Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (5 page)

Then in shocked realization, Jeliya looked at
herself.
When and how did I become so dependent upon his nearness? Does that
make me weak in the worst possible way?
Jeliya stared at the wall, looking
seriously at herself and the changes wrought within her by her experience. She
had never depended so on another in her short life for completeness.
Is it
wrong? Will it cripple me in the moment that I most need strength?

She did not want to believe that. But she could not
afford to discount that possibility. And she wished fervently for a wiser head
to talk to, for reassurance that what had been done would not be her downfall.

But, she realized, her fear and worry and sorrow
would have to wait. She was almost home, with all of its own perils. Whether
she was crippled or uplifted by the Jur’Av’chi, she had to at least
appear
to be whole and well. She had to have control over herself until she could
consult with someone how best to deal with the Jur’Av’chi, short of breaking
it, or deal with it herself. She had to give every appearance of normalcy and
fitness to rule.

So she pulled in all of her discipline and training
as Heir to the High Throne. She stilled her quaking soul and took the fear
apart piece by piece, worried the worry shred from shred, and buried the sorrow
under layer after layer of mantra. And regretfully, she plastered discipline
and tempered will over the link, covering it with opalescent sheaths until it
was only evident on the subconscious level. She purged herself of emotion, of
affectivity and disquiet until she did not even feel regret. She closed her
eyes as Jeliya, after turns of hardship, torn between the love of her land and
the love of her soul, exhausted and hurt and wilting inside, and opened them as
High Heir, returned stronger for the trials she suffered to save what was hers
and bearing tidings that could affect the fate of all those around her. It was
not quite a lie and almost the truth, a compress for a wounded soul to be sent
back into battle. And though, sooner or later her inner pains would have to be
dealt with, she decided resolutely that it would be later. She did not have the
time now to be distraught.

“Otaga, Pentuk, Rilantu, Staventu,” she called in a
voice without even a shadow of the tiredness and distress she had freely shown
up to now. Those summoned came in instantly, concern written on their faces,
only to see a calm and somewhat careworn High Heir gazing placidly back at
them. Of the wounded Jeliya there was no sign. The mantle of the High Heir
completely shrouded her in a calm that was, to all appearances, unshakable. For
an instant they were all dumb-founded. Then their own masks and discipline fell
into place.

“We have been gone a long time, and we have been
through many travails,” she said. “But we have returned to the Central Lon, and
it has its own trials. Please apprise me of the events that occurred in my
absence at the Bolorn’toyo. I have a lot to catch upon, and little time to do
it.”

“Yes, you have,” Rilantu replied, sitting to her
right. “On both counts.” The others arrayed themselves around her.

“Tell me what I have missed,” she said, looking
around.

“The Bolorn’toyo, for one thing,” Staventu
commented, and she did not fail to note that his hand was curled affectionately
around Pentuk’s. His tone implied something serious, more serious than mere
delinquency.

“Tell me.”

They all looked at each other, then left it to
Rilantu to break the news. “Jeliya,” he said gravely, “you were challenged at
the Bolorn.”

“
What?!
”
Challenged
? In her mother’s
own Hall? “Why? By whom?”

“‘Why’ was because of your absence. ‘By whom,’ was
the Ottanu.”

Jeliya’s head spun. A challenge? At the Bolorn?
Things were a lot worse than she thought if some Border Queen felt she could
challenge the High Heir in the heart of T’Av’li.

“And how did the Queens react to Mother’s
announcement?” she asked with a sinking feeling.

“There were many strong protests. Calls for regency,
for delay. And the Ottanu used that as an opening to question your whereabouts,
and in doing so, question your fitness to assume the High Throne.” He told her
the whole incident in detail, including what had occurred at the Salaka and
their suspicions concerning Tokia’s motives. Jeliya listened carefully,
frowning slightly, as she added this information to what she had learned out in
the unclaimed lons. He told her about the High Queen’s idea to collaborate with
the Doan Queen to possibly foil Tokia’s schemes.

“The Doan?” Jeliya’s frown deepened, then
disappeared. A flit of memory - a spear flying past, in the Doan coral and
mauve. She looked around. “There is something of my journeys that I think you
should know,” she said.

“Yes, tell us what happened to you,” Staventu urged,
sitting forward. “As much as you can,” he added. They all leaned closer,
eagerly.

She considered what to tell them and what to leave
out. “I had an accident,” she began, “and I fell on a poisonous plant that has
not been seen before. It is like thrista magnified times ten. I was rescued
almost immediately and treated, but I was delirious and fevered and effectively
blind.” Pentuk gasped, and Jeliya smiled reassuringly at her. “I...” she
hesitated, not wanting to give away just yet that she had found what she was
looking for, in a manner of speaking, “came very close to what I was looking
for.” It was not a lie, and more truth in more ways than one. “And I also came
very close to death. The one who helped me, saved me. He nursed me back to
health. But once the Rite of Finding bonded to me, he deemed that it was no
longer safe to stay where we were. We left and used the binding of Finding to
come closer to you. We were pursued. By warru of many different Tribes. Or
rather, by many warru implicating many different Tribes, including the Doan and
the Ottanu.” She looked at Otaga. “They tried to kill us. The only thing that
saved us was stumbling into the Cribeau’lons. My benefactor said that these
warru had been trying to find me since my accident, and that the plant I fell
in was -
made
, made to be that deadly poisonous. Had I not been treated
almost instantly, I would not have made it.

“We ran for turns with little food or rest. I was
weak from the poison and from not being able to perform the Rite of Solu during
my illness - I was just recovering from the lor’den, as a matter of fact,
before we had to flee. So I could only risk an av’tun once and it was very
short and unstable, but it took all my av’rita and strength. They found us
again within half a turn. We were both wounded, though my savior more than I. I
couldn’t perform any healing - the Cribeau did the healing. Then we waited at
the edge of the Cribeau’lons for your egwae.”

There was silence as the brief summary she had fed
them filled their mental jaws past chewing. Hunted by warru even before the
egwae had been sent? A dangerous plant that was deliberately
engineered
to
be deadly? The Doan, a new ally turning out to possibly be an enemy? It was
just shy of being too fantastic to believe, and yet none would doubt her words.

“Obviously,” Otaga said slowly into the question-laden
silence, “obviously you do not want to say just yet who your savior is.” It was
a question, and Jeliya nodded in answer. “Then we will not ask about that one.
You said that you came very close to what you were looking for. You were
looking for the cause of the Zehj’Ba. Did you find it?” At Jeliya’s silence that
bespoke her reticence, the Warru First held up a placating hand. “This is
politically crucial, Highness. If you cannot give good enough cause for being
absent during the Bolorn, your and the High Queen’s political standing will be
damaged. How seriously is yet to be seen, but you must be prepared to defend
your position.”

“But she was hurt,” Rilantu pointed out. “Seriously
hurt. Any ol’bey’woman would be able to confirm that.”

Otaga shook her head. “She also sent the majority of
her escort away
before
she was hurt,” she countered, “which, I am sorry
to say, will not stand well. If they had been with her, the chances of her
being so seriously wounded would drop to nearly nothing. One thing that Tokia
implied in her challenge was that the Heir had been negligent. Your being hurt
because you sent your escort away - well, it would only seem to substantiate
her claim.” She looked apologetic at the unintended but inescapable slight
toward the Heir. “If the fact that you were injured is to be brought up, it
will have to be secondary to what you have found.”

Jeliya wanted to look away, but held Otaga’s eyes.
Then she nodded very slowly. “I found it. I know what the cause of the Zehj’Ba
is.”

The group around her sighed away a collectively held
breath.

“Do you know
where
it is?” Staventu asked.

 Jeliya shook her head. “Not precisely. But I know
that it is within the boundaries of the Av’ru. And very close to the borders. I
would hazard a guess that it is somewhere in the unclaimed lons.”

“Close to where you were?”

“I don’t know.” She considered. “I would think not.
There
are
two main areas of unclaimed lons that actually go all the way
to the Border. One in the Este and one in the Weste. It is buried in the
ground, and I don’t think it has been moved. Yet.”

“And you will, I hope, explain all of these cryptic
remarks in Mother’s presence?” Staventu said, raising an eyebrow and crossing
his arms.

“Cryptic? I? I am the soul of clarity, and
erudition. Me ain’t know what’chu talkin’ ‘bout,” she rejoined, putting on her
best creole dialect.

Staventu grinned. “It’s good to have you back,” he
said.

They talked a little more about their speculations
then left at an informal dismissal from Jeliya as she pleaded quick tiring and
that sleep called. Relieved that she had kept up a good face while they were
there, she relaxed the discipline about the Jur’Av’chi and nursed the still
bleeding wound of the absence of
him.

the darkness
turned…

Soku sat down at her low work table and felt a rush
of excitement at the slim stack of papi’ras that had been placed in the middle
of her well-organized work stacks. There were official stamps and seals on
each. She counted them. Eighteen. Then she drew a breath and looked at the top
document. It said that one Soku sul Doan had agreed to open her records,
residences and palace to official inspection, and that, pending the final
report, she could begin surveying a location within the Palace grounds for her
Cres-Terrou port exit. Upon receipt of the final report, she could begin
construction of said port.

Soku laughed softly and sorted through the sheets,
noting which names had been put forth for inspection, and then she called for a
map of the Realm to see where each port exit would fall. The pattern was
irregular, most heavily concentrated in the Western Border’lons, but six Estern
Border’lons and three Central’lons showed up.

Thirty would be perfect,
she thought to
herself. Thirty Border Queens protected from Tokia’s machinations would perhaps
not tip the scale geopolitically under normal circumstances, but thirty
powerful, wealthy allies, all sworn to loyalty to the High Queen, was something
else, something with which to be reckoned. They could not be ostracized by
their neighbors – they would always have an outlet for Trade, even with every
neighboring lon turned against them. They could not be pressured into unwanted
alliances. Soku looked at the map and realized that she had created something
unique, something that would aid not just her Border’lon sisters, but the Heir
as well…

Barajini came in just then, followed by two
assistants, breaking her train of thought. The three were loaded down with
scrolls in baskets, which they set down before the Doan Queen.

“What is all this?” Soku asked, eying the baskets
with curiosity and just a little misgiving.

“The fallout from our turn in court,” Barajini said,
her voice dry with irony. “These are petitions for admittance into our Yakan’tsu.”
She held out a scroll from the top of her pile.

Soku did not reach for it. “Petitions for
admittance? You can’t be serious.” She shook her head. “How many?”

“Over three hundred Tribes.”

Almost a third of the wuman realm? Soku wanted to
laugh again. Three hundred port exits would dilute her network down to worthlessness.
A ploy of Tokia’s? She took the petition and read the name of the Queen who had
submitted it. Jasine sul Talwi. Not usually one she did business with - this
Mid-Noraen lon Queen took too many risks and usually lost large sums in
non-lucrative deals. Definitely not one she would choose with whom to open a venture.

“If you would, Barajini, make a list of all the
petitioners. I will write polite dissuaders to those most obviously unsuited.
The others we will send the terms and conditions to, with a response sheet. If
that doesn’t frighten them off, then we will give them all due consideration.
But we will post a notice - as of now, our impending Yakan’tsu is closed to
petitions.”

Barajini produced three documents with the flare of
a conjurer. One was the asked-for list of names. The second was the
politely-worded refusal. The third was a notice of closure of the Cres-Terrou
Yakan’tsu. Her face was dead-pan as she presented them.