The Fate of the Tala

by Jeffe Kennedy

  I’d met him first on the blood-soaked battlefield below Windroven when he married me to Rayfe. Now, as then, the full moon silver disc of his office rested at his collarbone, and the Sword of Moranu rode at his side. He wore loosely connected strips of fur for clothing and his white hair fell in knotted ropes around his shoulders, braided with carved stones significant to Moranu, along with teeth, claws, scales, and feathers. All of it was emblematic of the rites of Moranu where Shaman and the others cut off parts of their animal selves, wearing them as totems on their human forms.

  The first time Rayfe had explained this particular Tala cult, I’d been horrified. I’d always been drawn to Moranu’s quiet darkness—never fond of the pink sweetness of Glorianna or the harsh taskmistress that was Danu—but this savage aspect of the moon goddess had repelled me.

  Somewhere, deep in my mind, Moranu growled in quiet disappointment. Naturally the many-faced goddess wouldn’t care for me embracing only the aspects of Her that I found comfortable.

  “So, Salena’s daughter comes crawling for advice,” Shaman muttered, almost to himself. “The end times must indeed be nigh.”

  I looked down at my feet solidly on the stones of the terrace, making a show of it, then folded my hands and lifted my chin regally, very glad that I wore my crown and my mother’s rubies. “You have been long out of polite society, Shaman,” I replied coolly, “if you’ve forgotten what crawling looks like.”

  He grunted again, which could’ve been a laugh, then eyed Zynda. “Go away.”

  Unoffended, Zynda smiled broadly, then gave me an elaborate curtsey, clearly just to annoy Shaman. “I’m off to deliver a message,” she told me, and I knew she meant to the Hákyrling. “You know how to reach me.”

  She became a hummingbird, flew up into the sky, then exploded into dragon shape. Magic oscillated as she changed mass so hugely and so rapidly, ripples flowing outward. Landing on the beach below, she waited briefly as Marskal climbed on to her back, then took off again.

  Shaman was eyeing the scene with a mixture of pride and sourness. “Never enough humility, that one.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “I suppose the teacher must possess the quality to pass it along.”

  “Not true,” he countered, “but well played. So, Salena’s clever daughter, you want me to interpret Moranu’s will for you?”

  Covering my surprise, I sat and poured myself tea. “Did Zynda say so?”

  He sat and helped himself to my cup of tea, draining it. “She didn’t have to. I already know that you’re not listening to Moranu.”

  “I listen,” I replied, a bit stung. Nisia approached, ready to fetch more tea, but I waved her off.

  “You don’t know how to listen,” he retorted. “Not your fault, raised among mossbacks like that.”

  “I’m so relieved to hear that.”

  “You have your mother’s spine, that’s certain. Don’t make her mistakes. Salena tried to handle everything on her own.”

  Seemed like I’d been hearing that a lot. “All right.” When he didn’t say more, I asked.

  “What does the voice of a goddess in my mind sound like?”

  “Like your own conscience.”

  “That’s hardly helpful.”

  Shrugging elaborately, he grinned with feral teeth. “You want helpful, go be an acolyte of Glorianna.”

  I reined in my temper and tried another tack. “What is Moranu saying that I’m not hearing?”

  He grunted, this time a sound of approval perhaps, as he toyed with a desiccated fox paw dangling from his shoulder. “All deities require sacrifice.”

  “Moranu wants me to shift into fox form and cut off a paw?”

  Shaman didn’t appreciate my sarcasm. “Moranu wants nothing, you stupid girl. The goddesses don’t have desires the way mortals do. We must make sacrifices to communicate with the goddess. It’s our failing, not Hers. We must create a wound in order to open a portal, to reach through to Them.”

  A chill crawled up the back of my neck. That sounded very like how I’d described the way Deyrr’s magic accessed our minds.

  Shaman nodded, as if reading the thought. “You’re going to need Moranu’s help, and she can’t do that if you lock Her out. Offer the sacrifice and She can come into you, show you the way.”

  “How do I know what sacrifice to offer?” I was proud of myself that I asked the question evenly, without quaver.

  “Your firstborn child is the traditional choice,” he answered, not entirely without compassion. “Fortunately, you seem to have one to offer.”

  I froze, simultaneously on fire and frozen. “I’m not killing my son for Moranu.” I hissed the words, feeling the lion’s claws rise to the surface.

  He laughed, stoking my outrage and fury. Magic gathered around me, stirring my hair, and he met it with a dark, blood magic of his own. Leaning forward, completely unafraid, a fetid, animal odor wafting from him, he bared his teeth at me. Fangs, all of them. “Moranu doesn’t want your son’s death. There are plenty of dead. She wants his life.”

  “I don’t understand what—”

  “Figure it out, Salena’s daughter, but do it fast. And stop prancing around the sunlit edges of who you are. Moranu is the many-faced goddess.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you? Seems to me you’re trying to pick and choose. If you want the power that is your birthright as avatar of Moranu, you must embrace all of Her, every face—not just the pretty bits.” He stood. “Good tea.”

  And he vanished. Apparently.

  Able to track the magic of his movements, I followed the tiny gnat he’d become as he zipped away. A nicely dramatic trick, though not one I cared to emulate, even if I could shift into something that tiny.

  Needing to sort my thoughts, I went to the railing, leaning over it to survey the sights as I also cast my mind over the cliff city and beyond, letting habit guide my mental patrol. All seemed peaceful, with no intruders tripping the various snares I’d laid to alert me.

  The harbor teemed with busy action, supplies going out to ships, people and animals climbing the rigging to perform various checks. The level of activity had increased, a sure sign that Ursula was implementing her initial steps to escalate our preparedness.

  Farther out, several ships engaged in a mock battle, charging at each other and wheeling away. Tala wizards must be working with them, judging by the puffs of magical colors sparkling into the sky. I leaned farther over the balustrade, observing the guards at the base of the cliff face, ready to barricade the entry to the tunnels below and access to the city above, should we be attacked.

  How were they keeping Rayfe occupied? I desperately wished I could discuss Shaman’s advice with him, but even if that wouldn’t be feeding critical information to Deyrr, I wouldn’t have been able to talk to Rayfe about our unborn child, and certainly not in terms of sacrificing him to Moranu.

  There are plenty of dead. She wants his life. What did that mean? I’d always known that any child of mine and Rayfe’s would be born to a life of duty, as heir to Annfwn. It wasn’t something I wished for them—and nothing I could save them from, not unless I walked away from my own duties and obligations. Would a life of allegiance to Moranu be that much worse?

  Maybe.

  Most of all, it didn’t feel like my choice to make—and yet, I might have to. I seemed backed into a corner at every turn, forced to stack up the value of the people I loved against the fate of an entire world. Perhaps Uorsin and Salena had been the smart ones, to isolate themselves from everyone. A sobering thought.

  No matter what, however, I was determined to avoid Rayfe until I departed for the Heart in a few hours. I certainly couldn’t tell him where I’d be, lest the high priestess discover our plan or track me to the Heart’s location. I also didn’t want to outright lie to him or deceive him in any way—more than I already had.

  I wouldn’t be able to keep Rayfe in the dark forever, and there would be no getting around how angry he’d be with me, but if I c
ould at least plead lack of opportunity to tell him, that would be a mitigating factor for my side of the inevitable argument.

  The irony wasn’t lost on me that I seemed to be forever thrown between longing for Rayfe and violently avoiding him.

  Brooding was getting me nowhere, so I went to find Ursula. She was busy with Harlan, devising a strategy for engaging the Dasnarian navy and planning defenses against any attacks. Harlan confirmed that they’d arranged with Meg, along with Zyr and Karyn’s squadron of guards, to relocate the children yet again. It was a risky move—if Rayfe found out, the high priestess might know we were onto her. But it was a much greater risk to leave the children vulnerable to her.

  Rayfe was training with Tala warrior groups, in the company of several of Ursula’s most trusted Hawks. They knew to keep him focused on that, and to notify Harlan of any trouble. Theoretically, the high priestess couldn’t learn much there that she didn’t already know.

  Zynda and Marskal had indeed flown to take a missive to the Hákyrling, telling them to start pulling our ships back from the barrier once Nakoa’s storm began. He’d start the covering rainfall at sunset, gradually intensifying the storm as midnight approached. By the time I moved the barrier and incited the magical aftereffects, they should be largely disguised by the tempest.

  “I told Jepp to be prepared for your mental contact,” Ursula added, frowning at a map Harlan handed her.

  “Excuse me?” I replied, a bit sharply, because she looked up.

  “As we discussed,” she said, setting the map down. “You said you could go into someone else’s mind and speak to them.”

  “Yes, but we discussed asking permission.”

  She waved that off and picked up the map again. “Jepp is an excellent scout and a disciplined warrior. This is a critical link in our communication. She may not be officially a Hawk any longer, but she’ll do as I ask.”

  “As you command, you mean.”

  She made a note on the map, then handed it back to Harlan, who studiously examined it, pretending he didn’t hear us. Ursula steepled her fingers and leaned her chin on them. “What’s the problem, Andi?”

  “You don’t order someone to allow their mind to be invaded by another person, Essla,” I ground out. “That’s an invasion of the most intimate privacy there is.”

  “You’ve done it before,” she pointed out.

  “With my husband, and with permission.” As I said it, I felt my moral high ground crumbling.

  “Even this morning?” She showed no remorse, sliding her argument through the chinks in my armor, neatly skewering me.

  “You know that was different.”

  She nodded. “I do know that, because this is war and we’re fighting an enemy with no such scruples. If we want to win—or escape this scenario with something less than utter defeat—then we must abandon some of the niceties.”

  Ursula’s words uncannily echoed Shaman’s. You must embrace all of Her, all the faces—not just the pretty bits. “I like Jepp,” I said, realizing that the comment would sound random.

  But Ursula seemed to understand. “I like Jepp, too. She has a clear head and good boundaries. She can handle this, Andi. That’s one reason I chose her. Let her be good at her job.”

  I nodded, too, but vaguely. “This is a line I thought I’d never cross.”

  “I know. Blame me, if you need to. That’s my job—to push you all to your limits, and beyond. It’s necessary, Andi.”

  “I know.” But did I? “I’m going to the breakwater for a while. Let me know what Jepp says.”

  “She’ll say yes,” Ursula replied crisply, giving me a level look. “Make contact with her when you’re ready.”

  I spent the next few hours on the breakwater, tracking futures until my head ached. Then I switched to looking through the eyes of northern Tala, verifying my landmark for the new barrier position. Then I returned to my lonely bedroom, changed out of my fancy dress, jewelry and crown, and napped for a few hours to build up my strength.

  When I emerged—after first checking to make sure Rayfe hadn’t returned to our rooms—I went to the window to do my habitual scan that all remained well. I still had time to spare. Traveling to the Heart of Annfwn requires very little preparation. Part of why this last remaining font of magic has remained so well hidden all these centuries—except, perhaps, from clever but discreet librarians who understand geometry—is because it’s deceptively simple to access.

  As long as you’re a shapeshifter capable of taking multiple different forms over a short space of time.

  Also, I didn’t have to be there precisely at midnight. There’s no particular magic to the stroke of midnight, no matter what the stories say. It’s just that Moranu’s power waxes greatest at the farthest point from her sister goddesses. Just as Danu is strongest at the bright light of high noon, and as Glorianna holds sway at the twin cusps of day and night, Moranu belongs to the darkness and shadows.

  If I had time for it, the ultimate time for any sorcery would be in the middle of the night during the fullest of the new moon. But a new moon, like the full moon, occurred once a month—and that wasn’t now. Also, though the new moon, again like the full moon, truly lasts about seventy-two hours, having the exact peak occur in the middle of the night is even more rare. The Tala shamans and wizards chart that assiduously for their rites.

  One advantage, at least, of inheriting my mother’s sorcery and having access to the Heart, was that I didn’t need the magical boost the others did. It would be nice, but it would also be nice if the high priestess drowned herself in the sea.

  So, I figured on getting to the Heart a couple of hours before midnight, which meant leaving an hour before that. I considered leaving even earlier, but the Heart could feel like a prison, a sealed bubble that trapped me away from the world.

  Which is why I tried not to contemplate the last resort solution too long. An eternity in that… I shuddered and pushed the thought away.

  “Andromeda.” Rayfe’s voice behind me almost made me jump out of my skin. I whirled, heart pounding furiously. “You’re still awake. You waited up for me. Thank you.”

  He smiled at me, eyes lighting with affection and sensual promise, with that hint of a wicked edge to it that I’d always found so appealing. I risked a quick brush of his thoughts and detected nothing of Deyrr. That told me nothing, however, as I hadn’t sensed anything like that from him before either. The high priestess had been terribly clever in leaving little trace of her work.

  Rayfe prowled toward me, the natural predator, sexual and gorgeous. I still wanted him, craved his touch—and I couldn’t let myself lower my guard. He might be himself for the moment, but for how long?

  “Ah, no,” I made myself say. “I was just going out.”

  Stopping a formal distance from me, his smile faded to something more tentative. “I thought we were going to talk.”

  Oh, Moranu curse it, I’d forgotten where he’d mentally left our argument this morning. Because, of course, I’d wiped his memory of what came after. “I don’t have time right now. I have to go do some things,” I said, not quite able to meet his eye. “I only stopped by for a bit.”

  “You have things that must be done in the middle of the night? You know you need adequate sleep, Andromeda. Now more than ever.”

  “I also have tasks to take care of, now more than ever. I can sleep later.”

  I started to slip past him, but he caught my arm. We stood there a moment, facing opposite directions, looking past each other, my arm caught in his gentle grip. All I had to do was turn and I could be in his arms, something I wanted—no, needed—with a physical ache.

  And couldn’t afford.

  “Are you avoiding me, Andromeda?” he asked quietly.

  Yes. “No. I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to talk to me?”

  I should say yes. I should cut him off and say I didn’t want to talk to him. I took a deep breath to say so… but I couldn’t hurt him. “Now’s not th
e time.”

  “Then when?”

  Moranu, I wished I knew the answer to that. This situation was simply unsustainable.

  When I didn’t reply, he took a quiet, determined breath. “I know you’re angry with me, and I deserve that. This morning… I can’t account for my behavior.” A wealth of emotion made his voice uneven, ragged regret coming from him that I found it nearly impossible to resist. This was all him. I didn’t know how it worked, the high priestess’s influence and control, but surely she couldn’t guide every word and gesture. Her attention had gone elsewhere. But I still couldn’t speak to him honestly, because she almost certainly could read his memories when she returned to his mind.

  “We both said angry things,” I replied. “No need to resurrect them. Let’s put it behind us.”

  “I don’t want you thinking that I despise you.” He turned to face me, turning me with hands on my bare arms, stroking. The deep blue of his eyes caught the gold of the lamplight, like a harvest moon glinting off a tranquil sea. “I love you, but more than that—I admire you. You know that. How many times have I told you so? And I’ve always, always believed in you, even when you, yourself did not. Remember?”

  “I remember.” My voice came out in a whisper.

  “I told you in the very beginning that you could speak to me of your thoughts—and you’ve never shied from doing so. Even when I didn’t like what you said.” He tried a smile, but I couldn’t make myself return it. “Won’t you talk to me now? We’ve never not been able to talk things out.”

  He sounded so humble, so hurt and bewildered, that I nearly caved. I’d have to give him something. Karyn had said she’d felt like she was losing her mind. What if Rayfe tore his own sanity apart, trying to reconcile the disparities between his own thoughts and what the high priestess put there? I’d have to forge some kind of truce between us until I could rid him of her taint. Ursula truly did not know what she asked of me in letting this horrible situation continue.