The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [71]
“I have another story to tell you,” he said, and she settled herself at his feet to listen.
“In a time before this one, there lived two brothers who had been born of the same mother and on the same day. Kessec and Batahr, for those were their names, were so alike in appearance that it was as if they were a single man and his still-water reflection walking together on land. Their hearts were equally mirrored; within each burned the bloodlust of a warrior, and when they fought together in battle, their enemies fled before them like dry straw on a high wind rather than face their raging fire.
“They shared the honor of their victory, just as they shared their weapons, their house, and their lovers.
In time, they even shared the reign of all the territory within a two week’s march of their birthplace.”
His deep, rasping voice fell silent.
“Then it came to pass,” prompted Halaylah when the pause in the story grew too long. The form of the telling was familiar, but she had not heard this tale of Kessec’s life before and was curious to hear more.
“Ah, yes, then it came to pass that the brothers defeated their greatest enemy, a neighboring warrior-king, and in their victory found the one thing which they could not share. The first brother to touch the Pagrashtak felt its warmth and heard its whispers; the other held a cold, silent stone. Soon, the first brother was loathe to loosen his grip on the prize. Instead, he swore an oath to share the fruits of its powers. Despite this generous offer, the second brother brooded and grew sour with jealousy and suspicion, until he forgot all honor and slew his twin while he slept.”
Halaylah sniffed cautiously at the lip of a mug of ale, then passed it over to Kessec.
He took a deep draft of the hot liquid before continuing.
“The traitor grasped the stone and felt its powers, but he also repented of his murderous deed, so he used the stolen Pagrashtak to bring his dead brother back to life.”
“You saved him just like you saved Durall!” cried Halaylah with a joyful stamp of her feet. Klingon tales rarely had such a satisfying ending.
“No, child,” said Kessec. “Batahr raised me from the dead. And for that deed, I quickly slew him in turn. Then I burned his body and scattered the ashes so I could never be tempted to resurrect him.”
Not such a happy ending after all, she sighed to herself.
“All this happened long ago,” said Kessec, reciting the formulaic ending of a historic narrative. He studied the face of his youngest son, the one who looked the most like him and who, she realized, must also look like his dead brother. “Or so I thought.”
Durall’s breathing was still labored and his limbs trembled with the pain of his wounds. Kessec laid a palm flat against his son’s heaving chest and kept it there until the boy sighed and slipped into an untroubled sleep.
The effort left the emperor so weak that he lost his grip on the Pagrashtak. Halaylah cried out in distress when the stone rolled away from him.
Her dismay deepened when she heard his next command. “Take it, quickly, before I recover my strength. And my greed.”
“Sire?”
“Take it!”
She took the Pagrashtak in her hands. It was warm to the touch and not as heavy as she had expected.
“Go,” whispered Kessec. “Go as far from here as you can, child. Found your own empire if you must, but take this curse away from me and mine.”
Slipping the stone into her shapeless tunic where it nestled like a curled beast against her stomach, Halaylah ran from the throne chamber for the last time.
Those light footsteps were still echoing in T’Sara’s mind when her eye s opened. She breathed deeply of the cool air of the Collector’s chamber. The desert night encircling the tower would be even colder.
“So that is what you were once,” said the Vulcan woman to the mummified body. “And look at what you have become now.”
When had the generous young slave girl turned into the miserly, grasping, and selfish fanatic that T’Sara had met in other dreams?
Ten years of excavation had shown that Halaylah used the