Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4)

by Emanuel, Ako

  Even through the Dhabo’edu shimmer, even beneath all the make-up and body paint, they could still see that I am not as I was before? Or is the artistry of the maddi designed to enhance, not my features, but my marks of illness? The reactions and her own thoughts troubled her, occupying her mind for a fourth of the trip, until the baleful stare of Av began to beat upon her forehead, not unlike the steps of the bearers. The heat and light seemed to march across her brain, searing her thoughts, and she felt perspiration seep forth from under her arms and along her back and on her face.

  My reactions to Av were not like this before I encountered that boro’thrista, she thought disconsolately. She tried not to imagine what it would be like having to follow this same route on foot, unable to stop, nor take refreshment.

  Her budding headache blossomed fully behind her eyes and in her temples, and she fought not to squint with the pain. She took a small sip from the water bag at her side, the polite ceremonial sip allowed her, wishing that she could guzzle the liquid from the container.

  *:Highness?:* Otaga’s concern was almost overwhelming. Had she made some small noise of pain?

  *:Head,:* she answered truthfully, not having the strength to try and prevaricate.

  *:We are almost to the rest point, Highness. I can give you a dose of medicine with your refreshment.:* The Head Warru’s voice sounded softly grim.

  *:D’rad’ni? She expected this?:* Leave it to the ol’bey woman to tell Otaga and not her charge. Did she think pain would have made Jeliya hesitate?

  *:Highness, she expected worse. She bid me to be prepared. To show your infirmity is fine, but to show weakness…:*

  Jeliya wanted to throw the stupid golden orb in her hand as far as she could. Then she calmed herself. No, there was no getting away from politics, nor from using everything, including her hurts, as some means to gain leverage. She did not have to like it, but she might as well get used to it.

  *:Thank you, Otaga. I will take it as soon as we can stop.: *

  The Head Warru’s relief was palpable. Jeliya straightened her back and widened her smile a bit. The throngs around her responded unconsciously, singing more fervently and shedding tears, throwing flowers and handkerchiefs at her bearers’ feet.

  How will they react when I step onto the Golden Path without robes, and the full extent of my injuries are in evidence? Again, she pushed away thoughts of that trial that lay ahead of her. Better to concentrate on the pain of now than the pain of the next turn.

  …the light turned…

  Jeliya was visibly wilting. Otaga watched out of the corner of her eye as the proud shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and the chin and jawline, normally parallel with the ground, dipped and wavered. Now and again her eyes closed and the tiniest furrow of pain appeared between her brows. The light of Av seemed to beat down on her, draining her rather than sustaining her. Then she seemed to catch herself and stiffen her back, lift her chin, and smile at the air before her.

  Otaga wanted to grind her teeth. The Warru First stared at the way ahead of them, trying to shorten the path by sheer will. They were in the upper reaches of the city now, passing the third inner circle. Unfortunately the street was steeper, and the bearers slowed due to this. They were two-thirds of the way to the palace, but the last stretch would be the worst. How to call an unscheduled rest without it appearing to be because the Heir needed it?

  Almost in answer to her not-prayer, one of the kati’yori stumbled. She turned to see Rilantu clinging to the poor beast as it developed a bad limp and stumbled again. He held up an open palm and Otaga responded with a raised closed fist.

  “Highness, we are having difficulty with one of the mounts.” She fought to keep her voice even, to hide her elation.

  “Let us stop, then. Please tend to it,” came the not-faint reply.

  *:Rilantu?:* She called, as the prince swung down check the lame mount.

  *:Split hoof. I am healing it. Should be just a few gran.:* Nothing in his tone suggested that he might have – encouraged the hoof to split. Otaga was not fooled. Nor was she ungrateful. Jeliya could be offered refreshment as a courtesy during the stop, and she could accept or refuse. She accepted, and drank slowly and decorously, and refused the second cup that she needed so very much. The bearers, too, refreshed themselves, and seemed to be reinvigorated.

  *:Done, Warru First,: he sent, patting the kati’yori.

  When the prince swung back into his panquin the bearers lifted the palanquin and Heir as if she weighed nothing and set off in a determined march, as if to make up for lost time. Jeliya became like a statue of jet brown, proud, ramrod straight, and unshakable.

  Otaga cast a glance to the older prince. His eyebrow lifted the tiniest bit, and that was all. The Warru First internalized her smile. Her thanks had been received.

  The rest of the procession seemed to fly by after that, and before Otaga could break a sweat again, they were at the base of the great stair that led to the main doors of T’Av’li. Here the crowds were thickest, the singing loudest, the shower of tokens the heaviest. All dismounted, and arrayed themselves as they had before. On Otaga’s signal they began climbing the stair in step with Jeliya’s bearers. The singing crowds fell behind and the huge doors split open to receive them, like welcoming arms. Finally, they entered the circle of the front hall where all the Queens were assembled in tiered seats, the Lesser Queens highest and farthest back. They were all turned toward the entrance expectantly, and as the first bearers hit the top step, the door guards rapped on the marble floor with the butts of their spears. On the fourth mark the Queens began their own song of welcome, standing and spreading their arms. At the head of the hall waited the High Queen and her Voices. On the twelfth mark the Voices stood, their arms spread, and the High Heir’s escort stopped and fell to one knee. The bearers took eight more paces and stopped, lowering the palanquin slowly as if its occupant were made of the most fragile jadine crystal. It settled before the steps to the receiving throne of the High Queen. As it touched the floor, the song ended. Jeliya knelt forward and spread her arms. She raised her own voice alone to sing a joyous greeting of one long absent returned. When she stopped, silence thundered in the hall for a sils, as the High Queen took in her returned daughter and her escort. Then she stood, slowly, gracefully, and spread her arms, lifted her voice in a song of joyous welcome, to one long absent and missed. Jeliya folded her arms about her shoulders, taking in the welcome. She raised her face up to her mother. Almost without signal, two of the throne guards came forward and assisted her to her feet, offering strong forearms for her to grasp. They escorted her up to the second to last step, one down from the throne, and left her to stand on her own. Mother and daughter regarded each other as if this were the first time they were seeing each other after her long truancy.

  “Mother,” Jeliya said softly, spreading her arms again.

  “Daughter,” Audola acknowledged, and smiled, spreading her arms. And it was more than just a welcome, it was a beckon, one that Jeliya answered by almost falling into her mother’s embrace. Strong, familiar arms held her tight, rocked her even, and the peace and comfort they gave drowned out all other considerations. She, at last, was home.

  …the sleeping megalith, lying beyond the curve of the world, moved in dreams; the dark was inhaled, and the light, exhaled, turned…

  Jeliya shook herself. Morn court dragged on, like the drone of a hundred bees. In her low throne she sat silent, her hands, thankfully free of the globe and scepter, folded loosely in her lap. Had morn court always been this monotonous? How she longed for the moist warmth of the far-away rainforests, the patter-plink of drizzle that never quite went away, the click-clop of the hoofs of a being even farther – she locked down on that train of thought quickly, not wanting to come anywhere near that core of not-hurt that she could not allow herself to feel, that patch of untaking and forgiving emptiness…

  She took a small, polite sip of gulu, used the motion of drinking to quick-scan the faces of the Queens a
t court.

  The Ottanu is out there, in that lost sea of crowned heads, she thought, the Ottanu and the others who sent warru to hunt and murder me. Where are they? Did they even now glance daggers at her, silently cursing her name while singing her praises aloud, to her face?

  And what of Sinyi, who seems convinced that those warru were probably there to save me? she wondered angrily, when she had felt the malice, had sensed the cold and professional will to destroy her and her soul’s other half? Sinyi had been adamant, but every thread of Jeliya’s consciousness told her that had those warru gotten hold of her, she would have not seen another dawn.

  Jeliya put the cup down and turned her outward attention to the presentation being made to the High Queen. Another tribute to the High Family complete with music, gifts, and pretty words. Special mention was made of her return and congratulations were given. Last, a prayer of thanks for the bountiful harvest.

  She blinked once. Was that the final one? The Priestesses were rising and gathering on the floor below, preparing for the end rites, so morn court was indeed, at an end. Jeliya wanted to rejoice and thank the Goddesses, but she still had duties to perform. She rose at the appropriate time and prepared her av’rita. Her part in the end rites was well-rehearsed, and she lifted her voice to the song, making the appropriate gestures and adding her av’rita in a rite that invoked the Goddesses and in particular, the God of the Harvest, on this first eve of the De’en’nu.

  Her mother led the procession out of the Court Lain. They would not have time to speak, for special servants were waiting to lead her to her preparation lain. But Audola touched her hand as they stepped beyond the formal radius of the Lain, and her touch imparted a feeling of love and a gift of a small measure of strength, all that might be put into the contact of a few gran. Then the servants were leading her away, for a brief rest. They conducted her to a small lain where she was given a light meal. She tried not to wolf it down. It was not nearly enough to hold her up to the rigors she would face, but she could have no more. Then she lay down on the pallet in the center and was instantly asleep.

  the light turned…

  They woke Jeliya half a san’chron before Av’set, and she reluctantly relinquished the velvet embrace of sleep to answer the summons of duty. She went through another set of purifications. These were light purifications, though, and by the time she was finished, it was nearly Av’set. They guided her through av’turuns to the Temple to begin her vigil. The servants dressed her in a loose, flowing de’siki robe of thin, light-blue silk, with pale gold patterns down the front and back middle panels and slitted sleeves that she could slip on and off her arms, depending on how cool the Temple became in deepest eve. Her guinne flowed loose down her back with just a single gold band binding the very ends. Soft, indoor Temple sandals were put on her feet, sacred symbols were painted with a special purple henna on her arms, hands, and feet, and on her face and neck. She was anointed with sweet-scented oils, rites were murmured over her with incense and finally, as Av melded with the flowing edge of the world, the Priestesses formed the special av’tun to the Temple of Ya’kano and led Jeliya through.

  They formed a solemn procession as they approached the shallow steps before the icon of the Goddess. In the main Palace, her mother would hold a similar vigil for her daughter, for this was not the normal Festival ritual. Jeliya’s three eves of vigil were to test her worthiness to be formally crowned High Heir, successor to the High Throne.

  The head Priestess paced before Jeliya, and the two junior Priestesses walked on either side of her, holding her hands and guiding her to the proper place. To her left several large clay jars sat, clasping a thousand pieces of uncut jadine in their red brown bellies. To her right were clay platters to hold the finished stones in the circle of their palms. Before her the Priestess held the scroll of Confirmation. She knelt and Jeliya and her escort mimicked her.

  “Goddess Ya’kano, please harken to and accept the supplication of this Daughter of Av. In Solu’s name we pray.” As one the three abased themselves, and a heartbeat later, Jeliya followed suit. “Ashe,” said four voices in unison.

  Her attendants rose, bowed to her and stepped back, and burly Temple guards brought the jars and platters in closer and placed them within half a pace of Jeliya.

  She made her own supplication, then knelt on the desi pad and picked up the first piece of jadine. It was dull, fractured, with just the tiniest hint of the glitter of what it could be in the glow of light as she turned it over and over in her hands. She looked at the scroll of Confirmation.

  “Goddesses, Confirm in me,

  By ‘rita and Rite

  By birth and light

  The fitness to rule in thy sight

  By blood and by lon

  In this sacred san’chron

  By these jewels pure and bright.”

  But she could not start to say the words. Not yet.

  In her fingers the stone stilled, and the words before her on the scroll of Confirmation became unfocused.

  Finally - finally I’m alone! This was her first moment alone, the first chance she had had in turns to touch what was within her, that secret way that led off to the other end of her soul. Finally she could relax her guard. She touched the hard cover of discipline she had layered over it, to find that the shell melted away like old cobwebs and drifted away like smoke. And there, beneath, was the Jur’Av’chi, a black velvet cone as wide as her mind, that let into a pinprick, a single white fleck in an infinite black wall. She traced its outer edge with her thoughts, with her desires. Then she let it suck her in down to that infinitesimal inkling of Gavaron that wafted about her like the finest trace of a familiar but forgotten scent. She allowed herself to feel - and she missed him. She missed him so much that it tore her apart, and she gasped out a single cry of anguish, and doubled over. Her lips were muffled in her ceremonial robe and her tears stained the floor of the Temple.

  The Joining between them spread open like a flower within her, a dark purple bloom of loss and hunger and absence. She ran her thoughts across the velvet petals of pearl grey, tracing inward to the singularity of not-quite emptiness, tasting the slightest breath of him.

  She let herself remember the taste of his hands across her skin, the flow of his breath along her lips in their last kiss - the hunger and desperate desire to be one with her. The loss of those things were almost too much to bear.

  “Dear Goddess, Ya’kano - I miss him. I don’t know if what we share is right, but I wish it. With all my being, I wish it.”

  The confession actually calmed her inner turmoil, somewhat. The pain suddenly seemed at one step removed, as if viewed through a pane of glass.

  And then she could feel him, his thoughts wrapping around hers, and his love like the touch of Av through dark clouds. For the tiniest split of an infinite moment she breathed in that tiny shred of him and rejoiced. Then he receded back into the lost mists of distance. She clung desperately; then she let go.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. Had it been the hand of the Goddess that allowed her to be with him for even just an instant?

  “Thank you, Ya’kano, thank you,” she whispered fervently. “Please forgive me. I just - I just needed a moment. To be with him. Thank you.” With a pang she covered the link over once more, as securely as she could. Her eyes focused reluctantly, then blurred again as one last, hot tear fell to the surface of the rough, palm-sized stone before she could stop it. She moved to wipe it away, and then forgot to cry, for the trail the tear left shone clear, pure, deepest and smoothest jadine along the uneven surface of the stone. The words of Confirmation sprang to her lips unbidden, unread even, and the power of Av rose within her like a laugh of joy. She raised the un-gem to eye-level and marveled as it moved and pulsed in her hands, the surface almost bubbling against her palms. Faint lines of light began to trace along the surface, growing thinner and sharper as the words rang from her lips to the still and silent air of the Temple. A splitting sound, like ice within roc
k, rebounded from the walls, and flakes of grey began to fall away between her fingers as she turned and turned the stone in wonder. First chips fell, then small slab-like sections, and then she was wiping fine dust from the flawless liquid purple gem-stone in her hands, so smooth that the faces seemed almost wet to the touch. And deep in the heart was an intense purple glow, as only the most pure stones evinced. It captured her and mesmerized her, it filled her with a mild ecstasy. It held her for a moment out of time, for time out of mind, for an eternity of eves.

  Jeliya jerked and shook herself. A pale lavender glow to the Este showed in the floor-to-ceiling windows before her. The single cut gem lay in her hands. The first gem.

  The first? With a panicked gasp she reached to the nearest clay jar and felt for another rough stone. Did I only cut one through the whole eve? Am I still only on the first stone? Air met her frantic groping as she quested for another stone from the pile. How could I have wasted the whole eve on the first?

  Her fingers met the hard clay bottom of the jar. The gem she held clattered to the marble floor as she used both hands to tip the jar and look inside.

  Empty. She tried another and another. All empty.

  Jeliya sat back and looked slowly to her right. Nine hundred and ninety-nine purple eyes of inner glow looked back, winking in the first faint light of Av, and twinkling at her as if in mirth. The stone she had held was the last. The last. It lay on the ground before her, unmarked by its fall. On its surface slid the tiniest trace of moisture, leaving a liquid trail along the silver-clear facet. The little drop found a perfect edge and slipped off, fell to the ground like a tear.

  Jeliya lifted her eyes to the image of the Goddess, then bowed forward until her forehead touched the marble stones of the floor.