this, too, then said, ‘I am not sure I know what you mean.’

‘I am not sure that I do either,’ she said. ‘But I once told you that I can never be the woman I have hoped to be until you become the man you were born to be. The one I have always dreamed of.’

Because her words cut at me, I pressed my fist against my chest. ‘But I am who I am, Atara. And I am just a man.’

‘And that one I have always loved, with all my heart, with all my soul,’ she told me. ‘The man who is just a man – and an angel, too.’

At this, I looked off at the walls of the tent, hoping that no one was listening in on our words. ‘You shouldn’t speak that way of anyone, not even me.’

‘No, I shouldn’t, should I?’ she said. ‘But I can’t help myself, and never have been able to. Most people take too little upon themselves; a few take too much. They look in the mirror and behold a giant, immortal and invincible. I was always afraid of being one of these. I wanted to make everything perfect. Or, at least, to see things come out as they should. And that is why, when I look at my fate, and yours, I want to laugh or cry, and sometimes I don’t know which.’

‘But why , then?’ I said, not fully understanding her.

And she grasped hold of my hand and said, ‘Because that is the strange, strange thing about our lives, Val. It might really be upon us to save the world.’