Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4)

by Emanuel, Ako

  Part of her finally took notice of the manifestation, while most of her continued to feed, the manifestation so like the dawn of eve, and that part of her quailed in fear. That part of her not consumed with devouring energy watched in terrified fascination as the thing she had called forth took full form, swelling to the size of a young boulder, filling the top of the lain. It spun even faster than she or the air around her, bubbling and frothing into existence, seeming to grow in minor explosions of thick nothingness, in all the colors of the absence of light. Finally it settled down into a globe with an ever-moving surface, gradually slowing its spin until it and she were moving in tandem.

  :What are your questions, Daughter?: came a voice like the movements of mountains, the boiling of red seas.

  The unoccupied fraction of her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening; she had never invoked the second order of the Rite before.

  :Q-questions?:

  :You have called upon the knowledge of your Foremothers to show you the way,: the voice quaked about her. :You may ask any question of our store of lore.:

  Any question? More and more of her was turning attention to the phenomenon. What question would she like answered most at this moment? Well, what question had been plaguing her for the last three turns?

  :What are the sins of the Mother...?: she began timidly.

  the light turned black...

  ...the light air turned black, black stars on a white cape, fluttering around before her eyes. Sound was a faraway buzzing like an annoying insect that would not go away. Then pain wrapped about her head, a warm, prickly desi of wet, throbbing pain, dull and sticky, grinding with the crunch of crushed bone.

  Hands, small and faint, shifted her and the black stars turned white...

  CHAPTER X

  in a fever of ritious wrath, the darkness turned...

  “What is it?” Gav’av’aron asked his history teacher, Cinamar, as they both stood gazing at the barrier of yellow-gold light that seemed to merge land and sky like folds upon the glowing cloak of Av’o.

  “No one really knows,” she answered, stepping closer. “One legend says that when Tru’Av’ru’Lor’ru fell, the world was to be united once more, that we should find a paradise, but then Av’o decided against it and sent peoples forged dark as blood copper to keep the denizens of Lor’Alona from spreading to Av’o’s blessed lands. Another says that those on the other side set this barrier up to protect themselves against us.”

  “Those are legends,” Gav’av’aron shook his silvered head. “What does history say?”

  Cinamar smiled in approval. “History says that there was once a group of fanatic homans called the Order of Retrieval. They had a prophecy of a promised paradise once the Tru’Av’ru’Lor’ru fell, and they lived at the edge of the Tru’ru for thousands of circles, waiting. When the Tru’Av’ru’Lor’ru finally did disappear, they crossed into the lands beyond, and indeed found a land like paradise, but they also found those lands occupied. They made war upon those other peoples and after a hundred circles of war, this structure, the Av’ru’Lor’ru, came into being, presumably to repel any more invaders. Once they were pushed out, and denied their paradise, they turned on all of us who did not help them in their ritious pilgrimage and subsequent crusade, blaming all others for their loss. All the peoples had to band together in that time to annihilate them, for they fought without any thought of surrender. They fought to enslave all the ‘heretics’ who watched them fail and did not aid them, so that they could assault this structure that we now stand before, and take what they saw was their Gods-promised paradise. They are not spoken of, now, save by those who would preserve an accurate history.”

  Gav’av’aron gazed at the wall of light and listened, comparing what Cinamar said to what his mother had told him about the Tru’Av’ru and the Av’ru. Could this be the same thing? What else could it be?

  “Does it - does it ever call to people?” he asked suddenly. Cinamar turned her whole upper body to look at him with sharp, wise, silver-flecked eyes.

  “Only the mad or those destined for great or terrible things have claimed to hear such a call,” she said slowly. “Why?”

  “It - it calls to me,” he said shyly.

  Her face was unreadable. Then she turned abruptly. “Come, young Gav’av’aron. It is time we went back.”

  He cast one last look at the shimmering curtain of brilliance before trotting after his teacher, feeling distinctly disturbed...

  the light turned...

  The light of Av was just setting as Gavaron pondered the fledgling plan to free other, fellow and sister captives and win them all to liberation. But he had to communicate, somehow, to let them know what he intended. The memory of his vine-made-words came to him. Yes, that might indeed be the answer. And the av’bala, or love-vine, whose vines were thin but flexible and tough, and which glowed faintly in the dark, would serve his purpose. He would send it in the darkest part of eve, when there was no chance of it being seen by the stable boys or Train’Marms.

  He cast out his thoughts, down into Loro, but only just below the surface. He reached out into the wilderness, searching, tickling one plant after another, until one particular root resonated with his desires. He lay curled among the filaments for a gran, then sent up a silent thought.

  *:Lend me your seed-spores,:* he implored, gently touching and cajoling. *:They will be ripened and burn bright. Lend me your offspring. Their seed-spores will be scattered far and wide, and your success will be assured.:*

  The vine quivered and let its spores fall to his waiting awareness. Sending thanks and prized minerals to the vine, he gathered the seed-spores with infinite patience, as sweat broke out over his whole body - the delicate, ultra-fine use of lor’rita was more taxing than large, earth-shaking uses - and slowly, slowly, he moved the seed-spores to the stalls and under the cages of key captives with whom he had chosen to communicate. He could not av’tun his thoughts to them - their av’rita were as bound as their limbs - but he could use the same trick he had once tried to free a big-eyed, brown-haired girl who had long, long returned to dust. Each little seed-spore he pushed through soil and stone, and in some cases wood, to its final resting place within each captor’s enclosure, thirty in all. When the last had dug its tiny rootlings into the soil of the chosen spot he rested, slumped in his restraints, his chests heaving. His next feat would be infinitely more complex.

  Gavaron waited until the two lesser moons had risen, then coaxed the first of his messengers to germinate faster than nature would have it. The love-vine was easy to manipulate - it grew whenever conditions were favorable, and quite rapidly, on its own. With Gavaron’s prodding, it was a hand span long in just a few gran, with at least fifteen auxiliary tendrils that grew at regular intervals along the main vine, with broad leaves only at the ends. He had given each vineling packets of water and nutrients and an isolated place to grow without competition, and the vines responded enthusiastically.

  He took a deep breath and manipulated the first vine, making it slither to the captive Katari in the stall not far from his. She still showed signs of spirit and defiance, and others seemed to defer to her, while the Train’Marms tried their best efforts to break her. He made the vine untie her blindfold, and a harder task, unbuckle her gag. She trembled and jerked at the plant’s touch, but did not make a sound as the blind and gag fell to the floor. He could feel her attention on the vine.

  No be afraid, he made the tendrils spell out.

  She whuffed, but did not speak.

  Whisper, he spelled, and a tendril touched her lips. She did not bite at it, which he took for a good sign. You see? Understand?

  “Yes,” she breathed against the vine across her lips. “What is this? Who are you? How are you doing this? This is a trick!”

  No trick, he said, then, his limbs trembling with effort, I am big male, give much trouble. You see me?

  “Who is your trainer?” she asked, suddenly.

  The vine dimmed as he
answered, Fekniri.

  At the name she gave a low, malicious laugh. “Yes, I have seen you. You are the silver and black coalt’m, Varo.”

  Varo, yes, he replied.

  “What do you want, Varo?” she asked.

  Freedom, he said. He felt her teeth on the vine, but she did not bite hard.

  “Do not speak that word to me!” she hissed. “I cannot give you freedom when I cannot even liberate myself! I...”

  I give you freedom, he interrupted, making the vine press hard against her lips. You, me, others, work together. Yes?

  She was quiet for a long time. A long time.

  Gavaron shook with effort and waited. She was key to his plan.

  “If I refuse?”

  Then I go alone, he answered. There was another long pause. He waited.

  “How do I know this is not a trick by her Royal Bitchness?”

  He was ready for that. He made one of the vines produce acid and drew its tip over the shackles on her wrists. The acid ate the metal like shears - but left her skin untouched. He did this with all her bonds, until she stood totally unfettered.

  You are free, he spelled. If you wish, I lead you out of here. You go, no look back. But to free many, I need your help. You choose.

  She stood, free, unfettered, for a long while. He almost expected her to bolt, or to demand that he make good on his claim and lead her out. She did neither.

  “I will help,” she said finally. “I am not quite convinced that this is not a trap - but even if it is, they cannot do worse to me that they have already done. And if it isn’t and we succeed...” she did not finish the statement. “But if we try and fail - you must end me. I cannot taste the chance of freedom and not have it. Promise me!”

  I promise, he replied.

  “Good. Then let me know what you want me to do.” She lay back down in the pose that her shackles forced on her. With patience he reconnected them.

  Tell me your name, he asked.

  Again her teeth closed on the vine. This time, luminous liquid stained her lips like blood. The vine trembled.

  “My - my name? I have no name. They - they whipped it out of me. Now I do not remember.” Deep within, he felt the falsehood - she did not want to remember, did not want to remember what she had lost. She had forgotten her name on her own. It was how she had stayed sane, and kept from breaking.

  What do I call you?

  “Tema.”

  Be ready, Tema, he said. I might not be able to give you much warning. Be ready. He let the vine go slack. One recruit made. Twenty-nine more to approach and convince.

  the darkness turned...

  Seven turns had passed.

  He had only contacted seventeen of the other captives when Fekniri came for him. She took him, without a word, to her secret cave, binding him before the pallet with a hard glint in her eyes. She stared at him for a long while, obviously remembering their last encounter. Then she slowly drew back the curtains around the pallet.

  The bathing girl was again spread-eagle on the pallet, but this time face up. Fekniri picked up her pleasure whip and brandished it.

  “You feel something for her, don’t you,” she said, sitting on the bed, dragging the flails across the girl’s belly. The girl whimpered. Fekniri looked sharply at him. “Answer me!” she snapped, forcing the whip handle into the girl’s mouth.

  “Yes,” Varo said.

  Fekniri sprang off the pallet and began whipping the girl in earnest. The girl screamed with orgasm after orgasm, as the whip left welt-less stripes on all parts of her exposed body.

  Breathing hard, the Train’Marm turned back to Varo.

  “Tell me you are mine, to save your little bathing wench,” she said with a clenched smile.

  “I am yours,” he forced himself to say.

  She lashed the girl two more times.

  “Tell me you want me,” she hissed. Lash and scream.

  Varo clenched his jaw.

  “Tell me or I will force it into her, and she will die of ecstasy!” Fekniri screamed, saliva flying from her beautiful mouth. She lashed and lashed the girl, who begged and cried and screamed in succession.

  “I - I want you.” The words were like filth in his mouth. He swallowed on rising gorge.

  She whipped the girl with renewed fury. The girl, writhing in her restraints, sobbed and pleaded, but whether for surcease or for more he could not tell.

  “Mean it!” she demanded. “Say it and mean it, or I whip her to death!”

  “I want you,” he growled, and in his mind, he added the rider, dead. I want you dead.

  She advanced on him. He held out his arms, still shackled at the wrists. And when she was within the bound circle of his embrace, he held her tight, trying to crush the life out of her, and he kissed her with all the hatred he possessed, his eyes open and trained on the quivering form of the naked bathing girl.

  the light turned...

  Three more turns slid away under the dance of darkness to light. Gavaron had contacted all the other captives that he felt he needed for his plan to work, and now he was in the process of trying to discover a way to break the shackles on his av’rita - he had a feeling he would be needing it before long. This turn, Fekniri was on edge. She nit-picked at Varo’s every fault, real or perceived, impatiently replacing his equipment when it inevitably broke or corroded. Then, after his training for the morn, at zenith, she had him scrubbed clean and the handlers brought out a sparkling new set of tack, and had all the grooms not occupied dress him carefully in it.

  “Make sure it fits perfectly,” she snapped. “Her Majesty’s guests are arriving this eve, and she will want to show him off next turn, even if he is not fully broken. So any adjustments have to be made now.”

  Gavaron perked up attentively at this information, distracted from what he had been attempting. The Queen had more guests coming? It might be nothing, but he felt within his bones that these guests were significant in some way. This menagerie was a violation of the laws of Ava’Lona - she could receive a sentence of death if it were found out. So any guests she brought here had to be as corrupt as she, and as culpable in any schemes she was plotting against Jeliya. He would have to eavesdrop, if possible. He might learn something valuable.

  Gavaron took particular glee in making the entire outfit that had just been adjusted to perfectly fit Varo disintegrate to little more than dust. Fekniri looked aggrieved, but not particularly surprised.

  “Put the second one on him.” She watched impassively as an identical set was carted out. This set, though, Gavaron could feel, had a rite of lor’rita on it, to prevent decay. He decided not to break the rite - it tasted of the same evil of the pink pearls. He turned, instead, back to the task he had been toiling away at - finding a way to free his av’rito’ka. He had been studying his own pay’ta, and he could feel how the av’rita suppression changed it. He had been working on shifting it back - and as Fekniri smiled maliciously at him, when the panquin and tack did not rot away to nothing, Gavaron smiled triumphantly within Varo as a few of the bonds on his av’rito’ka suddenly broke and some of his sense of the living world sprang back into dim focus. Varo’s face stayed impassive as Fekniri took great pleasure in studying the confining outfit. She gloated at its fit and make, but did not receive the reaction she was trying to elicit. Varo looked through her.

  “Remove it,” she said finally, and he could feel her anger at not having gotten a rise out of him. “We don’t want it marred for next eve. Put his regular tack back on, and let him sleep in it. I must go and attend her Majesty.”

  Gavaron’s thoughts whirled as he pondered the additional guests of the Queen, shutting out what was happening to Varo. He had already known that there were wuman Queens who had turned against the High Family - all those warru in the unclaimed lons had been trying to capture or kill Jeliya, and they had been under the direction of someone with power. Were the ones responsible all coming here, to this secret, isolated place? Could he find out who they were? Suc
h knowledge could be invaluable later.

  The grooms put him and all the captives to bed early, then scurried away, apparently to help with final preparations for the new guests’ arrival. When the av’tuns opened, he felt it, and he sent his awareness to the villa, using the walls themselves as his listening devices. There were three of the new-comers, and with the Queen’s current guest, five in all of the corrupt party.

  They went through the ritual sharing of drink, but not gulu, and they did not pour any libations, nor did they share pleasantries. There was no pleasure in meeting for the five who gathered in the meeting lain in the palatial villa.

  “The Heir has been - recovered,” one of the voices, like bright fool’s gold, sneered in distaste.

  “She was within your grasp,” the familiar Queen’s voice accused. “And you let them slip in and pluck her right out from under your warru’s noses.”

  “They were lucky,” another voice, like filth covered in satin, growled. “And that new beast of yours helped them! He killed some of my warru and freed a whole hand of my servant beasts!”

  “He will be - suitably punished, once we come to power,” the Queen said, and her voice was a nasty smile of velvet and blood mixed with gore. “He has a - tendre for the Heir. When she is under our heel and made to perform for our amusement, he will suffer.”

  “But how can we go forward with our plans if we don’t have the blasted girl?” whined a voice of sour leaves. “How do we find....” the voice cut off, as if admonished to silence. “How do we find it, how do we find it, without her?” the whining voice persisted. “She would not have left without finding what she was looking for! What if they have it already? We were supposed to find it first!”

  “She did not find it,” the bright, false gold voice said, confidently. “She has reached the Ritious City by now and there has been no mass movement of warru. The Av’ru still weakens. And finding it is not what we needed her for.”