So it was that, when a soft equine muzzle came down to snuffle at their cheeks, both reached up at the same moment, unthinking, to rub the itchy spot at the center of Omber’s forehead, where the hairs formed a whorl.
But it was not Omber. Kyrem stood stroking Omber and watching, scarcely daring to breathe, for it was Suth, the great Suth, snorting so softly and extending his arched and lovely neck so as to nuzzle the two faces that lay so close together—
And at once Sula’s hand and Seda’s hand touched the great stone that flashed green and red and golden between his wise eyes. And the stone blazed out like sunfire, blinding, so that their hands looked red and insubstantial on it, and the two girls sat stunned and terrified, unable to move.
“Say it, Seda!” Kyrem shouted crazily, irrationally; say what? What was the name of the one true wish? Heart’s ease, heart’s desire?
Heal yourself, little one!
Tears on her face.… Her rotting, misshapen mouth moved. All that it would take was that she should call herself by name. Mighty eyes were on her, urging her, and she knew, she knew her own name, better than anyone believed. Struggle with sickly, crippled self lasted only a little while.
“Sula,” she whispered.
At the word, Suth reared back with a great ringing neigh, a sound like bells of rejoicing and trumpet gladness, and the stone on his forehead shone pure white. And the simurgh sang out its own brazen note of gladness and blazed upward on wings of flame. And Suth also took to the sky with a snort of joy. Upward, soaring upward they both flew, spiraling about each other until they disappeared in golden mist. But no one watched them go.
For where two girls had sat amidst black lilies there was now but one, a young damsel in queenly robes, and she sprang up with a cry of surprise mixed with loss or gain, and Kyrem hurried to her, grasped her by the shoulders.
“Sula?” he whispered, looking into her wide, dark eyes. It was Sula’s body, straight and shapely, for the god wore a comely body always, but—it was Seda somehow too, in a wry pauper’s smile, in all-seeing eyes, in a lithe step toward him, the strength of thin fingers in his hand. She lifted those delicate fingers and wiped away the oozing burn on his face as if it had never been, leaving him comforted, comely and whole. Transcendence of suffering was in her, healing, and a sure knowledge of the ways of love. She and Kyrem embraced, but then they stood regarding each other as equals as well as lovers: She would make him a queen of unsurpassed wisdom and power.
“I am … grown,” she said. “I am well.”
“But—Seda?”
“She is well, well and happy, living, loving. Only the shuntali was ever dead.”
“What am I to call you?” Kyrem murmured. “What is the word for light and shadow?”
“Call me Love.” She took his hand.
Priestlike, ceremoniously, as though performing a marriage, Nasr Yamut came and stood before them and between them. In their clasped hands he placed a black lily. But the flower, when they took it, was white.
“Vashti has need of you,” he told them. “Farewell.”
Then they saw that white lilies bloomed all around them, and a deep and silent river ran; beyond it a white-robed figure saluted once and vanished in mist. Omber grazed nearby, among the white lilies, and also the crop-eared horse, the oracle.
Cantering back toward Avedon, she rode Omber, she the nameless queen. The king of Vashti rode the sacred steed.
THE CHART OF SEVEN
HORSE
PLANET
SYMBOL
ELEMENT
JEWEL
FLOWER
ANIMAL
spring rains
white
Moon
air
crystal
aspohodel
unicorn
season of new leaves
yellow
Sun
essence
yellow beryl
acaltha
simurgh
summer unto the solstice
red
Mars
fire
sard
blood-of-Suth
lion
high summer
blue
Venus
water
lapis
blue rose
cloud leopard
brown
Jupiter
earth
jasper
duncap fungus
onager
autumn unto the solstice
gray
Mercury
ether
chert
lady’s hood
coney
winter
black
Saturn
stardark
tourmaline
melantha
wild goat
About the Author
Nancy Springer has passed the fifty-book milestone with novels for adults, young adults, and children, in genres including mythic fantasy, contemporary fiction, magic realism, horror, and mystery—although she did not realize she wrote mystery until she won the Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America two years in succession. Born in Montclair, New Jersey, Springer moved with her family to Gettysburg, of Civil War fame, when she was thirteen. She spent the next forty-six years in Pennsylvania, raising two children (Jonathan and Nora), writing, horseback riding, fishing, and bird-watching. In 2007 she surprised her friends and herself by moving with her second husband to an isolated area of the Florida Panhandle where the bird-watching is spectacular, and where, when fishing, she occasionally catches an alligator.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1985 by Nancy Springer
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0938-6
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10014
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