CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

“I WILL NOT REVEAL THY MYSTERIES TO THINE ENEMIES”

I have raised a monument more enduring than one of brass, and loftier than the pyra­mids of kings; a monument which shall not be destroyed by the consuming rain, nor by the mad rage of the north wind, nor by the countless years and flight of ages.

—Horace

Anno Domini 1206

Anno Juliani 846

On the first day of January, which was also the Feast of the Blessèd Virgin Mary the Mother of God, the city of Paltyrrha and the citizens of Kórynthia celebrated the installation of a new king. New Year’s Day had long been the traditional date for the girding of the monarch at the Church of Saint Ióv in Kórynthály, and it also marked the official beginning of the annointed one’s reign.

The day dawned clear and warm in Paltyrrha. For weeks the mages had labored to produce the mild tempera­tures and cloudless skies that greeted the multitudes that morning. This was the first such girding in some four decades, and the crowds looked forward to it with great anticipation.

The King-to-Be was roused an hour before dawn, and escorted to the traditional milk bath to purify his body and soul for the events to come. No food or drink had passed his lips since the previous day.

Four of his family and friends had been chosen to shield him in all his innocence, unprotected as he was from outside influences. These included the Princes Kiríll and Andruin, Metropolitan Athanasios, and Mailhoc Hereditary Lord Vydór, eldest son of the grand vizier. It was their privilege to become the King-to-Be’s moving guard.

Athanasios donned the red tunic studded with rubraura that signified his role as Hagios Kônstantinos, who takes precedence over his three brethren in the killi­jálay as patron saint of the House of Tighris. They took their stations surrounding King Arkadios—Kiríll in flavau­rum-touched gold as Holy Petros in the front, Andruin in viridaurum-flavored green as Holy Andreas in the rear, Mailhoc in albaurum-sprinkled white as Holy Ignatios to the left, and the metropolitan to the right—and began syn­chronizing their psai-rings.

This technique required a great deal of training to master, and was generally practiced only by those adepts of a certain age of life, from the years of fifteen to forty-five. Before that time one’s control was insufficient to maintain a link for long, but the process used up so much energy if sustained for any length of time that only the relatively young had the stamina to continue the protection beyond a short period.

“Prôtos,” Athanasios said, setting his controls in place.

“Deuteros,” replied Kiríll, linking his psychic en­ergy with the first.

“Tritos,” added Andruin.

“Tetartos,” said Mailhoc.

Now came the difficult part. The King-to-Be, as the one being protected, had to center the magical hood over himself: “Hê-nô-me-nos,” he breathed, a syllable at a time, as he gath­ered to­gether the four strands of their souls one by one and wove them into a single unit. A faint, milky-white shadow sud­denly popped into the air above them.

The King-to-Be’s servants now covered his frame in a simple, lightly-woven white linen tunic and shalvar, overlaid by a white woolen zuban coat, its only decoration an embroidered Tighrishi tiger etched in ochre. A black silk sash was wrapped tightly about his waist, the fringed ends hanging free to the left. Finally, they brought in the pure white leather stivalia and harness and fitted them to the monarch with silver clasps. A comb was run quickly through his unruly hair. He looked at each of them somberly and nodded. They were ready.

They proceeded very deliberately through the corri­dors of Tighrishály Palace, moving at a steady, even pace so they would not lose contact with each other. Although they could in theory have maintained the link for a distance of about ten paces apart, the closer they were to each other and the more regular the spacing maintained, the easier it was for each to keep focused on his task. They had all practised this very delicate balancing act for many weeks.

At the entrance awaited the great carriage of state, all gilded in gold and lapis lazuli and drawn by four matched pairs of white Ras ash-Shamra stallions, with pos­tilions astride the near four. The steeds snorted and stamped their feet, tossing foam with each swing of their heads in anticipation of their activity.

As was his privilege, Athanasios preceded the King-to-Be into the carriage and out the other door, there to perch precariously on the step. Mailhoc took a like posi­tion on the left, Kiríll mounted the driver’s box, and An­druin the rear of the carriage.

And then they were off!, moving down the Avenue du Saint-Constantine to Paltyrrha-by-the-River, where the barge was waiting.

The superbly fitted white caïque was decorated in ochre and black encrusted with gold, topped by a raised canopy of scarlet velvet embroidered with Tighrishi tigers, and fringed with golden tassels positioned to act as their swinging tails. Great Arkadios took his seat upon the golden throne, sitting straight and stolid and silent; below and beside him his shadows flanked the King-to-Be on all four quarters.

As they moved upriver one could hear the “swish-swish” of the twenty-eight massive oars as they pulled through the brown waters of the River Paltyrrh, the beat of the master’s drum providing an almost hypnotic accom­paniment to the barge’s sensuous glide. Following them in procession were other craft containing the Hereditary Prince-to-Be, Queen Dúra, Princess Arrhiána, Princess Sa­chette, Queen Ezzölla of Pommerelia, the lesser adjuncts of the House of Tighris, and all of the high lords of state and their retinues.

The air was scented with perfumes from the flowers especially grown for the occasion. As they passed near the Quai de Saint-Basile, the Royal Guard stood rigidly at at­tention, bared kiliçs held smartly in their right hands in salute to their liege and master. The huzzahs of the sailors lining the decks of the multitude of small boats and barges moored on both sides of the Paltyrrh River resounded again and again over the water, echoing off the walls and build­ings on either side.

Some five miles upriver the procession of boats docked at the Quai de l’Amirauté, where the Padishah Arkády alighted with his escort and was welcomed by a band of trumpeters, their bronze instruments flashing in the light of the morning sun as they blew a glorious fanfare of exaltation.

There awaited the king’s favorite steed, a black stallion called Daïs, or Firebrand, which had to be re­strained by its handlers from rearing and plunging until the calming sphere of the Moving Guard enveloped it. The bridle seemed woven of liquid silver, and heavy silver medallions adorned nearly every surface of the high-cantled saddle, gleaming in the sunlight against the perfection of a beautifully woven, red woolen blanket of intricate design. The destrier quieted immediately as its master mounted.

Then the King-to-Be proceeded up the cobbled Av­enue des Rois, still flanked on all sides by the Moving Guard, and closely accompanied by a squad of armed Cir­cássi soldiers. Tens of thousands of well-wishers lined the way, many of them waving ochre-and-black pennants that had been distributed to them earlier in the day.

At the Church of Hagios Ióv, the Chief of the Han­kyár Derviches, Frigyes Lord Zsitvay, kissed the monarch on his left shoulder, and the Thrice Holy Patriarch Timoth­eos welcomed the procession into the holy see of the Tighrishi. The celebrants left their shoes at the entrance and slipped on cloth sandals, walking the prescribed twelve paces forward in company with the Hankyárar of Konyály, whose privilege it was from time immemorial to gird the sword of Tighris on each new king. Grand Vizier Attila Lord Vydór greeted the king with a salute, and in the name of the lords and people of Kórynthia bowed low to kiss the hem of the king’s zuban.

In the center of the church, directly beneath the great dome, lay a black marble tomb covered with mosaics of onyx and a thin layer of fretted silver as delicate as the lace of a woman’s gown, which contained the relick’d bones of Great Tighris, founder of the royal house which yet bore his name.

For the purposes of killijálay, the investment cere­mony, the patriarch and the twelve metropolitans of the Holy Synod had placed a ceremonial table of finely-pol­ished walnut draped with a cloth of purple velvet at the head of the tomb. The sounding of a single clear note from Job’s Complaint signaled that the hour of hektê, or sext in the Roman tongue, had arrived and the girding should now commence.

Six great Albány guards slowly entered the Church bearing the sword of Tighris on its solid silver salver. Fashioned of a bronze-gold alloy, the scimitar was as long as a man is tall, curved at the end and weighing some fif­teen stone, sheathed in black metal encrusted with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals, and lapis lazuli. The hilt was cunningly wrought into an intricate twirl of metal; when passed in front of a light, it created a shadowy tughra spelling out the name Tighris.

The Albánys carefully lowered the sword onto the table in front of the tomb, pointing towards the altar, then gently removed the sheath without touching the blade, and exited the church. The Patriarch assumed a position be­tween the table and the tomb, at the point of the sword, while the King-to-Be, the Hankyárar, and the grand vizier stood at the hilt. The four Pillars of the Realm, which is to say, the Moving Guard, glided to each of the four quar­ters—Athanasios to the right of Great Tighris’s tomb, Mail­hoc directly opposite in the North, Andruin behind the Padishah, and Kiríll at the far end of the tomb.

The Thrice Holy Timotheos chanted: “Glory be to Thee, God the Father, glory be to Thee, Eternal Son, glory be to Thee, Holy Spirit, by whom all is sanctified. World without end.”

The congregation responded: “Amen.”

Incense began swirling above the congregation in patches of strongly scented fog, making patterns knowable only to God.

Then the patriarch spoke again, lifting his hands to­ward the air above their heads: “I call upon thee, Holy Konstantín, to stand rightly with us in joy and gladness at this killijálay, to sanctify thy servant, Arkadios.”

A wind began to whine through the church, lifting the hair of the men and the coverings of the women and stirring the solemn robes of the monks. A glow began forming in front of their eyes. Athanasios’s arms lifted in­voluntarily behind him and stretched into something else, light and feathery and almost weightless. His legs grew, his body lengthened, his face changed in ways that cannot be described. He saw and did not see, he felt and did not feel, he heard sounds that were not sounds, he breathed the air of another plane that had no air, he knew suddenly whom he had become. Through eyes that were not his own he watched his brethren, the Saints Pëtr, Andréy, and Ignáty, take form, standing there ten feet tall, as silent and strong as the Pillars of the Church they represented.

And then Timotheos spoke again:

“Lord and Master, Our God, who has established in Heaven the orders and armies of angels and archangels to minister to Thy Glory, grant that with us there may enter those holy intercessors who serve and glorify Thy good­ness. Shelter us under the shadow of their wings, drive away every foe and adversary.”

Then he carefully pressed the tip of the sword with his right index finger, drawing a drop of blood.

“‘And the star came and stood above where the child was’,” he continued. “Make beautiful, O Lord, this instru­ment of Thy will. Thy glory has covered the heavens, and the earth is full of Thy praises. Strengthen now Thy ser­vant Arkadios, clothe him with beauty, remem­ber him with Thy blessings. For when Thy servant Tighris did walk upon this earth, he promised to nurture his sons forever. Send down Thy Holy Spirit to watch over us. Give us a sacrifice of Thy praise and bless Thine inheritance.”

Then the patriarch reached behind him with his right hand and touched the monument with his blood.

“Holy Deathless One, come thou forth from thy tomb!” he shouted.

The crowd gasped, for at that moment the tomb of Tighris rattled, and the lid slid back from the coffin. A shadowy, translucent figure garbed in strange robes and an­cient armor slowly rose upright.

And it seemed to King Arkády that the form of his ancestor then turned to him, and asked: “Why have you come here? Your father still resides amongst the living.”

“Because he broke covenant with the land,” the king replied.

“So he did,” Tighris stated. “But yet he abides.”

“He would have destroyed Kórynthia,” Arkády noted. “I could not allow that to happen.”

“And what would you do that is so different, oh King-to-Be?” his ancestor inquired.

“I will build in this land a place of prosperity for all who wish to come here,” the king declared. “I will pre­serve the peace, and oppress neither the few nor the many.”

“These are worthy aims,” Tighris continued, “but what will this accomplish that has not been done before? The king who follows you and the king who follows him may not be cut from the same piece of string. There is a dark stain in our line that cannot be eradicated, for it is the other side of the transit mirror in which you see yourself reflected. The great talents which I have given unto you and yours also carry with them equal potential for use or abuse. Certain of my children have been warped into something abominable and hideous in the sight of God and man. Those who cannot master themselves will ever use their powers for evil. So tell me, oh son of Tighris, what you will do to preserve the land forever.”

Arkády was taken aback, for this was not the cere­mony he had been expecting. But he thought very hard about the problem, before finally admitting, “I do not know. But I will try to find a way.”

“That is, at least, an honest reply,” Tighris said.

There was a hint of gentle laughter in his voice.

“Very well, my son,” he continued, reaching out with his arm to touch the new king upon his head, “you’ll do.”

Now, all of this happened in the merest instant of thought, while time itself ceased to exist, so that no one watching the proceedings saw anything untoward, or was even able to blink a single eyelid.

And then the spirit merged itself with the form of the patriarch, who intoned:

“The grace of God, that always strengthens the weak and fills the empty, does here appoint Arkadios ho Tigridês to be your lawfully girded king. Let no man challenge the will of God. Let no man doubt the choice of Tighris. Prepare thou the girdle.”

The Hankyárar brought forth an empty scabbard and belted it around the King-to-Be’s waist, whispering in his ear, as was the cus­tom: “Remember, lord, that thou art mortal.”

Then the form of Tighris touched the great scimitar and a ripple of silver light flowed from his finger into the weapon. “If thou hast the power,” he said, “Then pick up thy sword!”

In one smooth motion Arkády grasped the scimitar in both hands and pointed it straight up at the dome above. A beam of purplish light sprang from the tip of the weapon, penetrating through the roof into the sky where the crowds outside could see the proof of his empowerment, the beam slowly changing colors through the entire spectrum. Within the church it seemed as if the stain spread from where it touched the inside of the onion-shaped dome slowly down around its skin, eventually coating the interior walls with a fine shimmering glow; and outside it was the sky itself that seemed to take on a range of pastel colors, very like the shimmering of the Great Northern Lights.

“Axios!” shouted the grand vizier, “he is wor­thy!”

Three times the words echoed through the church and the crowds outside.

“Axios!” the princes and lords roared in a grand huzzah of acclamation.

“Axios!” the metropolitans all concurred.

The light slowly died, and the huge stone lid on the tomb of Great Tighris gradually closed itself. Then Holy Timotheos said:

“We do beseech thee, Lord, with humble mien to spare our Great King Arkadios, Second of that name, for three times thirty years, that with a clean and understanding heart he may rightly speak the word of faith as Guardian of the Realm. Preserve him in health, O Lord, in honor and in length of days, faithfully dispensing Thy word of truth. Fill him with the Holy Spirit and the grace and wisdom that he needs to govern the realm.”

The King Arkády responded: “I will offer to Thee incense and rams. All my garments smell of myrrh, aloes, and cassia. Let my prayer be as incense in Thy sight.”

Then he carefully laid the Great Sword of Tighris back on its table.

The Hereditary Prince Arión approached with the smaller Sword of State, sinking to his knees and handing it to his father with these words: “My lord king, accept this gift beyond price, given to us until the end of time.”

The king sheathed the sword, replying: “Peace be unto thee, my son, peace be to all the lords of the land and to all the children of the church. I do anoint thee my law­ful successor. Lord, make him this day a sharer in Thy mystic supper. For I will not reveal Thy mys­teries to Thine enemies, nor like Judas give Thee a kiss, but like the thief I say to Thee: Remember me, O Lord, in Thy king­dom. Remember me.”

Finally, the grand vizier brought the Crown of State on its cushion of velvet, handing it to the Thrice Holy Pa­triarch Timotheos. The king bowed his head before the living symbol of God on earth, and received his temporal crown, the ancient diadem of plain hammered gold that has adorned the brows of Tighrishi kings since time immemo­rial.

Then a choir of monks sang their song of rejoicing, and the newly-consecrated King and his entourage exited the rear of the Church, contin­uing up the Boulevard des Tombeaux Tighrises to pay homage to the monuments of their ancestors.

The Great King Arkadios ii had finally come home.