The Paladin's Odyssey (The Windows of Heaven) (9 page)

Another student said, “People
do
n’
t know themselves. We
help them find themselves
by
reminding them that
the gods accept them
as they are
.”

A
boyish girl
,
or
maybe a girlish boy—Pyra was
never
quite
sure with
Eo
,
and
Eo
never
told
—
gave
a different answer
;
“They are oppressed by the inflexible social dictates of older patriarchal generations.
Since
our desire-profiles
and the
behavior
s
they produce
are
pre-written in
our
creation codes and
unchangeable
, w
e provide them a safe outlet for their healthy natural passions that their fathers often still deny them.”

A
tiny
girl sitting in front of Pyra said, “
I feel Bida’s right.
P
eople
suffer
emotional
wound
s from
close family members. They
grow up with a stunted sense of self. We
show
them a life that has freed the creative divinity within. We
teach
them how to develop and cherish the self productive
ly
.”

Mnemosynae looked over to Pyra, as if expecting a comment.

Pyra blurted the first thing that came to her mind, “They’re all frightened and angry.”

A hush came over the amphitheater. Many of the initiates scowled
, shrugged,
or
rolled their eyes at her
.

Mnemosynae asked,
“Why are they frightened and angry, Pyra?”

Pyra felt
as
the winged serpent must have when Taanyx had closed in. “They sense something isn’t right and they don’t know what. They
all
fear that they are the problem, which makes them angry and defensive.”

“Excellent!” Mnemosynae nearly leaped. “Are they the problem?”

“No, of course not
; t
hey just
need
to discover who they really are. We help them do that through worship, guided meditation, and discussion.”

“Is that all?”

“We accept them as they are and love them without conditions in the deepest possible way.”

“What else?”

Pyra felt the eyes of the whole coven burn into her.
Why is Mnemosynae hammering me?
“We observe them as subjects, carefully, in every detail. Then we record our observations afterward. The best cases
are when patrons
talk to us either before or after worship
. W
e must encourage them to talk, but not coerce them. We read their dreams and lay open their hearts, both to help them understand themselves and to catch dangerous thoughts
before they get out of control
and turn into dangerous
actions
.”

Mnemosynae smiled.
“You have done your reading well, child.”

Pyra
did not know why she
had to fight to keep from trembling. “Except
…
the scrolls weren’t always clear on how we can tell which thoughts and dreams are dangerous and which are not, Mistress.”

The smile left Mnemosynae’s eyes. “Like many things, Pyra, time and experience can only give you those answers. That is why there are sages and over-mistresses to review your journals.”

T

he sun had set before Pyra made it back to the children’s dormitory. She heard Harachne’s shouting while still a ways off.

“I told you not to eat before they examined you, you stupid tart!”

She slowed her pace, reluctant to go inside
her mother’s domicile
. Young priestess
es
and their small children went about their business outside as if deaf to the Spider-woman’s tirade.

Pyra’s
m
other
said,
“I was queasy. It was only a bite of apple
.
”

Pyra hesitated outside the arch and felt sick all over. She could smell Harachne’s opium smoke waft out the window.
We’re Pandura’s daughters! Why does
Mauma
put up with this?

“You know the least deviation from procedure causes side effects! I don’t want you to get sores and lose your hair! I’m only thinking of you!”

Sure, what do you know
of
the procedures
, Harachne
? You’re just an academy marm
—
a glorified baby-sitter!
Pyra pushed through the door hangings. Mother sat on a stool
,
face buried in her hands. Harachne
hunched
over her
like some
sort of
bent
leering troll woman
. Both
looked
up
at Pyra when the hangings flapped shut.

“Your mother and I were just having a
discussion,” Harachne explained
and
then
stomped from the room.

Pyra went to her mother and held her head to her chest. “Why do you let her do this?”

Her mother looked up. “Please, darling, don’t you go off on me too.”

“I’m not mad, Mauma, I’m trying to understand. You’re a daughter of the High Priestess! I swear, I’ll tell Pandura if she does this again.”

“Darling, you mean well, but that would
violate
my autonomy. Pandura does not value herself as a mother. I’m sentimentally attached to the old-style family relationships. That’s why you and I get along so well.”

“Do we?”

“What do you mean, child?”

“Do we get along?”

“Of course we do! We have spats—just like I had with Harachne
…
”

“No!” Pyra said. “Not like you have with Harachne!
Never like that!
I don’t call you names even when I’m very mad at you!
I’ve never heard you call anyone a bad name,
either,
least of all me.
”

Pyra’s mother hung her head. “That’s true.”

“So why do you let her?”

“Harachne’s under a lot of pressure, sweetheart. Mistress Ataena gave the Council a poor recommendation and Harachne’s been passed over for promotion again. She’s not really mad at me—she cares for us.”

Pyra realized
that
it was like talking to the sundial
. Just as the sundial could only speak the time of day
when
the sun acted upon its form, so her mother seemed incapable of going beyond the outside forces—mainly Harachne—that acted upon her life.
If you’re so autonomous,
Mauma,
why do you need that woman so much that you’ll put up with this? Am I not also a force in your life?
Maybe Pandura is right and we are mere slaves of the material forces. No! Mnemosynae has seen too much inside us for that to be true! Harachne does not trap me, at least not inside!

“I’m going to bed, Mauma.” Pyra released her mother and stomped off to her chamber.
Soon I
must
release her forever.

Sleep did not come easily. Her window faced the sacred laboratory
,
with its sparkling colored lights. Sometimes the hum of the ventilation engines lulled her asleep, but not tonight.
At times, s
he thought she heard
garbled
voices screaming up through the air shafts for release—probably just the way the sea breeze played off the vent grates.

She closed her eyes.

The dream came before Pyra even realized she had fallen asleep.

A harsh blue light bobbed down the short hall toward her mother’s chamber. Pyra rose and followed it. There were people in the greeting room.

She pushed through
the door hangings of her mother’s sleeping alcove. Harachne sat on a floor cushion with eyes wide open in an opium stupor. Priestess sages and
thin,
strange-looking men with
pale faces and
large eyes gathered around the bed of Pyra’s mother. Pandura and Mnemosynae were also there. The odd-looking men stuck huge syringe needles under
Mauma
’s skin and injected her with
vials of
thick
black liquid.

“Mauma?”

Pandura and Mnemosynae glared over to where Pyra stood at the door hangings, their eyes startled and angry. Mnemosynae smiled at her star pupil and walked to her with a strange spiraling quickfire light in her hand.

The Mistress of Memory’s violet eyes pierced Pyra’s soul. “It is only a dream, child. Go back to bed and sleep peacefully.”

When Pyra woke just before dawn, she only recalled bits and pieces
of disturbing sounds and images mixed with pleasant memories of her mother
. She didn’t know why, but her eyes
and pillow
were wet from crying
.

THE PALADIN’S ODYSSEY
|
367

One assumption that drives the frenzy to map the human genome is that all human behavior is of genetic origin. Behaviors that in previous times were attributed to environment or moral choice are now being attributed to genetics. High profile scientists claim to have discovered the genetic basis for a host of behaviors and characteristics, including alcoholism, homosexuality, promiscuity, I.Q., and violence. Serious scientific doubts about these claims are commonly given little attention, leaving the public with the impression that science is on the verge of solving some of society’s greatest concerns. The wide acceptance of genetic explanations for these probing social problems, whether grounded in solid science or not, has created an ideological climate that has grave implications for human dignity.

—Jim Leffel

Engineering Life: Human Rights in a Postmodern Age

THE PALADIN’S ODYSSEY
|
367

Chosen

P

yra’s head still spun, and her body ached all the way through, when she awoke the morning after her graduating coven’s initiation festival. All she recalled of the previous day was a disjointed tumble of swaying faces and rhythmic bodies
intertwined
, laughing madness intoxicated by the divine ambrosia. She had not expected to hurt this much afterward
,
or
the gnawing void in the pit of her stomach.

She tumbled out of her new couch in the novice dormitory. Though just across the sundial courtyard from where she had lived all her life with her mother until yesterday, it seemed a world away. It surprised her when she rolled onto the floor instead of rising to her feet. Her head throbbed.

“A bit like being joyfully trampled to death by an invading army, isn’t it?” said the laughing voice of Khallio’Phe much too loudly.

Pyra felt like slapping her. “Shut up, ‘Phe. I hope the Old-world Titans feel just half of this under the feet of At’Lahazh!”

“Now, now, darling, don’t be blasphemous on the commencement of your sacred calling. You should have seen me the day after my initiation. Talk about war’s wreckage!”

Pyra pulled herself back up onto the edge of her couch and finally got her feet under her. A stumble toward the mirror confirmed her worst fears. “I look like a unicorn pie!”

“After somebody stepped in it
—t
hat’s why they give you three days off the Court rotation before start
ing
your regular hours.”

“Tactless bynt! Why’d I ever want you as dorm under-mistress?”

Khallio’Phe laughed. “Who else would put up with you
?
Besides, anything must be an improvement after living under Harachne’s thumb.”

Pyra covered her ears and held her head.
“Even your shrill voice!”

“I could sing for you.”

Pyra winced. “
N
ot this morning
.
”

“What morning? It’s an hour past noon, you slug.”

Pyra splashed her face from a bowl of water on the mirror stand and attacked her rumpled hair with a brush.

“So what do you plan to do with your free time once you recover from last night?”

Pyra swiveled on the mirror stool to face ‘Phe. “I need to spend some of it with my mother.”

“How is she?”

“‘Bout as well as can be expected. She’s showing now—after just two months. Is that normal?”

‘Phe softened her voice at this to near tolerable levels.
“The process accelerates growth.”

“Has your mother ever told you how it works?”

Khallio’Phe shook her luxuriant black curls. “Never. Mnemosynae can be as tight-lipped as your Pandura when she wants to be.”

“Or when she needs to be.”

“More likely—here, let me brush out the back for you.”

Pyra surrendered her brush. “I’m afraid for her,” she said.

“Can’t say I blame you.” ‘Phe carefully pulled through a tangle.

“All the stories say they never come back.”

“The mistresses say not to believe the stories.”

“Even the strangest legends are often rooted in at least some fact,” Pyra answered, quoting Khallio’Phe’s mother.

“Then we live to serve and sacrifice,” ‘Phe quoted back from the Novitiate’s Oath Pyra had taken yesterday afternoon.

The emptiness spread from
the pit of
Pyra’s stomach to become an amorphous shadow fold
ing
like a carrion gryphon’s wing over her entire
life
.

“It’s normal for me to be concerned, isn’t it?”
That must be it
—
I’m just apprehensive about Mauma.

“Sure. Just don’t let it take over. You’ve got to think of yourself
too
. If I were you, I’d bring it up at our rotation’s monthly dialogue. Priestesses need support-of-the-heart too. You can’t just give and give and give. Nobody will look down on you for it. It’s perfectly acceptable to share your feelings there—even the
really
bad ones.”

To
be
quietly written down
for
review by over-mistress
es
—
maybe as ‘dangerous thoughts?’
Pyra wondered all of a sudden why she made that connection. If she had
n
o
t
known better, she would have suspected that she was angry and afraid.

W

orking the Court of Meeting settled into its routine of worship hours, off-Court dialogues, and advanced novitiate level classes. Pyra now had access to the lower security areas of Epymetu’s Temple complex
, among them a
large menagerie of animals under the Court of Beasts where she liked to spend her leisure hours with Taanyx. ‘Phe complained that she really ought to mix more with the other priestesses, but Pyra had always been somewhat of a loner. She rather enjoyed the mystique.

The menagerie was where her mother had gotten the now
rapidly
-
growing sphinx. Pyra had many warm memories of
it and other
place
s
where Mauma had taken her for outings as a little girl.
S
he had first discovered her ability to talk to the beasts
in the menagerie, which
made it a magic place.

She whispered to herself, “
How is Mauma?
”

Pyra felt a pang of guilt for not visiting since early last week. Her mother’s condition had looked so awful that she realized she was dreaming up excuses to stay away.
I can’t keep doing that. Time is too short.

She slung her lyre back over her shoulder.
I shouldn’t be playing to the animals when I could play for her instead.

Pyra trilled for Taanyx and headed for the menagerie door. The guard outside nodded a friendly greeting. She smiled back at him, which by the fire in his eyes, seemed to make his day. The children’s academy would still be in session, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Harachne.

She found her mother bedridden, with curtains pulled over the windows and skylight. A rank odor filled the bedchamber. Pyra had difficulty seeing her until her eyes adjusted.

“Mauma?”

The form on the divan was too large for Pyra’s mother, swollen abnormally about the face and limbs. Only the sunken eyes were familiar, though filled with unaccustomed pain. Patterns of bruises traced up and down her arms and legs.

“Mauma, what are they doing to you?”

“Darling, it’s necessary,” whispered the woman on the bed.

“Why?”

“I’m building the future—your future.”

“What future?”

Pyra heard the door hangings move behind her.

“Let your mother rest, darling.” Pandura swept around to the bed, her gold red hair the only color left in the room. She poured the contents of a small black tincture bottle into
Mauma’s
mouth.

“What’s that?”

Pandura wiped her daughter’s lips.
“It will h
elp her sleep and ease the pain.
”

“Why does it hurt so, Grandmother?”

Pandura stood up and turned to Pyra. “Her creation codes are being altered so she can give birth to a divine being. Rapid changes are taking place inside her body. Soon it will ease up for a few months. Then she’ll be able to receive visitors. Run along. I’ll take good care of her.”

T

he golden skies echoed the call of sea birds gliding out over the
Yawam Rahabim
. Garden fountains lined the causeway where the two young priestesses ran their arms through the jeweled droplets as they passed. For the moment
,
everything seemed fine
—
a
time for feeling, not thinking.

“Why can’t more worshipers be like that last one?” Pyra said to her dorm mistress as they walked back from the Court of Meeting.

Khallio’Phe grinned. “Was it total magic?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, darling. Those are few and far between.”

“‘Phe, I don’t mean to sound blasphemous, but it felt like he was worshiping
me
instead of the Goddess.”

“He was.”

“What?”

Khallio’Phe said, “We are the vessels of harmony. There is divinity in all of us—even those outside the Temple. Here, we simply develop our own divinity as the gods guide us more closely. It shouldn’t surprise you when they worship you. To them you
are
the Goddess.”

Pyra laughed. “I’m too young to be a goddess!”
The idea seemed funny until it bit into her
like a
barbed hook
. “But
you’re right. M
ost are not like him. You’ve read my journals
…
”

“Far more interesting
reading
than the average novice fare
—y
ou
have a way with words
,
and see things the others miss.”

“Thanks. I have this fellow I call ‘the Lumpy One
,
’
but his real name is
Gorvox
. H
is mother force
d
him to come to Temple
,
if you can imagine that. He’s clumsy, shy, and not all that bright. He keeps coming back to me, but all he does in the sanctum is sit there with his head hung, while he feels like he has to steal quick glances at me when
ever
he thinks I’m not watching. The first time I saw him he was so scared he almost cried
; p
oor thing.”

“Does he talk?”

“He’s starting to a little, but not much. I ask him questions and mostly get
‘
yes
’
or
‘
no
’
answers in grunts. Yesterday he told me I looked like a girl he grew up with, except for my spots—I suppose that’s something.
‘Cept for
that, he just turns into a lumpish piece of furniture for the whole session. I’ve not forced any worship on him.”

They passed into the novice dorm.

Khallio’Phe said,
“That’s good. Some priestesses are too pushy over form and forget the substance. Sounds like you’re making progress though
. You
’
re wise to g
o slow.
One must
draw
people
out of their inner worlds carefully. You’re doing great
!
”

“You really think so? I mean sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing them any good at all. It seems the worship is just mechanical for most
—like a form of exercise
. I keep looking for something spiritual to happen—like your mother talks about—but I can’t see it yet. Is that normal?”