by Rachel Lee
Almost before Gewindi-Tel had finished settling into their compound and started cooking a meal for the children, a messenger appeared, begging him to attend a meeting with the Sharwahi-Tel.
The Sharwahi were warriors of old; their clan had been the leaders of the fight to resist the Bozandari invasion these generations past. Sadly the Sharwahi transformation from stoneworkers to warriors had not come soon enough to make them into a true fighting force. Now, with rebellion on the wind and upon every tongue, they were called again to perform a task for which they were ill-trained, with numbers horribly decimated by the earlier war and subsequent slave raids.
Archer was perhaps the most reluctant of all to engage in warfare. This coming battle might have the appearance of pitting the Anari against the Bozandari, but Archer knew better. He would once again be making war on his brother. He had no doubt that this war with his brother would be as ugly the last had been. But he also knew where his duty lay. For much he must atone, and this was but the beginning.
He followed the messenger willingly through the slowly darkening streets. Twilight came early in the mountains, and with it cold winds from the snowfields high up. Jenah strode beside him, designated by Eiehsa to represent Gewindi-Tel.
“Mother would gladly have sent you alone, Lord Archer,” Jenah said. “Gewindi-Tel is pledged to you.”
“It would not be my place,” Archer said. “Your pledge honors the Ilduin, and me, but it remains that among the other Tel there are decisions to be made, and those must be made by Anari, for Anari. For me to speak at this council would be a grave mistake.”
Jenah nodded. “You are wise as well as brave.”
Archer laughed bitterly. “Wise? Would that I had handled this better when it happened in the First Times. Had I but known how my brother had grown warped by his jealousy, I would have surrendered my birthright without a second thought. There would have been no first war, and no war now to weigh upon our thoughts. Instead…”
“Bear not the stain of your brother,” Jenah said. “It was he who started the war that ended the First Age.”
“So the stories tell,” Archer said. “As with many events, the truth is less clear than the telling of it.”
“What have the tales left out?” Jenah asked.
“Only that I loved my brother,” Archer said. “And that is everything.”
He looked around at the sweeping curves and arches of Anahar, hewn by permission from ancient stone. Something about this city brought out the subtle memories of the old days, memories he usually could ignore. But not here.
“My brother was a great man,” Archer said. “As boys, we were the best of friends. Many were the days that we laughed as only brothers can laugh at the mischief of our youth and the missteps of our elders. I was the Firstborn, but only by a moment, for we were twins. My mother used to say that we were inseparable even in the womb, for when I emerged, Ardred’s fingers were tight about my ankle, as if he could not bear that I might leave him. For many years was it thus. Where one went, the other followed, as if breath itself were something to be shared.”
“No one has spoken of him thus,” Jenah said.
“No one would,” Archer said. “None who would have told the tale knew him as I knew him. He was called Ardred the Fair, and well deserved. Lovely in face and feature, and lovely in mind and heart. I have often wondered if he would have handled things better had I been the one to rebel. I suspect he would have, for he was the wiser of us. And yet, by accident of birth, I was the one destined to rule. It shames him not that he thought this unfair. Many were the days I thought it unfair, as well.”
“En shar shirneh sen, shir an sharnet sahng.”
Archer nodded agreement. “Oh foul can fairness be, and fair the foulest fate. It is a wise saying that your people do well to remember. I wish my brother and I had known of it. Much blood might have been spared.”
“You were young,” Jenah said.
“Yes,” Archer said. “That we were. But as we grew older, I should have seen the twisting of his heart. Like all brothers, we had our petty squabbles. I did not see that this was more than that until it was too late. I did not see the torment of his mind. I did not see…that he had come to hate me. I, too, was blinded by Ardred the Fair. And unlike those who left with him to found Dederand, I should have known better. We had shared my mother’s womb, yet I could not see how the fate of our births had sickened his soul. I stood by while he sank into madness.”
“You love him still,” Jenah said.
And that was the bitterest truth of all, Archer thought. “Yes, brother. I do. Even as I prepare to make war against him, I love him still.”
“Then great indeed is your wisdom,” Jenah said. “A lesser man would have given way to hate. That you cannot, that is true wisdom.”
“Perhaps,” Archer said. “And perhaps I am still blinded by Ardred the Fair, longing for a time that can never come again, where two brothers dip their toes in the Enalon Sea and watch the sun say good-night.”
“Wish for that, Lord Archer,” Jenah said. “That wish may be the salvation of us all.”
14
With each step she took, Sara felt as if she were being drawn deeper into the womb of the Ilduin. Beyond the nave where they had seen the statues, the temple flowed into a second, widening anteroom. As before, torches sprang to life upon their approach, the flames pure and smokeless, with nary a flicker. The hues ranged from deep red to warm amber, to greens and blues that brought to mind the sweetest springtime fields and skies that Whitewater had ever seen. The effect of the whole was a glow that seemed to suffuse her soul with lightness and joy.
“All the beauty in the world,” Sara whispered.
“Yes,” Tess said.
“It has never been thus before,” Cilla said. “Many times have I stood here, yet this is new to me.”
Sara drew a slow breath, allowing the feelings to flow through her. “When I look into the flames, it is almost as if I can sense every happy moment in my life. I cannot see them. But I can feel them. When my mother sang to me…”
“When my mother rocked me to sleep,” Cilla added, nodding.
“When my mother played pat-a-cake,” Tess said. She caught her breath. The words that followed came out in a lilting, childhood rhythm. “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can. Mix it and pat it and roll it with glee, then toss it in the oven for baby and me.”
“I do not know this game,” Cilla said, looking at Sara. “But our mothers have others like it.”
“As do ours,” Sara said. “Lady Tess, does this help you to remember your people?”
Tess shook her head. “Sadly, no. But it helps me to remember my mother, and that is enough to cherish. Perhaps we shall all remember more as we walk these rooms. But it is enough to know that my mother played with me, and that she smiled.”
“We all feel our mothers,” Sara said. “It is as if this room is rich with the warmth of a mother’s love.”
The other two women nodded. They stood in silence for a long time, as if bathing in warm memories. The silence seemed to deepen around them, save only for a muffled, rhythmic sound. Sara let her mind drift to that sound, and soon it was as if the flames were brightening, ever so faintly, with each low oosh-woosh. She placed a hand to her breast, almost without thinking, and felt her own heart matching the sound around her. There was no doubt in her mind. It was a heartbeat. She saw that Cilla and Tess had also placed their hands to their breasts.
“The womb of the Ilduin,” Cilla said softly. “My mother told me stories of it, but I have never felt it like this.”
“This temple is not a building,” Tess said. “It is a living body. The living body of our bloodline.”
“Yes!” Sara said, excitement growing within her. “The mysteries of the Ilduin lie not in the statues or symbols. Thus have so many missed them. It is as if the temple has been waiting to awaken.”
“It has,” Cilla said, looking at Tess. “It
has been waiting for you.”
* * * *
The lodgings of Sharwahi-Tel were not far from the Gewindi section. They were, however, occupied by many more people, bustling with life, many carrying weapons of one kind or another, apparently readying for the conflict to come.
As Archer and Jenah passed through the curving streets of Sharwahi compound, Archer was recognized. Many bowed to him, but none called him by any name except Lord Archer. Long ago he had forbidden the use of his real name, so long ago that many here did not even recall it except from tales and legends they had heard. Most of those who bowed were probably simply mimicking what they had seen their elders do for generations.
Regardless, he was uncomfortable with the attention and felt undeserving of the bows. He inclined his head in response but in no way encouraged the attention.
It made no difference.
At the center of the Sharwahi compound was a round building. This one was not like the village temples, but because the great temple of Anahar lay only a sort distance away, this building was intended only for meetings of the clan mothers.
Inside, a fire pit burned brightly, and the six mothers of Sharwahi sat around it. A space was opened for Archer and Jenah to sit on a bench. In the background, behind the mothers, stood armed men.
The most senior of the clan mothers stood, a tall, proud, beautiful woman of indeterminate age. The iridescence of her dark skin reflected the fire’s glow. “I am Gelinna Sharwahi,” she said, bowing to Archer. “First Mother of the Tel. And these are my sisters. We are honored by your presence, Lord Archer.”
He returned her bow. “I am honored to be in your presence, Mother Gelinna. Please tell me how I may serve you.”
“Sit,” the woman said smiling. “Jenah, you, too. It has been too long since I set eyes on your handsome face.”
Jenah chuckled. “You know where my Tel resides.”
“Brash young man. It is you who should visit your elders.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
“My daughter,” Gelinna continued, “has been sighing your name since last you were in Anahar two years since. ’Tis a pity she is still too young, or I’d give her over to you just to get the sound of your name out of my ears.”
Again more laughter. Jenah squirmed a little on the bench. “I am waiting,” he said. “Sulah just will not grow up fast enough.”
Gelinna laughed loudest of all. But then laughter faded, and gloom seemed to enter the brightly lit room.
“Fell things are afoot,” Gelinna said. “All the Anari know it. We have heard terrible tales from the north, and they have nothing to do with the heel of Bozandar. But it is Bozandar that most immediately concerns us, Lord Archer.”
He nodded, remaining silent.
“We can do nothing about the early winter that has begun to encroach even here, in the south. Our days are yet warm, but, as you will shortly feel, our nights have begun to carry an unnatural chill. Whatever lies behind these changes and the horrors to the north remains beyond our reach so long as we are decimated by slave raids, so long as our people must abandon their homes every few months to escape the Bozandari troops. We are a people weakened by constant loss.”
Archer nodded. “I have seen.”
“So we must throw off the yoke. We can wait no longer. My sisters and I sense that it is urgent for us to break free now in order to be ready for what lies ahead. But!”
She held up a finger and cocked her head to one side. “But. It is to the Sharwahi that all Anari look for guidance in this, because we fought in the past. But I tell you, Lord Archer, there are not enough of us. Nor are we well-enough trained for battle such as must come. So it is to you we turn. We ask you to teach us, so that we may teach all Anari, so that we may become an army.”
For long moments there was no sound save the crackle of the fire. When Archer at last spoke, his voice was heavy. “I am sorry it has come to this, Mother Gelinna. The Anari have always been a people of peace.”
“We cannot afford to be peaceful now.”
“No.”
He bowed his head, staring into the flames as if he might find something there, but his answer was already decided. There was none other to give.
“I will train you and anyone else who cares to join in the war to come. And I will fight beside you.”
“Thank you,” Gelinna said gravely. “I know how this must pain you.”
“It pains us all,” he answered with equal gravity. “I will serve the Anari however I can. But it is to Jenah you should speak now, for he speaks for Gewindi-Tel. He can tell you what they have so far seen and done. As for me…” He rose and bowed. “I await your orders.”
Then, turning, he strode from the building into the chilly twilight.
* * * *
Gradually the temple’s heartbeat slowed, leaving in its wake only serene silence. The women who had been so enthralled gradually returned to normalcy and an awareness of things beyond the temple.
“There is more here,” Tess murmured.
“But it will take time,” Sara replied. “I cannot begin to imagine what it was we just experienced, or how it might teach us.”
“Nor I,” agreed Cilla. “Let us three return in the morning when we are fresh and see what else we may discover. Now I must return to my Tel, for I am sure Ratha and Giri will be there….” Her voice caught. “I have missed them so. Will you come with me?”
Tess and Sara exchanged looks. “Of course,” Tess said. “We would be delighted to meet Monabi-Tel.”
“And Monabi-Tel will be delighted to meet you,” Cilla answered with a smile.
In Anahar, all Tel lodgings were equidistant from the temple, so the journey to Monabi-Tel was no longer than the journey from Gewindi lodgings to the temple. Beyond the compounds, dating back to the original building of the city, spread businesses, and beyond that, in the mountain valley, were the fields and grazing lands, now lying fallow for the winter.
But the walk along a winding path this time took on an even more breathtaking beauty. The flash and ripple of color Tess had seen by daylight only became more beautiful as the day darkened.
“This city,” she remarked, “is a beacon.”
“So it was intended,” Cilla answered with a smile. “When the Eleven Ilduin of the First Age came to us and asked us to build a temple and a city to recall all that was lost, we searched out stone of a very special and rare kind. All stone is alive, but this stone is alive with color and light, and it takes joy in expressing its beauty. Sometimes…sometimes it even sings.”
Tess paused and looked at Cilla. “It sings?” Her voice was hushed.
“Aye. Rarely, I’m sorry to say. I have never heard it, but the clan mothers teach us the story of how the city sings upon rare occasion, a song that defies description to any who have not heard the voices of these rocks. My own mother heard it once and said it was almost like the ringing of glass bells, yet more beautiful still.”
“I heard something once,” Tess said slowly. “When I touched the wall of the Gewindi Telnertah.”
“Then perhaps you will hear the voice of Anahar while you are here.” Cilla smiled. “I would so like to hear it myself. I have been hoping since earliest childhood to hear even the smallest song from these walls.”
Sara spoke. “Ratha said that Monabi-Tel hears the songs of the rocks and seeks out the most beautiful. That hearing the songs is what sets your Tel apart.”
“Aye, we hear the songs of individual rocks, ’tis true,” Cilla agreed. “But the song of Anahar is something much more. It is as if, joined together, all the stones of this city become one voice, a voice that can be heard by all Anari, not just Monabi, no matter how far they roam. It is said Anahar only sings to call all Anari together here. And it is said that all these voices joined together create a song so beautiful it nearly breaks the heart.” She released a small sigh. “But Anahar sings by its own choosing, so it may be that I will never hear its song.”
Monabi-Tel w
as in the middle of a huge party when they arrived, a celebration of the return of Ratha and Giri. Most of the Monabi were away, searching the mountains for the choicest of crystals, but there were enough of them in Anahar, including the clan mothers, to create quite a spectacle. Ale flowed freely, along with huge amounts of food, and with everyone in the central plaza dancing and singing and talking, the festivities were difficult to miss.
A few wary eyes were turned on Sara and Tess as they followed Cilla, but the wariness soon passed as people realized the two pale women were Cilla’s guests.
Suddenly Cilla let out a cry and darted forward. “Ratha!” Moments later she was in the big man’s arms, hugging him as if she would never let go. Sara and Tess stood back, smiling.
“Oh, Ratha,” Cilla said, “I thought I had lost you forever.”
“You are not so fortunate, cousin,” Ratha answered with a laugh as he lifted her off her feet and swung her in a circle. “Nor have you lost Giri. He is here somewhere, regaling pretty girls with tales of our adventures.”
“Cilla!” At that moment Giri appeared out of the crowd and snatched his cousin from his brother’s arms. Cilla’s head was thrown back in sheer joy as she laughed and clung to Giri’s shoulders.
When he set her on her feet, he was still smiling, but Tess thought she saw something unnaturally hard in Giri’s eyes. Her senses prickled to full alert.
“And your brother Nagari,” Giri said, “where is he? I have looked for him all evening. Does he no longer reside here in the city?”
“He has gone back to the telner on a mission for the mothers, but he should return in a few days. He will be thrilled to see you.”
“Perhaps.” Giri lifted her off her feet once more and squeezed her until she laughed and begged to be put down. “Come,” he said, including Tess and Sara in his invitation, “let us find a quieter spot to eat, drink and share the news.”
There was a place just off the central plaza, sheltered beneath a tree with a delicate lacework of leaves that allowed the last of the evening light to shine through. There they found a table and some benches, and before long Ratha and Giri had brought planks laden with food and drink for them all. Gathered around the table, they began to dine and talk.