Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Haramis couldn’t hear what Red-Eye said to Mikayla, but she was willing to bet it was some version of “you cannot do this.”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Mikayla said with the weary patience of someone who had been through this many times before. “I gave my word.”

  “But you didn’t know what you were promising.” Fiolon slid off the bird’s back and extended a hand to help Haramis.

  “Nobody ever really knows what they’re promising on the important things in life,” Mikayla said impatiently. “My parents married a week after they met—do you think they knew what they were promising in their wedding vows?”

  “I think it certain that they knew more of what they were promising than you did,” Haramis said, sliding down to stand on the fur rug. Her knees gave out almost at once, and she wound up kneeling, face-to-face with the girl she had tried to train as her successor. Fiolon faded back into the shadows and began slowly to edge around behind Mikayla.

  “Lady Haramis,” Mikayla said in surprise. “You should be home in bed. Did Fiolon drag you all the way out here in the middle of the night to help him argue with me?”

  “No,” Haramis said quietly. “I came to take your place.”

  Mikayla stared at her incredulously. “You can’t,” she said. “This isn’t your affair. You didn’t promise anything.”

  “Maybe not in words,” Haramis said. “But when I took Uzun from his friends and isolated him in my Tower, I made myself responsible for the consequences. When I took you and Fiolon from your home and family, I took on responsibilities for both of you as well. I cannot allow you to lay down your life—especially at such a young age—to mend things I should not have done in the first place.” Mikayla stared at her, too shocked by the Archimage’s words to comment. Haramis went on. “I do not know if the land sense of Ruwenda will come to you when I die. I thought you were intended to be my successor, but”—she smiled sadly—“lately I’ve discovered I have been wrong about a number of things. If you are meant to be Archimage, it will come to you. If not”—she shrugged—“I don’t know what will happen. My only hope is that, whatever happens, you will live and be happy.”

  Fiolon, who by this time had moved behind Mikayla, suddenly leaned forward and held a cloth soaked in liquid over her mouth and nose. Mikayla struggled briefly, then went limp. Fiolon laid her body down gently and hastily stripped off all her clothes but the underrobe. As Haramis had suspected, it was identical to the one she wore.

  “Lady.” Fiolon helped Haramis change her cloak, boots, and mittens for the ones Mikayla had been wearing.

  As he bent to pick up Mikayla’s unconscious body, Haramis said, “Wait!”

  As Fiolon looked inquiringly at her Haramis pulled her Talisman, which she had worn constantly since the day she found it two hundreds ago, from around her neck. Slipping it over Mikayla’s head, she said formally, “I give my Talisman, the Three-Winged Circle, to my kinswoman Mikayla.” She sat back. “Fiolon, you can take her home now. Take good care of her for me.”

  Fiolon lifted Mikayla’s body, placed it carefully in the sleep sack, and fastened it to Red-Eye’s body. Then he turned back to Haramis. “I’ll set the spells now,” he said. “First, the glamour.”

  Haramis couldn’t feel a thing, but the bird cocked its head appraisingly and nodded.

  “Thanks,” Fiolon said briefly. Haramis wondered if the bird had made some comment to Fiolon that she was unable to hear. “Now, the pain-block,” Fiolon continued. He took off his mittens, murmured a few words, too softly for Haramis to catch them, touched his hands together briefly over her head, and passed them down beside the sides of her body. He finished on his knees in front of her, placing his bare hands flat on the floor on either side of the rug. “I think that’s anchored to the land,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  “Just fine,” Haramis said. It was true. Every ache and sore joint she had had suddenly vanished. She had not felt this good in over a hundred. “Thank you, Fiolon. Go now, with my blessing.” She placed her hand on his bowed head.

  “Thank you, Lady,” Fiolon said. “I only hope that when my time comes I will be as brave and as wise as you.”

  Haramis didn’t know what to reply to that. She didn’t think she was being particularly brave, and she certainly didn’t feel wise. “Fare well, Fiolon,” she said finally. “Now go, before someone sees you.”

  Fiolon climbed on Red-Eye’s back behind the sleep sack, and the bird inclined its head silently to Haramis before taking off through the columns and into the night sky. It vanished from sight at once.

  Haramis sat in Mikayla’s place, keeping the vigil. For the remaining hours of darkness she sat there, quietly remembering her life: her parents and sisters, her teachers and friends—especially Uzun; the time when she was newly made Archimage and was still trying to figure out what it entailed; the finding of her Talisman.…

  I found my Talisman on this same mountain peak, she thought, on the other side of it. She remembered how unstable the ice caves there had been. I wonder if the land on this side is unstable as well. She reached out with her mind, trying to touch the land around her. She thought she could sense the land a little bit, very faintly, and she thought that perhaps she sensed a flaw in it somewhere above where she was sitting. I think it’s above the Temple, she realized. Good. I may be able to use that—assuming that this isn’t all just wishful thinking on my part.

  They came for her just before dawn, four young maidens in light blue-gray robes, singing a hymn. They had to help her to her feet, for her body was stiff from sitting in one position for so many hours. There were also several young men, carrying the poles that supported an ornate chair—almost a throne, Haramis thought. One of the young men gave her the nastiest smile she had ever seen on a human face. In fact, she thought, I’ve seen Skritek with kinder expressions. I wonder what Mikayla did to this one. Surely nothing that would justify his gloating over her death like this.

  She ignored him; she ignored everyone. Since she didn’t know who any of these people were, this seemed the safest course. It wouldn’t do to have them discover that she was not Mikayla too soon. Fortunately, no one seemed to expect her to speak. Still singing, they carried her back into the Temple.

  At a curtained arch deep inside, the men with the chair stopped, and the women led her across a carpet-covered floor into a bathing chamber. They bathed her, wove her hair in an intricate arrangement of braids, and anointed her skin all over with some sort of oil. Haramis noticed that the women were all careful to wash the oil off their hands when they were done. There must be some sort of drug in it, she thought. Something to make me more tractable, perhaps? Or maybe something to increase pain—this sort of sacrifice does get a good deal of its power from the pain and fear of the victim. I expect to be a sad disappointment to them.

  The women put a clean robe and a set of ornate golden armbands on her and led her outside again. There, the men waited with the chair to carry her to the other side of the Temple, where the sacrificial chamber was located.

  Haramis looked at the chamber with interest, paying no attention to the two priests, robed in black with their faces covered with masks, who were advancing to greet her. As Fiolon had told her, the chamber was carved from living rock. A crude statue of the Goddess seemed to grow out of the far wall, with a stone altar at the level of her waist, stained with old blood. A stream, which Haramis knew was the beginning of the River Noku, came out from under the altar and flowed freely through the room. It was bridged with a few planks of dark wood near the entrance to the chamber, but in front of the altar it was uncovered, and there was, Haramis noted, plenty of room to drop a body into it. The current was swift and the water was undoubtedly extremely cold.

  The priests spoke to her, but Haramis did not recognize the language they used and did not bother to attempt a reply. They exchanged quick glances, then reached up to help her down from the chair, being careful to grasp her by the armbands rather than touch her bare
skin. Haramis wondered if they were simply being careful to avoid the oil or if it was forbidden to touch the sacrifice directly. Or maybe both, she thought. Then her bare foot touched the ground. Haramis gasped and her knees buckled under her. She barely felt one of the priests grasp her around the waist and hold her up. By the Flower, Fiolon was right, she realized as the land sense of Labornok flowed into her at full strength. I should have come here long ago. Has it been waiting for me all this time?

  “Princess.” The priest spoke in an urgent undertone, muffled by the black mask he wore. “Pull yourself together! Do you wish to be a disgrace to the high honor to which you have been called?”

  Haramis looked at him blankly for a moment before the sense of his words sank in. Then she drew a deep breath and stiffened her knees. “I’m all right now,” she said softly. “You can let go of me.”

  The priest released her waist, but both men kept a firm grip on her armbands as they led her to the altar and turned her to face the people. The entire population of the Temple seemed to be there, Haramis thought, and only a few of them looked sad for Mikayla. The predominant expression was that of a Skritek on the hunt. I don’t think I’ll mourn their deaths overmuch.

  “Behold the Chosen One,” the priest intoned.

  “Hail!” the crowd replied.

  “Beloved Youngest Daughter of the Goddess,” chanted the second priest.

  “Hail!”

  “Who gives her heart to her Mother.”

  “Hail!”

  “Who gives her life for her Mother.”

  “Hail!”

  “Who dies that her Mother might live.”

  “Hail!”

  Haramis was helped onto the altar and positioned so that her feet were toward the back of it and she lay looking up at the Goddess’s face—such as it was, Haramis thought. The carving was crude indeed, and the face was more a suggestion than a clear image. The main function of the statue of the Goddess seemed to be to hold up the ceiling of the chamber. Haramis could sense that almost the entire weight of the room ran through that section of the wall. The people were behind her now, so she could no longer see them, which was just fine with her.

  One priest had left her side, while the other still kept a restraining hand on her armband, but now the first priest came up to the right side of the altar, holding the obsidian dagger of which Fiolon had spoken. He must have gone back toward the entrance and crossed over the bridge, Haramis thought, followed by, It’s strange how the mind dwells on trivialities in the face of approaching death.

  Something was obviously bothering the priests. The priest on her left still had a firm grip on Haramis’s arm as if he expected her to try to struggle or attempt to flee. The priest on her right took hold of her armband with one hand and raised the dagger with the other, but held that position while the two of them exchanged what Haramis assumed were worried looks. It’s a good thing for them that they’re wearing masks, she thought, almost amused. Otherwise the congregation would be suspecting by now that something is very wrong indeed.

  “What’s the matter with you?” the priest with the dagger hissed. “Don’t you realize that you are about to die?”

  Haramis blinked at him. “Of course I do.”

  “Then why aren’t you afraid?” asked the other priest.

  “Why should I be?” Haramis countered. It is my time to die, and I die for the land. That is as it should be—why should I be afraid? Of course, she thought with some amusement, I’m much older than they realize; they think they have a terrified child. She thought of Mikayla in her place and repressed a shudder. I’m glad they don’t have her.

  “What do we do now?” the priest on her right whispered.

  “Proceed with the sacrifice,” the priest on her left replied. “What else can we do? Where is it written that the sacrifice must be frightened?”

  “But the energy isn’t right!”

  “I know, but we can hardly explain that to the people—who are waiting for us to proceed,” the man muttered behind his mask. He reached out with his left hand and pulled a slab of stone slightly larger than his hand out of the breast of the statue of the Goddess. He set the slab on the altar beside Haramis. Haramis could see now that there was a cavity in the statue. There was something small and shriveled up inside it, presumably the heart of the last sacrifice. “Go ahead,” the priest whispered to the priest with the dagger. “The pain should make up for the lack of fear.” He added warningly in a low tone, “It had better.”

  That’s what you think, Haramis thought. Bless you, Fiolon, I think we’ve managed to sabotage this sacrifice quite thoroughly.

  The priest slashed at her with the dagger, slitting her robe down the front to her waist. When he raised the dagger Haramis saw blood on the tip of it, but she didn’t feel a thing. Both priests looked down at her calm face, and Haramis felt as if she could see their anxious expressions through their masks. She smiled serenely up at them. By now, both of them seemed to be feeling all the terror any vengeful Goddess could possibly wish.

  The man with the dagger gulped visibly as he slit open her chest, broke apart several ribs (Haramis could hear them snap) and cut her heart free. Haramis didn’t feel any pain, although as she started to lose large quantities of blood she began to feel light-headed.

  But, as Fiolon had predicted, when her body was no longer intact, the glamour faded out. The pain-block, being powered by the living rock under her back, stayed in place. The priest on her left, who had turned away to remove the old heart from the statue, gasped in horror when he turned back in time to see Mikayla’s face become that of an old woman. The priest who was holding her heart aloft to show the people that the sacrifice had been carried out looked down at her and nearly dropped the heart. “Holy Meret!” he whispered. “Who are you?”

  “What is your name?” the other priest demanded urgently.

  Does he really think I’m fool enough to tell them? Haramis wondered, feeling ironically amused. Without my name, they have no hope of salvaging this ritual—do they think I don’t know that?

  “Your goddess is false,” Haramis told him calmly, forcing herself to remain conscious for a few more seconds. “I am the land, and I never die.” She reached out with her mind and tugged at the flaw she had perceived earlier. She felt it give, and knew her work was finished.

  She slipped easily out of her body then, and watched, hovering above it as her heart turned to dust and trickled through the fingers of the horrified priest. Her body also turned to dust, and above it, the statue of the Goddess began to do likewise. Haramis saw a bright light above her, and she rose toward it, passing through the stone ceiling collapsing on top of her as if it weren’t there. She was flying through the sky toward the light, and the Lords of the Air, in the form of great lammergeiers, accompanied her. Her life was over, and the work that had been given to her was complete.

  29

  Mikayla started to come to as they removed her from the sleep sack on the balcony. Red-Eye looked down at her and looked at Fiolon. “I’ll let you handle the explanations,” it said, quickly taking flight.

  “Coward,” Fiolon said softly. “It must have had some experience with Mika’s temper.” He bent and picked up Mikayla’s limp body and carried her down to the study, where he put her on a sofa near the fire.

  Uzun hovered over her anxiously. “Is she all right?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Fiolon said. “In a few minutes she’ll doubtless be wide-awake and yelling at us.”

  “And the Lady?”

  “All was well with her when I left.”

  Uzun bowed his head in silence.

  It took Mikayla only a few minutes to wake up completely and take in her surroundings. “Fiolon, you idiot! Take me back before they miss me!”

  “They won’t miss you,” Fiolon said. “Haramis took your place, remember?”

  “Right.” Mikayla looked at him in disgust. “Haramis can really fool them into thinking she’s the Youngest Daughter of the God
dess. She doesn’t even know the rituals. And she hasn’t been able to cast a glamour on herself since her last brainstorm—or was it the one before that?”

  “Two before that,” Fiolon said. “I put the glamour on her.” He added, for Uzun’s benefit, “And a pain-block spell. She won’t feel a thing—I tied that one into the land, and the altar is carved out of living rock. The glamour will probably go when they cut her heart out—”

  “When they what!” Mikayla practically screamed. “Oh, by the Flower, Fiolon; it’s just symbolic! I did the ritual two years ago, and you will notice that I’m still alive and well.”

  “This is a jubilee year,” Fiolon said. “For a jubilee, it’s not symbolic.”

  Mikayla sat up abruptly. “We’ll go down to the mirror and watch it,” she snapped, “then you’ll see!” She looked startled and pressed her hand to the front of her tunic, then started dragging at the chain around her neck. “What’s this?” She pulled it over her head and held it in front of her, staring at the silver wand with its circle and three wings. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “It’s the Three-Winged Circle,” Uzun said in a mournful voice. “Haramis’s Talisman, her part of the Great Scepter of Power.”

  Mikayla frowned at it. “For some reason, it reminds me of the Queen’s crown.”

  “The Three-Headed Monster,” Uzun said. “That was Anigel’s part.”

  “What happened to Kadiya’s?” Mikayla asked curiously, twisting the Talisman back and forth on the end of its chain.

  “She took it with her into the swamps, and no one has seen her or it since.”

  “So we can’t use this for the Scepter of Power,” Mikayla said, diverted temporarily from her other concerns. “What is it good for and why do I have it?”

  Fiolon groaned. “You have it because Haramis gave it to you. It’s true magic—not one of the toys of the Vanished Ones—so be careful with it. Uzun, can you teach her how to use it?”

  The Oddling shook his head. “No. I don’t know how. Only Haramis ever used it, and I wasn’t with her then.”