Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (26 page)

Fleeing the laundry room, Miri escaped outside the Palace through a doorway at the end of the narrow service hall. Outside, she crouched behind a tree by the garden wall and hid with her tears. She came to this place when she needed a moment alone. Here, away from everyone, she could think. And right now she needed to think. She thought of Elora, her frail, feeble body bedridden those last months. She thought of the woman's face, cracking with dryness as she spoke of her daughter, wishing she could see that little girl as a woman.

Thinking of Elora reminded Miri of something she had seen in that old woman's mind. She wanted to remember those thoughts now, though she had not given it much consideration before. In her dying days, the woman's mind was a tumult of stray memories and feelings, bits and pieces of which stuck now in Miri's mind. She kept them like a shrine to the woman who, other than Miri, had died alone.

A man's face caused Elora to feel hopeful, not the face of her late husband nor of anyone that Miri had ever met. The man was a Prophet. She could tell by his pasty skin tone and those all-seeing eyes. He had a round face and a hawk-like nose. His brown hair lay in short waves over his scalp. She committed this face to her memory, for he suddenly seemed important. Frustrated, Miri found that she could not remember the words that accompanied the image, only the feeling, that sense that he alone could help her.

Miri, a fairly adept telepath herself, let her mind float to that of her mistress, intending to take a small peek. She found the Protectress fast asleep, her mind blank. She wasn't even dreaming.

Hearing footsteps nearby, she quickly straightened up and pressed her tunic with her hands. She wiped the tears away from her eyes. Peeking around the tree, she found Mikel walking toward the tree. He served as an Elite, a rather young recruit. He joined the force just a month before the Heir arrived. In his dark gray uniform, he looked quite handsome and appeared older than he actually was. He searched for Miri.

“Miri, are you all right?” Mikel asked softly when he came near the tree. She stayed hidden behind the thick trunk.

“Yes,” she replied, cringing when her voice cracked.

He removed his cap. His chestnut hair lay flat and limp underneath as a result of a arduous day of service and training. The breeze caught a few strands and lifted them. They stuck there, pointing diagonally into the air.

“I heard you yelling at Lynn. You ran out so fast—I just wanted to check on you,” he told her awkwardly.

Wiping her face again, Miri made certain her cheeks felt dry, though she couldn't do anything to tame the redness that stung her eyes. She revealed herself, carefully folding her arms behind her back. “You heard that? I wonder who else did,” Miri probed. She felt embarrassed for losing her temper, an unbecoming lapse for the Protectress' personal aide.

“Just about the entire Kitchen,” Mikel said, then realized he should have kept his mouth shut. Miri's eyes shot to the ground, disheartened. He whispered to her, “Lots of people agree with you. Morton's been acting crazy these last few months. Lynn is about the only one that can stand her.”

Looking up at her companion, she raised her eyebrows hopefully. “Is that true?”

“I would never mislead you,” he promised.

Smiling, she nodded, accepting his words.

19th Octember, 307

More questions surfaced
than answers when the subject came to the Prophets and their connection to the Goddess. What was their connection? Why did they protect the secret of the creature? Was there some hidden purpose to allowing it to, or even helping it to survive all these centuries?

In her studies of the Official Archives, Axandra only found references to the Goddess in connection to ceremonies or encounters with the Believers.

Having lived among the Prophets, she knew a few facts about their kind. They were the descendants of the Journeyers on the ship called Prophet. The independent generation ship joined the fleet of twelve on the trek to claim this world. On Earth, these people consisted of a collection of the most gifted telepaths known. Hiding from the Normals, they formed a secret community to keep them safe and allow them to develop their talents unhindered. Arriving in this system, they secluded themselves away from those less advanced.

After the first few years of strife, the Four Regions nearly ignited in civil war. To prevent destruction, the Prophets emerged from the storm and gave Amelia Saugray the first title of Protectress, bestowing upon her the ability and authority to speak for the entirety of the people. A common emblem united the people as one.

Since then, the Prophets only showed themselves when the time came to train the Heir or at the installation of the new Protectress. The vast majority of citizens did not even give them much thought. Some viewed the Prophets as only a legend, a story to explain how the Protectresship came to be. Most of the less-gifted never saw a living Prophet.

The best source of answers to the questions would be the Goddess, but Axandra kept the creature caged in her mind, protecting herself and others from its dangerous actions. The Goddess hissed and sulked in her cage. Since the creature no longer acted as an ally, Axandra planned on keeping it locked away and powerless.

The second best source would be the Prophets, but they remained secluded in their stormy fortress. For a normal person, passage through the ravages of the Storm was impossible. The deadly barrier afforded the separatists impenetrable protection.

There was a secret to getting to the Haven safely. When she had been taken through, young Ileanne witnessed an incredible display—the winds of the storm parted with the wave of a hand, giving them a safe passage straight into the Haven. The passage closed behind them as soon as they traveled through.

The trick would be discovering how to summon the passage to appear. She had actually seen the portal twice, once in and once out. She didn't have any idea how the passage appeared the second time. She wished for the passage to help her escape, and the opening appeared moments later. Not wasting time to wonder how, she took off through the safe tunnel.

Would it be that easy to get back in?

First she would have to elude the watchful eyes of her Elite and her aide, for they would never allow her to place herself in such danger. If she wished to make a surprise visit to the Prophets, a great deal of planning was required just to make it outside of the city.

Axandra gave this idea serious consideration and formed some rough plans in her mind while she made notes of her questions on paper. After Soporus passed and the flooding crisis dealt with, she would make an attempt to reach the Prophets.

On her calendar, Axandra requested time to visit those in the city ailing from the still incurable illness. Many Believers remained afflicted but alive, saved from perishing by the adept skills of the Healers. By now, most of those Believers first sickened had passed from this existence. Only a handful clung to life. She intended to find out why these few managed to carry on.

Today, she visited Sue Randas, a citizen bedridden due to her still unknown ailment. She suffered hunger, dehydration and fatigue.

The ailing woman lay in her bed in a room of muted light—the suns deflected through lace curtains. In the outer room, devout Believers gathered together and sang.

The voices swelled in mistuned harmony and gave an eerie atmosphere to the small home. When the hymn finished, the group began to utter soft prayers. To Axandra, the prayers sounded like incoherent mutterings.

Healer Gage explained that Sue was forty-four years old. Beneath the coverlet, the woman's body lay wasted to bone. Her face appeared ashen and hollow, eyes sunken into dark circles. Every vein showed through her translucent skin. Axandra would have thought her to be in her nineties.

Quietly Gage stated his suspicions that the epidemic was of a parasitic nature. “Intestinal parasites often cause such symptoms,” he explained, “because they steal the nutrients that would normally be absorbed in the intestines. I have treated Sue with the extracts that aid in digestion, helping her retain more of the nutrition from her meals. However, I have not found the parasites themselves.” He also confirmed that he was not able to touch the patient's mind due to her beliefs. “When she was still able to speak, she often prayed for the Goddess to forgive her sins.”

Nodding to acknowledge the Healer's words, Axandra spoke softly, announcing her visit to the patient. Sue did not stir, and her eyes remained closed.

“Perhaps,” the Healer spoke softly, “if you held her hand, Your Honor, she will sense you are here.”

She squinted at him, shaking her head. “I'm not a Believer. I don't want to—”

“You are their link to the Goddess. She will welcome your touch,” he assured. “It was the last thing she asked, for you to come and see her. She wants to make her peace.”

A service Axandra always avoided was sitting with the dying. Anytime she received a request to volunteer for such service, she traded it to teach the children their lessons or take food to the homebound. Though death was part of life, sensing the ending moments always caused her severe depression. Others were much more capable of offering comfort in those last moments.

She would not be able to trade this time. Timidly, though trying not to show it, she clasped the dying woman's hand between her own. The bony limb felt cold and lifeless.

Yet Axandra sensed a trace of warmth in the body. Sue welcomed the Protectress inside her mind, into a small place, a warm place. All the dark space tugged at the edges of the light, trying to obliterate this last thought.

Axandra felt the strong pull of the darkness, the nothingness, like a vacuum. Resisting, she held herself in place.
I am here, Sue.

It's all I have left,
the woman thought to her.
My sin has taken everything else from me.

In this small room of memory, a young child sat on the floor playing with blocks. Sue, a healthy and vibrant young woman, joined the girl in her play.

Axandra understood this was Sue's daughter, though she did not know how old the memory was. There was no evidence of a young child in the present house.

You have not sinned,
Axandra tried to convince the woman.
What has done this to you?

Axandra heard a growling somewhere deep in the darkness that surrounded the memory room, the same familiar growling from the garden and from the
Lazzonir
.

Thank you for coming. Now I may rest.

Soon the room dimmed to match the darkness. In a slipstream of rushing light, Axandra watched Sue fly away from her. Thrown back, Axandra felt the weight of her own body falling and stretching. Out of the dark, sharp teeth rush at her. Her chest burned as a fang caught her skin. Abruptly, she slumped back into the real bedroom, back in the present.

The Healer also touched Sue, finding no pulse in the still form. Others stood in the room now where they had not been before, a man in his middle years and a younger woman. They each touched the dying woman. The Healer must have summoned them when he knew the end neared, so that Sue would be surrounded by her family.

Rising from beside the bed, Axandra felt as though her body spun against the room. The square walls bowed outward. Forcing herself to focus on the family, she reached out to each of them.

“I grieve with you for your loss,” she sympathized with them, sensing their sorrow through their touch. The emanations added to the disorientation she felt.

“She is with the Goddess now,” said the daughter, smiling through her tears. “Thank you.”

Axandra stumbled out of the house on uneasy feet. In the outer room, the gathered Believers began to sing again.

Gage followed her outside, stopping her on the walkway. Turning back to him, she found she could barely focus on his pockmarked face. The scars of a childhood disease appeared grossly oversized to her swimming eyes.

“Madam, are you all right?” Gage inquired with seriousness, his eyes looking her over from head to toe. “Are you getting enough to eat? Eryn's notes mentioned that you have sudden drops in blood sugar—”

“I'm fine,” Axandra snapped, refusing to admit her weakness. His face wobbled back and forth in her blurry vision. She wanted him to stop moving.

Taken aback by her tone of voice, Gage took a step backward. “Very well. Thank you for coming. You have given great comfort to this family.”

She only nodded. Focusing became more difficult with each passing second. She wasn't certain she would be able to walk all the way back to the Palace.

Gage almost turned away, but at the last moment, his eyes focused below her chin. “What is that mark?” he questioned, reaching to touch her skin. “Was that there when you arrived?”

“I have to go,” she said, hurrying away from him before his fingers could make contact. The two Elite quickened their steps to keep up. Saying nothing, Axandra concentrated on making her way home. Head bowed, she watched carefully each step she took, thinking of nothing else but climbing the hill without fainting.

In the Palace, Axandra felt drained of hope. She felt her soul darken, as though a piece of her flew away with the dying woman. No matter what happy thoughts she tried to muster, they turned to thoughts of despair and desolation. A bird's song morphed into that creature's growl. Trapped in these feelings, she fled immediately to her Residence, blocking any attempts to offer her comfort or aid, and shut herself behind the layers of doors.

In her bedroom, she closed the drapes, shutting out as much light as she could.

Then she hid under her covers, shrouded in solitude. She sobbed into her pillow, dumping the dregs of her wounded soul into the darkness of the space.

+++

20th Octember

Morning came
in brilliant sunslight, casting the bedroom in shades of purple as the rays penetrated the thick drapes. Buried beneath her quilts, Axandra ignored the sunshine. She couldn't tolerate such brightness.

The death drained so much from her. She wondered how the Healers could deal with the sensation over and over, each transition ripping them apart a little piece at a time. She felt a new respect for those performing their life service caring for the dying. She wanted to avoid that sensation forever.

The door to the room creaked slightly when it opened. Axandra knew that her aide had arrived, and she felt guilty for having treated everyone so rudely the night before, Miri especially. To avoid facing up to her actions, she pretended to be asleep, which was a silly attempt. Miri would know that she was awake with a simple passing thought.

The aide did not speak. The only sounds came from the soft friction of her padded shoes on the rug and the clatter of dishes as a tray came to rest on a small table near the balcony doors. Then the drapes were drawn back with a scrape of the wooden rings against the metal rod, flooding the room with light. The doors to the balcony opened with a click and the noise of birds and the wind in the trees broke into the silence.

The revelry of nature overpowered her senses. Axandra buried herself deeper still.

Miri stood beside the bed when she spoke at last. “Madam, I am not here to force you from bed. You may remain there as long as you require.”

Axandra sighed in relief. She wanted to be left alone.

“But I thought I would remind you that today is the twentieth. You said that Quinn should be arriving on the twenty-first for the play.”

The one thing in the world that could make her shed her cocoon was Quinn. Just the mention of his name brought a bit of peace to her soul, for the word instantly brought his sweet face to her mind. Pushing the covers down below her head, she found Miri looking at her and smiling.

“I thought that might work,” the aide gloated.

Axandra blushed at the truth.

As Miri pulled the quilts away, folding each of them at the end of the bed, she remarked, “He has a very interesting effect on you.”

“He does?” Axandra acted innocent. She sat up, leaning against the lacquered headboard. She still wore yesterday's clothes, having come straight into bed from her visit. The pants and tunic lay wrinkled and twisted around her body. Her braided hair came loose everywhere. Bits of curl clung to her cheeks.

Miri looked dreamily toward the sky as she said, “Your entire face lights up just thinking about him. Your smile is so contagious.”

Again, Axandra blushed. This time, she rolled herself out of bed on the opposite side of where Miri worked and made a quick escape to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of this look that Miri talked about. There, on her lips, arose an intoxicating smile. For the first time in months, her face shone with a natural glow. She'd gotten so used to seeing a glower when she looked at her reflection, the face of a worn out old woman. She'd forgotten when she used to be beautiful—and it wasn't that long ago.