Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (7 page)

“That
creature
,” the words slipped out,
bitter and anger-filled. Luyon’s hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her
close.

“It seems he saved her,” he said gently, trying to
soften the blow. “He did pull her back from the brink of death.”

“Yes, but what else did he do to her? The Solu’san?
How could she have a link so advanced, a link that formed in ten’turns what
would not even form after tens of cycles, unless she committed the Solu’san?
What if the eyes of the Goddesses and the Supreme One have turned away from
her? The future of the Realm is resting on her shoulders. If she is rendered
illegitimate because of this, we will have played right into our enemies’
hands.”

Luyon wrapped comforting arms around her. “Then we
will just have to determine whether she is still fit to rule,” he said
matter-of-factly.

Audola looked back at him and poured her fear into
his supportive hands. “And if she isn’t?”

“Then,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder
and kissing her cheek, “there may be a way to make her so.”

Audola did not protest as his arms tightened and he
kissed her again. She gave him her fear and worry, and he gave her possible
solutions. And she thanked the Supreme One again for his presence.

CHAPTER
IV

seething with hatred and purple with
rage, the darkness turned..

...Gav’av’aron limped beside Cedagav, his left hind
leg still sore from his cousin’s hoof - as was his chest. They entered the obin’toyo
and there, in the dark, was the self-same cousin Mendicuv. Ol’bey’women were
gathered around him, and his low moans were counterpoint to their whispered
chants and finger drums.

Cedagav
watched them work for a long moment, then turned to his adopted half-son.

“See
what you have wrought,” he said, without rancor or rebuke. “You are Coaltam -
you are held to a higher standard than others.”

“Yes,
Cedagav,” Gav’av’aron said in a subdued voice. “I was defending myself.” He
said it as undefensively as he could. “I did not provoke him.”

“Yes,
I know, Coaltam. I am not blaming or chastising. But as Coaltam, and one turn,
Stallyn, you must take responsibility for the actions of others - like
Mendicuv. And since your actions harmed him, you will help heal him. And though
he hates you for taking what he saw as his rightful place, you must love him
like a brother and look out for his well-being. One turn you will show him who
leads the Herd. But you must still love him because he is part of the Herd.”

Gav’av’aron
did not argue. He stepped forward, then looked at the other with a question.

“And
will he look out for my well-being, should I need it?”

Cedagav’s
deep black, copper-flecked eyes narrowed slightly. “Very good Coaltam. You are
right to question. The problem of one is the problem of all, in the Herd. If
the two of you cannot resolve this between yourselves, then the Clan Herds will
find a way to resolve it for you.”

With
that slightly ominous, matter of fact statement, Cedagav left. Gav’av’aron
moved closer, feeling just the slightest bit of resentment that he should be
made to undo what he had had to do to save himself from the other’s cruelty.
But then, Mendicuv would have to live knowing that he owed his life in part to
Gav’av’aron’s healing - the thought made some of the resentment melt away.
Without breaking rhythm, the ol’bey women made space for him. Chest muscles
still aching, hoof-shaped bruises still burning, he settled among them and laid
his hands on his paler cousin. He extended all his senses, av’rito, di’rito and
lor’rito - he could feel the damage he had done, but he did not yet see how to
repair it...

the darkness
turned...

Gavaron woke with the rise of the last moon, and
stretched in his bonds. With each memory, he felt a little bit more of the
learnings of his life before crossing the Av’ru return to him. He let his
awareness sink into the earth, free of fetters as his sense of Av was not. Each
time he used his lor’rita it became easier, more natural, more readily
available to his touch. He sank just below the surface of his confines and
spread his senses out, memorizing, mapping, marking his path out to freedom.
The prison he was in was not attached to any Tribal palace, but was a compound
in the wilderness, hidden far from any centers of large populations. There was
a palatial villa at one end. The compound, including the stable and fields,
were directly behind the residence and were abutted by tree-carpeted mountains.

Gavaron laughed to himself as he took a mental walk
around the compound. He had begun planting the seeds of decay throughout the
place, rites of destruction, some of which would take immediate effect, and
some that would take many cycles, even tens of cycles to come to fruition. He
had weakened support beams and set fractures and faults into stone. He
encouraged pests in wood and cloth and food. He leached away gold from treasure
chambers and worked at the bonds within precious gems. Wherever possible, he
slowly replaced precious metals with lead or other base metals, leaving a thin
veneer to fool the eye. And then he had worked at the inhabitants of the foul
place, shifting delicate chemical balances within their bodies ever so
slightly, breaking a bond here and corrupting one there, sowing infirmity and
disease that would show with age. He felt a pang of uncertainty before touching
the servants, those who were there against their will, and decided to leave
them mostly alone. The others, the rulers of this eve-mare - he had only to
look as far as his stall-wall to dissolve any doubt about tampering with them.
The Queen and her Court were transgressors against the Goddesses. They had
fallen past redemption long ago.

The stable was actually just a small part of an
abhorrent menagerie, filled with all conceivable specimens of Av’Touched, even
some he had never come across before. There were beautiful half-bird half-wuman
creatures, with feathers like the finest silk, in huge suspended cages. There
were feline, wuman-like beings lounging on moss-covered rocks with chained
collars around their necks. There were half-wuman half-fish people in large,
enclosed tanks without seams. There were Katari, Cribeau, even wumans, all
bound and waiting on the pleasure of their captor. And there were inimical
pre-Av’Touched, lor’ugawu, mirrli, lu’mari, and others that defied description.

The others imprisoned with him were of some interest
to him beyond merely testing his lor’rita - while he could not ‘see’ using his
lor’rita, he could sense them, could feel their general outline, their
composition, and the shape of their minds, if not the thoughts themselves.
These other captives, on the other side of the palm, he worked to strengthen.
He enriched the food and fodder coming to the prisoners. He attacked the
rite-locks on his and their av’rita as much as he could, and tried to encourage
knowledge of the male ‘ritas. He strengthened their bodies and fanned their
defiance through their hormones while weakening their bonds. Some of them were
too docile - they had been broken, and they followed every direction their
handlers gave them. Others fought their bonds, screaming their defiance and
laughing at their punishment, raging against the bars and chains of their
cages. Gavaron had studied the defiant ones before, sometimes weakening their
shackles and the bars or locks to their prisons at moments of disobedience. And
a few, upon discovering this aid, broke loose. One or two even made it all the
way to freedom.

He pondered his fellow and sister captives as he
pushed the limits of his strength.
Should I plan to take others with me when
I finally liberate myself?
he wondered. It was riskier and infinitely more
difficult to try to free all of them. Besides, what did he owe these others?
The captives were not allowed to communicate at all, but some of them found
ways. He had tried with those nearest him, but they had been unresponsive.
If
they have given up hope, are they worth freeing? Should I jeopardize my chance
just for their sake?

His thoughts were disturbing to him as he ranged out
past the villa grounds and the out-buildings and the surrounding wilderness.
Before, he might not have given a second thought to freeing others.
Have I
given too much sensitivity to Varo? Or have I always been so distant from
others besides Jenikia and Jeliya that I would have always contemplated leaving
the helpless in their straits?

No, he had always tried to help those in need,
before, to the best of his ability. Perhaps a part of him sensed that the
freeing of others was beyond his powers?

He turned his attention completely to the
surroundings for a moment. Far to the weste, beyond the wilderness were farms
and fields. The forest in between was old, alive, with deep roots. The trees of
it quivered at his touch, gently feeling his presence with their roots. He
tickled them back and moved on. Mapping these features in his mind, he turned
back to his ponderings.

Perhaps he could free some of the prisoners, and
they would help free others? He considered the notion, probing deeper, when his
awareness suddenly expanded not just down, but out, spreading faster than he
could assimilate. Like parched ground drinking water, the earth soaked him up,
leaving his body far behind. Through the soil and stone he rippled, like a dark
stain spreading, blazing black mountains breaking out upon the surface of his
mind like blemishes, covered with pale hairs like trees and shallow sweat
filled pits like seas and rivers. Below, the black bedrock sucked him in even
faster, down and out, filled with unexpected pockets of creamy air and gray
water, and still farther, down and out to the white-gray chaos of the magma
layer...

No, I...! Ripped apart!
his mind cried,
can’t, spreading too thin, I...

YOU ARE A CHILD OF LORO,
the earth sang.
ALL
THE WORLD WILL KNOW YOU AND ANSWER. ALL THINGS OF LORO AND DIO WILL HEED YOU.
LOR’SON, KNOW THAT YOU HAVE BEEN NAMED.

And like a nova dwindling to a tiny star, his
consciousness winked out.

the light
turned...

...Gavaron
dreamed. In his dream, Jeliya was on a path of gold, bathed in platinum light.
She trod the path, her skin glistening, while willowy trees lined the path,
waving gently in a welcome kiss of breeze. She looked beautiful, tall and regal,
walking slowly and stately upon the smooth gold sand.

The
glittering drops of moisture that so defined and highlighted her velvet skin
turned to tiny rivulets. The light upon her seemed to congeal, gradually
putting more and more weight upon her shoulders, and he saw that the sand was
not so smooth. There were harsh, hard-edged grains of grit that seemed to cut
right through her sandals, just enough to prick her feet. The trees, with the
faces of multitudes in their trunks, gave no shade, but seemed to stir the
light with their branches, making it thicker, and churning the grit with their
roots, turning up the sharp points.

But
she strode valiantly on, her floor-length guinne fanning out behind her,
shedding sweet sweat and the thickening light like ebon silk. Her av’rita rose
like a blossoming flower of crystal amber, and filtered the light. It also
spread slick over the jagged path, more like gravel than sand, he saw now, to
smooth the way of those who would come behind her...

the darkness
turned...

The two stable boys woke Gavaron up as they came in
warily, glancing around as if expecting joumbi to jump out at them, even in the
full light of early morn. Varo took no note of this, merely wondering vaguely
what fresh torments they had in store for him this turn. But Gavaron noticed,
and laughed inside. He listened within Varo’s ears, his thoughts whirling
behind Varo’s mind.

“D’you really t’ink dis one cursed, for true?” one
whispered to the other as they tried to do their chores as fast as they could
and still be thorough, and tried to touch him as little as possible.

“Dunno,” the other grunted recalcitrantly, casting a
nervous glance at Varo. Varo pricked his ears, vaguely intrigued. Gavaron was
more interested - the grumpy one had an upset stomach, from filching food from
the dishes meant for the Queen’s table.

“Melae say he bring angry joumbi wit’ he from d’
Lora’Lons. Them say de joumbi taking revenge for him being bound-up here.”

“Just get d’ fresh straw and t’ing, nah?” the older
boy whispered testily, but there was fear in addition to discomfort under and
behind his sharp tongue. Again he cast a veiled glance at Varo, as if afraid
that Varo could do something to him. But of course, Gavaron could. When the
stable boy touched him to start grooming him, Gavaron reached out with his lor’rita
and calmed the boy’s stomach. The stable boy jerked his hand away and stared.
He caught the boy’s eye and smiled slightly, winked. The boy blenched slightly
and turned away.

“But melae say all d’ trouble start when they bring
he here! Them say he bring trouble with him!” The younger boy’s voice rose as
he flung his arms wide, scattering straw everywhere.

“Does melae say that indeed?” a cold voice, like the
chill of earth-bound clouds, queried. “And you have time to be listening to
melae and spreading melae instead of doing your duties? Perhaps I should see
your Mistress about that? I’m sure she could find something for you to do with
all this extra time you have?” Fekniri’s voice turned sweet.

The boys scuttled about their chores with extra
fervor, stammering out apologies and denials, then finally falling silent under
the weight of her heavy, baleful stare.