by Ako Emanuel
She rose languidly, stood on the top level of the round steps, but did not descend. She was still reluctant to give up the tranquility of her communion chamber. In ten cycle’s time she would come to this lain and never leave. Instead she would invoke the full Rite of Shalgo Imantu Solu, which would transform her into a transcendent being and av’tun her to the Av’rujo’s suite, where she would ever after be one with the Av’ru.
She looked to that turn with apprehension, anticipation, and just a little fear; on that turn she would give up the responsibilities and duties of High Queen to assume a higher task, as her mother had before her. Only fifteen out of fifty-five generations of High Queens had been required to ascend to the position of Av’rujo. And though her becoming the sixteenth was an indication of the peril her Realm was in, still, it was a distinction for which every High Queen before her had wished. To be one with the Av’ru was to be one with Av’Ma, one with nature - and it was a release from the lifelong obligation of ruling the Realm as High Queen, the only other of which was death. For the High Queen could not abdicate in favor of the Heir, unless she was terminally ill or mentally unstable. That had happened perhaps four times in recorded herstory.
She turned and slowly descended the stairs bordered on both sides by sculpted crystal water, stepped across the tiny bridge that covered the moat, and made her way to the alcove by which she had entered and through which she would leave. The ornate mouth of the recess served as the entrance to her av’tun that brought her here. Her bath awaited her, she knew, as did her advisors and first fastbreak of the turn.
She spoke the words of the rite, and light coalesced to the focus of the construct she was calling into being, bridging the distance between her suite and the av’an with a tiny wrinkle in space. The glowing entrance formed before her - it was a circular tunnel of light that terminated in her audience lain.
Audola took a step forward, then, almost unwillingly she looked back, studying her av’an one last time. The place seemed to beckon to her, encouraging her to stay...
She shook off the feeling and, with brisk determination, stepped through the av’tun.
She emerged in her audience lain, comfortably laid out with thick carpeting and huge, soft, deep cushions. There her Warru First awaited her along with her younger son. They both rose to their feet and spread their arms in greeting, bowing their heads. Audola spread her arms, inclined her head.
Staventu stepped back, seceding position in favor of Otaga. The warrior woman moved forward, snapped to attention, her spear of office perfectly perpendicular to the ground.
“Prince Rilantu has asked that you be given this, Queen Mother,” she said, presenting the journal. “And that you be informed of our intended course of action.” Otaga cited a succinct report
The High Queen’s face grew still and then stony as Otaga outlined what had been uncovered. Her expression lightened a little, however, at Pentuk’s suggestion.
“That is a most excellent idea that the Librarian had,” she said. “I believe using the Av’ru would indeed speed up the process of locating the Heir. I will have to consult with the Av’rujo first, however.” She considered the book in her hands, wanting to cast it away, have it burned to oblivion - but something deep down in her would not permit that.
“I will - hold this, for further consideration,” she said, the old silk still smooth beneath her palms. “Make your preparations. I will attend to the matter of seeking at once.”
Otaga spread her arms and took her leave, but Staventu stayed. Audola smiled adoringly at her younger son. Only in the presence of family did she allow the rigid, regal mask of the High Queen to relax. Only they saw her smile, laugh and cry openly; only they saw her mourn. In some ways it was a hideous weakness - but in other, more important ways, it was a strength that sustained her through most of the more trying times of her reign. If only their father were still alive...
Staventu came forward and took his mother in his arms. She returned the embrace, and she was amazed at how tall he and his brother had grown and how much they looked like their father. And like his father, Staventu’s embrace was strong, comforting, and reassuring. He kissed her forehead affectionately.
“Do not worry, mums’mi,” he said, using his childhood name for her. “We’ll find her and bring her back, safe.”
“I know you will,” she smiled, tightening her arms briefly. Then, reluctantly, she let him go and he stepped back. He bent to kiss her cheek, spread his arms and left. She knew that the second kiss was from his brother. She felt warm inside, despite her worry. But as always there was the sense of loss of their father. Even though it had been over ten cycles since his death, a part of her still mourned him.
:They are fine sons.:
:Yes, Mother, they are,: she said, allowing the sad smile to linger on her lips.
:You did the right thing,: the vast, calm voice of the Av’rujo said. Audola knew she was referring to the damning journal.
:Are you sure?: Audola looked at the tome, grimaced. :If it were to fall into ambitious hands...: The sentence did not need finishing.
*:That is cause for concern,:* the voice admitted, :but have you ever considered the possibility that what happened, happened for a reason?:
Audola’s head snapped up. :Mother,: she said, her voice not quite trembling, *:what are you saying? Are you saying that the Av’ru was meant to die?:*
:Sit, Daughter; this is a thing we may speak of.: The huge voice waited as Audola arranged herself comfortably on a window seat before the enormous pane of glass that let light pour in from the golden Este.
*:I speak to Ya’kano,:* the Av’rujo stated, *:and I speak to Loro, the earth. I listen to Av’ins, the stars, as they whisper to me, and I listen when Av sings to me.:*
:And what do they tell you, Mother?: Audola asked, rising to the ritual opening.
*:The message that they send has taken generations of Av’rujo to decipher. They have told us that there is dissonance, Daughter, dissonance in the universe, dissonance in Loro, dissonance in us. They have told us that the Tru’Av’ru was not the cause but a symptom of that dissonance.:* She paused to let that sink in. When the High Queen made no comment, she continued. :From what I understand, our world was never meant to be divided.:
*:Then by maintaining the Av’ru,:* Audola said slowly, horrified, :we are perpetuating this dissonance?: Slow anguish made her thoughts boil in turbulent greens and dark browns.
:Why have we not been told before? Why did the Goddesses allow this to continue if it is an abomination?: To have unknowingly continued the wrongful separation from the rest of Alona would mean that everything they had built in Ava’Lona was a lie, a falsehood that extended for thousands of cycles. It would negate the meaningfulness of their existence up to this point.
:No,: her mother answered, surprising her. :I do not get the sense that what we did was wrong, merely that it is time for it to end. You must understand, Daughter, that the universe and the Supreme One are one and the same. Any schism that manifests in the universe is an indication of a schism in the Supreme One. This has been revealed over time to me and those that have come before me. I believe that our self-induced division is actually part of the cure.:
Audola blinked, dazed, her brain trying to accept all that she had been told. Schism? In the universe? To her, the universe was empty reaches of space that housed infinitesimal stars and even less significant planets with inconsequential life-forms scurrying here and there over their surfaces. Would such a disaster as a split in the whole of the Supreme One manifest itself on such a mundane level?
Apparently so, for there was the Tru’Av’ru. Most thought that the Tru’Av’ru, and therefore the Av’ru, had been a mark of favor from the Goddesses and from the Supreme One, distinguishing the people of Ava’Lona as the chosen and blessed. And truthfully, that attitude persisted in them all, that to be the recipients of the blessings of light and its mysteries and its age meant that theirs was the favored part of Alona. But to find out
that the coming of the Tru’Av’ru was not a mark of favor but a result of discord in the Supreme One... The implications were as frightening as they were unfathomable.
:Mother,: she said, her voice sounding like a plea, *:what is this division? What caused it? And how is the Turo’dan part of the cure?:*
:I do not know, child,: the huge, echoing voice sighed. *:That has not been revealed to me. But I do believe that our union with our other half is part of the remedy. Turo’dan is not a sign of things ending, but of a continuation of the healing process.:*
Audola sighed heavily also. Her life was forfeit, then, and the time that remained had to be spent in preparation for welcome, not war. The Heir had her work cut out for her.
“Shalgo help us,” she murmured, feeling sick with depression and despair. “Shalgo help us all.” She felt mute agreement from the other. A shared silence flowed between them for a long, instantless moment of time.
:Are they very different, Mother?: she asked quietly into the silence. *:Those of Lora’Lona, I mean. Are they so very different from us?:*
:In some ways,: came the reply. :You will see once you sit where I do.:
Audola slowed her distressed breathing, straightened her back. Melancholy was not accomplishing anything, and there were still many more mundane matters to attend to.
:Mother,: she said, turning her mind to the more immediate of these concerns, :I must consult with you about two matters of great importance.:
:Ask, Daughter.:
Audola drew a breath. :Can Soku sul Doan be trusted?:
The cool, vast voice breathed blue-green. :I will look into the matter,: she replied.
The High Queen nodded. *:The other thing, Mother, is this. Would using the Av’ru make the locating of the Heir go more expediciously?:*
The Av’rujo was silent, consulting the Av’ru. Audola waited patiently for her reply.
:Yes,: she said finally. :I believe it would.:
Audola looked out upon the city. The light was turning to midmorn. She stayed thus until a servant came for her, telling her that her Voices were at her disposal, meaning that they had completed their morn Rites and were waiting for her.
They met this time in a comfortable conference lain with a huge circular hardwood table in the center. The floor was carpeted and the walls made of lapis lazuli and polished granite. On the table was a light meal. Soft light diffused through the clouded crystal dome overhead.
Audola made greetings, then reported on the words of the Av’rujo.
“Mother says that use of the Av’ru will cut the search time by two-thirds,” she said, smiling at the exclamations of delight and relief all around. “Otaga and Staventu have gone to begin organizing the search egwae.”
“The young woman who thought of that should receive some type of reward,” Jarisa said. Audola nodded and Jarisa made a note of it.
“Must there be a search egwae?” Sinyi said, looking around perplexed. “Can you not use the Rite to find her then pull her here with an av’tun, Av’One? I mean, since we can use the Av’ru to track her so much faster.”
Luyon laughed. “Have you ever tried to pull something or someone to you, Sinyi?” he asked. “It is twice as difficult as ‘tunning there yourself and getting the thing and av’tunning back. For you or me, even short distances are taxing to span. The Mother Queen is second only to the Av’rujo in av’rito’ka, yes, but she would have to pull the Heir a distance that probably spans half the Realm. Not impossible, but not advisable.”
“Besides which, it is impossible to hide an expenditure of av’rita that large,” Ashmisa pointed out. “If Tokia wanted to do some real harm, she could just disrupt the process, for it would take san’chrons to complete. The Heir could be lost for good, and Av’One might never recover. That would leave the land in serious straits for-true.”
“And also, there is the fact that Av’One will have just expended a large portion of her power in the Rite of Seeking alone,” Dariaku said, in one of his rare moments of offering information unasked. “There is little doubt she would be able to pull the Heir here, without seriously overtaxing herself.”
Audola was quiet, not adding any objections. She had considered the possibility herself, and had not yet rejected it. Rilantu, also present, looked at his mother, knowing what she was thinking.
“What if there were someone working in conjunction with Mother?” he asked. All heads turned to him. “You know, someone to feed her extra av’rita and to ward off any attacks?”
“Still too risky,” Luyon said emphatically, looking Audola in the eye. “That someone would have to be comparable in strength to the Mother Queen to accomplish that, and the only one with such power is the Av’rujo. Who will also be expending valuable av’rita to aid in the first Rite. Perhaps the two of you could do it, Av’Son, you and your brother - but only after a cycle of training to work in complete harmony with the High Queen. It is out of the question.” He seemed to expect having the final say on the matter. He looked around, as if daring any to challenge him. His eyes locked with Audola’s. Hers narrowed slightly, as if she would gainsay him. Then she looked away without speaking.
Rilantu excused himself after that to go and help with the preparations. Her Voices talked of mundane things. Sinyi and Luyon got into their usual disagreement over standard Trade prices and methods. Jarisa and Ashma discussed import and export within the Ritious City. Thiam and Dariaku spoke of the challenge issued by Tokia. Audola sat quietly, still rolling the idea around in her mind, testing its weight, tasting it, looking for a way that it might be. She could train more Rit’ati’u, but that would take too much time...
:Audola.: The clear, strong voice pulled her out of her revere of thoughts. She glanced up to see all her Voices’ eyes on her.
“Forgive me,” she murmured, “my - attention was on the upcoming Rite-casting.” Not really a lie. Not quite.
“It is zenith,” Luyon said, his eyes telling her that he was not fooled, nor was anyone else, really. “Perhaps we should zen-break.” He clapped for servers.
Audola cringed at the thought of food, but all her Voices watched her like kiro, scavenger birds of the Norae. Besides, she needed the fuel if she were going to attempt the Rite of Seeking this turn. She knew that it would take much out of her and that she should build up a reserve of energy by eating more than she normally did. Most major Rites required this, in fact. Still, the wondrous food tasted like straw, the fine juices like slightly flavored water. She was and was not looking forward to the Rite casting. And yet she was, for it meant that she would finally be doing something to find the Heir.
the turning of light peaked and turned its march toward eve...
The tura’ku drums were wild, almost frenzied as their rhythm reverberated around the light filled room, creating their own counter harmony. They called to the light, called to Av, called with the voice of the wild savannas and steamy jungles. They were joined by high-voiced tum’tyn and voices raised in half-chant, half-song.
“In light we shall find her
In light we shall hold her
The light shall guide her
Home.
“By this Rite we shall bind her
By this Rite shall space enfold her
In this Rite let her abide
And no longer roam.
“We seek the Heir of T’Av’li’s Throne
We seek the Carrier of our Blood
Flesh to flesh and bone to bone,
By Mother’s love and Sisterhood.”
The whole conglomerate shaped the gathered light to the will of the rite-casters. The creation began to take shape under the relentless pounding of the drums, as if glowing metal shaped by a forge. It coalesced into a deep golden ball of molten fire, then spread like a scroll of papi’ras upon the air before the chanters. Flowing colors rolled across the surface of the sheet of light, writhing as if alive and discontent, before settling down into distinct features. The deep greens became dense forest-like impressions, the d
ark blues in-land seas and rivers. Light green savannas were studded with gray mountains and patched with slightly darker sword swards and cultivated fields of light yellow, rusty red and deep purple. Lines and dots of lurid black denoted wuman and Av’Touched made structures and roads, each sporting a minuscule label. Lon borders were outlined in pale red.
Then came the gold, dark, rich, spreading over the immense map, overlaying everything with a fine mesh of lines. This was the Av’ru.
Three voices continued the primary chant. The fourth, strong, deep, full, diverged into a different harmony, this one strangely compelling, as if calling out to souls in the wind.
“My Daughter’s Daughter
Av’s own Daun,
Hear and answer our call
Sing and re-sing our song.”
The calling wail rose and fell, intermixing with the original song/chant, interweaving the names with the golden strands of the Av’ru. The wail of light reached forth, spinning out into the ether of Av, in the place between places, striving for some distant objective. Two daughter shafts split off to fall within the Ritious City and connect with their intended targets, while the main spear of light arched high to the Av’ru, then sped along its golden dome to the far Weste, like an arrow of retribution from the wrath of Av. In the blink of two san’chrons it had gone two-thirds of the necessary distance, drawing powerfully upon its progenitors. And in another half san’chron it struck, slicing off a tiny piece of its target’s av’rita, to be placed within the map and to be retrieved later when the target and the map met. Bright golden points appeared upon the map, two moving about, and the last stationary. The lines of the Av’ru flashed, accepting the names and essences of those called, meshing the substances of the ones called-to into themselves.