Calling Up the Fire

by Lori Martin

  In the meantime the solders who had accompanied them returned to MenDas. They were only a few days’ ride out from the city. The soldiers reported the news, excited, pleased with themselves, and certain of promotion. They had discovered the long-sought headquarters of the Defiers.

  Chapter 13

  – from the Lindahne Book of the Gods

  The loom of the heavens and earth fell silent. Nialia, Weaver of Fate, had left her work, and the threads of life were in chaos. In the Hills the people trembled, and wailed, and tore

  their own flesh, and ran mad upon the earth. And the gods looked for their divine queen, and could find her not, and they looked for Proseras of Wisdom, and could find him not.

  Now Simsas and Reulas, the immortal Twain, are the sons of great Nialia, brought forth at one birth. And they sought their immortal parents in the Halls of the Gods, and went seeking among the people, and called then in vain. And on the Hills the waters ran without course, flooding; and the living things grew inward into the earth and died. Rain and snow fell together; and the moon and sun rose at will, so that time itself was shattered, for there was no guiding hand upon the loom of life.

  Simsas god of the musician played the calling song, and Reulas god of the poet sang the words of returning. They wept as they sang and played, and their divine Mother heard them in their sorrow.

  And she came unto them and they rejoiced in her. Then did the waters flow within their courses, and the living things rise to the air. Then did the rain fall soft, and the wind blow hard, and the snow came in its time of coldness. The moon and the sun obeyed her hand, and the people gave thanks, and brought gifts to her name.

  Now Simsas and Reulas said unto her, “Where have you traveled?” And she of Fate answered, “I have been beyond the farthest shore, but am returned. For my place is here, among mine own. My place shall ever be among the Hills.” Thus said she, for the Lindahnes of the Hills are her beloved people. Yet some were faithless, and wandered far out upon the land, and were called Mendales, godless and unsheltered. And some went beyond the raging Valtah river and were lost.

  Still the Twain were not content, and they said, “Where is our wise father?” Then the goddess replied, “He of Wisdom must ever gather knowledge. He has been beyond the farthest shore, but I am returned unto mine own.”

  But Simsas and Reulas could not be satisfied, and they petitioned winged Wintern, great Traveler, to seek their divine father. And Wintern called up the winds of the sky, and they blew, but no word of him came back upon the air. Then did they despair. But a shimmering fog arose from the clouds of heaven, and the grey fog lifted, and they beheld within divine Proseras of Wisdom. His beard flowed, and his grey cloak fluttered, and upon his shoulder nestled a bird of long beak and great wings, a bird such as has never flown above the hills. And they greeted him with gladness.

  Now Simsas said, “Royal father, why have you forsaken our halls?” And his brother said, “Stay with us, that we might be glad.”

  Then Proseras answered, “The Lindahnes of the Hills are our beloved people. And those who were faithless were cast out and wandered far upon the land, and were called Mendales. But I have dreamt of another people.”

  And so saying, he loosed his hold, and the bird that has never flown above the hills stretched out its mighty wings. At his command it took flight, soaring even above the divine halls of the gods. It rushed out beyond the waters into the shimmering fogs, for the Wise One had sent it home.

  And when the sky clouds hang grey above the earth, and the air is at rest, still can be heard the passage of the great wings, beating homeward. For Proseras had dreamt of another people.

  Chapter 14

  At the urging of a Nialian, Samalas decided to hold the truth-seeking outside, “in the air of the immortals,” as the woman said. The servants, placing wine cups at regular intervals, noted that it was also the only practical meeting place. The full camp (except for the guards on the prisoners and the tree sentries) would be present, as well as the representatives from the other three spearhead camps. Their little buildings couldn’t hold such a crowd.

  The commoners waited respectfully for the nobleborn to settle themselves first. Planks had been laid over the muddy ground; the days had warmed and the snow was melting, though cold drafts lifted the fires higher. The nobleborn sat in the inner circle, the commoners in the circle beyond. At the center was the largest blaze, flickering red-orange flames into the velvet dark. Samalas had ordered a small platform for himself beyond the fire, just high and wide enough to hold a proper chair. He was a leader, and knew the value of symbols; he alone would be above the group, upright and in command.

  In the beginning he had permitted Mistress Pillyn and Master Paither freedom of the camp, so long as they didn’t try to contact Tribune Nichos. There were plenty of Defier eyes on them no matter where they went, and he was curious to see what they would do if left to their own wishes. The woman had fluttered here and there, trying to take an interest in camp proceedings, though the watchers agreed she was merely pacing. Master Paither, however, had taken careful note of how the camp was run, how responsibilities were divided, who the officers were and what they did. More than once Renasi urged him to put a stop to Paither’s wanderings, but he continued to wait and watch. Then Paither had begun to accompany Mejalna everywhere.

  “And that’s even worse,” Renasi complained.

  “He’ll only hurt himself,” Samalas answered. He was still confident of Mejalna’s loyalty (if not her sense, in bringing these people here). If Master Paither had feelings for her it was his own difficulty. But Renasi considered her vulnerable heart, and fretted.

  For the truth-seeking, Samalas did finally end the halfer’s freedom. Paither would be kept in a far tent beyond hearing. They would speak with the woman first.

  The Nialian, a dark upright young woman named Hajia, came forward. She was recognized as the Nialian with the strongest prophetic gifts in their camp – though in reality she, like the other potential priestesses, was hard put to follow her worship. Under the Oversettle, the Lindahnes had been forbidden to petition their gods, to say prayers, or to hold services. The temples that crowned each of the Five Hills had long been dark and deserted.

  The surviving priests and priestesses of the main sects – of Proseras, Armas, Reulas and Simsas – had maintained quiet order. As the new generation rose, young devotees were accepted into the orders in clandestine ceremonies. But during the War all the Nialian priestesses had fought before their temple against the invading conquerors, refusing to leave, refusing to surrender. They had been destroyed down to the last.

  Some had left infant daughters behind, girls who inherited the Nialian powers of prophecy and empathy. A few, as in every generation before, were “true chosen”: given the grace directly from the goddess. Yet there was no one left alive to teach them their service, no mother priestess to help them accept and understand their visions. The common people of Lindahne could not help; they bowed to the Nialians’ mysteries but had never fully understood them. The sacred temple texts were long since missing, a loss bewailed even in ancient times. Girls and young woman like Hajia had been left unaided, struggling to weave together the visions the goddess sent them into a worship-cloth of glory.

  Hajia stepped forward now in a yellow Nialian robe to call for the goddess’s blessing. She was better than most, able to put on a show of confidence, but even young Lindahnes like these could recognize the lack of a true priestess’s training. It wasn’t Hajia’s fault, they knew; it was the fault of their enemies, who had tried to destroy the very foundation of their faith. As Hajia lifted her arms, there was a stir of sadness in her audience.

  “... to bring us to your divine truth,” Hajia finished. She stood closer to the flames, cupping her hands over them as the heat rippled along her skin. She spread her fingers and dropped the incense in a sweet-smelling rain into the heart of the fire. The smoke turned a deeper grey and dissipated. Hajia retired to the side. Men and w
omen around the circle took their first sips of wine.

  “Bring the witness,” Samalas ordered.

  A guard led Mistress Pillyn to the center. Silence followed her; neither the nobleborn nor the commoners, it seemed, were willing to speak their opinions as yet. The large fire was before her, and on the other side, raised above, was Samalas.

  Pillyn had thought of changing her dress to their mourning brown, but on second consideration had stayed with her family’s colors, cranberry and white. Her blond hair fell in a long neat braid down her back. She had been nervous, even afraid, before, but now strangely she was calm. It was a truth-seeking, held in the name of Nialia, and she had only the truth to bring them.

  Rumors had circulated throughout the camp. Whatever these Mendale-living Lindahnes had to say (one tale went), it was only a trick to free the Third Tribune. Hadn’t Mistress Mejalna reported spies following her, whom she had had to lose along the way? No, another story answered, they’re claiming something. Come to join us. Remember King Rayni’s younger brother? They say this one’s a passion-child of his... but that couldn’t be true. “We have lost our royals.” They repeated it to one another.

  Samalas said, “Please explain who you are.”

  “I am Pillyn, daughter of Boessus and of Meyna of the Third Hill. My father was the last ambassador to Mendale, under King Raynii, and served with him in the War.” She waited, while this proof of family importance was mulled over by the crowd. “When I was sixteen, when all but one of my family was dead, I left our country to marry the Mendale herald Nichos. He is now the Third Tribune – and your prisoner.”

  A stocky man to her left rose and bowed to Samalas, who nodded permission. “Why did you marry a Mendale and desert your country, mistress?”

  “I’ll explain that soon. For now I’ll just say that I was young and the Tribune was a kind man.”

  “Let’s stay with one thing,” Samalas said. The man sat back down. “Mistress Pillyn, you’ve lived in Mendale for all these years and raised a family here. On a prior occasion you refused to help us. You refused, in fact, to help us contact or rescue our imprisoned queen. I may point out that everything that followed has been a result of your refusal. We know, therefore, that at the least you’re set on your own personal concerns, presumably right now the safety of your husband. At the worst, you are a cooperator, spying for the Mendales. However,” he overrode her, “you were able to convince Squad leader Mejalna that you had something important to say to us. I’ve called this truth-seeking to give you the opportunity to speak. Do so now, if you would save yourself and your son.”

  She had pictured it, thought it out, imagined various scenes, questions and answers. She saw now that a bold claim, a shrill announcement, would be nothing to these hard shrewd eyes. Start with the true beginning, then, when the divine reached out to the mortal ...

  “Leader Samalas, my friends and country folk, I have a story to tell you which will take some time. I ask for your patience, and for your faith. The story is not really mine, but I am one of the few who knows it.” She took a breath. “Some of it you may think you have heard already, but there is another side –”

  “Mistress –”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be vague. It begins with Dalleena-relas, our last royal heir.”

  She heard a few murmurs around her. Someone said loudly, “Are we in for a history lesson?”

  Samalas said, “You knew the relas personally?”

  “Yes. You all know, of course, of her disgrace and exile. You’ve head of her Armasii lover.”

  “And?”

  “Her lover’s name was Rendell.”

  “Mistress, do you expect –”

  “He was my brother,” Pillyn said calmly.

  Though exclamations rose behind her, she could see that the relationship was not a revelation to Samalas. Her brother Rendell’s sentencing had been a public event; for someone still interested in the old days, it probably hadn’t been difficult to learn the facts. But even Samalas couldn’t have known the rest. How could he? The relas had vanished, with her god-cursed unborn child, and neither Lindahne nor Mendale had tales to tell of what had befallen her.

  “Rendell died, in a way you all know,” Pillyn said. This too had been spoken of, but in whispers. “Afterwards the relas had her child in secret. I was with her.”

  “Hold.” Samalas was angry. Did she mean to make a fool of him? Of them all? Prattling about the royals –

  The Nialian suddenly stood up. The firelight echoed against her yellow robe. The excited audience ceased whispering. Hajia came forward without permission, her face lit with strange emotion, her eyes on Pillyn. In the raised chair Samalas shifted.

  “How did she die?” the priestess asked in a clear vibrant call across the flames. “How did our relas die?”

  Baili was not a man to panic, but panicking was becoming the only course left open. Pillyn and Paither had vanished from the Assemblage House without so much as a farewell; Pillyn had left only a cryptic note asking him to send her daughter home. He had outwitted the Assembly once, but the situation had gone beyond his control: they were trying to keep it quiet, but it was whispered a confrontation would soon take place with the Defiers. The mobilization of the army bands in MenDas seemed to confirm it.

  If Paither had gone to the Defiers – if Pillyn was with him – Baili wrote a frantic letter home to the estate, asking Temhas’s advice. Wary of interception, he clouded his meaning in vague phrases (“... and I believe she told him something he should have known about before... do you think I should follow along the same lines if I can?”) and waited in a fever of impatience for an answer. Temhas shot back his reply on the fastest flighter horse on the estate: Come home. Bring Calli with you. “Whatever is going to happen,” he wrote, “neither of us can do anything about it. And when it does, do you really want to be the only Lindahne left within the Assembly’s reach?”

  Baili packed up the little girl and sent her off first with the servants. He waited one more day, hoping at least for news, but an ominous silence had settled on the Assemblage House. Conversation in the corridors died at his approach. Eyes of long-time friends were averted.

  He requested an interview with Tribune Haol, without knowing himself what he meant to say. When his look met the cold calculation of Haol’s eyes, when he saw the clever hard smile on Haol’s face, he found himself resigning his Assembly position.

  “I understand,” the Tribune purred.

  On the way home, Baili took pleasure in the superior speed of his estate horse. At least he would be able to outrun Haol’s spies.

  In all the long hours Pillyn was never invited to sit. She didn’t notice her own fatigue, though her leg muscles were trembling; she was too intent on making them understand.

  They had question after question, doubt after doubt. They seemed to be chasing trivialities. Samalas permitted – even encouraged – the barrage. The long-ago trip of her father as ambassador to Mendale, her first meetings with Nichos, the start of the War, had nothing to do with it: but they insisted on hearing the whole. What were the king’s instructions to her ambassador father? What did the queen think of the evil omens that year? When exactly did she meet the relas? What was she like?

  Slowly she began to understand. They were fascinated, delighted, sad – obsessed. These are the children of the Oversettle, she reminded herself. They’ve never known a free Lindahne. They’ve never seen a royal. They ache with a poverty of spirit... and I seem to them to hold the riches of another time.

  She struggled to continue her story. She wondered if any of them remembered why they had begun. Did they see where she was leading?

  She looked up beyond the dying fire, and saw the answer on Samalas’s face. He knew. As the hours went by he said less and less. His own few questions centered, always, on Rendell and Dalleena. She found she didn’t always know the answers. She repeated, “I wasn’t with them then. I can only tell you what came later. Please let me go on. Let me finish
...”

  Her veracity was challenged at several points. One woman insisted it was all a lie, beginning to end. But at each objection the Nialian woman Hajia lifted her head; each time she said, “No, this is the truth”; each time the listeners heard the faint voice of the goddess, and were silenced.

  A guard from Master Paither’s tent arrived to say that he was causing a fuss and demanding to join the truth-seeking. Samalas waved him away.

  Dawn lit up the far trees. Pillyn swayed on her feet. Her mouth and throat were parched; she hadn’t shared in the wine or the water.

  “We’ll continue this evening,” Samalas ordered. He stood up abruptly and called out assignments: the camp would work and sleep on shifts. “The prisoner” (Pillyn noticed the term) was to be taken back to her tent. She was not to speak with her son or her husband.

  The circles broke up. The lucky ones stumbled to bed, while those chosen to begin the day’s work clustered instead in chattering groups, arguing over everything they had heard. Samalas repeated his orders gruffly (they scrambled to obey) and retired to his own shack. When Renasi dared to look in on him, he was lying on his cot, staring with wide blank eyes at the ceiling.

  Scayna knew something had changed. Their guard Kel had become cool and distant, even to the Tribune, and would tell them nothing. The Tribune wasn’t taking it well. Captivity and ignorance of events wore on his patience. He pulled on his pipe, sending cloud after cloud into the dense air.

  Caught in her own battle, Scayna barely noticed. The shack seemed ever smaller. There was no air. Demon headaches assailed her, hour after hour. She lay on the tiny bed, legs drawn up to her chest, trembling with fear. Against all her efforts she fell twice into a dark, and come out into more pain. So far the Tribune believed she was prone to faints, but surely soon he would know more. He would see how wrong a creature she was.