echoing out to fill his chambers with agony. The sun dimmed and struggled to rekindle, but Ixelion did not notice. He pounded his fist on the closed lid, crying. âNot this!â he wept. âNo! No! Ah, not this!â The words came back to him softly, sibilantly, mingled with the fountains, slid down the walls and curved with the water that fell between the balustrades to flow over the floor of the hall and out into the river.
He stumbled to his feet and ran, the casket held out before him in both hands. Down to his hall, out the vaulting door, into the darkness, still weeping. Straight to the Gate he sped, slipping on wet undergrowth, pushing aside the flower-ridden tree branches with his slim shoulders, splashing up the river to where it became imprisoned in the torchlit tunnel that led to the Gate. The guards saw him come and stood upright, the light flooding from him catching fire on their capes of scale, and he went by them like a wind, eyes wide with panic. Then, on the rocky lip of Ixel, out beyond the Gate, teetering on the edge of the universe, he stopped. If I take it to Danar, it will torment Janthis until he is impelled to open it, and then the Gate on Danar will have to be closed and the halls of the sun-lords will be inaccessible to the rest of us forever, he thought. The risk is too great. I will keep it here on poor, wet Ixel, least of the Unmakerâs concerns, where his malevolent eye seldom turns. All at once Ixelionâs feverish horror left him, and he felt as though a weight had rolled from his back to go tumbling out into space. His spine straightened. Slowly he turned back through his Gate and walked home smiling in relief, the treasure tucked under one arm. He was not aware that his world had grown darker, a steady dark like a soft twilight.
As soon as he stepped under the portals of his doors, he knew that he was not alone. He stopped dead, fingers tightening around the treasure, eyes darting about the hall, but the water poured on gently, the mist hung very still high above. Was Sillix above in the high chamber, with more calamitous news? Angrily Ixelion waded through the hall and up the broad, water-filled ways to his topmost room, wanting only to deal with Sillix and his whines so he could be alone. He was so preoccupied with the certainty that Sillix stood beside his pool, that meek smile on his face, that he strode under the dripping stone without caution. Then he came to an abrupt halt.
A man stood beside his pool. No, it was not a man but a Trader. Ixelion could see the outline of the window and the drizzle-drowned forest roof blurring through the semitransparent body, the long arms and legs. Around the opalescent head went a voluminous scarf, the mark of a Trader, and with a queer convulsion of his heart Ixelion saw that it was black, the ends slashed in brilliant orange. He could not move. He felt as though he had suddenly become one with the water that swirled and trickled around them both; he was melting, oozing into the endless, restless flow.
âWho are you?â he croaked. âHow did you get in here? My halls are sealed.â
The Trader inclined his head, and the lipless mouth smiled briefly. âI greet you, Ixelion, sun-lord. As you can see, I am but a Trader, and in answer to your second question, which you ought to be able to answer for yourself, I am not hindered by any seal. I am not mortal and I am not immortal.â
âWell, what do you want?â Ixelion rejoined sharply, the awful cloud of fear lifting a little. âIf you seek crystal to take to other worlds, you must see the miners on Lix.â
The Traderâs smile grew broader. âI do not seek goods for trade, sun-lord. I have come for something that does not belong to you, that is forbidden to all those of the suns. I gave it to Falia to take to the council, but she did not take it to Danar, did she, Ixelion? She gave it to you, wicked Falia. Now I will take it to Janthis
He stumbled to his feet and ran, the casket held out before him in both hands. Down to his hall, out the vaulting door, into the darkness, still weeping. Straight to the Gate he sped, slipping on wet undergrowth, pushing aside the flower-ridden tree branches with his slim shoulders, splashing up the river to where it became imprisoned in the torchlit tunnel that led to the Gate. The guards saw him come and stood upright, the light flooding from him catching fire on their capes of scale, and he went by them like a wind, eyes wide with panic. Then, on the rocky lip of Ixel, out beyond the Gate, teetering on the edge of the universe, he stopped. If I take it to Danar, it will torment Janthis until he is impelled to open it, and then the Gate on Danar will have to be closed and the halls of the sun-lords will be inaccessible to the rest of us forever, he thought. The risk is too great. I will keep it here on poor, wet Ixel, least of the Unmakerâs concerns, where his malevolent eye seldom turns. All at once Ixelionâs feverish horror left him, and he felt as though a weight had rolled from his back to go tumbling out into space. His spine straightened. Slowly he turned back through his Gate and walked home smiling in relief, the treasure tucked under one arm. He was not aware that his world had grown darker, a steady dark like a soft twilight.
As soon as he stepped under the portals of his doors, he knew that he was not alone. He stopped dead, fingers tightening around the treasure, eyes darting about the hall, but the water poured on gently, the mist hung very still high above. Was Sillix above in the high chamber, with more calamitous news? Angrily Ixelion waded through the hall and up the broad, water-filled ways to his topmost room, wanting only to deal with Sillix and his whines so he could be alone. He was so preoccupied with the certainty that Sillix stood beside his pool, that meek smile on his face, that he strode under the dripping stone without caution. Then he came to an abrupt halt.
A man stood beside his pool. No, it was not a man but a Trader. Ixelion could see the outline of the window and the drizzle-drowned forest roof blurring through the semitransparent body, the long arms and legs. Around the opalescent head went a voluminous scarf, the mark of a Trader, and with a queer convulsion of his heart Ixelion saw that it was black, the ends slashed in brilliant orange. He could not move. He felt as though he had suddenly become one with the water that swirled and trickled around them both; he was melting, oozing into the endless, restless flow.
âWho are you?â he croaked. âHow did you get in here? My halls are sealed.â
The Trader inclined his head, and the lipless mouth smiled briefly. âI greet you, Ixelion, sun-lord. As you can see, I am but a Trader, and in answer to your second question, which you ought to be able to answer for yourself, I am not hindered by any seal. I am not mortal and I am not immortal.â
âWell, what do you want?â Ixelion rejoined sharply, the awful cloud of fear lifting a little. âIf you seek crystal to take to other worlds, you must see the miners on Lix.â
The Traderâs smile grew broader. âI do not seek goods for trade, sun-lord. I have come for something that does not belong to you, that is forbidden to all those of the suns. I gave it to Falia to take to the council, but she did not take it to Danar, did she, Ixelion? She gave it to you, wicked Falia. Now I will take it to Janthis
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