Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  The Husband turned to Mikayla. “Come with me, my child.”

  Mikayla briefly considered bolting for the exit and summoning a lammergeier to carry her away from here, but reminded herself that she was here to get Uzun a new body. There’s no point in running away quite yet, she told herself. And I don’t think the Husband of the Goddess Meret means me any harm. Actually, he seems nice. Maybe he’ll be willing to help me.

  The priest led her through the entrance in the front of the room by which he had entered, down a hallway to the left, and into a room that was apparently the Temple library. Mikayla was still surrounded by the blue glow—it had moved when she did—but she ignored it as she looked around at all the scrolls. They have a bigger library than the Citadel and the Archimage put together, she thought in awe. Surely they will have the answers I need to help Uzun.

  The Husband clapped his hands sharply twice, and a young boy, clad in a short black tunic tied with a cord at the waist, ran into the room.

  “Yes, my Father?” he said, apparently expecting to receive orders.

  “My respects to the Eldest Daughter of the Goddess Meret, and I should appreciate it greatly if she would join me here as soon as possible.”

  The boy didn’t answer; he simply bowed and ran from the room. Within minutes there was the sound of sandaled footsteps in the stone hall, and a tall woman in a black robe came in.

  “What do you wish, my Father?” she asked deferentially. Then she saw Mikayla. “Who is this?”

  The Husband sat in an elaborately carved chair and pointed to a bench behind Mikayla. The woman sat down in a simpler chair by one of the reading tables, and Mikayla took that as her cue to be seated on the bench. The Husband smiled at her encouragingly. “I’d like you to answer a few questions for me. You said you were a virgin, is that true?”

  “Yes,” Mikayla said, trying not to sound bored. She was getting tired of repeating it. What’s so important about being a virgin? she wondered. Everyone is one at birth.

  “And you are of royal birth?” The woman’s eyes widened, but she remained silent.

  “Yes,” Mikayla said again.

  “Who are your parents?”

  Mikayla didn’t know why, but she felt a sudden reluctance to give her parents’ names. Perhaps it was the memory of something Uzun had said to her in the course of her studies with him. “Names have power,” he had told her. “To know a person’s name is to have power over that person.”

  “My father is the King of Ruwenda and Labornok,” she said simply, “and my mother is his Queen.”

  “Is she royal?” the priest asked.

  “Princess of Var,” Mikayla replied briefly.

  “Your pardon, my Father,” the woman said quietly, “but if I may?” He inclined his head, and she turned to Mikayla. “Does this mean that you are a direct descendant of Prince Antar of Labornok?”

  “The one who married Princess Anigel?” Since coming to live with the Archimage, Mikayla had learned more about the triplet princesses and their Quest than she had ever wanted to know, despite her general lack of attention when the subject came up. But Fiolon and Uzun spent so much time trading ballads on the subject back and forth that it was impossible for Mikayla to avoid getting the general outlines of the story.

  “Yes,” the woman replied.

  “Then I am,” Mikayla said. “He and Anigel were my I-don’t-know-how-many-greats-grandparents.”

  “A princess of the royal family of Labornok,” the woman said softly. “I can hardly believe it. Truly Meret favors us.”

  “Indeed She does,” the man murmured. “Do your parents know that you are here?” he added, returning to more practical matters.

  “No,” Mikayla said. “If they think about me at all, they probably think I’m locked up in the Archimage’s Tower.” Two sets of eyebrows raised, and two sets of eyes regarded her thoughtfully.

  “Locked up?” the man asked. “Why?”

  “The Archimage has some crazy idea that I’m supposed to be her successor,” Mikayla explained. “She took me when I was twelve, and I haven’t seen my family, or left her Tower, since then.”

  “It sounds perfectly miserable,” the woman remarked sympathetically. “Where does the Archimage think you are now? And why did she let you go?”

  Mikayla shrugged. “She didn’t let me go, and she doesn’t know where I am. Last I heard, she didn’t remember my existence.” At their questioning looks, she continued. “She took ill while visiting the Citadel, with some sort of brainstorm. She doesn’t remember a lot of things, especially recent things, and she’s had me for only about two years.”

  The Husband and the Eldest Daughter exchanged glances.

  “Two years,” he said, almost to himself. Obviously this meant something to him.

  “She’s been training you as her successor,” the Daughter said. It was not a question, but Mikayla nodded anyway.

  “That explains quite a lot,” the Daughter remarked.

  Have they noticed the strangeness in the land, too? Mikayla wondered. Haramis should be Archimage of Labornok as well as Ruwenda; has her illness disturbed the balance here as well? It didn’t feel quite that way to me, but I don’t know Labornok the way I do Ruwenda.

  “Yes,” the Husband agreed, turning back to Mikayla. “Why have you come here, then?”

  Mikayla decided not to try to explain the “magic mirror.” She had noticed how angry Haramis got when she mentioned devices of the Vanished Ones, and she didn’t want these people angry with her. “I have a friend,” she explained, “and he needs a new body. And I saw this Temple in a vision, and there were people working on a statue.” She frowned, trying to remember exactly what it was she had seen and to figure out how best to describe it. “They were performing some sort of ritual, something about opening the mouth. And I thought perhaps the people here could help me make a new body for my friend.”

  “What’s wrong with the body he has now?” the Husband asked.

  “It’s a harp.”

  “A harp?” the Husband sounded incredulous. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Mikayla said. “I’ve been living in the same Tower with him for years. He’s a harp, and he’s blind, and he can’t move. And that makes him very unhappy since the Archimage took ill, because he can’t scry and see her the way I can. And she keeps asking for him—apparently she’s forgotten that she turned him into a harp about one hundred and eighty years ago—and he wants to go to her. And he can’t.”

  “He’s been a harp for nearly two hundreds?” the Husband asked.

  Mikayla nodded.

  “How was that done?”

  “Somebody made the harp,” Mikayla explained, “and the Archimage put some of her blood in a channel in the middle of the pillar, and there’s a part of the top of my friend’s skull at the top of the pillar. He doesn’t remember exactly how it was done, since he was dead for part of it.”

  “So you have access to a piece of his original body—this skull fragment,” the priest said thoughtfully, “and his spirit resides in this harp. Yes, I believe that under the circumstances, we could make a new body for him.” He looked at her. “What is your name?”

  The blue glow still surrounded her, and Mikayla was fairly sure that it was some sort of truth spell. And if she wanted their help, refusing to answer was probably not a good idea. “Mikayla.”

  “Princess Mikayla.” The Husband bowed his head slightly to her. “I believe that we can give you what you want. Are you prepared to give us something in return?”

  “If it is within my power,” Mikayla replied cautiously. What do I have that they could possibly want?

  “We want a month of your time each year for the next seven years,” the Husband said. “Each spring, when the river rises and the three moons come together, will you spend a month with us, as a Daughter of the Goddess, living with the other Daughters and taking part in the rituals?”

  “Somebody would have to teach me the rituals,”
Mikayla said. I can’t imagine why one more Daughter for the rituals would be worth much, but if that’s all they want, I should be able to manage it. And it will at least be a change from listening to Haramis scold me or Uzun mope about Haramis’s illness.

  “We will teach you everything you need to know,” the Eldest Daughter said. “But you do realize that you will have to remain a virgin for the next seven years?”

  “That’s not a problem,” Mikayla said. “Haramis wants me to remain a virgin for the rest of my life.”

  “Haramis is the Archimage?” the Husband asked.

  Ooops! Mikayla thought. I didn’t mean to give them her name. On the other hand, it’s in so many ballads that it’s hardly a secret. She nodded.

  “Have you made any vows to her?” the Husband asked. “Or to anyone else?”

  “No,” Mikayla said, with just a bit of the resentment she felt toward Haramis showing in her voice. “She’s always been too busy telling me things to ask me to promise anything.”

  Both of them smiled at her. “We are asking,” the Husband said. “In exchange for a new body for your friend, will you spend a month with us each year for the next seven years?”

  “Yes,” Mikayla said. “I will.”

  “Very good,” the Husband said. “I will speak to He Who Causes to Live about the body for your friend. It will take him seventy days to give birth to the new body; can you remain with us that long?”

  Mikayla thought of the image of Haramis as she had last seen her. It doesn’t look as though she’ll be recovered enough to miss me before seventy days are up, she thought. Seventy days isn’t long. And even if she does come back sooner, it’s worth it. I don’t care if she does get angry with me for leaving the Tower. Uzun is a friend; he’s been good to me, and I want to help him. Aloud she said, “Yes, I can stay here that long.”

  “Excellent,” the Husband said. He turned to the Daughter. “I commit her to your charge, Eldest Daughter.”

  The woman stood up, and Mikayla hastily followed her example. “Yes, my Father,” the woman said, bowing. She turned to Mikayla. “Come with me, Little Sister.”

  Mikayla bowed briefly to the priest. “Thank you, my Father,” she said. He smiled and nodded to her, clearly dismissing her from his presence.

  The Eldest Daughter took Mikayla’s hand and started towing her rapidly down the hall. “You will be housed with the Daughters of the Goddess,” she explained. “We do not use personal names here. I assume that you do know that true names have power; I notice that you did not give the names of your parents. As one of the Daughters of the Goddess, you will address Her Husband as ‘Father.’ I am addressed as ‘Eldest Sister’ and the other Daughters are called ‘Sister.’ Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Eldest Sister,” Mikayla replied, paying careful attention to what she was being told. She had the definite impression that she was expected to learn these lessons quickly and correctly. And for the first time in over a year, she cared about what she was being taught.

  She was here by her own choice, and for her own reasons. She had given her word and accepted theirs, a situation quite different from that at Haramis’s Tower. She wasn’t sure exactly what they wanted from her or what she was supposed to learn, but for Uzun’s sake and to accomplish her goal of getting him a proper body, she was going to try her hardest to be what they wanted her to be. Besides, she thought, they asked me if I were willing to do this; they didn’t just tell me to do it and expect me to obey like some mindless puppet.

  They entered an antechamber, then passed through a curtained doorway on the far side of it. On the other side of the curtain was a large chamber cut out of the rock of the mountain and brightly lit with torches set in the wall at frequent intervals. A number of other rooms with brightly colored curtained doorways led off it. “The Daughters live in these apartments,” the Eldest Daughter told her. “You are not to go beyond the curtain we just passed without permission, and you must never leave these rooms unless one of the other Daughters is with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Eldest Sister.”

  “Good.” The priestess clapped her hands together sharply; the sound echoed through the rooms. Four young women came out of various side rooms to gather in the central chamber. They appeared to range in age from four to six years older than Mikayla, and they looked at her curiously, but they seemed pleasant enough. They were dressed in heavy white, long-sleeved, high-necked robes, tied with white cord at the waist. “We have a new Sister,” the Eldest Daughter announced, indicating Mikayla.

  “Welcome, Sister,” the others murmured in chorus. Mikayla noted that they spoke in unison and on the same pitch.

  “I thank you for your welcome, Sisters,” she replied. She hoped that she would fit in here. At least they were all smiling at her. Unlike Haramis, none of them seemed to dislike her on sight. Maybe they would even be friends.

  “Your room will be the one with the green curtain,” the Eldest Daughter informed her. “There is a chest in there with clothing that should fit you. Please put it on, and rejoin us here. You have much to learn.”

  “Yes, Eldest Sister.” Mikayla hurried to do as she was told.

  16

  Mikayla looked quickly around the room assigned to her. It was small and had a very low ceiling; she could reach up and put the palms of her hands flat against it without having to straighten her arms completely. Along one wall was a bed, with some sort of fur that Mikayla did not recognize serving as a blanket. Next to the head of the bed was a stand with a pitcher of water, a washbasin, and a rough towel. The clothing chest that the Eldest Daughter had mentioned was at the foot of the bed.

  Mikayla changed into a white gown like the one the other Daughters wore. There were several of them in the clothing chest, as well as a couple of gowns in other colors. She was glad to find that the high neckline hid the ribbon of the sphere she wore around her neck and that the fabric was thick enough to muffle any noise it might make.

  Unlike the Archimage’s Tower, these rooms did not have much in the way of heating, which was doubtless why the clothing was so heavy. But the only shoes in the chest were sandals. Mikayla put them on, remembering that both the Husband of the Goddess and the Eldest Daughter had worn sandals. Perhaps everyone here did, especially if they didn’t have to leave the Temple. Mikayla considered what she had seen as she approached the Temple. From the air, it was virtually invisible. Even if one was looking straight at it, which could not be done from above, it appeared to be a natural cave. Perhaps the people living here didn’t leave, but in that case, where did they get food and other necessary supplies?

  Stop it, Mikayla told herself. This is no time to try to analyze every detail of their society. I’ll have plenty to do trying to keep up with the things they want me to learn.

  She returned to the main room. There was a single long bench at the far end of the room, in front of a fireplace. The other Daughters were sitting there waiting for her. One of them, the one sitting on the end, patted the spot next to her, and Mikayla quickly slid into place.

  The Eldest Daughter stood and faced them. “Since our new Sister does not know our ways yet, we will start with the dawn chant.” She fixed her eyes on Mikayla. “I shall sing a line and you will repeat it.” Mikayla nodded.

  “Hail to you, O Meret …”

  “Hail to you, O Meret,” Mikayla dutifully repeated. To her relief, all the Daughters were repeating it with her, helping to cover up any mistakes she might make. She had the uneasy feeling that the Eldest Daughter heard all her mistakes anyway, but at least she didn’t feel alone and exposed, the way she had when Haramis had been teaching her.

  “Lady of Eternity, Queen of Gods …”

  “Lady of Eternity, Queen of Gods …”

  “Many-Named, Holy of Form …”

  “Many-Named, Holy of Form …”

  “Lady of Secret Rites in Thy Temple …”

  “Lady of Secret Rites in Thy Temple …”

  By the time supper
was served, a frugal meal of bread, fruit, and water, they had gone through the chants for Dawn, the First Hour after Dawn, the Third Hour, the Hour of the Sun at Zenith, the Ninth Hour, the Hour When the Sun Embraces the Sacred Peak, and the Second Hour of Darkness. Mikayla no longer wondered why all the Daughters spoke in unison; she thought it would be a good deal more remarkable if they did not.

  While the Daughters ate, the Eldest Daughter read a long and boring story about a simple farmer whose volumnial was unjustly taken from him by a dishonest steward. When the farmer took his case before the magistrate, the magistrate was so impressed by the farmer’s elegantly expressed arguments that he dragged the case out for more than nine sittings of his court so that he could listen to the eloquence of the farmer.

  Finally the magistrate decided in the farmer’s favor, so that justice was done in the end, but Mikayla noticed that the end was a very long way from the beginning. My father would have settled this case at the first hearing, she thought. Any sensible person would have.

  “Tell me, Youngest Sister, what do we learn from this story?”

  For one horrible moment Mikayla thought that the Eldest Daughter was addressing her. Then one of the other Daughters answered, and Mikayla realized that “Youngest Sister” must be some sort of honorary title, for the girl answering was obviously not the youngest of the other Daughters.

  “We learn the value of silence, and of simplicity of speech when speech is necessary,” the girl replied. “If the farmer had not been so eloquent, his case would have been settled at its first hearing. The grandeur of his words cost him much.”

  About a year of his life at least, Mikayla thought, and maybe more, depending on how often the magistrate sat in judgment.

  There was the sound of a gong being struck somewhere off toward the main part of the Temple. The Daughters rose smoothly from their stools around the table in unison; Mikayla scrambled awkwardly from hers a beat afterward, but managed to push her stool under the table at the same time as the rest of the girls.