Louise Cooper - Indigo 06 - Avatar

by Louise Cooper - Indigo 06

  Grimya witnessed the scene from where she huddled in the shadows at the foot of the lowest staircase. Her heart was pounding with fear and distress, and she couldn’t stop trembling; she would have given a great deal just to be able to shut out the sound of the drums, but there was nowhere to hide from their din, nowhere to find the quiet she needed so she could think clearly.

  She had been watching for Uluye; the High Priestess hadn’t yet reemerged from the citadel, and when the wolf had tried to climb the stairs to find her, the way had been blocked by two guards who menaced her with their spears and refused to let her pass. She realized that she, too, had now become a pariah in the women’s eyes. They believed that Indigo had betrayed them, so Grimya, as Indigo’s friend, must share in her guilt. It was madness—and the women’s hostility made it all the harder for Grimya to find an answer to the question that burned in her mind, the dire and urgent question: where was Indigo?

  Grimya was sure of only one thing, and though the comfort it gave her was little enough, it was at least better than nothing. Whatever else might have befallen her, Indigo must still be alive. Even a demon like the Ancestral Lady couldn’t kill an immortal, and that certainty kept Grimya from despair. But what had become of her friend? Was she trapped, captive, injured? Was she capable of returning to the outside world, and if so, how and where might she emerge? Uluye, the wolf felt sure, could help her, if only she were willing. She had to speak to the High Priestess again, whatever the difficulty. Uluye owed her a debt; she must be persuaded to repay it.

  Suddenly Grimya heard the sound of voices above her and, moments later, the thud of several pairs of feet on the stairs. She ran out from her shelter, looked up—and saw that the High Priestess was returning.

  Uluye was dressed from head to foot in red: a deep, hard crimson that the sunlight turned gory. Her head was bare, and her long black hair hung unbound; it had been oiled, and it swung like heavy, tarred ropes about her torso. Grotesquely, her face was painted to represent an inhuman mask: eyes horribly exaggerated, lips a bloody slash, jagged lines of different colors radiating out from her nose and across her cheeks.

  Three masked women hurried behind her, holding an assortment of implements whose purpose Grimya couldn’t begin to guess: a flail with vicious barbs, a sistrum with black feathers interwoven in it, a knife too dull to be made of metal, a stained and corroded chalice. They were chanting; not the ululating shrieks of their sisters at the lakeside, but hissing whispers that bore an undertone of chill menace.

  The nightmarish procession reached the foot of the steps, and Uluye stepped out onto the arena.

  “U-luye!” Grimya sprang from the shadows into the High Priestess’s path, and abandoning all caution, cried aloud. “U-luye, I m-must speak with you!”

  Uluye stopped dead, and behind her, the hissing chant ceased abruptly as her three companions stared in shock at the wolf. Then, so fast that Grimya was taken completely unaware, Uluye spun around and snatched the barbed flail from her attendant’s hand.

  “Sorcery!” She spat the word like a curse or a battle cry, and the lash of the flail came whipping down. With a yelp, Grimya sprang back, and the High Priestess came after her, thrashing the flail from side to side and hurling up dust with every strike.

  “U-luye—” Grimya tried to call out again, but Uluye gave her no chance to make herself heard.

  “Devilry and evil!” she snarled, and the flail came cracking down yet again, missing the wolf’s flank by a hairbreadth. “The blasphemers are sending illusions to deceive us even now! Take that animal—take it and bind it and silence it, or the evil will be set loose!”

  Her attendants recovered their wits, and all four of them advanced on Grimya. The wolf was cornered, her back to the face of the ziggurat now; she hunched down, ears flat and fur bristling, and as one of the women came at her, she reacted in blind panic, lunging and snapping. There was a scream, the taste of blood in Grimya’s mouth; she lowered her head and snarled savagely, and through the snarl her guttural voice panted: “I am not evil! Listen, you m-must listen! Indigo is—”

  She got no further. Uluye had gathered the flail once more, and she brought the carved handle smashing down on the wolf’s skull. Grimya howled and reeled. Light and darkness danced in a mad carousel before her eyes; sickness surged in her stomach; her legs staggered, crossed, gave way beneath her as disorientation hit her like a second physical blow, and she collapsed stunned and whimpering on the sand.

  Uluye stared down at her panting, twitching form. “Bind the creature’s legs and muzzle its jaw,” she snapped. Her breath was coming in short, sharp spasms.

  “Should we not kill it, Uluye?” one of the attendants asked.

  “Not yet. It is our false oracle’s familiar; the Ancestral Lady may wish it to be sacrificed in the proper way. But see that it can make no sound.”

  The attendant shuddered. “An animal that speaks … it’s unnatural. An ill omen.”

  Uluye turned furiously on her. “I’ll hear no talk of omens! Obey me, and don’t think to question my will!”

  Grimya was conscious but too dazed to resist as the women fetched strong fiber ropes and bound her fore and hind legs. A third rope was tied about her muzzle so that although able to breathe without difficulty, she could make no noise other than a whimper or a faint growl. When it was done, Uluye sent her three attendants on ahead—she had, it seemed, no concern for the woman whose arm Grimya had bitten—and when they were out of earshot, she crouched down at the helpless wolf’s side.

  “I will hear no mdre of your precious Indigo!” she hissed, putting her mouth close to Grimya’s ear. “The Ancestral Lady has her now, and she will deal with her in her own way.” Her hideously painted mouth stretched in a ghastly rictus. “You’ve shown me the truth, mutant. You’ve shown me that our oracle is a false oracle, a demon sent to deceive me and to connive with blasphemers against my law. Know this now—the Ancestral Lady is not to be trifled with, nor is her High Priestess and faithful servant. I have unmasked you and your demon mistress. You have failed!”

  She jerked upright, turned on her heel and strode away across the arena. Unable to move or to show any reaction, Grimya stared after her. Her eyes were filmy, and she was still dizzy and in pain from the blow, but Uluye’s words had gone home; for the first time, she realized, she truly understood what lay behind the High Priestess’s bitter antipathy.

  Uluye could have ordered her death, but she’d not done so. The priestess’s one urgent desire had been to silence Grimya, to prevent her from revealing to anyone else not only her ability to speak human tongues, but also the story she had told. And Uluye’s motive in both cases had been the same: fear. Grimya had seen it in her face, despite the grotesque paint, as the High Priestess bent over her to whisper her savage warning. She was afraid of Grimya, because Grimya was Indigo’s companion, and Indigo was a threat to her power and supremacy.

  Yet, at the same time, that fear had made Uluye stay her hand rather than risk ordering Grimya to be killed. That proved what Grimya had begun to suspect: Uluye’s confidence in the infallibility of her judgment was crumbling. That, the she-wolf knew, made her unpredictable … and doubly dangerous.

  Uluye stalked toward the flat-topped rock in the center of the arena. The women who had dealt with Shalune and Inuss’s corpses had gone back into the citadel; only the drummers remained, still hammering out their inexorable message. At the rock she turned and looked at her attendants.

  “Withdraw.” Her command wasn’t audible above the drums’ noise, but the savagely dismissive gesture that accompanied it was clear enough. They moved away, and Uluye climbed up onto the rock, from where, ignoring the sweating drummers, she stared out at the lake.

  For the first time in her life, she was starting to doubt her ability to interpret her goddess’s will; and that, for Uluye, was a terrifying prospect. What did the Ancestral Lady want of her? Some things were clear enough: Shalune and Inuss’s treachery had been exposed, and the goddes
s had imparted a clear command as to their final fate when she had sent their sodden corpses up from the lake’s depths. And … Yima? No, Uluye thought as fury and pain and confusion stabbed through her, she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on that. There could be no doubts about Yima’s fate—none; and she would prove her faith to the Lady beyond any shadow.

  But would that be enough? Uluye felt herself beset by uncertainty and contradiction. Dominating her feelings was a deep-rooted terror that the Ancestral Lady was testing, or punishing, her by surrounding her with conflicting signs. And at the heart of it all was Indigo.

  Uluye had truly believed that the Lady had sanctioned Indigo’s enthronement as the cult’s new oracle. All the signs had been right, all the omens true; there had been no reason to doubt for one moment that Indigo was the goddess’s own chosen avatar, and though she’d racked her mind for an answer, Uluye couldn’t imagine how Shalune could have faked the signs and deceived her. Even that creature Grimya had provided further proof. An animal that spoke in human tongues … she shuddered involuntarily. Such monstrosities existed in legend: evil things, demons, hushu. Yet the Ancestral Lady had known of Grimya, for she had told her followers that the new oracle would be accompanied by an animal companion. Again, it seemed that Indigo was the chosen one … and yet she had betrayed them.

  Or had she? The question made Uluye’s gut clench with something far deeper than mere fear, as it brought back the one terrible thought she had been trying to suppress. Had Indigo betrayed the cult—or could she be innocent, as the mutant wolf claimed? Or worse, far worse, was it possible that the Ancestral Lady had turned against her own High Priestess, and that Indigo was her instrument?

  Despite the day’s close, muggy heat, Uluye shivered. How could she have offended the Lady? How might she have blasphemed? Could it be that she had sinned by choosing her own daughter as her successor? No, she thought; no. The Lady had shown her that Yima was an acceptable candidate; she had told her to perform the initiation ceremony. Uluye had heard the goddess’s voice with her own ears, and in this at least, nothing would persuade her to believe that Indigo could have tricked her. No one had power of that order—and no one, no one, would dare to impersonate the goddess.

  Then what else might Uluye have done to arouse the Lady’s displeasure? Or could this be a test of her worth, of her fitness to rule … of her power? Shalune had wanted to usurp that power and set her own kinswoman in the candidate’s place; but now Shalune and her accomplice were dead and the Ancestral Lady had damned them to become hushu. Yima had wanted to flout her, too, and had tried to flee with her lover; now she too was condemned to die and to join the soulless ones. Sharp, sick excitement filled Uluye suddenly. Was that the nature of the trial the Ancestral Lady had decreed for her? Yes, she thought, yes. Now she understood the Lady’s plan. She had failed to unmask the deceivers. Surely then it was only right, only fitting, that she should expiate the mistakes she had made and exonerate herself in the goddess’s eyes. And she would do it. No matter the cost, she would do it, and gladly, for she loved her goddess more than her own life, more than the life of her daughter—

  An extraordinary, ugly sound broke involuntarily from her throat. Her attendants, who were waiting a few feet from the rock, didn’t hear; even a full-throated scream would have been drowned by the thunder of the summoning drums. But Uluye’s self-control was back within an instant, and mercilessly she crushed the feelings within her, choking back the sob, killing it, and killing the wave of utter misery that for one brief moment had threatened to overtake her.

  She could have no doubts. The Ancestral Lady’s will would be done, and she would prove her fidelity, her love and her obedience. Her own hand would wield the blade that spilled Yima’s blood, and she herself would perform the ceremony that prepared Yima’s corpse for the hushu and summoned the soulless ghouls of the night to take her for their own. She would not falter, and she would not flinch. She had no daughter now. She had only a goddess, her mistress and her mother, and she would pass this final test and win back her Lady’s favor. She, Uluye, High Priestess, would prove her worth. She would do what must be done, and would never regret her choice. Never, she told herself ferociously. Never.

  Movement on the periphery of her vision suddenly snapped her back to the moment. Her head jerked around and she saw that one of her attendants had come up to the rock and was trying tentatively to attract her attention. Uluye’s eyebrows rose in a sharp interrogative, and the priestess pointed toward the forest.

  There was movement there, the stirring of leaves, flickers of shadowy figures among the trees. Then a small group of people emerged. They stood uncertainly on the track, looking toward the arena and the ziggurat beyond.

  Uluye smiled coldly. From this distance, she didn’t recognize the newcomers, but she knew that they must be from the nearest village. Swiftly and roughly she counted their number. Well and good; they’d answered the call in force, it seemed, and that showed a proper respect for and fear of the Lady’s priestesses. More would soon follow.

  She signed toward the drummers. Instantly the thundering beat ceased. The silence was shocking by contrast, and almost as deafening in its way as the drums’ rumbling had been. As the last echoes died, Uluye heard an answering beat from far in the distance, in the forest’s depths. Good, she thought; good. Village elders were passing the summons on; it would go out far and wide, and the gathering should be as great as she had demanded.

  Now it was time for the first ceremonies to begin….

  •CHAPTER•XIX•

  Fifteen paces. Indigo had counted them so many times, checking and checking again, that it seemed the number was engraved in her mind. Fifteen paces from one end of this miserable spit of rock to the other, and a bare seven from side to side—and within those small confines not a hummock, not a crevice, not the smallest feature to be found.

  Now she sat on the shale slope with her knees hunched up under her chin and the water lapping only inches from her feet. She had thought of testing the river’s depth, but had balked at the idea. The water was so dark, so silent and oily; it had the look of corruption, and she was unwilling to even touch it. So, with no direction in which she could go, there was nothing to do but wait and try to control the helpless, futile, but savage, anger that was boiling inside her.

  Fifty times now she had cursed herself for a fool. She’d allowed the Ancestral Lady to lead her a grim dance through this labyrinth, convinced that at the end would lie enlightenment, but instead, her guide had abandoned her here in this … this… Indigo shook her head violently as words loathsome enough to describe this place eluded her. She still couldn’t begin to guess what the Ancestral Lady’s purpose had been in bringing her here, but she was growing more certain by the minute that she had been tricked. “What comes now will come without your needing to seek it,” the Lady had said. How much time had already passed? An hour? Two? More? Yet still there was nothing but the murky darkness, and the silence, and the sense that nothing would happen here, for nothing could happen here.

  “happen …”

  Indigo started at the tiny echo that seemed to whisper from behind her. She hadn’t realized that she’d spoken aloud, and she shivered, disliking the mean, dead quality that the dark tunnel gave to her voice. As the shiver subsided, she glanced down by her side, where the witchlight lay wedged in the shingle. Its feeble, glowworm illumination still spilled over the stones, but Indigo fancied it was dimmer than it had been a few minutes ago. The Lady had warned her, mockingly, that the witchlight wouldn’t last indefinitely, and she wondered how much longer it might continue to glow. The thought of being in utter blackness without even this tiny scrap of comfort was daunting, and carefully Indigo picked up the light and held it in the palm of one hand. It was like nothing she had ever seen before; simply a sphere of what looked like greenish crystal no more than an inch across, smooth and cold to the touch. Its light had no visible source, and nothing seemed to affect it for better or for worse.


  The crystal flickered suddenly, like a candle guttering in a draft, and hastily Indigo set it down once more. She watched it closely for some while, but it didn’t flicker again, and at last she sighed and turned back to staring at the dark water. Surely, surely, she wouldn’t be forced to stay here indefinitely? The idea was insane. There must be some way of getting off this thrice-damned rock—

  “rock.”

  This time she jumped violently, for the echoing whisper had seemed much closer. Sweet Goddess, she thought, she must be starting to lose her wits if she was speaking aloud without even knowing it.

  “knowing it. ”

  “Ahhh…” It was an exhalation and a protest together, and Indigo scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding violently. She hadn’t spoken aloud that time; she knew it, she was certain of it. But something had answered her…

  “answered.”

  She swore aloud and spun around, peering into the dark. Dimly she could make out the gentle hump of the islet and the faintly phosphorescent glimmer of the river’s surface beyond. Nothing moved on the rock. There was nothing there.

  Indigo licked her lips. Her instinct was to call out, challenge the voice, but she was held back by an unpleasant conviction that to do so might invite a response for which she wasn’t prepared. She wished that her knife was in her hand, rather than left behind with her other belongings in the oracle’s cave at the citadel. Better still, her crossbow and a good supply of bolts … though how she might defend herself against an invisible assailant was a question she didn’t care to answer.

  For a minute, perhaps two, she stood still, scanning the rock, her ears alert for any sound. Still nothing; and she began to wonder if perhaps she’d imagined it. Maybe if she took up the witchlight, explored the rock again—

  “rock again.”

  “Who are you?” Indigo yelled. “Show yourself!”

  The echoes of her voice shouted back tumultuously from the tunnel walls, then faded away. There was no answer.