She shivered, recognizing the sound from her dreams. It sounded like Draktan pieces being tossed around in their box, and underneath that the swish-rattle-clatter of a massive loom as the shuttle ran back and forth, clicking on the frame, and the warp weights banged against each other.
Agrat walked around the room three times and the eunuchs chanted the ritual prayers to Mother Matrika. Then the Head Warder came back to the center of the room, put the box down on the table, and reached in. He stared at the wax tablet in his hand so long, Challen wondered if something was wrong.
"Kena'Shazzur'Challa'Naya,” Agrat said, still staring at the tablet.
It took a moment for Challen to realize that was her name.
"That cannot be,” O'klan said. He strode forward and rested a hand on Challen's shoulder, as if he thought someone would snatch her out of his protection.
"Yes, I know that cannot be. She has not finished being purified and prepared,” Agrat said, his voice strained. He sounded as if he fought not to let his teeth chatter. “One of you girls wrote her name there instead of your own."
Challen knew that was impossible. Agrat had looked at each tablet before it was put into the box. He risked a death sentence for interfering with the holy ritual.
"Someone has played a very nasty trick,” the Head Warder finally said. He tossed the tablet onto the table and reached in. This time he held out the new tablet for one of his assistants to read. The man went pale, his eyes widened, and he backed away. Agrat's hand trembled as he turned the tablet to read for himself. “Kena'Shazzur'Challa'Naya."
Someone giggled. Challen didn't blame the girl. It was either laugh from strained nerves, scream, or break down crying. She refused to do anything but sit calmly and trust in Mother Matrika to guard them all and bring justice.
Agrat went through the box. Each tablet had Challen's name on it. He finally turned the box upside down and shook it, proving there were no more tablets inside with the names of the eligible Brides on them.
"We cannot refuse the choice of the greater Powers,” the trembling, fat man said. His voice rose an entire octave above his normal speaking mode. “Kena'Shazzur'Challa'Naya, you are chosen for the Sacred Marriage.” He straightened his shoulders and glared when Amilia and Vashina both let out giggles that verged on hysteria.
"But my preparation—” Challen tried to find some reason for delaying the inevitable. She had ample proof that some greater Power specifically wanted her for the Sacred Marriage—but the question was, who? Mother Matrika, or one of her enemies? Which demi-god wanted her destroyed? Which one would invest so much power in sabotaging the Sacred Marriage with an unprepared Bride?
"You have been chosen by sacred lot. You will enter seclusion until morning. You will prepare to become the vessel of Mother Matrika.” Agrat slashed down with one hand. Four guards came into the room and took up position around Challen.
"What of her right to a companion?” O'klan demanded.
"She has no mother.” Agrat actually looked sympathetic. “She has the right to request a former Bride to spend the vigil with her."
"Lady Mayar.” Challen felt breathless with relief. “O'klan, please, ask her?"
Her warder bowed, crossing his arms, fists clenched in silent vowing. He waited until the guards led her from the room. As Challen walked down the hall, she heard O'klan's footsteps hurrying in the other direction.
She shivered despite the layers of her cloak, hood, and veil when the guards led her to the courtyard and she stepped into her sedan chair. The wind whistled, tugging at the wooden panels and thick fleeces that lined the sedan chair in the winter. The cold inside Challen made the cold of the howling storm seem mild in comparison. She found it hard to pray, hard to even know what to say, what to ask for.
More than any other moment since that flight into protective exile, Challen wished for her mother. But Shazzur had raised her to always face reality and never to waste time wishing for what could not be. By the time the guards carried her chair into the sheltered courtyard of Matrika's temple, she had managed some semblance of physical calm, and that in turn helped her focus her mind.
Fact ... She had been chosen, despite all human efforts to the contrary. If Mother Matrika's enemy had placed her there to cause damage to Bainevah, Challen had to do everything in her power to make herself open to the Mother's leading and indwelling, to counteract the evil intentions. Hadn't Shazzur raised her on dozens of stories of people who had been tossed into circumstances beyond their control, who had made themselves open and obedient to Matrika's use, and they had triumphed? If her father could be with her that moment, Challen knew he would say all her life had been leading up to this crucial moment.
She did not dare fail.
The hand that pushed aside the wooden panels and reached in to help Challen alight from the sedan chair was skeletal, wrinkled, and warm. She fought not to sob as her grandfather slid an arm around her shoulders to lead her into the temple. Such support and contact was not part of the ritual. Chizhedek knew who she was, though no one was supposed to know the Bride's name until she emerged from the Chamber of the Suns with the King tomorrow afternoon. She could say nothing to the High Priest, and he could say nothing to her, but Challen squeezed his hand before she walked into the chamber where she would spend the night in preparation.
The door thudded shut behind her and it took all her force of will not to fall down on the floor sobbing. Challen studied the room, which was bright with lamplight, thick dyed sheepskins on the floor for warmth, multi-colored cushions and couches, an entire banquet spread on the table pushed against the wall, musical instruments and scrolls for her entertainment. At any other time, she thought she would have found this time of seclusion enjoyable. Except for the reminder of her true purpose, standing in a corner.
Hanging on a woman-shaped figure of wood was a robe beaded with pearls and turquoise and gold. She would put it on before dawn and wear it to the Chamber of Ten Thousand Suns.
And then remove it and submit her body to the King and to Mother Matrika to complete the Sacred Marriage.
Shazzur had explained to her what happened between a man and woman. He had used dry, technical terms, making the physical act safe and clean. The thought of the King touching her naked body, entering her to spill her virgin blood for the Sacred Marriage—it made her feel as if the floor might open and swallow her down to the Netherhells. This was not the passionless mating her father had described. This was pain and sweat and humiliation, despite the honor of becoming a vessel for Mother Matrika's blessing on the land.
Her father had explained the differences between men and women, the significance of her bleeding, and the signs of pregnancy. Shazzur had frankly told her men and women were both intended to enjoy sex, but the joy would only last if her heart was involved. He wanted Challen to enjoy her womanhood and cautioned her to choose as husband a man who would be her friend after the heat of lust had faded.
Challen wondered how it would be to laugh and tumble with a man she liked. She had no promised husband to stand with her at the ceremony that sacrificed the cloth stained with her virgin blood to the flames, just as her mother could not be here to sit in vigil with her through the long night.
Maybe once she was free of the Sanctum and its protective restrictions, she could speak openly with a certain young scribe and soldier, tell him the truth, and learn he was interested in her as a woman, after all.
Maybe the King would help her pretend he was someone else during the ritual. Tradition said Mother Matrika entered the body and mind of the Bride, but Challen knew better than to depend on every tradition. She would be fully aware of every sensation. There would be no one to take her body through the experience and give it back to her after the ritual ended.
"Mother Matrika, I put myself into your hands."
Challen walked over to the nearest couch, sat down, and peeled off her veil and cloak. Voices seemed to whisper at the edges of the silence, trying to pierce the fragile shel
l of calm she had erected around her mind and heart.
She shivered, letting the silent tears come. One of her few clear thoughts filled her with regret. Why had she never asked Lady Mayar about her mother's time as the chosen Bride? She knew why—she thought she had a year before she would have to face the ritual.
"Father, you told me when the need came my gifts would manifest. This is a time of need. My mother could send her thoughts across leagues to those waiting to hear. Father, hear me. Think of me this moment. Know what has happened and touch my mind and strengthen me. Our enemy is at work and I must not fail the Mother or Bainevah.” She clenched her fists and pressed them against her temples and tried to send her thoughts, her feelings to Shazzur. Wherever he was. She closed her eyes, warding off the tears as she alternately prayed to Mother Matrika to open her mind and begged Shazzur to hear her.
How long she struggled to break the silence inside her head, Challen had no idea. Why could she go to Elzan in her dreams, but not reach her father at this moment?
Her mind stayed on Elzan, despite her efforts to focus her thoughts elsewhere. When exhaustion finally took over, she curled up on the couch in a half-doze and dreamed of the scribe who had made her think marriage wouldn't be such a burden, but something to enjoy.
A hand touched her, gently shaking her awake. Challen closed her eyes tighter, refusing to leave her sweet dreams behind. She didn't want to face enemies and dangers just yet.
"Why, when things are not as we wish them, do we always blame our enemies?” a laughing, achingly familiar voice said.
Challen trembled as she raised her head and looked at the woman standing next to her.
"Mother?” she whispered.
"My darling. My treasure. I'm so proud of you.” Naya held out her arms. Her eyes sparkled with tears, but she smiled.
It didn't matter that this was only a dream brought on by her strained nerves. Challen flung herself into her mother's arms. They were warm and solid around her. The scent of moonlight, rain, and lilies enfolded her as she burst into tears.
* * * *
"Is everything in order for tomorrow?” Elzan leaned against the long worktable where Abendago sat, surrounded by scrolls and wax tablets.
"Tomorrow, Highness?” The scribe tried to smile, but he looked like he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open and his stylus moving across the wax tablets before him.
"Solstice.” His guts clenched in apprehension when the harried little man startled and stared at him.
"Tomorrow?"
"How long has it been since you slept?” Elzan took the stool on the other side of the table. They were alone outside the Council chamber. The Court evening meal waited, but Elzan didn't have the stomach for posturing and politeness after his long day of studying in the Scribes Hall. Challen hadn't come today, either. He wondered if he could blame the storm. With his luck, her mother had found a suitable suitor and would keep the girl prisoner until she married.
"Please send for your Lady Mother, Highness. The King has complained of headaches most of the day, and he fell asleep when he was alone during the noon meal. That has not happened since he was first wounded. He was not alarmed and would not let me send for healers. But for him to fall ill on the eve of the Solstice—"
"Poison. Depend on it.” Elzan stood abruptly. “Someone wants the ritual to fail.” He shook his head, biting back a dozen angry curses. “I'll fetch my Mother. Don't worry, Abendago. This will be mended before anyone realizes anything is wrong.” He tried to smile for the worried, weary little man, but managed no more than a grimace as he hurried away.
It was a conspiracy. If their enemies could not contaminate the Bride, because she would not be chosen until this evening, then they would attack the King.
Lady Mayar was in the middle of preparations to leave when Elzan came to her apartments. She grew very still when he told her about the King's illness and his suspicions.
"My son, I am learning that there are some things that have been ordained since the foundations of the world were laid.” Something that could have been a bemused smile touched her lips. “Yes, we will go to your father. I am sure this is only a passing illness."
"No matter how quickly it passes, he won't be fit for the ceremony tomorrow, will he?"
"I don't think this time it will matter."
Elzan could only stare at his mother. She patted his cheek, as if he were still ten years old.
"Shazzur told me something not long ago, when we were discussing a ... a mutual concern. No matter how confused we are, no matter how desperate the situation or painful the losses we face, we must trust Mother Matrika. We must trust her servants to act as faithful vessels of her will. All that happens is ordained. Those who resist or try to change the will of the Mother will be dismayed. And those who obey will be ... pleasantly surprised,” she said, with a hint of chuckle in her rich voice.
Elzan suspected his mother knew a great deal she wasn't about to reveal to him. At least she was amused—that meant a pleasant outcome, even if it was aggravating and confusing to him right now.
Maybe it was time to trust the will of Mother Matrika. And if not her, then trust in the assurances of his beloved teacher and his mother.
* * * *
"Did you know that at one time, there was only one Bride? The High Priestess was queen and consort and the vessel for Matrika to speak to the people. She was chosen at the time the king was crowned and their son was the next king."
"Yes, Mother.” Challen knew this had to be some wonderful dream, and prayed she would never wake up. It was amusing, in a way, to see her mother walk about the small chamber, examining the Bride's costume, tasting the sweets waiting on the banquet table and even plumping the cushions of the couches.
"You're not dreaming, my dearest.” Naya shook her head, smiling ruefully. “What will it take to convince you?"
"I don't care. I need you and you're here. Mother, what if something goes wrong tomorrow? One Sacred Marriage has already failed—what if I fail?"
"You will not.” Her mother settled down on the couch and wrapped her arm around Challen again. “Everything will go wonderfully right. And we must talk of these things to prepare you for your duty once the ritual is over."
"I know all the history of the Sacred Marriage. O'klan and I studied every scroll we could find."
"Hmm, yes. And you think you're simply remembering all the things you studied. Stubborn little bird.” She stroked Challen's hair until her daughter relaxed enough to lean her head on her mother's shoulder. “I'm here to give you an important message. The role of High Priestess must be restored. Your grandfather knew that, and he trained me from the day my powers first began to show themselves. He and your grandmother gave me to the Sanctum, so very sure I would be a Bride and the King would sire a son on me, marry me, and with my ascension to the position of High Priestess, restore the Sacred Marriage. The Sacred Marriage is for all time, my dear. King and Priestess, guiding and protecting the land.” She chuckled. “Oh, how we argued, when the King asked me to be a concubine and I refused. Father was even more upset when I chose Shazzur. But I think he understands now. He had the right idea, but the wrong sense of timing."
"I don't understand."
"We rarely do, when we are in the middle of events. When all the steps have been taken and you can look back, then you will understand."
"You sound like Father."
"Yes, well, I think after all our years together, we've begun to sound like each other.” Naya laughed when Challen sat up and frowned at her, totally confused. “My dearest, your father and I have had many long conversations together in the years since I was murdered. Matrika allows me to visit him quite often, in his dreams."
"He never told me.” Challen fought a painful tightness in her chest that could have been tears or anger.
"That is the price we pay. Together in his dreams, united and planning, but forgotten when he wakes. If anything remains, he thinks them only dreams. Tell your father
that the time of dreaming will soon end, and reality will resume. Can you remember those words?"
Challen dutifully recited the words. She sighed when Naya stood and resumed her restless prowling through the chamber.
"The fullness of the Sacred Marriage must be restored. I put this charge into your hands, and into the hands of the king to come. You will become your grandfather's heir, Challen. All the dreams and hopes he placed on me, will rest on you. You will be High Priestess someday. You and your brother will restore the Three and the Hidden City."
"Asha?” Challen leaped to her feet and crossed the intervening space, to grasp her mother's sleeve. “You know where he is?"
"I sent him away to safety, the day I died. Find the Song Weaver. Tell her to search the ancient texts and the ancient tongues for a song of healing and sing it to banish the darkness from her prince's mind. Then she must journey with him. He will guard her and she will find your brother. When he is trained, he will find the Three."
"Where are they?"
"He will hunt alone to find the place. He will find them when they have fought to freedom. This is his task, far in the future. Tonight, we must think about your destiny. You must remember everything I have told you. Everything.” Naya grasped Challen's shoulders and shook her for emphasis. “Recite."
Voice wobbling, Challen repeated back her mother's words. Twice. Three times. Four times, until Naya was satisfied.
"Shadows came to Bainevah when a new king refused to submit to the ancient ways. The High Priestess did not want to relinquish her power, but schemed to rule beside her son. She suborned the Council and the Priesthood. They lied in the Mother's name and demanded virgins be gathered together for the king's use at each solstice."
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