Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (25 page)

Silonyi digested that, then asked the question that
was really plaguing her.

“Ejai’li’ra - what does the phrase ‘sins of the
Mother’ mean?”

He gazed at her, then he and his novice began
gathering his paraphernalia, as though they were making ready to leave. “Where
did you hear that phrase?” he asked casually.

“In a dream,” she said, a strange desperation at his
leaving rising in her. She felt,
knew
that if he left without giving her
the answer, she would never know, and no other servant of the Divinities would
come again to her mother’s house. And he had not told her how get better.
“Please, Ejai’li, tell me. I must know.”

“Silonyi, the ori hadai will not see into the
unrevealed. They can only see the whole of a thing once a piece, however small,
has been given.” He flicked the barest glance at her.

She blinked. Had not she given him a piece? Should
she betray all for this? He looked intently into her eyes.

“I and mine are under oath of our Goddess to never
reveal any of what we have been told to another soul, so long as the Realm is
not endangered. What you say goes no farther than me.”

Still she hesitated. He shrugged and turned away.
“It is your life, Princess. There must be great strife within you if you cannot
even trust the word of one of the Gadayi.”

She was at her wits’ end. The decision came more
easily than she would have dreamed.

“Wait!”

The Priest stopped packing and looked at her
expectantly. She glanced at the novice. Ejai’li looked at him and he dropped
what he was doing and left the lain. Then she told him everything, from
witnessing the prisoner up to the explosion she did not remember. His face
became somber as she spoke, then troubled, then totally devoid of expression.
When she stopped, he grunted as if with satisfaction that held no pleasure, as
if he had been waiting to hear the complete story.

“I see.” He took the ori hadai out again and
whispered over them, cast them. Then he gathered them up and sat close to her
again. He summoned a piece of papi’ras and began to write.

“I can only tell you a little of what you want to
know. The rest you must choose to find out for yourself.

“Long ago, there were two sisters, one elder, the
other younger by a matter of gran. The elder sister was given something
precious, that she was to use for the good of her people. The younger stood at
her right hand, to advise as she saw fit. Now the precious thing could be used
for good or ill - and at first the elder sister used it for good. But
possession of the precious thing brought something bad out of the elder sister,
and she began to abuse her right to possess the precious thing. Her sister saw
her errors, and tried to point them out, but the elder one was blind and deaf
to all save herself and the precious thing. So when her excesses had grown too
great, the younger sister challenged her. They fought for three turns without
rest, and it seemed that the elder would emerge victorious. But the younger had
righteousness and ritiousness on her side, and the righteous always have the
favor of the Goddesses. By her own strength and by the grace of the Goddesses
did the younger sister triumph. The elder sister was forced to give up the
precious thing, and banished. But the elder’s daughter was given a choice: ‘The
sins of the mother need not be the sins of the daughter,’ the younger sister
said. But the daughter chose banishment with her mother, the elder sister.

“You face a similar choice: the actions of the
mother need not be continued by the daughter. The choices you make and the path
you take will determine whether whatever actions in your ancestors’ lives will
be perpetuated by you.

“I can tell you this one thing more. What you need to
complete your time of choosing is in the Ritious City. Only there will you be
able to once again perform one of the Rites of Solu. You will know which one to
perform when your choice is made.” He handed her the slip of papi’ras.

“How much time do I have? And what do I do to
sustain myself until then?” she asked as he resumed packing his things.

“Until then you must rely upon the land and water to
give you what you cannot get from the air or Av.” He summoned a different roll
of papi’ras and it unrolled itself before her, revealing a map. “You know of
the Av’Vales?” She nodded, struck speechless. “You must go to the nearest one
and pluck from there four fruit - a gav’ulu, a cav’lapo, a guil’inchin and a
curi’chin. Two of these fruit have the ability to concentrate and hold the
light of Av to such a degree that they would sustain you. The other two do the
same with air. Eat one and take its seeds with you. When you are in need of Av’s
or Chi’s energy, whichever you choose, you must ask someone to make the seed
grow rapidly to bear its fruit so that you might eat again. But the fruit are
dangerous in their own way, and you must reach the Ritious City before you are
forced to eat twenty of any of these. The twentieth will be the death of you.”

The map disappeared the way it came. “That is all my
Goddess will allow me to say. All that you need to doonce you get to the
Ritious City is written there. Good journey to you.” He called his assistant
back in so that they could finish.

“But what if I do not go? What if I
cannot
go?” she pleaded.

“That, too, is a choice you must make. But one way
or the other, this will all end in the Ritious City. If you do not go, or do
not make it in time, another will take your place and make the choices that you
did not.”

Silonyi held in a shudder of disquiet. That sounded
too much like her mother’s threat that she could be replaced by another.

The Priest summoned his novice and they finished
their task and inclined their heads to her, received hers in return.

“Thank you, Ejai’li. Can you tell me how long I have
to decide?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You have until no
later than the first eve of the Festival. By then you must either be on your
way or making peace with the Goddesses, unless an extremely powerful av’rito’ka
can move you there in time. I wish you well, Highness.” He turned and left
without looking back.

“I wish you well, Priest.” She looked after his
retreating back, her thoughts a jumble of all the things he had told her. When
he was gone half a san’chron, she called for papi’ras and ink. Imraja appeared.

“I am writing a correspondence to my mother, the
Queen,” she informed the Voice, taking the sheets and beginning to write
furiously.

“Was the Priest able to be of help?” Imraja asked.

“He was. He divined the problem quite readily. And
he told me what to do about it, too.” She put down what Ejai’li had said and
what had happened in the chi’av’an. With any luck she would have a reply in two
turns telling her to begin her journey.

“That lightens my heart, Highness. May I be of
assistance?”

“Yes.” She finished the letter and sealed it, held
it out to the Voice. “See that this is delivered with all haste to our Queen.
And make haste. Time is of weighing essence.”

CHAPTER
XIII

the darkness, soft and flickering,
turned...

Av
set. The after-zen rites had gone by in a blur, and Jeliya had slept through
the small meal she was supposed to be allowed. She was barely able to keep her
head up as they dressed her for her eve vigil, and one Priestess had slipped
her some water, while the others looked away. But now she was awake, and alone
in the Temple, surrounded by jars of gold nuggets and empty, waiting platters,
and silence. The scroll of Invocation was before her.

Jeliya picked up the first uneven golden nugget. She
knew that she could not hope for a repeat of the eve before, where divine
intervention had aided her in her task. Her av’rito’ka, on the way to
recovering, had been depleted by the morn’s battle with the av’rita of the
people.

Her eyes burned. She felt a weariness in her limbs,
as if they, too, were made of gold, but gold mixed with lead, heavy and
worthless. She took a deep breath and looked around the empty Temple, then back
to the clay jars and the platters around her.

So tired
. The marble tiles were hard and cold
beneath the desi upon which she knelt. She was so alone, so alone. She held the
nugget up again and summoned the thread-bare garment of her av’rita, used it to
flatten the lump and make it into a ball. She flattened the ball and smoothed
out the edges, so that the whole thing became a disk, which she slowly
stretched to the proper size. As she worked, she chanted the mantra,

“Goddesses, I
Invoke thee

As witness to my
thoughts

As judges to
deeds I have wrought

As guides to
goals I have sought

By this eve,
blessed

My Ancestors’
graven crest

In purest gold
by my behest!”

Slowly, so slowly she wanted to weep, the image of a
boabi in Av’s glory carved itself in relief into the soft metal. And the disk
hardened, setting the image. She reached out and placed it in the center of the
first platter. One done. Nine-hundred and ninety nine to go.

“Goddesses, I Invoke thee...” her voice was hoarse
as she finished the tenth. By fifty, her fingers were numb, and she had to
whisper the words. She had to stop, for she shivered to violently that she could
barely hold the next nugget. It clattered from her nerveless hands, which she
pressed to her growling and cramping stomach. She was feeling that missed meal,
and wished that she had sacrificed the sleep instead of the nutrients.

“Ancestors,” she whispered, rocking in place,
“please, lend me your strength. Goddesses, please, let me not fail you...”

Tears slipped down her face, tears at her own
weakness.
I am not fit to rule,
she thought, hopelessly.
If I can’t
finish a simple task, how can I hope to hold the safety of a million people in my
hands?

A warmth suffused her, and a gentle laugh seemed to
echo through the Temple. A force outside of herself lifted her arms, and she
stared at glowing hands, then at glowing fingers that flexed independently of
her own.

“Wha...?” she croaked, and the glow moved away from
her, resolved into a translucent figure that looked like her, and yet not,
features that held a familial similarity. Another appeared, and another, until
fifty-three ghostly women were arrayed around her, each similar in one way or
another to the next, all familiar in a far-off way. She had seen each face
before, but not like this.

Jeliya shivered again, and it had nothing to do with
the cool air in the Temple.

“You... are you...?” Words failed her and she just
gaped.

The first lady to appear cocked her head, her eyes
twinkling.

*:You called upon us,:* she av’tunned, and the even
the words were warm, laughing, like the eyes. *:Did you think we would not
answer?:*

“But - but... I have called before, and... not
this
,”
Jeliya sputtered. “I - I did not... aren’t I supposed to do this myself? Isn’t
calling the Ancestors just - just
ceremonial
?”

*:Everyone needs aid sometimes,:* the last to appear
said, and her voice rang the most with uncanny power, as if she had stood at
the right hand of Av the longest. *:Even when I battled for what was righteous,
I came close to being bested; and after three turns of battle, even I needed to
call upon Those whom were greater than myself.:*

“Inzebau,” Jeliya breathed, looking at the shade of
her many-times great grandmother, the First High Queen as ordained by the
Goddesses. She looked at the one before her, the one with the laughing eyes.
“So you must be...”

*:Jenikia,:* the other chuckled. *:I see that we
share a special bond beyond similarity of name.:* The smile turned sad, a
sadness so vast, so like the deep well that Jeliya had felt in Gavaron that she
caught her breath, and felt a river of tears that she had not the moisture to
weep swell up inside her.

*:Weep not for me, Daughter of my daughter’s
daughter,:* the spirit of Jenikia shook her head, and the sadness vanished.
*:My tale is done. My sadness is ended in the glory of the Supreme One. You
have the choice whether to follow as closely in my footsteps, or to write your own
tale upon brighter papi’ras. But come; you did not call on us to relive our
tragedies and gladnesses. We are here to help you, for this is a special eve.
But be warned. Twice you have been set a difficult task, and twice Others have
intervened. The third, you can and must find the strength to do alone.:*

Jeliya swallowed and nodded, speechlessly.

*:Now you must do - we will follow.:* They arrayed
themselves around her, their poses identical to hers. Every move she made, they
shadowed.

Jeliya picked up a gold nugget, and fifty-three
others rose in ghostly, translucent fingers.

“Goddesses, I Invoke thee...” their voices were
ringing, hollow echoes of hers, and when her av’rita surrounded the gold, a
warm whirlwind filled the Temple, a rush of sweeping av’rita that left her
heady with the power amassed. As she shaped the nugget, so were fifty-three
others shaped at the same time, and the task of nine-hundred and fifty became
the pleasure of shaping nineteen. The last set was laid in the platters as the
first rays of Av struck through the windows, and the shades wavered like silken
mist, and faded before Av’s glory, starting with Inzebau. As each shimmered
away, the medallion she held dropped into place on the last platter as ghostly
fingers became nothing in the light of morn.

The last to vanish was Jenikia, who set her
medallion down and touched Jeliya’s face with warm fingers, like a desert
breeze’s caress.

*:Fight for him,:* she whispered as the light of Av
moved toward her, sweeping away those who had come before her. *:Fight for him
as I did not. I was wrong to let him be torn away from me. I was wrong to let
him go...:*

Jeliya felt tears spill down her face, laying down
the last of the medallions as the Gadayi flowed into the Temple. She bowed and
touched her forehead to the cold tiles.

“Thank you, my Ancestors,” she whispered fervently.
“Thank you for lending me your strength, ashe.”

the light
turned...

The Priestesses got her ready for the turn’s trials
quickly, again slipping her water when by tradition she should not have had
any. They ushered her to the main entrance of the Great Laine where her mother
waited, bare except for the briefest of pec’ta loin-cloths. Audola looked none
the worse for her second eve’s vigil, but the expression on her mother’s face
told Jeliya that she did not look quite as well. Nor did she feel it. Her av’rita
was so low that she felt chilled even in the warmth of Av. Her stomach knotted
with hunger, and a headache was beginning at the base of her skull. But she had
to endure, for at the end of the Golden Way were the trials against her mother’s
seven second best warru.

“Majesties,” the Head Priestess said quietly, “it is
time.”

Audola touched Jeliya’s shoulder, as a mother,
imparting what av’rita she could. Then she turned as High Queen and marched
down the stairs, stepped onto the Golden Way, and with a slow stateliness that
covertly delayed Jeliya’s need to follow, made her way to Festival Grounds.

At a nod from the High Priestess, Jeliya gathered
herself and proceded down the steps. At the bottom she paused, spread her arms,
smiled, and stepped onto the Golden eWay.

The first twenty paces were like dancing upon the
wind, Av like wings on her back, the good-will of the people an up-lifting of
song in her chest. At first the light of Av helped to warm her, and gave her a
little burst of energy. The next fifty were a little slower, heavier, and her
heart began to labor as a sheen of sweat broke out all over her body. Then
something within her crashed, and immediately, she knew she was in trouble. Her
legs felt weak, and the glittering sand threw the heat of Av back up at her,
baking her instead of buoying her. Her arms again were lead over gold, and she
let them drop to her sides. She tried to keep smiling, but even that was a
drain on her as she strove another fifteen steps, then another five, and then
one by one, willing her feet to step smartly on the path. Finally she abandoned
all pretense and concentrated on walking, dragging the leaden weights of her
limbs through unwilling slow-sand.

Each step became more difficult than the last. Her
breath rasped in her throat, and the glare of Av, instead of being sustaining,
was cruel, punishing, where it should have been uplifting. Jeliya willed her
foot to move yet another step - she could not, by tradition, stop, though the
pauses between each foot-fall became the tiniest bit longer each time. Sweat
was dripping slowly off her, not cooling her in the least. She needed water,
for soon her body would be at the dehydration threshold and she would not sweat
anymore, but overheat and possibly lose consciousness.

No
, she thought firmly, pushing those
thoughts away.
Such thoughts lead to defeat.
She had to show that she
was strong enough, just, to finish these trials, despite all that she had been
through. Even if she had to crawl.

Step. The masses around her were utterly silent, no
mean feat for so large a body of people. Step. She could feel their eyes, as
hot as Av’s kiss, and as heavy as a storm-cloud sky at Av’dusk. Step. Even
their well-meaning offerings of av’rita as support had ceased, thankfully,
leaving her to turn all her energy and concentration to the mechanics of
putting one foot before the other.

Step. She did not look at the end of the path.
Seeing so many steps to be made might defeat her determination, making her just
give up where she was. Step. Nor did she count the steps she made; there were
supposed to be exactly one thousand, but to count them and get caught in the
middle - that too, might undo her. Step. Instead she imaged the beat of a tuk’ni,
moving her feet on each resounding strike upon its surface.

And then her ankle, the one that had been injured in
her long-ago fall from the ferr’flambeaux, turned. She stumbled and pitched
forward to her hands and knees. A sound moved through the crowd. She allowed
herself one deep breath to push the pain away before she pulled herself up,
bracing on her knees, and took another step on the invisible beat she had been
marching to. The collectively held breath of the masses was let out, and someone
clapped on her next step. And more, step. Hundreds clapping, step. Thousands,
step. Hundreds of thousands, step.

The last of her sweat evaporated, and her throat,
already raw, went totally dry. Step. Her lips went dry. Step... Step. Her nasal
passages went dry. Step. And finally her eyes. Each blink became an eve-mare of
sand-paper over her corneas, each breath the slide of dust into her lungs.
Step. And where the offerings of av’rita had not aided her, the clapping did, a
thunderous sound that surrounded her and took over command of her feet, the
sound itself seeming to do the stepping for her. Step.

Jeliya could barely see the path through
half-closed, grit-filled eyes. Her body sagged, the last of her reserves
draining slowly away, a little bit lost and left behind in each foot-print.