by Jean Johnson
“And worse, when I tried to dispel any illusion, not only did they not change back, Soren couldn’t even touch the Sacred Stone to her hand, never mind her forehead!” Ilaiea looked upset at that thought. Clueless, Saleria waited to see what else might be revealed of their foreign ways. “It’s like the child has somehow found a spell or a source of magic more powerful than the Gods Themselves! She defies the very bloodline of the Inoma with those eyes. She is my sister’s child—and I’ll remind you that your younger sister, Kayla, is still very much alive and well, so it’s not like the impertinent girl is some sort of post-tragedy replacement.”
Nope, Saleria thought. I have not a single clue what they’re talking about.
Serina studied her golden-eyed mother with her normal, round-pupil, honey-amber eyes, then sighed heavily as if making up her mind. “Don’t fret, Mother. I am quite certain that it is not some sort of act of defiance. Reina is a lovely child—or she was when I last visited five years ago—and I cannot think her temperament has changed that much in the interim. But if it makes you feel better, I shall make sure to ask Brother Moon and Sister Moon directly as to whether or not this is a genuine Mark of the Singer.”
Ilaiea arched one light blonde brow. “You, ask the Gods Themselves? Since when did you take up a holy calling, child? Last you mentioned, you were still playing with numbers.”
Serina smiled. It was a tight expression, evoking yet another wave of sympathy from the Katani priestess at her side, for Saleria did not like Ilaiea. The priestess had to respect the older woman as a fellow Guardian, and even trust her to do her job well, but Saleria did not like her.
From the way her hands clasped and clenched behind the small of her back, tugging on the end of her long, pale braid, it was clear Serina didn’t particularly like her mother, either. “Unlike you, I am not confined to any one land . . . or any one role, Mother. A few days ago, I became a mother myself. A few years ago, I became a Guardian. And in just a few hours, maybe even a few bare minutes . . . I will become a personal witness to the restoration of the Convocation of Gods and Man.”
Ilaiea looked like she had swallowed a small, live fish, one that was was wriggling on its way down. Saleria carefully bit her tongue behind closed lips, not wanting to laugh at this inopportune moment. Serina wasn’t through, after all.
“During said Convocation, I will politely and respectfully ask Brother and Sister Moons, holy siblings and Patron Deities of the Moonlands, as to whether or not Reina’s Mark of the Singer is a true Mark. I will do so on your behalf, with the priest or priestess being collected from the Moonlands as we speak being a second witness to this momentous event . . . and then I or he or she will get back to you eventually . . . because I don’t think we’ll be able to use the Fountainway to communicate with anyone for who knows how many days the Convocation will last. According to the old scrolls I read, this could take up to a month. In the meantime, it would be best if you treated Reina as if this were the will of the Moons . . . for They will be watching her, if she is indeed a new Singer.”
She smiled at her mother, and snapped her fingers. The mirror link stayed active. Belatedly, Saleria muttered her power-word for ending such things, and the image of Ilaiea on a plain blue background vanished, replaced with a reflection of the three of them and the shimmering, pastel energies of the Fountain in the background.
“Well,” Dominor muttered, “that was a bit different. Is she always that unpleasant? Because every time I’ve chatted with her . . .”
“The Inoma of the Moonlands? Arch mage and sovereign queen and who knows what else rolled into one?” Serina replied tersely. “I’d be more likely to die of shock if she were ever not arrogant. The desire to actually learn and use my magic instead of having it bound into our nation’s many protections wasn’t the only thing that drove me out of the safety and secrecy of the Moonlands.”
A deep breath, and she let it go. Literally and visibly, for she had started tugging on her long plait. Releasing it, she took another breath and let that go, too.
“But I am in a wonderful nation with a magnificent husband, two adorable little melons who are no longer making me feel bloated and cranky . . . just sleepless and cranky . . . and I don’t have to deal with her if I don’t want to.”
Saleria started to say something, then reviewed what it was and changed it around. “I was about to say I wish you could’ve had a more caring mother like mine . . . but if yours hadn’t driven you out of your homeland, then you wouldn’t have gained a wonderful husband and your lovely twins. So I hope you take it in the spirit it was meant, and not a wish to ruin what you now have.”
Serina smiled wryly. “I do understand, thank you.”
“I guess in the end it turned out for the best. Didn’t it, my love?” Dominor asked his wife.
“Yes, my swaybacked donkey.” Serina said it fondly, as if the words were a form of endearment. Guardian Dominor grinned and kissed her briefly. The box in his hands and the infants slung in front of both their chests got in the way for anything more than that.
Saleria held up her hands. “I’ll take that, if you like.”
“Yes, please. And thank you, Saleria,” Dominor added, handing her the heavy chest. “It’s good to know we have friends in Katan—we may seem lighthearted at the moment, but the reason why we’re reconvening the Convocation so quickly is because Duke Finneg, the Councillor for Conflict Resolution, has kidnapped Kelly’s blood-bound sister, Hope, and done something to hide her from all scrying eyes. He’s joined forces with a group of Mendhites who want to steal away the ability to create the Convocation from us, including a fight up in Nightfall Castle shortly before you and the others started to arrive. But with the aid of the Gods on our side, we should be able to find and rescue Morganen’s lady . . . but I fear with the political might of Katan arrayed against us, it may indeed take an act of the Gods.”
She didn’t know who Morganen was, but that wasn’t important. It was the dangers and threats his family had just gone through that made her frown in confusion. She looked around the Fountain hall, then back at him. “All these troubles besieging you, yet you trust me—a near-stranger and a Katani, associated by default with the Councillor for Conflict Resolution—here in the heart of your Bower? This close to your Fountain?”
“Of course we do,” Serina answered for him. “You’re a Guardian. You know that the world itself must be your first concern, because of the great power at your beck and call, and the great responsibility your Font demands of you. National boundaries don’t even come into it.”
“Plus, you’re a priest. Even Lady Apista, the Councillor for the Temples, knew to do the right thing when we demanded a sacred bell so we could declare our independence,” Dominor stated. He gestured for them to head toward the corridor. “Now, trusted or otherwise, we do need to get back into the amphitheater. Even with the newly recruited servants trickling in, we’ll still be needed to help welcome and make comfortable all the other holy representatives.”
His comment about doing the right thing made Saleria smile wryly, remembering something Aradin had told her. “Not every priest or priestess would be so altruistic, Guardian. The first pick for coming here as the holy representative of Katan was actually rather anti-Nightfall, according to Witch Aradin Teral—oh, and speaking of them, I hope to get my hands on a recording of the Convocation for them to watch, as well as for the people of Groveham and its surroundings.”
“Groveham?” Serina asked her.
It felt good to know something that someone else—a foreigner—did not. “Groveham is the town attached to the Sacred Wedding Grove, where Holy Kata and Blessed Jinga were wed, uniting Katan into an empire many centuries ago. I am the Keeper of the Grove as well as its Guardian. There is a Prelate—a sort of mid-ranked priest—who tends to their daily spiritual needs, but I am still a member of the community. My work is a bit more broad in its scope, for I tend to the da
ily stream of petitions from all over the empire. You specialize in mathemagics,” she allowed, “but I specialize in prayer.”
“Which makes you a very apt choice as a holy representative for this,” Serina agreed. The infant in her chest sling started to wake up again, making little grunting noises. The blonde Arithmancer sighed. “Oh, Moons . . . I know that sound. That’s the sound Galea makes when she’s starving. Timoran will follow her lead, too, if I don’t get them settled for a snack . . .”
“Then let’s get you seated,” Dominor told his wife. “Saleria will tend to the crystals, I’ll tend to the incoming priests, and you’ll tend to our children.”
* * *
With the arrival of the last priest, a bound and gagged fellow from the kingdom of Mekhana who arrived in an alarming condition she couldn’t quite catch the reason for, since he was quickly taken to a bench on the far side of the front row from the seat she had claimed, the Convocation was called to order. The incipient Queen Kelly wasn’t the most divinely inspired public speaker Saleria had ever heard, but she wasn’t too bad, either. At least the redheaded woman spoke with enough volume and clear diction to be heard by the roughly three hundred or so people gathered in the chamber.
The moment the Gateway of Heaven opened, Saleria knew it was the real thing. She had felt this pulse of pure, clean . . . magic wasn’t the right word for it, and energy wasn’t, and even light and warmth only circled around the sensation, rather than described it. The touch of the Divine, the holiness of pure holy. Difficult to describe in words, because it was felt with the soul and the heart.
She felt a tiny scrap of it every time she sent off a perfect prayer. Not perfect in its wording, but perfect in its intent and its goodness. Like releasing one of those dandelion tufts into a gentle, warm wind and watching it rise to dance in the blessing of the sunshine before being whisked off to parts unknown. Of course, the first God summoned through the Gateway was not her God or Goddess, but the Threefold God, Fate. Even Saleria, ignorant as she was about many outlander things, knew of the Weaver of Time, the oldest acknowledged and continually worshipped God of the world.
Staring at Fate as They walked toward Their indicated seat, old-young-middle-aged, male-female-neither, was like looking at a blurred ray of sunshine. A quick glance at Etrechim’s face showed tears trickling down his cheeks, his gaze fastened on his ever-changing God, his lips parted on a breathless, beatific smile. For a brief moment, she wondered if she would look like that, too.
Then They were called, summoned by the strong, respectful voice of the incipient queen. “I summon Jinga and Kata, Boisterous God and Beloved Goddess of Katan, Patrons of the Four Seasons of Life!”
The coruscating shades of light streaming through the great arched door between the amphitheater and the Fountain Hall rippled, and They stepped through. The mere sunbeam of Fate quadrupled, filling Saleria’s world. She did not notice Kelly bidding Them to take a seat, nor did she hear the names of the next few Patron Deities. All she could see was dark-skinned Jinga, His full lips parted in a grin that made His brown eyes twinkle, and the serene, closed-lipped smile of the pale, blonde, blue-eyed Kata.
They came clad in the finely embroidered clothes and adult faces of Their summer aspects. Spring was the Lover and the Maiden, the youthful aspects; autumn the Father and Mother of the harvest-time, the providers for Their people. Winter, of course, was reserved for the Crone and the Guide, filled with the wisdom of the elderly. Summer, however, was the time of the Lord and the Lady, sometimes called the strong Warrior and the benevolent Guardian. Saleria was relieved to see Jinga clad in the silks of the Lord, rather than the leathers of the Warrior; had there been any doubt as to whether or not They approved of this incipient kingdom restarting the Convocation, that one key difference was all the proof she needed.
(Of course We come in peace,) she heard a male voice whisper in her mind. Not Teral’s, not Aradin’s, not any voice she had ever heard, but definitely a voice she knew well. (Though I wouldn’t put it that way to yonder queen,) Jinga added, His voice filling her heart with the sound of His mirth. (She’d laugh for reasons far too difficult to explain.)
“Oh, Jinga . . .” The name of her Patron Deities escaped her on a sigh. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she looked upon Them. They had chosen a pair of granite thrones set close together, and clasped Their hands with a fond look for each other. “Oh, Kata.”
(You’ve done very well by Our people all these years, Keeper of the Grove,) she heard her Goddess reply, those bluer-than-blue eyes turning her way. (As you yourself have put it, you were asleep until just this last little while. Awakened by the kiss of awareness. Do not fret over the regrets of the past, and do not worry over the choices of your present. Just be mindful that the path of your future should be constantly double-checked to make sure you are still headed in a rightful direction.)
(Kiss of awareness, My Sacred Ass,) Jinga snorted in Saleria’s mind. Such blunt speech was so very much the way the Katani people imagined Him to speak, it made her want to laugh. He slipped her a wink across the many lengths between her seat and His. (More like a hundred kisses of love. And caresses, and . . .)
(Shhh,) Kata whispered back, sounding both quelling and mirthful at the same time. (This is supposed to be a solemn occasion.)
(A joyous occasion,) Jinga corrected Her.
Listening to Them, Saleria wanted to laugh and cry, sing and shout. These were the God and Goddess she had been raised to believe in. The God and Goddess whose divine touch she had felt while singing one day. The benevolent, joyous Patron Deities of Katan, boisterous and serene, protective and encouraging . . . everything. Everything she had ever believed.
It was a good thing she had all the time it took for Queen Kelly to summon forth the many other Gods and Goddesses of the world. All Saleria could do, all she wanted to do for that first long while, was bask in the glory of her Patrons. It felt like . . . well, it felt like being wrapped up in the snuggliest, cuddliest warm hug of her parents’ arms, and she didn’t want it to end.
Eventually, of course, she had to address the concerns of her people. But for a long while, wrapped in that spiritual embrace, she was able to just be. That, and being connected directly to Their thoughts, she took the time to ask a few questions about the Grove.
So . . . the Grove . . . it’s okay for me to make all the changes I’ve been making? She tried to think the thoughts as clearly as she could.
(Of course. You are the Keeper of the Grove. It is your task to decide how to tend its grounds,) Kata told her.
But all this time, just one Keeper, no support staff . . . ? She couldn’t help her confusion and its plaintive question.
(Prophecy.)
The one-word answer came from Jinga, His tone sober. Most of the time, the Katani people thought of him as the passion-filled, boisterous God, always ready to celebrate life at the drop of an excuse . . . but there were times when He was the stern and serious Warrior, protector of the people. He didn’t say outright, but Saleria got the feeling that there was a definite purpose behind the nonsense all past Keepers had been forced to put up with until now. It was equally clear They were not going to discuss it, however.
So . . . I have Your official blessing to demand a bigger staff for the Grove? she wanted to clarify.
Kata smiled at her, as warm as sunshine, if the sun could shine from the inside out rather than merely against her skin. (Of course. You are now the chief Guardian of the Grove, as well as its Keeper . . . but We will discuss its needs later.)
(For now, you may relax and just be yourself,) Jinga told her. He flicked His gaze to the side, toward the unseen source of all those shimmering rays pouring in through the Fountain Hall door. (Things will get a little . . . interesting . . . as soon as the Naming of Names is done, and this Convocation fully begins.)
* * *
Interesting wasn’t the word for it. Sale
ria preferred jaw-dropping when she thought about it later, because that was exactly what it was.
Certainly, she was a touch afraid at first. Even with the Lord and the Lady aspects of her Deities on hand to protect her—and she knew They would protect her—it was still unnerving to watch the scene that unfolded the moment the last God was Named.
Stepping through the Gateway of Heaven, Mekha looked half-dead, with one arm clinging to his shoulder via some sort of Artifact-mechanism dotted with gears and crystals and who knew what else . . . and He did not resize Himself to fit in the thrones allotted for the various Deities. He in fact challenged the entire existence of the Convocation, and the presence of the very woman who had brought all of the priests and priestesses here through her Doorway.
Within moments, the plan their red-headed hostess had outlined for the orderly progression of all these priestly petitions before the Gods was thrown out the nearest window. Accusations of power-stealing flew back and forth between the Patron of Engineering and the blonde Witch-priestess. It was like watching children throwing a ball back and forth between themselves, save that this ball had spikes on it.
The moment Mekha lifted His massive arm to strike down the defiant blonde Witch was the moment Queen Kelly made Saleria’s jaw drop. Bounding up to stride between the two of them, the incipient queen proved she had more bravery than anyone Saleria had ever heard of, not only demanding that both quarrelers sit down, but threatening to spank the God of Engineering—the God of Engineering!
Saleria did not know all the details behind what she was hearing, but the priest who had arrived bound and gagged as the last to arrive was the priest for the God Mekha, the Patron of Engineering, the supposed God for the kingdom of Mekhana . . . and the tale that priest told, when it was his turn to speak, was a chilling one, corroborating the accusations that had been flying across the chamber between Mekha and the Witch-priestess Orana Niel.
