by Ann Lawrence
Energy surged through her. Was there something in the heavy aroma of the flowers, so thick in the tree roots here, or was it the anticipation of meeting the goddess that banished her fatigue?
Beyond the mist-shrouded lake, on a rise, the orbs silvered the vine-covered walls of an ancient fortress. A tall tower hinted at a substantial dwelling within.
“How appropriate that we should arrive in darkness to meet the goddess,” she said to Ralen.
“I found her most amiable,” Ralen said. He reached over and touched her hand.
“I am afraid,” she said, then wanted to bite her tongue that she had revealed a weakness to this man who served Samoht. “Oh, what am I saying? ‘Tis just the tales one is told, nothing more.”
“Aye, just the murmuring of old women to frighten children.”
“What frightens children?” Lien asked.
“Ask Einalem, pilgrim,” Ardra said, and regretted it the moment he hauled on his reins and dropped behind to do just that. What had possessed her to betray her jealousy in such a manner?
“How will we cross the lake?” she asked Ralen to cover her confusion.
“We do not need to cross. It is a pretty thing, not a defense. We have but to ride around it. An hour or so more. In fact, I wager we will be met and escorted.”
Ralen pointed to the gleam of torches on the high tower of the fortress. “The lookouts will inform her we have arrived. She will send out riders.”
“What are her defenses if not this lake?”
“Naught but a long view and strong walls,” he said.
“And superstition,” Ardra added.
They rode along the lake’s shore in silence. Ralen’s men rode with confidence, but his archers were wary, bows ready.
Servants and slaves who had wandered a bit from the close ranks maintained by the warriors drew in, Lien and Nilrem among them. Was it deliberate that the pilgrim who had avoided her for many hours now drew near? She remembered Nilrem’s admonishment that Lien must make this journey to protect her. Would she need protection?
“Look,” Lien said. He pointed to a black hole appearing in the solid wall of the fortress. From it poured a procession of mounted men with torches.
Ralen said, “She is prompt in opening her gates. It appears we will be welcomed and given a bed for what remains of the night.” He issued quick orders that everyone was to keep his sword sheathed.
Ardra felt a shiver of dread. She must not look for reassurance from Ralen or Lien. Whatever happened here must be accomplished by herself. Samoht must be satisfied it was she, and no other, who gained the vial, or he would take her fortress and her son’s future.
The two parties met. Ralen explained who they were, and the men from the fortress, garbed in a deep green that shimmered in the orb-glow, dismounted and bowed to Samoht and Einalem. Ralen did not introduce Ardra, though she held as much status in Selaw as Einalem in Tolemac.
They followed the men, who held their torches high. When they passed over an ancient drawbridge, Ardra stared around in awe. Behind the dark, vine-covered walls, all was light and beauty.
On the inside, the vines were more delicate, lacy even. Their white flowers gave off a subtle perfume.
“Ardra,” Deleh said. “Where have we smelled this scent?”
“In the perfume we give to maidens on their tenth conjunction.”
“A strange flower for the goddess to cultivate here,” Deleh said and shivered. “I want my bed, Ardra.”
“Soon, Deleh, soon.”
The courtyard in which they dismounted, and where they left all but a few of their men, was covered in a weathered mosaic. Ardra had seen such tiled pictures in the Tolemac capital. This one was a simple design of vines that led the eye to the great hall and the stone steps leading to white double doors.
“Some place,” Lien said. He traced the tip of his stick along the ancient tiles. “It seems the vines and flowers have been around a long time.” His avid examination of the fortress reminded her of a child’s simple pleasure in something new.
“Evil. It is all evil.” Deleh hooked her arm in Lien’s.
Ardra knew she must show neither Lien’s awe nor Deleh’s fear. “It is a fortress much like any other.”
“I bow to your assessment.” Lien smiled; then his eyes shifted. “Well, I’ll be.”
“You will be what?” Ardra asked, and then saw where his gaze had settled.
The double doors had opened. On the top step stood a tiny woman. The goddess.
Her blonde hair, a streaky mixture of gold and the pure white of the flowers, rippled down her back nearly to the floor. It might have been night, but she was garbed as one should to greet a high councilor. Her draped gown, the same shimmery green as her guards’ tunics, opened in a V to reveal a heavy gold chain. Nestled between her ample breasts was a large dull stone.
The Black Eye.
The goddess walked down the steps and dropped into a deep curtsey before Samoht. She looked younger than Einalem. Too young for her evil reputation.
Ralen introduced her. “Samoht, Esteemed High Councilor of the Eight Chiefdoms, may I present Cidre, Goddess of the Tangled Wood.”
“I am honored to share my home with you,” the goddess said.
Lien whispered to Ardra, “What did Ralen call her? Kid what?”
“Cid-re. It means bright and beautiful.”
Lien thought there was a bit of jealousy in Ardra’s voice. “No kidding,” he quipped.
“Nay, Lien. Cid-re.” She enunciated the name for him, and he remembered that a beautiful woman usually had no sense of humor when it came to another beautiful woman.
“Before you go in there, I have to tell you something.” He took Ardra’s arm.
“It must wait.” She pulled away and stepped forward to be presented, her heart in her throat.
Ralen introduced Einalem. The goddess curtseyed again, less deeply, then held out her hand to the warrior.
“Welcome, Ralen. To what do I owe this visit so hard upon your last?”
Ralen took the goddess’s hand; it looked like a small child’s in his. “I am afraid we have not yet done with our quest for the Vial of Seduction.”
The goddess frowned. “You have searched here, Ralen. There is nothing to find.”
“We understand that,” Samoht said. “It is our hope that you may help us in some other way.”
“You have a wiseman in your party—can he not help you? Nilrem, is it not?” She did not bow to Nilrem or curtsey as she had to the Tolemac high councilor and his sister. Nilrem leaned on his stick and sucked on his lower lip. He looked as stupid as a stone. “Eh? Did someone say my name?”
“Forget him,” Samoht said. “We bow to what you know from the ancient times as a wise woman. It is for knowledge we have come.”
The goddess touched the black stone on her chest. “There are those who fear my knowledge.”
All around her, the slaves and servants of Samoht’s party stepped back and huddled together.
The goddess smiled and held out her hands, palms up. The wide sleeves of her robe fell back along plump, soft arms. “Come, do not be afraid. I know the tales you spin in Tolemac about me. You call me the Goddess of Darkness. Here I am but Cidre of the Tangled Wood, the daughter of a wise woman. There is nothing to fear. I am no more cursed than this old wise man,” she said, with a finger pointed at Nilrem.
She shrugged when no one moved closer to her. “I much enjoy the tales. It suits me well to encourage them. It keeps away the rebels and outcasts who might take it upon themselves to raid a small fortress such as this. Come, Samoht, I bid you welcome.”
Samoht rapped out an order and the men hastened to their tasks. The goddess linked her arm through his and they walked into the fortress. Einalem and Ralen followed. Ardra stood alone by her horse, unacknowledged and unsure how to proceed.
Lien took her elbow. “Get in there.”
“Aye,” Nilrem took her other elbow. “Samoht appears to be helping you in your task, an
d that concerns me.”
“Yeah,” Lien said. “I don’t like it either. He’s made it seem like he’s the one on the mission, not you.”
They flanked her to the doors, then gave her a little push ahead of them. The guards flung wide the double doors.
“Wow,” Lien said.
Ardra did not know the word but understood the sentiment. The doors opened on a dazzling white interior. She stared along with the others, save Ralen who had seen it all before.
At one end of the lofty hall someone had used a mighty tree to support the roof. Then Ardra realized it was not a support but a live tree, its tangled roots bursting from the floor, its thick branches vanishing through the roof.
“Where do you think the tree ends? It does not protrude from the roof. We would have seen it from across the lake.” Nilrem scratched his head.
Lien shrugged. “Who knows?”
How the tree lived Ardra did not know, for the center of the trunk had been hollowed out and lined with stone to hold huge logs. The fire burned with an intensity that caused everyone to shed his cloak. But it was not for the soothing warmth, Ardra suspected, that the men collected about the hearth.
Nay, some canny artist had carved the roots into naked women, their sexuality emphasized to the point of mockery.
The effect was of women dancing about the base of the tree whose heart burned, impervious to the flames. A blue-hawk’s caw drew her eyes to a lofty branch. “A predator bird in a predatory woman’s lair,” Lien said under his breath.
“I see you are admiring my hearth,” the goddess said, for the first time directing her remarks to Ardra. “The tree is said to be as old as time.”
Close up, the goddess was even more beautiful than from a distance. Her skin glowed with youth, and her eyes, Tolemac blue, gleamed with a hint of amusement.
Ardra realized it was not possible for this goddess to have caused her mother’s death. Cidre appeared even younger than Einalem. It must have been Cidre’s mother instead. Did the woman yet live? Was she here, perhaps above stairs?
“It is a great feat of building to make the hall around a tree this size,” Lien said. He bowed to the goddess.
“‘Twas built to honor the first goddess and her mating ceremony,” Cidre said.
“Mating ceremony?” Lien inspected the dancing women, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Who are you, may I ask?” The goddess smiled at him. Ardra felt a surge of jealousy, but it was not the tearing kind she had felt when she had seen him so close to Einalem in the stream.
“I am Lien, a pilgrim. I met up with Nilrem and he invited me along.”
“May I see your stick?” She put out her hands. When Lien passed it to her, she closed her fingers about his and they stood there a moment, the stick clasped between them. “I am mistaken. I thought the stick might be made of sacred oak.”
A ripple of unease ran through Ardra to see Lien’s sun-darkened hands covered by the goddess’s milk-white ones.
“I sense great turbulence in you,” the goddess said before releasing the stick.
Ardra said, “Is it not the nature of the pilgrim to be in turmoil? Else why would he need to make a pilgrimage?”
“Well put,” Lien said.
The goddess acknowledged Ardra’s words with a nod. “Come, see the tree up close.”
Ardra tried not to let her revulsion show when Cidre took her arm. Cidre might not be the woman who had caused her mother’s death, but she practiced the same arts that had.
The goddess led Ardra to the tree, where Samoht and Einalem were admiring the artwork. Each life-size carving represented the female dancers who entertained the male before a mating ceremony. They served to arouse the man so that he might be ready for his lifemate.
Samoht murmured something to Ralen, then stroked the thigh of one of the figures. Ralen smiled and glanced at Einalem, who kissed the air in his direction.
Ardra knew well what a mating ceremony was and had no wish to see it immortalized in wood or stone or any other material.
She removed her arm from the goddess’s grasp when the woman fell into conversation with Samoht. Ardra went to the foot of a mundane staircase built from common wood by a less imaginative carpenter. Lien joined her.
“Have you noticed anyone missing?” he asked her.
“Nay.” She scanned the crowd. “Who?”
“Cidre’s consort. Where do you think he is?”
“Abed? He is said to be old. And what of Cidre’s mother? Where is she?”
“I didn’t know her mother would be here,” Lien said.
The goddess gave a flurry of orders, and before Ardra knew it, everyone had quarters for the night, hot water for bathing, as well as bread and wine to stave off hunger until morning.
Ardra was given a large chamber, the first indication the goddess knew she was more than a serving woman in Samoht’s party.
Ardra bathed away the tension and dirt of travel, then pulled a loose woolen robe over her head. She knelt on the bed to comb out her hair. Come the sunrising, should she ask for a private meeting with the goddess to discuss the Vial of Seduction?
Deleh wandered around the chamber, wringing her hands. “Tol would not have accepted such a room for me. I cannot sleep here. It is too cold. There is no window. I cannot see the sky.”
“Deleh. Settle. We must get some sleep. The goddess plans for us to dine at first light. I have no wish to be stupid with fatigue—”
She was interrupted by a light rap on the door. Deleh opened it a crack, then stepped aside to admit the caller. “What are you doing here?” Ardra asked Lien. “Where are you sleeping?”
Deleh interrupted. “Have you a window or view of the sky?”
Lien smiled and swept a hand out to the door. “I have a small room down the hall, but it does have a window, or a big slit of some kind. Maybe for archers.”
“An arrow loop,” Ardra supplied.
“Would you like to trade?” Lien asked Deleh. He leaned on his stick and grinned.
“You cannot sleep here,” Deleh said, her hand to her throat, eyes wide.
“No. But I can sleep on the floor outside Ardra’s door, like a guard.”
Ardra sighed. “Go, Deleh. Go, but bring Lien’s belongings here. I will find him other quarters.”
Deleh did as bade, scuttling off with her things, then dropping Lien’s pack into his arms before dancing away again, muttering about seeing the heavens.
“She should have remained back at the border,” Ardra said.
“Look, I meant it when I said I’d sleep outside your door. Nilrem seems to think I should protect you. I’m just not sure how I’m going to be very effective against someone with a sword, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
“I thank you, Lien.”
“Before I sack out, can I talk to you? It really can’t wait.” He leaned in the doorway, half in, half out of the chamber.
“Aye, come in.”
“Do you want me to leave the door open?” Lien asked. “In case anyone passes by?”
Ardra pressed a finger to her lips. They listened a moment. No voices were heard, no laughing, no men hauling their belongings to chambers. The thick wood doors muffled any sounds.
“I believe the household has settled,” she said.
“What about sentries? Guards?” He had his head turned to the open door as he spoke.
The light from the hall torch outlined his jaw, shadowed again with his beard. How the look of him drew her. Even so, she might have been able to resist his physical allure, but his kindness, represented by the pack in his arms, ensnared her.
“Guards will make their rounds,” she said. “If you feel more comfortable with the door open, then leave it so.”
“I’m thinking about you. What would make you comfortable?”
“Close the door.”
When he had done so, he set his pack down. She kept her feet curled beneath her, else she might be tempted to…do what? “You needed to
speak to me?”
“Yeah, but what I have to say sounds like madness.”
“And visiting the Goddess of Darkness does not? Say what you need to say.”
Lien propped his stick against the wall. “I saw Cidre in the woods when I was bathing.”
“Cidre?”
“I saw the goddess in the forest.”
“Not possible.”
“Agreed, on the face of it. But I know what I saw. I was dressing, and a woman stepped out of the foliage. She just looked at me for a moment, then left, not on the path, but through the trees again—almost parted the roots as if they were nothing but cobwebs.”
Ardra examined his face. “You are not playing a game with me, are you?”
He paced the chamber. “I’m not playing a game.”
“Then it was magic. But I do not believe in magic.”
“Neither do I. So, let’s say it wasn’t magic and Cidre was really there. When I asked Ralen if he saw any sign of other travelers, he said nothing recent.”
“You think Cidre is in league with Ralen?”
“I don’t know. The man’s an experienced warrior. Wouldn’t he be able to tell old tracks from new ones?”
“He would.”
“And right before I went into the water, there was this huge blue bird, and did you notice? There’s one in the tree here.”
“The blue-hawk. They are not so rare. Sit, Lien. Your pacing is distracting. You may not need that stick, but surely you can use some rest?”
“I’m too hyped up to rest.” He lifted the pitcher of wine and frowned. “Did you drink any of this yet?”
“Deleh availed herself of it, but I have not had time. A pilgrim interrupted me.”
He smiled, and something turned in her belly. But as she watched, the smile became a frown. “Back in a moment,” he said.
He was as good as his word. But his frown had become scowl.
“Deleh is fast asleep. A bomb wouldn’t wake her.”
“A bomb? What is a bomb?”
“A bomb is a weapon in Ocean City. It makes a lot of noise.”
Ardra jumped up and headed for the door. “Is she ill, do you think?”
“Wait. I don’t think she’s sick; I think there was something in the wine. It’s way too quiet here.”
