Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4)

by Emanuel, Ako

  “Light of Way, paths of narrow gold

  Av’s turn is come; let them be as One

  Through the Heart, in turns of old

  And with the zenith, stands Av upon

  Ways of High, in Cities, bold and bright

  The san’chron nigh, with our Harvest done

  Bring forth connecting Light

  To our golden City, may all comers stand

  From hand to hand, by fire’s song and Rite

  All Ways are one, from City heart to land

  Combined to a single glowing strand

  Through T’Av’li’s center, by Av’s own command!”

  Golden light flowed from the heart of T’Av’li, down the main entrance and out along the boulevard that snaked around and through all of the Ritious City. At each intersection the light branched, filling the street with a glittering light tunnel of gossamer av’rita. The light expanded through all of the City’s ways, but one particular branch wove its way to a circular court, which had a twin in every major wuman city throughout the Realm. There the light gathered before the avid eyes of millions, growing brighter and denser, pulsing in time to the High Queen’s heartbeat. In each mosaic circle, the glow grew, slowly, patiently. Breath held, the people watched. Then from each the light shot out, through the main street of each City, from the mosaic court to Temple of Ya’kano at the end.

  Audola raised her hands to glowing eyes, her hands in which a veritable spider’s web of light flowed out in all directions. Around her, like streets on a map, short strands of light stood like scattered threads. She closed her eyes and spread her hands, pulling the threads together. With fingers sheathed in gold, she braided the strands with loving care, strands that could have been her daughter’s own hair.

  A blinding flash of av’rita rocked the very fabric space and time throughout the Realm. When it faded, all the Ways were combined into one. A deafening cheer rose as people stepped from their street, all across the Realm, into the Ritious City.

  CHAPTER IX

  the darkness turned to wine and drained away, leaving the land and sky stained in all the colors of brilliance...

  Silonyi awoke with a smile, all vestiges of fear and trepidation washed away at the dawn of a new turn.

  Real power! Regent and proxy! She rose without summoning any servants and went out on the terrace to breathe in the heady rush of independence. The city spread out before her like a sumptuous buffet, hers on which to feast. The absence of her mother was like a weight lifted, an oppression gone, a world of dominance banished.

  For the first time, she had real power! Not much, and not for very long, but still, holding the force to shape the actions of others to her will felt like standing at the top of the world. It made the light of Av seem brighter, richer, made the perfume of the early morn that much sweeter.

  One turn this will all be mine, she thought gleefully. One turn I will wake up and hold all this in my hand forever. In my fist!

  And a pulse of wrongness, sharp and acute, rippled through her and seemed to settle in the clenched hand. She opened it with a startled cry and the pulse of wrongness flew from her like a bird, cupped in her hand, released.

  Her elation crashed down around her in partial ruin. The wrongness, again? Will I never be rid of that cursed sensation? She turned angrily to see five of her mother’s servants awaiting her pleasure. She immediately erased any trace of pique from her expression, and, determined to enjoy the taste of power no matter what any ignorant sensation implied, she squared her shoulders and retired to their care. They guided her to a low table, laying out a luxurious meal before her of jonni-bread and soft cheese, saltfish cakes, fried plantain and fresh imilan slices, passion fruit juice and cocoa-tea.

  She sat to eat and Imraja, the Second Voice, sat beside her, bearing the turn’s itinerary.

  “Good morn, Princess. Shall I read the turn’s schedule for you?”

  She gave a slight nod of assent. Perhaps not as minimal a gesture as her mother, but a good start, for Imraja began reading off the list of duties to be attended and decisions to be made.

  “First is morn court, Highness, in which you will hear petitions, settle disputes, meet with the representatives of the neighboring lons to the sor’n and este, assign permits and lots for visiting vendors and meet with the Trade’Marms of the Family Heads to set the minimum prices for their goods and services. Your morn devotions will follow that. Then the street routes for the procession need to be blocked out so that the parade has a clear path and all the businesses will still be easily accessible,” the Voice said. “Then I have the zenith meal scheduled. Your lessons in loncraft follow, until mid-afterzen, then you resume court. Last is a lorn with the Faliel about the renovation of the market-side storefronts and the sins of the mother.”

  Silonyi gasped and immediately choked on a piece of imilan. She coughed and gagged, was faintly aware of the servants fluttering about fearfully and Imraja patting her firmly on the back. The imilan piece dislodged and she spat the offending morsel away.

  “What was that last item?” she croaked out between coughs.

  Imraja frowned. “The signs of the Mothram? The Faliel Mothram have been petitioning since the beginning of the Season for the right to put up newer and bigger signs. They will try to use this opportunity of the Queen’s absence to get their petition pushed through. I would hold off, however; the Queen has her reasons for not granting them their petition.”

  “Oh.” She pushed the remains of the meal away, clearing her throat liquidly and feeling like a fool. Of course it was not - that phrase. “I see.” She stood and moved toward the bathing lain, suppressing the impulse to cough again. “I will have a bath now, Imraja, and then we will proceed,” she said, forgetting about the minimal gestures for the moment. There was silence behind her rather than the rustle of movements to do her bidding.

  She turned to see servants in various stages of following her, all looking puzzled.

  “What?” she snapped, frowning. The servants looked at each other; then all looked at one girl, unanimously choosing her to be the spokesperson for them.

  “Highness - don’t you - that is, do you...” the servant girl trailed off in helpless confusion.

  “‘Don’t I, do I’ what? Are all of you so incoherent around the Queen?” Confusion among the servants became fear, and they were paralyzed either way. Silonyi glared around. This was not a very auspicious beginning to her short reign as ruler. “Am I speaking to myself? Or in some ancient tongue? What is the problem, here?” There was no answer. Only fearful gazes. Silonyi’s face became expressionless, and her eyes flat. “Someone speak up, or someone will die,” she said coldly. Her eyes settled on the sacrificial servant. “Now.”

  The one who was under her stare opened a reluctant mouth. “H-highness, we live to serve. B-but d-do you want your bath - uh - brought, or drawn in the bathing lain?”

  For that they were hedging and cringing? Did they think she was up and walking for her health?

  “If you do not know by now how to read my actions and desires as you do my mother’s, then perhaps I should suggest to the Queen that you all be replaced,” she said, ready for and ignoring the feeling of wrongness, which squirmed slimy and sickly through her chest. What good are servants if they cannot learn to anticipate their monarch? she thought angrily at the sensation. If they cannot do their assigned tasks, they are worse than useless. They are better off dead.

  The Second Voice stepped forward and bowed. “Highness, I beg your pardon for cutting in, but you have strayed from your usual routine and your desires are not clear to us. If it pleases you, we beg that you instruct us in what you desire and forgive our ignorance.”

  The servants threw her grateful glances. Silonyi looked hard at the Voice. So she was sticking up for the servants and casting her lot in with them, was she? Perhaps Silonyi should include her in that death threat. But she rejected the thought as soon as it formed. The Voices were sacrosanct, answerable only to the High Prie
stesses of the Goddesses, the Gadayi. Not even the High Queen could inflict harm or pass judgment on a Voice. Silonyi cooled her temper, banished such thoughts. Imraja was just trying to smooth things over. That was her function.

  “I desire,” she said without a hint of irritation, cocking an eye at the Voice, “a bath in the bathing lain. Now!”

  The servants jumped and scurried like a jak’spanya nest overturned.

  She sneered at the wrongness which had fled again, before realizing that the decision to use the bathing lain had been brought about by the wrongness in the first place.

  turned, the light, dull and tarnished...

  Morn court had to be the dullest of duties in the Realm. It dragged on and on, case after insignificant case of petty disputes, complaints and petitions, all of which could have been handled by a much lower authority than the Throne. So Silonyi only half-listened to most of the opening statements before delegating the cases to the aides of the Throne. Silonyi glanced around, distracted, bored, taking in the large, light-filled oval Laine. Spectators lined the sides; court flowers and flunkies, socialites and servants, nobles and merchants. Down the middle of the hall, lengthwise, was the petitioner’s aisle, where those who felt they had a matter worth the Throne’s attention came, after having first presented their cases to the court chancellor, who was supposed to weed out the petitions not worth the court’s time.

  Apparently that person is not doing her job, Silonyi thought sourly as she delegated another case. How her mother stood the whole thing was beyond her. In fact, how any of the Queens...

  Silonyi raised her head.

  “Stop.” She looked down on the merchant who halted in mid-word. “Repeat what you just said,” she commanded, frowning. Something about this case caught in her mind. Some tingle ran briefly through her; not the wrongness, but more of a sharpening of interest.

  The merchant, Junu’un, caught off-guard in the middle of his animated and impassioned speech, gestured meaninglessly for a moment as he backtracked his thoughts.

  “He uh - this - this miscreant cheat me out of a fourth ten-weight per tanya per silver piece,” Junu’un repeated. “I plead that the court do justice by its citizens...”

  “How did he do that?” Silonyi interrupted impatiently. “Didn’t you see him weigh them? Didn’t you check the weight on your own scales?”

  “I did, Highness, and I sent meh wares to this - this man tru meh assistant in good faith, and see how I been rob blind!” He glared at the accused trader, who looked stoically at her, ignoring his accuser.

  “I see.” Silonyi rubbed her lip thoughtfully, made a declining gesture when the Voice asked if she wanted to delegate the case. She looked at the tall, silent defendant, appreciative of his dark, rich brown skin and statuesque features.

  “You are not from here, are you?” she asked him finally.

  He shook his head. “No Highness. I come for de festival.”

  “And have you anything to say in your defense?”

  Again the head shake, coupled with a shrug. “Would I be believe?”

  “Tell your view of the story and we shall see who will be believed.”

  The elegant shrug. “De assistant bring de tanya dem, and tell me de propose price. I weigh dem and tell what my scales say, mek me own quote. I t’ought we woulda haggle, but de assistant, he look at de scale and take de price I say, but he write de wrong amount on de receipt, de price he quote; me din know til latah. And den me hyere, bein’ accuse of stealin’.”

  Silonyi glanced to the court warru Kurja off to the side who was in charge of gathering any evidence necessary to a case if it was heard in court, immediately drawing her attention. The warru came forward. “Gather all the pieces of evidence in this case.”

  “They are ready for your review, Highness.”

  “Bring them to me.” The warru nodded and disappeared out of a side entrance. She gestured to Imraja, who leaned close. *:How would my mother handle this case?:* she queried.

  Imraja considered. *:She would most likely delegate it to Umer’l, the Head of the Faliel Trade Egwa’tu for disposition, Highness. This is a fairly common occurrence.:*

  That sounded reasonable enough - until she looked at the foreign Trader’s face and considered his words.

  *:Then what usually happens?:* she asked curiously, turning her head a fraction toward Imraja.

  The Voice seemed to hesitate before answering *:Usually, then there is a lorn of the Faliel Heads to review the litigation. Both sides tell their stories and then the Egwa’tu makes a decision.:*

  *:And what is usually the ruling?:*

  *:The usual ruling is a dropping of the serious charges and the payment of a small fine by both parties for taking up the Egwa’tu’s time. One or the other might also win remuneration for the difference in the disputed price.:*

  *:So where is the advantage?:* Silonyi pressed. *:Why even bother with bringing this case to court?:*

  *:The advantage is that because the trustworthiness of the foreign independent Traders has been called into question, and none would dare call the Faliel out and risk a slight to their honor. The F.T.E. will be able to implement a partial embargo against the foreign independent Traders like the defendant on certain goods and services, and to levy a two per-crown tax on other premium goods that the independents will have pay and subsequently add to the prices of their goods. On the first, the local merchants have the advantage of almost total exclusivity and can raise their prices as high as they like without being undersold. On the second, they would have the advantage of first customer-choice, since their prices would then be lower on the premium goods - not by much, but enough to sway the custom and improve their net profit.:*

  *:So,:* Silonyi concluded, her mind’s voice flat, *:This is all a play-act. Why do it every Festival?:*

  *:Because the embargo and tax are specifically designed to be short-term, holding only for the duration of the Festival. Otherwise, with a permanent embargo, the Faliel would lose all foreign Trade, not just the independents. These laws were designed for peak Trade times like the Festival, to keep the foreign Traders honest, it is said.:*

  *:And what keeps the locals honest?:*

  Imraja said nothing.

  *:Yes, I see that nothing does.:* She sat back to ponder the situation, the court silent and all eyes on her. Should she intervene or pass it on? Her gaze wandered as she thought, and settled on the independent Trader’s face, where he stood patiently awaiting the favor of the court to turn against him. Something in his countenance of quiet acceptance moved her. He, too, knew that this was a farce, an excuse to bring forth point of law.

  *:And how much would the Faliel be hurt if they don’t get this little boost to their profits?:* she asked, still looking at the foreign Trader. He met her eyes and suddenly smiled, a brilliant, beautiful smile that told her that he knew of life’s little injustices and that either way he would get along. That the injustice would only make him and his stronger and more beloved in the eyes of the Supreme One. That he forgave her already the inequity that she had not even dealt him yet.

  The smile shook her to the core and cut her to the heart, and fair took her breath away. Such a one did not deserve to be left with the open side of the palm, this ritual slap to his pride and honor that he dared not challenge.

  Troubled, she sought inward for an answer to the confusing, uncharacteristic thoughts going through her mind. But the wrongness said nothing and her teachings held nothing, and this was totally outside her experience. Strangely, the decision would have to be hers alone.

  *:Highness?:* The touch on her shoulder and in her mind startled her; but she had been trained not to jump at such things, but rather to react in a certain way. Her reaction was to sit up straighter and arrange her features into a totally neutral expression.

  *:Yes?:*

  *:I said that it would not hurt the Faliel too much, since they base their net profit on what they would have made without the embargo/tax injunction. The Throne will get
five per-crown of the increased prices under the embargo and two per-crown of the levied tax, and the Faliel keep the rest of the profit.:*

  “I will hear the rest of the case and view the evidence,” Silonyi said aloud. The court remained silent for two heartbeats, then broke out into the gentle surf of many whispers. Junu’un’s face, stretched in a smug, if not over-confident smile, fell like dropped masonry, but smoothed an instant later. He still expected things to go his way.

  The warru Kurja stood to one side with the evidence. Silonyi beckoned and she approached with the two scales and the tubers. The scales looked almost identical. But - Silonyi narrowed her eyes. She touched each scale, then sat back, only then noticing that a slight rise in the murmuring susurration had begun in the Hall.

  “Which scale is yours, Fal Junu’un?”

  The man looked around nervously. His eyes jumped from one scale to the other, then finally he chose the better-kept scale.

  Silonyi leaned forward and beckoned to the merchant. He came forward and she bent close. “Do I look ignorant to you? Now, do you want to withdraw your claim, or shall I make an object lesson out of you?” She raised an eyebrow.

  The merchant gaped at her. A look of outrage sped across his face, and he glanced to one of the warru observing. That worthy did not return his look. Silonyi followed his gaze, and marked the warru. One of the Crown’s warru was involved in this venture? Maybe getting a payoff for putting his stamp on the case so that it was sure to pass through the court? Not anymore.

  “Well then, let us continue this farce, and perhaps root out a bit of the nastier side of the Faliel’s way of doing business. Now, good Trader, why did you come to this particular lon? Is this Festival gathering the closest that you could reach in time?”

  The tall silent Trader nodded. “Yes, Highness.”