Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (20 page)

“Make sure it fits perfectly,” she snapped. “Her
Majesty’s guests are arriving this eve, and she will want to show him off next
turn, even if he is not fully broken. So any adjustments have to be made now.”

Gavaron perked up attentively at this information,
distracted from what he had been attempting. The Queen had more guests coming?
It might be nothing, but he felt within his bones that these guests were
significant in some way. This menagerie was a violation of the laws of Ava’Lona
- she could receive a sentence of death if it were found out. So any guests she
brought here had to be as corrupt as she, and as culpable in any schemes she
was plotting against Jeliya. He would have to eavesdrop, if possible. He might
learn something valuable.

Gavaron took particular glee in making the entire
outfit that had just been adjusted to perfectly fit Varo disintegrate to little
more than dust. Fekniri looked aggrieved, but not particularly surprised.

“Put the second one on him.” She watched impassively
as an identical set was carted out. This set, though, Gavaron could feel, had a
rite of lor’rita on it, to prevent decay. He decided not to break the rite - it
tasted of the same evil of the pink pearls. He turned, instead, back to the
task he had been toiling away at - finding a way to free his av’rito’ka. He had
been studying his own pay’ta, and he could feel how the av’rita suppression
changed it. He had been working on shifting it back - and as Fekniri smiled
maliciously at him, when the panquin and tack did not rot away to nothing,
Gavaron smiled triumphantly within Varo as a few of the bonds on his av’rito’ka
suddenly broke and some of his sense of the living world sprang back into dim
focus. Varo’s face stayed impassive as Fekniri took great pleasure in studying
the confining outfit. She gloated at its fit and make, but did not receive the
reaction she was trying to elicit. Varo looked through her.

“Remove it,” she said finally, and he could feel her
anger at not having gotten a rise out of him. “We don’t want it marred for next
eve. Put his regular tack back on, and let him sleep in it. I must go and
attend her Majesty.”

Gavaron’s thoughts whirled as he pondered the
additional guests of the Queen, shutting out what was happening to Varo. He had
already known that there were wuman Queens who had turned against the High
Family - all those warru in the unclaimed lons had been trying to capture or
kill Jeliya, and they had been under the direction of someone with power. Were
the ones responsible all coming here, to this secret, isolated place? Could he
find out who they were? Such knowledge could be invaluable later.

The grooms put him and all the captives to bed
early, then scurried away, apparently to help with final preparations for the
new guests’ arrival. When the av’tuns opened, he felt it, and he sent his
awareness to the villa, using the walls themselves as his listening devices.
There were three of the new-comers, and with the Queen’s current guest, five in
all of the corrupt party.

They went through the ritual sharing of drink, but
not gulu, and they did not pour any libations, nor did they share pleasantries.
There was no pleasure in meeting for the five who gathered in the meeting lain
in the palatial villa.

“The Heir has been - recovered,” one of the voices,
like bright fool’s gold, sneered in distaste.

“She was within your grasp,” the familiar Queen’s
voice accused. “And you let them slip in and pluck her right out from under
your warru’s noses.”

“They were
lucky
,” another voice, like filth
covered in satin, growled. “And that new beast of yours helped them! He killed
some of
my
warru and freed a whole hand of my servant beasts!”

“He will be - suitably punished, once we come to
power,” the Queen said, and her voice was a nasty smile of velvet and blood
mixed with gore. “He has a - tendre for the Heir. When she is under our heel
and made to perform for our amusement, he will suffer.”

“But how can we go forward with our plans if we don’t
have the blasted girl?” whined a voice of sour leaves. “How do we find....” the
voice cut off, as if admonished to silence. “How do we find
it
, how do
we find it, without her?” the whining voice persisted. “She would not have left
without finding what she was looking for! What if they have it already? We were
supposed to find it first!”

“She did not find it,” the bright, false gold voice
said, confidently. “She has reached the Ritious City by now and there has been
no mass movement of warru. The Av’ru still weakens. And finding
it
is
not what we needed her for.”

“She
was
out looking for any clue to its
location,” the familiar Queen’s voice said. “That was no secret. She did not
find
it
, but what if she
did
find what she was looking for?”

“The beast? He is not it. We would have felt that,”
the satin over filth voice said, dripping derision. “Oh, you think he knows? In
fact, he might, at that. Yes, that actually makes sense.”

Gavaron stiffened. But he kept listening.

“We still need her,” a fifth voice, dark as gossamer
shadows, spoke. “To - bring pressure at the right time, against her Family. We
have our hooks in her - but not deeply enough, or she would never have escaped.
We need to have her firmly under our control.”

“She is beyond our reach,” the velvety claret voice
averred, dismissive. “We cannot pry her out of T’Av’li. And when she is checked
by the ol’bey M’rad’ni, the hooks you think set in her will be eradicated.”

“I disagree,” the smoke voice said. “She will be
vulnerable during her trials. I might be able to - arrange something.”

“And what if your new plan has the same success as
the previous ones?” The false gold voice asked. “What if the Heir again slips
through your fingers?”

“Then,” the shadowy voice replied, “we will get her
when she once again leaves the relative safety of T’Av’li.”

“You say that as if you know she will, for certain,”
the Queen smirked.

“Even if she knows where it is, she still has to go
and retrieve it, or deal with it where it is hidden,” the shadow smoke of a
voice turned sweet, like opium fume, dangerously sweet. “The High Queen cannot
go herself, and she would not trust such an important task to anyone else. The
High Heir
will
leave the City again.”

“What about this beast of yours?” the whiny voice of
sour leaves insisted. “We should find out if he knows anything. Now!”

“He is not going anywhere,” the Queen said, in
smiling arrogance. “We will get the information out of him, if he has any, next
eve, while we play with him.”

The chorus of laughter chilled him. He did not plan
on being around for the interrogation.

the darkness
turned...

The next turn, the grooms were unusually late in
bringing first meal. They were sullen and disinclined to chat, only feeding
him, but not grooming him. Asking them what was wrong was futile - they would
not answer. But he suspected that he knew when both their stomachs growled, and
they actually looked at his food with envy and longing. The other mounts
received the same short shrift - hasty feeding and a quick clean of their
stalls.

Only one of the Train’Marms showed her face, and she
walked slowly and carefully, not entering any of the stalls. She did not stay
long, but merely looked at the Katari and him as they ate, waiting until the
last stalk of grass had been devoured. When half a san’chron had passed, she
went away, the slightest of resentful expressions on her face.

A low laugh from Tema’s stall made Gavaron grin. He
had confirmed his suspicion by gently probing the Train’Marm with his lor’rita
- food poisoning. His doing? He could only hope so.

Perhaps when I plan to make my move, I arrange for
another such treat?
he wondered, stretching in his bonds. But he could not escape until his av’rita
was fully freed - he would need it, he knew, for the attempt to be successful.

But how was their av’rito’ka being blocked? Short of
being unconscious, nothing he knew of, save a stronger mind, could block
someone’s ability to touch the spirit of light.

Even strong minds get tired,
he mused. And a
mind strong enough to block all the captives in this eve-mare place? No wuman
mind he knew of could do that, not even Jenikia when she was alive. And
anything stronger would surely attract the attention of the Goddesses. Plus,
another mind around his, stifling his av’rita, would know about Varo, and all
his depredations. It was possible, certainly, that they were playing a deep
game, and letting him do what he was doing, but he had to wager that they were
not that devoted to exerting themselves. Suppose it was something foreign? What
substance could eat the very sense of light...?

He turned his lor’rita on Tema, and wanted to laugh,
or curse at himself. Of course! There it was, that brittle pink taint, the
opposite of an aura, the poison hole with inverted spikes, but so subtle that
he had not sensed it before, would not have sensed it unless he was looking for
it. It was in their food, in their water, in the chains that bound them, even.
Corrupt pearls, crushed to powder and mixed into everything here.

It must be introduced from the first turn, forcibly,
he thought,
turning the knowledge over and over. He did not have time or the means to warn
her if he attempted to purge her system of the poison - the love-vine would not
shine in the light of morn, and there was the possibility of it being seen by a
groom.

I will try it on myself, first,
he decided, and
reached within himself to the diffuse, chalky contamination that infused his
body and began pushing it toward his wuman stomach.
If I can get it out of
her fast enough, I can ‘tun my thoughts to her, calm her if she panics.

The poison stuff reached his stomach and turned the
back of his throat bitter pink. His stomach contracted, and a very wet heave
wracked him. Stretching as far over to the right as he could, he felt another
wretch coming and did not fight it, but vomited out bright pink, pearly sludge,
along with his fast’s breaking. It felt almost cleansing, the first layer of
poison gone. When the heaving stopped, he spat and moved back as far as his
bonds would allow, wishing he had clean, untainted water.

How long before I...

A nova went off in his mind’s eye. He screamed and
screamed as light beat in on him from all sides, demanding, pounding to be
seen, felt,
sensed
, and he thrashed in his chains, but there was nowhere
to hide from the glaring, pounding, torturous
light
, a lost friend
suddenly turned nemesis, an enraged lover thwarted for too long, beating at his
helpless mind with wave after wave after crushing wave of sensory glare, like
the angry surf, like the desert’s kiss at zenith. He tried to close his mental
eyes, but like dawn through flesh, the light of Av shone through, and slowly,
so slowly, atrophied pathways began to accept the overload, sorting, sifting,
screening out what he did not need. Starved rods and cones of the mind flexed,
and still were veiled - all of the pearl stuff was not gone from his system.

I – I’ll wait before I take more out,
he thought,
exhausted from the effort of moving microscopic stuff within his body, the
throwing up, and the lucentous assault. And he realized, as he lay resting,
that he could not purge the other captives all at once - the return to light
would kill them.

I’ve only been deprived of Av for a few ten’turns,
he mused
darkly, wishing the grooms would come back and clean his stall, or that he
dared free himself to do it.
Some of them have been in the darkness for
cycles. Or tens of cycles. It will have to be slow.
But he had the perfect
cover. Everyone else was sick - well, the captives would be, too. But it would
be a purifying sickness, and at the end, they would be much like their former
selves.

But a darker plan revolved in Gavaron’s mind. Had
his captors been ingesting the same poison to make themselves impervious to
light? What would happen if he purged
them
all at once?

the light
turned...

All around him, hungry grooms were busy with rags,
scrub brushes, buckets, and clean straw. Those at the villa were still infirm,
and none of the Train’Marms appeared in the stables. The turn passed in
sickness.

Gavaron smiled as another mount in the blasphemous
stable threw up. Av was close to setting, and the grooms were exhausted. He
pulled the last of the corrupting pearlstuff from himself and took a malicious
glee in regurgitating it all over his just-scrubbed stall, then collapsing and
moaning pathetically. The grooms answered him, groan for moan, and the squeak
of his stall door made him want to laugh.

“I swear, if this big brute throws up again, I’ll
leave him to swim in it!” one groused, as they began to clean up, yet again.

Gavaron smiled in the inside. This eve, he could do
the real work, and warn the other captives of what was to come.