Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4)

by Emanuel, Ako

  “She was out looking for any clue to its location,” the familiar Queen’s voice said. “That was no secret. She did not find it, but what if she did find what she was looking for?”

  “The beast? He is not it. We would have felt that,” the satin over filth voice said, dripping derision. “Oh, you think he knows? In fact, he might, at that. Yes, that actually makes sense.”

  Gavaron stiffened. But he kept listening.

  “We still need her,” a fifth voice, dark as gossamer shadows, spoke. “To - bring pressure at the right time, against her Family. We have our hooks in her - but not deeply enough, or she would never have escaped. We need to have her firmly under our control.”

  “She is beyond our reach,” the velvety claret voice averred, dismissive. “We cannot pry her out of T’Av’li. And when she is checked by the ol’bey M’rad’ni, the hooks you think set in her will be eradicated.”

  “I disagree,” the smoke voice said. “She will be vulnerable during her trials. I might be able to - arrange something.”

  “And what if your new plan has the same success as the previous ones?” The false gold voice asked. “What if the Heir again slips through your fingers?”

  “Then,” the shadowy voice replied, “we will get her when she once again leaves the relative safety of T’Av’li.”

  “You say that as if you know she will, for certain,” the Queen smirked.

  “Even if she knows where it is, she still has to go and retrieve it, or deal with it where it is hidden,” the shadow smoke of a voice turned sweet, like opium fume, dangerously sweet. “The High Queen cannot go herself, and she would not trust such an important task to anyone else. The High Heir will leave the City again.”

  “What about this beast of yours?” the whiny voice of sour leaves insisted. “We should find out if he knows anything. Now!”

  “He is not going anywhere,” the Queen said, in smiling arrogance. “We will get the information out of him, if he has any, next eve, while we play with him.”

  The chorus of laughter chilled him. He did not plan on being around for the interrogation.

  the darkness turned...

  The next turn, the grooms were unusually late in bringing first meal. They were sullen and disinclined to chat, only feeding him, but not grooming him. Asking them what was wrong was futile - they would not answer. But he suspected that he knew when both their stomachs growled, and they actually looked at his food with envy and longing. The other mounts received the same short shrift - hasty feeding and a quick clean of their stalls.

  Only one of the Train’Marms showed her face, and she walked slowly and carefully, not entering any of the stalls. She did not stay long, but merely looked at the Katari and him as they ate, waiting until the last stalk of grass had been devoured. When half a san’chron had passed, she went away, the slightest of resentful expressions on her face.

  A low laugh from Tema’s stall made Gavaron grin. He had confirmed his suspicion by gently probing the Train’Marm with his lor’rita - food poisoning. His doing? He could only hope so.

  Perhaps when I plan to make my move, I arrange for another such treat? he wondered, stretching in his bonds. But he could not escape until his av’rita was fully freed - he would need it, he knew, for the attempt to be successful.

  But how was their av’rito’ka being blocked? Short of being unconscious, nothing he knew of, save a stronger mind, could block someone’s ability to touch the spirit of light.

  Even strong minds get tired, he mused. And a mind strong enough to block all the captives in this eve-mare place? No wuman mind he knew of could do that, not even Jenikia when she was alive. And anything stronger would surely attract the attention of the Goddesses. Plus, another mind around his, stifling his av’rita, would know about Varo, and all his depredations. It was possible, certainly, that they were playing a deep game, and letting him do what he was doing, but he had to wager that they were not that devoted to exerting themselves. Suppose it was something foreign? What substance could eat the very sense of light...?

  He turned his lor’rita on Tema, and wanted to laugh, or curse at himself. Of course! There it was, that brittle pink taint, the opposite of an aura, the poison hole with inverted spikes, but so subtle that he had not sensed it before, would not have sensed it unless he was looking for it. It was in their food, in their water, in the chains that bound them, even. Corrupt pearls, crushed to powder and mixed into everything here.

  It must be introduced from the first turn, forcibly, he thought, turning the knowledge over and over. He did not have time or the means to warn her if he attempted to purge her system of the poison - the love-vine would not shine in the light of morn, and there was the possibility of it being seen by a groom.

  I will try it on myself, first, he decided, and reached within himself to the diffuse, chalky contamination that infused his body and began pushing it toward his wuman stomach. If I can get it out of her fast enough, I can ‘tun my thoughts to her, calm her if she panics.

  The poison stuff reached his stomach and turned the back of his throat bitter pink. His stomach contracted, and a very wet heave wracked him. Stretching as far over to the right as he could, he felt another wretch coming and did not fight it, but vomited out bright pink, pearly sludge, along with his fast’s breaking. It felt almost cleansing, the first layer of poison gone. When the heaving stopped, he spat and moved back as far as his bonds would allow, wishing he had clean, untainted water.

  How long before I...

  A nova went off in his mind’s eye. He screamed and screamed as light beat in on him from all sides, demanding, pounding to be seen, felt, sensed, and he thrashed in his chains, but there was nowhere to hide from the glaring, pounding, torturous light, a lost friend suddenly turned nemesis, an enraged lover thwarted for too long, beating at his helpless mind with wave after wave after crushing wave of sensory glare, like the angry surf, like the desert’s kiss at zenith. He tried to close his mental eyes, but like dawn through flesh, the light of Av shone through, and slowly, so slowly, atrophied pathways began to accept the overload, sorting, sifting, screening out what he did not need. Starved rods and cones of the mind flexed, and still were veiled - all of the pearl stuff was not gone from his system.

  I – I’ll wait before I take more out, he thought, exhausted from the effort of moving microscopic stuff within his body, the throwing up, and the lucentous assault. And he realized, as he lay resting, that he could not purge the other captives all at once - the return to light would kill them.

  I’ve only been deprived of Av for a few ten’turns, he mused darkly, wishing the grooms would come back and clean his stall, or that he dared free himself to do it. Some of them have been in the darkness for cycles. Or tens of cycles. It will have to be slow. But he had the perfect cover. Everyone else was sick - well, the captives would be, too. But it would be a purifying sickness, and at the end, they would be much like their former selves.

  But a darker plan revolved in Gavaron’s mind. Had his captors been ingesting the same poison to make themselves impervious to light? What would happen if he purged them all at once?

  the light turned...

  All around him, hungry grooms were busy with rags, scrub brushes, buckets, and clean straw. Those at the villa were still infirm, and none of the Train’Marms appeared in the stables. The turn passed in sickness.

  Gavaron smiled as another mount in the blasphemous stable threw up. Av was close to setting, and the grooms were exhausted. He pulled the last of the corrupting pearlstuff from himself and took a malicious glee in regurgitating it all over his just-scrubbed stall, then collapsing and moaning pathetically. The grooms answered him, groan for moan, and the squeak of his stall door made him want to laugh.

  “I swear, if this big brute throws up again, I’ll leave him to swim in it!” one groused, as they began to clean up, yet again.

  Gavaron smiled in the inside. This eve, he could do the real work, and warn the other captives of what was to c
ome.

  When Av finally set, he concentrated most of his attention of Tema. Consequently, like himself, she was the most violently ill. There was some grim satisfaction among the grooms, and mutters that the troublemakers were “getting their just desserts.” Gavaron just smiled inwardly as they scrubbed his space, yet again.

  As eve fell, and the moans of those around him lessened with the waning of the light, he moved his efforts to a far part of the menagerie, and the second wave of grooms obligingly moved away as the first wave went to their meager meals and beds. All the mounts around him were exhausted with being sick and with light-migraines, the return of light so gradual, he hoped, that they would not realize what was happening until he got a chance to contact them. They were resting, for once, unchained to their sleeping blocks so that they would not foul the bedding. He himself was mentally drained as well as physically exhausted - who knew that manipulating matter at such a small scale would be more difficult than rolling a boulder up-hill? His mind burned, but he could not rest - all had to be in readiness, before the Queens recovered, or they might miss their chance. He knew he had to be gone before they got around to interrogating him again.

  Stretching his aching mind, he drooped like the rest, but searched furiously for any groom close. They were scattered to the far corners of the place, chasing his efforts at decontamination. Then he whispered,

  *:Tema...:*

  She jumped and screeched as if stung by ten jak’spanya at once, until he clamped down on her struggling thoughts. She flailed in her restraints, though, her head whipping around, the whites showing.

  “What...?!”

  *:Hushshshsh....!:* he hissed. *:I have found a way to free your av’rito’ka...:*

  *:What...? How?!? How did you - how?! Why have you not done this before?! Who - what are you?! I don’t...?!:* Her thoughts tumbled over each other. He suppressed a chuckle. He knew she would recover her abilities quickly.

  *:I only this turn discovered the agent binding our minds,:* he explained. *:I have been - helping those around us to purge it.:*

  *:The vomiting sickness? You did this to us?!:* Disbelief warred with outrage in her mind’s voice.

  *:We are conversing,:* he pointed out calmly, *:and the blessings of Av are no longer denied you. Plus, I did it to myself first. You heard me, last turn. My return to light was not - gentle.:*

  *:How? How was it done?:* she demanded.

  *:They were feeding us - there are pearls that hold av’rita...:*

  *:Dio’gin,:* she said, and he could see her eyes glinting at him in the weak moonslight.

  *:They have found a way to corrupt that property - to make them anathema to light. And they have been feeding those pearls, in some powdered form, I would guess, to us.:*

  He could feel the weight of her eyes. She gazed at him a long time.

  *:From anyone else, I would not believe these words,:* she finally said, softly. *:From anyone but you.:*

  *:I appreciate that,:* he said, sincerely. *:I have been trying to be gentle, slow. But beware - when Av rises...:*

  *:I understand - the moonslight is already blinding. I - thought it a side effect of the sickness afflicting the ruling - bitches - of this cursed place. I thought they were trying to take even the touch of the moonslight from me.:*

  *:No, that which makes them sick is caused by is something else. But we will need next turn, possibly the next two turns, to get used to Av again,:* he explained. *:And neither you nor any other captive here must eat anything they give us. On the morrow’s eve or the next - we escape.:*

  CHAPTER XI

  the light twisted and turned, winding along its straight path, and the darkness, confused, turned…

  Jeliya was up with the released breath of Av’dawn. The servants came and bathed her in special oils, murmuring purifying rites over her. She said her own set of purifying rites, preparing to be brought before her mother in T’Av’li. For all who leave the Ritious City and enter again must be sanctified of body, spirit and av’rito’ka, before coming into the house of Av. Elsewhere, her brothers and all who traveled to retrieve her were similarly cleansed.

  She broke her eve’s fast with a meal of baked flat bread and lightly grilled meats, cucumbers, soft cheese, and porridge with nuts and dried fruit. And after, she drank a special gulu-spice tea to finish her repast. She lingered over it as long as she dared, dreading what was to come next: her dressing.

  They clothed her in a cloth-of-gold bustiere and pec’ta covered with apricot jewels and a mantle to match. Delicate gold bangles wreathed her wrists and ankles. Heavy ornaments adorned her ears and serpentine rings danced on her fingers and toes. Her skin was dusted with gold and jadine glitter, her eyes accented with kohl, her lips with beeswax impregnated with some sparkling substance and lightly tinted toward wine. An intricate creation of finely-wrought gold and sapphire and deepest purple jadine clasped her throat, spreading up like creeping vines to her jaw and trailing down across her sternum to come to a point deep in her cleavage. Even her finger- and toenails were polished and colored white-gold.

  Last, the maddi came and put her freshly redone guinne up into a formal crownette, heavy with gold and kente accents. A veil fine as mist trailed down from it to enshroud her shoulders. A small scepter and globe were rested in her hands.

  Jeliya wanted to scream and tear off all the finery. Was I really so trussed and dolled and painted up before my sojourn? Had she really not noticed the amount of unnecessary ornamentation she had worn in the past? The skin-paint itched, the veil itched, the make-up itched; the bustiere was binding and uncomfortable, the Dakua crownette heavy and giving her the beginnings of a headache. The jewelry clashed and clattered, and she felt awkward and weighted down. She could stand without help, but manservants came in and helped her anyway, so as not to disturb the fanciful creations of the maddi. They even went so far as to escort and lightly support her to her palanquin. And I’m supposed to wear this all turn? Through morn court and meals?

  The High Heir struggled to regain the sense of acceptance of all the trappings of her office that she had had before her search, but it eluded her. How had she borne it? When had she stopped being able to? She sat rigid on the soft cushions, holding the two artifacts at the correct positions on her knees and longing for the time when she could put them down.

  Best not to think of that, she counseled herself. So she turned her mind instead to the wide paved way before her. The way she would travel back to T’Av’li was the Dhabo’enu Way, the Golden way prepared for the High Queen and High Heir to traverse to the Festival grounds, the Way of the Thousand Steps.

  The way was a special type of inside-out av’tun, that ran through all the thoroughfares of the City - it ran through all and merged all into one straight path, like the closing of an intricate fan, playing the strands of space and time to trick the eye of Av, so that no matter what boulevard a citizen stood on, she or he would see the High Ones pass. But to Jeliya and her mother, the way was an arrow-straight road from T’Av’li to the Royal Pavilion, no longer than the flight of a nde’tarru.

  The Rite for the Dhabo’enu was already in place for the Festival, casting an amber glow, the shimmer of spider web’s dew caught in Av’s glory, upon the streets of the Holy City; but it only affected those of the Blood and their attendants, and only through the Rite of Access.

  Am I really traveling all roads simultaneously, split into tens of images all over Ava’Lon, or do all the roads actually become one? Is there any real difference? Jeliya wondered. Whichever it was, the phenomenon never ceased to amaze her.

  She settled herself and began weaving the Rite of Access to the Dhabo’enu as the rest of her entourage formed up around and behind her.

  “Way of Gold,

  Way of High,

  Way of silken, shifting light,

  By the Word,

  By the Blood,

  Grant me and mine the tunnel’s sight,

  By strength of Soul,

  By guile of Mind
,

  Unto me grant way of Right!”

  Not the most imaginative of verse, but it was sufficient. All the key words were there to trigger the Rite. She braced as the bearers bent and grunted in unison, hoisting her smoothly into the air under the brilliant glare of Av. They watched patiently as the gossamer curtains of the Golden Way shivered and folded away before them, the silken parting of lucent robes of Av, with the crystalline sound of a thousand pearls striking a jade bell. Similar sounds of the transporting palanquin of her entourage being raised came to her, their positions creating an arrowhead of royalty with her as the tip, to pierce the veils of the City, and cleave their way to the Palace. Otaga, seated on her kati’yori, signaled to the other mounted warru to form up around the palanquin, herself on Jeliya’s left and a length behind. The princes, too, rode kati’yori, claiming the rank of warru.

  “Highness, we await your pleasure,” she said formally, when all were in place. Jeliya dipped her head once and plastered a serene half-smile on her features. Her lead bearer called out the cadence and they started forward at a slow trot, building gradually to the ground-devouring half-run, half-march that they had been trained to sustain for yori’turns. The kati’yori, also parade trained, fell into a counter-step, and the whole rhythm was almost hypnotic.

  The crowds began to appear right outside of the Lan’mba circle. Melea of her return had of course been spread, and the populace was well in the mood for a public spectacle. People began singing the song of welcome to the rhythm of the cadence of her bearers as soon as she came into sight. But as she drew close, some of the voices faltered.

  Is it that obvious that I’ve been unwell? She turned her head to bestow the serene smile and a slight nod to the nearest citizens, and what she saw before they sank into deep bows of respect shook her. The faces were stunned, shocked. As if the rumors of her trials had not been exaggerated enough.