by Ako Emanuel
Ah, you foolish cunnu’mu, what have you wrought? he thought to himself as he clipped sprigs of suga’dish and aba’she. Suppose she has come for something you have, something important you know? But I have nothing, nothing of value except my pen’lata, the only thing I have left of my beloved one. Jenikia... The name came unbidden, unwanted to his mind, remembered, like a cloud burst of dark rain on the golden eve. He hung his head, his shears limp in his hand. He remembered. After all this time he remembered her name and her face, and his promise. He had promised to keep that which had been a part of both of them safe, even from those that might be descended from her. He remembered the words she had spoken as she bade him to promise even unto death to keep what was theirs safe...
“This is the last thing of joy I will ever know,” she said, touching his face, her face streaked with tears as the av’tun lay behind her like an open maw, waiting to engulf her, “for all that comes hereafter shall be empty and devoid of meaning and light without you. My heart will be as barren as my body, and my turns of reign only the means of counting time until my death. With you rests all that is precious and joyful to me.” She drew a shuddering breath, compressed her lips as she glanced back at the av’tun and all that it meant. “They cannot know that what we share goes beyond all bonds that ever came before,” she said quietly, her face finally giving in to the grief that had caused the tears she could not fight. “We have been blessed by the Goddesses themselves. Those that wait for me seek to stave off what has always been inevitable. The end is already upon them. You must keep safe this last thing that you have of me - and that I have of you. Even if those that are descended from me come in search of you.” Her large, depthless eyes met his, imploring, as they misted and ran with sorrow. “Promise me.”
He took her into his arms, crushed her to him, his mouth hard and desperate upon her own in a final kiss. “I promise,” he said, his own face tight with tears valiantly fought.
She nodded once and backed away, her eyes riveted to him as if to absorb every detail and burn it into memory, for they both knew that this would be the last time that either saw the other. Then, at the last moment she turned, lifted her head proudly, and with one finally look at him over her shoulder, she stepped out of his life forever...
He shuddered and shook off the memory that had stalked him so, that had finally caught him, shaken by the force and vividness of the past.
Jeliya, he thought, suddenly, realizing part of why her presence had disturbed him so. She reminds me so much of Jenikia that it hurts to look at her sometimes, though I hadn’t taken time to remember or figure out why. The way she is shaped, the way she smells, the way she feels, how she speaks - they could have been sisters. Or mother and daughter...
And the awful truth that had bothered him and eluded him about his charge suddenly struck him with shattering force. Jeliya was, had to be, a descendent of Jenikia. Her remembered words echoed in his ears:
If those that are descended from me come in search of you ...
He went cold inside. Was this what Jeliya wanted of him, why she had sought to snare him? He was almost certain that it was. And had herself become a victim, and was now within his care - within his power...
He shook his head derisively. Stupid cunnu’mu. Do you think you can really harm that which is a part of Jenikia, even if she does threaten all else that you hold dear? Could you bring yourself to do that when shooting an animal for food makes you want to tear your own heart out?
He knew that he could not. He would have to find some other way to keep what was his safe.
A soft curse made him whirl, then freeze. Hunters. Not three lengths away and approaching. He melted into the undergrowth and vines, dropping his wards and lying absolutely still, his musings eclipsed by this more immediate threat.
The hunters passed so near to him he could have flicked the sweat from their skin. They spoke in low murmurs, but he could make himself hear their words.
“We should have found her by now,” the first hissed, winding through the tangled growth without a sound except his voice. “Where is the little fool?” He stopped.
“We know that she fell into a patch of our new breed of thrista,” the second said, stopping also. He strained to see what they were doing. The second was pouring over a piece of papi’ras. A map? “Unless she managed to ‘tun home instantly, which I seriously doubt, she’s either wandering around, feverish and blind, or dead.” There was a malicious and hopeful glee in the voice.
“Shut up. The both of you,” a third one said in a hiss as she came up beside them. “We have to find her, dead or alive. She has to turn up eventually - there is nothing here in this narrow strip of unclaimed land. Besides, nothing but our trained lor’ugawu will touch something that has died in that type of thrista. Now concentrate on the map - this is not our territory, and without the map we are lost and would be victims to our own traps.”
“What of the tales of the spirit Katari?” the first one asked, glancing around. “It is said to roam these lands.”
The female warru barked a laugh. “Are you a child to be frightened by nansi stories? Pay attention to the map! Memorize it - or else, if it is lost, we are joumbi food!”
He watched them bend over the papi’ras. He did not need it, for he knew of all the traps they spoke of, all of the deadly plants that were intentionally placed and deftly avoided them. But these were the ones who had created and planted the abominations - for that alone they deserved to be left to the mercy of their own cleverness. They also wore the colors of one of the several Tribes that others, who had tried to snare and kill him before, had worn, and for that he felt he had the right to personal vengeance. But they spoke of finding Jeliya, and if she was who he thought she was, then what they spoke was treason. He did not even have to consider his options.
He murmured the cantrip to a rite that he had created for just such an occasion, when covert escape was needed.
In this time
Of fear and rhyme
Forest shield
My limbs will yield.
But this time, as the cloak of camouflage enfolded him, he did not slip quietly away as before, leaving them none the wiser to his presence. This time he waited until they were totally engrossed in the map, then rose and bounded past them, snatching the papi’ras from startled hands. Their panicked cries followed him into the overgrowth and he laughed in malicious triumph. They would not find anything this turn, or any other, except their deaths.
CHAPTER VI
the last light of eve gave way to its darkness...
The Great Laine had been transformed for the Salaka. All the levels of the tiers had been raised so that the floor of the Laine was now one giant expanse of turquoise and lavender marble. The cream marble walls between the enormous, gold trimmed elerine tusks that supported the Laine were draped with hangings patterned with ancient symbols and yoni’do-hide shields bearing the devices of all the wuman Tribes of Ava’Lona. The tusks themselves, starting well below the foundations of the Laine and arching inward high above to meet over the center of ellipsoid hall, were the anchor-points for the strings of decorations that hung the length and breadth of the Laine. Large scintillating jewels and ethereal chandeliers hung suspended in the air, slowly turning, jadine and deepest sapphire, rose ruby and the blackest jurose-blood ruby catching the light and throwing it to all corners of the room.
The formal arrangement of seats was replaced with a serpentine table that snaked in intricate coils around the Laine. At regular intervals there were nests of cushions for the Queens. Each Queen had a curve of table bracketing her where she could lay out any desired assortment of delicacies within easy reach. Around each such place setting were arrangements of flowers of every possible type and color and fragrance. The Laine was a riot of color and splendor. Beside each place was a small planting of each Tribe’s ancestor tree, to which libations could be made.
Between the many turns of the table were empty spaces where the Queens could ming
le and talk at leisure. Musicians had camps set up along the walls of the Laine. The table’s biggest space occurred in the center of the Laine where it formed a long, wide “U”, that dipped almost all the way to the platform of the High Throne and back to the other end of the Laine. In this space the entertainers would perform; the royal dance troupe, the storytellers, the theatrical troupes.
Cooks had also put up little settlements of their own all along the table, where portable hibachis and stone ovens were hot and waiting, ready to fill any Queen’s culinary desire. Fish and fresh meat under rites of preservation surrounded the chefs, along with raw tubers and vegetables. Runners, waiters and servers stood about alertly, prepared to dash to any crowned head to take back requests to the cooks. Their eyes moved endlessly over the crowd.
The table itself was filled almost to overflowing, in the spaces between the Queens, with non-perishables and fruit under preservation rites. Fine rare wines and cheeses complimented breads and pastries; bowls of yams, tanyas, and sweet potatoes crowded platters of dashin and fig. The smell of roati and pineapple tarts mixed with coconut tarts, sugar cakes, sugar fudge and guava cheese. Tamarind stew, cherry stew and fereen set mouths watering. Sorrel, ginger beer and maubi flowed freely into golden calabash cups.
Soku looked about her, watching the undercurrents of interaction throughout the Laine. The air of the feast, she noted, though subdued, was still filled with gaiety and the celebration of life that the People naturally fell into, despite the previous turn’s events.
And sitting in the middle of it, like an island surrounded by continents that were just beyond the horizon, was Tokia sul Ottanu. Still under the shield of disgrace, she interacted only marginally with the people and festivities around her. This was not unusual, for those in disgrace most often might as well not be present. Tokia ate little and spoke not at all; her only participation in the observances was to make libations to her ancestor tree, the boalo, very close to the High Family’s tree, the boabi.
Soku puzzled over the tiny piece of trivia. The implication was that Tokia claimed close kinship to the High Family. She chewed over the possible significance of that. Might it have something to do with Tokia’s designs? And how many others had noticed the implied tie? Foolish question - how could they not?
Her thoughts derailed, for just then Fanlai sul Xuli, on her way past Tokia, gave the slightest of nods. That brought Soku to attention. She kept a careful watch of all who approached the Ottanu from then on and what they did, saw that Tokia did the same. And she also marked, throughout the eve, that Tarien, Ikoyu, Inla, Jesith, Tiria and Oloru, all the Queens who had stood to make objections, had, in some way or other, made an acknowledgment to Tokia sul Ottanu. It was all carefully random and circumspect, of course, and any one not looking for a pattern would not have seen one. But with the intrigue at the Bolorn, all were watching closely for exactly that. All knew that something was afoot, and the pretense of haphazard contact really did not cover the true message of the “random” greetings. It instead showed a trend of views supporting the opposition that Tokia represented. Many other Queens, who had not made objections, or at least not formal ones (including Itil) followed suit, showing support by acknowledging the Ottanu’s presence in some way. With some it was a mistakenly brushed dav’ri gem that accidentally called Tokia’s - the excuse was that the Queen in question was talking about Tokia or thinking about her when the careless hand accidentally brushed the unnoticed gem. With others, a significant glance, or a slight smile. Some even used hostile glances, but no one was fooled, especially not Soku. Any communication, even hostility, was an overture to Tokia. If one wanted to show a lack of support, one ignored Tokia, not glared at her. Most of the Queens did exactly that, taking no note of Tokia’s existence. But she had a definite group of sympathizers. And almost all of them were Lesser Queens.
Soku wondered at the reasons and ambitions behind Tokia’s challenge. It was clear that she was behind the objections raised at the Bolorn - but why? Why cause disruption that might well divide the Realm when what it needed most at this time was unity? Why try to cast aspersions on the Heir when what she needed right now was unvarying support? Why try to undermine the High Queen’s position? Soku sighed. The logic of the High Queen’s Voices had been incontestable; or rather, they should have been. The protests raised held no water, really, but two unalterable circumstances loaned support to Tokia’s unstable platform. The first was the fact that the situation they possibly faced, the Turo’dan, was not an outside, purely physical threat, such as could be faced and overcome with a united front. The Turo’dan heralded a totally unknown, all-encompassing threat that hinted ominously at the inevitable destruction of Ava’Lona and their whole way of life. That had many badly frightened, especially those who would face that unknown threat first. The fact that the High Queen, whom they loved and trusted, would not be there to hold them together and to lead them, left many feeling uncertain, and some even a little betrayed. Instead of the steady, firm, and tried hand of Audola, the People would be in the inexperienced hands of the Heir, whose ways they did not know. Certainly they would get to know her and trust her readily enough, or they would have, if not for Tokia’s meddling. Which led to the second unsavory pillar that loaned Tokia’s position more strength than it should have had: the unexplained absence of the Heir. The fact that the High Queen had answered the challenge with personal affront rather than something stronger put her in the weaker position, casting doubt upon herself and the Heir. Tokia seemed to have the right of it, that there was more going on than was being told. And she had, by her words and actions, implied she knew that untold story; she implied that she knew that the Heir had shirked her duty to appear before her future subjects, a thing that did not inspire confidence in the Heir’s ability to rule.
Soku continued her observations, taking care to keep her scrutinizing covert. She had no intentions of accidentally make any kind of gesture that could be misinterpreted as showing support. She nibbled absently at a meat patte, letting her eyes wander, slightly unfocused, as though bored and waiting for the next bout of entertainment.
Lines, though vague and tentative, were definitely being drawn in the sand. True, Tokia had only a small group of outright supporters, but that could change, when the Heir finally appeared to defend herself. She would have a core of opposition against her that could harden into a fully developed Yakan’tsu. Under the right circumstances there was no telling how large this group might grow, gathering new causes and supporters, perhaps even going as far as dividing the ranks of the Queens. Was that what Tokia was aiming for?
The thought was chilling. Soku prodded at the consequences and implications of such a happenstance as she took a delicate bite of patte, not tasting the juicy meat or the light, flaky crust. A division between the Greater and Lesser Queens could mean disaster for small Tribes like Soku’s; she would be forced to choose sides or risk being absorbed or obliterated in the cross-fire. None of the options available would be favorable, for though she was absolutely loyal to the High Queen, she was a Border Queen, farthest from the High Queen’s influence and heavily dependent on her neighbors. All Border Queens were. If the contention Tokia was causing reached that level, Soku’s Tribe could well be in danger of its existence, for she would not stand against the High Queen, and could be ostracized if her neighbors disagreed. And being ostracized by one’s neighbors out on the Border was unpleasant at best, and outright deadly at worst. Hers might be absorbed by another, stronger Tribe, which was no better than slavery, the likes of which had not been seen in Ava’Lona since the appearance of the Tru’Av’ru. Any other option led to the death of her Tribe. But standing against the High Queen was treason, and the only sentence for such a crime was death.
Such a thing could only be stopped even before it started, and it had made a good beginning here at the Bolorn. But how could she, a Lesser Queen of a Border Tribe, stop such a thing? She thought as she answered friendly hails and made polite conversation. She cou
ld not join the Central’lon Yakan’tsen that explicitly supported the High Family - that would win her disfavor among her Border sisters faster than anything. Besides which, they would not have her. Perhaps if she created her own Yakan’tsu around something totally unrelated, made up of others she knew to be in the same circumstances as she? Soku rolled the idea slowly around in her mind, and it picked up other ideas along the way, until a plan of sorts began to form. She gestured for her Voice to come forward.
Barajini approached, knelt beside Soku.
“My Queen?” she said, spreading her arms, awaiting her matriarch’s pleasure.
“Barajini,” Soku said, not looking at her advisor. “Sit. Eat with me.”
Unsurprised at the summons, Barajini drew one of the satin cushions nearer and sat cross-legged upon it, reached for a pineapple tart. She knew her Queen had concerns. Nibbling on the crust, she let her eyes rove the festivities as Soku was doing. She waited for Soku to speak further.
“Tell me what you see, Barajini,” Soku said into the silence between them.
Barajini did not glance at her Queen. She had long ago extricated from within herself the urge to do so when Soku made an unusual request, but at this moment the advisor was sorely tempted. It was difficult, sometimes, when the Queen decided to be circumspect, to anticipate what type of advice to prepare. She knew that her Queen had been brooding over something and would eventually call for her advice, but she had no idea what the Soku wanted her to see, besides what was plain to see, that among the Queens sides were being taken. So she sat quietly, taking in the panorama, letting whatever patterns there might be unfold upon her senses.
She was quiet for a very long time. She sat still, through the telling of the folktale “The Bull and the Golden Calash,” and through a performance by the royal dance troupe in honor of the first Bolorn of Ava’Lona. The movements of the reveling royalty took on meaning as she watched with practiced, unobtrusive eyes.
