by Emanuel, Ako
In N’mbu’yi’s eyes the light about her and her ajadine jraa seemed to distort slightly, as of air in the presence of heat. Then the light began to move, like winds gently blown from the heart of Av. Before the three seated on the naked plains a net of glistening light strands spread outward, sifting and sorting through the waves of light that streamed by faster now, capturing some and letting most others pass through.
In the Av’wind’s ghostly movements, the shades of things and animals and movements and occurrences flowed past. It was an aspect of the nature of av’rita that all knew but had rarely ever seen demonstrated so dramatically. All knew that av’rita carried information - any occurrence, any object or event existing in the presence of light left its mark, and light carried that information, though how far and for how long was unknown. It was this aspect of Av that allowed one to see, and to av’tun. N’mbu’yi was seeing this in the shifting images born on the wind of light.
What she sought had a flavor of here.
The glittering threads folded inward and the wind of illusions slowly died away. And after a turn and a half of rite-casting, the warru woman blinked and came back to herself by degrees, holding a sphere of sparkling brilliance before her. The other warru noted the glow and came to check on her.
“I believe I have captured it,” she murmured, groggily. The vigilant warru gathered closer around her, their gazes bent on the sphere. It began to expand and, surprised, they moved out of the way, watching as it superimposed itself onto the scene of carnage. And then it opened, spreading flat upon the grass, disgorging its precious information to waiting eyes. Eve turned into morn, and flickering, half-transparent impressions began to move and take life in the space above the flattened spheroid. There, the egwae was riding along in loose formation, foolishly confident of their security and secrecy. Then one of the group stopped, and seemed rooted in place, the first signs of panic beginning in the kati’yori, and then in the young woman rider, the Librarian. A warru grabbed her reins, speaking soundlessly to her. In the distance, the spectators could just see the splash of tawny gold blending into the velvet green of the grass.
Suddenly the Librarian’s kati’yori went wild, bucking and rearing up, screaming in silent rage and fear. Another threw its rider completely, bolting off across the savannas. The entire grisly play of dying shades was acted out for them, until the egwae av’tunned away, presumably to safety. They watched without visible emotion, except for the burning flame of fury in their eyes.
Several moments went by, but the image did not fade. Soon, shadowy figures moved out of the tall grasses and shallow copses to inspect the gruesome scene. They were blurry, indistinguishable, even in the open. One leaned over the warru who had been thrown, who was gravely injured, dying, but not dead, then reached a blurred appendage and took the woman by the throat, throttling her. They hunted through the dead, and dying, killing with silent glee those already on the path to the Beloved but not yet with Him. They desecrated the bodies as much as they could, then turned to herding the living mirrli into av’tun before them and dragging away the dead mirrli corpses behind.
N’mbu’yi closed her hands and the images folded back between her palms like an eve bloom closing. When she opened them again, a white crystal sphere showed the captured scenes of destruction. She collapsed, the sphere falling from her limp hands. One of the others picked her up. Another grabbed her tools and mat and the image sphere. The last coaxed her ajadine jraa to their feet. They returned to the camp, caring for the exhausted woman. Then the four busied themselves with the disposition dead, building for each fallen warru a pyre, and burying the kati’yori corpses.
the light turned...
The small group of warru allowed N’mbu’yi to rest through the eve. They all were up at first light, making their ablutions and morn devotions before sitting down in lorn.
“The mirrli had collars,” the shorter man said, by way of opening. There was no formal acknowledgement of rank among them, no ceremony. “The collars had pearls.”
The leader pulled out a small, dull black box. “Open it cautiously.” He waited as the others inspected the contents, each pair of eyes growing flint hard as they gazed upon the object within.
“Blasphemy,” the smallest warru hissed, not touching the box.
“We believe that those responsible for the slaughter are also responsible for the manufacture of these,” the leader said, his voice colorless. “We need to find where these - abominations - are coming from. Find the pearls - and we may find the heart of the conspiracy.”
“Where do we start?” the small warru asked. “We are far behind those who oppose the High Queen. Trailing their movements while they perpetrate these atrocities will avail us little.”
“You are right. Going to the beginning may give us clues, but might not help us head them off,” the leader concurred. “But our enemies have given us a path to follow, that might let us intercept them.”
“What path?” the younger woman asked.
“The pearls themselves.” He told them about the Trade Agreement that circumvented the Aheka Tribe’s monopoly. “If we can penetrate the Trade fronts, we can find who has been buying them and who has been distributing them.”
“But that won’t head off the attacks,” N’mbu’yi, protested. “We can bring them to justice, but their underlings will continue without them, I suspect. I don’t see how Trade helps us there.”
“These pearls can only be - turned - while they are still active. The sale of active pearls outside the Priestess-hood is a crime. The Priestesses who are supposed to denature them cannot hide behind Trade fronts. They will answer for failure of their duty.”
“Do we know which Temples are responsible?” the younger woman asked.
“There are two of which we can be certain. I have already checked one. It was empty, deserted. My hope is that the other will be more fruitful.” He lifted an eyebrow.
The others glanced at each other, nodded concurrence, and broke camp. Within two san’chrons, the plains were lonely once again, devoid even of the company of the dead.
the light turned...
The little Priest shuffled through the large gold-inlaid Temple doors, pulling them shut behind him. The left door stopped half a span ajar, and would not move, given any amount of tugging. Irritated, the Priest looked down to see if something were in the path of the door, obstructing it, then over toward the hinges - and something caught his eye. At first, he took it for an oddly-shaped bar of beaten bronze, until he saw a palm and five strong fingers pressing firmly against the door, keeping it from closing. He followed the arm back, turned quickly when he saw five grim, menacing faces staring impassively down at him.
“Who are you?” he demanded, pressing back against the other door that had already been bolted, as if it could shore up his courage. “Why do you bar my closing of the Temple of Ya’kano? Don’t you know that I am Ashmelan, High Priest here? This is sacrilege!”
The lead warru, whose strong arm had prevented the Temple door from sealing, pulled something from a pouch and tossed it at the Priest. “If you want sacrilege,” the taller man growled, “there it is!”
“What?” the Priest opened the tiny box, reached inside - then began shrieking as his fingers came in contact with the corrupt pearl. He dropped the heavy little metal box, dancing around. He turned grey, as if he had been lightly dipped in ash, and his fingers looked black and swollen.
The five watched him, unmoved.
“This was a Dio’gin pearl that came through this Temple,” the leader growled, catching the Priest’s robes before he completely collapsed and pinning him against the secured door. “It and a thousand like it were supposed to be denatured here, before going out for distribution and sale!”
“Don’t - don’t know what you’re talking ab...”
The warru man slapped the Priest, letting him crumple to the ground. He pulled out a document and unrolled it before the Priest’s face.
“A document sign
ed by you, Ashmelan, stating that all Dio’gin pearls leaving this Temple are certified denatured. But that isn’t so, is it?”
“A - abomination,” the Priest gasped, struggling to get to his feet. “You will pay...”
“So if we go in and inspect the storage lains,” the leader continued, pulling out the j’tali of his rank, “we will only find denatured Dio’gin, correct?”
The Priest stared at the j’tali, then began scrabbling at the door, as if trying to claw his way through. The leader grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him up, tossed him casually into the strong hands of his compatriots.
“Bind him. Let us see what lies within.”
The others bound the hysterical Priest. The leader pushed open the heavy door and slipped inside, followed by the others. The inside of the Temple was dark, as if the architect had forgotten to include windows in the design. The place should have been filled with warm white light.
One of the other warru produced an av’light globe from a fold of wrap and tossed it into the air. It came alive, but did little to illuminate much of the space, as if it were old and failing, something drawing the essence of light from it. But there was just enough light to see by. The Temple was filled with Dio’gin pearls, in huge piles all over the floor. They pulsed weakly, as if crying out for the light. They had not yet been corrupted.
A sharp sound, as of glassine breaking, admitted late afterzen light to supplement the av’globe. Another darkened window shattered, and the pearls drank in the light greedily, glowing in their own right. The small warru methodically broke them all with a tiny sling that wielded round pebbles, and light blazed in the Temple.
“Capture all this,” the tall warru said, “and summon a real Priestess of Ya’kano. Several, in fact. We will let them deal with this one.”
“No, no, no!” the ex-Priest moaned, falling to his knees to grovel. “Leniency! I will tell all I know, for leniency and protection!”
“You will tell all you know in any case,” the shorter male warru said, the flatness of his voice showing his disdain.
“Please - you must protect me! Protect me from them!”
“From whom?” The leader came up to the quivering Priest, staring down into his bugging eyes, menace palpable in every line of the warru’s body.
“The ones - the ones who hired me!” the cowering man screeched as the other warru shook him.
“So you are not a real Priest of Ya’kano.”
“No,” the man in Priest’s robes groveled, as much as he could, for being held upright.
“Who hired you?”
“I - never saw their faces, no names. I just know - I was hired in Indal’lon, and they blind-folded me and took me to a place where - I think they had creatures in cages. I could smell them, and they stank. Felt like spikes of darkness and hot points of light behind my eyes. Then they took me to a lain and took off the blind, and told me what they wanted me to do. I refused, and they - they threatened me, my family! I had no choice! No choice.” His voice petered out, as if the telling had drained him.
“The real Priestesses?”
The small man’s face became terrible, as if he had witnessed horrors that could not be named.
“K - killed. Right in front of me. With those,” his eyes turned with terror to the box with the corrupt pearl. “Said if I ever told, they would kill my entire family the same way.” His voice was flat, defeated.
The leader nodded to the smallest warru, who went out of the Temple doors without a word. Then he nodded to the warru
holding the false Priest, and he let the man slip to the ground, and put an av’rita tether on him.
The glow of an av’tun heralded the small warru’s task - a dozen Priestesses came flowing into the Temple, their eyes hard and their mouths compressed tight. They converged on the mounds of pearls, casting rites and murmuring to each other. The warru watched silently as they worked. Finally a young Priestess came over to them.
“Thank you for alerting us,” she said, casting a disgusted look at the imposter.
“Are they damaged?” the leader asked.
“We - we are not sure. They have been deprived of the light of Av for a long time. And some sort of - of rite of darkness has been cast on them. It is almost - almost as if they suffer from a form of lor’den.” There was the hint of frightened puzzlement in her voice.
“We will immediately send others to investigate all Temples that handle the Dio’gin pearls. We must...” her voice trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid.
“We have heard of reports - rumors - of perverted pearls,” another, more senior Priestess put in, coming to face the warru. “I never thought it could be true, and in such great numbers. We will end this misuse at once.”
“You will have a difficult time,” he said, giving her the outline of the Trade Agreement. “Any Temple may be chosen to house them within the Weste Territory. They may even build false Temples, just as they had a false Priest.
The Priestess’s eyes widened as the full impact of his words came clear.
“They - they could be shipping them anywhere!” she breathed, awful wonder glazing her eyes. Then she focused and hardened, looking back at him. “But we have one advantage. They only come from one place. We will head them off there.”
“I cannot contravene you,” he said quietly, “but, with respect, Priestess, if you must take action, is there anyway to be - circumspect? If we alert them now, we may never find all the corrupted pearls.”
An idea seemed to spark a light in her eyes. “Perhaps we could ‘tag’ a shipment,” she mused darkly, clearly concurring. “See how far they are dispersed. Yes, you are right, Du’jidi. We will act in a covert fashion, and we will keep you apprised. For now we will set up things here,” the Priestess said, staring hard at the man on the ground. “And we will take this - imposter into custody. Your punishment will be to become a true Priest of Ya’kano, little man, and help us hunt them down!”
“First, I need to know something from him,” the leader, named Du’jidi, turning once more to the sagging faux-Priest. “You said that they took you to a place with strange animals.” It was not a question - none of them had been.
Ashmelan nodded.
“Show us.”
The smaller man covered his face. “I told you, I don’t know where it is! All I know is that it was beyond my range of av’tunning. Please - my family! If you go there, they will know!”
“They will be protected,” Du’jidi promised, “now show us!”
Ashmelan looked up. “How? How do I show you?”
N’mbu’yi came forward and crouched before him. “Picture the place where you were clearly,” she said, her voice cool. Ashmelan closed his eyes, as did N’mbu’yi. She framed his head with her hands, drumming out her rite. The ajadine came over to sit on either side of Ashmelan. After half a san’chron of rite-casting she stood, and went to the younger woman, holding out a sphere of diffuse, crystal-refracted light.
“See what you can do, Han’vonda.”
The younger woman, named Han’vonda, glanced at the leader, gave a single nod, and moved outside, a little ways away from the doors of the Temple. She put down her pack, removed her outer de’siki, and spread a small meditation desi on a bare patch of ground. There she sat, legs folded, in only a thin silk under de’siki and kwats. The do’grine graa curled up in her lap, and the abarine graa formed a loose triangle around her with their bodies. They all seemed to pass into open-eyed sleep.
the light turned...
She immersed herself in her own special rite, as N’mbu’yi had, her heart beat and that of her cats acting as the pay’ta for it. She was one of a few wumans who was supremely sensitive to av’rita. This sensitivity, trained and refined since she was a baby, gave her a special ability - the ability to sense av’tuns, of the present, the deep and immediate past, and even a touch of the future. And she could trace their origins and terminations, and even, in some cases, discern who the opener of the of the av’tun w
as. She could also, with the help of her feline compatriots, tie into any of these av’tuns - though it was difficult, especially with the deep past and future av’tuns, and extremely dangerous. But most important of all, she could hear the echoes of the thoughts of the av’tun’s maker at the time of creation and annihilation, and the interval in between.
She sat at the center of a complex hemispherical web of glowing tubes of light, some brilliant yellow with the taste of the present, others reddish with the taint of the past, and a very few bluish with the touch of the future. They slowly came into focus around her as if she tuned her vision to some higher plane. She marveled at the beauty of the molten gold network around her, marveled at how they formed such a precise geometric pattern. All the tubes, no matter where they began or ended in the material world, were exactly the same length, from where she sat. They all existed simultaneously, the passage of time and the changing of course only apparent in the shifting from bluish to reddish. The distances they covered was represented by intensity - short distances were dim tubes, large distances almost incandescent. She pondered again that the locations connected by an av’tun had no significance in which of the strands of the web around her was highlighted - the glittering tubes always brightened in a precise, descending order, as if no two adjacent ones could be used at the same time. She listened to the ringing tones that the passage of life made in the tunnels, like bells of pearl, ringing out an endless melody that she almost recognized and understood.