"And then there was a palace uprising and an internal war,” Challen said, nodding. “I remember this from the histories. The prince who was finally crowned established the Sanctum because there was no priestess to stand as his queen."
"Because the darkness had crept into the land and tainted the minds of the Priesthood and the royal bloodline. It has taken many generations to purify the Priesthood and raise up a king who is willing to serve Matrika at the risk of losing all he holds dear. And a priestess who is willing to serve despite her fears."
"I wasn't chosen through evil magic?” Challen whispered.
"You were chosen because the winds of history have blown us to this time and place. Obey and be happy, little bird.” Naya pressed a kiss of blessing on her daughter's forehead.
The door opened and a woman stepped in with a rustling of robes, bringing the scent of snow and a gush of cold air.
"My dear child, I came as quickly as I could,” Lady Mayar said. “There was a small emergency at the palace, but—” She gasped. Most of the color fled her face and her big black eyes grew wider. “Naya?” she whispered.
"It's good to see you again, sister of my soul.” Naya winked at Challen and stepped back, to settle down on one of the couches. “Maybe now you can convince my stubborn little daughter that I am quite real and no dream at all."
"Mother?” Challen stumbled, seeking the support of the other couch. She couldn't seem to breathe for a moment. “You're—I did touch you? I'm not dreaming. I'm not mad?"
"If you are, then we both are,” Lady Mayar said. She slid out of her cloak and dropped the baskets and bags she had carried. Laughing, tears streaming down her face, she ran across the room and wrapped her arms around Naya. The two women clung to each other and cried and laughed.
Lady Mayar accepted Naya's presence much more easily than Challen could. It irritated her, in a way, to listen to the two women chatter about common friends and catch up on events in the palace and temple. She wasn't irritated enough to lose her appetite, however, and devoured the plate of food her mother filled for her.
Naya refused to repeat the messages she had given Challen. She seemed to enjoy being mysterious, her eyes sparkling and her lips pressed flat to fight wide grins, whenever Mayar or Challen asked her a question she couldn't—or wouldn't—answer.
They talked about the failed ritual at the last solstice and what the scribes and healers had determined had happened. Challen felt much more comfortable now, talking about the mysteries and prophecies and theories that had immersed her attention for the last few moons. Naya seemed a little smug when Challen described what happened with the choosing of the Bride.
"Mother ... were you involved with that? How could you change all the tablets to read my name?"
"The ways of the Mother are not for us to question or investigate too deeply,” was Naya's only reply. Then she laughed and reminded Mayar of the ceremonies and feasting when they both served as the Bride. Challen relaxed, listening to them talk about the prayers and sacrifices, the chants and processions. It didn't take long for her to realize that they were teaching her everything to expect, everything expected of her.
"Such ways are ending, aren't they?” Lady Mayar said, interrupting the laughter at the end of a story.
"Ending?” Naya said, the laughter dying from her eyes as well as her voice.
"As the generations pass, we are slowly going back to the true way. Don't think it hasn't escaped me, sister of my spirit.” Lady Mayar shook her finger at Naya, who grinned but not quite as mischievously as earlier. “I am a priestess, though not High Priestess of the Mother. My son will be king. The Mother has blessed him with wisdom and strength and a strong soul. Adversity and uncertainty have formed him to fulfill a hard destiny. Bainevah will need such a king in the days ahead."
"And he will need a High Priestess of great power, purity, and wisdom when he is king,” Naya whispered. “Strange, is it not, that even those who have passed through the doorway of death can feel weary?"
"Mother?” Challen trembled, suspecting that this sweet time together was nearly at an end.
"You need your rest, my dearest."
She looked into her mother's eyes and didn't have the will to resist as Naya led her to her couch and made her lie down, and pulled a blanket up to her shoulders. A sigh escaped her and a feeling like tears flooded through her body and soul as Naya tucked the blanket around her, as if she were a little child.
"Mother,” she whispered.
"You will remember, my dearest. Remember everything, and tell your father to be patient. Tell him I love him more strongly now than I did the day I came back from death to be with him.” Naya kissed her daughter's forehead.
Challen fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, hearing but not understanding as the two women talked a little longer. She didn't hear when Lady Mayar hid her face in her hands and wept. She didn't hear the howl of the storm grow to a roar, and didn't feel the pressure in the air as snow buried the city. She shivered when shadows tried to creep under the door of the chamber to wrap around her. Lady Mayar kept watch, her healer powers and the force of her pure spirit combining to keep the daughter of her dearest friend safe through the night.
CHAPTER 14
Winter Solstice
Agrat came an hour before dawn to wake Challen. He pronounced the storm a good sign and smiled, though Challen thought he vibrated like a harp string tightened to the point of breaking. Records said a blaze of sunlight and warmth spilled over the sacrifice as a sign of Matrika's blessing. How could light break through the storm burying the city?
Challen shivered when Agrat showed her a gold box filled with healing herbs and the finest oil, and the thick white cloth to cleanse her after the King had taken her maidenhead. Her blood and his seed would be sacrificed to the Mother, the cloth thrown on the sacrificial fire at sunset.
How could the sunlight and warmth come during a storm that roared with the loud threat of staying for half a moon?
Three eunuchs brought in buckets of steaming, scented water to fill the bathing tub that sat behind a screen in the corner. They brought in a tray full of breakfast, as if the banquet table wasn't still heaped with more food than Challen or Mayar could eat in four days of feasting. They brought in flowers to be woven into her hair, and the three veils for Challen to wear as she walked the long hallway to the Chamber of the Suns for the ritual. Then, finally, Agrat and the eunuchs left and she was alone again with Lady Mayar.
"From this point on, you must be silent,” Lady Mayar said. “I am supposed to give you advice and words of wisdom and help you open your soul to the Mother's guidance. However, too much seriousness is just as bad as not enough. Eat your breakfast quickly, so the water will still be warm. We don't have much time to prepare you."
Despite the slowly increasing pressure of apprehension, Challen laughed when Lady Mayar told her about pranks her mother had played on the eunuchs when they were Brides. Her heart swelled with pride when she heard how her mother searched for the truly needy, to help them. Mayar described how Naya had been an ornament to Court and a much-sought guest at feasts because of her quick wit that never mocked others, and her wisdom.
"You are much like her,” Lady Mayar said, when her stories had carried them through breakfast, bathing, and dressing. She took the flowers from the long tray and twisted them into a crown for Challen's unbound hair. She smiled at her handiwork, and handed Challen the silver mirror so she could see how she looked. “Like a bride, going to meet her true love. Ah, and that is something I wanted to tell you earlier, but your mother thought it would only distract you. Challen, my dear—"
A loud thump on the outer door startled them, followed by a silver peel of trumpets. Challen knew what that meant. She stood and held out her hands for her three veils—green for Maiden, red for Mother, gray for Crone, the three phases of a woman's life and the three aspects of Mother Matrika.
"All will be well,” Lady Mayar whispered as she lifted the veils and put
them over Challen's head. The eunuch guards entered the room, giving them no more time. “The King is ill. He has chosen my son to take his place. You remember my son, who spoiled you as a baby? He is your friend, the scribe Elzan."
Elzan?
Challen's thoughts spun in dizzy circles as Lady Mayar led her from the room. O'klan waited for her out in the hallway of the temple, next to Chizhedek. She let her grandfather take her hand. They walked down the long hallways to the altar, with Lady Mayar and O'klan. Eunuchs followed, making their drums throb and their silver trumpets peel loud enough to drive away the dark spirits that would try to overpower the world on this shortest day of the year. Challen paid only enough attention to keep from stumbling.
Elzan. Her friend—Prince Doni'Nebazz'Elzor'Mayar?
No wonder her father had seemed amused when she told him about her handsome scribe.
She would not give her body to the King, but to Elzan.
Stories whispered in the shadows of the Sanctum flooded her thoughts. What seemed uncomfortable, even embarrassing when she thought of lying naked with the King changed perspective when it was Elzan who would share the sacred bed with her.
Challen barely noticed when the procession reached the altar and the High Priest put her hand into Elzan's and didn't flinch as the icy sacred wine and oil spilled over their joined hands. She couldn't break from the whirling images as the priests led them away, until massive doors, double-wide and taller than two stories, swung open before her.
She stepped into the chamber of the Sacred Marriage, her hand still in Elzan's grip.
The chamber was round, the ceiling domed, painted with suns. Legend said that was not gold on the ceiling, but light from the sun, captured by priests’ magic. Its official name was “The Chamber of Ten Thousand Suns.” Challen eyed the suns, roughly calculating their size and the dimensions of the room. Maybe two thousand suns, she decided, but not ten.
The bed looked wide enough for four to sleep without touching, heaped with a rainbow of pillows and sheets. The gold box holding the healing oil and cloth sat on a stand at the foot of the bed.
A feast waited on the far side of the room and lanterns in niches all around the room made it as bright as day. Perfumed oil made the air thick and it was pleasantly warm. She might finally be warm enough for the first time this winter.
"Prince Doni'Nebazz'Elzor'Mayar,” Chizhedek said. “You are here to submit yourself to the Mother, for the good of the land. Blood and seed shall spill for the sacrifice. Life and death, pain and rebirth and obedience. Humble yourself before the Bride who carries the Mother's glory, Kena'Shazzur'Challa'Naya."
Elzan caught his breath with an audible click and his hand tightened painfully around Challen's. She knew he was about to protest that she wasn't ready. Speaking was not permitted until the High Priest had finished blessing them. She squeezed Elzan's hand, hoping he understood.
Elzan said nothing. Her grandfather spoke the words of blessing on them. Before he turned to leave them alone, he grasped Challen by her shoulders and pressed a kiss on her forehead, through her veils. Then Chizhedek was gone. The doors swung shut with a loud, hollow thud that echoed against the domed ceiling. Elzan released her hand.
"Lady Kena'Shazzur,” he began, his voice strained.
"No. Wait.” Challen stepped away and fumbled to take off her veils. She nearly yanked half the flowers from her hair. She didn't care. More serious thoughts filled her head now, stilling the nervous fluttering that made her want to giggle like one of Vashina's brainless friends.
For a prince to be chosen in the King's place was momentous. Equal to naming him Crown Prince.
Her friend, Elzan the scribe, would someday be king.
If he did not fail in the Sacred Marriage.
"Challen?” Elzan stumbled back a step to lean against the door, staring, his gaping shock changing to a relieved smile.
He wore nearly his own weight in gold, silver, turquoise, and pearls. His kilt hung to his calves, chiming with gold beads in the long, multiple strands of his belt. His sandals were so heavily crusted with gold Challen wondered how he could walk. The triple kohl lines around his eyes couldn't hide the scribe who haunted her dreams. She trembled, but this was a pleasant, warm, melting kind of trembling.
"No wonder...” He wore the mischievous grin she loved. “Your father is the slyest trickster who ever served the Mother."
"My Father?"
"I confided in him about a scribe's daughter who had caught my heart, and all I knew was her name and her mother wanted a high marriage for her. He laughed, as if he knew something that had escaped me."
"I'm sorry.” A whisper of laughter escaped her, prompted by the chagrin on his face. “I couldn't tell you I was a Sanctum Bride. I didn't want to frighten you away."
"Frighten me!” He stepped away from the door. “If you only knew the sleepless nights I spent, wishing, wondering how it would be to hold you in my arms...” His smile faded as he glanced toward the bed.
"Wishes do come true."
"This isn't right. I can't just take you. Use you.” He took a step away even as he reached out as if to pull her to him. He glanced at the bed again.
"We are both being used by Mother Matrika for the good of the land."
"That's just it.” He swallowed hard, as if he forced down a torrent of words. “Late at night, I think I would trade the throne to make love to you, just once."
"I'm glad,” she whispered. Why did his words make her want to fly and weep at the same time?
"How can I perform the ritual properly, when every part of me would be consumed in ... enjoying you? This would be pure pleasure, not the sacrifice, the dedication and holy service required. After the failure at summer solstice, I can't risk a second failure. I can't risk Bainevah. Not even for you."
"If we are both willing to serve, do you really think the Mother will grudge us some pleasure and joy?” Part of her stepped back, aghast and amused simultaneously. She should have been nervous, at least shy, yet she was on the verge of begging Elzan to make love to her.
No, she realized. He was right. This wouldn't be the Sacred Marriage. How could the Mother inhabit her if her heart and body were filled with hunger for Elzan?
"Mother Matrika, guide us,” she whispered.
"The first lesson your father taught me was that the king can never put his own pleasure above serving Bainevah. My mind wouldn't be on the ritual."
"And my father taught me I must obey and trust the hand of the Mother. She has brought us here. I want to serve the Mother and bless the land. Don't you?” She waited until he grudgingly nodded, then backed up to the edge of the bed. “Elzan, please help me?” she whispered and held out her hand.
Three long steps brought him to her side. He caught hold of her hand and warmth rippled through her body. She looked into his eyes, bright like the clearest summer night sky, and thought she would fall into them. He caught both her hands in his and kissed them. The brush of his lips against her skin caused a tingling that grew stronger as she gazed into his eyes.
"I think what matters most,” Elzan murmured, “is that we are pure and wish to serve Bainevah first. And ... that we don't come together for our own pleasure the first time."
"The first time?” A sensation of lightness spread through her body.
"We have until almost sunset. After we have served the Mother, the time remaining is for us to use as we wish.” He lowered her hands, drawing her arms down and apart to bring her closer. His eyes gleamed and seemed to swallow her as he leaned close enough for their noses to touch.
"As we wish?” she whispered, closing her eyes the moment his lips touched hers.
A fire exploded into life in her belly, moving outward in a rush that pushed Challen across the room. Breathless, she fought to not fall to her knees as the room spun around her.
Where was Elzan? What had happened to him? Challen dredged up all her strength and opened her eyes and turned to find him.
Elzan stood e
xactly where she had left him, in front of the bed, holding the hands of a woman who looked exactly like her. He stood perfectly still, eyes closed, smiling.
Challen gasped. The woman opened her eyes—and they were blacker than the night sky, filled with stars.
"Elzan!” Terror tore away the paralysis and gave her back her voice. Elzan was in danger—hadn't the man who attacked her at the oasis had black eyes? Whenever the wounded prince was controlled by evil magic, didn't his eyes turn black?
"Hush, silly bird.” Naya grabbed hold of Challen's arm. “The ritual has begun and you have better things to do while your body is being used."
"Mother?” Challen turned to face Naya. The wall vanished into blinding bright mist behind her.
* * * *
Elzan's lips tingled from that one, brief kiss. He gloried in it, even as part of him pulled back in shock. Had it been sacrilege, stealing one moment of sweetness before serving Mother Matrika?
Challen stood perfectly still as he stepped back. He smiled, admitting prideful hope that their first kiss had affected her deeply as well. He turned to the pitcher of wine and the silver cup, set with precious stones and blessed by Chizhedek. His hand trembled slightly as he filled the cup and turned back to her.
She stood with her head bowed, face pale, half-hidden by her loose hair. Elzan held out the cup to her.
"We must drink, vow ourselves, and pray for purification.” His voice sounded steady and he was glad. “We are your servants, Mother Matrika. We give our lives and bodies to you, as vessels of blessing to Bainevah. Purify our hearts and minds. Bless Bainevah through us.” He watched Challen. Was she too still? He thought of the instructions the King had given him, whispered in a hoarse voice. The pains that had wracked the King were gone, dosed away with Mayar's healing touch and drugged wine, and he had likely forgotten half the instructions before he fell asleep last night. Elzan hoped Challen remembered her part of the ritual, and his, just in case.
"Please, Mother Matrika,” he continued, going beyond the required words of the ritual to counteract whatever sacrilege they committed. “Bainevah has fallen away from your teachings. We have worshipped the servants and not the mistress of all who guides and guards our lives. Forgive us and bring Bainevah back to your ways from this moment. Use us. Let us serve you."
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