When she lifted her eyes, the two brothers were gone. A faint wind rustled the leaves of the majestic tree. A honeyed smell drifted on the air and far away, someone was singing a rich, melodious aria. The smell and sound contrasted to her stormy emotions.
“Good is not good until it is tested,” the Seneschal said, his voice thoughtful and reflective. “Aristaios became Shirikant when he failed the test of self. All his life, he had prided himself on his discipline, his wisdom, his good fortune. He came to believe that everything in the world worked together for his good. He was unused to disappointment. He couldn’t bear the thought of failure.”
Phae stared at him, her face scrunching with concern. “He wanted immortality. I could see it in his eyes.”
The Seneschal shook his head. “He wanted that when he came here. But when he saw Mirrowen—when he beheld its splendor for himself, he realized his kingdom was only an imitation of perfection. He began to lust for things that he had not earned. The station I hold. The tree I protect. The daughter I sired. He was used to Isic giving way to his ambition. He could not bear the thought that his younger brother would become all that he desired.”
“You knew this?” Phae asked, looking at him deeply. “You knew what he would become when he came here?”
“I did.”
“And you allowed it to happen? So many have been destroyed because of that man. Why do you permit him to poison the mortal world?”
The Seneschal reached down and caressed her hair. “Does an ox gain strength if it has no burden to pull? As I’ve taught you, child, the Decay seeks to rip apart all that has been created. Only the firmness of the Unwearying Ones holds it at bay. It takes strength to resist its inexorable pull. Evil must exist, just as fire is needed to purify ore. Shirikant plays a purpose, though he does so unwittingly. Yes, I allow it. I must. When Aristaios left Mirrowen, he struggled with his feelings. He began immediately to construct the fortress of Canton Vaud. The best stonemasons and builders in his kingdom were summoned. It was a mighty charge and a colossal task. Stone was quarried from the mountains, and they discovered caves beneath the range. It became a secret lair, which he named Basilides. He visited Mirrowen often, gaining ideas for the construction by the designs he saw here. He wanted it to be a piece of Mirrowen in the mortal world, a gatehouse to protect the bridge to this world.”
Phae’s eyebrows crinkled. “I must ask this, though I fear the answer. The fruit that you chose for him yielded the fireblood. Are we all descendants of Shirikant?”
The Seneschal smiled and nodded. “There are not many of your family left. Not many of the original Moussion, the forgotten race.”
“Then how did Shirikant become immortal?” Phae asked. “He must have partaken of the fruit of the tree. How did that happen?”
“His rebellion began on his way out of Mirrowen. He felt he had been robbed of the opportunity to become Seneschal by his brother. Jealousy blackened his heart. He saw the happiness that his brother and my daughter shared. He promised them an elaborate wedding, a royal occasion that would rival any kingdom’s. He set in motion a plan to murder his brother and claim my daughter for himself.”
Phae’s eyes bulged with shock.
The Seneschal approached the tree, staring at one of the gentle fruits dangling from a stem. Crackles of thunder popped in the sky above and Phae noticed the clouds roiling with storm. Vivid forks of lightning streaked through the billows. The Seneschal was peaceful, his hand grazing the edge of one of the fruit.
“He visited several times, as I told you, seeking to mirror the wonders he found here. But all the while, he tested to see if I truly knew his thoughts. He kept coming closer and closer to the tree, seeing if the defenses of Mirrowen would be summoned against him. There are laws irrevocably decreed, child. When one is persistent, when the determination is absolute, one achieves . . . even if it is to his or her harm. He did not believe that I could discern his thoughts. He convinced himself that he would succeed. He was fascinated by the Paracelsus order developed by the Cruithne. He had met, years previously, a caravan of Cruithne with a menagerie of captive animals that were forced into bondage to perform tricks for the amusement of nobles. One of the chief animal tamers wore a torc around his neck, fashioned by a Paracelsus. The torc made wild animals fear him, which allowed the Cruithne to perform feats of astonishing bravery—or so it seemed. Shirikant paid dearly for such a magic charm and he used it to enter Mirrowen and pass the sentinels guarding the tree. Even the serpent Iddawc feared to bite him. He claimed a fruit of immortality. He also took a serpent, concealing it in a pouch to be used to kill his brother. Then he took a bite of the fruit.”
“Good is not good until it is tested,” the Seneschal said, his voice thoughtful and reflective. “Aristaios became Shirikant when he failed the test of self. All his life, he had prided himself on his discipline, his wisdom, his good fortune. He came to believe that everything in the world worked together for his good. He was unused to disappointment. He couldn’t bear the thought of failure.”
Phae stared at him, her face scrunching with concern. “He wanted immortality. I could see it in his eyes.”
The Seneschal shook his head. “He wanted that when he came here. But when he saw Mirrowen—when he beheld its splendor for himself, he realized his kingdom was only an imitation of perfection. He began to lust for things that he had not earned. The station I hold. The tree I protect. The daughter I sired. He was used to Isic giving way to his ambition. He could not bear the thought that his younger brother would become all that he desired.”
“You knew this?” Phae asked, looking at him deeply. “You knew what he would become when he came here?”
“I did.”
“And you allowed it to happen? So many have been destroyed because of that man. Why do you permit him to poison the mortal world?”
The Seneschal reached down and caressed her hair. “Does an ox gain strength if it has no burden to pull? As I’ve taught you, child, the Decay seeks to rip apart all that has been created. Only the firmness of the Unwearying Ones holds it at bay. It takes strength to resist its inexorable pull. Evil must exist, just as fire is needed to purify ore. Shirikant plays a purpose, though he does so unwittingly. Yes, I allow it. I must. When Aristaios left Mirrowen, he struggled with his feelings. He began immediately to construct the fortress of Canton Vaud. The best stonemasons and builders in his kingdom were summoned. It was a mighty charge and a colossal task. Stone was quarried from the mountains, and they discovered caves beneath the range. It became a secret lair, which he named Basilides. He visited Mirrowen often, gaining ideas for the construction by the designs he saw here. He wanted it to be a piece of Mirrowen in the mortal world, a gatehouse to protect the bridge to this world.”
Phae’s eyebrows crinkled. “I must ask this, though I fear the answer. The fruit that you chose for him yielded the fireblood. Are we all descendants of Shirikant?”
The Seneschal smiled and nodded. “There are not many of your family left. Not many of the original Moussion, the forgotten race.”
“Then how did Shirikant become immortal?” Phae asked. “He must have partaken of the fruit of the tree. How did that happen?”
“His rebellion began on his way out of Mirrowen. He felt he had been robbed of the opportunity to become Seneschal by his brother. Jealousy blackened his heart. He saw the happiness that his brother and my daughter shared. He promised them an elaborate wedding, a royal occasion that would rival any kingdom’s. He set in motion a plan to murder his brother and claim my daughter for himself.”
Phae’s eyes bulged with shock.
The Seneschal approached the tree, staring at one of the gentle fruits dangling from a stem. Crackles of thunder popped in the sky above and Phae noticed the clouds roiling with storm. Vivid forks of lightning streaked through the billows. The Seneschal was peaceful, his hand grazing the edge of one of the fruit.
“He visited several times, as I told you, seeking to mirror the wonders he found here. But all the while, he tested to see if I truly knew his thoughts. He kept coming closer and closer to the tree, seeing if the defenses of Mirrowen would be summoned against him. There are laws irrevocably decreed, child. When one is persistent, when the determination is absolute, one achieves . . . even if it is to his or her harm. He did not believe that I could discern his thoughts. He convinced himself that he would succeed. He was fascinated by the Paracelsus order developed by the Cruithne. He had met, years previously, a caravan of Cruithne with a menagerie of captive animals that were forced into bondage to perform tricks for the amusement of nobles. One of the chief animal tamers wore a torc around his neck, fashioned by a Paracelsus. The torc made wild animals fear him, which allowed the Cruithne to perform feats of astonishing bravery—or so it seemed. Shirikant paid dearly for such a magic charm and he used it to enter Mirrowen and pass the sentinels guarding the tree. Even the serpent Iddawc feared to bite him. He claimed a fruit of immortality. He also took a serpent, concealing it in a pouch to be used to kill his brother. Then he took a bite of the fruit.”
