“Be careful!” exclaimed Elara. “I would not have his wrath fall upon you!”
“He will be very sorry if it does,” the queen replied. “Every soul in Azan would rise to avenge any hurt to me! If Tjalan does not understand that, then you and Lady Timul had better tell him.”
As the season turned toward the solstice the weather around the Tor became even more capricious, as if unable to decide between winter and summer. While Tiriki waited for Damisa and Reidel to return, she sought to relieve her frustration by working on the pathway around the Tor.
The day is like my spirit, thought Tiriki, looking from the raw earth of the pathway to the clouds, perched between.
To know that Micail lived was ecstasy, but the thought of him with this native priestess was a betrayal worse than loss. Yet at the same time she understood that the duties of a priest or priestess might require a ritual mating to energize the fertility of the land. I did not do so, she thought with a rush of passion.
Micail could have slept with this native princess for that reason, she told herself. Anet had not implied that she wanted Micail as a lover, but as a bull brought to the cows—to improve the herd. But what haunted Tiriki’s nights was the fact that Anet had not said whether or not Micail had agreed to lie with her . . . and Tiriki had not asked.
And if he took her to bed from simple need can I blame him? she asked herself for the hundredth time. He thought I was dead. Surely I have often enough wished him alive and able to find comfort—wherever he could. Did I stay faithful from virtue, or because no one presented me with any temptation to stray? There was no fault in the reasoning, but in her heart of hearts, she could not accept it. If she had been condemned to sleep in an empty bed these five years, Micail should have slept alone as well!
She jammed the antler tool viciously into the soil, as if by removing the dirt she could get rid of her uncertainty. She could not even rail at Chedan for so quickly sending Anet away with Damisa and Reidel while she slept. All spring the mage had been short of breath. He said old age was catching up with him, but she feared it might be something more than a cough that warm weather had not cured.
She looked up as Elis, who had been working on a section of the spiral above hers, gave a shout. “Someone is coming! He has—black hair. Stars above, it’s Reidel!”
“Quiet, all of you!” Chedan’s tone, not his volume, cut through the babble of assorted priests and priestesses. “Obviously all of this is a—surprise. To us all.”
Guided by one of the Ai-Zir hunters, Reidel had cut the journey time by almost a third on his return, but the hollows in his cheeks and the shadows around his eyes came not from fatigue, thought the mage, but from anxiety.
“I could hardly believe the prince would use force to make us join him; he must know how we’ve dreamed of finding other survivors.” Reidel glanced at Tiriki, whose face, after his first news, had ceased to show any emotion at all. “But it is hard to misinterpret a guard on one’s door! And though Damisa has better quarters than they gave me, she is still a prisoner!”
“What can Prince Tjalan be thinking?” exclaimed Liala. “He cannot lock up a chosen acolyte of the Temple!”
“An outrage,” Dannetrasa seconded him.
“Yes, yes,” Chedan interrupted. “But if you will be patient for a little longer, I would like a bit more information from Reidel himself, and for that, it would be helpful if I could hear myself think . . .”
He turned back to the man who stood before him. “I believe we can be certain that no harm will come to Damisa,” he said soothingly. “She is Prince Tjalan’s cousin. I can assure you, he will keep her in safety.”
“Fear more for the prince,” muttered Iriel. “Have you seen Damisa when she’s mad?” A ripple of laughter from around the circle released some of the tension.
“Her anger is what got me released,” said Reidel. “Or at least got Elara to ask the Ai-Zir to help me. I was dumbfounded when the queen herself walked into the house where they were holding me. Tjalan’s guards were slumped on the ground outside, sleeping like babies—the queen had slipped a potion into their beer. Tjalan won’t suspect her; they knocked out a hole in the wall from inside so it would look as if I escaped that way.”
“I am glad to hear that Elara helped you,” said Chedan. “Later I will want to hear more from you about the acolytes, but at present it is their elders that concern me. We have made you a priest, Reidel, but you are still our best-qualified military man. In your estimation, what forces, in the physical realm, does Tjalan have?”
The young man pulled himself together and began to describe what he had seen. As Chedan had expected, Reidel had made a full assessment of Tjalan’s soldiers without even being aware of doing so.
“Over a hundred?” exclaimed Kalaran when Reidel’s report was finished. “Well, we can’t defend ourselves by force of arms!”
“By magic, then?” Dannetrasa said dubiously. “They outnumber us there, too. They have eight Vested Guardians, you said? And four acolytes—and other priests and priestesses?”
“Including Micail . . .” Tiriki spoke without inflection. The unvoiced question hung in all their minds—had Micail been powerless to prevent Damisa’s imprisonment, or did he support Prince Tjalan?
Chedan sighed. “And Ardral. But we have one advantage. All this time we have wondered what use the Omphalos Stone would be in this new land. If they seek to attack us by spiritual means, we can invoke the Stone, and they will do as much harm to themselves as to us. But if it comes to a true magical battle—” He shook his head. “We will all lose. No, we must win them over instead. Somehow—”
“We must meet with them,” Tiriki said, in that unnaturally even tone. “Or some of them . . . not there, not here, but in a neutral location.” She looked up, her voice breaking at last. “I will not believe Micail could betray me! But I cannot risk the rest of you.”
“We cannot risk you!” Liala objected.
“But Chedan could not manage the journey—” Tiriki held up one hand as he began to protest. “And we must not both go. If Micail’s . . . allegiance . . . is in question . . . you must agree he is most likely to listen to me.”
Chedan sighed again. No doubt this was his repayment for having prevented her from going before. He had been right then, and he suspected she knew it, but she most certainly knew that he would not be able to stop her now.
“There are the remains of an old hillfort about halfway between here and Azan,” said Reidel unexpectedly. “We camped there on the way. We might arrange to meet them there. I am willing to go back and tell them so.”
You are willing to go back to Damisa, thought Chedan, but he kept silent. Reidel’s devotion did him credit, after all.
“Very well. We will take two of your best sailors as escorts, but no more. This is to be a parley, not a fight,” Tiriki reminded him. “Perhaps Tjalan will come in force while I am gone, so we must keep as many men here as we can. She surveyed the roomful of faces. “Elis, Rendano, would you be willing to accompany me?”
Chedan did not expect either of them to decline, and they did not, although it would have been hard to say which of them looked more uneasy. Even now, the thought of contesting the will of a famous adept like Ardral would have given him pause . . . Chedan found himself wondering again what position his uncle held in Tjalan’s new community. Reidel had only briefly encountered Ardral there, and they had not spoken to each other, but Anet’s description of the old adept lingered in Chedan’s mind. By now, the canny old man probably knew what was going on better than Tjalan or Micail did . . .
I know all of them so well, the mage thought. I should be there. But Tiriki is right, he realized, as a sharp twinge in his knee reminded him of his own fragility. I really cannot make the journey now.
“Tiriki,” said Chedan, as they left the meeting hall, “I hope that it is entirely unnecessary for me to tell you to be careful. But remember—the riddle of fate is that we continually choose our own nemesis. And
it is not usually the one we think we are choosing at the time.”
Eighteen
Tiriki was wearing blue.
In the dreams that had haunted his sleep since her messenger arrived, Micail had imagined her wearing, if not the pristine vestments of a Guardian of Light, at least the simple white robes of the Temple. Still, even at a distance, there could be no question that it was her. No one else in these lands had such golden hair.
But she was not alone. Four others advanced up the hill beside her, a balding middle-aged priest in a rather threadbare white robe trimmed with faded red, and two strong commoners in boots and hide tunics, armed with orichalcum-tipped pikes. There was also another woman in blue. Perhaps Elis? Micail wondered. Damisa said Selast was pregnant . . . He shook his head at the thought of any of them pregnant. He remembered the lost acolytes as mere children, but of course five years would have changed that.
Had Tiriki changed? Had he?
Micail’s heart pounded in his chest. Were the five figures really alone? From what hidden place in the wilderness of misty hills ahead had they come? A dense grey haze veiled the plains behind him, even this slope where he and Tjalan stood waiting, as if this spot with its enigmatic overgrown earthen walls were no more than a way station in the mists of the Otherworld.
The wind picked up, and suddenly they were close enough for their faces to be clear. Tiriki looked not so much older as stronger, as if hardship had emphasized the fine bone structure of her face and given tone to her musculature. In fact, she looked, if possible, more like herself than ever. Whatever she had been through, it seemed to have done her no harm. She moved with the grace of one at ease in her flesh, and her skin had the healthy glow that comes from being much outdoors.
And now Tiriki was near enough for their eyes to meet—and what he saw in hers made him start to close the remaining few feet between them.
Tjalan laid a hand on his arm. “Wait! I thought we agreed—”
Micail turned, almost snarling, “She is my wife!”
The prince’s bodyguards were just out of earshot, but they tensed and bent closer like falcons catching sight of prey.
“Indeed,” the prince murmured, one hand still lightly gripping Micail’s arm. “But Damisa has had a lot to say about how closely Tiriki has been working with Chedan. He kept her from coming to you before. Would it be so surprising if a woman—left alone—were to transfer her loyalty?”
“Ever since we left Azan you have been pouring this poison into my ears,” Micail growled.
“Just look at her robes,” Tjalan tried again. “If she has turned away from Manoah, why not from you? I warn you—we should not trust her any more than we do Khayan-e-Durr—or that firebrand Timul!”
“Unless you propose to stop me with that fancy blade on your belt, I am going to talk to her—alone if I may—with you, if I may not!”
Tiriki could not but notice the tension between the two men, the anxious hovering of Tjalan’s swordsmen. Micail saw her gaze grow even more expressionless as he frowned.
“My lord Tjalan!” she said, with a formal nod. “May I present my companions, the acolyte Elis and Rendano, formerly a priest of the Temple on Akil.”
I am not frowning at you, my darling! Micail thought desperately. What are you feeling? Look at me! For five years he had lived within an invisible wall. When he learned Tiriki still lived it had begun to crumble. Now he could feel the pressure of his need for her about to burst within him like a rushing flood.
“It is not for me to welcome you to this land, where we are all only travelers . . .” Tiriki went on. “I perceive that the Great Mother rules here, as at home. Therefore we greet you in Her name—in the name of Caratra, whom we called Ni-Terat in the old land.”
Surely this formality is a defense . . . perhaps I appear equally cold to her, Micail told himself as Tjalan began to reply with something about honor and fortune and meetings. I dreamed of this day, but there was never any dream like this. How can she be so controlled? She is my beloved! Yet she is like a stranger . . .
“Tiriki—” It was less a greeting than a groan, but he no longer cared. She looked at him then, and he felt the jolt of contact between them. It’s all right, he thought in relief. Words can wait . . . the bond between us is still here! He stepped forward to take her in his arms, seeking her lips as a man dying of thirst seeks a well.
After an endless moment he realized that Tjalan was speaking once more, and reluctantly he let Tiriki go, though he still kept his arm linked through hers.
“My lady—let me say first that I am very sorry for any misunderstandings that may have clouded what should only be the most joyful of reunions. I am sure that your messenger Reidel was a fine ship’s captain, and he is no doubt possessed of other talents as well— but I suspect he may not quite be up to the nuances of communication at the higher levels of society.”
The touch of Tiriki’s spirit warmed Micail as if he stood beside a flame, but her expression was contained once more. Tjalan took it as a sign of Tiriki’s agreement, and gestured toward the group of folding stools and tables that had been set beneath an awning. On a pole beside it, a circle of falcons fluttered on a banner of Alkonan green.
“Please, let us sit for a while and talk quietly as friends should, for surely that is what we are. We have provided some good local cheese and fine waybreads for your refreshment, along with a bottle of Tarissedan wine.”
“Your hospitality is most welcome, my lord,” said Rendano, and sat down almost eagerly. Elis uneasily took a seat next to him and toyed nervously with the food.
“This is . . . pleasant,” said Tiriki. “One might almost think oneself on a jaunt to the backcountry of Ahtarrath. The hills were almost this green in the spring—and as likely to be covered with ruins.”
“Indeed, there are many similarities—” Tjalan began, but her gentle voice overrode him.
“But what will you drink when this wine is gone?” She turned her silver goblet enough that the sunlight touched the ruby liquid within, then set it to her lips and drank it down.
“An interesting point,” said Tjalan. “It is true that this particular vintage is now hard to come by . . . But we shall have something not too different, once the trade routes have been reestablished. Oh yes, the wingbirds will fly again, my lady! Already we have built three fine new ships, and there are more in the making.”
“You mean to rebuild your principality, then?”
Prince Tjalan smiled. “A principality? Nay, an empire—brighter than before. The population to support it is here, and thanks to men of wisdom like your husband—the power to rule it.”
Micail suspected that he could not have spoken had he wanted to. Tiriki’s fair face—her cool eyes, grey-green as the sea—that vision was enough for him, even when her glance turned toward Tjalan.
“It is true,” said Tiriki quietly. “There is power in this land. And you have been building more than ships, I hear.”
“Yes,” the prince said, and smiled. “A Sun Circle—a henge. The stones are not yet all sung into place, but when it is finished there will be no end to what we can do. Surely you see, Tiriki, you need not fear to entrust your people to me. We have the resources to house and feed them, and useful work to do.” Tjalan glanced briefly toward Micail as he added, “This is the work of the prophecies, after all—your husband is laying the foundations of the new Temple.”
“Yes! You must come,” exclaimed Micail, taking refuge from his emotion in the superficial talk. “What I have heard about those marshes has filled me with horror. To imagine you, beloved, scratching for every bite of food—sleeping on straw and skins—eaten alive by insects!” He shook his head.
“Is that what Damisa tells you?”
“She has hardly needed to,” Tjalan laughed. “It was obvious from her reaction to decent food and lodgings! Yes, though I immodestly say it myself—we have already managed to reproduce most of our old way of life here. Although there will always be room for impro
vement, I am sure.”
Tiriki smiled politely. “That is the one thing of which we may be certain, my lord,” she said. She dipped a piece of bread in the dish of olive oil, took a slice of cheese to go with it, and tasted the combination with every evidence of appreciation, although she offered no verbal compliment. Rendano and Elis, however, had by then devoured their own share and were openly eyeing what remained.
“And you—” Tjalan turned to Elis. “Will you not be happy to join your fellow acolytes? And you, my lord, other priests of your Temple?”
Rendano only smiled politely, but Elis nodded vigorously, saying, “I would love to see Elara—and Cleta! Lanath, too. Are they well?”
“Very well.” Tjalan smiled. “I understand they are making great progress in their—voicing? Is that the term? They have been helping us to raise the stones.”
“It sounds quite exciting,” said Elis, with a sidelong look at Tiriki. “There is a small ring of stones on—”
“Master Chedan tells me there are standing stones and forgotten monuments all over this countryside,” Tiriki interrupted her, “but they are all rather small. Nothing sized or shaped like—what has been described.”
“I have always had a passion for colossal stoneworks,” Tjalan admitted, “but of course the circle is only a part of the complex of buildings we plan. When finished, it will be as large as the greatest temples of the Ancient Land! But soon you shall see it for yourself. I will send men to help you move your belongings, and bearers for any who cannot make the journey otherwise. I am longing to see Chedan again. I have been quite worried about his health.”
“That is kind,” said Tiriki. “He has indeed been ill. That is why he did not accompany me. In fact . . . I would not like to see him subjected to the rigors of any journey, just now.”
Micail frowned. He knew that look, as if she were staring through you into some great distance. My darling, he thought, what are you trying to hide?
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