But somewhere along the way the hate had left him. Not until after they had finally succeeded in killing his mother with poison, decades after she had survived the knives-he had hated then, surely. Perhaps it was gradual, as the night of death faded into memory and he began to feel the responsibility of caring for the billions of people who depended on him for law, for peace, for protection. Somewhere along the way his goals had changed. He was no longer out to punish the wicked, as he had once thought his mission in life to be. Now he was out to establish peace throughout the galaxy, to protect mankind from mankind, even though it meant more bloody war to force the quarreling worlds and nations and leagues of worlds to accept what they all claimed to want. An end to death in battle.
I did it, Mikal told himself, staring into the flames. I did it.
And yet not well enough. Because after all of this a boy had to stand there tonight with blood on his hands, looking at the corpses of the men he had killed. I started all this so that no boy would ever have to do that again.
Mikal felt a pain inside himself that he could not bear. He put his hand into the fire until the pain of his body forced the pain of his heart to recede. Then he wrapped the hand, salved it, and wondered why inward wounds could not be so easily healed.
18
Songbird, Riktors Ashen said, it seems that someone has taught you new songs.
Ansset stood among the guards, who all held lasers trained on him. Control kept him from showing any emotion at all, though he longed to cry out with the agony that tore at him inside. My walls are deep, but can they hold this? he wondered, and inside his head he heard, faintly, a voice singing to him. It was Esste's voice, and she sang the love song, and that was what allowed him to contain the guilt and the grief and the fear and keep Control.
You must have studied under a master, Riktors said.
I never, Ansset started, and then realized that he could not keep on speaking, not and keep Control.
Don't torture the boy, Captain, said Mikal from where he sat in a corner of the council room.
The Chamberlain launched into his pro forma resignation. I should have examined the boy's muscle structure and realized what new skills he had been given. I submit my resignation. I beg you to take my life.
The Chamberlain must be even more worried than usual, Ansset realized, for he had prostrated himself in front of the emperor.
Shut up and get up, Mikal said. The Chamberlain arose with his face gray. Mikal had not followed the ritual. The Chamberlain's life was still on the line.
Apparently, Mikal said, we've broken through some of the barriers laid in my Songbird's mind. Let's see how many.
Ansset stood watching as Riktors took a packet off the table and spread pictures for Ansset to look at. Ansset looked at the first one and felt sick. He did not know why they were making him look until he saw the third one and gasped, despite Control.
You know this one, Riktors said.
Ansset nodded dumbly.
Point to the ones you know.
So Ansset pointed to nearly half of them, and Riktors checked them against a list he held in his hands, and when Ansset was through and turned away (slowly, slowly, because the guards with the lasers were nervous), Riktors smiled grimly at Mikal.
He picked every single one kidnapped and murdered after he himself was kidnapped. There was a connection after all.
I killed them, Ansset said, and his voice was not calm. It shook as no one in the palace had ever heard it shake before. Mikal looked at him, but said-nothing, gave no sign of sympathy. They had me practice on them, Ansset finished.
Who had you practice? Riktors demanded.
They! The voices-from the box. Ansset struggled to hold onto the memory that had been hidden from him by the block. Now he knew why the block had been so strong-he could not have borne knowing what was hidden in his mind. But now it was in the open, and he had to bear it, at least long enough to tell. He had to tell, though he longed to let the block slide back to hide these memories forever.
What box? Riktors would not let up.
The box. A wooden box. Maybe a receiver, maybe a recording. I don't know.
Did you know the voice?
Voices. Never the same. Not even for the same sentence. The voices changed for every word. I could never find any songs in them.
Ansset kept seeing the faces of the bound men he was told to maim and then kill. He remembered that though he cried out against it, he could not resist, could not stop himself.
How did they force you to do it? Riktors asked, and though his voice was soft, the questions were insistent, had to be answered.
I don't know. I don't know. There were words, and then I had to.
What words?
I don't know! I never knew! And Ansset began to cry.
Mikal spoke softly. Who taught you to kill that way?
A man. I never knew his name. On the last day he was tied where the others had been. The voices made me kill him. Ansset struggled with the words, the struggle made harder by the realization that this time, when he had killed his teacher, he had not had to be forced. He had killed because he hated the man. I murdered him.
Nonsense, the Chamberlain said, trying to sound sympathetic. You were a tool.
I told you to shut up, Mikal said curtly. Can you remember anything else, my Son?
Ansset nodded, took a breath, knowing that though he had lost the illusion of Control, still it was the walls of Control that kept him from screaming, from charging a guard and dying in the welcome flame of a laser. I killed Master, and all of the crew that was there. Some were missing. The ones I recognized from the pictures from Eire. And Husk. But I killed all the rest, they were all there in the room with the table, and all alone I killed them. They fought me as hard as they could, all except Master, who just stood there like he couldn't believe that I could be doing what he saw me do. Maybe they never knew what it was I was learning to do on deck.
And then?
And then when they were all dead I heard footsteps above me on the deck.
Who?
I don't know. The box told me to lie down on my stomach, and I did, and the box told me to close my eyes, and I did, and I couldn't open them. Then footsteps down the stairs and a slap on my arm and I woke up walking down a street.
Everyone was silent then, for a few moments. It was the Chamberlain who finally spoke first. My Lord, it must have been the Songbird's great love for you that broke through the barriers despite the fact that the Captain was already dead--
Chamberlain! Mikal interrupted. Your life is over if you speak again before I address you." He turned to Riktors Ashen. Captain, I want to know how those Kinshasans got past your guard.
Riktors Ashen made no attempt to excuse himself. The guards at the door were my men, and they gave them a routine check, without any effort to investigate the possibility of unusual weapons in those unusual headdresses. They've been replaced with more careful men, and the ones who let them by are in prison, waiting for your pleasure.
My pleasure, said Mikal, will be a long time coming.
Ansset was regaining Control. He listened to the songs in Riktors Ashen's voice and marveled at the man's confidence. It was as if none of this could touch Riktors Ashen. He knew he was not at fault, knew that he would not be punished, knew that all would turn out well. His confidence was infectious, and Ansset felt just a little better.