The Face of Chaos

'I am tired of all this quarrelling,' sighed Shipri. 'I thought that when you had bested the Rankans we would have peace again. I have finally come to an understanding with Sabellia, and I suppose that this new goddess and I will have to do the same. At least She is a goddess, and therefore more likely than a god to be sensible about things.'

Lalo sat back, relieved. He had painted his own wife as Sabellia, and in the past few minutes he had begun to fear Shipri's jealousy. But Gilla resembled the Sharp-Tongued One less and less these days, and he thought he would have portrayed her as the nurturing Mother ofllsig now.

Then the splendour of the face of Ils was turned fully upon him, and, even in this remade body unable to gaze into that light, Lalo cried out and hid his eyes.

'Son of Ils, come here...' Sound was light, slivering painfully through Lalo's shut lids. He shook his head.

'Lord, I have served in the temple of your enemies, and I am afraid.'

'But I have defeated those enemies. Stand on your feet and come to Me!'

I have already died, thought Lalo. What else can He do to me? He opened his eyes. Thufir Far-Seer was waiting to guide him to his Father, who masked his radiance with the face of the great marble statue in the Temple of Ils.

'You have painted many portraits since the Mage touched you, Limner - what did you see?'

Lalo fixed his eyes upon the silver necklace that glittered from beneath the god's dark beard. 'Beasts...' he muttered, 'and demons, sometimes, and sometimes... gods.'

'And when you turned your sorcerer's gift upon yourself?' the implacable voice went on.

Lalo shuddered, but Thufir's grip held him to this reality. He had seen a pleasure in pettiness that shamed him and beyond that a longing for annihilation that terrified him and a capacity for love that terrified him even more. He had seen the depths of his own unguessed, untapped creative power.

'As you served Enas Yorl and the priests of Savankala, so now, my son, you shall serve Me,' said the Voice of Ils.

Before him Lalo saw a white canvas, and brushes that surpassed his own as a Downwinder's donkey is surpassed by a horse of Tros, and a palette with pigments for whose secret the colour-grinders of Sanctuary would have given their souls. Lalo's right hand prickled with power that built, built - it must be grounded somehow - he groped for a paintbrush and dipped it into a colour that was more than scarlet, touched it to the canvas and felt power surge through it in an explosive release like the climax of love.

His hand moved swiftly, splashing the canvas with scarlet, then down to the palette for a lambent gold, and lastly a shading of opalescent blue. Then he stepped back, the brush falling from his fingers, and the thing on the canvas stretched, flexed, and launched itself glittering into the air.

Eshi laughed and clapped her white hands, and Thufir smiled his slow, patient smile. Lalo stared as the miniature sikkintair that had come to life beneath his hands soared off through the trees.

'Before, you were able to paint the truth behind reality,' the whisper of Ils echoed through the deepest chambers ofLalo's soul. 'Now you will give Reality to the Truth you see. Do you not yet understand Who you are?'

Oh Thou Blessed Mother of All Living, We wander, children who have lost our way- Guard us from all danger, and forgiving, Guide us homeward at the close of day.

'Holy Shipri, All-Mother, as Thou dost love Thine own lord, hear me now!' Gilla's murmur was lost in the hymn's sweet harmonies. 'Hear me and guide my own man back to me ...'

Here in the chapel of the Mother, flickering candles struck sparks of colour from the mosaics and one scarcely noticed the rough repairs where Vashanka's thunderbolt had cracked the wall. Gilla huddled in the shadows while the blue robed priestesses passed back and forth before the marble image of the Goddess, continuing their song.

Whatever men destroy is for Thy mending, Forever feeding from Thy fruitful breast; Thou art the source of life, and at its ending, Once more within Thy holy womb we rest.

And what if Lalo is already safe within Her arms? Gilla wondered then. Perhaps the gods need a court painter, and what does Sanctuary have to offer that could compare? She bowed her head, rocking back and forth while the chanting continued, sweetly counselling acceptance of life's eternal round of birth and death, and the tears she had so long suppressed fell like rain upon the marble floor.

The priestesses had finished and the chapel was silent when Gilla felt Vanda's touch on her shoulder and let her daughter lead her out into the harsh sunlight of Sanctuary.

'Don't tell me,' said Vanda. 'Goronesh wouldn't even see you, and those hypocrites who served Shipri told you that loss is part of the burden that women must bear.'

Gilla looked back at the golden dome of the Temple, still half-sheathed in scaffolding. 'Am I selfish to want Lalo back? I thought I was the strong one, but I need him!'

'Of course you do!' said Vanda stoutly. 'And so do we!' Her hair in the sunlight was the same bright copper Lalo's had been when he was young, but her grey eyes were troubled. Gilla swallowed the last of her tears and briskly wiped her eyes. 'You're right -I don't know what got into me!'

'And now will you come with me to see the Lady Kurrekai?' For the first time since leaving the Temple, Gilla took note other surroundings, and realized that instead of turning down the Avenue of Temples towards the town they were walking along the outer wall of the Palace Square. She sighed.

'Very well. Let us see what the foreigner can do, for it's certain I'll get no help from mage or god of Sanctuary!'

The Prince had obligingly offered rooms for the Beysa and her court in the Palace, though perhaps he was only making a virtue of necessity. Gilla wondered how they all managed to fit inside. Certainly the place seemed abustle with Beysib functionaries in laced breeks and loose doublets or the flared skirts and high collars they all affected. It seemed to her that they even outnumbered the silk-sashed Palace servants who went about their duties with such ostentatious solemnity.

Gilla looked at her daughter, already aping Beysib fashion in a gown cut down from an old petticoat of her lady's whose borders glittered with threads of gold. Whether this Beysib female was any help or no, certainly Gilla and Lalo had done a good piece of work when they used his Palace connections to get Vanda a position here. The Lady Kurrekai occupied a chamber on the second floor of the Palace, close to the roomier apartments near the roof garden, which had been taken over by the Beysa. If Gilla understood what Vanda had told her of Beysib politics, Kurrekai was a cousin of Shupansea the Queen, not in direct line for the lost Imperial throne, but royal enough to keep one of the sacred serpents and to have been trained as a priestess.

Gilla shuddered, thinking of the beynit. Enas Yorl's basilisks had been bad enough, and now she must face this imported horror. / must love that man, she thought glumly, or I would be running for home.

And then they were at the door, and the choice was gone. She smelled some kind of incense, like bitter sandalwood.

'Ah. the mother of my little friend. You are welcome ...' A voice rather deep and slightly accented greeted them. The figure that rose as they entered was tall and strongly built enough to make Gilla almost feel small. She blinked at the magnificence of the quilted petticoat, whose crimson brocade had been overlaid with gold-work until its original pattern could hardly be discerned, surmounted by panniers of deep blue cut velvet and a corset of the same material with long, tight sleeves. She had not realized before now that beneath the cloaks that Beysib noblewomen wore outside, their breasts were displayed. Kurrekai's breasts were large, firm, and bore nipples that had been intricately painted with a pattern in scarlet and gold.