by Emanuel, Ako
“Send a message to the Gadayi of Ya’kano and Ak’ana and make the appropriate offerings. Let us hope that one will come,” Imraja said decisively.
“What of the Queen?”
“The Queen cannot undo what has occurred before she could forbid it,” Imraja replied calmly. “If she has objections when she learns of this, I will take full responsibility. I have only the Princess’s best interests at heart.”
K’lad’mi nodded and went to send for messengers and scribes.
Imraja, tiredness whispering to her, looked in on Silonyi. And Silonyi awakened as they resumed talking, and was aware of the Voice, though she gave no sign.
She is not totally lost to us, Silonyi suddenly heard from Imraja, though the thought was not directed toward her - it was more like a loud whisper that one overhears, if a thought could be loud. The - aberrations of the mother do not seem to have taken full root in the daughter. We will save her, no matter the cost.
And though the slur against her mother should have outraged her, Silonyi was strangely touched by the loyalty and devotion of the Voice.
So, there’s something peculiar about my pay’ta, is there? Something so peculiar that the ol’bey’woman can’t understand it? And I was thrown out of the chi’av’an, across the garden? No wonder her head hurt as if it had been used for warru dom’ma-practice. What could have done that? She strained to remember, but not too hard because the pain was hovering over her and the dizziness was somewhere off to the left, waiting for her to do something stupid. Was there - she furrowed her brow and was rewarded by a sharp prod from pain - was there an explosion? There had. What was the last thing she remembered?
The sins of the mother. She wanted to groan, but pain looked sharply at her. She had asked that question and then the world had turned to a universe luciferous with penumbran gems.
I will find out the significance of that phrase, she vowed fiercely, and dizziness decided that it was time to visit her again. But - later...
the light, sluggish and slow, turned...
The Priest of Ak’ana was an apparition of beads, feathers, brightly patterned strips of aku cloth and white body paint, all topped by a wooden mask that covered his face. He entered the lain with Imraja, and was followed by a smaller, less severely costumed version of himself.
Imraja bowed to Silonyi and then to the Priest. “This is Ejai’li, Second High Priest to the Goddess Ak’ana,” the Voice said by way of introduction. “He has come by my request and countenance to this place, but will only stay and give all aid that is within his power with your blessing, Highness.”
Silonyi inclined her head with crystalline care to the holy man, least it crack with pain, then gazed with a pain-limned squint speculatively at the Voice. “I bid the High Priest welcome, but is his aid required?”
“It is our belief that this is so, Highness,” Imraja replied.
“Who are ‘we’?”
“We are the ol’bey’woman K’lad’mi and myself, Highness.”
Silonyi wondered tiredly how much of a fuss to make. Then she decided to forego her usual suspicions. If she were sick enough to warrant outside help in her advisors’ purview, why go through an act of being suspicious? In light of Imraja’s unspoken words two turns before, the need to distrust seemed absurd.
“Then I give all permission and blessing necessary to enlist and entreat the aid of our well met Priest,” she said, again inclining her head. She did not miss the brief, minute look of surprise on Imraja’s face. Clearly the Voice was expecting a show of belligerent obtuseness, and maybe, before, Silonyi would have given it because such was her nature, but right now she just did not have the strength. If this Priest could make her feel better, why not let him try?
My, how a little bit of pain and discomfort can change one, the sour voice of a turbulent World seemed to sneer. So pliable and compliant! So malleable! What will she say yes to next?
And should she ignore the concern of her Voice and ol’bey’woman? another asked. Should she be difficult because that is the way she has always been?
Silonyi dismissed both voices and watched with the eye that hurt less as the Priest, after giving her a curt nod, stalked around the lain, while the smaller version of him, obviously his assistant, began setting up a small camp at the foot of the pallet. He shook his beaded and feathered and rattle-draped spear at certain intervals, pausing to murmur, then continued his circuit about the place. When he was finished, he bade all to sit in a circle around the pallet with Silonyi as its apex and the assistant at the center. The boy pulled out a very small set of tym’tyn and struck up a slow beat as the servants in the lain stopped their various tasks and followed his directions. They all settled into place. The Priest Ejai’li then uttered a sharp cry and the assistant broke into a fast, driving percussion, chanting, making an accompanying exhaling sound, a syllable of air that helped give potency to the Rites of Ak’ana. The Priest leaped into a wild dance around the circle, swinging his short spear like a bo. A light breeze sprang up, reminding Silonyi of the beginnings of the last Rite of Solu that she had performed before the - accident. The zephyr chased the Priest’s footsteps, giving up - something, or perhaps taking away something. Then Silonyi recognized the traits of a cleansing rite. Twelve times the priest and the wind made the circuit around the group, each time the moving air growing stronger and each time both stopping at her side - he could not continue because the head of the pallet pressed against the wall. It was almost as if she were being partially excluded from the cleansing.
Why? Don’t I need it, or won’t it have effect on me? Perhaps it’ll obscure what’s ailing me if I were included? It was all very puzzling.
Finally the rite ended with the Priest directly facing her across the circle. Abruptly the pain began to lessen. He gave a benediction, and in the next breath sternly ordered all but Silonyi and his novice to leave. Silonyi was amazed at the immediate compliance. Do all Gadayi command such authority?
When the lain was empty, the novice helped his teacher to take off all the vestments and ceremonial jewelry until he was stripped to a loincloth and the paint; over his body the novice placed a white linen robe with gold embroidery and on his head, which was almost completely bald, a matching kufi. The novice also removed his own garb and donned a simple, knee-length de’siki.
The Priest sat at the foot of the pallet, beckoned her closer. With the help of the novice she moved nearer to him.
“I am Ejai’li dul Shai, of the Elah’ori Gadayi of Ak’ana,” he said in a smooth, pleasant voice, glancing at the novice who nodded and began mixing various oils and unguents without further need of instruction. “My assistant is Kom’mon’li sul Shai, my brother, both in and out of the Elah’ori.”
“I am Silonyi sul -” she stopped as he raised a hand and shook his head.
“Tell me only your given name, please, Princess. More might impede what is to follow.”
Mystified, she began again. “I am Silonyi.”
“And can you tell me everything you remember before your ‘accident,’ Silonyi?”
She nodded and dug into her memory, fogged as it was by turns of pain. She did not, however, fully describe the rite she had performed, merely saying that it was the Rite of Solu. Nor did she voice the suspicions that she had over-heard from the Voice.
“After the flash of light, I remember waking up to pain,” she concluded.
He gazed steadily at her for a long moment, until she started to feel like a boro under the circling eye of a tar’rari, bird of prey. “I shall attempt to help you as much as I am able, based on what you have told me. You have questions, but they must wait until my findings are completed. Is there anything further that you wish to add?”
At her head-shake he gestured to the novice and stood. The boy came and set a small gold-rimmed calabash between them. Then he offered a black bundle to Silonyi, which turned out to a black, shapeless robe. She looked at Ejai’li. His assistant helped him again divest himself of his outer garments
, then painted red ceremonial symbols among the white. Shrugging, she struggled into the robe, having a care for the fading pain in her head.
To the side, the novice beat tym’tyn and tuk’ni in a drowsy, hypnotic beat. Ejai’li murmured a ceremonial rite, his head and body weaving slightly with the current of the rhythm, his eyes closed and his body soon bathed in sweat. Silonyi began to sway to the beat also.
His eyes snapped open and the drums stopped simultaneously. His gaze bore down on Silonyi, crushing her with internal fire and awesome presence, as of standing at the foot of a smoking mountain. She felt like cringing but held her poise. He reached down, never taking his eyes off her, picked up the bowl and offered it to her.
“My Goddess must know that you do this of your own free will,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, as if it came from all around and not from his body. “All who petition my Goddess, Ak’ana, must be open to Her and Her judgment. All who seek Her wisdom, must enter Her influence without reservation. Do you wish Her guidance?”
“I want to know,” she said in a small voice, “I want to know what’s wrong with me.”
He raised the bowl higher and she took it, sipped from it - it was coconut water with something bitter mixed into it that burned its way down her throat.
*:Drink half,:* came his stern instruction.
She complied, tried not to make a distasteful expression as she handed it back. He drank also then set the bowl between them again.
The bitter stuff burned in her stomach in a bright lump, then seemed to spread out into a general warmth that made her feel - not drowsy, but detached, like very strong wine.
Through the detachment she watched the novice give the priest a drink of something else. The Priest began to shake, his muscles spasming, his face vacant. He wove before her eyes, distorted and unreal.
Someone eased her back and the world danced on a crazy tilt. There was a sharp cry, but she could not coordinate enough muscles to sit up and investigate. The drums began again, faster, frenzied, and a shape began to gyrate around the edges of her vision.
Burning eyes. A vast, almost overwhelming presence. A wordless question. She answered. Another question, sharper, deeper, more insistent. Again she answered.
“In the Light of my Goddess,
In the Dark of the morrow,
In the Heat of Av’s eternal truth,
Bequeath unto me your true nature!”
Pain lanced through her mind, and she screamed a numb scream into the wavering detachment of the lethargy surrounding her. It held her, and she felt as if she were being pulled apart by two ancient forces, one above and one beneath, if above and beneath could exist in the confused floating of her senses. She arched and screamed again as she was stretched taut, and snapped back into herself. She would have cried, but the impulse could not seem to find her eyes. Only the screams seemed able to find their way out of her.
A murmur almost like pleading fluttered to her ears. A vast deliberation or consideration, a stern declaration in reply. Darkness.
darkness, wrung and wrought into fantastic shapes, turned...
She opened her eyes, coming to consciousness all at once. Her world seemed to consist of darkness and pain of late, of opposing poles. She tried to sit up, and immediately a supporting hand helped her. She saw it was the novice. Ejai’li was just beyond the pallet, deep in some rite of communion.
“I have found - something,” the Priest said unexpectedly, without turning, his face still raised in the patch of Av in which he knelt, his arms spread. He lowered his arms and looked at her.
“Tell me what you have found, holy one.” She found that she was no longer in the black robe and he had once again donned his gold-trimmed vestments.
“You are under the influence of two very powerful and conflicting Rites,” he said, coming to sit close and taking her hand. “Both are very ancient and almost equally matched.” He dabbed his fingers into a fragrant oil and herb mixture brought by the assistant and rubbed it into the skin on the back of her hand, then traced a symbol of power there.
“What are these rites?” she asked as he repeated the anointment on the other hand, then used a different mixture on her palms.
“As near as I can tell,” he said, moving down to her feet, “they are both known as the Rite of Solu.” This clearly troubled him. “One is steeped in blood, the other tinged with pain. They both lay claim to you, and both claims are equally strong. But both now seem to have rejected you.”
“What does that mean?” she wondered.
“It means that they and the powers behind them have both denied you sustenance. You cannot perform either now.”
Silonyi’s head whirled. She had been exposed to two different Rites that went by that name; but which one was true and which one false? And how could the Rite that she had only witnessed once have as strong a claim to her as the one she had been practicing all her life?
“So what should I do?” she asked as he made a sign on her chest and back and moved to her forehead. He then sat back on his heels and took out a small suede pouch which revealed seven objects that he called ori hadai - two jewel-like stones, three almost cubic bones, a petrified seed bigger than her thumb and a cowrie-shell from the distant coast. He held these up and murmured a rite over them, then cast them. He studied their seemingly random pattern, then looked up at her.
“You must choose.”
“Choose one of the rites?” But both reject me. Neither will sustain me, she thought desperately.
He nodded, pointed out a crooked path in the set of the objects. “You are at a branch in your life’s path, and you stand with a foot upon each branch. Soon you will have to choose one branch or the other.”
“How do I choose?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “You will face a series of decisions or tests, and whatever decision you make determines the path that you will ultimately follow.”
Silonyi remembered her doomed teacher, looked at the ori hadai. “Which one is the right one?”
“All paths are equally valid. You must choose which one is right for you.”
She licked her lips. “Tell me, Ejai’li’ra - would - would a sense of wrongness be tied to this? Could this sensation be trying to influence me in one direction or another?”
Ejai’li looked intrigued. “‘Sense of wrongness?’ Tell me about this.”
Silonyi told him about all the instances when she felt the wrongness, carefully editing the contents of the meeting of her mother’s allies. He nodded understandingly.
“That is one path trying to show you its way, so that you do not summarily choose the other.”
“Do the ori hadai say anything else?” she asked.
He cast them again. “They say that your decision might be pivotal in the coming turn of the Age. What you decide may have very far-reaching repercussions. And they say that you must go to the Ritious City.”
The Ritious City? The heart of the Aba’jae’s influence? “How - how can that be? How will going to the Ritious City fix anything? And how can my one decision change the course of the turning Age?” And if it were so important, would it not take place where she was strongest, here in T’chi’la?
“Because all things are interconnected, Princess. All decisions shape the future of a people - and even the smallest choice can eventually bring about the movement of mountains. The way you choose to go may change the entire course of this world and its people for generations to come - or it may only change you. As to why the Ritious City, that is where most pivotal decisions of the turn of the Age will take place. You must go there. Soon.”
Silonyi digested that, then asked the question that was really plaguing her.
“Ejai’li’ra - what does the phrase ‘sins of the Mother’ mean?”
He gazed at her, then he and his novice began gathering his paraphernalia, as though they were making ready to leave. “Where did you hear that phrase?” he asked casually.
“In a dream,” she said, a stra
nge desperation at his leaving rising in her. She felt, knew that if he left without giving her the answer, she would never know, and no other servant of the Divinities would come again to her mother’s house. And he had not told her how get better. “Please, Ejai’li, tell me. I must know.”
“Silonyi, the ori hadai will not see into the unrevealed. They can only see the whole of a thing once a piece, however small, has been given.” He flicked the barest glance at her.
She blinked. Had not she given him a piece? Should she betray all for this? He looked intently into her eyes.
“I and mine are under oath of our Goddess to never reveal any of what we have been told to another soul, so long as the Realm is not endangered. What you say goes no farther than me.”
Still she hesitated. He shrugged and turned away. “It is your life, Princess. There must be great strife within you if you cannot even trust the word of one of the Gadayi.”
She was at her wits’ end. The decision came more easily than she would have dreamed.
“Wait!”
The Priest stopped packing and looked at her expectantly. She glanced at the novice. Ejai’li looked at him and he dropped what he was doing and left the lain. Then she told him everything, from witnessing the prisoner up to the explosion she did not remember. His face became somber as she spoke, then troubled, then totally devoid of expression. When she stopped, he grunted as if with satisfaction that held no pleasure, as if he had been waiting to hear the complete story.
“I see.” He took the ori hadai out again and whispered over them, cast them. Then he gathered them up and sat close to her again. He summoned a piece of papi’ras and began to write.
