“…Epymetu’s holy work shall continue! We shall go forward, now that I have completely opened the crystal ampoule’s secret language. We have seen many wonders and many unexpected setbacks…”
Pyra wanted to ask, Like two-headed frogs and red-sore plagues? Why couldn’t you have waited until you had fully cracked the codes? Then she remembered her mother’s admonition; without mistakes, there is no progress. The wonders only came wrapped in pain after many errors. Even the gods were imperfect. Unfortunately, those who made the errors often did not seem to suffer the pain. Yet the marvels were still worth it, weren’t they? They’ve cured plagues, haven’t they? Yes, with several new ones created—no, that’s not fair! Pandura has problems, but she did the best she could.
Pyra’s grandmother seemed to echo that sentiment. “I have trapped the greatest of holy secrets that flew from the ampoule—hope for the future. Together we shall create a new and better person for a new and better world. The Sacred East shall one day turn from its apostasy to the true way again.”
Pandura lifted the alabaster urn that contained the ashes of her mentor and consort. She carried it down the long aisle past the mourners. Her eyes met Pyra’s as she passed. Was there a smile in them for a change?
After the procession of priests and priestesses trailed out of the sacristy behind their mistress, Pyra departed for the Temple children’s dorm. Her mother had promised to meet her there with a surprise after she finished with her worship obligations at the Court of Meeting. Next month Pyra would graduate as a novice and start to work in the Court also.
The sacristy lay just inside the Temple Zone wall from the outer metropolis. Golden crystal pyrite stairs segmented the circular avenues around the rising mound of U’Lympe, upon which Epymetu built Temple City, like spokes on a huge convex wheel converging at the flattened summit. In the raised center, the sacred complex hummed day and night with its jeweled lights and mysterious hidden engines. Pyra climbed onto a stepped causeway that overlooked the harbor and slowly made her way up to the children’s dorms on the innermost ring.
The sundial in the outer courtyard showed about three hours after noon. If her mother engaged a worshiper first thing, she could be done in less than twenty minutes. It might be a slow day in the Court of Meeting after such a high funeral, however.
Pyra went in and found a mirror to adjust her hair and face paint—her mother had been getting on her about paying more attention to her appearance lately. Like Pandura, Pyra’s hair had streaks of natural red-gold, highlighting her face in wispy quickfire arcs. Unlike Grandmother, dark burnt umber was the background color, like veins of fire that smoldered deep beneath the earth’s surface.
Pyra also had another, culturally more significant distinction; her unknown father had been a Far East tribesman of mottled skin, probably a seaman. A symmetrical constellation of dark leopard-like spots swirled down either side of her milky face and body in elegant cyclical patterns that she anticipated would greatly enhance her career as a priestess. A single mark resembling the paw print of a tiny sphinx graced the center of her forehead.
They all think I’m untamed somehow. She grinned into the leafy green eyes of the young woman in the glass. I suppose I won’t disappoint them when my time comes, will I?
Still, the thought frightened her—the power she would have over people’s hearts and ultimately their very lives. She put it aside while she brushed out her long strands. She became so lost in the regular strokes that her mother’s entrance into their dorm chamber went unheard.
“Pyra darling, it’s so good to see that you really do pay attention to me sometimes.”
Pyra put down the brush, smiled, and turned. “Hello Mauma. How was worship?”
“Oh, the same old thing. Sometimes I think the whole experience is really wasted on men.”
Maybe that’s why you took up with Harachne, Pyra didn’t say. Her mother’s choice of consorts was a touchy subject.
“So where’s my surprise?”
“She’s outside by the sundial.”
“She?”
The Priestess smiled at her daughter—a younger, more amiable version of golden—haired Pandura.
Pyra raced past her mother out into the courtyard.
A striped sphinx cub ambled onto the lawn from behind the sundial. The creature winked one of her huge golden eyes and made an expectant trilling noise from her throat.
“Yes,” Pyra answered the feline. “I’ll be your sister in the hunt.”
The sphinx trotted to her and rubbed against her legs with an affectionate purr.
“I see you can talk to her as easily as to me,” Pyra’s mother said from the archway. “Perhaps more so,” she added with a sigh.
Pyra squatted and embraced the young panther-like cat, which quickly touched noses with her in response. “I told you I talked to animals.”
“I’ll never doubt it again.”
“Thank you, Mauma. She’s absolutely beautiful!”
“Her name is Taanyx. I wanted you to have her—to have someone.”
Pyra’s breath almost stopped at the change in her mother’s voice.
A chill northern sea breeze blasted the top of U’Lympe’s mound.
Pyra stood up from the sphinx and turned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, darling. I’ve been chosen.”
An icy sword jabbed down Pyra’s spine. “So soon?”
Her mother placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “My creation codes are compatible. There is great need. War is coming and we want to use what the gods gave us wisely.”
“But…”
Mauma cut her off. “Don’t listen to silly tales, darling. I’ll be fine.”
“When will it begin?”
“Within the week.”
F
rom inside the oracle orb’s cold fire, the woman’s image taught Pyra’s coven of initiates from almost a quarter of a world away. Klyeto of Psydonis no doubt had to squeeze in such lectures on the fly into her tight schedule. What a shame we can’t ask her questions back through the spirit realm, Pyra thought. I’m sure we could—Pandura does—just not with the type of oracle orb in the academy kiosks.
Pyra sat in the lowest tier of the sunken indoor amphitheater surrounding the enormous glass-pearl spheroid. Quickfire conduits connected the oracle orb to hidden engines far beneath U’Lympe’s garden-festooned mound, and to golden emitters atop the central stepped pyramid.
The full color motion-image of Klyeto’s earthen-tone face spoke the holy power into each of them. “…The Four Elementals are arranged on the Stairway of Heaven in sequences containing information.” The orb picture shifted to a model that looked like a metallic spiral staircase with different combinations of two out of four possible elemental symbols on each step.
Klyeto’s Southlands-accented voice continued, “Until now, you have thought only in terms of controlling the Elementals mystically with words. That is little more than a meditation exercise. Real power comes by manipulating the coded information that the Elementals are mere quadratic symbols for. We do that materially by alchemy, using powerful quickfire lenses. This is the secret to how we make new forms of life in the sacred laboratories. Now that you are initiates, you may know some of the deeper mysteries. As you grow past novice-hood through the levels of wisdom, you shall eventually, like me, control the divine powers of creation.”
A sea breeze must have blown in Psydonis, for Klyeto’s dark gold-streaked hair ruffled slightly. Pyra could see the profusion of trees and flowers in the distant courtyard behind Lord Psydonu’s mother/wife. A small winged dragon flitted from branch to branch, distracting Pyra so that she didn’t hear Klyeto’s summary before the orb went dark.
The changing light broke Pyra’s trance.
“Sacred indoctrination is over,” said Harachne’s gruff voice. “You are all dismissed until your next dialogue session.”
Pyra rose to go find Taanyx, but felt a gentle tug on her pre-novice wrap. She turned
when Harachne squeezed her shoulder and ran her hand down Pyra’s bare upper arm.
“I need you to stay after a little,” said the older woman.
Pyra slipped free of Harachne’s grip and sat down again. “Is there a problem?”
“No darling. It’s just that your mother is having her first treatment today and she will be a little late. You might want to go to the library after your last dialogue. I wanted to spend a moment with you now to talk perhaps. I need you to know you can come to me if you need anything.”
Pyra put on her best sweet-tempered face. Great! The Spider-woman wants to talk. “That’s very kind of you. What’s on your mind?”
Harachne plopped her bulk down next to Pyra—closer than was preferable. People said around the Temple courts that, in her day, Harachne had been quite attractive, but Pyra had trouble believing it. The woman was much older than Pandura and built like a titan. Her short bristly hair squared the top of her head like a bronze wedge helmet and she could probably out-wrestle most soldiers that wore such headgear. For some reason Mauma needs someone strong in her life, like Harachne.
“Your mother and I have been consorts off and on since you were ten,” the Spider-woman said. “I know you and I haven’t always seen eye-to—eye, Pyra. But your mother will be going through some difficult changes…”
Pyra’s skin crawled as Harachne dropped a beefy arm over her shoulder. “I know.”
“It would make things easier for her if we could get along better.”
“I understand. I’ll try.”
“I knew you would, dear. You’re a sensitive and intelligent girl. I’m weaving your novice outfit of the finest blue silk, you know. Your mother and I can’t wait to see you in it. It will be ready before the ceremony.”
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you. Everybody knows you are the finest on the loom. Will there be anything else?”
Harachne sounded disappointed. “No, I guess not. Run along. I’ll join you and your mother at the dorm later.”
Pyra broke free of the older woman’s grip and darted out of the academy wing into the sunlight. She preferred the outdoor amphitheater dialogue classes to sitting before the orb. Taanyx joined her from behind some bush; a small red winged serpent in her mouth that looked well played with and relieved to be out of its misery.
“I see you’ve found yourself a little friend,” Pyra said to the sphinx.
Taanyx scooted ahead into the girl’s path, turned, and reverently dropped the dead thing at her mistress’ feet.
Pyra paused and stooped down to face the slender young feline. “You offer me prey—the brightest and best—how sweet.” She scooped the tattered carcass up in the lower half of her wrap, careful not to touch it directly, and equally careful to treat it with reverence for the token of friendship and trust that it was.
They walked together back to the dorm, where Pyra left Taanyx outside to chase butterflies in the sundial court. Once indoors, she quickly disposed of the carcass down the nearest waste shoot, carefully watching to see that Taanyx didn’t follow her in and see her. Then she washed her hands and touched up her cosmetics for the next session.
The striped sphinx joined her in front of the glass just as she finished applying new lip pigment.
“That was a yummy little dragon, Taanyx. I think from now on though, you can have them all to yourself, to enjoy as you like.”
The sphinx winked and made a short chirrup in her larynx.
Pyra stowed her cosmetics and left at a brisk pace toward the outdoor academy forum for the dialogue gathering. Most of the other initiates were just finding seats around the small amphitheater when she arrived. Taanyx disappeared into the green belt around the academy wing just as the instructor descended to the central podium.
Mnemosynae, Mistress of the Soul and the sacred mysteries of dreams and memories, was Pyra’s favorite teacher. Statuesque and treacherously stunning as any goddess, her large violet eyes had a way of seeing through people as though they were glass statues. Rumors told how Priestess Mnemosynae once consorted directly with Tsey’Us, who supposedly relished the company of dark-haired women with rare eye-colors. Nine daughters were born of this “Temple Law union,” if not in trans-biological fact, each of whom had grown to be great musicians, poets, and storytellers. One, Khallio’Phe, had taught Pyra to play the lyre.
Pyra hoped to model her own career as a priestess on the mentorship of Mnemosynae. While many of the sacred sages, like Pandura, saw the root drives of human nature as determined by bodily humors, animal impulses, and the creation codes, Mnemosynae felt there was something deeper and closer to the gods. Her uncanny ability to draw hidden memories from people’s dreams and to create new healing memories in her subjects through enchantments of controlled suggestion had won her an important place on the High Council. Not even Pandura interfered with her lightly.
Pyra took a seat as close to the front as possible, and with a short incantation of openness under her breath, prepared her mind to receive divine wisdom. Taanyx’s little love offering had helped relax her after her encounter with Harachne. Otherwise, she would have had to repeat the meditative words much longer to achieve inner harmony.
Mnemosynae mounted the central platform, allowing her odd purple eyes to rest on the learners. “Today’s discussion will explore our own existence and the value we place on ourselves. Fertility worship is not simply a way to renew Mother Earth and Father Sky’s primordial union—that is only the surface understanding for those outside the Temple complex.
“By interpreting the dreams and desires of your patrons, you will guide them to know the self and to appreciate it better. A society of people who feel good about who they are, is a society able to realize its own growing divinity. Growth has obstacles to overcome, however. Patrons often cannot articulate their needs clearly. To help them do this, we must submit to them sometimes without understanding.
“Never forget that in the union of worship, the submissive one has real power over the dominant. The relationship is a paradox. So the first question I bring to this dialogue is; what is the root cause of anxiety in most worshipers? The next is; how does our work help them find their own true worth for themselves?”
A female initiate named Bida batted heavy eyelids and spoke through red pouty lips; “Inside they’re all still little children. Married women feel the rejection of both fathers, who either left them or abused them as little girls, and of husbands who remind them of their fathers. Men are just small boys trying to please their mothers. Either way, the problem is marriage itself. It’s an intolerable imposition. I’ve never seen a truly happy one.”
Another student said, “People don’t know themselves. We help them find themselves by reminding them that the gods accept them as they are.”
A boyish girl, or maybe a girlish boy—Pyra was never quite sure with Eo, and Eo never told—gave a different answer; “They are oppressed by the inflexible social dictates of older patriarchal generations. Since our desire-profiles and the behaviors they produce are pre-written in our creation codes and unchangeable, we provide them a safe outlet for their healthy natural passions that their fathers often still deny them.”
A tiny girl sitting in front of Pyra said, “I feel Bida’s right. People suffer emotional wounds from close family members. They grow up with a stunted sense of self. We show them a life that has freed the creative divinity within. We teach them how to develop and cherish the self productively.”
Mnemosynae looked over to Pyra, as if expecting a comment.
Pyra blurted the first thing that came to her mind, “They’re all frightened and angry.”
A hush came over the amphitheater. Many of the initiates scowled, shrugged, or rolled their eyes at her.
Mnemosynae asked, “Why are they frightened and angry, Pyra?”
Pyra felt as the winged serpent must have when Taanyx had closed in. “They sense something isn’t right and they don’t know what. They all fear that they are the problem, which make
s them angry and defensive.”
“Excellent!” Mnemosynae nearly leaped. “Are they the problem?”
“No, of course not; they just need to discover who they really are. We help them do that through worship, guided meditation, and discussion.”
“Is that all?”
“We accept them as they are and love them without conditions in the deepest possible way.”
“What else?”
Pyra felt the eyes of the whole coven burn into her. Why is Mnemosynae hammering me? “We observe them as subjects, carefully, in every detail. Then we record our observations afterward. The best cases are when patrons talk to us either before or after worship. We must encourage them to talk, but not coerce them. We read their dreams and lay open their hearts, both to help them understand themselves and to catch dangerous thoughts before they get out of control and turn into dangerous actions.”
Mnemosynae smiled. “You have done your reading well, child.”
Pyra did not know why she had to fight to keep from trembling. “Except… the scrolls weren’t always clear on how we can tell which thoughts and dreams are dangerous and which are not, Mistress.”
The smile left Mnemosynae’s eyes. “Like many things, Pyra, time and experience can only give you those answers. That is why there are sages and over-mistresses to review your journals.”
T
he sun had set before Pyra made it back to the children’s dormitory. She heard Harachne’s shouting while still a ways off.
“I told you not to eat before they examined you, you stupid tart!”
She slowed her pace, reluctant to go inside her mother’s domicile. Young priestesses and their small children went about their business outside as if deaf to the Spider-woman’s tirade.
Pyra’s mother said, “I was queasy. It was only a bite of apple.”
Pyra hesitated outside the arch and felt sick all over. She could smell Harachne’s opium smoke waft out the window. We’re Pandura’s daughters! Why does Mauma put up with this?
The Paladin's Odyssey (The Windows of Heaven) Page 5