by Ako Emanuel
The Age of Light
Book One of the Alonan Herstories
A. Y. Emanuel
Seaside Grape Publishers LLC
A. Y. Emanuel
Published by Seaside Grape Publishers LLC
Copyright ©2012 by A. Y. Emanuel
Illustrations by A. Y. Emanuel
Cover art by A. Y. Emanuel
All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be reproduced in
any form or by any means without
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Publisher, excepting brief quotes
used in reviews.
Books by Ako Emanuel
The Ava’Lonan Herstories Series
Book One: The Age of Light
Book Two: Light Fallen
Book Three: The Rites of Darkness
(Forthcoming)
Book Four: Darkness Risen
Book Five: The Sign of Turning
The Ways of Magic Series
Book One: Magic World
Book Two: Magic Hold
(Forthcoming)
Book Three: Magic Child
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PROLOGUE
the light turned, rippled...
As the moons, Lor’ima, Lori’ku and Lor’ya, rippled the tides of grass, so did the Zehj’Ba ripple the folds of the curtains of light that surrounded the land of Ava’Lona. The life-drain was a dark shuddering in these golden curtains of light. And as the tide swells and engulfs the shore, so did the life-drain swell, drawing forth the precious life-energy of the Av’ru, drinking the life of the light shield and its keeper. Like a suckling babe or the clinging lamprey, was the insidious drain. Slowly, the Av’ru died.
Then, like the blossoming of the deadly lotus, the Zehj’Ba bloomed, increasing tenfold, then a hundred. She fought off the clinging tentacles of the life-drain, trying to shear through them. But they evaded her and swept back, clinging and multiplying, attacking from all sides. Death marched just a bit nearer on heavy leaden feet...
Audola shuddered and pulled out of the rapport with the Av’ru.
:Is it Turo’dan - the Sign of Turning? Is the end of Ava’dan coming?: The High Queen asked softly, grim with apprehension.
:Perhaps,: the pale, golden voice of the Av’rujo sighed. The single word spoke volumes.
: How fare you, Mother?: the High Queen asked, her voice uncharacteristically thick with concern.
The timeless voice sighed, bouncing off the pale walls of cream and pink mother of pearl marble and the deep purple and mauve marble floor of the vast room. :My strength wanes, Daughter. Seventy cycles ago I took up the mantle of the Av’rujo, that many plus half and half again as long has my reign of High Queen been. I am tired, Daughter; my strength has fled. Soon will the Darkness cover my eyes and then shall I be one with Shalgo, the Supreme One. Then will I rest.:
The serene words fell chill upon the High Queen. The Av’ru, the protective shield encircling the Realm Ava’Lona, had stood strong for two thousand cycles, holding out those of the Lora’Lons. Until the Zehj’Ba. Before the Zehj’Ba, the draining, weakening of the shield, the Av’ru was a self-sustaining thing, drawing on the ambient av’rita that the life and the land radiated naturally. At that time the Av’rujo, the guardian of the Av’ru, merely observed, warning of any attempt to penetrate the Av’ru from what lay beyond. Then, four hundred cycles ago, came the Zehj’Ba. The High Queen of that era, Silini sul Ava’Lon, ascended to Av’rujo and tied her life force into the shield to sustain it; for that which leeched energy from the Av’ru drained it away faster then it could replenish itself.
For nearly one hundred cycles the drain had been very small and constant. Almost negligible. Then, more than two hundred cycles ago the Zehj’Ba had begun to increase in strength, slowly, but steadily. And then, about one hundred cycles ago the Zehj’Ba began increasing at a geometric rate. It had claimed the lives of three High Queens that had ascended to Av’rujo, and it was on its way to claiming a fourth.
“Can nothing be done?” The High Queen asked.
:What is there to be done? I fade. One must take my place.:
The High Queen bowed her head and spread her arms in acquiescence. Soon she would have to ascend to be Av’rujo. And the Heir, however young and inexperienced, would have to assume the throne and become High Queen.
CHAPTER I
the light slowly turned...
The light of Av beat down with an ancient rhythm, hammering upon the forest with heavy feet, drumming out the turning of Av. Though its light was scattered by the canopy, the heat penetrated, turning the moist air into stifling humidity, thick as a veil of mystery. The forest was a green, growing place, filled with life of all types and every description, life calling and droning and moving to the rhythms of the wild. It seemed undisturbed by the alien presence in its midst, the shadow among the shade.
Jeliya resisted the urge to move, though her training as a huntress was hard pressed with the many irritations afflicting her. She yearned to wipe her neck where her coil of braids lay heavy and hot; the stray ends and slick sweat were making her itch unto madness. The branch upon which she was precariously perched was cutting into the soles of her feet, since she had removed her footwear for better traction. Her knees ached from squatting for so long. But she did not give in to any of the automatic, undisciplined responses to these discomforts. Instead she marshalled her movements, slowly, carefully. She timed them to the motion of the branches in the wind that occasionally penetrated the dense foliage, using the swaying to unwind the kinks, shift her feet and flex her knees. She shifted her guinne, her sounds covered by the sounds of the tree. Then she settled down once more, the hunting shadow. Only her eyes moved as she peered through the lush leafage of the ferr’flambeaux tree in which she was perched. If she had moved unrestrained to raise her hand and wipe her neck, or ease the strain in her legs, the slightest shift of her weight would have set the branch she was on to swaying counter to the natural motions around her. And the unnatural rustle and clang of the leaves would surely have given her presence away to the sensitive alertness of her prey, as surely as would a shout.
The forest was quiet, nothing amiss, her presence unobtrusive. Nothing larger than a panyin moved; her prey was not near. She continued to search with huntress eyes, waiting as the light turned.
Her mind wandered, her thoughts fragmented, disjointed. She thought of home. Home, where the spires flew as tall as the mighty boabi, the halls of marble and malachite were spiraled with ancient designs - and all was in disarray because of the preparations for the Bolorn’toyo, the gathering of Queens, eight turns away. She knew that her mother’s house would be in an uproar, as would every other royal household in the land; for all Queens of the twelve Territories had been invited. Each would represent the head Family of each Tribe, bringing into the Ritious City one thousand Queens in all. Each Queen would bring with her a retinue of ten servants and five crown keepers, fifty warriors, both First and Second Voices, three Trade Mistresses, and Priestesses from all twelve Goddesses. The Lan’mya estates around the Palace T’Av’li would be filled to overflowing with the Greater Queens, as would the Lan’mba, the royal chambers for the Lesser Queens that stood just beyond the Palace and Lan’mya grounds.
Jeliya was most thankful to Ag’ko, Goddess of Peace, Wisdom and Tranquility, (she made a slow, careful sign of benediction for invoking the Godde
ss’s name) that she was not mixed up with the preparations. For though she was not in her majority and would not assume the throne until her mother moved on, she was required to attend the ghastly formal affair.
Which is fine, she thought wryly, making a quick survey of the area with a predator’s eyes, ears and nose, just as long as I don’t have to help get things ready.
Nothing was more tedious than preparing for a major gathering. Jeliya much preferred being here, in this wretched tree, on this stupid branch that was cutting into her feet again, than at the Palace. No doubt if she were there, she would have been pressed into service - organizing servants and maddi, the crown keepers, making schedules and the like. If it were one thing that Jeliya hated, it was mundane busy-work.
I couldn’t have picked a better time to go on Safania, she mused, just a little smugly. Especially since she, being who she was, did not get to go on Safania, or Journey, her adulthood wanderjahr. One of her importance could not be risked on such trivialities as Journey. At least, she could not have an unescorted Safania, which was no Journey at all. That was why she was here, now. This was her Safania, a substitute of her own devising, one that took her almost as far from her home as she had ever been. And though she had started out with a considerable escort of servants, special warriors called warru, and maddi, her crown keepers, she had managed to get free of them. All of them, even down to the one warru that had insisted on accompanying her everywhere. She needed this - needed, for once, to be on her own. And besides, this Safania had a purpose, whereas most Journeys did not.
The typical Safani’ani usually just wandered around, looking to see what they might see, living off the land by their wits, learning about their true inner selves, and learning to trust their abilities. Jeliya had no such luxury. So, she was here for a very important reason - a search for answers. The outcome of her Safania could affect the entire Realm. But she could not help enjoying the temporary solitude that her task apportioned to her.
And better here than at lessons! she thought exuberantly, privately reveling in her freedom. She let none of it show, of course, even though she was alone. For though she was nearly twenty-one cycles of the Seasons, still her formal and political education continued. And an integral part of that education included masking any emotional reaction from others, so that they could read nothing of her thoughts, nor gain any advantages over her through doing so.
As a Queen, she would have to know how to dance through the niceties of court intrigue as well as she knew her name. An uneducated Queen who could not marshal her facial and bodily expressions was a weak Queen, and a weak Queen was worse than nothing, a tool for others to use - and politically, death. The higher the stair, the lower the fall, the axiom went. So though she was not yet required to be in constant control of herself, she made it an inherent part of her behavior. She ruthlessly schooled her reactions and her emotions, letting as little show as possible. And as the shadows turned, her face remained impassive and her body relaxed, yet coiled. Her joy and excitement were all on the inside, the mother of pearl lining to the featureless shell of her discipline.
She excelled, of course, in all facets of her training - she had had little choice, but to excel - she had trained all her life. And sitting in her mother’s court had long since taught her the value of the interminable lessons. Still, it was nice to get away for awhile. To sit up in a tree of flaming brilliance and wait for prey that might never come.
“Far from home
I’d rather be
Here, in this flaming tree
Than caught up in all the powers
Of Chaos reigning in T’Av’li’s Towers….
“Far from home
I’d rather strain,
Eye and heart, wit and brain
To catch a prey as lithe as time
Elusive as mist, worse than my rhyme…”
She refrained from laughing at her own bad verse.
the light turned...
She wondered again if her trap would work. Her prey was elusive and canny to the point where even she, being equal to her own hunts-mistress, could not come within two body-lengths of the creature without it sensing her presence. At the start of her search a ten’turn before, she had not even been sure the being existed. Then a twist of chance had enabled her to glimpse the creature. And for those ten turns she had pursued its trail relentlessly, trying to get near enough to it, so that she might fulfill her purpose for seeking it out. But always it heard her coming, and fled. Nor, she found, would any normal trap catch it, for it circumvented them with almost prescient exactitude.
She focused again on the markers of her latest contrivance. No ordinary trap was this, that she had set, this time. It was a thing conceived of lore from similar creatures, and constructed of av’rita, the magic that she naturally possessed. The rite had been old and complex; she had had to consult many times with her liaison back at the Palace for the past two turns to be sure that she had gotten it just right. It was a second order rite designed by the Katari - an ancient Katari mating rite, in fact. They still used a version of the rite in the present, but it was mostly ceremonial now, lacking the potent av’rita that gave the rite substance.
She had also had to modify the rite some, for she was not Katari, and neither was her prey - exactly. But hopefully her prey was close enough to the hooved-ones to be affected by it. It was a last-ditch attempt to entrap the thing; baited and set, she could but wait.
the light turned...
Her patience and vigilance finally paid off. Something approached the spot she had marked in her mind’s eye, moving cautiously as if expecting a snare or trap of some sort. The being passed almost directly beneath her, carefully circumventing a daunting patch of thrista nettle in its path. It halted in the middle of her invisible circle.
Jeliya held her breath in dazzled silence and amazement:
The centaur-like creature was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. As beautiful as the ripples of life though the light of Av.
She watched him in dumbstruck awe as he turned a slow circle, moving his head in a questing manner.
The upper torso of the centaur-like creature had broad, powerful shoulders, a well-defined back and huge pectorals, above a wash-board stomach and muscles along its side that flared like curved wings, melting into a trim waist. He was covered with a pale, pinkish-tan skin, almost the albino equivalent to the people of Noraern Ava’Lona. The lower body was a chiseled sculpture of jet velvet mixed with starlight, the muscles in the legs standing out in sharp definition, streamlined and rippling fluidity beneath the skin. Melding the two was what seemed a flowing mass of quicksilver, the seething hair seeming to move with a life of its own, even when the creature stood perfectly still, listening. The ruff of metallic silver streaked like lightning up along the spine to crown the head in a glorious mane of hair, and also up the front, downy and growing sparse as it reached the chest. The hooves of the creature were also that unearthly silver, bleeding upward to form silver socks and fetlocks, which ended just below the ebony knees. The tail was a cascade of the living silver. And the face held fine, though alien features, depthless eyes filled completely with star-dusted night, a thin, oddly pointed nose, and thin lips - and above the eyes, in the middle of the forehead, sat a three-digit long horn, spiraled as any seashell and again the same uncanny silver. The being indeed looked to be related to the Katari, but those peoples were more brightly adorned than this, having coats of gold and black and white, and the jet mahogany skin prevalent in Ava’Lona. Also the Katari had two, smooth, golden horns upon their brows, one below the other, and their upper bodies were covered with a velvet fur-skin rather than true hair.
The unnamed being raised his head sharply toward the bait, reached up large, fine, pale hands to pluck one of the fruit she had painstakingly set for the purpose of luring him. He raised the gulu to his nose and sniffed carefully. His face became blissful, dreamy, and he inhaled deeply, enthralled by the scent on the frui
t. He sighed heavily, as if smelling something intoxicating.
Jeliya’s eyes grew wide, riveted on the creature. It was working! She had been rather doubtful that it would, but there he was, standing in the middle of her rited circle, plucking the fruit she had painted with her own scent. She stared as he nuzzled and licked the skin of the gului, quivering with delight and reaching for more. A strange jolt passed through her; it was her own juices she had used to bait the gului, and to watch him taste the fruit was as if he tasted her, nuzzled her skin with such fervor. She shivered inwardly.
In her fascination she forgot to utter the cantrip that would spring the trap. She also inadvertently leaned forward to get a better view, somehow as drawn to him as he was to the fruit. The branches beneath her creaked, swayed dangerously; then, just as she was becoming aware of her imminent exposure, the branch broke with an explosive sound that crashed across the mid-afterzen tranquility. She flailed in the air, wildly, for one instant, and then she was falling. The world became a crazy kaleidoscope of streaking color and weightlessness, broken once as something caught her ankle, wrenching it, and then the ground slammed into her with a bed of knives.
Groggily she raised her head, saw the creature whip around with lightning quickness, center in on her, and wheel away, vanishing between the trees into the undergrowth.
“Wait,” she whispered through blood that welled from a bitten lip. Then the bright sky and the dark earth tumbled together in a confused whirlpool of pain and swirling color, and then darkness closed in with deafening silence.
