Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “But they know that I’m supposed to be Archimage.…” Suddenly Mikayla realized something. “You’re an Archimage, and nobody seems to expect you to be celibate. Does this mean I don’t have to be?” She felt hopeful for a moment; maybe she and Fiolon could marry after all.… “Oh, that’s right; they don’t know you’re an Archimage, do they?”

  “No,” Fiolon said, “but I don’t think it makes much difference. They do think I’m a powerful magician. And I’ve watched other magicians at court—several of them don’t seem to feel the slightest need to be celibate.” He frowned. “I’ll have to do some research on this,” he said.

  “While you’re doing that,” Mikayla said, “see if you can find out why I haven’t become physically mature yet. My sisters all were by the time they were my age. I’d forgotten that I should be, but what just happened did bring it back to mind.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Fiolon promised her. “I seem to be aging more slowly than normal, too, so it may be because we use magic.”

  “If you’re not fully mature either,” Mikayla asked, “why was she trying to compromise you?”

  “Oh, that’s simple,” Fiolon explained. “My uncle the King just made me Duke of Let. He announced it at court today.”

  “I see.” Mikayla understood perfectly. She may not have paid concentrated attention to court politics as a child, but she would have had to be blind and deaf not to have figured out the way things worked in a court by the time she was nine or ten, let alone twelve. Fiolon was now a prime catch; he would be a target for every ambitious maiden in the Kingdom. No wonder he wanted to pretend to be betrothed!

  Well, that was fine with her. If it weren’t for her promise to the Temple of Meret—and the fact that Haramis would undoubtedly have a fit and do something dreadful to them, Mikayla would have been willing to fly to Var and marry Fiolon that very night.

  She could hear feathers rustling nearby; Red-Eye was waking up. “I have to go now, Fiolon,” she said. “It’s time to go hunting. Will you be all right now?”

  Fiolon grimaced. “I have to go back to the palace and change for the formal banquet to celebrate my new rank. I just hope I can keep my room clear of unwanted company.”

  “How about an illusion?” Mikayla suggested. “Giant lingats spinning sticky webs all over the bed—or night carolers swooping through to snag their wings in the hair of anyone who troubles you?”

  “Definitely an idea,” Fiolon said, beginning to smile thoughtfully.

  “Oh, my Lord Duke,” Mikayla added in teasing tones, “don’t take this the wrong way, but—congratulations!”

  Fiolon threw back his head and laughed aloud, startling several seabirds. “Thank you, Princess,” he said with a courtly bow. “Good hunting.”

  “Good luck avoiding the hunters,” Mikayla replied. “Be well, Fio.”

  “Be well, Mika.”

  Mikayla continued to fly with Red-Eye, and Fiolon returned to Let as soon as he possibly could. But the incident had reminded Mikayla of her promise to return to the Temple of Meret at the appointed time. So she watched the moons and waited for the time to come.

  “Red-Eye,” she said as they were preparing to fly out one beautiful spring night, “I’ve enjoyed being with you more than I can tell you, but tomorrow I have to be someplace else. Can you take me to Mount Gidris at dawn?”

  “Mount Gidris?”

  Funny, she thought, it sounds upset, almost frightened. Oh yes, its creators live there, don’t they?

  “You don’t have to stay there long,” she said reassuringly. “Just swoop in before dawn and drop me off near the Temple of Meret. It’s on the northern side—”

  “I know where it is,” the bird said grimly. “What business have you there?”

  “A promise to fulfill,” she replied.

  “Tell me,” it said. “What is your promise?”

  “To remain a virgin, and to spend a month there each spring for seven years, as one of the Daughters of the Goddess Meret.”

  Red-Eye dropped its head and looked fiercely at her. “And what do you get in return for this?”

  “They made a body for a friend of mine, whose spirit is trapped in a harp. They have kept their promise, and I must keep mine.”

  “Does your cousin know about this?” Red-Eye asked. It had made a point of being awake and listening whenever she spoke to Fiolon. The idea of a male Archimage seemed to fascinate it. “Does he approve?”

  “He doesn’t own me,” Mikayla pointed out. “And yes, he knows.”

  The bird made a sound of disgust. “And does he know anything about this Temple?”

  “Not much,” Mikayla said. “When I was first being trained, I talked to him every night while the other Daughters were at the ritual for the Second Hour of Darkness. But once I learned enough to join them in all the rituals, I didn’t have much chance to bespeak him anymore.”

  “Because you speak to him aloud,” Red-Eye said.

  “It’s certainly easier that way. And there isn’t much privacy in the Temple,” Mikayla admitted. “I had to be careful to keep them from finding the sphere.”

  Red-Eye looked at her. “If you go in there dressed as you are now, they’ll spot it at once.”

  Mikayla looked down at herself in dismay. Ever since she had learned to control her body temperature, she had paid little attention to her clothing. She had made a point of washing her tunic at intervals, but now it was badly faded, and either it had shrunk or she had grown again. And the neckline was nowhere near high enough to cover the sphere’s ribbon, which was still, after everything it had been through, the same bright green it had been the day she had found it. “You’re right,” she said. She looked up into the reddish eyes looking down at her. “Could you keep it for me, please?” she asked it. “Just for a month.”

  Red-Eye dropped its head again.

  It’s really upset, Mikayla thought. Why?

  “I shall keep your sphere safe,” it said, “and I shall take you to the Temple before dawn and fetch you from there again a month hence. But I want a promise from you in return.”

  “What?” Mikayla asked. “What can I do for you that you can’t do for yourself?”

  “Every night, when you go to your bed after the ritual of the Second Hour of Darkness, you are to bespeak me. No matter what happens; no matter how tired you are. Every single night. You can do this silently; no one there will know what you are doing. Do I have your promise?”

  “You do.”

  “Every night?”

  “Every night.”

  “Good. And if your cousin who can hear the lammergeiers should use the sphere to bespeak you, I will tell him where and how you are.”

  Mikayla reached out impulsively and hugged as much of the great bird as she could reach. “Thank you, Red-Eye. You are a prince among lammergeiers.”

  “Come then.” Red-Eye extended a wing. “Let us fly.”

  Shortly before dawn, Mikayla stood again on the path near the Temple on Mount Gidris and watched Red-Eye fly away, her sphere wrapped securely around one leg. “Fly well, Red-Eye,” she whispered. Then she went down the path to the Temple, setting a glamour to keep herself unseen until she could get to her room, wash, and change into the proper clothing for the dawn ritual.

  The Eldest Daughter looked approvingly at her when she joined her sisters in the procession to the chapel, but, as usual, no one spoke until after breakfast. By then, Mikayla had slipped back into the rhythm of the rituals and was beginning to feel that she had never left.

  “You remembered your promise, Sister,” the Eldest Daughter said. “The Goddess is pleased.”

  “Thank you, Eldest Sister,” Mikayla said. It’s good to be back here, she thought. It’s nice to be approved of, and human company can be pleasant on occasion—depending on the humans, of course.

  As she had promised, she bespoke Red-Eye every night, even though she had nothing to tell him. Every day was like every other day in the Temple, and after a
few days she felt as if she had never left. The only change in the routine was the Spring Festival, which celebrated the annual rising of the River Noku as the snow began to melt.

  The Youngest Daughter of the Goddess represented the Goddess in the procession, and spent most of the day being carried about by the young men of the Temple on a richly carved high-backed wooden throne, while the other Daughters, dressed in green robes, walked on either side of the throne carrying fans that prevented most of the congregation from seeing whether there was anyone sitting there at all. They had all had to learn more chants for the Festival, but by now Mikayla found the Temple chants easy enough to learn.

  She dutifully reported this to Red-Eye, along with her opinion that this was a truly boring ritual. The lammergeier seemed amused.

  Then the Husband of the Goddess Meret came to the Daughters’ room one afternoon. Mikayla was startled to see him there, but the others showed no surprise. Nervousness, and a certain subdued excitement, but no surprise.

  “Why is he here?” Mikayla whispered to the girl next to her.

  The girl looked at her in surprise. “It’s the Choosing,” she whispered back. “He chooses the Youngest Daughter for next year.”

  “Oh.” Mikayla stood silently, following the example of the other girls. She remembered her first night there, last fall, when she had realized that one of the Daughters was called “Youngest” whether she was or not. She had no idea, however, how this “Youngest” had been chosen. I guess I’m about to find out.

  The priest was robed in black, as usual, and wore his golden mask. The Eldest Daughter put her mask on as well; apparently she had brought it from its place in the chapel for this purpose. She went and fetched a small chest out of her room and set it on the small altar at one side of the room. Mikayla had noticed the altar, of course, when she had first arrived in the Temple, but she had never seen it used before.

  The Eldest Daughter removed a golden headdress from the box. Mikayla stared at it in awe. It was the most incredible thing she had ever seen. It seemed to be of pure gold, judging from the effort it took for the Eldest Daughter to lift it out of the box. The headdress was made in the form of a lammergeier, shaped so that the bird’s neck would rest on the top of the wearer’s forehead with its neck arched and the bird’s head facing straight ahead. The spine of the bird would lie along the top of the wearer’s head, with the tail feathers sticking out behind, and the wings, which were so perfectly crafted that each individual feather was incised into the gold and the pin feathers looked capable of motion, swept downward so that they would lie along each side of the wearer’s head. It must be heavy, Mikayla thought, watching as the Eldest Daughter and the Husband of the Goddess held it between them as they stood before the altar.

  The Daughters went to sit in their places on the long bench in front of the fireplace, and Mikayla hastily joined them. If anyone had noticed her staring, they ignored it, but Mikayla felt gauche and unsure of herself for the first time since she had finished learning the chants.

  The priest began a new chant, one Mikayla hadn’t heard before. “Give praise to the Peak of the South,” he intoned.

  “Kiss the ground before her hemsut” the Eldest Daughter replied.

  “Praise to Meret, the Powerful One.”

  “Praise to Meret, the Hidden One.”

  “Praise to Meret, the Lofty One.”

  “Praise to Meret, the Mother of the Land.”

  “Praise to Meret, the Source of the River.”

  “Praise to Meret, the Source of the Sea.”

  “Praised be Meret in Her Boundlessness.”

  “Praised be Meret in Her Hiddenness.”

  “Praised be Meret in Her Darkness.”

  “Praised be Meret in Her Choice.”

  Together the Husband and the Eldest Daughter walked along the line of maidens sitting still and silent on the bench. They held the headdress over each girl in turn. Mikayla watched out of the corner of her eye, wondering what the point of all this was, since nothing seemed to be happening. Then they came to her, and as they held the headdress over her head, it seemed to slip from their grasp.

  Although it had been only a few inches above her head, it felt to Mikayla as if the headdress had been dropped from a great height. She braced her neck against its weight and clasped her hands together tightly in her lap. For an instant she had the curious feeling that the headdress was moving, like the bird it represented, adjusting itself in a more comfortable position on her head—more comfortable for it, at any rate. Mikayla did not think she would ever consider it comfortable.

  “Praised be Meret in Her Choice.” The other Daughters joined with the Eldest Daughter and the Husband of the Goddess to repeat the chant as they helped Mikayla to her feet and drew her to stand in front of the altar. Mikayla stood there quietly, wondering what was expected of her. Apparently nothing was, for no one gave any indication that she was failing in anything she was supposed to do.

  The Daughters began to line up in the order in which they usually progressed to the chapel, and Mikayla realized that it was time for the ritual of the Hour When the Sun Embraces the Sacred Peak. Before she could move to her accustomed place at the end of the line, however, the Husband and the Eldest Daughter pulled her between them.

  When they arrived in the chapel, the Daughters sat on their bench, each girl sitting one place down from her usual spot, leaving two spaces at the end where the Eldest Daughter sat. The Eldest Daughter and the Husband of the Goddess, who were still holding Mikayla between them, took her onto the dais in full view of the congregation. Mikayla, who hadn’t had that many people staring at her since she dropped a knife at a state dinner when she was ten, felt frozen with self-consciousness. Don’t worry, she told herself firmly, the Husband and the Eldest Daughter don’t want you to make mistakes, and they’ll make certain that you don’t.

  Fortunately no one seemed to expect her to speak, which was a good thing because Mikayla wasn’t sure that she could talk with all that weight on her head. The Husband and the Eldest Daughter of the Goddess did all the talking—or chanting—as they presented Mikayla to the congregation as the Chosen One, the Beloved Youngest Daughter of the Goddess. Then the Eldest Daughter led Mikayla back behind the curtain and indicated the seat next to hers. The girl in the next place down, who had been the Youngest Daughter for the previous year, held the box for the headdress in her lap. The Eldest Daughter removed the headdress and replaced it in the box, which the Daughter then tucked under the bench. Mikayla suppressed a sigh of relief as the weight was removed from her head.

  The Eldest Daughter returned to the dais, and the ritual proceeded normally from that point on.

  After the ritual, when the Daughters returned to their room for supper, the other Daughters congratulated Mikayla on having been granted the favor of the Goddess. When they sat down for supper, Mikayla was placed between the Eldest Daughter and the previous Youngest Daughter, and she realized that this represented a permanent change in the ranking order—at least until next year when they choose someone else, she thought.

  The ritual of the Second Hour of Darkness was back to normal as well, aside from Mikayla’s new place in line. But still, she was unusually tired when she went to bed—so tired that she almost fell asleep before she could bespeak Red-Eye.

  She fought sleep as she cast her thoughts toward Mount Rotolo. “Red-Eye.”

  “Mika.” The bird’s reply was immediate, as usual. Mikayla suspected that it knew her schedule as well as she did. “Another quiet day, I trust.”

  “Not quite,” Mikayla thought back. “I’ve been Chosen.”

  “Youngest Daughter for next year?” There was a trace of anxiety in the bird’s thoughts.

  “Yes,” Mika thought back. “And that headdress is almost as heavy as you are, and I am sooo tired.…”

  “Mika!” The thought was sharp. “Did anyone say anything about a jubilee?”

  “No,” Mika thought sleepily. “What’s a jubilee?”<
br />
  “Are you sure?” Red-Eye was insistent.

  “Yes, positive. I’ve never heard the word in my life.” That stirred a thought, even through her sleepiness. “There was one word in the ritual I hadn’t heard before.”

  “What was it?” the bird demanded.

  “I’m thinking.” Mikayla ran backward through the day in her mind. “‘Kiss the ground before her hemsut’—the Eldest Daughter said it. What’s a hemsut?”

  “Oh that.” Red-Eye sounded relieved. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, it’s just a special word for a female spirit. She was talking about the Goddess, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Mikayla thought sleepily. “It was part of a long chant of praise of the Goddess.”

  “That’s all right, then. Go to sleep, Mika.”

  That was a suggestion Mikayla had no trouble in following.

  The next morning after the ritual of the First Hour, the Eldest Daughter put the headdress back on Mikayla and drew her along toward the back of the Temple, along a route in which the floor got higher and the ceiling lower with each room.

  “Where are we going?” Mikayla whispered softly, anxious enough to ignore the custom of not speaking until after breakfast.

  “You are to be presented to the Goddess,” the Eldest Daughter whispered back. “Be silent.”

  Mikayla had to close her throat against a gasp of surprise when they reached their final destination. The part of her that lived in the Temple realized that she was in the Holy of Holies, the Sanctuary where the Goddess lived, where only the highest of the priesthood ever went. The part of her that had explored Orogastus’s Tower with Fiolon recognized this as the room she had seen in the magic mirror.

  The Husband of the Goddess was there, as was another man both robed and veiled in black. Mikayla was fairly certain she had never seen him before. The two men opened the shrine, a cabinet set against the solid rock wall, and reverently lifted out the wooden statue of the Goddess.

  Mikayla kept a close eye on the Eldest Daughter so that she could guess what she was supposed to do. Together they undressed the statue and laid it on the table. The man in the black veil anointed the statue with some sort of oil that smelled very strange to Mikayla—it didn’t even remind her of anything she had ever smelled before. While he did that, the Husband of the Goddess stood at Her head swinging a thurible that gave off a thick cloud of incense.