The Darkling Hills

by Lori Martin

  “Dalleena!”

  “Relas!” Adrell ran to her side.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, pushing aside Adrell’s ministrations. The skirt was splayed out beside her on the floor. “Will it do? What do you think?”

  “I think you’re behaving very strangely,” Lilli said tartly. “I’ve never seen you so interested in clothes before.”

  Adrell threw her a disapproving look. In her opinion no one should be so familiar with a royal. “But relas,” she pleaded to Dalleena. “It’s a state ceremony. All the royals must wear blue.”

  “Oh, you’re right. Well, you pick something then.” Dalleena’s mood changed abruptly. She kicked the skirt away and went to the window. Adrell, delighted, flew back to the chests.

  Lilli sat on the bed sheets and watched Dalleena. She was puzzled. Dalleena’s nervous energy was an almost physical presence in the room. Lowering her voice because of Adrell, Lilli said, “You’re not – I mean is it that you’re – are you worried about the King’s Hold?”

  Dalleena continued to look out the window. Her fingers played on the sill. At last she said, “Do you mean because of the signs?”

  “What else? There’s been a lot of talk. People are nervous, that’s understandable, but then they start to say things that – that they shouldn’t. But I certainly didn’t think you’d be against the king coming back to power.”

  A cold draft slid beneath the window, bringing gooseflesh up on Dalleena’s bare arms. Her eyes followed the moving clouds, heavy with unreleased snow. “Whatever is going to come,” she said slowly, “will come no matter who is in Chair.”

  “Then you think something is going to hap – ”

  But Adrell was back, burdened with heavy embroidered silk in the proper color. “Is this all right, relas?” Dalleena made no answer. Adrell tried cautiously to slide it over her, unnerved by her mistress’s lack of response.

  “Give it to me.” Lilli was firm and determined. She yanked the material over Dalleena’s head, earning another look from Adrell. “Is the sash too tight? Come away from the window, you’ll catch your death. Adrell, fetch the relas’s comb, please.” The girl dropped a quick curtsy, ran into the adjoining alcove, and ran back, in time to see Lilli push Dalleena onto a stool. Adrell was horrified.

  There was a brisk tap at the door. Adrell opened it, jumped a little, and this time went into the deep curtsy of the court. “My lady,” she called to Dalleena. They turned together, and Lilli’s eyes widened. It was the king, in his night-blue robe of state. Relasii bloomed on his cloak. To Adrell he was royalty, tall and firm in the doorway. To Lilli he was King Raynii, a man with graying hair and tight mouth beneath a still-dark beard. He looked impatient, for he was quick-tempered and the girl’s silly look annoyed him, but he nodded kindly. Dalleena saw only her father, looking old and worried – worried enough to come to her rooms, instead of sending for her, and embarrassed at having done so.

  “You may go,” he said, and Adrell slipped out behind him. Lilli paused, uncertain if she was included.

  “She’s doing my hair,” Dalleena said.

  Lilli smiled at the king, and was rewarded with a sincere smile in return. Her good humor had long ago made her a court favorite.

  Neither of the women spoke as the king began to pace aimlessly around the room. Lilli struggled to brush out Dalleena’s black hair, but the long glittering tresses resisted her attempts to tame them. Dalleena’s dark eyes followed her father: back and forth, back and forth. Inside she felt the fear beginning to hatch again, pecking at her.

  “You remind me of your mother in that dress,” the king said. “Always a beautiful woman. And more than one man had her heart before I did. But at least neither of us had any other children beforehand, to cause you trouble now.” Children out of wedlock were as well loved and accepted as any among the Lindahnes, but they did not have the legal rights of inheritance. The history of the country recounted the turbulence this sometimes caused, as an older child of one of the royals, born before the marriage, attempted to usurp the Chair. “You should always be aware of these things. As a royal you’re not as free as others. Not as free as your charming friend here, although I’m not sure, Lilli, if your mother would see it that way. Someday she’s going to come to me and demand to know why we’ve stolen her daughter away.”

  “But we did that years ago, when I asked her to move into the palace,” Dalleena said. If her father wanted to chat politely, she was more than willing to help.

  “They’ve five more at home, Sire,” Lilli said. “I’m not missed very much.”

  There was a pause. The conversation seemed to have died. Lilli felt the stiffness in Dalleena’s neck. To fill the silence she said, “Should I put the little combs in?”

  “Not today.”

  “The flowers, then.” She reached over to a small table, where a vase of relasii was scenting the room. She snapped off the pink tops and began to slide them into Dalleena’s hair. “Why exactly were they chosen as the royal flower? I don’t think I’ve ever been told.”

  Dalleena looked down at the ring on her finger, the jewel carved into the flower’s shape, the ring that had told the Armasii who she was. “I don’t know, Lilli. Maybe just because of their beauty.”

  “They were chosen because they bloom all year long,” the king said, coming back into the conversation. “As timeless as the country, as timeless as the royals. You should have known that, Dalla. Think of the inscription on your ring.”

  “ ‘Forever past, forever to come,’ ” she quoted in obedience. She twisted the jewel around her finger. “Very certain of that, aren’t we? Lindahne unchanging.”

  “Yes, beneath the gods.”

  “But would it be so terrible to change? Sometimes I think we make too much of tradition. Maybe we need something new.”

  Her father dropped down on one knee before her stool to look into her face. “And do we need it now, with the King’s Hold?”

  Dalleena felt the blood rise to the surface of her skin. This was what he had come to ask, and what she was afraid to answer. Behind her Lilli tried to make herself invisible.

  “It is with Nialia,” Dalleena said.

  “And you are a Nialian, and a devout one.”

  “Inama –”

  “The high priestess says only that the temple is the same as always.” His voice shot out at her. “So we are back to that – ‘unchanging.’ ”

  She was at a loss. Their eyes locked together. Finally she wrenched her look away, seeking the window again. In an emotionless tone she said, “Councilor Minda is going to die soon. And we’re going to have an early spring.”

  Raynii was taken aback. He had asked for a prophecy, but not this. “Is that all Nialia has told you?”

  “She reveals what she will when she will,” Dalleena said, as if repeating something.

  The king straightened up. For a moment he looked almost sad. But he had ruled too long and too well to be afraid of facing defeat. “I’ll see you at the ceremony,” he said, and kissed her cheek. As he headed for the door he added, “I’m sorry about Minda. She’s a good woman.”

  “I’ve been wrong sometimes.”

  “Yes. Once every few years or so,” he said, and left.

  The Great Hall sliced down the center of the palace, dividing it almost in two. It was the place for ceremony, having seen countless royal marriages, crownings, and name-receivings; Dalleena had been anointed here, on the first day of the second month of her life. The marble ceiling, a translucent white, was carved into endless delicate chains of relasii, the pattern continuing at certain places along the walls. Beneath and between these hung rich embroidered tapestries depicting the gods: Proseras, eyes deep and clear, with the nesting twelea bird, an emblem of his Wisdom; Wintern, the wind rising on his back, and Heila with her wheat striking up into the air from the rich fertile soil; Armas with his green jewel standing in his power over the Hills. There were heroic mortals, too: Kentas, the legendary First King, a
nd Armillus, shown at the moment he entered the Arch of Sanlin. This last scene had frightened Dalleena as a child; its colors were harsh, and the man’s face was caught in a vivid paradox of tortured fear and desperate courage. Balconies overhung the Hall, in heavy gleaming wood, their posts winding and carved with names from Lindahne history. Here commoners could crowd together and peer down at the nobility, who stood with dignity, pride, and sore feet throughout the often long ceremonies. At the farther end of the Hall stood the Chair, raised on a pedestal, waiting for royalty. It was the highest symbol of office, and with a characteristic Lindahne appreciation for the simple and solid, it was free of obvious decoration. The high back curved with unusual grace, the arms and legs were perfect in proportion and without flaw, and the cushion was deep blue. But except for this, and for its position, it might have been any well-made and expensive chair in any noble house. Behind it was the dominant feature of the Hall: the huge wall-length mural of Nialia.

  The goddess burst from a center of light, fiery eyes focused on the far-off mists that represented the future of mortals. Her long fingers played over a hundred smaller scenes of life and death – the birth chambers, the meeting of lovers, sickness, rejoicing, the hunt and the harvest, the burial houses. Her hair streamed out on all sides, woven into the sky and the seas, falling over her left shoulder filled with rain and snow, over her right with sunlight. And in her arms, sheltered against her bosom, was the palace of Marlos-An and the Five Hills.

  Over three generations had worked to build the Great Hall, and it was thought now that such craftsmanship could never come again. It was here that the festival for the change in Holds took place.

  Ayenna felt as if she had been sitting in the Chair for most of her adult life. Actually it had been almost three hours. She smiled up occasionally at the commoners in the packed galleries. They were subdued and waiting patiently for things to begin, a far more sensible attitude, in her opinion, than that of the nobles, who could not seem to stand still in their positions. Too interested in comparing their clothing and jewelry to one another’s, she supposed. Some groups stayed quietly together, dressed more plainly than the rest. These were the religious sects, the head priests and priestesses looking calm. To Ayenna’s immediately left Inama stood, with most of the Nialians clustered behind her. She would play her part in the ceremony. I wish, the queen thought, that I had only a tenth of that woman’s serenity. She suppressed an urge to yawn.

  Drums rolled. Hastily the nobles reassembled themselves into strict lines on either side of the Hall. The only clear space was a processional area running from the great doors up the center to the Chair. As the doors swung open a fanfare from the trumpeters bounced and quivered off the walls.

  The procession began to march in slowly. From the right-hand corner of the Hall specially chosen singers lifted up their voices into the main festival melody: “Forever past, forever to come,” they sang in unison, and then each individual singer took up a song for one of the gods, the voices blending, shifting, and changing with harmony.

  The first members of the procession carried on cushions the symbols of trade and work: gold-wrought fishnets, tiny silver cattle and horses, sapphire stalks of wheat and corn. The men and women walked stiffly, heads high, conscious of the eyes of family and friends in the balconies above. As they reached the Chair they bowed deeply to the queen (the symbols wobbling precariously on the cushions) and retired to the sides. Next came the newest novitiate of each of the religious sects – signs of renewal. Most were young and frightened. They, too, bowed, first to the queen and then to their high priest or priestess, and joined their comrades. The third group was the councilors, marching in pairs, carrying the emblems of their families. When the first pair reached the queen they separated, one on each side of the aisle, and knelt. The others followed suit, creating a corridor of homage.

  The singers redoubled their efforts. Forever past, forever, forever, past, forever past, forever to come, forever, forever – Beneath the song, a muted rustling came from the galleries as the people strained for a better view.

  Dalleena came in alone, back straight, with a smile on her lips. She advanced slowly down the aisle to her mother. As she moved along, the priest of Reulas’s sect, of the Fifth Hill, stepped out. She bent her head and received his blessing. Then came Simsas’s priest, of the Fourth. Next was the priest of Armas. Again she was blessed, though he could not touch her forehead. Dalleena’s eyes slid behind him to his followers for a moment. The priest of Proseras also blessed her, and then she was before Inama.

  “Daughter,” the old woman murmured. She laid a gnarled hand on Dalleena’s head. The priestess’s eyes flickered, and Dalleena knew her fear had communicated itself. She turned away and stood before the queen.

  Her mother still sat, unmoving and solemn. She was in a pale robe of deliberately faded blue. The relasii in her hair were dead and wilted. Oh no, Dalleena remembered in dismay. We forgot – only the king wears fresh relasii today. Why didn’t Father say something, when Lilli put them in my hair?

  As if by coincidence, Inama suddenly leaned over and shook the flowers from her hair with one deft movement. Dalleena felt relieved. The queen looked amused.

  The final fanfare was heard, and the king entered the Hall, flanked by two small pages. He marched confidently, smiling up at the balconies, nodding to the nobility. Unlike the queen, he had been born to this state. Her graciousness, her ability to command obedience and respect, had been carefully – and sometimes painfully – learned; Raynii’s was natural. He had left his worries in Dalleena’s rooms. Now he was feeling power coming back to him.

  He reached the Chair and stood by Dalleena. The queen stood, and Inama came forward to lead her down the steps. She faced her husband.

  “Behold the royals!” Inama cried, officially presenting them to the crowd. The cheering was thunderous.

  As it finally died down, Inama took the crown of dead flowers from the queen’s hair. She held it out for a moment and then dashed it to the floor: the Queen’s Hold was passing. The priestess stepped back into place, leaving the royals together. Ayenna, who had been holding the scepter outright, laid it across her hands.

  “From the one who has held the scepter,” she said clearly. She passed it to Dalleena and knelt before the king. The nobility on all sides knelt with her on the marble floor. Above them the commoners did the same. Only Dalleena and the king remained standing. Dalleena’s hands tightened for a moment around the scepter, her fingertips on the chill gold. She shook slightly, but her voice was steady.

  “From the one who will hold it,” she said, giving it to the king and kneeling before him. The king stood alone. There was perfect silence up and down the Hall.

  “To the one who holds it now!” he shouted, and held the scepter aloft, to the gods. The people cheered.

  Long after Lilli had become tired, Dalleena stayed with the dancers. Seating herself among the crowd, Lilli chattered cheerfully with her neighbors. The Great Hall had been transformed from solemnity to celebration: tables spilling with food and wine had been brought in, along with flutes and pipers and ballad singers. The sun had gone down, and hundreds of candles and torches lit the festivities. The people who had not been able to crowd into the Hall were out in the royal gardens, despite the cold. Bonfires and flowing wine ensured their high spirits.

  Dalleena had flung herself into the gaiety, her face flushed from the wine. A graceful dancer, she was part of the long chain that snaked about the room, out of cheer and a desire to keep warm. The king and queen sat apart with some of the councilors, relaxed and laughing. Beside King Raynii was his brother, Sillus, adding his deep chuckle and an occasional vulgar joke. He had had his way: his son Carden had been Dalleena’s escort, although he noticed that she seemed to have gotten away from him. He glanced about impatiently for his son, but Carden’s chief instinct was for self-protection, and he had vanished. Sillus’s attention was recalled by a teasing question from Ayenna, and he answered in the same
tone. The queen was happy. The ceremony and the festival were going well, and not once had anyone mentioned the signs. At least, not to her.

  The gathering was a colorful one. Lindahnes were sensitive to color and its meanings; it was a countrywide preoccupation. The nobility were in crimson, lavender, black, orange or beige, according to their rank, and the sects wore shades according to their custom. The yellow robes of the Nialians were at a discreet distance from the green cloaks of the Armasii, the young men who led the dancing and were the only ones to look completely warm. The royals were in blue. The gray-cloaked men and women of the sect of Proseras played music for the dancers, and did not drink, on the grounds that the followers of the god of Wisdom should always be clearheaded.

  Catching sight of them, Dalleena felt herself rebuked. The wine had long since muddled her thoughts. She broke from the congenial embraces of the dancers and went to a table in a far corner. She dipped a lace handkerchief in a bowl of water and held it to her lips. Drawing up a chair, she rested an elbow on a corner of the table, blinking out of the shadows at the brightness. Her eyes felt inflamed, and she raised the damp cloth to their lids.

  “May Nialia hold you beloved, relas,” said a male voice behind her.

  Dalleena paused with her head down and her eyes covered. She lowered the cloth and folded it with slow, deliberate movements, putting it down on the table. “May her grace light your path,” she said evenly, and did not turn. There was no room for him to have walked past her; he must have been there all along. It was dark. The one candle on the table had gone out.

  “It’s a cold night for the festival.” His voice was above and behind her. He must be standing. And he had moved closer. “I’ve sometimes wondered why we don’t change Holds at the summer solstice.”