The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (11 page)

wish that one of them could be more than just a friend, don’t you?

Out with it. Who is it that managed to touch your little heart? The

soft-boiled one or the, eh, eccentric one?”

Arranulf was fiery red by now. This conversation was not exactly

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going in the direction he wanted.

“No, no,” he protested, “it’s not like that. Besides, Obyann is like

Lethoras. Strictly women. Big women, he told us. The real kind. The

child bearing kind. And Rahendo... Rahendo is sweet, but my taste

runs otherwise.”

Hemarchidas gave him a pitiful look.

“So, it is one of the other pages. For your sake I hope it’s not

Iramid. Believe me, sooner or later he’ll mean trouble for whoever

gets involved with him.”

“No, no, it’s not him either.”

“Well, I don’t want to pry, so let me give you some general advice.

Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be. You meet someone and

your heart runs away with you. You think you have all the time in

the world and that things will grow naturally if you just let them. You

think the best way is the long, gradual way...”

Hemarchidas stopped. He didn’t want to sound too bitter. He

took a deep breath.

“All I’m saying is, don’t be naive. You could be in for a rude

awakening. There might be things involved you know nothing about.

Don’t waste your time chasing a dream. Find out. If you’re certain

you’re, eh, interested in someone, let them know in a way they can’t

misunderstand. They might reject you for all kind of reasons, but

better a short, intense pain than a hopeless, protracted, miserable

longing. Then again, you might get lucky. That’s what I would do.

Now, anyway.”

“So it is true, what they whisper,”
Arranulf thought.
“You were

in love with the prince. With your best friend. You waited patiently,

hoping that over time friendship would evolve into love. And then

something crushed your dream... and your heart. It must be torture.

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You’re still friends. You see him every day. You probably tell each other

things you tell nobody else. And you know it will never go any further,

that it will never grow into what you really want. The best thing to do

would be to go away, far away. Out of sight is out of mind, they say. But

you can’t. You can’t leave your friend, because he needs you. You can’t

go away, not in these circumstances. Besides, you don’t want to. No

wonder sometimes you’re lost to the world.”

Then he did something that he would never have thought he

would dare do.

“I’m so sorry for you, Hemarchidas,” he said, and he kissed him

on the cheek.

“And for myself, for now I am in exactly the same predicament as

you.”

He ran out of the door, just in time before the tears came.

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Chapter 3:

New Plans

If you leave the city of Torantall, the capital of Zyntrea, by the

great northern gate, the one they have been calling the Traitor’s Gate

since the Maiden on the Walls ordered some City Council members

and a few officers to be hanged there about twenty years ago, and

you take the great highway for some twelve miles, you will see a

small road on your right side, marked by a little statue of a crying

child. If you follow the Way of Tears, as the locals call it, for some

three miles more, it will lead you into a dark forest. Still further on

you will come to a clearing. You will see a little hill surrounded by

weeping willows. On top of the hill stands the temple of Murandana,

Goddess of Hopeless Cases and Lost Causes.

Nobody much comes there anymore. One or two supplicants a

week maybe. They stand before the statue of the Goddess, represented

as a young girl releasing a white dove out of her hands. They say their

prayers and ask for a favor. Then they leave an offering on her altar.

It was rather unusual to find two young women sitting on the

stairs of the temple.

“Not even a little bit?” the youngest asked peevishly, pouting her

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full lips.

She was about fifteen and very beautiful. Her companion was in

her early twenties, with very short hair. She wore a men’s leather

riding outfit.

“Dirina, my dear, how shall I put this?” she said, as if trying to

explain something to a not very bright child. “Have I taken you?” she

asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. Have I taken you?”

“No,” the girl said, nonplussed, “no, you haven’t.”

“Well, there is your answer,” Martillia said, looking at the road,

not particularly enthralled by the conversation. “If I had the slightest

interest in what you have to offer sexually, I would have taken you

already. Without fuss. Without asking. I haven’t, so I don’t. You would

have liked it though, I think.”

“Well, I’ve never been...” Dirina didn’t finish the sentence and

turned her back to Martillia, who didn’t seem to care. This was

not how you treated the reigning beauty of her village and several

neighboring ones.

Dirina was furiously trying to think of a scalding reply when a

third woman appeared, on horseback. When she had led her horse

up to the foot of the temple stairs, she dismounted.

“Dirina,” Martillia ordered the still sulking girl, “go and take care

of the lady’s horse. Bring it to our own and stay there until I call you.”

“So much for the great goddess Murandana,”
Dirina thought,

seething with barely repressed anger.
“Not only didn’t she grant my

wish, although I left her an offering, now I’m treated as just another

mount.”

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She nevertheless descended the stairs, took over the reins from

the old lady... and paled. This was no less than Her Holiness, the First

Daughter of the Great Mother. She flushed and made a clumsy curtsy.

“Your Holiness,” she murmured.

“Thank you my child,” the old woman answered smiling

benevolently. “Please, leave us alone.”

“For such an old lady she is in great shape,”
Dirina marveled as she

led the horse away.
“Imagine riding a horse at her age. She’s positively

ancient.”

Martillia didn’t rise.

“You look well, Trysulda,” she said, as the First Daughter climbed

the steps.

“So, do you, my dear. And would your teeth fall out, or your tongue

dry up in your mouth, if you were to call me mother? Just once?”

“You’re remarkably sentimental for such a powerful woman,

Trysulda.”

“So would you be if it had taken you more than twenty six—”

“Oh, please, not the twenty-six hour labor story. Not again.”

“I don’t see why not. The midwife said she had never witnessed a

more prolonged or more difficult birth.”

“Isn’t it about time you cut the umbilical cord already then?”

The First Daughter sighed. Then she smiled.

“It’s good to see you. I didn’t ask you to meet me here so we could

bicker the day away.”

“About that. Are we in such bad shape? Are we a lost cause?”

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85

Trysulda laughed.

“I chose this temple because it is in a secluded place, we can see

others coming, and yet it is not too far from the city. Also, nobody

would think anything of seeing the High Priestess in a temple, would

they?”

“They might, seeing as this is Murandana’s temple. So, you

reached the top. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Sorry about

the lateness and blah and blah, but there was an awful lot to be done

in Ximerion. Our chapters are disintegrating.”

“I feared they might. We were overambitious. I knew it. Griswinda

pushed us too hard. That’s why she had to go.”

“And lucky for you, the majority of the Synod agreed.”

“Luck hadn’t anything to do with it, my dear. The vote was

unanimous.”

“How can you be sure? I know the procedure somewhat. Isn’t the

Sacred Vote supposed to be secret as well as anonymous?”

“Oh yes, it is, my dear. But I made sure there were no dissenters.

Both chalices contained poison. It was in Griswinda’s own interest.

She could have suffered for hours, days even, if the vote had been

divided. She died happy, I think. She was all triumphant and a

moment later... she was all dead.”

Martillia grinned.

“Nasty precedent, nevertheless, don’t you think, Trysulda?”

“Oh, my dear, I have since changed the rules a little bit. The ones

who have taken the initiative for the vote have to drink first from the

white chalice. Then the one who is put to the vote has the right to fill

it with a liquid of her own choice. I’m not naive, my dear.”

“No,” Martillia conceded, “that you are not.”

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“For instance, when I arrived I saw that lovely young girl look at

you with both anger and love. We chose Dirina especially to be your

assistant because we know she will grow into a smart, strong ally.

You should bed her instead of aggravating her. That would be the

wisest thing to do. It can’t be that hard for you, can it?”

Now Martillia laughed out loud.

“Trysulda, you are unbelievable.”

“I don’t see why. It is just the smart thing to do, and I know for a

fact that your, eh, inclinations won’t make it a difficult or disagreeable

task.”

“Easy now. I ride men too.”

“Ride them? You would fuck and impregnate them if you could.”

“That’s no language for the First Daughter of the Great Mother.”

Martillia chuckled.

Trysulda shrugged.

“I speak as your mother as well. You need some anchor in your

life. You know, we examined her thoroughly, and her greatest quality

is that she is fiercely loyal. Not to mention that she is very smart,

strong, and a downright beauty. And she worships the ground you

walk on. What more could you want in a partner?”

“Stop overselling her, Trysulda, please,” Martillia said, laughing.

“I promise I will give it some serious consideration.”

“That’s all I ask,” the First Daughter said. “And that you bed her,”

she added, “just to, eh, try her out.”

“Concerning the Order. What now, and what do you want the

Sisterhood to do?”

“Ah yes, That’s why we’re here, after all. What do you know about

Griswinda’s great plan?”

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“To be honest? Practically nothing. I know that Emelasuntha and

her boy played a great part in it though.”

“Yes, that they did. I’ll try to be as succinct as possible, but all

this started ages ago. A long, long time before the Darkening woman

ruled the world. I won’t go into it, but a crucial mistake was made.

For the longest time there were no wars. Women can be fierce and

cruel, but they never before resorted to the obvious absurdity of

armed conflict. Women know that you can’t win a war. Even the

victor loses. Nevertheless one broke out. It was led by women of

course, but mostly fought by men. It was the first time that men were