EASTHAVEN INDEX

BETRAYAL
--- An Easthaven Tale: year 3216 ---

It was late, and Maizon, the Greater Moon, shone full and brilliant. The shadows fell sharp and clear across the floor of the Shoreline Throneroom.

For centuries, the Summer Palace of which the Thoreroom was the centrepiece had been the home of the monarchs of the Western Kingdom in warmer seasons - their seaside resort. Though far removed from Ironwood, it offered a vantage point from which to conduct affairs of state and receive visitors - particularly guests from abroad; and moreso now when these visits were happening more and more often. The western half of Analem was more open and accessible than it had been at any time in the last thousand years.

Normally the Throneroom would have been deserted at this hour. Softly, though, padding her way barefoot and nightgowned through the chamber, the Queen's slave approached the Throne itself.

Hana loved it all. Fate had brought her captive at the age of three into the Palace community as a spoil of war. She had grown up within court society without ever being a part of it; but this suited her. Ignored by royalty and nobility alike in the presence of her mistress Queen Anjika, she loitered, listened and learned. She adored the advantage it gave her when it came to peering into the lives of the rich and famous. She imagined she could see to their very souls.

And she loved the warm summer nights. She loved the hours when her mistress and her mistresses' lords and ladies and guests were in a stupor through food and drink and long asleep, and she, still alert and clear headed, always with a winning smile and a ready excuse for the guards - "Her Majesty left such and such behind in here, I'm sure. I need to look for it" - had a few minutes to scheme, and plan, and dream.

The Queen would have been shocked if she could somehow delve into the mind of her slave. She would have never conceived that she, as a mistress with responsibilities towards those beneath her, was anything other than kind. She would have looked on in disbelief at the bitterness, the hatred and the naked ambition that drove the girl Hana at every waking moment.

What she could never do, of course, was live Hana's life - to know what it meant to be the lowest of the low, to exist at the whim of others whatever that whim might be, to be damaged goods in every sense.

Hana wanted to escape her slavery - and more. Her ambition was lofty, but her fustration lay in knowing that she could never attain it. The conflict between the two was what energised her, what kept her immune from succumbing to the soul-destroying lot of a slave in the Royal household.

She had only a minute or two left before the guards came in to see why she hadn't returned with what she was looking for. She tiptoed over the floor and lightly stepped onto the dais. Turning and settling down with practised ease, she slid onto the Shoreline Throne, onto the seat on power and authority of her mistress Queen Anjika of the Western Kingdom, as if born to it.

Anyone can dream, she thought. Why shouldn't I? She lingered for just a few brief moments, then reluctantly stirred herself to leave --

-- and found someone facing her. Somehow a man had materalised out of the shadows and stood blocking her path out of the Throneroom.

"What do you want?" she gasped.

" 'What is it that you require, Your Excellency?' would be more appropriate coming from a slave addressing an Ambassador, I think." came the reply. Hana shivered, and forced herself to calm down. She would have to recriminate herself later for being so careless and unobservant. For now she started to take account of who was in front of her - a slim, dark-skinned, shaven-headed man, perhaps in his mid-forties, dressed expensively and conservatively in dark grey and black - and recognised him.

"My Lord Ossan," she stammered. "Forgive me." Of all the people to fall foul of; the Queen's principal guest this summer season, come to talk of exchanging culture and business and trade across half a world! She would be lucky to live till the morning.

"My seer was right," continued the Ambassador.

"Your... seer?" Hana felt herself reduced to helpless stupidity, echoing the Ambassador's statement merely for something to say.

"He told me to look out for you. 'The slave who sits in her mistress' seat at night when no-one's looking' - those were his exact words. It was a perfect description." He paused, and regarded Hana. "Don't worry, though. I won't tell. I assure you, from my point of view it's a chair which you occupy from time to time. It's neither here nor there to me. My real interest lies in you."

"But what can His Excellency the Ambassador possibly want with me?" As she asked this, she became acutley aware that she was a slave, dressed only in her nightgown, addressing a powerful, influential man whose every whim had to be obeyed. She might not want to hear the answer to her question.

As if aware of her thoughts, Ossan half-smiled briefly and shook his head. He paused for a moment, then replied, "On the contrary, I believe it's I who can give you what you want."

"The throne?" Hana tossed her head and laughed scornfully; but the laughter tailed off and she snapped her gaze back, terrified, with her hand clamped over her mouth. She had no idea why she had made the admission - what was it about this man that had drawn this out of her? Those words alone could cost her life there and then.

But there was no-one else to hear, and the Ambassador remained unmoved, continuing to regard her steadily.

"Is it the throne that you really want?"

Suddenly, she felt very still, and could not pull away from Ossan's gaze. Although he was half-way across the room from her, her vision tunnelled to be filled by his eyes, dark and deep, searching for the truth within her.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, it is what I want."

"I can give it to you."

"My Lord...?"

Ossan repeated, "I can give it to you. But it will come at a price."

Hana was so incredulous at this turn of events that she was gaining in confidence, verging towards recklessness, as the minutes passed. And something about Ossan's manner, a suave persuasiveness, drew her on. "Name it, my Lord!"

"There are those of us throughout the world of Aldara who grieve at what Analem has lost. You are the Land Without Magic - in some countries, that is even your name in their language. Moreover, we see this state spreading. It has been isolated and contained until now, but like a cancer, it could renew itself and surface unexpectedly. We seek someone to arrest the growth - someone who experiences true magic at work within and around them. Someone within Anelem society but outside of it; someone desperately ambitious and willing to give all to attain what they desire. We can give that person what they want, and we can serve our own purposes as well."

"But the price?"

"The price is your life."

For several heartbeats there was silence. Hana knew this; she could feel and hear the beats inside herself before she dared speak again.

"Please, my Lord; please explain."

"Very well. We have the means to move the essence, the very soul of a person, into another's body. That first person - we call them the source - inhabits the body of the second - the host - and inherits all their experiences and memories as well as retaining their own. My seer has shown me that you should be our source; if you agree, the Queen will be the host."

Ossan was so calm and reasonable, so plausible, that Hana could not help but be carried along. "What then will happen to the Queen?"

"As a personality, as an existence, the Queen will simply cease to be. You will inhabit her body - and her brain. You will remember all that she would, recognise and respond to those people and things familiar to her. But it will be you who is doing these things. She will no longer be there."

"Will I be alone in this?"

"If magic is to return to Analem, many of you must see it at work and experience it in their lives. You will not be the only source, though you will be the first."

"Am I your experiment, then, your Excellency?"

"No. We have experimented elsewhere, and perfected our methods with others. Nothing will be left to chance when it comes to you."

"And - those others?"

"They... live."

"And how will I know who else has agreed?"

"You will not," Ossan replied curtly. He was clearly not going to volunteer any more information. Instead, he changed tack. "Now let me ask you a question. How much do you want this?"

"With all my heart, my Lord."

"Then understand one thing. I said that the price is your life. There is an exchange, a balance that must be kept. As the host's personality ceases to exist, so the source's body dies. The exchange is beyond anyone's control; it is Law. You will leave yourself for ever. Now, you are twenty years younger than your Queen, and - this is no secret - far more beautiful. Your youth and beauty will be gone; would you exchange that for her power?"

"Why... of course - gladly."

There was another pause, seemingly interminable. Then Hana spoke again, less confidently, as if the import of what Ossan had said was sinking in.

"But what if I do refuse, my Lord?"

"I will simply leave this room and when I do so you will have no memory of this conversation ever occurring."

"My Lord - what if that happens and you use me anyway?"

"That cannot happen. The transition is dangerous at any time, and to succeed it requires a willing source who is aware of what is taking place. Otherwise it is fatal."

Hana had grown aware that she and Ossan had been in discussion for some while, and wondered now why the guards had not returned to retrieve both of them. Then, by chance, she looked out onto the balcony and she saw the reason why.

Maizon had not moved. The Greater Moon had stayed frozen in the sky throughout their conversation.

"A small demonstration of my people's abilities," Ossan said quietly. "Twenty minutes has passed for us; less than a tenth of that for the guards and and those outside. It may help to persuade you that we also possess the other powers of which I've spoken."

Hana stood stock-still, then spoke a final time.

"I am at Your Excellency's command."

******************

Never trust anyone, Hana reflected months later. Not even magicians. Perhaps especially not magicians.

Nothing had happened. She had waited patiently, as she had learned to wait and bide her time in so many ways and on so many occasions in her life. But nothing had happened, and Ossan's plan remained unfulfilled. Perhaps some aspect of it had failed; perhaps the whole thing had been a bizarre confidence-trick.

Whatever; it was the beginning of a new day, and she was awake, rising yet again from her hard, unyielding bed-mat at her mistress' door. Yet again... nothing had happened; nothing would change.

"Breakfast!" It was one of the kitchen-servants; the one with the loud voice which always threatened to wake the Queen early.

"Shut up, Idon!" Hana hissed.

"I'll shut up if you gissa kiss!" leered Idon. Hana easily fended off his half-hearted attempts to grab her and sat down at the outer dining table.

"'Ave it yer way, then," Idon growled. "'Ere's Her Majesty's food." He lifted the lid off the breakfast tray, careful to keep all he did within sight of Hana and the duty guard, and placed a small portion of each part of the meal in a sampling bowl for Hana.

"Enjoy your feast!" he smirked as he walked away.

Hana raised a beaker of mulled wine to her lips. It's pathetic, really, she thought. My one luxury of the day - half a cup of the Queen's choicest wine for her food-taster and slave. The warm liquid, even in such small quantity, coursed through her, bringing warmth and vitality --

-- and something different. With a shock Hana felt herself pitching forward while at the same time aware that she had not moved an inch. Something inside her - she felt it was the most important part of her, her very self - was forcing its way out of her body and fleeing --

-- and it was a new day, and she woke between soft sheets and warm blankets. But today was different. The girl Hana experienced an awakening for the second time that morning as the woman Anjika experienced her first, and Anjika, uncomprehending and paralysed, gave up her body to the existence which was battering and pouring itself into her very soul because she had no choice.

Gods, the pain! Something in Hana was still connected to her own body, and witnesses later swore that they heard the Queen and her slave cry out to the split-second in unison. "It'll kill me! It'll kill us both!"

But it did not. The pain subsided, and Hana took hold of her new body with a force, a speed and an aggressiveness which she found exhilerating. Already the Palace guard were at the door, and a female lieutenant had opened it and entered, as she was permitted to do in these circumstances. "Majesty...?"

"I'm well. What's happened?"

"It's the slave, Your Majesty. She's dead."

She's Hana, you imbecile. She has a name. Already, though, Anjika's experience was helping her, and she had an understanding of what she could and could not say out loud. Instead, then... "Poison?"

"We believe so."

"I will see her."

Gathering her robe round herself, the Queen climbed off her bed, and moved her body (suddenly so old, so heavy, so awkward...) to the door. She gasped and lurched a little at the sight of her slave crumpled and dead beside the dining table. Those around her recounted later that there was heartfelt emotion in her, the sort that no monarch would normally show for a mere chattel.

And the girl Hana realised for the first time as she saw the body lying there the true extent of the sacrifice she had made to obtain what she wanted.

-- and somewhere at the very back of her mind she felt, with an intensity which made her stagger, a terrified, fading scream as the person who had been the woman Anjika also realised, with the last flicker of her existence, the true nature of her betrayal, and the identity of her betrayer.

******************

The promise had been genuine and its predictions true. Anjika's memories, understanding and knowledge, were all there; and they were hers. There was no effort in recalling them, and no difficulty in responding appropriately when conversation with others required them to be used.

No-one had ever suspected; she was sure of that. She slid into her role as Anjika the Queen as easily has she had once slid onto the throne as Hana the slave, to the extent that, now, ten years on, she no longer gave the issue a second thought. She was sovereign over the Western Kingdom, and that was all that mattered. She had made changes - careful and subtle, but profound, using her royal experience on the one hand and her native cunning and huge ambition on the other. She knew that the Kingdom was a better place because of what she had done; and if others' plans had been helped by this too, so much the better.

With the role of Queen, though, came onerous duties; duties such as meeting the trade delegation - the third this month! - here and now. The delegates were mounting the staircase towards her that very moment, most of them strangers and frighteningly young, but led by an individual who was older and all too familiar.

"My Lord Ossan. What a pleasant surprise!"

Ossan bowed deeply and pressed his lips to her proferred hand. "How fares Your Majesty?"

"Very well indeed, Your Excellency. In fact, you could almost say I've become a new woman since last we met!"

EASTHAVEN INDEX