The Exxar Chronicles: Book 02 - Emissary

by Neal Jones

  "Morning sun, lady princess," R'Daak said stiffly.

  "To you as well, second lovar. You look quite...handsome today."

  He inclined his head as a way of acknowledgement of her compliment and then held out his hand. "The ceremony will begin as soon as the chorus is finished."

  Vatra joined her hand with his, grimacing inwardly at the coldness of his skin, and they faced the arched doorway. A pair of attendants appeared from another side entrance to smooth out and arrange Vatra's train, and they were scarcely finished by the time the chanting ended. Another robed figure ascended the stage and raised his hands, motioning for the audience to rise. The chorus began another chant, and Prokal stepped forward. Vatra matched her steps with his, keeping her gaze straight ahead and it seemed like an eternity before they finally arrived at the altar below the stage.

  There was a cushioned bar for them to kneel upon, and they bowed their heads – along with the congregation – while the priest recited a very lengthy prayer. He spoke in the same foreign tongue as the chanters, and Vatra – who had learned to speak four languages fluently by the time she was thirteen – was baffled by the alien words and phrases. Again she cursed her brother and wondered just what the kos't kind of cult he was marrying her into.

  When the recitation ended, the audience sat, the union couple rose, and the actual ceremony began. Vatra kept her gaze fixed upon the large, circular symbol carved into the wall above the stage. It was the same symbol on the medallions worn by the chorus, and a fragment of her brief research on this religion floated to the surface of her memory. Sh'allanites believed that a finite number of souls had been released into the physical realm by the goddess Sh'alla at the dawn of time, when the universe was still new. When a person died, their soul was reborn into another body, and when that person died, the cycle repeated itself. Supposedly, through much meditation and prayer, a person could access the memories and experiences of the past lives his or her soul had inhabited, going back hundreds – or even thousands – of years. The symbol that the Sh'allanites had adopted for their beliefs was a circular one, which represented the cycle of infinite reincarnation.

  The only part of the ceremony that was conducted in the common tongue was the exchange of vows, and, since this was the only part that required the active participation of the couple, Vatra had researched this part well. A typical Jha'Drok wedding would have the union couple exchanging bracelets – gold for the female, silver for the male. The bracelets were made of thin, woven metal that was spun into an intricate braid to form the slender – yet resilient – hoop. The groom would fasten his bride's bracelet first, and then she would fasten his, which was a bit thicker than her own. Once the bracelets were fastened, it was against custom to remove them except in the death of either spouse, or in the rare instance of the dissolution of the marriage.

  The Sh'allanites, of course, would not abide with such an ostentatious display of adornment. Instead of bracelets or some other form of jewelry, a symbol of unity was tattooed on the inside of the left wrist. This was done with a special medical instrument that the priest withdrew from somewhere in the folds of his robe. Vatra held out her wrist, dreading the brief sensation of pain, but she was pleasantly surprised by how little the process actually hurt. It was more a strange tingling feeling that spread up her arm and through her chest. She learned later that a mild anesthesia was administered around the area while the tattoo was being drawn, and it was that drug gave her a comforting, light feeling.

  After Prokal received his, he faced his bride and held out his left wrist. Vatra laid her wrist over his, their tattoos touching, and he recited his vows first.

  "Vatra Inehl, I take thee unto myself, into my home, under my name. I will honor you, love you, and protect you for as long as we both shall live. I will give thee my bread in times of plenty and of want, care for thee in sickness, and celebrate with thee in health, for as long as we both shall live. Roth'Ni'asa."

  "Prokal R'Daak, I give of myself unto thee, unto your home, under your name. I will honor you, love you, and accept your protection as long as we both shall live. I will partake of thy bread in times of plenty and in times of want, care for thee in sickness, and celebrate with thee in health, for as long as we both shall live. Roth'Ni'Asa."

  Now it was the congregations' turn. The priest motioned for everyone to rise and they repeated each phrase after him. "We witness this blessed union in the light of the Goddess Sh'alla. May she bless these souls for this life and all other lives to come. In times of plenty and in times of want, may they always look to her face for light and peace. Her sun is giver of life for the crops, and her rain brings the xofo to harvest. Walk in the light of her being and ye shall always be blessed. Roth'Ni'Asa."

  As Vatra waited for the recitation to finish, she held Prokal's gaze, trying to see past his stoic exterior. The last time she had seen him face to face was two months earlier when he'd come back to homeworld to receive his promotion to second lovar. Erengaar had arranged for him to visit the palace after the ceremony, and Vatra had been startled by his quiet and reserved manner. They had taken a walk in the stone gardens, and his questions to her were simple and direct. She'd kept her answers short and to the point as well, and when the all-too-brief walk ended, Vatra had come away knowing only a little more about her new fiancée than she had gleaned from his service record.

  What terrified her more than anything was not knowing what he would be like tonight when they shared a bed. Would his manner be as reserved and stoic as he was in all other things, or was there passion and fire behind his cold mask? Vatra found that analogy amusing, since Prokal was a member of a religious faith that used masks in its ceremonies. From her brief study of the Sh'allanites, she knew that they had a ritual for just about everything, but no mention had been made of the proper rules for sexuality and lovemaking. Truth be told, Vatra hadn't wanted to pursue that line of research for fear of what she would find. Now, just hours away from consummating the marriage, she wished she had done a little more investigating of this ridiculous faith.

  The congregation was finished, and the priest motioned for them to sit. Vatra and Prokal returned to their kneeling state and the priest launched into what Vatra assumed was a sermon. It was in the same foreign tongue as earlier, and she sighed inwardly as she stared once more at the giant monolith on the wall behind the chorus. The sedative of the krelian herbs was wearing off, as well as the tingling sensation in her wrist and arm from the tattoo. The latter was being replaced with a dull ache, and Vatra licked her lips, wishing for a glass of cold water.

  After another eternity, the priest closed the worn, thick book of scriptures and descended the stage. The chorus began another chant, and Prokal rose. Vatra followed suit, and they face the audience. The priest stood in front of them, facing the chorus, and Vatra saw that his book of scriptures had been replaced with a censer. He performed one last recitation, swinging the censer back and forth slowly, its acrid smoke wafting into the air. Then he turned and began walking up the aisle. Vatra and Prokal followed, and behind them came Jharek, Erengaar, and Larewyn. Larewyn's parents brought up the rear, and they all gathered together outside the temple at the bottom of the steps. A different hovercar was waiting at the curb, twice as large as the one that had brought Vatra and Jharek, and Prokal led his new bride to it. As soon as Jharek, Erengaar, Larewyn, and the Lord and Lady Tannit were aboard and seated comfortably, the car ascended into the sky and set a course for the palace.

  Marija was the first to break the silence. "That was a lovely ceremony, second lovar."

  Her husband, Lord Gyan, bobbed his head in agreement. "Such a beautiful language. What was it? I've never heard it before."

  "Tu'rsha. It's from the first civilization, from somewhere in the first or second century, the Age of Ackverin, I believe." To Vatra's surprise, Prokal's demeanor shifted from quiet and reserved to animated and almost delighted. His dark eyes filled with a new intensity as he continued. "It is a very old language, and very
Jha'Drok of this modern age even know of its existence. Very sad, really. The Age of Ackverin was the mother our ancestors. We Jha'Drok are direct descendants of that era, and yet so many of us are so ignorant of that period of our history."

  "Is that where your...religion was first started?" Marija asked politely.

  "Yes, it was. The oldest writings of Orr'eba, Sh'alla's prophet, are believed by our scholars to have originated in that time. Some even believe that Sh'alla herself appeared to Orr'eba to tell him of the First Souls, and the cycle of rebirth. It's quite fascinating. I would be happy to lend you some reading materials that would explain all of that in more detail."

  "That's kind of you, second lovar," Larewyn interrupted. "But I can assure you that my mother would never get around to reading them. It would interfere with her socialization parties and fund raisers."

  "Oh, Lare, stop it!" Marija scolded, but her tone was light. "I apologize for my daughter, Prokal. She has no idea these days what I spend my time with. She's far too engrossed in building a nursery and sewing baby clothes."

  "Oh really?" Vatra hadn't meant to join the conversation, but she couldn't resist an opportunity like this one. "I had no idea you possessed any sewing skills, lady empress. Perhaps you could show me some of your creations when we get back to the palace?"

  "Mother, don't be ridiculous!" Larewyn blushed, one hand absently rubbing her swollen belly. "I only choose the patterns. My handmaids are the ones who actually sew. They're quite good at it."

  Prokal nodded stiffly. "I see. Well, Lady Tannit –"

  "Oh, please, call me Marija. We're practically family now."

  "Yes...Marija, if you would like those reading materials, just send a message to my comm-code."

  Jharek fidgeted in his seat next to Vatra. "Mother, are we almost there?" he whispered.

  Lord Gyan winked at him from his seat across the aisle. "Getting hungry are you, young prince? I don't blame you." He leaned forward, whispering. "That service was about an hour too long for my taste. I'm ravished!"

  He grinned and Jharek grinned back, nodding. "Me too!" he whispered.

  Vatra took some small pleasure in the way that Lord Tannit had taken her son under his wing the last few months. Jharek had gone one several hunting excursions with Gyan and his two sons, who were both more than ten years older than Jharek. Yet they had accepted him as a younger brother, and the fact that this irritated both Marija and Larewyn only made the gesture all the more sweet to Vatra. It still puzzled the lady princess why Gyan would be so willing to treat her son as one of his own, and she had thought at first that it was some ploy on the part of Marija. After all, what better way to rid the crown of a potential threat than to have Jharek die by "accident" while on a hunting trip.

  But then one of Vatra's handmaids had overheard two of Larewyn's servants discussing the Lady Marija's fury of the way that her husband had taken such a liking to young Jharek. Later that same week Vatra, seated next to Marija during dinner, brought up the subject, thanking Lord Gyan publicly for taking Jharek with him and his sons on their outings to the wild game preserves. By then Vatra had known Marija well enough to know that her look of irritation was a genuine one. It didn't take long, of course, for Marija to bury that look beneath an expression of bemusement and pretend that she, too, was pleased, and that was even further proof, as far as Vatra was concerned, that her son was not in any immediate danger.

  Now, almost six months later, she felt another stab of regret that Jharek would no longer be able to spend time with Lord Tannit and his sons. She fervently hoped that J'Vel Sonri was everything that Prokal had told her it was, and she had made him promise during his visit two months ago that he would find a Skelperi master to further her son's lessons in the mastery of swordplay. But more than that, she hoped that there were other boys his age, and that Jharek would finally be free of the isolation that had been imposed upon him and Vatra because of their place in the royal court.

  Vatra glanced across the aisle and caught Erengaar gazing at Jharek while Larewyn, Marija, and Prokal continued to discuss the Sh'allanite wedding ceremony. The lord emperor's expression as he watched Jharek fiddle with his baldric reminded Vatra of the true reason that Jharek had never been in any danger while off hunting with Lord Gyan and his sons. As far as she knew, the secret knowledge that Jharek was actually his son and not Tiegran's remained only between the two of them. Erengaar would have made sure that his son remained safe and free of Larewyn's and Marija's machinations. That assurance had grown even stronger for Vatra when Larewyn learned that she was carrying a daughter. For now, Jharek was the only male heir to the Jha'Drok throne, and not because he was Erengaar's trueborn son. The fact that Vatra was his mother was enough to fulfill the divine claim should Erengaar be unable to father any sons of his own.

  The lord emperor caught Vatra watching him, and he scowled, turning to the viewport. The com panel by the main hatch chimed softly, indicating that the craft was initiating landing procedures. Prokal reached for Vatra's hand and she took, smiling at him. To her surprise, he squeezed her hand, nodding once, and the lady princess took some small comfort in that gesture. His demeanor had returned to its former stoic state, but at least he was showing glimmers of his true self beneath the mask.

  The car landed with its customary, brief jolt, and the hatch opened moments later. Vatra and Prokal led the royal party out of the shuttle, across the tarmac, and into the palace.

  ( 3 )

  A sixteen course feast had been prepared, and the three hundred guests that filled the celebration hall were currently being served appetizers of baked aneesto and fried k'ime. Vatra had lost track of which course this was, probably number five or six, though she knew they had not yet arrived at the main course. She was already feeling light headed from too much wine, and she willingly accepted several slices of the aneesto when a servant appeared at her elbow. Prokal was still on his first cup of dabe tea, and Vatra felt anxious once more at the thought of being alone with him in her bed chamber that night. She started to reach for her wine glass but then thought better of it. It would be even worse for her if she was passed out before that hour arrived, and so she motioned for a servant to come near.

  "Take this," she ordered, passing him the goblet. "Please bring me a glass of cold elmr't."

  "Yes, m'lady."

  "Are you feeling all right?" Prokal asked, nibbling on his slice of aneesto.

  "Yes. The wine seems to be particularly strong tonight."

  He leaned closer, whispering in her ear. "You don't need to restrain yourself for my benefit. There will be plenty of time later for us to celebrate our union."

  Vatra nodded and smiled weakly. "Nonetheless, Prokal, I think it wise to pace myself."

  He shrugged, his expression solemn as ever. "As you wish."

  Vatra took a bite of her aneesto, chewing slowly, pondering her husband's comment. The more she thought about it, the more confused and anxious she became, and when her cup of elmr't arrived, she downed half the glass in a single gulp. The sixth course – or was it the seventh? – arrived on silver platters heaped with steamed vynt, and the aroma made Vatra's mouth water. She took only a standard serving for appearance's sake, but as soon as it was gone, she requested a servant to bring her another helping, as well as a goblet of wine.

  From hidden speakers came a blast of musical fanfare, and a troupe of Shynbon dancers streamed into the hall. They were an even mix of male and female, all of them barely clothed, their bodies writhing against one another in time to the rhythmic beat of the music, and Vatra snuck a sideways glance at her new husband. There was a twitch about his eyes that was the only indication of his disdain for such revelry, but he said nothing, and Vatra wondered if her brother had been the one to order the entertainment or if it had been Larewyn's. Probably Larewyn's, Vatra mused silently, sipping her wine and glancing towards the end of the table where the lord emperor and lady empress were in mid-conversation.

  After the ninth course came the entr�
�e, roasted phen'an with cream sauce, and Vatra was well on her way to being royally drunk. Her head was pleasantly swimming, and her stomach was nearly full, but something two courses back wasn't agreeing with her. She stood and politely excused herself.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" Prokal asked again.

  "I'm fine, my love. Just in need of some fresh air, that's all." She made her way to a side entrance and walked quickly through the winding corridors until she was sure she was far enough from the celebration hall so as not to be seen by any passing servants or guests.

  Vatra continued the length of the corridor until she arrived at a relief room, one that was little used, in a wing of one of the eldest sections of the palace that hadn't been occupied for many decades. Vatra shut the door behind her and locked it before crumpling onto the cushioned seat in front of the vanity. She stared at her reflection in the ancient mirror. A thin layer of dust coated the glass, a testimony to how often this room and the corridor outside were actually cleaned. Once upon a time this wing of the palace had been used as guest quarters for noblemen and their wives, but in the last century, with the rise of civil unrest against the monarchy, much of the palace was now closed off to anyone except members of the royal family.

  Vatra struggled to rein in her emotions, but the combination of excess wine and her anxieties about her future were simply too much for her, and she began to sob quietly, her face buried in her hands. She hated herself for feeling so vulnerable, and after a few minutes, she finally regained her control.