Varencienne was astounded by Taropat’s frank, untroubled words. Khaster was not present today. He was like a ghost within Taropat, haunting him occasionally. At times like this, Taropat barely resembled the old portrait at Norgance. The face was the same, yet not. Varencienne realised that the essence of Khaster was the feeling that had emanated from his painted eyes, and perhaps that was only the opinion of the artist.
‘This country is changing Elly,’ Varencienne said. ‘It worries me. She will return to her proper life one day, and perhaps then she won’t be able to readjust.’
‘You mean she likes this life,’ Taropat said without sarcasm. ‘Surely you should let her choose her own path?’
Varencienne visualised an older version of Ellony, dressed as a Hamagarid, refusing to return to her old home. She shuddered, mainly because she recognised that she herself had broken away from her family and its traditions. It wasn’t entirely unlikely that Ellony might be the same. ‘You want her to deny what she is, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You encourage her. It’s all part of avenging yourself on the Palindrakes.’
‘I understand why you think that,’ Taropat said and then dismissed her from his attention, turning to Shan. ‘We should ready our belongings. The Nugrids won’t pause here long and I doubt they will wait for us if we tarry.’
It was Ellony who learned the myths of the mountains. She walked beside Snopard, who talked to her constantly. Later, the girl would relate what she had learned to her mother and their companions.
The peaks were the palace of Venotishi, a mother goddess of ferocious aspect. While she nurtured the land and its creatures, she was particularly harsh upon the human inhabitants. Snopard explained that this was because humanity, in achieving conscious awareness, had removed themselves from the natural order. It was the task of the adept to rediscover this lost heritage and attune himself with the land once more. Venotishi did not seem to appreciate this effort. She beset the Nugrid with obstacles and trials continually, sending demons to lure him from the spiritual path, or else inflicting him with maladies and curses that would render him helpless. Venotishi’s embrace was the avalanche, and the punishing winter winds that snarled among the crags. Her daughters, all cruel, were the rivers that gushed from the high glaciers. The points at where water emerged from the citadels of ice were regarded as the sexual organs of the goddess, of which she had many.
Taropat said that Venotishi and her children resembled Foy and the dragon daughters. The latter could not be considered benign in any respects.
Venotishi was the consort of Paraga, the dragon of the peaks. Paraga had many aspects. In one, he had the appearance of a beautiful youth with indigo locks, who played upon a flute carved from human bone. Then, he was known as Hava, and his music encouraged the river goddesses to flow abundantly. He was a trickster, but should he be encountered among the lonely passes, he might grant wishes or bestow favours. Paraga’s cockatrice aspect was of a serpent covered with feathers, whose wings were of skin and who had the eyes of a cat. His claws were made of ice and he could project them like daggers into the hearts of the unwary. Snopard spoke of many pilgrims who had been found upon the mountain paths, dead, but with no marks upon their bodies. Paraga had taken them, commonly because they were deluded fools who were vessels of human corruption masquerading as an adept. As to what constituted human corruption to a Nugrid, this was rather vague. They called themselves ascetics, yet indulged in drink and narcotics and were far from celibate. They did not appear to hold human life as particularly sacred, although they would only kill to avenge a wrong, or if someone petitioned them to scourge an enemy. The enemy, regardless of guilt or innocence, might convince the Nugrid assassin, if they had a chance, that the original client should be killed instead. The Nugrids were not driven by greed or desire for wealth, but ceremonies and sacrifices to Paraga and Venotishi would sway their favour. Ultimately, the person who could afford the most lavish ritual would be the one to gain, or at least survive. The Nugrids relied on people’s fear of and respect for them to acquire food and lodging, clothes and supplies. Hamagarid princes, hidden in their citadel eyries high in the mountains, would sometimes reward Nugrids for services with jewels. Snopard counted seven princes among his patrons. The value of the jewels meant nothing to him, but he liked their beauty, which he called the Get of Venotishi, who fashioned all precious metals and stones in her fecund womb, the earth.
To Varencienne, the Nugrids were merely brigands, posturing as priests. When she pointed this out to Taropat one day, he replied, ‘Much like the Magravandian fire mages, then. All priests are bandits. They can function no other way. At least Snopard has a certain authentic quality to him. He is not dishonest about what he is.’
From early in the journey, Snopard communicated to Varencienne and the others through Ellony. Once he’d established a rapport with the girl, he no longer bothered with Taropat. Varencienne was concerned about this at first, wondering whether the Nugrid had some evil carnal intention, but as time went on and there was no inappropriate behaviour, she had to revise this view. The holy man, terrifying in aspect, would hold Ellony’s hand as they trudged along the ascending paths through forests. He’d bang his carved staff against the earth and smile down upon the child, with a sweet adoration that clearly came from the heart. Wonderful stories would spill from his lips that held the girl entranced. Ellony appeared to have no problem understanding his thick accent.
‘She is special, your daughter,’ Shan said, one day, as they walked along behind.
‘I know,’ Varencienne replied, ‘but I feel she is being taken from me.’
Shan did not respond to that. It must be the truth.
The group paused regularly at the strange cairns that had been built beside the path. Here, the Nugrids would perform short ceremonies, which involved much wailing and shouting. Ellony explained that the rituals were designed to appease the guardians of the path, who were all servants of Venotishi and therefore disposed to waylay and mangle travellers. New stones would be added to the cairns before the party departed. Sometimes, Varencienne was sure she could feel the presence of these malevolent spirits. The further they travelled, so the atmosphere of the landscape became more alive. Occasionally, they’d encounter groups of other travellers, Hamagarid traders or bandits, who would offer gifts to the Nugrids. The hospitable farmsteaders of further south were long gone. Everyone they met looked wild and dangerous. Varencienne was glad they were travelling with the holy men. Otherwise, she felt, they would be in constant fear for their lives. Now the legendary Hamagarid temples began to appear, clinging to sheer mountain-sides, cupped by crashing waterfalls and soaring forests. They were shambling single storey buildings of white stone, roofed with gem-inlaid domes or complicated peaks and spires. Flags and banners fluttered from them in profusion, bearing the symbols of demons and demigods. The temples had been constructed by Hamagarid princes on sites that were designated as places of power by the Nugrids. The men and women who lived and worked in these establishments were not Nugrids, who were habitually nomadic, but sorcerer priests and priestesses known as vanas. The temples, known as gats, were villages and small towns in their own right. The high priest or priestess of the gat was responsible for the welfare of the lay-people who worked there. Strangely enough, it was not required for the workers to be spiritually inclined. The priesthood were governed stringently in this respect, but quite often the ordinary people were unaware of which demons were controlled by the shrines within the temples. They all knew of Venotishi and Paraga, but it was not unusual for their religious education to begin and end with the names of the principle deities. Neither did any worship take place within the gats. The priesthood’s function was to regulate the excesses of the local demons, to restrain them with spells and force them to grant boons.
At one small gat, where the company had paused for the night, Varencienne witnessed a statue of a demon being whipped by two priestesses, who screamed out what sounded like the direst o
f curses. So hectic was their assault that their robes came adrift revealing their chests, where the breasts were marked with curling black tattoos. While this was going on, others continued their daily domestic duties with barely a glance towards the demented priestesses. Later, those same women sat drinking tea with the Nugrids, as demure as royal virgins, with veils over their faces.
The gats were autonomous, subject to no outside government, not even by the princes whose wealth had built them. They were cut off from the rest of the country for months at a time during the winter, and visitors other than nomadic Nugrids were rare. Occasionally, people from the isolated citadels might come seeking priestly aid, or else a few travellers from far lands might find their way to the isolated peaks. Each gat had its own laws, customs and beliefs. Par Sen was not a unified religion and did not seek to control the Hamagarid people though fear, guilt or any other psychological means. Varencienne found it bewildering and sometimes frightening, but respected its power, which permeated the walls of the gats and shone from the inscrutable countenances of the priesthood. Few Hamagarids knew anything of the world outside their inhospitable land. The hostile nature of the terrain had ensured it had remained isolated for millennia. Neither were the Hamagarids curious about foreigners. They lived in simple acceptance of everything, whether that was the malevolent actions of a demon or a face very different to those around them. They were dangerous because they were unpredictable, but foreigners were no more at risk than natives. It was a world of harsh survival.
After over three weeks of travelling, the company arrived at the mountain known as Venotishi’s Eye. Here, a magnificent High Gat had been built and the priestesses who lived there were renowned as seers. The gat was called Vereya, and it was the largest Varencienne had yet seen, being comprised of many stories, which had been hewn from the mountainside. It was a living sculpture rather than a building. As they climbed to the temple gates, up the thousand steps hewn from the bare rock, priests upon the jutting roofs of Vereya blew upon great horns to entertain the spirits of the sunset. The mountains were gilded in mellow light and gigantic eagles wheeled on the warm air that rose from Vereya’s stark white stones. Varencienne was struck by a feeling of déjà vu. She had a slight headache, which was unusual, for over the past month she had suffered from no hurts or maladies. She had become inured to hardship, much in the same way as when she’d first arrived in Caradore and her new life there of outdoor activity had made her body more fit and healthy. Now, she felt disorientated, unsure of her place in space and time. Something would happen in this place.
The High Vana of Vereya was a middle-aged woman named Mother Mavana. Taropat requested an audience with her, because he wanted to ask her advice about his purpose for being in Hamagara. Observing the size of the temple and the multitude that lived within it, Varencienne doubted whether his request, delivered via Ellony through Snopard, would receive a favourable response. Surely simple travellers would be beneath the notice of the venerable holy mother. But no, Mavana would happily receive guests the following afternoon.
Varencienne and Ellony were given quarters next to a walled garden. Young vana novices prepared a bath for them, not in the manner of servants but as hospitable hosts. Ellony acted as interpreter and told her mother that the young women had made suggestions about their pale hair and skin. All Hamagarids were dark-skinned. They believed the Caradoreans to be the victims of a demonic curse and offered to reverse it so that colour could be restored to their bleached bodies. Ellony told them that their appearance was normal where they came from. Again, this did not provoke curiosity. The girls just nodded in acceptance.
Varencienne luxuriated in the warm scented water, wriggling her toes and fingers and sighing deeply in contentment. Never had a bath felt so wonderful. Few Hamagarids were overly concerned with personal cleanliness, but those at Vereya were an exception. They believed that dirt could not adhere to the bodies of gods and demons and that in order for the humble vana to approach a celestial state they must emulate this trait through bathing. Even the Nugrids would be required to cleanse themselves while within the gat walls, Ellony told Varencienne as the young vanas massaged soap into her mother’s hair. Varencienne had worn it as an oily coil pinned up on her head since the early days of their travels, which meant, mercifully, that it was not too tangled. The vanas’ hair was like black unravelled silk, scented with the essence of mountain herbs. As they combed out the freshly-washed locks of their guests, they sang a bittersweet melody that filled Varencienne with a strange sad joy. She was consumed by a feeling of love and regret for she knew not what.
After the bath, dressed in embroidered robes, Varencienne and her daughter consumed a meal of nuts, cheese and warm goat’s milk out in the garden, which was lit by mellow lamps hanging from the eaves of the colonnade that surrounded it. Fireflies flickered between the lamps and a choral chant drifted from somewhere else in the complex, lulling the senses. This high place was paradise on earth, Varencienne decided, however peculiar the customs of its inhabitants. It seemed to her that the Hamagarids were a species of humanity completely different to any other, because they had evolved in isolation, free of the influence of other cultures.
Lost in these thoughts, lying back upon a cushioned couch and chewing upon a sweet of minced sugared nuts, Varencienne did not notice Shan come into the garden. It was only gradually that she became aware of his scrutiny. Her flesh responded to his presence. She could smell him before she sat up and turned to look at him. He smelled clean and masculine, a scent that was almost astringent.
She smiled at him and he came towards her, his hair as pale as her own. She could imagine now how he might have appeared in the Mewtish court. The Hamagarids had dressed him in a tunic and trousers of dark blue brocade, encrusted with embroidery. His hair lay in a banner over his shoulders. He looked as natural in costly garb as he did in his normal clothes. To the Hamagarids, he and Varencienne must appear like brother and sister, because their colouring was so similar. He looked like a Magravandian warrior prince: not a modern Malagash, but a man from ages past, when Magravandias had been more like Hamagara. When they left Vereya, both Varencienne and Shan would have to surrender their borrowed clothes and don once more the simple attire of travellers, for that was the custom. But for a short while, at least, they would both be dressed in the finery of princes and could live a dream in this high dreaming land. He was coming to her as her lord, and she was his lady. This moment had been preordained.
As he approached, Varencienne could not speak, for a harsh human voice would ruin the blessing of the evening. Instead, she rose languidly from her couch and climbed the rough wooden steps that led to her chamber on a gallery above the garden. She knew he would follow. At the threshold, she glanced down and saw Ellony sitting where she’d left her, making a sign upon the air with both hands. The priestesses would come for her soon, put her to bed to the sound of their songs. After Shan had entered the room, Varencienne closed the door.
He came to her and laid his hands upon her arms, looking down into her face. His expression was enigmatic, but she thought he felt he had a right to her and that he was prepared to give himself wholeheartedly to her in return.
As they began their first kiss, Varencienne was assailed by a fleeting image of Valraven, climbing rugged mountain peaks, searching for her, calling her name, while she drew the veil of Venotishi over her, hiding herself in the land. In her mind she whispered, ‘Don’t find me too soon.’
Chapter Fourteen: Waking the Dragon Queen
The following afternoon, a priestess came to escort the visitors to the High Vana. Varencienne was sitting with Shan in the garden, watching Ellony play. It was strange how quickly it had become natural to lean against him. It was as if they had been lovers for years. Few words on the subject had passed between them. There was – as yet – no need for them.
Taropat had kept his distance, presumably having spent the previous evening with Snopard, interrogating him about Hanana.
Now, he turned up with the priestess and gave Varencienne and Shan a sour glance. No doubt he’d have something to say to Shan once he got him on his own again. Varencienne could imagine the kind of words that might emerge, but this did not make her angry. Today, she felt like smiling at everything. She had a lover again. Merlan had been the last man she’d slept with – over four years before. Her sensuality, long dormant, had woken up. It seemed inconceivable that she’d lived without physical love for so long and had not even missed it.
‘Hurry up,’ Taropat said. ‘We haven’t got time to waste.’
Shan pulled a face behind Taropat’s back and Varencienne laughed.
Taropat stalked from the garden.
Visitors entered the audience chamber of Mother Mavana amid a cacophony of clanging gongs. The ceiling was low, supported by thick columns, which were carved to resembled trees. Walking among them was like negotiating a petrified forest. This was no sanctuary of quiet contemplation. Many vanas were present, some sitting cross-legged, rocking and chanting, others standing to play the discordant musical instruments of the gats: bellowing horns, cymbals and eerie flutes of plaintive voice.
A row of oracles sat to the left of the main dais at the far end of the room, all gibbering in loud voices and throwing handfuls of coloured sand and dried rice over their heads. Mother Mavana sat on the dais like a serene goddess in the midst of the pandemonium. She was a thin, stick-like creature, who looked older than her supposed years. She wore robes and veil of a deep cyclamen fabric and heavy gold jewellery at wrists, ears and throat. Her feet were bare, the soles coloured ochre, while her toenails were decorated with purple sequins. An enormous painted statue of Venotishi coupling with Paraga dominated the wall behind her, surrounded by a flickering sea of candles. Mavana appraised her approaching visitors with black, expressionless eyes.
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