by Ako Emanuel
“Mother Queen, could this be Turo’dan? Could the Age of Light, Ava’dan, be ending?”
The Laine was swept with silence and all eyes turned to the lone figure before the golden Throne. The silence dragged by on leaden feet, stretching past the point of any known formal sils, the pause of respect. The giant hall grew still and yet more still, as though all the figures within it had been replaced by clever simulacra. Not a guinne braid stirred, not a bead clacked. Then, for the first time ever in her reign, in her life, the High Queen let her head fall fractionally from its proud, regal, chin-high pose. And her face became slightly other than totally confident. The expression passed in an instant, but an instant was all that was needed to have its effect.
All were shaken to their innermost core. Audola sul Ava’Lon, like her mother, Lyadni, had never, ever shown distress nor lost her composure, no matter what she had faced. Not when the cold-beasts had attacked from the unprotected Norae; not when the red-madness had gripped the Katari and they had rampaged across the Western savannas. Not when the death plague from the deep tropical Sor’n-cap had swept up across Ava’Lona like a hurricane. Her breach of her own standard was infinitesimal, and her head again raised to its lofty position, but the damage was done. It seemed, almost, the gesture of someone gathering courage. There was no doubt that the Realm was in dire straits.
“Turo’dan,” she uttered, softly, slowly, but the words carried to the ends of the Laine. “My beloved daughters, there is a truth to this that we must face. That truth was foretold and it has shadowed our thoughts and actions for thousands of cycles. I cannot say that what befalls us could not be and is not the Sign of Turning. I do believe that our beautiful land is in peril, and I believe that which preys upon the Av’ru will end my life before its time. But if this is indeed the Turo’dan and Ava’Lona is to fall, if Ava’dan is to end - I will stave off the inevitable to the last share of life and light that Shalgo has granted me.” She paused, then spread her arms as if the gesture pained her. “In ten cycles’ time I shall ascend to Av’rujo. And my daughter, the Heir, shall become High Queen.”
The Great Laine erupted with sound, voices exclaiming in protest and crying out in disbelief, moaning in dismay. Calls for continued and expanded searches for the source of the Zehj’Ba warred with proposals for regency and pleas for postponement. Some reasoned that the Heir was too young to accept the responsibility while others declared that with the end near the Realm needed a strong, experienced High Queen to lead them.
The High Queen dropped her arms and let the chatter continue for several heart beats, then clapped her hands sharply. Silence descended at once. Three fast heart beats later, barely the proper sils interval, seven Queens of various rank and political disposition were on their feet with arms spread. The High Queen gazed at them with eyes of glass, almost as if she did not see them. Her curt nod came unexpectedly and the Queen of highest rank standing was caught off guard. She quickly spoke her piece.
“Mother Queen, we implore you, do not do this thing. We can extend searches to cover the entire Realm, including lons not our own. The cause of this tragedy can be found. If we can find the source we can avert this disaster.” This was a Greater Queen of a Middle Yakan’tsu of the Este.
The six Voices of the High Queen stood to give rebuttal. They were identically dressed in de’siki of deepest blue with gold trimming.
“Tarien sul Mukanzi, finding the cause will not save the Av’rujo - she has given of her life energy past the point of repair. A new Av’rujo would be forced to arise regardless,” First Voice Luyon said in his clear tenor voice. He gazed steadily at the Queen of the Mukanzi Tribe. “As for extending searches - we have been searching for hundreds of cycles, Tarien sul Mukanzi. We are searching even now. There is little to no chance we will find the source of the Zehj’Ba in time. There’s no guarantee that the source is even within the boundaries of the Av’ru.”
The rebuked Queen sank to her low Throne without reply. The next Queen, one from a Middle Weste Yakan’tsu, second in rank and on her feet, made her argument.
“Av’One, postpone your ascension. Give the Heir time to adjust to rule and the People time to adjust to her. Ten cycles is just too short a time.”
The Third Voice, Sinyi, stepped forward and addressed her as the voice of the High Queen.
“The Av’ru weakens as we speak, now at an exponential rate. It may not even last the allotted ten cycles. Would you have the Mother Queen wait until the last possible moment and then pour all of her life’s light into the Av’ru to stave off the attack that is sure to come? Just for your benefit and convenience? Ava’Lona is not centered around us, around wumans, Fanlai sul Xuli. The Av’ru protects all the Av’Touched creatures, all beings of Higher Thought. Would you have the High Queen endanger them just for your sake? Or is it that you love her daughter, who has been raised since birth to rule, less than you love her?”
Fanlai sat down, as did two others, without speaking, their eyes averted. The next in rank, Ikoyu sul Enmu, of a different Middle Este Yakan’tsu, squared her shoulders and spoke.
“Mother Queen, if this is indeed Turo’dan, and the end of Ava’dan is inevitable, we need a strong, experienced High Queen to lead us into the upcoming battle. Let us request from those self-same Av’Touched beings aid in overcoming the Hordes of Lora’Lona. With your wisdom combined with their help we have a chance of being victorious.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement followed her words. The second Voice, Jarisa, answered.
“Without the Mother Queen, the Av’ru has less than a full ten cycles of life. Ava’Lona will have less than a full ten cycles of the Seasons to muster her forces, and without the aid of half of our Av’Touched allies, for most have been approached and some are as yet undecided.
“If, however, the Mother Queen ascends, the Av’ru will last for perhaps seventy-five to one hundred more cycles. In one hundred cycles the Heir can gain much of the experience she now lacks. In that time the land can muster all its forces and prepare for siege, frontal assault and lor’rita assault. All defenseless denizens can be gathered into protected places without panic or haste, and all resources can be turned to surviving the possible upcoming war. In that time we can persuade all the Av’Touched ones to come to our aid.” She paused, then added, “We may even find a way to save the Mother Queen Audola and the Av’ru and Ava’Lona in that time.”
Ikoyu sat as if her knees had been cut out from under her. Another also sat, leaving one Queen, Tokia sul Ottanu, near the back standing. She was of the Dyo Yakan’tsu.
“Mother Queen, let there be regency. The Heir is too young and inexperienced to rule effectively in such troubling times.” There was silence after her appeal. No one wanted to agree with any further arguments.
The sixth and youngest Voice, Ashmisa, had the Laine’s full attention when she stepped forward to rebut. She herself was little older than the Heir. She looked at a point above all their heads and let her eyes become unfocused, spoke as if she recited lessons.
“Anzolu sul Ava’Lon was sixteen cycles of the Seasons when she assumed the High Throne to become the Second High Queen. Maritya sul Ava’Lon was twenty cycles of the Seasons when she became High Queen and led the People of Ava’Lona against the lor’ugawu swarms. Patriya sul Ava’Lon was forced to assume the golden Throne at nineteen cycles when the first Av’ru collapsed and the Hordes from the Dark’lons Lora’Lona killed her mother in the Hundred Cycle war. Silini sul Ava’Lon was the youngest High Queen in herstory, at fourteen cycles of the Seasons when the Av’rujo was attacked and killed over four hundred and thirty-five cycles ago. She relied upon her Voices but quickly learned the ways of rule and ruled wisely and fairly, earning the name Silini dul Ag’ano, Daughter of the Goddess of Wisdom.” Ashmisa blinked, focused on Tokia. “There is no precedent to warrant regency. The Heir is soon to be twenty-one cycles of the Seasons. With the love and support of the People she will lead Ava’Lona to victory.”
Tokia dropped her arm
s but did not sit. “Mother Queen,” she said, her voice smooth and courteous, demur and yet somehow disrespectful, “would Av’One tell us, where is the Heir? Why is she not here to stand before her People?”
A silence followed that stretched out, slowly swelling like a thunderhead, oppressive in its meaningful weight. Eyes locked on the High Queen, whose face showed no emotion except a slight narrowing of the eyes. None dared speak. Tokia had done the unthinkable - she had challenged the High Queen in her own Laine. That the Heir was absent and that absence was unexplained was, by convention, politely overlooked and unmentioned. True, she owed it to her subjects to be present, but if she was not, it was assumed that there was sufficient and valid reason. The political and formal training of the Heir was long and complex - it involved the learning and practice of many extremely difficult and intricate High Order Rites, many delicate Holy Rites, and endless purifications. Some took many turns to complete. Though her schedule should have been cleared for this occasion, it was possible that there had been a complication that demanded her immediate attention. This was not uncommon and was totally acceptable, so none questioned her absence.
Tokia, by her question and its phrasing, implied that the absence of the Heir had some other, less acceptable reason, perhaps due to some irresposibility on the Heir’s part and ignorance on the High Queen’s part. It implied that the High Queen did not know the whereabouts or activities of the Heir and that perhaps Tokia did; it implied that all had been given insult by the absence of the Heir.
Tokia risked everything in this course of action, for if the Heir was indeed involved in some Holy Rite, then Tokia was disgraced for the rest of her life, and so was her immediate Heir. She and hers would be Outcast for nearly two generations, living in darkness and turned from the eyes of the Goddesses and the light of Av. Her entire Tribe, with all its Families, even down to the merchants and common folk, would be Outcast, unable to legally Trade, stripped of Trading rights, Concessions right, and privileges. They would be constrained to fend solely for themselves, which, in a society built upon Trade, was a terrible thing. Only the High Queen would be able to Trade or render aid to the Tribe Ottanu if she was so inclined.
But on the other side of the palm, Tokia had issued a challenge that had to be answered, and the answer would dictate whether the Ottanu Queen had ruined herself and all that was hers. Logic, however, dictated that since she did risk all, she knew something that had the High Queen at a disadvantage and that she would not come to ruin. For the High Queen could not imply Ritious devotions if such were not explicitly the case. If she did, then she would fall from grace in the eyes of the Goddesses and the Supreme One. She or the Heir would have to give a plausible reason for the Heir’s absence or lose face. Tokia would gain considerable standing, in short term suffering only ignominy for debasing the sanctity of the Bolorn, but in the long run possibly gaining more standing than any Queen of her Tribe had ever attained. For if neither the High Queen nor the Heir could produce sufficient reason, then all in attendance could claim to have suffered slight and the High Family would owe reparations to all.
All waited in breathless silence to see how the High Queen would respond to the challenge.
After a significant pause that spoke of her outrage, the High Queen spread her arms low, out to either side, her palms down. Her two Throne guards came forward. Each placed a hand beneath hers, guided her back three paces to the Throne. As she sat a deep, solemn bull-hide tuku drum beat a short, rolling tattoo of disassociation. Her back was stiff and straight, and she picked up her scepter and held it perfectly perpendicular to the ground. She became as a statue carved of ebony.
Personal affront. The High Queen had acknowledged the challenge as a slight to the honor of the Head Family of the Tribe of Ava’Lon. Not Ritious sacrilege.
There was a flurry of uneasy movement, then stillness as a twisting, sick green wave of reproof washed over all. It was the Av’rujo, expressing her offense at the reprehensibility of issuing challenge at this sacrosanct meeting and letting all know that each shared, in some way, in this ignominy. In particular it repudiated Tokia, and commanded her to be seated and speak no more. It broke like a soundless sea over her.
Tokia’s body obeyed the voice. She sat, her tongue frozen, her plans, whatever they were, seemingly shattered. But she did not seem perturbed by the intervention of the Av’rujo. She simply straightened her back and hid any anger she might have felt behind a mask of indifference.
The first Voice Luyon stepped forward, the other Voices resuming their seats, their eyes also fixed above the heads of the assemblage, also a gesture of withdrawal of the High Queen. Only Luyon spoke now, his tone devoid of all expression as if he spoke to an audience of stone.
“Silence and contemplation have been ordained for the remainder of this turn and the next, until the time of the Salaka. Will any other bring argument to bear?” he continued. His eyes, too, were fixed above their heads.
None moved nor spoke. By saying argument he showed the High Queen’s displeasure and indicated that any further objection would be viewed as another direct challenge to the word of the High Queen. None wanted that displeasure to turn to wrath.
After the proper sils Luyon stepped forward to address the assemblage formally.
“This Bolorn’toyo is at an end. The High Queen has spoken.”
All bowed their heads. The High Queen would not speak again. Tokia had truly brought disgrace upon herself. That disgrace extended to them all.
Luyon spread his arms and struck his staff of office upon the floor four times. The solemn tuku drum answered him. “The High Queen has spoken. In one cycle’s time will all return to witness the coronation of the Heir as Av’Daun, the High Heir. In ten cycles’ time will all return to this Laine to witness the ascension of the High Queen to the Throne of the Av’rujo and the Heir’s assumption of the High Throne as High Queen.” He waited three heart beats, then struck his staff four times more, was tuku-answered.
“On the morrow’s Av’set shall be the time of the Salaka. Until that time all will sit in contemplation of what has passed this turn. Peace and light upon you all.”
He dropped his arms and stepped back. Drums began to beat, low, drumming out rhythms like the sea and the surf. And in the background the special tuku rhythm reminded them of their silence.
Soku took her cue. As the last of the Western Queens of her Yakan’tsu to arrive she was the first to leave. Her warru assisted her to her feet. She spread her arms to the High Queen and bowed her head formally, hiding her sadness at the proceedings behind a careful mask of introspection. She did not begin singing the ak’bala, the song of farewell. The pronouncement of contemplation and the delay of the Feast honoring the Ancestors meant that all would sit in silence and fast, accepting only one small meal of fruit and wine and water until the next evening.
Soku was troubled by the way things had ended. Tokia’s brash words had changed the whole tone of the Bolorn, causing the withdrawal of the High Queen and incurring the displeasure of the Av’rujo, and perhaps even the Deities. Even the formal word Bolorn’toyo had been a rebuke. It told them that the High Queen’s word was absolute in this gathering and was not to be questioned; that the answering of their arguments had been a courtesy only, and one they had abused.
Soku let her warru lead her to her litter, but she did not mount it; contemplation also meant that one was shorn of all comforts, including riding litters or av’tunning, or service of any type, besides the most menial, so that all might be on the same level and share contemplation equally.
Soku began her consideration of the turn’s events as she passed through the large doors. The words of Itil came back to her, disturbing in light of Tokia’s display. Deep in thought, Soku followed her servants, on foot, the long way through the Palace to the av’turun that would take her to her Lan’mba.
CHAPTER III
morn was long ended; the light was turning well into the afterzen...
The unnamed
one returned to the outer chamber to resume his interrupted sweeping, troubled as he always was when coming from his patient. A distant jangling in the back of his mind made him forget about the floor.
Speaking of trouble…With a sigh he picked up the broom and set it off in a corner, and moved quickly to a small room just to the left of the main entrance of his home and lit the crude lamps hanging from the walls.
Something had breached the second circle of wards that he had around his home. Something big.
Must have missed the first circle breach in dealing with her, he thought. Whatever it was, it was not friendly - the wards would not sound for a harmless creature. He began collecting the things he would need as he waited for an image of the intruder to form in his mind from the rites bound in the wards. It came, and he scowled. Lor’ugawu. A whole pack of them. The third pack in a ten’turn. They seemed to be following a trail, perhaps the same trail of blood-scent that the other two had been following.
The girl’s blood scent. Deity! He thought he had wiped it out completely after the second pack. It was almost as if someone had set them on the girl’s trail.
He worked faster, filling two quivers, one with cloth-yard arrows for his long bow, the other with short quarrels for his tri-bow. He strapped on his fighting harness and the thin plates of Cribeau-skin armor that fitted to it. He quickly donned the chest and back armor plates, a half-cover for his equine back, vambraces and gauntlets. The scale-plates were still hard as steel, even after two hundred cycles, yet thin and supple, like a second skin. To the harness he also added a sheath and short sword, the two quivers, and the long and short bows, all placed with crisp, practiced motions. Last he tied back the front of his hair and took up a short spear with a hooked end. The whole process took less than twenty grans.
Nineteen grans too long, he thought grimly, as the third circle warning went off. He trotted from his home and moved into a canter along the side path to the Norae and Este to intercept the pack. He made the quick gesture that put up the last set of protections directly around his home. It would not stop them, but it would cost them dear to cross.