by Emanuel, Ako
“Shut it,” she said without a backward glance. “He will have no more.” But she was fooling no one. She and they both knew that it was too late, that the captive had gotten what he needed. Her pretense at cruelty now was empty - why lock the fence when the herd had already flown...?
CHAPTER II
gliding up with red-gold and silver limned wings, the light turned...
Grumbling to herself, Silonyi slowly made her way to her suite of lains, to ready herself for sleep. That first - shattering - had been the beginning of her doubt, the advent of the plague of wrongness. Nothing she had done, thought or said since had been the same.
She reached her suite, the distance traversed unnoticed in her ponderings. Stepping into the inner lain, Silonyi cast the dust-soiled bustiere and pec’ta from her and snapped her fingers twice. She did not yet think about the consequences of her actions. She did not think about the wrath of her mother. She tried not to think at all.
Almost immediately a large tub carved of a single slab of marble, and polished to a velvet-shine finish, was brought to her by twelve straining men; these were followed by twenty maids, each carrying smaller porcelain basins, over which they murmured continuously, keeping the scented water within the vessels at just the right temperature. With a start, Silonyi realized that the maids were using av’rita to do so.
The grunting male servants carefully set the tub down on the floor beyond the carpeting upon which she stood, having a care that the satin stone was not in the least bit scratched. They had all seen the fate of her last set of tub-carriers who had been foolish enough to let the tub slide half a pace across the floor, leaving behind a deep bluish blemish in the cream floor. Those who had survived chastisement had been put to the unenviable task of polishing the whole floor down till every trace of the scratch was gone and the rest of the floor was level to match it. None would make the same mistake again anytime soon.
The twenty women relieved their basins of the precious contents but continued to murmur, standing around the tub in a ring; they would remain thus, keeping the water’s temperature constant throughout the bath.
Silonyi was preternaturally aware of the av’rita the women used as two of her bathers came forward to help her step on the back of a third crouching bather, and then into the tub. The ‘rita buzzed around her like a stinging insect, until she forced herself to ignore it.
She sat still as her bathers administered to her, not relaxing fully, though she was not really tense, either. She was rather - troubled. The sense of wrongness was back again, soft and subtle this time, not like the clutching fear in the billa’ja’way. But why? What was wrong here?
Surely not a bath, she almost spoke to the sense of wrongness, glancing around. This was routine. She demanded baths in this very tub all the time, had demanded it hundreds of times, sometimes twice a turn. Why not bathe here, rather than in the bathing pool in its own separate lain? There was absolutely nothing different about this bath from the one before it - why should it be wrong now? It was the same, the same low grunts of the tub carriers, the same susurrating murmur of the warming (av’rita?) rite of the basin carriers, the same slow, languid movements of the hands of the bathers...
Everything exactly the same. So why should she feel any different now about the whole ritual, which was the same?
Why indeed, the sense of wrongness seemed to say, and why indeed can you not just take the few steps to the bathing lain? Or if even that is too much, just ‘tun there?
“Do we displease you in some way, sweet Heir?” the head bather asked quietly, and even his voice was modulated to strictly pleasant tones. If she said yes, she knew that all the bathers, basin carriers and tub carriers might be instantly put to shameful death or some more unpleasant fate. Or they might go seeking their deaths to escape that same fate, for displeasing her. So she, in some fit of mercy or perhaps in response to the wrongness, shook her head no and tried to relax. Tried to fall into the rhythm of the familiar, to lose herself in the luxury of the scented oils and bubbles. But try or not as she might, the something continued to bother her. She said nothing, did not cut the bath short. Instead she did something she had never done before: she began to analyze this, one of her favorite pre-slumber rituals. Every aspect she looked at and turned over every nuance. They finished the bath, and still she studied the whole thing. Then, like a ray of silent, golden Av through filmy gray background curtains of noise, she hit upon the wrongness that plagued her about the bath, or rather what the wrongness might have been trying to show her.
It’s a bit - excessive, she admitted. It was a luxury for luxury’s sake, not because she had done anything to deserve it, but simply because she could have it so.
This was still another piece of an uncomfortable trend she was seeing take form within her. Why should trivial things like this discomfit her? Why should the comfort and well-being of her servants be significant, or the excesses that she learned from her mother bother her, or the welfare of the common people interest her, or the secret words in her mother’s secret meetings send her into paroxysms of panic, or the treatment of prisoners concern her?
Yes, prisoners. Him. This is his doing, curse him. Him and his strange ‘Rite of Solu.’ All this nonsense began with him. She knew that this was what the rite was called because she had gone back and talked to him, to ask him what the Rite was and how it might be reversed. And after staring hatefully at her for a long time, he had replied that it was the Rite of Solu and it could not be reversed, and why should she want it to be?
But it had effected some kind of change in her, had affected her thinking in some way. How? How had the rite changed her? He called it the Rite of Solu, but it was not like any Rite of Solu she had ever performed. Since when does the Rite of Solu make the light of Av pour in like a cascade of amber, filling one to the brim with light? Since when does it scorch the soul, and fill the senses with such an awareness of life? Since when does the Rite of Solu make one sense wrongness in everything one does?
This was not the Rite of Solu she had been taught.
And she had not practiced the Rite she had been raised to in quite some time either, she realized with a guilty jolt as her maids and maddi lotioned her and oiled her hair and readied her for sleep. The new rite she had witnessed from the prisoner was very sustaining, and so much more - revitalizing than the old one. In a strange way she had liked it better. But it was affecting the way she saw things, the way she interpreted common situations.
A connection suddenly joined in her mind. If most of the Realm used av’rita, did that mean that they practiced the Rite of Solu using av’rita too, the way the prisoner had done? Did everyone but she and her mother’s court practice it that way?
“Thendaji,” she said, and the maddi she had called jumped, startled by her voice, and perhaps fearful, too, for the Heir rarely spoke to her maids, and then usually in displeasure when she did.
“Highness?” she answered softly, holding the soft brush away from the princess’s hair in case that was what might have given offense.
“How do you practice the Rite of Solu?” Silonyi asked.
Thendaji’s mouth dropped open, and she blinked in confusion, partly because she did not seem to be in trouble, and partly from the nature of the question. For the Rite of Solu was a private thing, an individual’s communion with the Supreme One, and frankly, it was the height of rudeness and offense to ask such questions of one’s practice of the Rite. However, taking offense and refusing to answer was the surest way of making sure that she never had the opportunity to practice it again. So she chose the offensive over offense.
“Highness - I practice it the way I was taught. To make the pay’ta interweave one’s name with the name of the Supreme One and receive the blessing of Av.”
“Using av’rita,” Silonyi qualified.
Thendaji blinked again, and words escaped her tongue, “Is there aught else to use, Highness?” Whereupon she quickly clapped her hand to her mouth, but the princess did
not seem to notice her discourtesy.
“And everyone does it in this way?”
“Yes, Highness,” the frazzled maddi answered faintly. “As well as I know.”
Then I must find out, Silonyi thought to herself, taking no note of the querulous glances that passed around her, why I learned it differently.
But before that, what am I going to tell my mother about this eve? How do I explain my actions? She contemplated this as she lay upon her pallet and her maddi took their leave. She was still thinking about it when sleep tiptoed in and blew gently upon her eyes.
the darkness turned about the silence, both laughing at the emptiness that, itself turned...
The focus of the Six was palpable, their combined presences and attention tangibly concentrated on the center of the low table. Then the intensity of the Sixth lightened just the tiniest bit, for just a moment’s moment, as if some breath of cold and motionless air or some soundless pattering of feet to the pang of some nameless panic had distracted her from somewhere beyond the wall. Her attention turned as another would turn her head, but came back almost immediately. None of the others seemed to know or even notice. The Sixth stilled her perception again, joining the rest in unmoving contemplation. For a quarter of a san’chron they sat thus.
Then, almost as if on cue, the Fifth moved, placing her hand upon the table to draw the regard of the others.
“What if the Public Face were to, to all appearances, change sides?” she said quietly. “At the Heir’s return, let the Public Face rescind the challenge, yes, and beg forgiveness and renounce all doubts and aspersions cast on the Heir. Let the Public Face sing her praises to all that will listen. Be the first to congratulate her and the last to criticize. But always be ready to suggest, to gently correct, to subtly guide. And let the Face become the Heir’s unspoken advisor, her strongest advocate, and let that core of supporters be the backing of the Face, so that when she succors the Heir, they do, too. Subtly it will be a cut to the High Queen’s power, since they support the Face, who has spoken out against the High Queen’s ascension - but she cannot object, for they will support her Heir. Through that, make it seem that the Queens are once again united, most endorsing the High Queen and others actively supporting the Heir when she comes to power. Make them the first among the Heir’s advocates, so that it seems that she has already begun to be accepted as our next leader. Let them uphold her the highest. And then, when we call on the Face to pull back - so do they, and the support that the Heir counts on because of them will not be there. If we can get the Heir to become dependent upon us, and that core group above all others, we will hold the keystone that would undo the power of the High Throne exactly when we need it.”
The others murmured in appreciative respect and acceptance. It was a brilliant strategy that had real possibilities - if the Face could win her way into the Heir’s good graces that way. Even the First could not refute its appeal. It was obvious, though, that this suggestion had been thought out before-hand. And not necessarily by the Fifth.
“There are two holes in that plan,” the First said, though. “One is our unknown opposition. If the Heir has that support, too, then our group will not be as effective. It will then become a priority to uncover this group and undermine them in some way, discredit them in her eyes.” Her hood dipped forward. “That will take time and effort better sent in other pursuits. The other is getting the Heir to become so reliant upon the Face and her supporters. When she finds out that it was the Face who challenged her, that possibility becomes more than highly improbable.”
“Not quite so, Sister,” the Fifth said with a mildly felt smile. “The first has been accomplished, in no small part already. And the second more likely than you might think.”
“How so?” the Second asked, her interest covered by a tone of slight curiosity.
“It is easy enough to imitate another Tribe’s colors and designs,” the Fifth said somewhat obliquely, “and a lie is most effective when mixed in unequal amounts with the truth.” She let them chew on that for a long moment, then continued. “When it became apparent who the most likely candidates for our opposition were going to be, groups of our combined warru forces in our potential adversaries’ Tribe colors were sent out along with many others in many different Tribe colors to aid in the - search for our beloved, missing High Heir. If she can see them, she will think that she knows who her enemies are, or at least, she will doubt who are friends. If she cannot see them, then whoever is helping her can.”
Again there were murmurs of appreciation at the cunning of such foresight and immediate action.
“And the second imperfection in this little scheme?” the First sneered in a totally sneer-free voice.
“Getting the Heir to come to value the word and voice of our Public Face?” The Fifth settled back and folded her hands into her lap. “It seems that she became the unfortunate victim of one of our little ‘experiments.’ The poison was in her system long enough to make her sick, if not kill her, for she has not found her way home by now. That experiment was made by our hand and ‘rita, or the hand and ‘rita of one in our control. She has been exposed to our influence.”
The hoods of the others turned to each other as they silently digested this and the implications it held. They had not read that far into the consequences of the Heir falling into one of their mutated specimens. Of course, theoretically, if one has been directly exposed to or invaded by the ‘rita of another, then that other has an abstruse influence over the one, but... how strong a sway could the poison induce?
“Enough,” the Fifth answered the unasked question. “Enough for a small suggestion here and a tiny comment there to have a bit more weight than they normally would. Enough that, over time, such minuscule nudges will have a land sliding effort in the direction we choose.”
“We need to make a decision this eve,” the Fourth said, her cowl turned toward the Fifth and incidentally, away from the First. “I think we may start to implement this plan. It can be modified as need arises. Are any opposed?”
Assent was almost unanimous. The First did not favor the plan, but she did not oppose it directly, either. If it worked, then their cause was furthered, and the Face would have to be dealt with some other way. If not - then the Face would fall flat, and would be out of the picture in terms of her threatening position to usurp power. So she neither assented nor opposed the plan. Other plans would be made and instituted once more information had been garnered.
“There is one other avenue I think we should consider,” The Fifth said, moving her head as if looking around, a gesture purely for drawing out their attention. “If the Heir’s negligence could actually be proven, we would have a lever powerful enough to catapult us to our plan’s culmination even before the turning of the age by pressing the challenge.”
“We would need concrete evidence to do that,” the Second said. “Challenging the Heir was merely a diversion - a brilliant one, since the opportunity was there, but one that was not fully discussed or thought out. To actually continue to use it in some way might endanger our other plans if the Public Face were to come under too close scrutiny before enough suggestions of control have been made. After all, she was hurt, very seriously if she has not found her way home by now; and since her body has not been recovered and there has been no outcry from the land, we know that she is not dead, but she may have come close to dying. Her injury could be enough to strengthen her claim and exonerate her negligence.”
“Not if she left the bulk of her escort to go into the wilds alone,” the Fifth said, and a silken thread of low triumph marred the carefully modulated voice. “I have word from my sources that she parted company with the bulk of her protectors before entering the unclaimed lons and after that she stumbled into one of our - experiments. Her escort was certainly not with her, or why send out a search egwae?”
“Again, we need proof,” the Third said, the cowl shaking in negation. “How do we prove that she left her escort? For if she truly did, th
en they would have returned to the Ritious City in secret, or somewhere close to it. Then they would wait for her to summon them, so that none would know that she was alone and without protection. We would be unable to use them against her, for by now they are probably shortening the way for the search egwae as we speak. And few know about the search egwae - we know, because we were expecting one, and our spy saw it. But any evidence that we might use to strengthen the challenge is tainted. Our spy is inadmissible by its very nature - such a creature would condemn us faster than the challenge would. The Heir’s injury through negligence is inadmissible because of its manner - it was more likely than not one of our experimental plantings that caught her, and if those are brought under scrutiny, they would show our influence. Again we would be condemned out of hand. To confront the egwae openly is useless, for they would have any number of legitimate reasons for being where they are. The only feasible way to press the challenge would be to find her before the search egwae does and hold her in our care, then present her back to her own Family. And they have the advantage on us, both in resources and the Rite of Seeking.”
