Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9)

by Michael R. Hicks

  “Five?” Shocked, she turned to look at Ayan-Dar, whose expression was grim as he stared at what awaited her. “But how? Why?”

  “The how, I do not know. That is the realm of the ancients who founded the Way itself. As for why…it is because you passed the test set before you by Anuir-Ruhal’te.”

  “What test?”

  He turned to her, his good eye squinting slightly. “Did you not notice something…odd before you entered this place?”

  “Well, yes,” she told him. “It was as if time had come to a stop and I felt powerful, so powerful that I could have conquered the Universe all on my own.”

  “Indeed. You could have killed your enemies, destroyed them all without them even knowing what killed them. And yet, you did not. Had you taken a single life in that moment when all lay at your feet, when you felt that ultimate power was yours, that golden band around your neck would have killed you. You would not have been worthy of the treasures the ancients set aside for you.”

  She put a hand to the golden ring around her neck and swallowed. “I still do not understand.”

  Turning to face her, he said, “If you should survive the challenges that yet await you, you will become the most powerful of our kind, in all the half million cycles of recorded history and beyond. This is as Anuir-Ruhal’te had planned. But she did not wish this power to fall to a tyrant. Even you, the child whose seed she planted ages ago, might succumb to the lure of such unspeakable might, to wield it as might one such as Syr-Nagath. She could not foresee the face of your soul, and so she designed a subtle test, a trap for those too weak to resist it. But you,” he lifted her chin with his fingers and smiled as he looked into her eyes, “you remained true to what you were taught and stayed your hand. You set your anger aside and instead showed compassion for those who may now oppose you, but who someday shall be honored to kneel in your presence. That, I believe, is what Anuir-Ruhal’te was looking for in her daughter.”

  Looking back toward the center of the arena, she said, “That may be, but it does not explain this.”

  “The vessels that contain the Crystals of Souls are bound together. You noticed, of course, the doors around the periphery of the arena, that are the same here as in the temple of the Desh-Ka?”

  She nodded.

  “They are far more than mere doorways. They are portals that link the temples together, that bind the power of the crystals. Once you assimilated the power of the crystal guarded by the Desh-Ka, you unlocked those doorways. Had you come here, or perhaps to the Ana’il-Rukh or Nyur-Ai’l, what you see before you would have been exactly the same.”

  “So I will not have to enter each of the coliseums?” Fate had favored her in providing her an ally in the form of Sian-Al’ai and the Ima’il-Kush, and so her entry here had been unexpectedly easy. It would not be so at the other temples, all of which opposed her.

  “No. Keeping the crystals separate, guarded by different orders, made it impossible for a pretender to gain access to more than one. But Anuir-Ruhal’te never intended this to be a treasure hunt, with you flitting from temple to temple for each crystal. Once you earned that collar, the next temple you entered would have the other crystals.”

  Keel-Tath frowned. “But this is not all of them. These five plus that of the Desh-Ka make six. Were there not seven crystals?”

  Ayan-Dar frowned and hesitated before he answered. “Yes. The seventh belongs to the Ka’i-Nur, and was locked away at the end of the Second Age. That will be your final test, because in some ways that is the most powerful of them all.”

  “Where is it?”

  “That will be revealed when it is time. For now, you have more than enough to do.” In a softer voice, he said, “It might be best to remove your armor and clothing. There is no point in it being destroyed by the crystals, and there is no replacement for it.” A smile touched his lips, but his eyes were sad. “I am here with you in spirit. I cannot fetch an armorer for you, even if one were to be found here.”

  Keel-Tath did as he said. As she began to undo the bindings on her armor, her hands started to shake and the muscles of her legs quivered. She recalled all too clearly the pain inflicted by the crystal of the Desh-Ka. She now had to face five more such agonizing nightmares, on top of the trauma she had suffered on the Great Moon. She fumbled her breast plate, and it landed on the gleaming stone with a clang that was deafeningly loud. The back plate, which was awkward to remove in the best of circumstances, fell from her hands, as well, adding to the momentary din.

  Heaving in a deep breath of despair, she sank to her knees, facing the dais, which was reflected in the black stones of the walkway. She looked up at him as she continued to remove her armor. “I do not know if I can do this,” she whispered.

  He knelt down beside her. “The pain is unavoidable, child. I wish I could give you some greater comfort, but there is none to be had.”

  She shook her head. “I do not fear the pain. I fear that I might fail. What will happen if I die here, if I cannot endure what the crystals have in store for me? What will happen to those I left behind on the moon, and Sian-Al’ai and the others who now fight for me beyond the door to this place? And who will avenge the deaths of the innocent, slain by Syr-Nagath?”

  “I have no answers to those questions. In the end, perhaps, they are irrelevant. What matters is how you choose to meet the fate that now stands before you: with courage, or with fear?”

  She thought on his words as she unbuckled the last of her armor, removed her sandals, and stripped out of her underclothes. Closing her eyes for a moment, she fought to focus her mind and her soul as Ayan-Dar had taught her long ago. Immersing herself in the Bloodsong, she let the symphony of those bound to her in blood wash away her fears. It was not a joyful melody, to be sure, but its power, when harnessed by the conscious mind, was undeniable. The quivering in her muscles disappeared, and her pulse and breathing slowed.

  Opening her eyes again, she looked around at the clothing and armor lying in disarray on the walkway and the sand. Reaching out, she gathered them up, then carefully placed them in a neat pile, stacking each piece just so, her black undergarments folded on top, as she had done since leaving the creche. She placed her sword and that of her father on one side, with the dagger in between the two larger weapons.

  “I am ready,” she breathed.

  “Then take your place at the center, my child,” Ayan-Dar told her softly.

  Naked now, Keel-Tath strode with dignity and grace, ascending the five steps to the top of the central dais.

  The ground shuddered as a rumbling noise filled the chamber. Holes irised open in the five smaller platforms around her, and the crystals rose in slow procession from the depths, and as they did, stone walkways to each of the five platforms rose level with the central dais.

  The crystals shimmered, each of them a different color than the cyan of the Desh-Ka. They sat on their pedestals, shining red, green, gold, magenta, and a pure white. One of them, the red one, which symbolized the Ima’il-Kush, according to the rune carved on the pedestal’s face, glowed brighter than the others.

  She walked across the bridge to the pedestal’s platform and stood before the shimmering red gem, admiring the beauty that shone from its facets.

  “I shall be here for you, my daughter,” Ayan-Dar said from the walkway where she had left him. He knelt, bowed his head, and saluted her. “May thy Way be long and glorious.”

  “And you, my priest.” She returned his salute, bowing her head.

  Then she returned her gaze to the crystal, which had begun to pulse brighter and brighter. Stepping closer, she raised her hands. Closing her eyes, she reached out toward the heart of the Ima’il-Kush as the cleansing fire swept down upon her.

  ***

  Sian-Al’ai whirled and slashed, parrying an overhand strike by one priest before vanishing through the ether to reappear behind him, thrusting her sword at his midsection before he, too, disappeared into the nothingness. For those of the priesthoods, even
ritual combat was rare, and in war they only crossed swords when a leader arose who gathered enough strength to cross the stars. The ability to move here and there without taking a step made battle an exercise in grace, fury, and surprise. This priest had proven particularly difficult, and had already been rewarded with a deep flesh wound in Sian-Al’ai’s shoulder after his sword had found a gap in her armor.

  Deciding that a change in tactics was warranted, she leapt high into the air, trying to foretell where the priest would reappear.

  There! He emerged near where she had hoped, his sword already thrusting toward where she had been, his attention fixed on the thin air that she had vacated. Doubling over in a graceful dive, her sword trailing behind her, she fell upon him like a winged predator lizard. In the brief instant that he hesitated, searching for her, her sword found the nape of his neck. As his decapitated body toppled over, she landed on the ground, her feet landing lightly upon the scorched remains of what had once been the temple’s terraced garden. Before this day it had been a sanctuary of color and fragrance from flowers gathered from all over the world, carefully tended by the robed gardeners. But the delicate plants had been frozen, ripped up by their roots by horrific winds, incinerated by blasts of fire, and trampled. The dark loamy soil which had hosted so much living beauty was now soaked with the blood of the fallen.

  As she stood there during a momentary lull, her lungs heaving, she looked toward the closed door of the coliseum, wondering when Keel-Tath would emerge. The Change was never a swift process, assuming the one who sought the crystal’s power even survived. But the battle here had been raging for hours now. True, the other priesthoods could have attacked in overwhelming force and destroyed the Ima’il-Kush, but unlike Syr-Nagath, who simply crushed her enemies, the other orders still fought with honor. They outnumbered Sian-Al’ai’s forces, yes, but that was as much out of zeal to face others of their own kind in a fight to the death as much as to bring the Ima’il-Kush to heel. As the attackers died, a similar number arrived to replace them. Sian-Al’ai’s priests and priestesses had no such luxury, but for their hardship and sacrifice they gathered that much more glory. Even though the reasons for the battle were the wrong ones, none of the warriors on either side would have walked away from such a contest. Nor would those allied against her take the heads of those they vanquished. Had Sian-Al’ai spoken the simple words we yield into the maelstrom around her, the fighting would instantly stop. But she had no intention of yielding, not because of pride or the fiery bloodlust that flowed in her veins, but because she could not allow the other priesthoods to take Keel-Tath.

  The day wore on and darkness approached, but still there was no sign of the child of prophecy. The door to the coliseum remained closed. Exhausted now, and surprised that she was still alive, Sian-Al’ai took stock of the price in blood that had been paid. Half or more of her own order had been vanquished, and those who still lived were, like herself, spent. No longer did they have the strength to call upon their higher powers, and some could no longer even venture into the ether. They were now little more than warriors with vastly superior skills with their weapons, and the death toll was rising rapidly as fresh arrivals continued to make good the enemy’s losses. Part of her was determined to fight on, to meet a glorious death, but the rational voice in her mind spoke ever louder of survival. She had no way of knowing what had befallen Keel-Tath, and she knew quite well that once one stepped through the door of the coliseum, the vessel of the Crystal of Souls, time had no meaning. Keel-Tath could emerge in the next moment, or a hundred cycles from now. Such things had been recorded in the Books of Time.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, she made her decision, heart rending though it was. She had never before given up on a quest or abandoned something she had believed in, and today would be no different. But the survivors of her order would live to fight another day. “Ima’il-Kush!" she bellowed. “Depart!”

  As one, without hesitation, such was their discipline, the priests and priestesses of her order vanished. They would flee to the palace on the Great Moon of the Homeworld, where she hoped they could find refuge against the storm that raged against them all.

  In lonely silence, she stood facing those of the other orders who had come, who now occupied her temple. Streaks of black made their way down her cheeks beneath her eyes, the marks of mourning, the depths of which seemed infinite in that moment. The Ima’il-Kush would follow the Desh-Ka into infamy, the second of the orders to lose custody of its temple, of its ancestral home. The ignominy of such a record in the Books of Time was the tip of a spear of shame that pierced her heart. Despite that, she was determined to die with honor this day.

  The most high of the Ana’il-Rukh, Kura-Hagil, and T’lan-Il appeared before her. All three were bloodied and haggard from the fighting. Like Sian-Al’ai, none of them had taken a respite from the battle. Of Ulan-Samir of the Nyur-Ai’l there was no sign, although those of his order had joined in the fighting against her own.

  “Do you yield?” hissed the Kura-Hagil.

  Sian-Al’ai, tightening her grip on her blood drenched sword, slowly shook her head. “You have driven us from the field this day, but I will not yield to you. What we now defend is too precious.”

  “If you do not recant,” said the Ana’il-Rukh, who took a step forward, “your fate will be the same as that of the Desh-Ka.”

  Sian-Al’ai needed no elaboration to understand what that meant. To the Kura-Hagil, she said, “Our robed ones and younglings will not be harmed?” Leaving them behind, those she and her warriors had been sworn to protect and care for, was a deep and painful wound in Sian-Al’ai’s soul. Her priests and priestesses had managed to rescue a few, but the rest were now guarded by the enemy.

  “Of course not. We are not savages like Syr-Nagath. They will be adopted and loved according to the Way.”

  “According to the Way?” Sian-Al’ai snorted, then gestured at the devastation and death around them. “Look about you and reconsider those words. Nothing of what has transpired since we agreed to hold a conclave over Keel-Tath has been in accord with the beliefs we have long held dear. Instead of embracing courage and love, we have given in to fear and hate, and at the center of it all is Syr-Nagath and the Ka’i-Nur. You have unwittingly allied yourselves with Darkness incarnate, and she will turn on you when it suits her.”

  “She would be a fool to do so,” said the T’lan-Il.

  Sian-Al’ai looked him square in the eye. “Tell that to the Desh-Ka.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, the Kura-Hagil said, “We know you brought Keel-Tath here.”

  “Yes.” Sian-Al’ai agreed. She saw no point in denying it. “And I will stand here, awaiting her return through that door, until my last breath.”

  The Ana’il-Rukh took another step forward, bringing up the tip of his sword. “You have precious few breaths left before you lose your head.”

  Sian-Al’ai spat, “Not to the likes of you.”

  “Beware your words, Sian-Al’ai!”

  Flicking the tip of her sword to clear it of most of the blood still clinging to the blade, Sian-Al’ai made ready for her last stand. She brought up her sword and her body tensed as her gaze locked with that of her opponent. The others would face her one at a time, she knew. One of them, no doubt, would kill her.

  In the instant before Sian-Al’ai attacked, the door of the coliseum behind her whispered open.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Keel-Tath’s eyes flickered open to see Ayan-Dar peering down at her, a scowl of concern on his face. He was cradling her in his lap, and with his hand he brought a mug of ale to her lips. She sipped slowly, the potent brew warming her insides. It was twilight, not quite dark and not quite light. Beside them a fire crackled, and beyond that she could hear the distant crash of ocean waves. Turning her head, which was a trial in torment, as her muscles burned and her head pounded with unbridled fury, she saw that they were on the rocky cliff overlooking the city of Ku’ar-Amir, where Ayan-Dar
had taken her so long ago, and where her body had come of age. She shivered under the thick hides he had wrapped around her, and felt as if she had been trapped in ice for an eternity.

  “How…” She tried to say, but the word came out as a dry croak. She took another sip of ale, then rasped, “How can we be here?”

  He smiled, and it was then that she noticed how old he looked. While most of her kind, particularly the warriors, did not grow infirm with age, or show many visible signs of aging until near the end, Ayan-Dar had become an exception. Deep lines of worry were carved in his face, and the coils of his braids, wrapped around his upper arm, numbered more than she remembered. Long black marks of mourning cascaded down from his eyes to his neck. She reached up with one hand to cup his cheek, and he gently kissed her palm.

  “We are here because I willed it so,” he said, setting down the ale and taking her hand in his.

  “But…but you are beyond the living.”

  He smiled then, chuckling. “As are you, child. And so we are not bound by the laws governing the living.” He leaned closer. “We may do as we please.”

  “I am dead?” She was first filled with shock and despair, but then a wave of relief overtook her. If she was dead, she would have to face no more trials or endure more pain. Her mind shied away from her last memories, which were filled with endless agony and fire.

  “Not in the way you understand. Your body remains in the coliseum, quite alive, but your spirit is here, beyond the veil of life and death.” His expression darkened. “I brought you here to help you mend.”

  Her hand tightened on his. “How many more?” It was a question she had to ask, but she was terrified of the answer.

  “Only one remains.”

  Her heart sank, and her body began to shake of its own accord. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought not to vomit up the ale she had just taken.

  “But not here, my daughter,” he said softly, “not yet. The crystals of six orders have you touched and survived. Only the seventh, that of the Ka’i-Nur, remains.”