“Warrior priest Ayan-Dar of the Desh-Ka, and his disciple Keel-Tath.” She bowed her head and saluted.
Li’an-Salir gestured to the two chairs on her left. “Ayan-Dar, please do me the honor of sitting by my side. Keel-Tath, you may sit next to your priest.”
Ayan-Dar bowed his head and saluted, and Keel-Tath followed his lead. He moved to the chair beside Li’an-Salir, and Keel-Tath stood at the table on his left, beside a tall, slender robed male wearing the color of the keepers of the Books of Time. The keeper eyed her with open curiosity, as did the others around the table.
With a nod, Li’an-Salir sat down in her chair, and the others followed suit.
CHAPTER FIVE
Council Of War
Sitting in the chair felt awkward to Keel-Tath. She had heard of such customs, of course, but the temple did not use chairs. The disciples sat or knelt on animal hides during their meals, and the tables were much smaller.
“I thank you for your hospitality, mistress of Ku’ar-Amir,” Ayan-Dar said. “But I was not expecting to be invited to a council of war.”
“Do not act surprised, old friend,” Li’an-Salir answered. “You surely know that any gathering such as this in any city not already held in thrall by Syr-Nagath constitutes a council of war, in fact if not in name. The business of war is in our blood, but the war she wages across the world now is different from any other.” She paused, looking at Keel-Tath as a host of robed ones brought food and drink to the table. “But before we attend to that, I wanted to ask if all is well with your disciple and her coming of age.”
Ayan-Dar turned to Keel-Tath, and with a raised eyebrow and nod of the head prompted her to answer.
“Yes, mistress. The healer said that all is well. The fire in my blood is gone, and I have regained my strength. Things still taste and smell strange to me, but she said that would soon pass.”
“Indeed it will.” Li’an-Salir looked thoughtful. “Did anything strange happen when the healer examined you?”
Keel-Tath blinked, not sure how to answer. “Not that I am aware, mistress.” She felt vaguely uncomfortable under Li’an-Salir’s gaze, and noticed that everyone else was staring at her, as well.
Leaning forward slightly, Ayan-Dar asked, “Is there a point to your question, mistress? And is this a topic to be discussed before your council?”
“I am simply curious. After examining your disciple, the healer made a rather interesting discovery: her healing gel bonded to Keel-Tath.”
“That is impossible,” Ayan-Dar blurted, looking down at his white-haired disciple, his eye open wide in amazement.
“So it is said, but it is true nonetheless.”
“What…what does this mean?” Keel-Tath looked to her priest, wondering if she was in some kind of trouble.
“What we call the healing gel,” a female in the white robe of the healer caste said in a soft voice that cut through the silence, “is actually a symbiont, a living organism that bonds to a healer very early in the healer’s life. The symbionts are able to share information with one another through touch about any creatures they have ever been in contact with, and are also able to share that information with the healers, who in turn can guide the gel to effect repairs to the body.”
Keel-Tath nodded. All this, she knew. Everyone did. None among their race, even the honorless ones, suffered from disease or injury unless they chose to do so. Warriors cherished their battle scars, but there was no harm that could be done to the body, short of destroying the brain, that the healers could not repair like new.
The healer leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Keel-Tath. “The bond between healer and symbiont is for life, child. When a healer dies, the symbiont passes to a new healer, preserving the knowledge that was gained. And during a healer’s life, that symbiont is merged with many others to pool and share knowledge. Some of the symbionts — or, rather, the knowledge they contain — date back to the dawn of the First Age. They represent the most complete record of our species, far more so than even the Books of Time.”
Keel-Tath shook her head. “I still do not understand.”
“When the healing gel touched you,” the healer said, “did you sense anything?”
“Well, perhaps.” Keel-Tath fought to concentrate, to recall the sensations she’d felt when she was with the healer. “I felt strange when she put the healing gel on my belly. As it worked its way into my flesh, I could…see things. A jumble of images that I did not understand. I thought it was just another part of the transition to womanhood.”
Li’an-Salir asked, “Did those images fade away once the symbiont was taken back by the healer?”
“Yes. Well, mostly.” She was still plagued by occasional bizarre flashes in her brain, like random lightning. “What does this mean?”
“It means, child,” said the keeper of the Books of Time beside her, “that you are an impossibility, beyond even the uniqueness of your hair and talons. No symbiont has ever bonded to one of the non-healer castes in all of history until now.”
“The healers are the first ones chosen from the creche, taken as infants and bonded with the symbionts,” the healer went on. “The symbionts meld with them, in a way, and teach them to understand how to communicate. They never, ever break their bond until the healer dies. Until now.”
Li’an-Salir nodded. “Do not be distraught, Keel-Tath. We do not hold you responsible for what happened. Like much in life, it is a mixture of wonder and tragedy.”
Keel-Tath felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean, mistress?”
“She means,” Ayan-Dar said quietly, “that the healer who examined you died not long after you left her. She could not survive the breaking of the bond with the symbiont.”
Across the table, the elder healer nodded, a trace of the black mourning marks under her eyes.
Aghast, Keel-Tath stood and reached for the small dagger she kept on her belt, just behind the scabbard of her sword.
Ayan-Dar’s hand gripped hers before she could draw it. “No, child!”
“I cannot make amends for such a thing,” Keel-Tath cried, horrified that she had been responsible for the death of a healer. One of the most basic tenets of the Way held by all the orders, with the possible exception of Ka’i-Nur, was to protect the robed ones. And among those, the healers were the most precious of all, for they were the fewest and were the foundation of the survival of their species. To kill a healer, or to let one die without fighting to save her, was to commit a terrible atrocity. Only the killing of children was worse. Keel-Tath could not live with such a stain on her honor. She struggled to draw the dagger, but Ayan-Dar’s hand held hers in a steel grip.
“We do not ask you to.” Li’an-Salir came to stand behind Keel-Tath’s chair. Taking her by the shoulders, the city’s mistress gently forced her to sit back down. “You are an innocent in this, child. No one, not one of us could have foreseen that such a thing could happen.” Leaning down, she turned Keel-Tath’s face toward hers. “I well understand why you feel as you do. Your sense of honor runs deep; Ayan-Dar would have no less from any he would call his disciple. But you must learn that honor requires more than sacrifice. Sometimes it demands something far more terrible: forgiveness, even for yourself.”
With the black of the mourning marks streaming down the skin of her cheeks, Keel-Tath nodded understanding. She knew she would never forgive herself, that the healer’s death would always be a stain on her soul. But she would honor Ayan-Dar and Li’an-Salir’s wishes. “Yes, mistress.”
“Good.” She caressed Keel-Tath’s cheek. “We will speak no more of this.” Li’an-Salir returned to her seat.
Ayan-Dar said, “You promise me you won’t do anything foolish when I let go your hand?”
“Yes, my priest.”
“Very well, child.” He released her. Leaning closer, he added softly, “Heed her words. She had to say something like that to me once, a very long time ago. A very wise mistress is Li’an-Salir.” He h
anded her a mug. “Drink this. It was made special for you, for the time your body is going through.”
Her mind still numb, Keel-Tath accepted the mug and put it to her lips. The drink had a mild sweet taste and warmed her stomach. After a moment, she began to relax.
As Li’an-Salir and the others began to eat, Keel-Tath sipped her drink. She had no appetite now, and was content to listen to the discussion of the elders, which immediately turned to the Dark Queen.
“I noticed when we entered the city,” Ayan-Dar said as he began to shred his meat with his talons, “that you maintain an unusually heavy guard. Do you fear an attack so soon? Syr-Nagath has yet to complete her conquest of Uhr-Gol.”
Li’an-Salir nodded as she finished swallowing a piece of fruit. “They will only hold out another few weeks at most, and I do not trust Syr-Nagath to be predictable. There is nothing to prevent her from opening a second front here while she finishes off what resistance remains on Uhr-Gol. She certainly has enough warriors to do so. Regardless, she will not command my honor or my sword.”
“I would not dissuade you from being prepared, but I doubt the Dark Queen will strike here before she has consolidated her gains. To open a second front would be a potential risk that I doubt she will take. She could, I grant you, and in previous wars we have seen ambitious leaders do such things. But those were wars of honor, where advantage was often conferred upon the enemy, and when cities were not burned to the ground with every citizen trapped inside.” He glanced at Keel-Tath, and she could feel the echo of his sorrow. “Syr-Nagath is fighting this war solely to win, and she is not only gaining warriors, but builders, as well. Her capacity to build more complex machines and weapons is growing rapidly, which will make your defense even more difficult.” Li’an-Salir nodded unhappily. “My question is,” Ayan-Dar went on, “what then? Even if she unites the Homeworld and attacks the Settlements, what does she intend?”
“I do not know what she plans, but she is certainly ambitious, far more than any of us had believed. And advancing her technology by gathering more builders is not our only worry. Did you know that she met with the high priest of the Nyur-A’il?”
Ayan-Dar stopped in mid-chew to stare at Li’an-Salir, who cocked her head and said, “You did not know?”
“No,” he said, swallowing what was in his mouth and pushing away the golden plate laden with food. “I did not. I do not mean to insult you, mistress, but are you sure about this?”
“Yes. I received a visit from one of the younger priestesses three days ago, who came here on business related to the kazha that serves the city. Her sword was mine before she took up the collar, and she told me that the meeting took place a fortnight ago at Syr-Nagath’s encampment in Uhr-Gol.”
“Did she provide any details?”
“No, although she hinted that such meetings have taken place with the leaders of the other orders here on the Homeworld, and possibly with those among the Settlements, as well.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Has she met with the Desh-Ka?”
Ayan-Dar told her, “No, she has not. T’ier-Kunai would have informed me of such a thing.” He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the plates and mugs from one end to the other. “What can Syr-Nagath possibly hope to gain, and why would the priesthoods agree to meet with her? The orders will not involve themselves in outside affairs.”
Li’an-Salir’s eyes shifted to Keel-Tath. “The priesthoods know of the prophecy, of course. Everyone has since the doom of Keel-A’ar. Even the honorless ones have heard of the child with white hair and scarlet talons, the one who shall unite us all. Most do not believe, but some do.” Her eyes turned back to Ayan-Dar. “Perhaps Syr-Nagath is trying to convince the priesthoods that the prophecy is indeed true, and they may believe it, or fear the possibility, just enough to be willing to entertain whatever it is she has to say. The priesthoods would have much to lose if our kind, here and among the Settlements, were united under a single banner.”
“Especially if it were hers,” Ayan-Dar countered. “I can only believe that she aspires to destroy the priesthoods herself, and the Way along with it.”
“Yes, but she was clearly not the one foretold by Anuir-Ruhal’te’s prophecy. The priesthoods believe that Syr-Nagath is no more than one of the leaders who have arisen over the ages to unite the Homeworld and do battle with the Settlements, only for all to fall to ruin once again. They see in her no long-term threat to the stability of the Way. I know for certain that is how the Nyur-A’il see her, and I have heard indirectly that the Ana’il-Rukh, your counterparts on beleaguered Uhr-Gol, believe the same.”
“As do the Desh-Ka,” Ayan-Dar said, his mouth turning down into a fierce grimace. “None are pleased with Syr-Nagath’s conduct of her war or her atrocities, but until or unless she makes a direct transgression against one who bears the collar, they are content to do nothing, to say nothing. They think she is just another great warrior, that this is just another rise that will eventually lead to yet another fall. But never before have they held counsel with such leaders as you have described, and I cannot see anything good coming of it.” He took a drink from the large mug of ale, then set it back down. “Long have I counseled for the priesthoods to become involved in the lives of those who live beyond the temples, those we guide to the Way as we have done for ages past, but not in this fashion, not by treating with a monster. I wanted our powers to be used to break us from the endless rise and fall of civilization, yes, but to take our people higher, to where they deserve to be.” He looked at Keel-Tath. “But if the priesthoods should choose to take the counsel of the Dark Queen, all may be lost.”
As Keel-Tath sat there, listening, the fire in her blood again began to burn. But this was not the uncontrolled flame that raged through her earlier when her body went through its change. This was a cold fury that wrapped itself around her heart, a fury that she held close and quiet, that she did not wish the others of her bloodline, Ayan-Dar most of all, to sense. She did not know if she could hide it, but she would try. The Dark Queen, of course, was her enemy, and had been since the day she was born. But now the priesthoods, too, seemed to be aligning against her. She felt as if she was falling into the sea beyond the walls of the city, into the maws of the terrible creatures that lurked beneath the waves.
“Then what hope have I?” Her words fell into the silence, and the elders all turned to look at her. “What was the point of my even being born, or the prophecy by a long-dead oracle, if the most powerful of our kind, the priesthoods, would see me dead?”
“That is not what was said, child,” Ayan-Dar told her.
“But that is what you fear, is it not? If the orders listen to the words of the Dark Queen, if they come to believe that I could change the Way itself, would they not do anything to stop the fulfillment of the prophecy? And how better to do that than to kill me?”
Ayan-Dar opened his mouth to say something, then slowly closed it.
“You cannot deny her the truth,” Li’an-Salir said quietly.
“I will let no harm come to you,” Ayan-Dar vowed, shaking off the armored gauntlet from his hand. “Before the eyes of all who witness this, I swear. Take off your gauntlets. Draw your dagger.”
Unsure what the old priest was thinking, Keel-Tath did as he ordered. After removing her gauntlets, she drew her dagger from its scabbard and held it, point toward the ceiling.
Holding his hand to one side of the blade, he said, “Take my hand, the blade in between us. Then draw it across our palms, that we may share our blood.”
“Drakash,” Keel-Tath whispered, her eyes wide with surprise. It was an ancient ritual that dated back to the earliest times of the Desh-Ka, a physical and spiritual bond between two warriors of the order. It was never done with a warrior before they had completed their seventh and final Challenge. She did not wish to think of how T’ier-Kunai would react to what her mentor was doing now, but part of her no longer cared.
Holding out her free hand, she clasped Ayan-Dar’s, then pulled the
blade down, twisting it so the edge sliced through the skin and into the flesh beneath. His fingers closed around her hand, pressing their palms together. She felt a tingling in the wound that quickly spread up her arm, to her shoulder, then down into her chest. In but a few moments, the sensation had spread throughout her body as her eyes remained fixed on his. In that flicker of time, she felt as if she truly knew him, all of him, as if she had shared his very soul.
“It is done,” he said after what to her seemed like a very long time. He slowly let go her hand, and she stared at the long cut across her palm and the blood that seeped from the wound. “Bind it with a clean cloth and let it heal on its own. You are not a priestess, but you are bound by blood now to the Desh-Ka. They cannot now forsake you.”
“They may not be able to forsake her,” Li’an-Salir said, “but can they protect her? The Desh-Ka are the most powerful, but could they stand against the might of the other orders and Syr-Nagath’s hordes, should such a terrible day ever come?”
“We will not have to. The priesthoods will not fight one another. They never have in all the millennia since they were established.”
“Except for the Desh-Ka and the Ka’i-Nur. Do not think that there is anyone alive who has not heard that tale. And I fear that is but a taste of things yet to come.”
“That was different,” Ayan-Dar huffed. “They tried to kill me without cause and T’ier-Kunai intervened, as was her right. Besides, the Ka’i-Nur are not truly a priesthood, nor have they been since their crystal was destroyed at the end of the Second Age. None of their warriors have worn the sigil of their priesthood in nearly two hundred thousand years.”
“Do not fall prey to your own assumptions, great priest.” Li’an-Salir looked at Keel-Tath. “I do not know what the future holds for you, child, and I myself am not sure if I believe in the prophecy. But you may know this, just as surely as you now bear Ayan-Dar’s blood in your veins: as long as I am mistress of Ku’ar-Amir, you will be welcome here.”
Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2) Page 5