The Curse of Chalion

"Then the Mother of Summer came to me, when I was round to bursting with Teidez. Not in a dream, not while I was sleeping, but when I was awake and sober, in the broad day. She stood as close to me as you are now, and I fell to my knees. I could have touched her robe, if I'd dared. Her breath was a perfume, like wildflowers in the summer grasses. Her face was too beautiful for my eyes to comprehend, it was like staring into the sun. Her voice was music."

Ista's lips softened; even now, the peace of that vision echoed briefly in her face, a flash of beauty like the reflection of sunlight on dark waters. But her brows tightened again, and she spoke on, bending forward, growing, if possible, more shadowed, more intent.

"She said that the gods sought to take the curse back, that it did not belong in this world, that it was a gift to the Golden General that he had spilt improperly. She said that the gods might draw the curse back to them only through the will of a man who would lay down his life three times for the House of Chalion."

Cazaril hesitated. The sound of his own breath in his nostrils seemed enough to drown out that quiet voice. But the question rose helplessly to his lips, though he cursed himself for sounding a fool. "Um... I don't suppose that three men could lay down their lives once each, instead?"

"No." Her lips curved in that weird ironic not-smile. "You see the problem."

"I... I... I don't see the solution, though. Was it a trick, this... prophecy?"

Her hands opened briefly, ambiguously, then began folding the handkerchief again. "I told Ias. He told Lord dy Lutez, of course; Ias kept nothing from dy Lutez, except for me. Except for me."

Historical curiosity overcame Cazaril. Now that they were comrades in... sainthood, or something like it, it seemed easy to talk to Ista. The ease was lunatic, tilted, fragile, if he blinked it would be gone beyond recall, and yet... saint to saint and soul to soul, for this floating moment it was an intimacy stranger and more soaring than lover to lover. He began to understand why Umegat had fallen upon him with such hunger. "What was their relationship, really?"

She shrugged. "They were lovers since before I was born. Who was I to judge them? Dy Lutez loved Ias; I loved Ias. Ias loved us both. He tried so hard, cared so much, trying to bear the weight of all his dead brothers and his father Fonsa, too. He'd worn himself near to death with the caring, and yet it all went wrong, and wrong again."

She hesitated for a time, and Cazaril was terrified for an instant that he had inadvertently done something to bring this flow of confidences to an end. But apparently she was marshaling... not her thoughts, but her heart: for she went on, even more slowly. "I don't remember now whose idea it first was. We sat in a night council, the three of us, after Teidez was born. I still had the sight. We knew both of our children were drawn into this dark thing, and poor Orico, too. ‘Save my children,' Ias cried, laying his forehead down upon the table, weeping. ‘Save my children.' And Lord dy Lutez said, ‘For the love I bear you, I will try; I will dare this sacrifice.' "

He scarcely dared whisper it. "But five gods, how?"

Her head jerked. "We discussed a hundred schemes; how might one kill a man, and yet bring him back to die again? Impossible, and yet not quite. We finally settled on drowning as the best to try. It would occasion the least physical injury, and there were many stories of people who'd been brought back from drowning. Dy Lutez rode out to investigate some of them, to try to determine the trick of it."

Cazaril's breath huffed out. Drowning, oh, gods. And in the coldest of cold blood... his hands were shaking, too, now. Her voice went on, quiet and relentless.

"We swore a physician to secrecy, and descended to the dungeons of the Zangre. Dy Lutez let himself be stripped and bound, arms and legs tight to his body, and hung upside down over the tank. We lowered him down headfirst. And raised him again, when he stopped struggling at last..."

"And he'd died?" said Cazaril softly. "Then the treason charge was..."

"Died indeed, but not for the last time. We revived him, just barely."

"Oh."

"Oh, it was working, though!" Her hands clenched. "I could feel it, I could see it, the crack in the curse! But dy Lutez—his nerve broke. The next night, he would not undertake the second immersion. He cried I was trying to assassinate him, for jealousy's sake. Then Ias and I... made a mistake."

Cazaril could see where this was going, now. Closing his eyes would not spare him from seeing. He forced them to stay open, and on her face.

"We seized him, and made the second trial by force. He screamed and wept... Ias wavered, I cried, ‘But we have to! Think of the children!' But this time when we drew him out, he was drowned dead, and not all our tears and prayers revived him then.