He sat down on a massive chair, carved from the city’s own red stone, set at the far end of the Hall, against a stone wall draped with woven hangings. The three men and two women who had entered the Hall behind him, the council of Al’haria, disposed themselves comfortably in lesser seats set in a semicircle around al’Jezraal’s great chair. One chair remained, empty—ai’Farra’s usual seat; on this day she sat amongst her own. A gray-robed sen’thar, carrying a copper box, so highly polished it was almost painful to look upon, glided into the Hall in the wake of the council, taking up position at al’Jezraal’s right hand.
“We are here,” al’Jezraal said into the absolute silence which still wrapped the Hall, “to Confirm the Circles. One enters the white circle of the sen’en’thari today; one enters the gray; one is raised to the gold.” There was a low murmur at that last; it rose, and then burst like a bubble into silence again. This particular gold was the reason most of them had come.
The sen’en’thari had done all the work here. They had chosen and trained their candidates, and what the criteria were for passing from one circle to the next no one outside the sen’thar tower knew. It was the temple which conferred the passage, and the temple confirmed it, by its own laws, with such services as had been performed on the temple roof that morning. But it was the secular lord’s law which had to confirm the initiate’s new status—only once he had done so did the promotion become irrevocable. This is where, for Anghara, danger could lurk.
“The lord will ask if anyone contests the confirmation,” ai’Jihaar had told Anghara when they had discussed the outline of the ceremony. “In the Hall, anyone with a valid reason can raise an objection. It very rarely happens, but I recall an instance where al’Jezraal himself raised a voice of dissent, for the candidate had murdered in cold blood and al’Jezraal would not, for all her gifts, countenance her raising into the sen’en’thari.”
It did not happen often, but when it did it always involved circumstances that were highly dramatic—at the time al’Jezraal had refused confirmation, the ceremony had been spiced with murder. Anghara was no murderess, but her own particular circumstances were unprecedented in the history of these ceremonies; the people scented major drama in Anghara’s case. They were here to watch.
The form of the ceremony itself was simple enough—al’Jezraal called upon the an’sen’thar directly responsible for promoting the respective candidates to name them before the witnesses of council and Great Hall. This always started from the lowest rank, and so it was ai’Farra who rose and called first the white, then the gray sen’thar from the Confirmation Seat. Bidding the candidates themselves to approach, al’Jezraal asked for dissenting voices to their confirmation and waited a few beats for the silence that was his usual reply, then conferred upon each the appropriate amber and silver say’yin from the copper box held by the gray-robed sen’thar at his side. Each in her turn, they bowed their thanks and retreated to the sen’thar galleries to take their places there, sanctioned by both their Gods and their secular lord.
The murmur arose again as the gray candidate received her say’yin and drew back, leaving only Anghara, her cowl still covering her hair and shadowing her face, on the Confirmation Seat. The protocol should have been the same—call upon the patron an’sen’thar, ask for dissenting voices, confer the say’yin—but al’Jezraal remained silent for an instant longer than was necessary, and it was obvious protocol was going to be left by the wayside. The anticipation bore fruit as al’Jezraal rose and took a few paces into the hall. There was a long, drawn-out sigh from the nomads’ ranks.
“Two years ago,” he said, and his voice had little of ceremony in it but was rich in memory and wonder, “I met an’sen’thar ai’Jihaar ma’Hariff in Shod Hai’r at the edge of Rah’honim Ar’i’id. I met a sister who had died in the Khar’i’id, for I saw the marks of diamondskin teeth upon her—and who lived again. And I met one whom she had raised to an’sen’thar gold; a fram’man, a stranger from a land we hold holy, who was able to defy al’Khur in his hour and take back a life he had claimed. I saw the signs of death, and the truth of life where life should have been extinct; I did not ask for dissenting voices, for there could have been none. I confirmed ai’Jihaar’s word in Kadun Khajir’i’id Shod Hai’r.”
He lifted a hand and suddenly held a say’yin, heavy and complex, with large amber beads interspersed with globes of tarnished silver and what looked like gold—it was ancient, not one from the copper box of the gray sen’thar but something else, something bestowed for a great work. He was giving it for something not yet happened, for a vision still to be born—and the gift of it was a sign of his faith that what Anghara had spoken of would come to pass. To ai’Farra, who still did not know about Anghara’s dream, it must have seemed as though al’Jezraal had already heard about the Service at the temple, and was rewarding the way Anghara had slipped her trap.
“I ask for no dissenting voices again today,” al’Jezraal said firmly, and his eyes locked briefly with those of ai’Farra, up in the stands. Anghara could not see the Al’hariani an’sen’thar’s face, sitting as she was with her back to the stands, but she could sense the gathering thunder in ai’Farra’s soul fire; however, the an’sen’thar kept her peace under this challenging look. Once again al’Jezraal’s gaze swept outward over the galleries. “I know there would be some; perhaps many. I also know already all the reasons they would put forward. It is true that Kheldrin has been hidden from strangers’ eyes for hundreds of years; it is true that Kheldrin’s newest an’sen’thar should never have seen the desert, had tradition been followed. But this is a stranger who speaks to our Gods, and can rule them; a stranger who heard the last words of Gul Qara before the oracle succumbed to the weight of its centuries; a stranger who walks in our holiest places and takes from them miracles forbidden to their own children. This is a stranger no longer. Today she took clan Hariff as her own, and even though she wears the gold and thus has no clan, my kin will accept her as one born amongst us, and take pride in what she has done, and will yet do. I confirm you an’sen’thar, Anghara Kir Hama ma’Hariff of Sheriha’drin and Kheldrin, child of two lands; may the Gods look upon you with favor, and smile upon your life.”
Anghara came and stood before him, tears once again bright in her eyes; he pushed down the golden cowl, and there was a low murmur as the light caught the silver circlet, now revealed for the first time, with which ai’Jihaar had bound her brow that morning. It was a statement—no other wore such insignia save al’Jezraal himself, but no one else in that hall bore both royal blood and the gifts of the Gods. Lifting the heavy old say’yin over her head, al’Jezraal laid it beside the other he had placed there in the desert two years before. Their eyes held for a moment, and then she bowed to him and walked, as the other two had done before her, toward the galleries where ai’Jihaar and ai’Farra sat on either side of an empty seat left for her. While ai’Jihaar’s face was disciplined, her thoughts were smiling; ai’Farra stared at Anghara for a long moment, her eyes almost hostile, before she looked down at the folded hands in her lap. Anghara sat down carefully, still trembling with the emotion of the last few minutes; in the interval, still in the cocoon of silence he had raised, al’Jezraal had returned to his own great chair and reclaimed it. The gray sen’thar with the copper box, having concluded her duties, had unobtrusively retired. And now, a woman from the nomad ranks raised a reedy, high-pitched ululating cry into the hush in the Hall, taken up by several more in the next instant; it was a signal of great joy and approval, and the nomad ranks were agleam with broad, white-toothed smiles.
The rest of the morning was anticlimactic—ai’Farra descended from the galleries to reclaim her seat in the council semicircle as a handful of cases were brought to the lord and his council for judgment by the city folk. Most of them revolved in one way or another around issues concerning real or imagined transgressions of clan or family honor. Many of the sen’en’thari left before the end, as did the nomads, who settled their ow
n disputes the hard way and had no patience with this kind of protocol. Touching Anghara’s elbow lightly, ai’Jihaar motioned for them to slip out also, although it was asking too much for them to do so unobserved.
“Nothing you do from this time on will ever be done unobserved,” said ai’Jihaar, sounding amused, answering Anghara’s never-quite-uttered thoughts as usual. “If you plan on doing any plotting, Anghara ma’Hariff, you may as well do it sitting out in the square in broad daylight and calling all your secret orders out loud.”
An image of ai’Farra’s hooded golden eyes rose in Anghara’s memory. “That does not stop others from plotting against me,” she said, giving ai’Jihaar the image as well as the words.
“She can do little, now,” said ai’Jihaar, dismissing ai’Farra with a wave of her hand. “She could have been trouble in the Confirmation, even after the temple—but between us, al’Jezraal and I handled that. But now you have been accepted into the sen’en’thari and into the Hariff—hai, I still do not know what made you do that, but it was well done! In either there will be those who would take it amiss if anything ill should befall you, and who would know from whom the ill had come. The Sayyed are a rich clan, and powerful—they breed the best dun’en, and get good prices for them—but they could not stand alone against a clan alliance if they tried to cross the Hariff here in our own country. Speaking of the Sayyed—ai’Farra still does not know about the other oracle. Let us go to the Sa’id tower and wait for the meeting, al’Jezraal will be there as soon as he can escape.”
When ai’Farra arrived before al’Jezraal it was al’Tamar, golden eyes studiously blank, who showed her in, and then withdrew with alacrity. If there were to be fireworks between the an’sen’en’thari, he did not want to be close enough to feel the heat.
She stood for a moment, staring at Anghara with smoldering eyes. “It could be said,” she said softly at last, ominously rephrasing her earlier words, “that things weren’t done according to tradition today, and you were never confirmed. The dissenting voices have been allowed into the Hall Ceremony with good reason. It could be said you wear the gold robe by the word of an an’sen’thar alone—and that has never been enough.”
“After what you tried to do at the temple,” ai’Jihaar said cuttingly, “had you tried to raise a dissenting voice your own tower would have shouted you down.”
“We had not met before today,” said Anghara calmly. The golden glow of her soul fire kindled and wreathed her form like a cloak, striking sparks from the burnished hair confined by the silver circlet. She rose, offering the most graceful desert salute she could muster, the golden flame of her power rippling from her fingers and leaving starbursts where she touched the aura over her heart, her lips, her brow. Her voice was still serene, as though she was completely unaware of what she was doing, and tinged with subtle irony. “I am happy to make your acquaintance at last, Keeper of the Records. I have heard much about you.”
Taken by surprise as she turned to answer ai’Jihaar, to her great credit, ai’Farra recovered quickly. Her own aura, the crimson of newly spilled blood to ai’Jihaar’s white and Anghara’s own gold, blossomed to meet theirs even before Anghara had a chance to straighten from her bow.
“Very well,” ai’Farra said tightly, “you have the power. I hardly doubted that, not after…Still, you are fram’man before anything else. They should never have even considered…” Her voice dropped for a moment, sounding silky and dangerous. “Do you know what happens to strangers who stray into Kheldrin unasked?” she said, her long fingers stroking the haft of a dagger in her belt, twin to the ones ai’Jihaar and now Anghara herself wore.
“Who strays into Kheldrin?” asked Anghara. “This is hardly a country for stumbling into unawares.”
“Oh, but they come,” said ai’Farra. “There are, after all, riches here of a kind, enough to tempt a few beyond prudence. They come from Shaymir—there are paths through the mountains, if one cares to look for them; or they brave the Se’thara by night. They come.” She drew the dagger, and within her red aura the blade seemed immersed in blood. “They never return. And they had not even dreamed of crossing the Empty Quarter with their profane feet, nor bringing down a holy shrine with a sacrilegious touch.”
“That is enough, ai’Farra. You speak of what you do not know,” said ai’Jihaar sharply.
“It is done, ai’Farra ma’Sayyed.” The new voice at the door heralded the arrival of al’Jezraal, and, in ai’Farra’s case only very reluctantly, the three women allowed the flame of their auras to flicker out and die. Slipping the scarlet cloak from his shoulders, al’Jezraal strode in and tossed it aside. “We need your knowledge, and your help,” he said levelly, staring directly at ai’Farra, “and I will have your word, an’sen’thar, that you will work with us on this. What we seek will be a gift to all of Kheldrin’s people.”
“All of Kheldrin’s people, Sa’id?” ai’Farra said softly, her eyes flicking once again in Anghara’s direction; al’Jezraal could not fail to notice this. His mouth tightened.
“Here, she is Hariff. In Sheriha’drin, she is Kir Hama, and royal. In the temple, she is confirmed amongst the highest of the God-spoken. I will have an end to this, ai’Farra.”
Finally ai’Farra dropped her eyes. She was still far from happy, but her support base in Al’haria, at least on this issue, was not big enough for her to pursue the matter at this time—there were never many Sayyed here, and her own tower was divided, with too many on ai’Jihaar’s side, and Anghara’s.
“Very well,” she said coldly.
That would hold for only as long as there were three powerful Hariff ranged here against her, and enough sen’en’thari held out against her prejudices—unless something extraordinary happened to change her mind.
And al’Jezraal held something extraordinary to offer her.
He nodded, now, as though her words sufficed, and then, while she was still braced against this grudging acceptance which had been forced from her, he flanked her and changed the subject, exploiting the vulnerability.
“Keeper of the Records,” he said formally, but his voice was intense, “we seek a place called…Gul Khaima.”
Whatever her faults, ai’Farra had the gift of power in no mean magnitude. There was no way in which she could have learned of this name, or of its meaning, but she stiffened in sudden reaction.
“I do not know of such a place,” she said after a pause. “And yet…why do I feel as though I should? What is Gul Khaima, Sa’id al’Jezraal?”
“Anghara,” said al’Jezraal, inviting her to take over by voice and gesture.
Anghara told once again of her encounter with Gul Qara in the Empty Quarter, the full story of which ai’Farra had never heard from the source; ai’Farra’s hands clenched tightly in the folds of her robe, but she heard the story in silence. And then Anghara told of the dreams, of the talisman-given vision, and of the interpretation.
“A second oracle,” she said. “A new oracle. It exists, or will exist, in a place called Gul Khaima, somewhere close to the sea. Is it possible there might be a trace of this somewhere…would the Records speak of it? Did Gul Qara never mention this place before?”
“The last recorded prophecy of Gul Qara,” said ai’Farra with some bitterness, “took place almost three hundred years ago. I knew this name when you said it…but I do not think I learned of it in the Records.”
“May I…see what the Records say about Gul Qara?” Anghara’s question was a request, although as full an’sen’thar she had the right to demand access to Records and ai’Farra could not refuse. But she had chosen to bow to ai’Farra’s standing as the Keeper; in some ways ai’Farra had the right of it. There might be things in the catacombs not meant to be seen by fram’man eyes. The Kheldrini woman straightened, lifting her chin, her eyes meeting Anghara’s with defiance, resentment, a grudging respect.
“We can go now,” she said. The words were heavy, like stones, but her interest had been kindled, and the very sp
eed of her assent, despite the tone in which it had been uttered, was proof of piqued curiosity.
“Thank you.” Again, the courtesy, from supplicant to Keeper; ai’Farra could not but respond to it. It was far from acceptance—but perhaps it was a beginning.
They all went in the end—ai’Farra in front, with a massive key black with age, unlocking a great door whose carvings had all but vanished into blank oblivion over the passage of uncounted years; al’Jezraal only a step behind her, a smoking torch in his hand; ai’Jihaar, holding onto Anghara’s arm. They passed along a corridor hewn into the mesa at the city’s back and down endless spiraling stairs into the bowels of the catacombs. These opened up with almost no warning, a vast darkness swallowing the guttering torchlight at the foot of the stairs, but there were cressets here, and unlit torches prepared against a Keeper’s need. When al’Jezraal lit three or four, suddenly there was light enough. Stone archways revealed themselves, leading off in various directions, darkness beyond them; two or three were barred with great doors, similar to the ones at the top of the stairwell, bearing seals of various clans—Anghara recognized only Hariff, from a hanging in al’Jezraal’s chambers which al’Tamar had pointed out to her earlier. A great stone table stood in the middle of the small amphitheater, which opened out from the stairwell.
“Stay here,” said ai’Farra, her words a warning but her tone almost a regret that she was issuing it at all. “This place is a labyrinth; my predecessor took years to teach me how to find my way around. I will fetch what is needful.”
She took one of the torches, and moved into the darkness of one of the side corridors. For a brief while they could see the flickering light, and then it abruptly vanished, perhaps as ai’Farra turned a corner. Or simply disappeared.
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