The Darkling Hills

by Lori Martin

  “My daughter,” the queen said, “my daughter is a true-chosen Nialian. Her great gifts are known – and should be remembered – by all of you. Time and time again she has freely shared them with us, with no other motive than to help us. You, Phayla – didn’t she warn you of the fire that might have killed you? Barii, did she not foretell the coming of your lovely son, when you had given up? Don’t any of you remember the storms off our Seacoast and the year the fishermen almost perished? How can you, you pack of ingrates! How can you turn on her!”

  “My queen –”

  “Sillus, sit down!”

  Oh queen my mother, Dalleena thought. You’re braver than all the rest of us. Do you know what you’re trying to fight?

  “I cannot believe,” Ayenna was continuing, “that what you claim is true. I know my daughter to be more truly pious, more truly devoted, than all but a few mortals can ever hope to be. Dalleena –” She faltered. “Dalleena, you must speak. Explain it to us. Please.”

  A soft rustling sound gathered itself and rolled toward her as the wave of faces turned. She pushed down with her palms on the chair’s arms to stand, sweat making her fingers slip. Somewhere in her hollow she protected life.

  “Councilors. Noble-born and priests, priestesses and witnesses, my mother, my father, please. I am not frightened of my child. Nor is there anything for you to fear.” She paused. It was a hostile silence, full of inward shouting and sharp answers. “My mother has reminded you of the fact that I am a Nialian. All this has apparently meant to you is that I have sinned. But I am a priestess, called by the goddess, and I swear before you I have always answered her. I entered the temple at the age of fifteen. And many times in my life I have been blessed with seeings.

  “We all remember the evil signs we received before the change in Holds. They began in Armas’s temple. Something else also began then: I received a seeing from the goddess, a kind I had never had before. And on that same night, the very moment I stepped out of the goddess’s hands, I met a man. This is the man who stands before you now, also charged with sin. And then again, at the festival, I had a seeing – and again this man was with me. The signs from the temple of Armas proclaimed his coming to me, the coming of the Armasii at the time of the King’s Hold.”

  In the tiers she saw a green cloak stir. The high priest of Armas peered forward at her, intent.

  “In the next moon’s time the omens came from the temple of Simsas. The moon after, from the temple of Reulas. The children of Nialia were speaking. And in that time I walked with him, the Armasii. Please remember, no sign came from Nialia. Her temple was – and is – undisturbed. I believe this to be because, rather than flouting her will, I was obeying it. These other signs pointed not to destruction, but to the fall of old things. I did not understand it then. I thought the Mother wished me to consult with the Armasii, that we were called on to create something new for our people. But before the beginning of the spring, she came to me again, and finally I did understand: she wanted us to create a new life.”

  “Blasphemy!” Sillus shouted. Seani looked daggers at him. Several other voices were raised. But now the king was standing, before the Chair.

  “Let her finish!” he thundered.

  “Councilors, believe in this, even as I do. Something is coming to our country, and what it is the divine keep now to themselves. But I know truly that this child I carry will be needed in that time, that my son – or daughter – will face an extraordinary task, and that to fulfill it he will need extraordinary talents. And so it is, a blending of Nialia and Armasii. This child is a gift to us. I do not say: do not destroy me. I say that you must not destroy the child. For the child is conceived in obedience to Nialia’s will, and to her divine plan.” And even without, still I would have done it.

  The priests in the Hall were shuddering. “Blasphemy!” “To take the name of Nialia as an excuse for corruption!”

  “Do you dare to rewrite the Book of our holy gods?” It was Kellstae again. “Beware how you fall!”

  You are true-chosen.

  Do you forgive me?

  “Destroy her!” someone shouted from the standing crowd. “Destroy her!”

  “Silence!” Seani stamped her foot. “We must have silence in the Hall!”

  “Sin from her own mouth –”

  “Disgraced and without shame –”

  “– accused and convicted in their own words!”

  “Silence! I will have silence or I will clear the Hall!”

  Do you forgive me?

  From the top row an old man in a gray robe was rapping his cane violently, shaking the tiers. The high priest of Proseras wished to speak.

  Do you forgive me?

  “Hear him!”

  “Let him talk!”

  “Let the high priest talk!”

  Yes. I love you.

  “Listen to me,” the old man rasped. Beside him the nobleman from the Fourth supported his quivering arms. “Now you think you’ve heard all that could be said at this truth-seeking. You’ve heard a councilor, a boy, a sinner, a royal. And yet there sits the high priestess of the goddess among you! It is her words you should heed. Ask for her words!” He pointed with his cane. All eyes followed it, to the second row, near the bottom, near the wall. It was true. There was Inama, silent and unmoving. Behind her the tapestry of the Arch of Sanlin rose in harsh and shaking colors.

  The old woman had presided over royal births and deaths, blessing the newborns, easing the dying, steady in the change of Holds, constant in the change of seasons, ever-present in the set of the sun and the rise of the moon. When she came to them with the words of Nialia in her mouth, she came with truth. She sat now, her eyes set in the folds of her face, waiting for them to turn to her once again.

  “In-a-ma! In-a-ma!” The chant rose up spontaneously. With difficulty she got to her feet, the clamoring intensifying. “In-a-ma! Ina-ma!”

  She held up one gnarled and heavily veined hand for quiet. Her gaze rested for a moment on her disciple, pale in her yellow robe, in disgrace at the edge of the open floor. The councilors waited, uncertain which way to go; the nobility and commoners, more simple, were merely frightened; the king was numb and disbelieving; the queen in pain. Her vision was still sharp enough to record it all, in the few moments she stood, maintaining the silence.

  She turned to Sillus.

  “You have reminded us of the gods, my son, and quoted them, and that can be a dangerous thing to do. Divine words and meanings are not so simple that they can be tossed off casually from the tongue of any mortal. I have had a long life, and spoken much with the goddess of our Fate. And to me also, in this time of this King’s Hold, has she given seeings. And I tell you, they are fulfilled here in this truth-seeking: for I see division, and strife, and horror, and a tearing apart of Lindahne. Before you do this, my children, I would have you consider again. You have all heard the relas – the most gifted novice and priestess I have ever accepted into my care – say that the blessed Nialia has guided her actions. Some of you call this blasphemy, and recite the tale of Lissor. But look now. How long has it been, noble councilors, since last you read the tale for yourselves? How many of you know the law, exactly and entirely, that Nialia has given us?”

  No one was willing to answer her.

  “I know, because it is my duty and my life to know such things. Nialia forbids the marriage of a Nialian and an Armasii, yes. She gives this law to her people, when they must rebuild, and tells them to remain faithful. And these are her words: ‘Remember this that you have seen, and no Nialian woman shall marry Armasii man – until my word shall change.’ ” The frail body shook with the emphasis. “ ‘Until my word shall change.’ I tell you this: this I believe: that today the word of the Mother has changed, and the relas has broken no law of god or man!”

  Of all the shocked people in the Hall, Sillus was the most taken aback. Support for Dalleena from this quarter was completely unexpected. It was true the old woman was very fond of her, but aft
er all she was the chief upholder of Nialia’s word. Her integrity was such an accepted part of life that even Sillus, a man who believed every person had a price, had relied on it. The universal respect she commanded would be a formidable opposition to his plans, maybe overwhelming. He squinted at her, as shouts again rose up. Was it possible that this virtue had sold itself, perhaps to the queen?

  Kellstae was speaking again. “Beloved priestess, you have long been a comfort and a beacon to our people. And yet how difficult it is today to credit your words! The Book of the Gods is the word of truth, but it is still a work of art and beauty. Such phrases that you quote are surely not to be taken literally? The laws of the gods, like the very heavens, must be held fast and unyielding.”

  Sillus saw that the listeners were caught in doubt, faced with a series of impossibilities before their astonished eyes. Impossible not to believe Inama. Impossible to think of putting the relas to death. Impossible still to think of the child’s birth.

  One strong gust will get them, he thought. One strong wind. “Beloved priestess,” he called. His tone was deliberate, rational, cutting through their passions. “Far be it for any to question your judgment on Nialia’s will. You have ruled in the highest temple, and ruled supremely, have taken into the goddess’s service those most fit to honor her. And so you took the relas, a true-chosen. She was younger than most, of royal blood, eager to dedicate herself, and you loved her as if she were your own ...”

  Oh, very good, Uncle, Dalleena thought. Smart man. You can’t accuse Inama of lying or of treachery, can you? So imply that she’s been led astray – an old and feeble woman mistaking everything because she loves the girl in her service. As the girl loves her.

  “... to see her today in such shame,” Sillus was finishing. “No one here will question your judgment, honored Inama. But are you certain that you have questioned yourself?”

  Before the priestess could reply, another shout came from the spectators. “Destroy the child before it destroys us!” There was loud cheering.

  Kellstae cried, “What will happen to our land? To our people? Do we all have to die that one unnatural life shall come into being? Destroy it, I say! Destroy it”!

  The old priestess shook violently, from anger and the sudden desperate need to be heard. She felt that she must speak while there was still time. “My children! My children!” Her aged voice cracked. Few could hear her, over the turmoil.

  With quick terror Dalleena saw that the old woman’s face had gone ashen. The priestess waved her hands, then clutched suddenly at her throat. The staff she held fell to the floor.

  Dalleena leaped to her feet and ran to her, past her mother, past Seani, past the king, past Rendell. She half-led, half-carried her to the center of the open floor. In her face Dalleena recognized the signs of the goddess.

  “Mar –” the priestess gasped.

  “Inama? What is it? What do you see? Tell me!”

  “Marching,” she whispered. “They weep – the Hills – weep – no words. No gods –”

  “When, Inama? Who?” In further horror she saw tears well up in the unfocused, hooded eyes, but the lips were parting in a smile.

  “–comes another.” Dalleena strained to hear. “Raise – the Hills again –”

  Against all Dalleena’s strength the priestess slipped down to her knees in an attitude almost of prayer, gasping for breath. Too late, the Hall was turning to her. As the faces stared, she struggled, and struggled again. Then she relaxed, a look of joy coming to the ancient face: the final gift of the goddess. “Your will,” she whispered. She slid to the stone floor, dead.

  “Inama! Oh Inama, no!” Dalleena cradled the shrunken body in her arms. Around her it was as if all the uproar that had gone before had been merely a rehearsal for this, the final outburst of hysteria and chaos. The clamoring shouts changed to terrified screaming. The Hall and its stone relasii, darkened balconies, hanging tapestries, the portraits of the great gods, the sunlight pouring in, all shook with it.

  Above it all Sillus raged at the top of his voice. “See there the hand of the goddess! See there the omen! The false priestess pays the price of sin! And so shall all who mock the ways of the goddess!”

  Weeping, uncaring, Dalleena raised her face to meet Rendell’s eyes, then lowered her look again. It was to the old woman’s soul that she spoke.

  “And do you forgive me?”

  From every corner of the Hall the roars went up, resounding, clarion, and tasting of blackness.

  “Death!” they shouted. “Death! Death! Death!”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Here they come, Sire,” the guard said.

  The train of horses began to cross into the courtyard. At its head Boessus rode, glad to be back in his native country but a little annoyed at the lack of ceremony greeting him. The king was waiting on him, the expected honor, but where was the queen? Where were the councilors?

  Inside Marlos-An the truth-seeking, interrupted the day before by the death of Inama, had reconvened for sentencing. As Boessus dismounted, the king, who had been called out hastily, managed a smile.

  “Welcome home, good Boessus,” Raynii said, sick at heart. His ambassador bowed, and was gratified to receive a royal kiss. “I trust you are well?”

  “Yes, my king. And pleased to report my mission also went well.”

  “Excellent,” Raynii said with a false show of interest. “But you must be tired. Come in and refresh yourselves. We’ll talk over wine.”

  “Thank you, Sire.”

  Pillyn came up behind them and curtsied. Boessus added, “I’d like to send a message to the Third, if you’ll permit it. To tell my son that I’ve returned.”

  Raynii shook his head.

  “Sire?”

  “Temhas!” Pillyn exclaimed. “I hardly knew you!”

  He was leaning in the main doorway, watching them. His eyes were rimmed with black. He had not slept in two days and was dizzy and sick from it.

  “How fares the noble ambassador?” he said. The natural irony of his voice was gone, replaced by a heavy and feeble sarcasm.

  Pillyn stared. “Temhas?”

  For a moment he seemed ready to come to her, but then he subsided back onto the threshold. His insolent grace was also missing; he stood tensely, a hunted thing.

  “What’s ailing you? Can’t you greet your father?” Boessus demanded.

  “Temhas,” Pillyn said for the third time. She went up the stairs and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, searching his face. To her shock he suddenly flung both arms around her. She was crushed in his hard grip. “By Nialia,” she gasped. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Yes, ask him.” It was the king, contemptuous. “Ask him, that traitor to his own blood, ask him what’s wrong.”

  “Sire?”

  “I’m sorry, Boessus, sorrier than you know, that you are coming home to this. Come inside and I’ll try to explain.”

  “But what – has something – ”

  “Where’s Rendell?” Pillyn asked shrilly, slicing to the heart of it. Temhas broke away from her. She screamed at him. “Where is he? Where is he?”

  He contrived a fair imitation of his old manner. “Rendell’s in the palace, in the Hall,” he said. “They just might be sentencing him to death, any moment. Aren’t you glad you’re home?”

  It was to be another two days before the battle was over. It was the longest, fiercest, and most bitter debate the ancient building of Marlos-An had ever seen, tearing at the roots of the life of Lindahne, overturning values, overturning ethics, overturning faith. Before them was a royal gone mad, carrying within a creature of doom. Behind them the highest priestess had fallen, struck down by the hand of the goddess she served, presumably for a terrible impiety. It was not a question any longer of politics, of who would join the council, who would be dismissed, who would head up a new faction, who would stay king-loyal. This was their very survival. This was the survival of their Hills.

  And yet – deep inbred
was a respect for the royals, a reverence for the Chair, a love of homeland. Worship the gods; obey the mortal. Divine before human, but constancy in everything. As the battle waged the Great Hall closed in around them, mocking. Remember? Remember your songs? “Forever past. Forever to come.” Not long ago the melody had been heard. Now it was drowned out by the clashing, ringing noise of fear and anger.

  Dalleena never know what her parents did, or what it cost them. The king was roused, finally, to his full powers, his commanding voice serving him well. Beside him the queen fought, fierce and stubborn. They coaxed, persuaded, threatened, cajoled. They brought up a thousand instances of the past, called in old debts of honor and loyalty, soothed the frightened, badgered the stubborn, flattered the weak, begged the compassionate. And despite it all, when the first show of hands was called the result was against them.

  The king hurled down the scepter and shouted out his veto. The scepter crashed into the floor, cracking the marble, and exploded into a thousand flying pieces of jewel and crystal, showering his grief on the councilors. Once Raynii had been a boy, learning from an unyielding father how to plead his case; then he had been a monarch, fighting to end the fighting, and bring peace at a time when hatred ran more swiftly than the Valtah. Now in his passion he insulted them, called them cowards, fools following fools, blinded by fear, superstitious and without reason. “Destroy her then, what will you have? Where will you turn, when I am on my deathbed? To this – this man I called my brother? And be led by greed, be led by pure ambition? While we have been your rulers the villagers have said: ‘We were blessed with the royals this generation.’ It is because I have loved my people. Is this how I am repaid?”

  He shamed them, he had even – some would whisper later – broken their hearts, or perhaps it was only their wills. Before the gods they could not permit the threat of the child. But they could not do what they had not even the strength to hear of, when Raynii spoke in tones of glass of an execution.