Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4)

by Emanuel, Ako

  The solitary guard slumped slightly as the air around him turned fey and the beginnings of a tiny smile touched his lips; his rite-glazed eyes receded further away into a muddled mist of obedience.

  You are doing a good job, a voice like the Queen’s whispered to him. For this I favor you above all others. Now, stand still, very still; I am sending a - messenger to the prisoner to interrogate him. You need not take notice of this messenger - in fact, it will be better for you if my messenger did not take notice of you. You are the only one I can trust to let this messenger pass. Do you understand?

  The man nodded and drew himself up straight, held himself stiff.

  Excellent. Now you will see without seeing, observe without acting. You will see what appears to be the Heir moving past you, but that is just a guise to protect you from the messenger’s true form. You will let the messenger pass and note nothing unusual in this. You will stand by as the messenger interrogates the prisoner, and no matter what you think you hear, you will not interfere. And when the messenger has left, you will report nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Do you understand?

  Again the stiff nod. Excellent. You shall be rewarded.

  And in truth, a form did pass before him that looked like the Heir; he found nothing out of the ordinary in this, as per his orders. She passed by without a glance, and he was grateful - the messenger’s aspect was probably truly terrible. Resolutely, and under the pressure of the rites holding him, he ignored the form and all that it said and did.

  Silonyi moved to the bars of the cell and sat back on her heels, setting her basket down on the floor beside her. She touched her forehead and fought back a wave of tiredness. This was the fifth rite she had had to perform this eve to get here, and it had drained her. Her mother’s servants were very well protected against tampering. She had had to use every bit of trickery and cunning just to make it this far. And she had left a trail of tampering a yori’turn wide. But, hopefully, in seven turns it would not matter.

  She looked in on the prisoner. He was much the same as she had last seen him, curled up on the floor of the cell, shivering in the musty cool of the den’lains. Now he was not shivering, though. Now he lay as one dead.

  Silonyi gathered the tatters of her energy. The guards changed every two san’chrons. She had less than one and a half to do what she had come to do.

  “Psst!” she hissed to the still figure, hoping that he was just asleep. “Hey! You, prisoner!”

  The man did not move. Is he seriously sick? Silonyi gritted her teeth. All this effort, and for what? Probably nothing!

  “Hey!” she raised her voice as much as she dared. “Wake up, man!” Nothing. And she had brought nothing with which she could prod him, nothing to throw at him. Frustrated, and fearing time that slipped away like mist, she reached through the bars to poke him. An instant before her fingers touched his flesh his hand whipped out, a coiled snake striking, to seize her wrist in a grip like death. He yanked her forward, so that she jammed painfully against the bars; and before she could cry out, his other hand was around her throat, crushing her windpipe.

  “Well, well, wha’ we gah hyere?” his voice, thick and hoarse, rumbled. She clawed at the hand throttling her, her lungs beginning to burn for air. The hand gave her a stupefying shake that made her teeth rattle. “A li’l spy, eint? Sneakin’ roung where she ain’t ‘posed to be, eint?” A low chuckle moved around her.

  Rage blossomed in Silonyi as she fought for even the thinnest threat of air. She felt her inner reserves gather for a death-strike at the prisoner, an instinctive act of self-preservation. Then a second thought stopped her, even as she began to asphyxiate. He was probably counting on that, wanting a quick death as opposed to slowly wasting away. But he could not get what he wanted if he killed her or if she blacked out without striking. He had to know that, and was trying to goad her into action. She marshaled herself, forcibly holding back the strike on the man who dared to handle her so. Her eyes misted over and her temples throbbed with the force of will as she tried to stop struggling, tried to slow her heart-beat down, and held the retaliative strike, held it, held it. Jets of freezing rage and chill-hot pangs of retaliation swirled the air about her in a gathering storm. She held it.

  You are here for a reason, a part of her reminded sternly. Control even the most violent of killing rages, and you have an awesome weapon waiting in the shadows.

  His grip tightened, so that it felt as if the inner sides of her throat were grating against each other. “Wah’s dis? Nuttin’ from de li’l spy?” He shook her again, snapping her head back and forth on her neck. The world took on a hint of rose...

  Air...! Screamed down her throat, and she sucked in the tiny trickle, coughing.

  “D-dirty sonuva...!” she gasped; he pulled her face right up to the bars before she could finish her curse. They pressed painfully into her jaw and cheek.

  “I could grant you a quicker death than I’ve been granted, little spy,” he sibilated, his accent dropping away like a shed costume, “so watch what you say to a man who holds your life-” he gave a meaningful squeeze, “- in his hand. Now, who are you, and what do you want here?”

  “I want - to offer - you - a-an alternative freedom - to death,” she gurgled around his fingers and their meaningful flexing. Her nails tore ineffectually at the flesh of his wrist. Her other arm, twisted in his grip, felt as if it were being torn out by the roots.

  “De hell, you say. An’ how you manage dat?” His eyes glinted in the gloom behind the bars.

  “Let - m-me go, an’ - I’ll tell you,” she said tightly, gritting her teeth against anger and pain and tears when he squeezed again and gave her another shake.

  “An’ let dis opportunity slip tru meh fingahs?” he laughed. “Why I’n wan’ do dah?”

  “Be - cause, you - bastard of - a cock - k-kirobird, that’s - what I was going to - offer - you - anyway,” she spat, “and I might - just kill - you for - s-spite should you - refuse!”

  The low gravelly laugh grated against her ears and the garroting hand released her so suddenly that she jerked back. His other hand kept a tight hold of her, though, and held her pinioned to the bars. She coughed spasmodically, holding her throat, as her lungs tried to get used to processing air again after what must have been a cycle-long famine. After a while she was able to get it under control; she could feel welts begin to rise on her neck.

  “Listen well, ignorant wretch,” she said as calmly as she could through the pain in her throat, as if she had not been an instant away from death a moment before, and as if she had not been about to take him to death with her. As if he did not twist her arm till the joint popped. “I offer this. I need - a guide to the Ritious City. You need your freedom and a way to escape. Do you see my purpose here?” Her voice was as thick and gravelly as his. Another coughing fit tried to take her, but she forced it back.

  He squinted disdainfully at her, as if he could puzzle out her nature by looking at her hard enough. “An’ who you is, to be able to offer, much less execute, such deliverance?”

  “Does it matter? Either you believe me, and accept my offer, or you don’t and we both sit here and wait for the guard to change.” She twisted suddenly, the way she had been taught, directing pressure against his thumb to break his grip. But he was a trained warru; he felt her shift and released her as she twisted; she spun almost completely around and fell on her face. The laugh echoed around her - and her rage, waiting, moved eagerly against its cage of will to get at the man who had caused its arousal. She moved out of range of his long arms, seething inside. One turn, when all of this was over, there would be a reckoning between them.

  “So, let’s hear your plan, mamma dah,” the man in the cell said, leaning against the bars. Silonyi let the insult pass. All would be repaid in time.

  “You tell me what we need to travel; I’ll get everything together and have it ready. I’ll bring you better food, get you Av’light, and get you out at the appointed time. I know a way out o
f here.”

  “You do not bargain very subtly,” he rasped. “We need many things. I need sandals, and a dom’ma. We need food for five turns, hunting knives, a desi each, money, a map, a compass, bow and arrows, two clean de’siki and kwats each, a whet stone, a rain do’ko each, an extra pair of traveling sandals each. Comb, brush, yajgo root. Two spear heads. An herb and medicine kit.”

  Silonyi made the list in her head. Most of those things would not be too hard to get. Swallowing her anger, but not her hurt pride, she pushed the basket of food she had brought closer to the cell, but just outside his arm’s range, so he had to really reach for it. She watched him strain to get it, malicious glee making up in some small part for the anger he had caused. His need was gratifying to watch, and he finally hooked it with his fingertips and pulled it in eagerly. She then expected him to gulp it down, but he ate slowly, washing each bite down with water. Satisfied for the moment with her slight revenge, she looked at him critically.

  “You’ve been here a long time,” she said quietly, conscious that time was passing and she needed to go soon. “Can you travel? Your legs look weak.”

  “They are,” he admitted. “But you get me out of here, and I’ll keep up. I know some exercises that don’t look like exercise. And you, soft, high-bred thing that you are, can you keep up?”

  Silonyi scowled. “Better than you, old man,” she retorted. He snorted and finished the food, started to push the basket back to her. She shook her head, motioned for him to break it up and add it to his bedding. “Now, I can get the things we need to travel, and hide them,” she said coldly. “But food and Av’light are harder. To get you the light of Av, and more than one meal each turn, I’d have to come in the morn time, and the guards are more alert then. Do you have any ideas?”

  “First, when are we leaving?”

  “In five turns, on the first turn of the De’en’nu Festival,” she replied.

  “By the Goddesses’s hands,” he breathed, sitting back. “I’ve been here that long.” It was not a question. He stared at the wall. Silonyi waited impatiently for him to come out of his reverie. She could hear the guards shuffling around beyond the hall of cells.

  “How did you get in just now?” he said suddenly.

  “I played a little mind trick on the guard. But that probably won’t work again, and not in morn time. The guards are so rite-bound most tampering won’t work, and what does work leaves a trace. Do you have any ideas?”

  He looked at her with dark, speculative eyes. “Let me think on it. Come back at mid after-zen’s turning and I will have thought of a way by then.”

  “And if you haven’t? How will you let me know?”

  “If you can see and hear me from where you are coming from, I will begin to thrash in sequences of 3-2-3-5, and I will moan the adu’una tuku pattern as if delirious. If you see and hear that, then I have thought of a way and you get ready to do that trick you pulled last time. If not, return this time tomorrow’s eve, and we will come up with something.”

  “Then – you agree?” Silonyi cocked an ear and tasted the air vibrations. The guards were near completion of their rounds and her rited dupe would soon be relieved.

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes dark and bright in the gloom.

  “Then let us make it binding,” she said, moving closer again. “I give oath to get you sustenance and Av’light and egress from captivity and what protection I may from recapture if you will guide me to the Ritious City; or release through death if you so desire it.” She held up her hand.

  “I give oath to guide you to the Ritious City and give you what protection I can along the way in return for deliverance from captivity. I will not abandon you along the way or turn you over to any who might come after you.” He grasped her hand and the binding was complete. His grasp, as when about her neck, was strong, firm, almost bruising. He looked directly into her eyes and a mutual fire met with their matched gazes - this would not be an easy partnership.

  They pulled away as if burned by the other. Silonyi turned to go - she had spent too much time here already.

  CHAPTER XVII

  the darkness turned...

  The Temple of Ya’kano was large and silent. Jeliya yawned and yearned for sleep.

  She had awakened reluctantly, after being removed from the field of challenge. The healing sleep had not been nearly long enough, and she had actually slept past Av’set, only coming to consciousness under the proddings of an ol’bey’one. They had stuffed her as much as they dared and bathed her in her own bath-pool. Then the Priestesses had apologetically bundled her in the ceremonial vigil robe and helped her to the ante-lain of the , to perform the preliminary Rites. The Rites of Purification that were needed this eve had been long and arduous, and unfortunately, tiring. Praying before Ya’kano, this time, required a purity not just of body and mind, but of spirit and pay’ta, to match the purity she had to bring within each diamond. By the end of it she was drooping again, but strong tea and pure determination kept her awake and chanting her mantras.

  “Goddesses, Reveal unto me,

  By candle-light and Av’in tame

  Through the soul’s pane and spirit’s frame

  That which would be hallowed by thy Name

  As pure as star’s dust

  As clear as child’s trust

  By av’rita, what will be must!”

  The candlelight flickered before Jeliya, mesmerizing her as she fought sleep, picking up another diamond and reciting the mantra.

  This is my last eve of vigil, she kept reminding herself. But how will I make it through the last of the trials? The thought made her want to weep. The path of a thousand paces, the final battle at the end - she did not even want to think about them. I am worn down to a thread. And there will be no help, this time.

  And then there was the veiled concern that everyone around her tried so hard and did such a poor job of hiding - it made her want to shake them all until their teeth rattled. What were they so concerned about?

  Besides the obvious? But her weakness was not the root of it. Why don’t they just come out and tell me? Is it what Otaga mentioned, my fitness to rule? Is it my reticence to talk about Gavaron? Or my behavior when they first found me? Or something else entirely? Did they sense that she had changed in some indefinable way, that now made her alien to them? For she knew that she had changed, as sand changes to glass, and she could never again go back to what she once was.

  Can I even make them understand? But I will have to deal with them later.

  Her knees ached despite the thick cushion beneath her - which was good, in a way, for the pain helped her stay awake...

  ...He held her, kissed her everywhere - everywhere. He held her and he was fully wuman, his mouth hot and rapacious over her body, questing, savoring, devouring. She arched and low moans quivered from her belly and stuck in her throat, pouring out with each delicious sensation he wrought from her. Then finally he lowered her and she was slowly impaled by him, sweetly cloven, slowly tortured with pleasure. She writhed, with ecstasy rather than pain, her cries echoing around her before they were swallowed by his ravaging mouth...

  Jeliya jerked awake and shook herself from fading echoes of ecstasy, and - was it fading echoes of him? Had he touched her through her subconscious?

  She pushed the thoughts away, picked up a diamond and said the mantra. She leaned forward, touched her forehead to the ground in a request for forgiveness, then she settled back to continue her vigil, picking up another diamond. She said her mantra again, though by now the words had lost all meaning. The temple of Ya’kano in which she knelt seemed large and empty and slightly chilly. The eve seemed interminable. Her fatigue tried to get the best of her.

  This was supposed to be the time of revelation, of visions, but nothing save half-lit dreams had come to her. She suppressed a sigh and twitched her ceremonial robe a little closer to her body, picked up another diamond. The continuous playing of the eve tuku did not help either, even though it played a
simple rhythm of praise to Ya’kano instead of the more lulling tribilan, the rhythm of sleep that could be heard anywhere in the Realm in the fifth san’chron passed Av’set. The tuku was always played, continuously, always in the background. Any time of the turn, if one turned one’s attention to it, the tuku could be heard somewhere. Jeliya remembered how she had missed the sound of the tuku in the wilderness. Oh, but the beat of Gavaron’s heart made up for it. Thinking about it now made her shiver.

  She shivered again, not from memory. The Temple had grown colder, a cold that seeped into her bones and chilled her from the inside out. It was almost like the time she had gone into lor’den...

  ...Cold - then a warmth enfolded her, and she snuggled as close to it as she could get, working her way out of the confounding desi that separated her from the warmth. The warmth sustained her til the light and heat of morn finally broke upon the edge of the world. Then she was lifted and carried out into the light of Av, and the warmth remained with her as she performed the Rite of Solu. It seemed right that this should be so, that the warm presence hold her close in this most intimate of communions, so that as the light filled her and transformed her, the presence transformed also and shared in her partaking of the blessing of Av. She turned and embraced the presence, him, and they mixed and mingled - which, before had seemed to be wrong, taboo, but was right because he had enough of lor, the glowing darkness, to keep from being lost within her. That was the way things were supposed to be. That was the way things were before the coming of the Tru’Av’ru, when men were as strong in the Loro and Dio ritas as the women were in the Ava and Chia ritas. At that time women and men had shared a communion of all ritas and knew utter completion. That’s the way things would be again, after the Turo’dan. That’s the way things were always meant to be...