Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (21 page)

When Av finally set, he concentrated most of his
attention of Tema. Consequently, like himself, she was the most violently ill.
There was some grim satisfaction among the grooms, and mutters that the
troublemakers were “getting their just desserts.” Gavaron just smiled inwardly
as they scrubbed his space, yet again.

As eve fell, and the moans of those around him
lessened with the waning of the light, he moved his efforts to a far part of
the menagerie, and the second wave of grooms obligingly moved away as the first
wave went to their meager meals and beds. All the mounts around him were
exhausted with being sick and with light-migraines, the return of light so
gradual, he hoped, that they would not realize what was happening until he got
a chance to contact them. They were resting, for once, unchained to their
sleeping blocks so that they would not foul the bedding. He himself was
mentally drained as well as physically exhausted - who knew that manipulating
matter at such a small scale would be more difficult than rolling a boulder
up-hill? His mind burned, but he could not rest - all had to be in readiness,
before the Queens recovered, or they might miss their chance. He knew he had to
be gone before they got around to interrogating him again.

Stretching his aching mind, he drooped like the
rest, but searched furiously for any groom close. They were scattered to the
far corners of the place, chasing his efforts at decontamination. Then he
whispered,

*:Tema...:*

She jumped and screeched as if stung by ten jak’spanya
at once, until he clamped down on her struggling thoughts. She flailed in her
restraints, though, her head whipping around, the whites showing.

“What...?!”

*:Hushshshsh....!:* he hissed. *:I have found a way
to free your av’rito’ka...:*

*:What...? How?!? How did you - how?! Why have you
not done this before?! Who - what are you?! I don’t...?!:* Her thoughts tumbled
over each other. He suppressed a chuckle. He knew she would recover her
abilities quickly.

*:I only this turn discovered the agent binding our
minds,:* he explained. *:I have been - helping those around us to purge it.:*

*:The vomiting sickness?
You
did this to
us?!:* Disbelief warred with outrage in her mind’s voice.

*:We are conversing,:* he pointed out calmly, *:and
the blessings of Av are no longer denied you. Plus, I did it to myself first.
You heard me, last turn. My return to light was not - gentle.:*

*:How? How was it done?:* she demanded.

*:They were feeding us - there are pearls that hold
av’rita...:*

*:Dio’gin,:* she said, and he could see her eyes
glinting at him in the weak moonslight.

*:They have found a way to corrupt that property -
to make them anathema to light. And they have been feeding those pearls, in
some powdered form, I would guess, to us.:*

He could feel the weight of her eyes. She gazed at
him a long time.

*:From anyone else, I would not believe these
words,:* she finally said, softly. *:From anyone but you.:*

*:I appreciate that,:* he said, sincerely. *:I have
been trying to be gentle, slow. But beware - when Av rises...:*

*:I understand - the moonslight is already blinding.
I - thought it a side effect of the sickness afflicting the ruling - bitches -
of this cursed place. I thought they were trying to take even the touch of the
moonslight from me.:*

*:No, that which makes them sick is caused by is
something else. But we will need next turn, possibly the next two turns, to get
used to Av again,:* he explained. *:And neither you nor any other captive here
must eat anything they give us. On the morrow’s eve or the next - we escape.:*

CHAPTER
XI

the light twisted and turned, winding
along its straight path, and the darkness, confused, turned…

Jeliya
was up with the released breath of Av’dawn. The servants came and bathed her in
special oils, murmuring purifying rites over her. She said her own set of
purifying rites, preparing to be brought before her mother in T’Av’li. For all
who leave the Ritious City and enter again must be sanctified of body, spirit
and av’rito’ka, before coming into the house of Av. Elsewhere, her brothers and
all who traveled to retrieve her were similarly cleansed.

She broke her eve’s fast with a meal of baked flat
bread and lightly grilled meats, cucumbers, soft cheese, and porridge with nuts
and dried fruit. And after, she drank a special gulu-spice tea to finish her
repast. She lingered over it as long as she dared, dreading what was to come
next: her dressing.

They clothed her in a cloth-of-gold bustiere and pec’ta
covered with apricot jewels and a mantle to match. Delicate gold bangles
wreathed her wrists and ankles. Heavy ornaments adorned her ears and serpentine
rings danced on her fingers and toes. Her skin was dusted with gold and jadine
glitter, her eyes accented with kohl, her lips with beeswax impregnated with
some sparkling substance and lightly tinted toward wine. An intricate creation
of finely-wrought gold and sapphire and deepest purple jadine clasped her
throat, spreading up like creeping vines to her jaw and trailing down across
her sternum to come to a point deep in her cleavage. Even her finger- and
toenails were polished and colored white-gold.

Last, the maddi came and put her freshly redone
guinne up into a formal crownette, heavy with gold and kente accents. A veil
fine as mist trailed down from it to enshroud her shoulders. A small scepter
and globe were rested in her hands.

Jeliya wanted to scream and tear off all the finery.
Was I really so trussed and dolled and painted up before my sojourn?
Had
she really not noticed the amount of unnecessary ornamentation she had worn in
the past? The skin-paint itched, the veil itched, the make-up itched; the bustiere
was binding and uncomfortable, the Dakua crownette heavy and giving her the
beginnings of a headache. The jewelry clashed and clattered, and she felt
awkward and weighted down. She could stand without help, but manservants came
in and helped her anyway, so as not to disturb the fanciful creations of the
maddi. They even went so far as to escort and lightly support her to her
palanquin.
And I’m supposed to wear this all turn? Through morn court and
meals?

The High Heir struggled to regain the sense of
acceptance of all the trappings of her office that she had had before her
search, but it eluded her. How had she borne it? When had she stopped being
able to? She sat rigid on the soft cushions, holding the two artifacts at the
correct positions on her knees and longing for the time when she could put them
down.

Best not to think of that,
she counseled
herself. So she turned her mind instead to the wide paved way before her. The
way she would travel back to T’Av’li was the Dhabo’enu Way, the Golden way
prepared for the High Queen and High Heir to traverse to the Festival grounds,
the Way of the Thousand Steps.

The way was a special type of inside-out av’tun,
that ran through all the thoroughfares of the City - it ran through all and
merged all into one straight path, like the closing of an intricate fan,
playing the strands of space and time to trick the eye of Av, so that no matter
what boulevard a citizen stood on, she or he would see the High Ones pass. But
to Jeliya and her mother, the way was an arrow-straight road from T’Av’li to
the Royal Pavilion, no longer than the flight of a nde’tarru.

The Rite for the Dhabo’enu was already in place for
the Festival, casting an amber glow, the shimmer of spider web’s dew caught in
Av’s glory, upon the streets of the Holy City; but it only affected those of
the Blood and their attendants, and only through the Rite of Access.

Am I really traveling all roads simultaneously,
split into tens of images all over Ava’Lon, or do all the roads actually become
one? Is there any real difference?
Jeliya wondered. Whichever it was, the
phenomenon never ceased to amaze her.

She settled herself and began weaving the Rite of
Access to the Dhabo’enu as the rest of her entourage formed up around and
behind her.

“Way of Gold,

Way of High,

Way of silken, shifting light,

By the Word,

By the Blood,

Grant me and mine the tunnel’s sight,

By strength of Soul,

By guile of Mind,

Unto me grant way of Right!”

Not the most imaginative of verse, but it was
sufficient. All the key words were there to trigger the Rite. She braced as the
bearers bent and grunted in unison, hoisting her smoothly into the air under
the brilliant glare of Av. They watched patiently as the gossamer curtains of
the Golden Way shivered and folded away before them, the silken parting of
lucent robes of Av, with the crystalline sound of a thousand pearls striking a
jade bell. Similar sounds of the transporting palanquin of her entourage being
raised came to her, their positions creating an arrowhead of royalty with her
as the tip, to pierce the veils of the City, and cleave their way to the
Palace. Otaga, seated on her kati’yori, signaled to the other mounted warru to
form up around the palanquin, herself on Jeliya’s left and a length behind. The
princes, too, rode kati’yori, claiming the rank of warru.

“Highness, we await your pleasure,” she said
formally, when all were in place. Jeliya dipped her head once and plastered a
serene half-smile on her features. Her lead bearer called out the cadence and
they started forward at a slow trot, building gradually to the ground-devouring
half-run, half-march that they had been trained to sustain for yori’turns. The
kati’yori, also parade trained, fell into a counter-step, and the whole rhythm
was almost hypnotic.

The crowds began to appear right outside of the Lan’mba
circle. Melea of her return had of course been spread, and the populace was
well in the mood for a public spectacle. People began singing the song of
welcome to the rhythm of the cadence of her bearers as soon as she came into
sight. But as she drew close, some of the voices faltered.

Is it that obvious that I’ve been unwell?
She turned her
head to bestow the serene smile and a slight nod to the nearest citizens, and
what she saw before they sank into deep bows of respect shook her. The faces
were stunned, shocked. As if the rumors of her trials had not been exaggerated
enough.

Even through the Dhabo’edu shimmer, even beneath all
the make-up and body paint, they could still see that I am not as I was before?
Or is the artistry of the maddi designed to enhance, not my features, but my
marks of illness?
The reactions and her own thoughts troubled her, occupying her mind for a
fourth of the trip, until the baleful stare of Av began to beat upon her
forehead, not unlike the steps of the bearers. The heat and light seemed to
march across her brain, searing her thoughts, and she felt perspiration seep
forth from under her arms and along her back and on her face.

My reactions to Av were not like this before I
encountered that boro’thrista,
she thought disconsolately. She tried
not to imagine what it would be like having to follow this same route on foot,
unable to stop, nor take refreshment.

Her budding headache blossomed fully behind her eyes
and in her temples, and she fought not to squint with the pain. She took a
small sip from the water bag at her side, the polite ceremonial sip allowed
her, wishing that she could guzzle the liquid from the container.

*
:
Highness?:* Otaga’s concern was almost
overwhelming. Had she made some small noise of pain?

*
:
Head
,:
* she answered truthfully, not
having the strength to try and prevaricate.

*:We are almost to the rest point, Highness. I can
give you a dose of medicine with your refreshment.:* The Head Warru’s voice
sounded softly grim.

*:D’rad’ni? She expected this?:* Leave it to the ol’bey
woman to tell Otaga and not her charge. Did she think pain would have made
Jeliya hesitate?

*:Highness, she expected worse. She bid me to be
prepared. To show your infirmity is fine, but to show weakness…:*

Jeliya wanted to throw the stupid golden orb in her
hand as far as she could. Then she calmed herself. No, there was no getting
away from politics, nor from using everything, including her hurts, as some
means to gain leverage. She did not have to like it, but she might as well get
used to it.

*:Thank you, Otaga. I will take it as soon as we can
stop.: *

The Head Warru’s relief was palpable. Jeliya
straightened her back and widened her smile a bit. The throngs around her
responded unconsciously, singing more fervently and shedding tears, throwing
flowers and handkerchiefs at her bearers’ feet.

How will they react when I step onto the Golden Path
without robes, and the full extent of my injuries are in evidence?
Again, she
pushed away thoughts of that trial that lay ahead of her. Better to concentrate
on the pain of now than the pain of the next turn.

…the light
turned…

Jeliya was visibly wilting. Otaga watched out of the
corner of her eye as the proud shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and the chin
and jawline, normally parallel with the ground, dipped and wavered. Now and
again her eyes closed and the tiniest furrow of pain appeared between her
brows. The light of Av seemed to beat down on her, draining her rather than
sustaining her. Then she seemed to catch herself and stiffen her back, lift her
chin, and smile at the air before her.

Otaga wanted to grind her teeth. The Warru First
stared at the way ahead of them, trying to shorten the path by sheer will. They
were in the upper reaches of the city now, passing the third inner circle. Unfortunately
the street was steeper, and the bearers slowed due to this. They were
two-thirds of the way to the palace, but the last stretch would be the worst. How
to call an unscheduled rest without it appearing to be because the Heir needed
it?

Almost in answer to her not-prayer, one of the kati’yori
stumbled. She turned to see Rilantu clinging to the poor beast as it developed
a bad limp and stumbled again. He held up an open palm and Otaga responded with
a raised closed fist.

“Highness, we are having difficulty with one of the
mounts.” She fought to keep her voice even, to hide her elation.

“Let us stop, then. Please tend to it,” came the
not-faint reply.

*:Rilantu?:* She called, as the prince swung down
check the lame mount.

*:Split hoof. I am healing it. Should be just a few
gran.:* Nothing in his tone suggested that he might have –
encouraged
the hoof to split. Otaga was not fooled. Nor was she ungrateful. Jeliya could
be offered refreshment as a courtesy during the stop, and she could accept or
refuse. She accepted, and drank slowly and decorously, and refused the second
cup that she needed so very much. The bearers, too, refreshed themselves, and
seemed to be reinvigorated.

*:Done, Warru First,: he sent, patting the kati’yori.

 When the prince swung back into his panquin the
bearers lifted the palanquin and Heir as if she weighed nothing and set off in
a determined march, as if to make up for lost time. Jeliya became like a statue
of jet brown, proud, ramrod straight, and unshakable.

Otaga cast a glance to the older prince. His eyebrow
lifted the tiniest bit, and that was all. The Warru First internalized her
smile. Her thanks had been received.

The rest of the procession seemed to fly by after
that, and before Otaga could break a sweat again, they were at the base of the
great stair that led to the main doors of T’Av’li. Here the crowds were
thickest, the singing loudest, the shower of tokens the heaviest. All
dismounted, and arrayed themselves as they had before. On Otaga’s signal they
began climbing the stair in step with Jeliya’s bearers. The singing crowds fell
behind and the huge doors split open to receive them, like welcoming arms. Finally,
they entered the circle of the front hall where all the Queens were assembled
in tiered seats, the Lesser Queens highest and farthest back. They were all
turned toward the entrance expectantly, and as the first bearers hit the top
step, the door guards rapped on the marble floor with the butts of their
spears. On the fourth mark the Queens began their own song of welcome, standing
and spreading their arms. At the head of the hall waited the High Queen and her
Voices. On the twelfth mark the Voices stood, their arms spread, and the High
Heir’s escort stopped and fell to one knee. The bearers took eight more paces
and stopped, lowering the palanquin slowly as if its occupant were made of the
most fragile jadine crystal. It settled before the steps to the receiving
throne of the High Queen. As it touched the floor, the song ended. Jeliya knelt
forward and spread her arms. She raised her own voice alone to sing a joyous
greeting of one long absent returned. When she stopped, silence thundered in
the hall for a sils, as the High Queen took in her returned daughter and her
escort. Then she stood, slowly, gracefully, and spread her arms, lifted her
voice in a song of joyous welcome, to one long absent and missed. Jeliya folded
her arms about her shoulders, taking in the welcome. She raised her face up to
her mother. Almost without signal, two of the throne guards came forward and
assisted her to her feet, offering strong forearms for her to grasp. They
escorted her up to the second to last step, one down from the throne, and left
her to stand on her own. Mother and daughter regarded each other as if this
were the first time they were seeing each other after her long truancy.