He answered with something like a mental shrug of understanding. ‘Yes. But now that you are awake we should go.’
‘Fine!’ She pushed back her hair and suppressed a groan; it was hardly dawn. She broke her fast with cold rice. Their supplies were getting low. Another day, perhaps, then they would be searching for mushrooms and roots.
They climbed down the overgrown rocks just as dawn brightened the eastern treetops. Beneath the canopy it was still dark and Saeng struggled to keep up with Hanu. Off a way through the trees an immense shape reared, easily three times the height of any man, and Hanu froze in his tracks. A great black muzzle turned towards the cliff outcropping and sniffed the air.
‘Back to your home!’ Saeng urged the huge cave bear. ‘We will trouble you no more.’
A growl of complaint rumbled their way; then the beast fell back to his forepaws, shaking the ground and sending a shower of leaves falling all about, and lumbered off. Hanu turned his helmed head her way as if to say: that was too close for comfort.
She waved him on, dismissing the entire episode.
Their return route was much more direct than their way out. They found the countryside deserted. Thin smoke rose from the direction of the village of Nan and this troubled her more than seeing villages merely abandoned. Were the Thaumaturgs burning as they went along? Yet why do that? To deter desertion? She hurried her pace.
It was past twilight when they entered familiar fields. Hanu motioned aside to the woods where Saeng most often used to hide to confer with the ghosts of the land. She went on alone. At least the village hadn’t been burned, yet most of the huts were dark where usually one or two lamps would be kept burning against the night. Their family hut was dark as well. Trash littered the yard and the reed door hung open.
‘Mother?’ she hissed. ‘Mother? Are you there?’
Inside was a mess. Looters, or soldiers, had come and gone. Anything of any possible value had been taken, as had every scrap of food. Through a window she saw that the small garden had been dug up and that the chickens and pigs were gone. Saeng searched her own feelings and found that she really didn’t care that the hut had been ransacked, or that her few meagre possessions had been taken. All that concerned her was her mother. Where was she? Was she all right?
She headed to the nearest light and found Mae Ran, one of the oldest of her neighbours, sitting on the wood steps leading up to her small hut. ‘Who is this?’ the old woman asked in a fearful quavering voice as Saeng came walking up. ‘Are you a ghost to trouble an old woman?’
‘It is Saeng, Mae. What has happened here?’
‘What is that? Saeng, you say?’ The old woman squinted up at her. ‘Janath’s daughter?’
‘Yes. Where is she?’
‘Saeng? Back so soon?’
‘Back? What do you mean – back?’
‘Janath said you’d gone on a pilgrimage to some temple or other …’
Saeng pressed the heel of a hand to her forehead. Gods! Mother! ‘Well … I’m back. What happened?’
‘What happened?’ She waved a shaking hand to encompass the village. ‘The Thaumaturgs came and took what they wanted. Food, animals. The hale men and women. Only we elders and babes left now. Every decade it is so. It is as I have always said – no sense gathering too much wealth to yourself, for the gods will always send a plague to take it from you. If not our Thaumaturg masters, then locusts, or fire, or flood. Such is the lot of humanity …’
Gods, old woman! I did not ask for a sermon. ‘Thank you, Mae – yes. I agree. So, where is my mother? Is she well? Where did she go?’
Mae blinked up at her, confused, and Saeng saw her eyes clouded by the milky white of cataract and her heart wrenched. Ah! Ancients! I am too harsh. Who remains now to look after this elder? Or the others? Could they labour in the fields? Harvest bark from the trees to boil to quell the pangs of starvation? And the infants? Who shall mind them? The army of our masters obviously judged them too much a burden to be worth their effort. How dare I denounce them for it yet prove as heartless?
‘Go?’ the old woman repeated as though in wonder. ‘Why, nowhere. She is with Chana, her mother’s brother’s youngest.’
‘Ah! Aunt Chana. Thank you. You take care of yourself, Mae. Take care.’
The white orbs swung away. ‘We must hold to what we have, child. It is all there is.’
‘Well – thank you, Mae. Farewell.’
Saeng backed away from the hut and made for her aunt’s house across the village. It seemed strange to her that her mother should have gone to Chana’s – ever since she could remember the two had only bickered and argued. Nearing the dwelling she found light flickering within and she stopped at the steps up to the front porch. ‘Hello? Auntie Chana? It’s Saeng …’
Thunder rumbled in the distance while she waited, and a thin mist of the last of the evening rain brushed her hair and face. Clouds appeared from the east, massing for another downpour. ‘Saeng?’ a voice called, her mother’s. ‘Is that you?’
She appeared on the veranda, a young child at her shoulder. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
Saeng nearly gaped. ‘Mother,’ she answered, outraged. ‘What kind of welcome is that? I was worried sick about you. I came to check—’
Her mother waved a hand. ‘Oh, I am fine. I’m helping Chana.’ She indicated the child. ‘Look, little Non.’
Saeng frowned her puzzlement. ‘Non?’
Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Chana’s husband’s sister’s son! You know! Non.’
‘No, I don’t – I mean, I know the name,’ she finished lamely.
‘Oh, and old man Pelu? Next door?’
‘Yes?’
‘He’s dead. His heart gave out when the Thaumaturgs came through.’
‘Ah. Thank you, Mother. I really needed to know that.’
‘Well, I thought you’d be interested. You liked him. He always gave you candied pineapple. Remember when you were four you ate so much you threw up?’
‘Mother! Our house has been ransacked!’
She pressed a hand to Non’s head. ‘Quiet! You’ll wake him. Yes, they came stomping through in their muddy sandals.’ She looked to the lad nuzzling her neck. ‘But we’ll clean it up, won’t we, Non? Would you like to help your auntie?’
Saeng took a step backwards to steady herself. She felt outraged. Didn’t her mother care? Yet here she was busy and needed – getting on with her life. Holding on to what she has. ‘I was worried about you …’
Her mother smiled warmly. ‘That is sweet of you, Saeng. But worry about yourself. They asked about you, you know. Questioned everyone. They claimed you were an agent of the demoness! What silliness! No one said anything, of course.’
Now Saeng thought she was dreaming still. No one said anything? Her thoughts must have shown on her face as her mother tsked and said, ‘Saeng, really … you’re related to half the people here. And everyone’s proud. You’ve kept the Nak-ta quiet for more than ten years now. No one’s been taken in that time. Not like Pra-Wan. What a terrible time they’ve had of it there!’
Saeng felt like sitting down to steady herself. Was this really her village? And what of Hanu? Should she tell her? Perhaps not – she would want to see him and that would be too cruel.
Her mother reached out to smooth her hair. ‘Poor Saeng. You always held yourself apart. You spent more time with those awful spirits than the living.’
Saeng bit back her argument that it was her beliefs and manners that had held them apart – wasn’t it? Yet it was too late to revisit such ground. Gently she removed her mother’s hand. ‘Well, I know what to do now, Mother. You were right. There is somewhere I must go.’
‘Of course, Saeng. I knew it would come to you. You are the eldest daughter of the eldest daughter going back generations. It has always been so.’
‘Goodbye, Mother. Take care of little Non.’
‘Of course. That is also how it has always been.’
Saeng kissed the pal
m of her mother’s hand and turned away. On a path east of the village Hanu fell into step with her. Other than the firmness of his footsteps only the deep green glint from the inlaid stones of his armour revealed his presence in the absolute dark of night.
‘And Mother?’
‘She is safe, Hanu,’ Saeng sighed. ‘She is safe and well.’
* * *
When the door to her private chambers was thrown open, Hannal Leath, abbess of Tali’s monastery of Our Lady of the Visions, threw the covers over the naked body of her latest lover and glared at the offending acolyte. She wanted to say something properly majestic and abbess-like, such as: What is the meaning of this intrusion? But what slipped out was a high-pitched: ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
The young acolyte stood blinking at the bed, wide-eyed. Hannal followed her gaze to the impressive tenting of the sheet over her lover’s midsection. She slapped Javich’s thigh and he rolled on to his side. ‘What is it?’ she repeated.
The young woman swallowed, flushed. ‘She’s on her way, m’lady.’
‘What? Whatever do you mean?’
‘The contemplation pool. It’s glowing. She’s coming. Now.’
Hannal leaped to her feet on the bed, naked. ‘What? Now? Great impotent gods! You,’ she kicked Javich, ‘get out of here! You,’ she pointed to the acolyte, ‘collect my clothes.’
‘Yes, Abbess.’
Hannal paced the bed. ‘Of all the shrines and temples and schools … she has to come here?’ She clutched at her neck. ‘What have I done? Have I displeased her?’
Javich opened his mouth to say something but she pointed to the door. Bowing, he backed out, a sheet gathered at his waist. The acolyte handed over her clothes and she hurriedly dressed.
Ahead, up the hall of the monastery, a silvery light played among the pillars and stone arches. It rippled over the marble flags, the domed roofs and wall niches making it seem as if the entire building were underwater. As Hannal approached the inner sanctuary, she saw that the light spilled out of the doors to the central cynosure. She paused at the threshold, hands on the tall door leaves, already short of breath, and took in the milling crowd of nuns, guards and acolytes. She snapped a finger. ‘All of you – out. Now!’ She stood aside and they hurried past her, robes hiked up, feet slapping the polished marble floor. She took hold of the leaves. ‘No one enters,’ she told the guards. ‘Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Abbess.’
‘Good.’ She slammed shut the doors.
Oh, gracious goddess, what am I going to do? She ran to the stone lip of the central reflecting pool. Its quicksilver liquid rippled and shook as if agitated by her own anxieties. What am I to do? One touch and I’ll burn to ash!
The surface of the liquid metal bowed upwards in a wave as if disturbed from below and she hissed her uncertainty. Tongs? A fork? No – anything would burn. Centuries of Warren-ritual have gone into this instrument and I don’t even know how it works!
A hand emerged through the surface. The quicksilver beaded from it, running between the fingers. Hannal gaped, then thrust up her sleeves. Well – only thing for it. She reached out and clasped the hand, then gasped her exquisite pain as she found the flesh beyond frigid cold.
The hand tugged, almost heaving her over the raised lip of the pool. But Hannal had been a soldier before answering the call of the Queen and she had strong thighs. She braced herself against the ledge, pulling back just as insistently. An arm emerged – and not a shapely dancer’s arm: a thick muscled limb, and quite hairy. My goddess has the arms of a washerwoman!
Hannal yanked even more strongly despite the fact that the skin of her palm and fingers was cracking and the blood was hissing and smoking as it dripped to the pool’s juddering surface. She slapped her other hand to the wrist and hauled. A scalp emerged bearing straight brown hair. Another arm splashed up from the pool spraying droplets that burned where they touched, but Hannal clenched down on her agony and heaved with all her considerable muscle and heft.
Something gave, or a tipping point was reached, and the figure slipped towards Hannal as if down a slick chute to flop over the lip of the pool and fall to the stone floor in a slapping of limbs and grunts of pain. The quicksilver liquid ran over the marble, hissing and eating into the surface until it dissipated into mist.
Hannal got down on to her knees and lay prostrate on her stomach before her goddess.
‘Oh, just help me up,’ the Queen of Dreams croaked.
Abbess Hannal threw open the doors to the cynosure of the monastery. Beyond, the gathered acolytes and guards stopped their whispering and hushed arguments. She knew she appeared a fright in only her thin shift scorched and burned through, with further red burns down her arms. ‘Bring warm water, towels and clothes,’ she ordered, then slammed shut the doors.
Much louder murmurings resumed out in the hall.
She hurried back to where the Enchantress now sat on the lip of the pool, wrapped in her outer robes. She was examining her arms, pinching the flesh of her hands. ‘It has been … a very long time,’ she said to herself.
Hannal knelt before her once more. ‘You honour me, my goddess.’
The Enchantress shook her head. ‘I am no goddess.’
‘Your capabilities, your various manifestations, are godlike to us. Therefore we choose to name you such.’
‘Well … you are free to do as you choose.’
‘Have we displeased you? Have you come to censure us?’
‘Censure you?’
Hannal wet her lips. ‘The … lesson of Kartool … is never far from mind these days.’
‘Ah. No, nothing like that.’ She shook her head again, smiling, and Hannal lowered her gaze, for unworthy thoughts played across her mind. Thoughts of how in person the Enchantress was far from the beauty she projected to her penitents. She was in fact a middle-aged woman with unruly mousy brown hair, short, a touch on the heavy side, with facial moles and – forgive me, Goddess! – the dark dusting of a moustache.
When Hannal glanced back she saw the smile had broadened into something that appeared self-deprecating. ‘The actual truth, Hannal,’ the Queen of Dreams murmured, ‘is always far from pretty.’
The abbess ducked her head once more, shamed. ‘You honour me.’
‘I offer you the truth. Call that an honour, if you choose. Most prefer to have their expectations fulfilled with lies.’
Quiet timorous knocking sounded from the doors. Hannal bowed, backing away. She opened one leaf a crack and snatched the proffered clothes, towels and bowl of water from the acolytes who struggled to peer in past her, then slammed it shut. While the Enchantress washed herself, Hannal faced away, asking, ‘May I ask, then, why you have come here to Tali?’
A throaty amused chuckle answered that. ‘I suppose again I should say something flattering but I will not patronize you. I did not come because of the strength of your devotion, or the purity of your spirit, or any such thing. I came because this is the closest centre to where I wish to travel.’
Hannal frowned, puzzled. ‘Travel, my goddess? Surely all the world is open to you. You may travel as you wish.’
Again the husky barmaid’s chuckle. ‘Ah, Hannal. I suppose that would be true were I a goddess. But in fact there are many places that are closed to me. And it is important that I travel to one such now. The time has come.’
Such words drove Hannal to abase herself once again upon the polished marble floor. ‘Enchantress! Perhaps such knowledge is not for me.’
The Queen of Dreams paused in her dressing. ‘Now I am the one distressed to hear such words. Are you or are you not an abbess of my calling? Knowledge is neither good nor bad – it is what you choose to do with it that matters. What you should know is that an opportunity is approaching … a rare chance to pose challenges where none have dared do so for a very long time. And to demand answers that have been avoided for far too long. Now, Abbess, stand – if you would.’
Chastened, and rather terrified by
the sharing of knowledge that could be mortal for her, Hannal rose to her feet and dared a glance to her goddess. The woman now wore sandals, trousers of some sturdy weave, and a loose shirt beneath layered open robes. A long white silk cloth wrapped her head and a veil hung over her features leaving her eyes alone uncovered. And those dark eyes seemed to possess a startling allure now that all else was hidden.
‘So, has my champion arrived?’ the Queen asked.
Hannal blinked her uncertainty. ‘Your … champion?’
‘Well, let us say … my bodyguard, my spokeswoman.’
‘Who – who would that be, my goddess?’
The Queen of Dreams crossed her thick arms; above the veil her dark brows wrinkled. ‘The woman would be wearing a cloak no doubt, and keeping her face hidden.’
‘Ah … But, my lady of prescience, I assure you there is no one here who answers that—’ Hannal clamped shut her mouth. ‘There is an odd itinerant who has slept on the steps of the monastery these last few days. We have been feeding her. She keeps herself wrapped in a filthy cloak.’
‘Has this one spoken to anyone?’
Hannal cocked her head in thought. ‘Not that I know of. No, I believe not.’
The Queen of Dreams smiled behind her veil. ‘Very good. Have her brought to me.’
Hannal bowed and returned to the doors. All became quiet again as she pulled open one leaf. She paused, blinking, as it appeared that the entire constituency of the monastery was gathered in the outer vestibule: every acolyte, nun, priestess, guard, cook and groundskeeper. A sea of faces stared back at her, expectant. ‘Get that itinerant,’ she hissed to Churev, the highest ranking priestess nearby.
‘Who?’ the woman answered, trying to peer in past her.
‘The one outside on the steps! Is she still there? By the Deceiver, you haven’t driven her off, have you? Get her. Bring her!’
Churev bowed. ‘At once, Abbess.’
Hannal slammed the door and leaned against it. Goddess forgive us! Well, now I suppose I could just ask …
Not too long after a knock sounded and Hannal heaved open the leaf. The cowled and cloak-wrapped beggar faced her, Churev at her side. Hannal motioned in the silent woman, while at the same time throwing an arm across the open portal to block all the others surging forward. She managed to urge everyone back far enough to press shut the door. Meanwhile, the homeless beggarwoman had walked on alone to stand before the Queen of Dreams.
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