Calling Up the Fire

by Lori Martin

  Mejalna’s head slumped suddenly against the wall. She jolted upright. How long had the first-high been chanting? He was running his veined hands hard down Paither’s arms, in long sweeps, passing behind him, half-wailing in an ancient voice, laying palms on his back and buttocks, circling. Nhy followed. Lifting the torches, he sketched an echo of the priest’s motions with fire, bringing the flames a flicker away from Paither’s skin.

  Not fire. Not with him.

  Light reflected against his eyes; his soul stared back. His lips parted as if to drink in the fire itself. Nhy’s arms pinwheeled, flashing the torches about him, locking him in a hot circle of killing light. The priest shouted out, a hard sound against the walls.

  With sickening certainly she knew they meant to burn him, he who was already scarred. He stood tensed, unresisting. She tried to rise, but her feet scrabbled uselessly against the floor; her legs were heavy and weak. Dazed, drugged, she heard Nhy burst out as if himself in pain. He thrust the torches forward.

  Paither raised both arms, knocking Nhy away. The torches flew, whirled, and fell harmlessly on stone. His head fell back; his eyes closed; suddenly he gave great voice, nearly howling. His arms shivered against the heat, the hair bristling. The seal of the goddess glowed, a blue jeweled light.

  Paither Lista threw back his head and cried out in the unknown tongue of Feimenna, land of dreamers. “I grant you: redeem your sins, and you shall be again my people!”

  Then blackness took her.

  When she came briefly back to consciousness, he was sitting, wrapped in a soft silver grey garment. Nhy was just fixing the last folds about him. The priestess was bent over the incense, murmuring prayers, rocking in thankfulness.

  The first-high clasped both Paither’s hands in his own. He was weeping with joy. “In my lifetime,” Nhy translated, as he said it over and over. “In my lifetime.”

  Mejalna wondered, in her haze, what Paither had said in the dreamers’ language; no doubt Nhy would tell them later. She slept. .

  Chapter 24

  To his chagrin, Temhas found that he couldn’t like his new niece. She put his nerves on edge whenever she spoke, yet she made him anxious whenever she was silent. At times she

  seemed to know more of her true family history than he did himself; at others her ignorance astounded, even wounded, him. Oh yes, he thought. A Nialian by birth and heritage. No doubt of that.

  Temhas had known Dalleena her mother, in that other life; he had witnessed against her, protected her, bade her farewell. Here with the daughter he carried an inner fear that she might know of his young and bitter mistake. And despise him for it.

  Ennilyn adamantly refused to leave the First Hill. The Mendale soldiers had returned to duty and her way in to the temple was blocked, but she wanted to sleep out-of-doors nearby – where, Temhas argued, they’d be found soon enough. She didn’t argue back. She smiled, and went on with what she was doing. Temhas rode into the closest town, hired a reliable courier and gave him his horse, and sent him off with a garbled message to Samalas, heavy with unwritten meanings. While there he heard about some Nialian girls who’d been taken while trying to get into the temple, and were now scheduled to be whipped. The townspeople were nearly choked with anger. Two of the girls were locals, and besides, all three – under a right heaven – would be honored priestesses, not targets of Mendale torments.

  “They’ve been grinding their heels in right enough,” he heard one townswoman mutter, after an Oversettle archer had passed by.

  “What do you think,” her companion asked, “of these stories? They say the gods have sent us the son of Dalleena-relas –”

  Temhas strained forward, but they had dropped their voices. He returned to his niece, to renew his protests and suggestions.

  Ennilyn said, “Uncle, please understand. If you’d been long from home, never seeing the faces of your kin, living quite alone, and then were suddenly returned there... I have to re-enter the temple.”

  Temhas, who felt in his heart that he had been long from home, said, “How? Do you think the soldiers will just step aside for you?”

  “As a matter of fact, they did before.”

  “No, they went off to chase after some priestesses, and I told you what happened to those girls. It’ll happen to you.”

  “Perhaps she’ll call me again.” He didn’t know what this meant. She added, “Of course it may be a matter of Strength. Will you tell me about my father?”

  Temhas, nonplussed, cleared his throat and gave her a few bare facts: the size of his family’s old estate, the early death of his mother, Rendell’s acceptance into the Armasii temple. A sudden easier thought came to him, and he dwelt on Pillyn and Baili for some time. She was a young girl, Baili was the little boy from the neighboring estate. They’d traveled to Mendale together, never thinking, of course, that they’d ever live there. They –

  Ennilyn interrupted calmly, “You didn’t like my father, did you?”

  These Nialians, he thought. They go right through you. I’d forgotten. “We weren’t – the way brothers should be. Does it matter to you?”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “Ennilyn, you’ve got to come with me to Samalas. You want to find Paither, don’t you? If he’s anywhere in Lindahne –”

  “I don‘t think he’s here yet.”

  “Do you know where he is? Is he all right?”

  She frowned and shook her head.

  “Has the goddess shown you where he is?”

  “Uncle, I would tell you if I knew.” She had only just come to Nialia. Did he think she could give him prophecies or pull divine words out of the air? Maybe, she thought, maybe I’ll never be able to do that; who is there to teach me?

  He had read something of her thought. “In the old days,” he said, meaning before the War, “the Nialians were properly trained. The mother priestess had the greatest abilities, and she’d take in novices and teach them. Of course not every priestess had the same power, some only had a touch. Your mother,” he added with difficulty, “was said to have a great gift. She was a true-chosen, you know. I don’t know much more than that, but surely you... surely you’ll find something in yourself?”

  She smiled at him. Rendell’s smile. He’d forgotten that, too. He returned to the attack. “If you don’t come, Samalas will be bound to come here,” he said, like a nurse threatening a willful charge with parental authority.

  Samalas did come soon after, riding Temhas’s horse, carrying Temhas’s letter in his cloak. The two men met, as arranged, beyond the town, where Temhas felt he had become too familiar a face. Twice already Oversettle soldiers there had asked him his business.

  Ennilyn exchanged polite greetings with Samalas as if they had never before met. He remembered standing over her with a sword inside the Assemblage House gates; if not for Mejalna, he thought, I‘d have killed her. (And a fine thing that would have been to explain to Paither-relas. But no, we’d never have known. And I wouldn’t have this charge on my hands now.)

  The two men and the untrained priestess spent the night in a clearing, so close to the temple they could hear the watch being passed along by the guards. Samalas, taking Temhas’s hints, had brought supplies; they had a fine meal and warm blankets. The night air had turned sharp.

  Ennilyn questioned him, not too closely, on the status of the Defiers. He answered clearly. But he was a blunt man, hard and honest. He said, “At the truth-seeking, I accepted Paither Lista as my relas, and I hope to live to see him as king. And because he is my relas, and because he says you’re his full sister, an equal child of Dalleena royal, I accept you.” He paused. “I accept you also as my royal, and I’ll obey you. I’ll put my Defiers at your command if you wish. But I have to tell you this tonight, though I’ll never speak of it again: I don’t like it, and I can’t trust you. Paither-relas may not have known his true birth, but at least he knew he was a Lindahne, his heart was always with us. But you! Raised as a commoner in Mendale, an archer in their army? I sa
w you on the walls of the Assemblage, defending their Tribune. I saw you nearly kill Renasi, I –”

  “Samalas,” Temhas protested. “Is this why you wanted me to find her? So you could sit here and abuse her?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’ve finished, I won’t say it again. But I wanted you to know.”

  “I understand you,” Ennilyn said. “When you understand me, perhaps you’ll feel differently.” She searched his face with deep eyes, two dark ghosts in pale orbits. He remembered her glassy look in the clearing, when Paither-relas had first known her and called her name. He dropped his eyes.

  Soon after, they slept. Night breezes rippled their blankets. The Mendale soldiers at the temple tramped their rounds. In the morning, the two men found she was gone.

  They beat the coverts, crept about the stream, even took the chance of calling, in case she had fallen and hurt herself. They felt obligated to spend most of the morning this way, though it had been clear from the first what had happened. “What’s the matter with her?” Samalas finally burst out. “Why did she leave? No warning. No note. No trace.”

  “And no horse,” Temhas said glumly. “I wish she hadn’t taken my horse.”

  Nesmin, the Oversettle Governor of Lindahne, crumpled up the letter from First Tribune Haol in annoyance. Another special courier, another special letter, all to deliver Haol’s latest harangue on the subject of this royal relas, whatever that was.

  Nesmin had once been First Tribune himself, during the War. He had been the first politician to see the power waiting to be gathered up here, like discarded pearls. And he had been quick to take his opportunity: he was the first, and still the only, Oversettle Governor the conquered Lindahnes had ever known. Free of the Assembly’s bureaucracy and the restraints of fellow Tribunes, Nesmin had found the inconvenience of living in this primitive country easy to overlook. Here he ruled as absolute master. Well, almost. Ostensibly, of course, he answered to the Trio, but the Mendale government, for all its timeless charters, had had no precedent to follow in the matter of controlling a conquered population. The lines of authority were unclear, and Nesmin could often draw them to his own liking. Still, Haol was First Tribune. And he was becoming a problem.

  The pipers in the Great Hall were beginning. Glad of the distraction, he made his way through the upper halls to the gallery, to look out over the celebrations. Another birthday feast. He was glad to permit these things; they were easy to provide and left a warm glow on the faces of his followers. Nesmin was fond of pleasures himself, and knew their usefulness.

  The Great Hall was crowded with long tables for the feasting, with a cleared space at the end for the dancers. This was Marlos-An: once the palace of the royals of Lindahne. He had long ago claimed it as his own residence and government headquarters. In those first days the building had been stripped of valuables by the fleeing lins, but he’d taken care to restore its magnificence – in a decent Mendale fashion, of course.

  A few signs of the past could still be seen, such as the huge mural at the end of the Hall. An incredible work, really, depicting religious scenes of some sort. He thought occasionally of having it painted over, but the truth was he had gotten fond of it. The central woman, the lin-goddess, was vividly done; she nearly burst down into the Hall. He smiled at it. You rule here no more, lady.

  A new royal... Nesmin had overseen the final destruction of the lin royals, he was sure of it; he’d even taken care of the sideline kin, with discretion. He no more believed in this relas person than he did in the painted goddess. It was all Haol’s fancy – or a trick, more likely; who knew? And what a story. A man raised as the adopted son of Haol’s own choice for Third Tribune!

  “Really,” he said out loud, in disgust. He expected better of Haol. He smoothed out the letter again. “... eluding all our best efforts. We’ve covered the countryside, I’ve sacrificed my best assistants to the cause.” Your own cause, my friend. “All in vain. I’m convinced he’s somehow passed the foothill checkpoints and our own soldiers –” Yes, and how? By sprouting wings? “ – and evaded the vigilance of your own Oversettle force. There was a report of some sort of boat on the Valtah.” Now that was clearly nonsense. “Therefore he is certainly at large in Lindahne. You must not spare any effort in discovering him. His capture is crucial to our future – perhaps to our survival.I lay this charge upon you.”

  How tiresome the man was!

  Among all the people below, Nesmin’s ear caught a laugh he knew. He looked down, smiling indulgently. He had several children, scattered here and there among the Five Hills, children of serving-girls, mostly. This young man was the only one he’d bothered with. By removing him from his mother’s influence in infancy, he’d assured that the boy would be a proper Mendale, with a proper shame of his lin-blood. Yes, he was turning out just fine.

  There were many other halfers in Lindahne, of course; Nesmin made what use he could of them. Most lived as lins, tolerated but held in contempt; yet some responded to the lure of Mendale power and wealth. They made excellent Oversettle recruits. Naturally the thick-wits in the Assembly didn’t understand. Everything could be worked out, with the right delicate touch... Haol was too clumsy, inventing a fable to frighten children. (I’ve got to look into that report about the halfer guard. Wearing lin family colors, that can’t be overlooked. Yes, sometimes a heavy hand was needed, but the trick was to know when.)

  The pipers lifted their music. He had read the letter so many times he had nearly memorized it; Haol’s last castigation repeated in his head. “I urge you to be stronger, much firmer, now more than ever before. You’re an excellent governor, none better, but I must point out that you’re often too merciful. The lins mustn’t be allowed to even think of rebellion.”

  Nesmin stirred restlessly. How much more could he do? The holding-houses were jammed right now; soon he’d have to start packing criminals off to MenDas. His soldiers were everywhere. Why, two lins couldn’t stand in an avenue and discuss the weather without having to explain their business. And he’d ordered more public floggings in the last moon than they’d had the whole halfyear before.

  Something else, he thought, pondering. Something strong enough to stop Haol’s mouth – and remind the lins of just who was in charge, in case they really were in danger of forgetting. Royals, indeed!

  Yes, he’d try to think of something else.

  Sure olive skinned hands guided the boat towards the bank. Paither, paddle forgotten in his grip, looked out over the dwindling strip of water separating him from his unknown homeland. Towering trees, gaudy in bright autumn colors, marched together; evergreens stood out proudly. On the shoreline a few deer took fright at their approach and bounded away. A ranfox raised a muzzle already turning white, and streaked into hiding. As the boat banged on shallows, a chill breeze ruffled the hair on his neck.

  The water was too cold to step into. Nhy tossed out an ingenious wood platform, called the “hook”; its underspikes took firm grip in the bank. Nhy secured the boat to the hook’s nearside and looked at Paither.

  He was dressed in a warm color-blocked cloak. Now he drew it off, fumbling on the boat’s bottom for his pack. Nhy watched in silence as he stripped to his under-robe in the cold air. A ray of sun struck momentarily off the blue mark on his shoulder. He drew on his travel-worn, much-mended Lindahne robe, tossing the foreign garments aside. With his eyes wide and exultant, he walked out on the hook, ready to enter Lindahne for the first time. He smiled, began his motion, and paused.

  A dark and lovely form stepped from the far trees. Behind him Nhy gave a start that tossed the boat. Paither was oblivious to him.

  He walked forward in a haze. The figure held out its hands, opened its arms, and then burst to him across the hard ground. He gathered her to him.

  Their bodies pressed together, encompassing, in an intimacy of completeness, like one man’s hands tightly clasped together. Behind his closed lids Paither saw the floating darkness of the womb, his own tiny fists, and the mirrored eyes of li
ght beside him.

  Afterwards he often thought that, without Nhy, they might have stood there locked eternally, until winter came and snow rose about their legs as statues. But the Feimenna demanded absurdly, “Do you know her?” and Paither burst out laughing. The real world steadied into focus.

  “In a way,” he said. Ennilyn took a step back, and they smiled into each other’s faces. He said, “This is my sister.”

  “Ah.” Nhy sounded satisfied. Paither glanced beyond her into the trees.

  “Samalas –?”

  “No. But I can take you to him. His scouts are all looking for you, farther down the shoreline. I came alone, I knew you’d be here.”

  They paused, to listen to the echo of each other’s voices. He cleared his throat. “This is Nhy.”

  Ennilyn looked at his red eyes, his strange skin, and the bars of color clothing him. When Paither added, “He’s – well, he’s from Feimenna,” she merely nodded. Nhy started to raise two fingers to his mouth, thought about it, and lifted three. Paither, eyes devouring her face and hair – long and lovely, glittering at him – saw with approval her attempt to imitate the gesture. Well, we must love each other, he thought. But I hope we like each other, too.

  Ennilyn spread out her arms, including both of them in her sweep. “Welcome to Lindahne,” she said.

  She had left the horse tied up beyond the woodlands, in a good grazing area; she hoped, for her uncle’s sake, it would still be there when they returned. Paither was only surprised to hear that Temhas was in Lindahne.

  They hid the boat under fallen branches and began the journey back. Ennilyn had walked through these wilds without bow or sword; she mentioned snakes and wolves off-handedly. Nhy, watching her, was nearly beside himself with shocked delight: he could scarcely believe that here was a living priestess of the Mother. The first time she said “Nialia” out loud, however, he winced. Paither murmured in his ear; he nodded. Ennilyn didn’t notice.