Dragonfly Song (23 page)

22

IN THE MOTHER'S ROOMS

The Mother comes to the arena three days later. She's in a curtained litter chair carried by four men; two young priestesses walk behind twirling their sun parasols, their flounced skirts up over their ankles. The Mother isn't wearing as much gold as she had at the bull dance, but she looks just as much a queen.

Aissa had been right when she'd thought
The Lady of Ladies
. Long ago, in a battle of the gods, the earthshaker bull defeated the earth mother. He destroyed her palaces so that invaders could come from over the sea and build their own kingdom. But only the goddess of the earth can bring new life and the crops in their seasons, so although the bull god's king can make laws and armies, he can't rule this land without the goddess's priestesses.

There are many of them, but this woman is the matriarch of all – which is why she's known as the Mother.

Now the Mother has come to see Aissa.

Her two attendants try to look as if they're not as curious as everyone else when the Mother orders Mia, ‘I want the girl who called the cat.'

Mia pales as she salutes. Aissa is one of her best trainees, and she has a duty to defend her.

‘With respect, Mistress,' says Mia, ‘the girl doesn't speak.'

The Mother raises an eyebrow, intrigued. ‘Not at all?'

‘Not a sound.'

‘Interesting. But there's more than one way to call a cat. That's the girl I want.'

Mia salutes again and crosses the ring to where Aissa is practising one-handed handstands. She's fallen over more than she's stood; she's sweaty, dusty, and her hair's frizzing out of its plaits. She's nowhere near fit to present to a priestess.

‘I don't know what she wants,' Mia murmurs, trying to wipe the worst of the dust off Aissa's nose before leading her back to the Mother's chair. ‘Remember: you haven't done anything wrong.'

Aissa's surprised at Mia's distress. None of the acrobats believed that Mia even had a heart.

But she knows something that Mia doesn't: it's her fault that Zeta was gored. She deserves to be punished. She stands in front of the litter chair, head bowed.

The Mother pulls the curtains back to study her. ‘Open your mouth – and lift your head, girl . . . so you
do
have a tongue! You just choose not to use it.'

She snaps her fingers imperiously. Mia and Niko stand to attention.

‘I'm taking her. I'll send you a slave as a replacement acrobat.'

‘But Mistress,' Niko dares, ‘this girl has a real chance as a bull leaper. Would it not be possible to find another slave for your purpose?'

‘Slave?' snorts the Mother. ‘A girl who can call beasts is no slave. She's a priestess.'

And just like that, life changes again.

The Mother's wing of the palace is a labyrinth of rooms. They're all joined, leading from one to the other in complicated bends and twists, sometimes through
corridors, sometimes up stairs. It takes Aissa weeks to learn her way around. She never does figure out how to reach the Mother's chamber on her own; maybe she's not meant to.

And she's never sure just how many priestesses there are. Their order is as complicated as the rooms. The Mother is the head, with six Sisters under her. Each of the Sisters has assistants, and then there's a cloud of young priestesses and trainees who float to wherever they're needed. Aissa is one of the cloud.

Introducing her that first day, the Mother says, ‘Aissa doesn't speak, but she'll sing when she's ready. She has a rare gift and the goddess has a use for her that I don't yet know. Welcome her well.'

The giggles don't start till the Mother leaves the room.

‘How can she not speak?'

‘What, never?'

‘I'd go crazy if I couldn't talk!'

‘We'll go crazy if you don't stop!'

‘Why does the Mother say she can sing?'

‘What's her gift?'

‘Didn't you see the cat go to her yesterday?'

‘The Mother's cat? Went to a bull dancer?'

‘Very strange.'

They find her a cot in a room with three other trainees, and show her how to wear the long skirt with a crossover blouse tucked in at the waist. Her dancer's shorts and top disappear into the palace washing; her wolf cloak stays in the dancers' dorm. She can't imagine
the cloak here. The girls would complain that it stinks. It does stink, just a little bit, but she'd like to smell it again.

Her room is simple by palace standards, and more luxurious than anything in the Lady's Hall. Dolphins leap across the frescoed floor; the walls and ceiling are covered with flowers. There's a soft fleece on the bed and a rug to cover herself with. And there's a mirror, a bronze mirror, just for these four apprentices.

It doesn't take long to work out how important that mirror is. The goddess of this land demands beauty: a priestess doesn't leave her chamber until her face, body and clothes are all perfect.

‘Haven't you ever worn make-up?'

The girls aren't being cruel; they're just curious. They were all born in the palace and have never thought about the very different lives around it, the peasants and slaves who don't have time for beauty. How could Aissa be chosen as a priestess if she hasn't worn make-up?

Life as a priestess isn't all hair and make-up. The goddess demands beauty, but it's simply the background to the true rituals. And the true rituals aren't so different from the ones at Aissa's home. The bull god rules in public, but the Mother still talks to the house snake to read the future, and in a room on the top floor, sings the sun to rise each morning.

It's still dark when a servant lights the way from their chamber with a flaming torch. Aissa follows up the stairs with the other apprentice priestesses, and stands at the back of the room. She can just make out the shadowy figure of a woman in front of the windows.

The first morning everything is so strange and different that when the Mother starts to sing, Aissa still
doesn't understand.
How can she call from
inside
the palace?
Then the first rays of sun hit the eastern window. A snake slithers from a pot to the Mother's arms, and the room begins to brighten. Aissa gazes past the dark figure into the pink and gold sunrise, and feels the song thrill through her body. This is one familiar thing.

As the song ends and the room fills with soft morning light, she studies the people around her – she's not going to stop a lifetime of spying just because she's safe for a moment. Apart from a few well-dressed women and children, most are priestesses, but there's a sprinkling of men. One tall man with hair as red as a fox and an aura of kingship stands apart. He speaks to the Mother once the snake is safely back in its pot, and something in the way they stand together reminds Aissa of the Lady and the chief.

‘Lord,' she hears a younger man say, and finally Aissa understands. This is the Bull King. When he puts on the god's mask and speaks with the god's voice, he's a priest and almost a god; even without it he's the most powerful chief in the world. But he is a man, and needs the sun to rise like any other.

As if to prove it, he sends the younger man – his son, Aissa guesses – to call a servant for breakfast. Small tables appear, fresh cheese and figs, small fried fish and soft breads ... and Aissa, who has never eaten in the Hall except to scavenge under the tables for other people's leftovers, is sharing breakfast with the Bull King.

He even notices her once. The Mother points at her, obviously telling her story, and he looks over and nods.
Aissa scrambles to her feet to salute, stumbling in her new long skirt. Her stool tips and clatters on the tiles. The king looks amused and a few girls giggle.

‘Sit down!' one of her roommates hisses. ‘You don't have to do that at breakfast.'

One of the others picks up the stool for her.

Aissa blushes and sits.

A perfumed young man says something that makes everyone around him laugh.
Clumsy
and
bull dancer
are the only words Aissa understands – but they're enough.

It's just words, not rocks,
she reminds herself, which doesn't help nearly as much as she would have thought a year ago.

But my roommate picked up the stool for me.

That does help.