Lessons to Learn
They carried him into the tent, and she knew at once that it was terrible. She knew it had not been a true death, for she had always felt certain that he would outlive her, but it was terrible enough. It caused an immediate reaction from her retinue.
"The king, the king!" the servants screeched, excitedly, and they ran. Probably to announce his death. He looked like a man who should be dead, but Anath-Sin knew he was not. She knew that this was terrible, horrible, that it would have been pain past description-but she knew a man could survive such wounds if he were Immortal. And she knew the fatherless one who had done this to him was Immortal as well.
It had been Akkasur. There was no one but Akkasur who had the pure spite in him. This was a message written in her lover's blood. This was the invitation she had been waiting for.
The guards waited patiently. Her fame as a counselor was known, and they knew she would do or say something. They would not act unless she gave indication that she should. With a hand motion, she bade them leave. This was no sight for their eyes. The women of her retinue continued with their chatter.
"Silence!" she roared, feeling an emotion so intense that it was beyond the feelings she could name. "Fetch water that I may wash his body."
"He is dead," one of the slave women stammered. "We should…"
"He lives, you stupid cow! Pull your worthless hands from where you sit, fetch some water, or by the holy I will cut your worthless hide open to see what defect has made you so stupid you can not follow a simple order!"
Well she knew that her language was not the way of speaking to slaves, but to soldiers. Forty years at war had given her back her old way of speech. Forty years by his side-she knelt at his side, now.
"Kronos," she whispered. He had her call him that, and over time she realized why he did. It was so he could be more to her than the boy she first named. He had made a name for himself, just as she once said he would. It was the name of her lover, and not the child she had tried to make her son.
But names are not feelings, and her feelings never truly changed. She loved him as her man and her student, but he always remained her son, in a way. She had tried to protect him and provide him with everything he had ever desired-
And now this.
His eyes opened. They always staggered her-at once young and old.
"He could have killed me at any time," he began. "He said to deliver the message. It could be any of your students…"
"Shh, it will be none of you." The slave woman ran back, fetching forth a gold basin. She seemed to quiver even as she stood, but did not spill a drop. She handed it to Anath-Sin, and then fled, unable to look at the scene. Anath-Sin perceived that the woman did not have the sense to also fetch a cloth, but she tore at the hem of her own skirt. It occurred to her that she had used her own clothing this way before, when she wiped her own blood away from his hands when she had first shown him what she was. It never failed to amaze her how much of life was repetition.
"What is he?" Kronos asked, softly. "Who is he?"
"No one. A madman. I wish we were not here…I wish I could have kept you safe."
"Akkasur…"
"Please don't speak…just don't."
"I will not be silent, woman!" he hissed. "He came out of nowhere. He spoke of you as if you were vile...he did this to me, saying you would not meet him unless he made it clear. Made what clear, Anna?"
"Please…" she whispered, holding her hands out as he pulled away. He pushed at her, and then rose to his feet, a bloody sight.
There are things that one can do with a sword if one is skillful. Tiny cuts that draw blood. When a man is fully beaten, and can no longer move, and everything is hazy, and he expects death…she could only imagine what it would be like to receive these instead of the killing blow. His clothing was stiff from the blood. He stumbled like an old man, but he still paced, full of that rage. Justified rage. And all her own fault.
A message. He was used as a message. And it struck her powerfully that Akkasur had certainly been right about her-oh, he knew her too well. This was the one way to get her attention-harm the one she loved best. She tried to get out the words, but they died in her throat, and instead, she felt overcome. There were no words, no words that would answer for it, this time. Only her death would do. She collapsed where she knelt, clutching her chest. The ache was horrible, and her tears would not soothe it, but she wept all the same.
Kronos stood then, still and amazed. He had seen her weep before. He had almost wondered at times if she was insane, her emotions were so intense, but he had witnessed nothing like this before. She seemed like a woman having a fit, and perhaps a mortal woman would have died from what Anath-Sin was gripped by.
Fate. She saw clearly that she would have to pay for this blood with her own blood. Fate was wrenching them apart again.
"Anna…stop that."
The sound she made in response was not human. She moaned like a wounded beast, and then lifted her head. He saw the change even in her eyes, from lapis to turquoise. And when she could speak, she said only, "Go. If you won't permit my hands to touch you, clean yourself. And just leave me a moment."
"Anna?"
"I have to pay for this…in my way. This message meant that I have to end it…oh by the gods," she whispered, struggling with how to explain a thing that made no sense. "Only three score years and ten with you…a thousand wouldn't have been enough."
Kronos knelt by her side, touching her face. "End what? Three score years and ten?"
She swallowed, wondering. That was when she should have gone forth to meet Akkasur. Seventy years ago. She knew she would have to leave, but stayed for the child's sake, falling in love the moment she laid eyes on him. She knew she should never return to him after having been killed in Uruk, but did. Every moment that she spent with him was borrowed time-time she never should have had.
"The man who did this to you has wanted me dead longer than you have been alive. And perhaps more than that-spite, Kronos. It all boils down to spite. For one instant of spite…he may even try going after you again. Or any of the others…"
She nearly wept anew at that thought. There were others, and she knew what Akkasur could do. Kill one of them? One of hers? If it were bad enough to see one so much as hurt, how could she endure the responsibility of one of them losing their heads?
Or all of them?
"Anna, what did you do that he could hate you so?"
She paused. With Methos, she once thought she might have spoken of anything, but with Kronos, she knew better. She shook her head. "What does it matter? It was about spite. You know what I am, and have always been. A killer. Perhaps there are things one can do that make killing seem like nothing. There are things worse than killing, Kronos. You don't need to know." She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, and sniffed, wondering how pathetic she must seem. She imagined it must be very pathetic, indeed, if her badly-used, bloody man could look at her with unaccustomed fear. "I can't stand seeing you this way-or stand knowing that what happened was my fault. I don't know how you can stand the sight of me."
"The sight of you…" He bowed his head, then, and she could not refrain from touching him. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his hair, smelling the sweat and drying blood.
"Forgive me. Tell me you can still care for me."
"What else can I do? You never gave me a choice."
Simple, pure, obvious-he never had been given a choice, but was borne along on the wave of her decisions. She started from the serious horror of it. His life, the only life he had known, came from her decision, and once she was gone, he would be alone, in a mortal existence not made for him. A god on earth makes a fine king at war-but can never go home. His was not the face of a man three score and ten, and soon enough, there would be the inevitable talk.
A demon. And how long before the demon was called out? She had not even been Immortal before her own people made an example of her for her power-what would become of someone whose gift was as evident as his? The time had come for her, but that only meant it had come for him, as well. He could no longer live this life, anymore than she could continue to live hers.
And who would look after him as she had, knowing his weaknesses? His occasional insanity? Who would bear with him as she had, through all of it--the rages, the pain?
She could not bring herself to speak of it, though. She pulled him closer, dipped the rag torn from her skirt in the basin, and began to wipe his face. She did not dare to speak at all, for fear that anything she could say would ruin her attempt to try and make things seem as if nothing had changed-although everything had.
He let her undress him, and she continued until the water was too dark, and she did not call upon a slave, but fetched a new basin herself as well as a pitcher, and swallowed back sobs all the while. And he did not stir, almost as if he did not dare, but stood as she left, and let her touch him where she would when she returned. She ran damp fingers through his hair, and then, when neither of them could stand anymore, he took her in his arms, and they made love, because there was nothing that could be said, except in that way.
*****
But no matter how anyone tries, not all one's time can be spent in lovemaking. She reflected on this as they lay together. He saw the look upon her face, and would know more.
"Anna, what now?"
She flinched, wishing she were not once again making the decision. There was only one thing she could do-she had no plan for her own life, nor her own safety, but only his. She only wished it were not a thing that she once swore would never be.
"I have other students yet living. Their life is different from the life I planned for you, but not as different as you would think. You have lived yours at war, conquest…they also live a life of violence. I thought it would be different for you. I desired that you live the life of a man--as any man, even if..." Her lip trembled. His was not the life of an average man--it was the life of a man who had been given everything, and did not know failure.
"I have lived a man's life…ask my children," he replied, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. "Ask my grandchildren." With that he grinned so evilly that she burst into laughter, in spite of herself.
"About the adulterous tendencies of women, I am never wrong, particularly your wives. And they may well believe at least some of the babies were yours. Or, at least, hope they were yours." She could never be jealous of those women, not with the lives they led. They bred children, had affairs, lived in horrors of being caught in their affairs, wore beautiful clothing, gossiped, and, in general, saw not even a glimpse of their husband in relation to the way she had known him. In her case, being the mistress had been infinitely better.
"And one of those sons will replace me on the throne…soon."
She looked at him with new appreciation. "You know you can not remain?"
"I have known. Perhaps this was never…you have been right. All those years ago, you said this was what I was meant to be. But there is something you're trying to tell me? About those others?"
"About my family, Kronos. And yours." She paused, turning and rising to lean on one elbow, to better get a look at his face. His expression was one of confusion, so she went on. "The family I rode with when I was away from you. When you walk away from this-as you must-I want you to find them."
"I don't understand. You've never so much as spoken of them…you never would."
"I never wanted you to live that life-but there really is no other for us. We can not live in cities, where our names become known. Where our faces stay young as the years pass. Where mortals begin to see what makes us different. In a city, among men-we fight in the street, like dogs over scraps-that is the Game, and it is foolish. But out here-on the plains, in the mountains, on the field of battle-it never matters. It was the life we were made for. We make names for ourselves. We live a noble life, and yes, kill. Perhaps it is all we can do. I once thought otherwise, but I see now how wrong I was."
She buried her face against his chest, seeing things too clearly to even put them into words. It struck her how this was, strangely enough, what Methos was trying to tell her. This was what she had been meant for, and now she was explaining it to the very person she refused it for. The young one had been right. And now she would have her little revenge on him for being right-by getting her way.
"My best student-don't puff yourself up, Kronos, you are my dearest love, but there is someone who learned more from me than you-probably still leads them. If we are gods, they live the lives of gods-no men, mere men, could be feared as they are. His name is Methos, and the two he rides with, if they continue as I had left them, are Caspian and Silas. I couldn't wish for a better crew for you to be with." Nor a safer home to place you, she added to herself.
"Methos," he said, repeating the name. "That was the one. Methos." He closed his eyes, remembering that day, watching the two of them riding off.
"Yes. My dearest friend, that is what he was to me. He saved my life and preserved my sanity, and I never really repaid him for that. You saw him carry me away, broken and left for dead. It could have been a lot worse for me, save for his intervention. Akkasur could have had me then. But for him, I'd never have been able to return to you."
"I wonder…"
"Don't think for a moment I haven't given the same thought to the matter, but we can not know what would have been. We can only deal with what is. I want him to continue teaching you-to show you the things I never dared. There is no one who could show you more."
Kronos thought on that. She had ever made what she had been clear, but now it seemed like she would finally be honest about all of it. "He was your best?"
"For all I could teach him, he taught himself more. He surpasses me in some things even at his age-and, I do believe he may endure more years than I have. Anything is possible. It is possible you will, as well. All my students were made to endure-I bled false mercies and witless compassion out of you. There isn't a one of you who wouldn't gladly see any number of children and old ladies to their graves if they stood in the way of getting your heart's desire-and thank the gods! The sickest I ever felt was knowing the disease of conscience. It is an evil thing. Better to be strangled at birth than know a moment's pity. This is the beginning of all sorrows."
His jaw fell. Never had he heard her speak so openly.
"I tell you this so that you can learn from him-he is not me. I love you-Methos loves himself. He holds his survival first, and I would have you do the same. I trained you in the sword, and I know you can take him. I taught you with him in mind-he is one of the best. But you-you might exceed him, if only for knowing the weaknesses he surely carries to this day. You better be able to beat him-it's the only way he'll respect you. But I don't want you to learn the sword from him, but how to live as an Immortal should. He has the gift-perhaps I never did. I have a special complaint, one I'm sure I never mentioned. It made me unfit," she explained, with a wry look.
"What complaint is that? I know of nothing…wrong with you," he said, looking at her carefully.
"I'm a woman. You may not have noticed."
She had him, and he laughed, and they kissed. "I noticed that you are wicked."
She sighed. "I am that, too. It is what you must be to endure. The good die young. Or, perhaps dying young is the only way to stay good, and everyone is ruined at some point-even at my age, there are puzzles to work at, and riddles to solve, and lessons to learn. I'm on the verge of a lesson in how to die, and there are still things I wonder at." She saw his eyes mist, and would not have it. "Keep that. Wonder. Learn…it's all you can do. I want to know that's what you will do." She kissed him, tenderly. "Dying is not the worst thing that could happen to me."
"Can't you kill him? I don't understand why you talk about this, as if you mean for him to kill you."
She lay back, and closed her eyes. There was no way for her to explain what she knew about herself. She wasn't even certain if it was true. It was the dream of the old stone mother, and the words of the oracle. It was a vision she had when she took the head of Imhotep. It was something she didn't understand, but felt certain of. She didn't think even having her head taken would properly kill her. She always had had the ability to make her words into truth, but she wondered if it could really be as simple as she thought-
Perhaps. Anything was possible.
"I am the oldest, Kronos. It doesn't happen by accident. Or at least, not by one accident, but hundreds of accidents. The accident of being mad. The accident of being clever. The accident of thousands dying instead of me. Do you know the first head I ever saw taken was on holy ground? No one would dare take a head on holy ground now-I have lived so long I have even seen the rules change. The woman who died was the oldest of that time, and she said I would replace her. A stupid fantasy of a gibbering idiot. Her Quickening left a hole in the ground, and cracked the stones of the temple. When the man who took her head died, that Quickening went to me. An accident.
"My teacher, my greatest teacher, said there was nothing that could be done with me. I was too stubborn to teach, and needed to learn everything for myself. Old Imhotep-sage. He taught in Kemet, but he came from the East, far to the east. Who knows where he was born, or what name he was first given? He said he had seen the brave fools, and the wise cowards, but I-another creature altogether. Brave in my wisdom, cowardly about the most foolish things. He no longer wished to live, and he desired I take his head. So I did."
She looked at the astonishment on Kronos' face. "He swore himself to celibacy. I think he simply preferred I take his head than make him break his vow. An accident. Who can say? He was old and crazy, and when I took his head-insanity. What I'm saying is, I believe it might be worse for the one who kills me, than for me to go. And perhaps the old ones do go mad, and now that I am old, I'm…crazy as I ever was, only now, ready to lose. And I don't think even death will stop me."
She rose from the makeshift bed they had lain on of furs and linen, and she stretched her self until she could feel all of her muscles tight, and even her supple joints made a sound. She moaned, and then took a deep breath. It had never hit her before-but now it did. She paced in a circle. There it was. She spun herself, arms outstretched. It was a dance, and always had been. A little dance with death.
Kronos looked at the naked, strange thing. He had known her all his life, and never saw her quite this way before. He wondered if thinking these strange thoughts had finally pushed her over the edge, but she seemed happier than before. She seemed fully alive, and glowing when she knelt back by his side.
"Anything is possible. Remember that one. And-if you wait long enough…" She grinned truly, then, and lay down beside him. "I never realized. I knew, but I did not know. It is a wheel. No real beginning, no real end. Complete in itself." She laughed, delighted.
"What in all creation are you speaking of?"
"Creation. You. Me." She caressed his face. "Imhotep told me that our strengths are the same as our weaknesses. I always saw it in battle, but not in life. But the opposite is also true. Our weaknesses are our greatest strength. And dying…I'll…" She shook her head. She didn't know how that would happen, she only knew she didn't have to fear it. "All you need to know is…the scar that ruins your face makes it oddly beautiful. The hole in the tent that lets in the rain, also lets in the sun. And nothing ever ends."
"You're insane!"
"I know! So are you. We all are. But…Akkasur doesn't know how crazy I am. Just promise me-you'll look for them. The others. Methos. Caspian. Silas. I'll tell you everything, only promise me-my name dies. Tonight."
"Anna."
"You'll see me again afterwards, in other ways. You have your life to live, and your legacy to make. A legend, Kronos. That means…I have to go."
And then she told him all of it: where they might be found, and what he might expect from each. She knew it would not be easy for him as he was accustomed to leading men, but she had faith in his abilities. She knew that if he only found them, he would be fine.
*****
They made love passionately and with new tenderness, knowing it would be the last time, and then slept, holding onto each other, warmly. She smiled as she slept a dreamless sleep, but he dreamed of her death and woke, wondering if he couldn't bring an end to her madness. As he tried to quietly dress himself, she woke as much from the sound of his movements as the sudden emptiness where he had been next to her. She sat up, and watched him, pleased, but more annoyed than pleased. He was a child compared even to Akkasur. She wouldn't have it.
"Kronos, my young god."
"Anna, I can't let this go on. I can call up an army of men, and he won't escape my wrath."
"Yes, he can. Because there is such a thing as fate-a thing you can't outrun. This is mine. Have I ever done a thing to you in cruelty?"
"No, never."
She smiled. "My love. Come sit by me. Hold me. I want you to know something, a hard, hard lesson. But the kind of lesson you need to know." She held out her hand, and he took it, permitting her to drag him down to sit by her.
"If I died…what would you wish to do?"
"I'd come after him."
"Don't. Let it go. Because I will tell you something now. I love you. With everything I have. But I would never go after anyone in revenge for you-not if you brought the death on yourself. And I am bringing this on myself. And I asked for it a long time ago. That is a thing you can't avenge-suicide. Self-slaughter. It can neither be avenged nor forgiven. That is why even my name needs to die. But this isn't the cruelest thing I have to teach you."
"What is, then?" His eyes pled with her. She could feel something cold, deliberate, building inside of her. Cold as the knife by the side of the bed.
"What is the one thing I've done that hurt you the most? Besides what I do now? I plunged a knife into your chest when you thought you wished to die-but do you still wish to die?"
"No, of course not…"
"Of course not. Life is too precious, too wonderful. It offers too much. Do you want to know what I felt for you when I did it? Perfect love. I wanted to give you a life you could enjoy. Do you know what I feel for you now?"
He shook his had, eyes closed. She reached for the knife, knowing he did not see. She knew she could be considered the worst of people for this, but it did not bother her-she always considered herself one of the worst people who had ever lived, and had the memories to prove it. She could point out her sins as well as anyone. She placed her lips to his, kissing him deeply. She felt his hands against her breasts, and knew he was caught up in the feel of her body-too swept up to notice what she was about to do.
"What I've always felt. Perfect love." And with that, she shoved the knife into his chest to the hilt. She cried for the slave women to come, and carefully slipped the knife out of his chest before they could see the strange thing she had done.
"He vomits blood. I know not what ails him, but watch, and do not allow him to move. Have the guards come forth, if you must. But see to it…he should not be allowed to leave this tent."
And knowing the strange sight he was only just that evening, they did as she said. They looked on his still form with fear, and when he woke, screaming her name, he was subdued. But she was gone, never to return.