Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (22 page)

“Mother,” Jeliya said softly, spreading her arms again.

“Daughter,” Audola acknowledged, and smiled,
spreading her arms. And it was more than just a welcome, it was a beckon, one
that Jeliya answered by almost falling into her mother’s embrace. Strong,
familiar arms held her tight, rocked her even, and the peace and comfort they
gave drowned out all other considerations. She, at last, was home.

…the sleeping
megalith, lying beyond the curve of the world, moved in dreams; the dark was
inhaled, and the light, exhaled, turned…

Jeliya shook herself. Morn court dragged on, like
the drone of a hundred bees. In her low throne she sat silent, her hands,
thankfully free of the globe and scepter, folded loosely in her lap. Had morn
court always been this monotonous? How she longed for the moist warmth of the
far-away rainforests, the patter-plink of drizzle that never quite went away,
the click-clop of the hoofs of a being even farther – she locked down on that
train of thought quickly, not wanting to come anywhere near that core of
not-hurt that she could not allow herself to feel, that patch of untaking and
forgiving emptiness…

She took a small, polite sip of gulu, used the
motion of drinking to quick-scan the faces of the Queens at court.

The Ottanu is out there, in that lost sea of crowned
heads,
she thought,
the Ottanu and the others who sent warru to hunt and murder me.
Where are they?
Did they even now glance daggers at her, silently cursing
her name while singing her praises aloud, to her face?

And what of Sinyi, who seems convinced that those
warru were probably there to save me?
she wondered angrily, when she had
felt
the malice, had sensed the cold and professional will to destroy her and her
soul’s other half? Sinyi had been adamant, but every thread of Jeliya’s
consciousness told her that had those warru gotten hold of her, she would have
not seen another dawn.

Jeliya put the cup down and turned her outward
attention to the presentation being made to the High Queen. Another tribute to
the High Family complete with music, gifts, and pretty words. Special mention
was made of her return and congratulations were given. Last, a prayer of thanks
for the bountiful harvest.

She blinked once. Was that the final one? The
Priestesses were rising and gathering on the floor below, preparing for the end
rites, so morn court was indeed, at an end. Jeliya wanted to rejoice and thank
the Goddesses, but she still had duties to perform. She rose at the appropriate
time and prepared her av’rita. Her part in the end rites was well-rehearsed,
and she lifted her voice to the song, making the appropriate gestures and
adding her av’rita in a rite that invoked the Goddesses and in particular, the
God of the Harvest, on this first eve of the De’en’nu.

Her mother led the procession out of the Court Lain.
They would not have time to speak, for special servants were waiting to lead
her to her preparation lain. But Audola touched her hand as they stepped beyond
the formal radius of the Lain, and her touch imparted a feeling of love and a
gift of a small measure of strength, all that might be put into the contact of
a few gran. Then the servants were leading her away, for a brief rest. They
conducted her to a small lain where she was given a light meal. She tried not
to wolf it down. It was not nearly enough to hold her up to the rigors she would
face, but she could have no more. Then she lay down on the pallet in the center
and was instantly asleep.

the light
turned…

They woke Jeliya half a san’chron before Av’set, and
she reluctantly relinquished the velvet embrace of sleep to answer the summons
of duty. She went through another set of purifications. These were light purifications,
though, and by the time she was finished, it was nearly Av’set. They guided her
through av’turuns to the Temple to begin her vigil. The servants dressed her in
a loose, flowing de’siki robe of thin, light-blue silk, with pale gold patterns
down the front and back middle panels and slitted sleeves that she could slip
on and off her arms, depending on how cool the Temple became in deepest eve.
Her guinne flowed loose down her back with just a single gold band binding the
very ends. Soft, indoor Temple sandals were put on her feet, sacred symbols
were painted with a special purple henna on her arms, hands, and feet, and on
her face and neck. She was anointed with sweet-scented oils, rites were
murmured over her with incense and finally, as Av melded with the flowing edge
of the world, the Priestesses formed the special av’tun to the Temple of Ya’kano
and led Jeliya through.

They formed a solemn procession as they approached
the shallow steps before the icon of the Goddess. In the main Palace, her
mother would hold a similar vigil for her daughter, for this was not the normal
Festival ritual. Jeliya’s three eves of vigil were to test her worthiness to be
formally crowned High Heir, successor to the High Throne.

The head Priestess paced before Jeliya, and the two
junior Priestesses walked on either side of her, holding her hands and guiding
her to the proper place. To her left several large clay jars sat, clasping a
thousand pieces of uncut jadine in their red brown bellies. To her right were
clay platters to hold the finished stones in the circle of their palms. Before
her the Priestess held the scroll of Confirmation. She knelt and Jeliya and her
escort mimicked her.

“Goddess Ya’kano, please harken to and accept the
supplication of this Daughter of Av. In Solu’s name we pray.” As one the three
abased themselves, and a heartbeat later, Jeliya followed suit. “Ashe,” said
four voices in unison.

Her attendants rose, bowed to her and stepped back,
and burly Temple guards brought the jars and platters in closer and placed them
within half a pace of Jeliya.

She made her own supplication, then knelt on the
desi pad and picked up the first piece of jadine. It was dull, fractured, with
just the tiniest hint of the glitter of what it could be in the glow of light
as she turned it over and over in her hands. She looked at the scroll of
Confirmation.

“Goddesses,
Confirm in me,

By ‘rita and
Rite

By birth and
light

The fitness to
rule in thy sight

By blood and by
lon

In this sacred
san’chron

By these jewels
pure and bright.”

 But she could not start to say the words. Not yet.

In her fingers the stone stilled, and the words
before her on the scroll of Confirmation became unfocused.

Finally - finally I’m alone!
This was her
first moment alone, the first chance she had had in turns to touch what was
within her, that secret way that led off to the other end of her soul. Finally
she could relax her guard. She touched the hard cover of discipline she had
layered over it, to find that the shell melted away like old cobwebs and
drifted away like smoke. And there, beneath, was the Jur’Av’chi, a black velvet
cone as wide as her mind, that let into a pinprick, a single white fleck in an
infinite black wall. She traced its outer edge with her thoughts, with her
desires. Then she let it suck her in down to that infinitesimal inkling of
Gavaron that wafted about her like the finest trace of a familiar but forgotten
scent. She allowed herself to feel - and she missed him. She missed him so much
that it tore her apart, and she gasped out a single cry of anguish, and doubled
over. Her lips were muffled in her ceremonial robe and her tears stained the
floor of the Temple.

The Joining between them spread open like a flower
within her, a dark purple bloom of loss and hunger and
absence
. She ran
her thoughts across the velvet petals of pearl grey, tracing inward to the
singularity of not-quite emptiness, tasting the slightest breath of him.

She let herself remember the taste of his hands
across her skin, the flow of his breath along her lips in their last kiss - the
hunger and desperate desire to be one with her. The loss of those things were
almost too much to bear.

“Dear Goddess, Ya’kano - I miss him. I don’t know if
what we share is right, but I wish it. With all my being, I
wish
it.”

The confession actually calmed her inner turmoil,
somewhat. The pain suddenly seemed at one step removed, as if viewed through a
pane of glass.

 And then she could
feel
him, his thoughts
wrapping around hers, and his love like the touch of Av through dark clouds.
For the tiniest split of an infinite moment she breathed in that tiny shred of
him and rejoiced. Then he receded back into the lost mists of distance. She
clung desperately; then she let go.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Had it been the
hand of the Goddess that allowed her to be with him for even just an instant?

“Thank you, Ya’kano, thank you,” she whispered fervently.
“Please forgive me. I just - I just needed a moment. To be with him. Thank
you.” With a pang she covered the link over once more, as securely as she
could. Her eyes focused reluctantly, then blurred again as one last, hot tear
fell to the surface of the rough, palm-sized stone before she could stop it.
She moved to wipe it away, and then forgot to cry, for the trail the tear left shone
clear, pure, deepest and smoothest jadine along the uneven surface of the
stone. The words of Confirmation sprang to her lips unbidden, unread even, and
the power of Av rose within her like a laugh of joy. She raised the un-gem to
eye-level and marveled as it moved and pulsed in her hands, the surface almost
bubbling against her palms. Faint lines of light began to trace along the
surface, growing thinner and sharper as the words rang from her lips to the
still and silent air of the Temple. A splitting sound, like ice within rock,
rebounded from the walls, and flakes of grey began to fall away between her
fingers as she turned and turned the stone in wonder. First chips fell, then
small slab-like sections, and then she was wiping fine dust from the flawless
liquid purple gem-stone in her hands, so smooth that the faces seemed almost
wet to the touch. And deep in the heart was an intense purple glow, as only the
most pure stones evinced. It captured her and mesmerized her, it filled her
with a mild ecstasy. It held her for a moment out of time, for time out of
mind, for an eternity of eves.

Jeliya jerked and shook herself. A pale lavender
glow to the Este showed in the floor-to-ceiling windows before her. The single
cut gem lay in her hands. The first gem.

The first?
With a panicked gasp she reached to the
nearest clay jar and felt for another rough stone.
Did I only cut one
through the whole eve? Am I still only on the first stone?
Air met her
frantic groping as she quested for another stone from the pile.
How could I
have wasted the whole eve on the first?

Her fingers met the hard clay bottom of the jar. The
gem she held clattered to the marble floor as she used both hands to tip the
jar and look inside.

Empty. She tried another and another. All empty.

Jeliya sat back and looked slowly to her right. Nine
hundred and ninety-nine purple eyes of inner glow looked back, winking in the
first faint light of Av, and twinkling at her as if in mirth. The stone she had
held was the last. The last. It lay on the ground before her, unmarked by its
fall. On its surface slid the tiniest trace of moisture, leaving a liquid trail
along the silver-clear facet. The little drop found a perfect edge and slipped
off, fell to the ground like a tear.

Jeliya lifted her eyes to the image of the Goddess,
then bowed forward until her forehead touched the marble stones of the floor.

“Thank you, Ya’kano,” she whispered. “Thank you for
your blessing. I pray to be worthy of your benediction and the position of
trust I will hold. Thank you, ashe.”

She rose slowly, picked up the last gem, and set it
in its place just as the Priestesses appeared behind her to prepare her for the
turn’s Trials.

…the light turned,
rose and mauve…

As Av rose over the curve of the world, the gates to
T’Av’li swung open slowly, silently, as if in response to the lazy deluge of
light framing the Palace.

All assembled waited, breath held, for the first
sight of the High Queen. For, with her first step onto the path carpeted with
specially harvested grasses and flowers, the Festival officially began. She
would walk, unclothed, through her people, to the main Festival grounds, five
yori’turns away. They would see her without adornment, save the smallest pec’ta,
without concealment; this was indicative of the baring of fields and souls, the
time when secrets were brought to light as was the earth brought to light with
the reaping of the harvests.

The royalty nearest the gates gasped and pointed,
drawing the attention of their neighbors. The members of the Queens’ Families
were also sparsely dressed, feeling themselves akin to the High Queen in doing
so. This was to show their trustworthiness not only in return to High Queen and
the Goddesses, but to their Tribes.