Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4)

by Emanuel, Ako

  Jeliya put her hand to her head. It was too much, too much information, too many urgent things to handle all at once. She was tired, and her control was beginning to falter.

  “Never mind,” Audola said gently, “never mind worrying about that now. Just let it sit in the back of your mind and let it grow - some ideas may come to you. We will tackle this one step at a time. You need rest, you have a full turn ahead of you. Worry about the challenge, if you feel that you must worry about something. Otherwise, rest.”

  Jeliya nodded, sighed. Audola looked at her drawn face, wished that she could take all of the burden off of her daughter, but this was what Jeliya had been training for all of her life. She debated again, whether to heap yet another concern on those now visibly drooping shoulders.

  “Can you handle one more concern?” she asked diplomatically. Jeliya raised her eyes, consciously pushed the fatigue away and nodded.

  Audola felt a great pride for her Heir. Jeliya would be fine.

  “The question has been raised, among us, about the effects of this ordeal on you. I know how deep the link is between you and - him. Or at least I have an idea. The question is about your fitness to rule.”

  All signs of being tired left Jeliya then. She drew herself up, and became, in one breath, the imperturbable High Heir. “Who questions my fitness to rule?” she demanded indignantly.

  “No one has, yet, besides your challenger,” Audola smiled. “Are you willing to submit to the ritual testings? If we make that clear, if we say that you yourself requested the test as part of the ceremonies...”

  “I will submit,” she stated. “Please allow the test of fitness to rule to be a part of my preparations to the Ceremonies of the De’en’nu’a, Mother Queen. I think that my people deserve to know if I am fit to be their rightful ruler.”

  “Ashe,” Audola said, nodding. Then, “So, tell me about him.”

  “Him?”

  “The one who is your Jur’Av’chi’n. If the connection between you is as strong as D’rad’ni suspects, he will likely remain your Jur’Av’chi’n. So tell me about him.”

  Jeliya could not help smiling. “His name is Gavaron, Mother.”

  CHAPTER VI

  the turning of the world brought both light and darkness...

  They turned. Like worlds, they turned. About the bright star of Silonyi’s mind they turned, twin worlds that whispered of choices and bonds, of the marching of time and the telling of lies, the finding of truths and the imminence of change.

  Ever repent, said one of the world-like things in a dulcet voice, gleaming and glinting as if its true nature, hidden by some agent, were trying to show through. The sins of the Mother, and of the Mother’s Mother’s Mother need not be the sin of the Daughter’s. Ever was repentance a choice. Repent. Silonyi turned to this world thing, and seemed to see a benediction of light...

  Never forget, the other growled, making her turn, its surface seething as if it, too, hid something beneath. Never forget that what was rightfully ours was taken by force, by means most foul! Never forget how we were cast low! Never repent, never forget!

  And the second seemed to have the right of it, seemed familiar, like an old favorite song heard after long forgetfulness. The second world thing laughed low in triumph and moved closer to embrace her as she turned to ask the first, “And what are the sins of the Mother...?”

  But before the bright World-thing could answer, the tightening arms of the World that claimed her became the pressure of some presence, as of burning eyes lying long and heavy on her....

  She jerked awake and sat up almost in the same instant, clutching her desi as she scanned around in the dark.

  And at the deepest corner of her wide pallet the dark took form, and seemed to move, to come closer though it remained dead still. Panic bit her heart, then ran away gagging.

  “Mother,” she said softly, bowing with her arms crossed before her. Half a ten’turn had passed since the disastrous meeting and the failure of her enn hadura training, during which her mother had been absent. Her teacher had found nothing wrong, and had sent her away with refreshing exercises.

  Her mother did not answer immediately, but sat gazing at her with eyes like seething worlds. They were deep and yet impenetrable, as if in the bottomlessness of their starless eternity turned thick, flaming walls to cover some even deeper abyss of intent.

  Silonyi dropped her eyes from that unembracing gaze and felt a strange guilt that had no source.

  “The sins of the Mother,” her mother and Queen murmured in a voice devoid of deathly venom, after a long silence. Venom was not required to instill fear. “What an - interesting turn of phrase.”

  “Queen Mother?” Silonyi asked uncertainly, trying to hide her nervousness. Of all the things she did not fear, she did fear her mother, the most.

  The Queen did not answer the query in her voice, but continued to stare unblinkingly at her from half-lowered lids.

  “You did not stay,” she said after a while in that ice-slick, expressionless voice. It was not an accusation, but Silonyi felt sweat trying to start under her arms anyway. She expected to answer for her actions on the eve her infraction had occurred. She had not expected to be left in uncertainty, her mother not appearing that eve or the next. But once the Queen did not come, instead letting her anxiety cool, then punishing her at the least expected moment - that she should have expected.

  She quelled the sweat reaction, squashing her fear down until she could feel it in her hands and feet. There, she squeezed it till she believed it was nothing.

  “I - feared detection,” she said, bowing her head again. “I thought I felt the notice of one of...”

  The slow blink of the luminous eyes stopped her cold. It was as effective as a hand raised in forestalling. The Queen had refined minimal gestures to an art form, and all those around her were well versed. To be otherwise was to ask for any of a number of fates, all to which death would be preferable.

  “I will be leaving again at Av’dawn,” the matriarch said, glancing away to some remote thing.

  “Will you return for the De’en’nu Harvest Festival?” Silonyi asked demurely, “or will you remain in the Aba’jae’s city?” The sudden change of subject threw her. Was her mother not here to discuss her leaving the lorn before it ended?

  “I will remain to hear the Aba’jae’s response to the challenge made on her Heir. Until I return you will have the power of regent and proxy. Oversee the De’en’nu Festival and the turn to turn matters. My second Voice will remain and will be at your disposal - if you come upon a situation with which you are unfamiliar, consult with her.” The eyes focused dispassionately on her again.

  “Yes, Queen Mother.” Silonyi inclined her head, squashing all her questions. She waited for her mother to continue, to recount the plans of the meeting, to discuss the subtle points, the strengths and weaknesses of the plans made. This the Queen had always done. This, too, was a part of her training and tutelage. But her mother said no more, only continued to gaze at her. Silonyi dropped her eyes again, confused and increasingly uncomfortable. Then a horrible notion surfaced in her mind, along with what her mother had said upon Silonyi’s awareness of her presence:

  “You did not stay.”

  A burning chill struck her between her shoulder blades as the burning eyes continued to blaze at her. The Queen had been aware of her departure. Of course, the Queen had been aware of it. But did that - she blinked rapidly in panic - did that constitute getting caught?

  With a certainty of dread that rivaled what she had felt at the lorn, she knew that it did. But this dread did not dissipate with realization of its cause. It grew, slowly creeping through all of her extremities. What would her punishment be?

  She looked up into the seething weight of those eyes. The stifling weight of that presence, of those hard eyes, were penetrating, holding some intensity or fury in check. Then they took hold of her firmly and cut forth, slowly, like a patiently impaling spear, boring into Silonyi’s
mind, teaching indeed.

  *:You will not leave the lorn before I do,:* they said, *:Ever. You will stay even unto death, if I am still present. You will be still and you will learn, or I will teach you in some more effective way.:*

  Silonyi’s will and her entire being bowed before the commands and gave way to them, wordlessly accepting that which was not in her power to refuse. She was her mother’s tool, the lesson taught her, and flawed tools were to be discarded. She could do nothing but acquiesce, her own will a grain of sand before the tossing ocean of her mother’s fury. It taught her that she had a place in her mother’s designs, but that her place could always be filled by another. She shuddered, a strange and distant bitterness rising in her, but was quickly squelched - she could not show the least bit of defiance. Then a rite reached out to grip her mind, a rite with a stench like carrion’s breath, not quite av’rita nor quite chi’rita, but an unholy wedding of both, wrapped in the sacramental wine of a slaughter house. She cringed inward, but was otherwise unable to resist or object. The rite seemed to hesitate for a split instant, before firmly encasing her in its steel-edged, blood-dipped fingers. Instinctively Silonyi squirmed, then lay still like a frightened animal under pinioning talons.

  *:Why did you leave?:* the deep, seething voice of a growling world demanded, holding her beneath its weight. Its grip allowed only the barest of whispers to escape.

  “I - I f-feared detection,” Silonyi whimpered, crumpling to the pallet, her hand going to her throat as her mind was throttled. “I - could not maintain enn hadura f-focus and I - I feared d-detection!” Tears slid down her face. She had not been through this in a long time. At least her mother asked her this time, and allowed her to answer.

  *:Why?!:* The talons sank in deeper, and Silonyi could not even whisper. Instead her memories were laid bare, her thoughts and feelings sliced open for dispassionately cruel dissection and observation. Helplessly she watched as her memories were taken apart, turn by turn, and she feared that the memory of her observance of the prisoner’s rite, which she suspected to be the cause of her troubles, would surface; and for some reason she did not want it to, and not just for fear of the consequences of its discovery. It was - sacred, somehow, though she had been taught that nothing was sacred, and that everything could be used as a lever. It was - precious. It meant something to her, something she could not explain.

  That turn’s memory rose up - and she turned away, knowing that once it was viewed, she would in for it. She, as calmly as she could, prepared herself for the falling ax. But when it came, she was totally unprepared for...

  The rite let her go, unscathed, and the fury poised above her turned away to a new victim. *:If the fault is not with you, then it is with your trainer,:* her mother’s voice judged. Silonyi blinked, caught in simultaneous swells of surprise, relief and horror. Had the Queen not seen her transgression, then? Mayhap she did, but did not see its effects on her? And judged that her teacher in enn hadura was to blame?

  Silonyi closed her eyes. If they blamed the teacher, then the teacher’s life was forfeit. A shame - that teacher was the only one to show anything resembling kindness to her. She swallowed back tears as a hollow pain and a deeper shame took her. Of all the teachers she did not like, she had liked that one, at least. And it was within her power to save the blameless woman. To confess - would bring reprisal back to herself, but it would not result in death.

  A weight of expectancy settled upon her, as if waiting to see what she would do with the choice in her hands. A part of her screamed out to save the instructor. The other coldly reminded her what she had been taught: that while some situations required her to take responsibility for her actions, in others, if there was someone else who could take the fall, then she should not - and it was important to be able to tell the difference.

  Torn, she fell back on what she knew, and kept her silence, nodding in acquiescence to her mother’s judgment. A slight brush of satisfaction touched her, and the Queen rose as would a pillar of smoke, silent and menacing. An av’tun sparkled to life with the smell of faraway carnage. Against the red-swirled white backdrop, silhouetting her, the Queen turned.

  “And,” came the low voice, the expressionlessness of it like a rattle of warning, “you will never utter that - phrase, ‘Sins of the Mother’ again.”

  The light vanished before Silonyi could blink at the flowers of confusion in her garden of fear. She lay back down in the blinding darkness that followed, and swallowed around a lump that rose, large and sore, in her throat. She had passed a small test of some kind with her choice, one part of her thought. The other, resolutely unsympathetic with her confused feelings, told her that she had unequivocally failed. And that the ‘Sins of the Mother’ was the reason.

  CHAPTER VII

  the light, lonely in body and spirit, turned....

  The Ashan Plains were lonely in the light of Av’dawn, the silent bodies that had been left there quietly putrefying. Wumans in the garb of the warru of the High Family and kati’yori, all with terrible wounds now given over to rot and corruption, and the inevitable scavengers, lay scattered about as they had fallen. The other bodies, those of mirrli, had vanished, leaving only black blood staining the grass and soaked into the ground. The souls had been taken care of - but there were still the remains with which to deal.

  A warm breath of av’rita ghosted over the plains, then a single man, a tall warru with skin as dark as aging malagon and a scar running down one side of his face, stepped out onto the plains from an av’tun. Behind him, the very gates of T’Av’li could be seen, briefly, before the av’tun disappeared. He stared expressionlessly about him, where bodies sprawled obscenely in impossible poses and kati’yori blood mixed freely and congealed with wumans’.

  Without expression still, he picked his way out of the center of the slaughter field, not even wrinkling his nose at the smell of decay. At the edge he surveyed the killing plain once more, before turning his back and moving a little ways away, to a place of unbloodied grass. He reached into the slim pack slung across his back under a blood-red dom’ma, and pulled out four clay disks, each one inscribed with flowing, stylized, animal-in-Av’s-glory.

  These he set down in the grass in a trapezoid. Then he moved to a point before the clay disks, so that the trapezoid became an arrow head with him as the point. He summoned av’rita, and his right index finger-tip began to glow. With it he drew a glowing symbol in the air before him, with four other, smaller symbols, similar to those on the disks, above it. He turned again, to face Av.

  “Bring forth the Ones

  Whom Duty calls

  Within forests of black

  Within frost walls

  In reaches high

  And valleys unknown

  Answer Av’s cry

  All of Av’s Own.”

  Slowly, one by one, av’tuns appeared over the clay disks. The first was a man, slightly shorter than the rite-caster, with twin short swords across his back. Behind him was a city nestled in a range of snow-capped mountains. He was a medium mocha, broad of shoulder and chest, and a light sprinkling of sweat immediately popped out on his brow.

  The second was a woman, a few cycles older than both men. She was a rich, reddish-brown tone, tall and slender as a young palm tree. She had two of the larger ajadine jraa pacing like sentinels at her sides. She came from a place of jungles with a village of graceful, fluid tree houses.

  Then came a short, androgynous wuman wrapped from head to toe in rust red, except for the eyes, which were a curious gold, like the eyes of Av. This one stepped from a dark place, from which little light escaped.

  The last to exit, a younger woman, had a do’grine graa in her arms and three abarine graa pacing around her. Behind her were a range of coastal cities on the edge of a glittering violet sea. All of the cats, large, medium and small, wore collars studded with pink pearls.

  The four stood silently before the first man, clearly the leader, peopling the savanna with their presences and power. Th
ey then turned, still arrayed in the precise arrowhead formation, and looked, in a long pause of motionlessness, over the scene of death of their comrades expressionlessly.

  The leader moved away from the place of past carnage. The others followed him.

  The others set about making a sparse camp, cooking raising obin’tu, sharpening weapons, and casting rites of cleansing and preparation and protection. The older woman, N’mbu’yi, looked at the leader, nodded, and went back to the scene of mayhem. She stripped off her outer de’siki and sat in meditation. Her companion beasts flanked her once more, laying their heads down on their large forepaws.

  The other warru seemed to ignore the incognizant member of their group - nothing would be gained by looking at her, there being no outward sign of what she was doing. When the meal was ready, they fed her broth and tiny tidbits of food. The felines got pieces of raw meat and water. N’mbu’yi’s body responded, but her eyes, glazed and half-closed, registered nothing of the others’ actions. At measured times she was led by the other woman to relieve herself; the others bathed her, then replaced her on her mat, all without uttering a single word or ‘tunning a single thought. Throughout the eve, one or another of them kept vigil over her. At appointed times the ritual care, feeding and washing were repeated, and the four waited.

  the light, immersed in the infinite gloom of space, turned...

  N’mbu’yi sat in the rhythms of a special rite, slow and heavy with the heart and breath of her large feline friends. Her rite was like a mirror of the Rite of Seeking, but instead of casting for the light of an individual, this rite sought the light of the world and gathered it in. Their thoughts and heartbeats rose on the flowing breeze like low, song-like words, beating out a curious, complex harmony. Their breath began to deviate from their normal rhythm, striking the wind in an intricate pattern, their chests, however, neither rising nor falling. This interweaving of breath and heart beat took the place of drums to create the underlying bridgework to the rite they wove. This rite was special, however, in that it moved, not just through the web of av’rita permeating the space of the immediate area, but also through that elusive aspect of av’rita that touched time; for time was an aspect of light. This rite sought back along the paths of light, to a gathering of av’rita when each particle of light had been born or bounced off the same thing at the same time, recording for at least a little while, the nature of that thing.