The desert is holy to them. It is both Creator and Destroyer. You cannot divide the two; they are inseparable.
She shook her head. The hypnotic nature of the music, the secret silence as the sixteen followed obediently behind their leader, the smoke from the torch, the aura of amazement as each moment beckoned them closer to their fate—all of these things conspired to both envelop her within and release her to each moment as it came. Her dad had spoken often of participating in native rituals and how immersing himself in them served as a sort of baptism, teaching him more about a culture than months of observation ever could. Now she understood. The details of life here in the mesa might elude her, but the Thristan soul could never hide from her again.
She kept expecting to step around a corner or up an incline and find herself outside upon the top of the mesa. She tried to remember everything Korin had told her, but she didn’t think he’d said a word about this part of the journey. They did come to a halt, however, as they entered and filled a small cave where two other Elders, both women, greeted them. The Elder who had led them there placed his torch in a sconce where it doubled the light produced by the one torch already in the cave. Then the three officials stood before the sixteen chosen ones. Hozia, whom Lisen remembered well from her “interview” with the Elders Council, spoke to them.
“Why have you come?” Korin translated, whispering into Lisen’s ear, then added hastily, “Say ‘I seek Mantar.’”
Korin responded with all the others in Thristan, and Lisen said softly, her head down but eyes directed at Hozia, “I seek Mantar.” Mantar, their deity, related somehow to the manta, a snake found on top of the mesas, she thought, recalling more of what Korin had taught her. So tangible, she realized, so unlike the Creators, or God, for that matter.
Hozia spoke again, and Korin murmured softly, “Why do you seek Mantar? Answer ‘For the enrichment of the Tribe.’”
Lisen nodded imperceptibly and joined in with the others, but in Garlan. “For the enrichment of the Tribe.”
Hozia smiled at Lisen, then nodded. Lisen wondered how many Thristans other than Hozia could speak Garlan. The term “enrichment,” Korin had explained earlier, was a loose translation on his part. In Thristan, the word corresponded to nothing in Garlan. It went beyond fertility and, in fact, encompassed several meanings, which Korin had promised to clarify to her one day when they had more time.
Hozia spoke again, and this time she translated herself for Lisen’s benefit. “Go then and seek,” she said after she’d spoken what Lisen assumed were the same words in Thristan. How many other Thristans would have done this? In fact, how many of them would have been as generous as this woman had been when Lisen had refused to just sit, uncomprehending, as the Elders argued about her in a tongue she had yet to learn? She decided she liked this Hozia.
And directly alongside the feeling of connection with the Elder rode two others—fear and doubt. Lisen had thus far managed to fight them down, but she now found herself caught in a powerful barrage of both emotions. She reached up to twiddle with her hair, to wrap a lock around and between index and middle finger, but quickly lowered her left hand and secured it with the right. The tight, oil-slicked braid would permit no loose strands, much less an entire lock. Her stomach, empty as it was, threatened to seize up and heave, and she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself.
A ritual, nothing more, she told herself. Likely we’ll go up and return within minutes. My tummy will settle, and we’ll eat. It’ll all be over, and I’ll wonder why I freaked out.
The male Elder who’d guided them up here reached up and pulled on a rope Lisen hadn’t noticed before. This brought down a trapdoor with a set of stairs. He then called to them and led the sixteen up the stairs and out onto a broad flatness under a full moon. The shadows the moon cast outlined sparse vegetation and great rocks in magnificent relief, and the vista stole the breath from Lisen’s lungs. From beside her, Korin placed one of his callused hands over both of hers to quiet their fiddling.
The Elder before them spoke, his words no longer dictated by ritual. Korin translated yet again.
“He’s telling us to sit in a semicircle and wait.” Korin paused, listening. “Ah, and when the manta approaches, do nothing until it makes its choice.”
“What if the manta never approaches?” she whispered.
“It will,” Korin replied. “It always does.” He stopped, then continued to translate. “The rest must return to the mesa, leaving the chosen ones here to complete the ritual.”
Lisen’s entire body went numb. She was just some stupid kid from the Valley. This was insane, completely insane. Who was she, Alice in Wonderland? Because she’d certainly fallen down somebody’s rabbit hole. It was a joke, right? A dream. Or perhaps she’d never actually woken up from the dream of possession. In actuality, she still lay in the infirmary at Rossla Haven, hallucinating all this, the holder and Korin finally realizing that their hopes for her had faded into madness. She could picture them, shaking their heads, perhaps even considering alternatives for overthrowing the Empir. She prayed they’d come up with something. She might have failed, but their mission mustn’t.
“Lisen.” Korin’s firm voice broke through, and for a moment she wondered where she was—Rossla? Thristas?—she didn’t know.
“Lisen?” This time his voice sounded kinder, and she began to sense the real again—the dry breeze on her skin, the quickened breathing of her fifteen fellow candidates, Korin’s hand still calming hers. She looked up from where her mind had lain on the cot in Rossla and saw before her the expanse of the mesa’s crown. No Wonderland for her. Just the imminent bite of a snake that could kill. Korin had said it rarely did, but it could. And if it did, it was a very bad sign for the Tribe. They would suffer a year of sterility, of want, of drought and blighted crops. Hard to consider drought in a place such as this. Wasn’t there already drought? No, Korin had said that for them drought meant no rain at all and the depletion of their meager water reserves. So a great deal lay at stake here, for everyone.
The Elder spoke and gestured with his hands, and Lisen required no translation. Time to sit and wait. The sixteen sat down in a semicircle as instructed, and the Elder left them there, the thud of the trapdoor slamming into place playing its own part in the ritual.
Ariel sat back in his chair at the table and surveyed his antechamber, converted for a private Evennight dinner with Lorain, and he smiled. He recalled the glow on her face, the sparkle in her blue eyes, when he’d led her in and she’d beheld his handiwork. Mostly he’d directed the decorating of the room, the work itself performed by others, making sure that colors appropriate to the dawning of spring—greens, pinks, soft blues and yellows—dominated the palette. But he had also planned the meal. He’d filled a silver bowl with a few rare tangerines and dried fruit, and they had dined on meat cured but a few days ago and cheese from his best stores. He was not about to serve old food to the woman who’d pouched his child, but he’d insisted on maintaining the intent of the holiday—that of hope and renewal after a time of want.
Now they sat, close together at the small table he’d had brought in from one of the unused bedchambers, sipping at a sweet wine and toying with the magnificent apple and cream cake the kitchen had prepared to his order.
“Blessings to you, my Liege,” Lorain said softly, leaning her head onto his shoulder.
“And Evenday blessings to you, Lorain,” he replied, eager to move to his gift to her, his surprise.
“I have a very little gift for you,” she said.
“No gift, Lorain. This,” he said as he placed his palm on her pouch, feeling the hint of a bulge there, “my Heir, is all the gift I need.”
Lorain smiled and brushed his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Then this will not disappoint.”
“What is it?”
“My enforced exile in the old palace today while you did all of this proved fruitful,” she replied.
“You saw the Tuanes? They only
seem to come out when they’re coming out after me.”
“No,” she said coyly. “Better than that. Much better than that.”
“What?”
“I know where Nalin is.”
“Where?” He felt stupid asking all these one-word questions, but he couldn’t comment until he had information.
“Here. He returned this morning.” She sat back, grinning.
“He’s here?” Ariel asked.
“And only one day after Mazok’s return,” Lorain responded.
Ariel started to speak, closed his mouth to the sound of his teeth clicking, then finally managed the right words. “You’ve lost me, Lorain.”
“Either Nalin left Rossla right after Mazok turned around, or Mazok passed him on the road. The timing is too close to be coincidence.”
“I think you’re reaching.”
“No,” Lorain replied. “I feel it. Here.” He watched as she started to touch her pouch, but moved her hand up at the last second to her upper abdomen instead. “Here.”
Ariel sighed, leaned towards her and put his hand on her cheek. “Your instincts are impeccable. I believe you.”
“All I need to do now is send a larger bribe with my next spy to convince someone at Rossla to give up the truth.” The blue lakes that were her eyes glowed in anticipation. “At the very least we can get confirmation that they were there.”
“But not tonight,” he said softly.
“Well, of course not, but don’t you—“
“Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “I have something to say.” She nodded in silence, and he turned his chair to face her. “You are pouched with my Heir, and you have remained here rather than returning home, supporting me in my new duties and watching out for me with those who would unseat me if they could.”
“I—“
“No. Let me speak. It’s time I began formalizing things between us.” He’d chosen such a special thing to give her, a family thing—granted it was his mother’s thing, but an Ilazer thing, to bring them closer.
He watched her eyes grow wide. She hadn’t expected this. He’d actually surprised the one person to whom surprise remained an unexplored emotion. This gift, coming now, before his throning, seemed to have caught her wordless. He smiled, triumphant.
“My Liege,” she finally managed.
He pulled the little box covered with embroidered fabric from where he’d hidden it beneath the table. He opened it and pulled out the ring, a gold ring with a seastone.
“I want you to have this,” he said softly. “It belonged to my mother. A token merely, an expression of devotion.”
“Oh.”
And in that “oh” a thousand messages lay hidden. Ariel could touch but a few and could be sure of only one of them from the look upon her face.
“You expected…something more,” he murmured.
“No, no,” she answered, raising her head high and smiling, but he knew it was lie. He understood what she’d expected, but he wasn’t ready. Too many other events in need of planning and completing. He couldn’t be expected to do it all at once, now, could he?
“Here. Let me put it on.” He reached out to take her hand and placed the ring upon her middle finger. Then he rose, pulling her up with him so they stood eye to eye. He wrapped his arms around her and captured her lips with his own. She smelled like a field filled with fertile expectations, and his body reacted appropriately. He wanted to take her upstairs now, but he didn’t want to appear too eager.
“My news about Nalin seems…small in comparison to this,” Lorain said, pulling back to look at him.
“No, no, it’s wonderful news. Everything about tonight is wonderful. Happy Evenday!” He shouted the last out proud.
A servant entered, head bowed slightly. “My Liege?”
“Not now,” Ariel told him, gesturing the servant out. “Everything’s fine. You can clear this up tomorrow.”
“Forgive me, my Liege, but you asked me to remind you about the sooth?” The man seemed uncomfortable with what he was saying, unsure of its meaning, but Ariel had known he’d forget about the task that yet awaited him downstairs.
“And now you have,” Ariel replied. “You and the others can retire now.”
The servant nodded and backed out of the room.
“Give me a moment, Lorain. I have one small matter to see to and then I am free to be with you.” He kissed her again, but she responded coldly.
“I have business of my own,” she informed him. “I’ll be back in no more than an hour.”
He kissed her on the forehead and then rushed down the stairs ahead of her. He took the direct route to his office, noting that Lorain went right to and out the Keep’s great doors. Once inside the office, the door shut tight behind him, he headed to the wardrobe beyond the desk and opened it. The watcher emerged, took one step and then stopped. Ariel closed the door before he spoke. “It’s time for you to begin your attack on the sooth.”
Opseth nodded. “I would suggest I do more than ‘begin,’ my Liege.”
“No,” Ariel replied, silencing his anger at her insubordination. She was a valuable tool; one did not punish tools for wishing to do more for you than asked. “For now, take it slow. Draw the torture out. Take all night if you need to, but do not reveal your entire arsenal.”
“As you command, my Liege,” she conceded, her tone failing to show the proper respect. Again, he let it go.
“Here’s the key to her cell,” he said. He reached over to pick it up from his desk and handed it to her. “Go in secret. I’ve reassigned the guard normally at her door for the night. Stay as long as required. Return the key here when you’re done and then leave.”
“I’ll cloak my movements.”
“Good. Now go. I’ll contact you soon for your report on tonight.”
The watcher escaped the way she’d come, and Ariel knew that she understood precisely what he needed from her. He, too, left, via the door through which he’d entered his office, taking the stairs two at a time. He wanted to be all ready when Lorain returned.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE FARII
Korin feared for his charge. Lisen—the Heir-Empir, he reminded himself of that which he so easily forgot—sat beside him in the semicircle of the Farii candidates on the mesa’s crown. Despite the ground still radiating the warmth of the sun which had set earlier and the moon illuminating every rock and meager plant in crystal brilliance, the chill of his fear would not abate. If anything happened to her, Holder Corday would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. Why had he agreed to this? This foolishness exceeded any folly he’d ever observed in his lifetime, and he’d seen a great many people commit a great many foolhardy acts. He should have insisted to Elder Tronin that it was too early in their friendship to even consider participating in the Farii. Maybe next year.
What idiot delivers his Heir-Empir into a potential enemy’s hands and then proceeds to place her in even more danger?
At least the numbers favored them. There were seven other couples, a huge number. Some years only two or three applied. And even if he or Lisen were chosen, the other one could simply step to the opposite side of the mesa’s crown and wait until morning. No witnesses would remain to testify to the contrary. But with the one-out-of-sixteen odds, likely they’d be descending back into the mesa within a few brief moments.
Everyone sat so still that Korin could distinguish most, if not all, of the fifteen breathing patterns besides his own. Some breathed quickly but tried to hide it. Others simply allowed their fear to be. Lisen, however, breathed so slowly he could barely discern it despite the fact she was sitting right next to him. She had resorted to her hermit tricks, and they would prepare her for any outcome to this blasted ritual. I never should have suggested bringing her here.
Except…. There really was no other place as safe. Because these people, his people, would never allow an outsider to come in and take her from them, would never give away her whereabouts, even to the mos
t seemingly innocuous line of questioning from any stranger. That was the bond she would create by sitting here until the damn manta made its choice. Still, Korin wished he’d told Tronin a different story, something that would have bought the Heir’s safety without the risks of the Farii. Did a story exist that would have accomplished that? He didn’t know, but he still couldn’t accept that the choices he’d made under these circumstances had been the best he could make at the time.
Ondra glared at him from where she sat in the opposite horn of the semicircle. What had he done to inspire her loathing? Playmates as children, he, she and Rika had been inseparable, but he had never realized, even as they matured, the expectations she’d nurtured for a life with him. In fact, she’d said nothing when he’d announced his plan to join the Guard. She hadn’t even protested the obvious—that he would become the enemy.
If he’d given any thought to her reactions during his last days in Thristas then, perhaps he would have realized what seemed all too clear now. She’d harbored feelings for him, had anticipated joining with him, and what she perceived as his betrayal of her had left her screaming in silence.
And now he’d come home with a mate. A woman who didn’t shrink in Ondra’s presence. Competition. True competition. He silenced that presumptuous thought and instead smiled politely to his old friend, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of apology or attempts at reconciliation would ever be enough to achieve her forgiveness.
A gasp from the man directly across from him drew him back to the moment. He looked where the man looked and saw it—a manta, slithering its way into the semicircle. Mantar Maker and Mantar Destroyer in one, in the form of a serpent, studying each of them as it moved, considering Mantar’s decision. The snake sidled its way around, tongue flicking in and out, tasting the strengths and weaknesses of each of them, laid open under the pressure of this moment. And all Korin could think was please, please, not me, nor the one I…nor the one with me.
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