Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (12 page)

“The Tru’Av’ru was
not
the blessing of Av as
we had first thought,” Audola plunged. “It was the result of something horribly
wrong with the Supreme One, a schism that we have no explanation for. Our world
was never meant to be divided. That division threw everything into imbalance.
For not only was the world divided, but the ‘ritas of the world were also
divided, it seems. That is why women are stronger in av’rito’ka here in Ava’Lona
- this is the side where our ‘ritas are strongest. I think that we may presume
that men rule on the other side.

“The Turo’dan is the final correction of whatever it
was that went wrong in the One. This division manifested itself in all levels
of existence - even to the mundane. Turo’dan is the rejoining of what was torn
asunder - just as the Kwabanian foretold. We
must
not let another war
occur like the one that precipitated the raising of the first Av’ru. It is time
for the division to end.” She gazed deep into Jeliya’s dumbstruck eyes. “Now,
whether that time of turning comes peacefully or in utter chaos is dependent
upon what we do in the next seven-tens of cycles. We must prepare for the great
changes that are coming - not for war. We must find a way to make the
transition smoothly.”

“But -” Jeliya blinked, her composure slipping, “but
then, if you ascend-”

“We don’t know what will happen when I ascend,” the
High Queen said calmly. “What I believe we must do is - is find a way to bring
the Av’ru down before the Zehj’Ba forces the issue. I’m not sure how, yet, but
I do know that I
will
have to ascend, to give us time to formulate and
execute a plan of action. Our people are expecting war, and a great upheaval.
We must still treat this as a hostile situation, right up until the death of
the Av’ru. We believe that there are those who will try to use this turbulent
time to put their own plans into action. We believe that this was the
motivating factor behind the challenge.”

Jeliya put her hand to her head. It was too much,
too much information, too many urgent things to handle all at once. She was
tired, and her control was beginning to falter.

“Never mind,” Audola said gently, “never mind
worrying about that now. Just let it sit in the back of your mind and let it
grow - some ideas may come to you. We will tackle this one step at a time. You
need rest, you have a full turn ahead of you. Worry about the challenge, if you
feel that you must worry about something. Otherwise, rest.”

Jeliya nodded, sighed. Audola looked at her drawn
face, wished that she could take all of the burden off of her daughter, but
this was what Jeliya had been training for all of her life. She debated again,
whether to heap yet another concern on those now visibly drooping shoulders.

“Can you handle one more concern?” she asked
diplomatically. Jeliya raised her eyes, consciously pushed the fatigue away and
nodded.

Audola felt a great pride for her Heir. Jeliya would
be fine.

“The question has been raised, among us, about the
effects of this ordeal on you. I know how deep the link is between you and -
him. Or at least I have an idea. The question is about your fitness to rule.”

All signs of being tired left Jeliya then. She drew
herself up, and became, in one breath, the imperturbable High Heir. “Who
questions my fitness to rule?” she demanded indignantly.

“No one has, yet, besides your challenger,” Audola
smiled. “Are you willing to submit to the ritual testings? If we make that
clear, if we say that you yourself requested the test as part of the
ceremonies...”

“I will submit,” she stated. “Please allow the test
of fitness to rule to be a part of my preparations to the Ceremonies of the De’en’nu’a,
Mother Queen. I think that my people deserve to know if I am fit to be their
rightful ruler.”

“Ashe,” Audola said, nodding. Then, “So, tell me
about him.”

“Him?”

“The one who is your Jur’Av’chi’n. If the connection
between you is as strong as D’rad’ni suspects, he will likely remain your Jur’Av’chi’n.
So tell me about him.”

Jeliya could not help smiling. “His name is Gavaron,
Mother.”

CHAPTER
VI

the turning of the world brought both
light and darkness...

They
turned. Like worlds, they turned. About the bright star of Silonyi’s mind they
turned, twin worlds that whispered of choices and bonds, of the marching of
time and the telling of lies, the finding of truths and the imminence of
change.

Ever repent,
said one of the world-like things in a
dulcet voice, gleaming and glinting as if its true nature, hidden by some
agent, were trying to show through.
The sins of the Mother, and of the
Mother’s Mother’s Mother need not be the sin of the Daughter’s. Ever was
repentance a choice. Repent.
Silonyi turned to this world thing, and seemed to
see a benediction of light...

Never forget,
the other growled, making her turn, its
surface seething as if it, too, hid something beneath.
Never forget
that what was rightfully ours was taken by force, by means most foul! Never
forget how we were cast low! Never repent, never forget!

And the second seemed to have the right of it,
seemed familiar, like an old favorite song heard after long forgetfulness. The
second world thing laughed low in triumph and moved closer to embrace her as
she turned to ask the first, “And what are the sins of the Mother...?”

But before the bright World-thing could answer, the
tightening arms of the World that claimed her became the pressure of some
presence, as of burning eyes lying long and heavy on her.
...

She jerked awake and sat up almost in the same instant,
clutching her desi as she scanned around in the dark.

And at the deepest corner of her wide pallet the
dark took form, and seemed to move, to come closer though it remained dead
still. Panic bit her heart, then ran away gagging.

“Mother,” she said softly, bowing with her arms
crossed before her. Half a ten’turn had passed since the disastrous meeting and
the failure of her enn hadura training, during which her mother had been
absent. Her teacher had found nothing wrong, and had sent her away with refreshing
exercises.

Her mother did not answer immediately, but sat
gazing at her with eyes like seething worlds. They were deep and yet
impenetrable, as if in the bottomlessness of their starless eternity turned
thick, flaming walls to cover some even deeper abyss of intent.

Silonyi dropped her eyes from that unembracing gaze
and felt a strange guilt that had no source.

“The sins of the Mother,” her mother and Queen
murmured in a voice devoid of deathly venom, after a long silence. Venom was
not required to instill fear. “What an - interesting turn of phrase.”

“Queen Mother?” Silonyi asked uncertainly, trying to
hide her nervousness. Of all the things she did not fear, she did fear her
mother, the most.

The Queen did not answer the query in her voice, but
continued to stare unblinkingly at her from half-lowered lids.

“You did not stay,” she said after a while in that
ice-slick, expressionless voice. It was not an accusation, but Silonyi felt
sweat trying to start under her arms anyway. She expected to answer for her
actions on the eve her infraction had occurred. She had not expected to be left
in uncertainty, her mother not appearing that eve or the next. But once the
Queen did not come, instead letting her anxiety cool, then punishing her at the
least expected moment - that she
should
have expected.

She quelled the sweat reaction, squashing her fear
down until she could feel it in her hands and feet. There, she squeezed it till
she believed it was nothing.

“I - feared detection,” she said, bowing her head
again. “I thought I felt the notice of one of...”

The slow blink of the luminous eyes stopped her
cold. It was as effective as a hand raised in forestalling. The Queen had
refined minimal gestures to an art form, and all those around her were well
versed. To be otherwise was to ask for any of a number of fates, all to which
death would be preferable.

“I will be leaving again at Av’dawn,” the matriarch
said, glancing away to some remote thing.

“Will you return for the De’en’nu Harvest Festival?”
Silonyi asked demurely, “or will you remain in the Aba’jae’s city?” The sudden
change of subject threw her. Was her mother not here to discuss her leaving the
lorn before it ended?

“I will remain to hear the Aba’jae’s response to the
challenge made on her Heir. Until I return you will have the power of regent
and proxy. Oversee the De’en’nu Festival and the turn to turn matters. My
second Voice will remain and will be at your disposal - if you come upon a
situation with which you are unfamiliar, consult with her.” The eyes focused
dispassionately on her again.

“Yes, Queen Mother.” Silonyi inclined her head,
squashing all her questions. She waited for her mother to continue, to recount
the plans of the meeting, to discuss the subtle points, the strengths and
weaknesses of the plans made. This the Queen had always done. This, too, was a
part of her training and tutelage. But her mother said no more, only continued
to gaze at her. Silonyi dropped her eyes again, confused and increasingly
uncomfortable. Then a horrible notion surfaced in her mind, along with what her
mother had said upon Silonyi’s awareness of her presence:

“You did not stay.”

A burning chill struck her between her shoulder
blades as the burning eyes continued to blaze at her. The Queen had been aware
of her departure. Of course, the Queen had been aware of it. But did that - she
blinked rapidly in panic -
did that constitute getting caught?

With a certainty of dread that rivaled what she had
felt at the lorn, she knew that it did. But this dread did not dissipate with
realization of its cause. It grew, slowly creeping through all of her
extremities. What would her punishment be?

She looked up into the seething weight of those
eyes. The stifling weight of that presence, of those hard eyes, were
penetrating, holding some intensity or fury in check. Then they took hold of
her firmly and cut forth, slowly, like a patiently impaling spear, boring into
Silonyi’s mind, teaching indeed.

*:You will not leave the lorn before I do,:*
they said,
*:Ever. You will stay even unto death, if I am still present. You will be still
and you will learn, or I will teach you in some more effective way.:*

Silonyi’s will and her entire being bowed before the
commands and gave way to them, wordlessly accepting that which was not in her
power to refuse. She was her mother’s tool, the lesson taught her, and flawed
tools were to be discarded. She could do nothing but acquiesce, her own will a
grain of sand before the tossing ocean of her mother’s fury. It taught her that
she had a place in her mother’s designs, but that her place could always be
filled by another. She shuddered, a strange and distant bitterness rising in
her, but was quickly squelched - she could not show the least bit of defiance.
Then a rite reached out to grip her mind, a rite with a stench like carrion’s
breath, not quite av’rita nor quite chi’rita, but an unholy wedding of both,
wrapped in the sacramental wine of a slaughter house. She cringed inward, but
was otherwise unable to resist or object. The rite seemed to hesitate for a
split instant, before firmly encasing her in its steel-edged, blood-dipped
fingers. Instinctively Silonyi squirmed, then lay still like a frightened
animal under pinioning talons.

*:Why did you leave?:* the deep, seething voice of a
growling world demanded, holding her beneath its weight. Its grip allowed only
the barest of whispers to escape.

“I - I f-feared detection,” Silonyi whimpered,
crumpling to the pallet, her hand going to her throat as her mind was
throttled. “I - could not maintain enn hadura f-focus and I - I feared
d-detection!” Tears slid down her face. She had not been through this in a long
time. At least her mother asked her this time, and allowed her to answer.

*:
Why?!
:* The talons sank in deeper, and
Silonyi could not even whisper. Instead her memories were laid bare, her
thoughts and feelings sliced open for dispassionately cruel dissection and
observation. Helplessly she watched as her memories were taken apart, turn by
turn, and she feared that the memory of her observance of the prisoner’s rite,
which she suspected to be the cause of her troubles, would surface; and for
some reason she did not want it to, and not just for fear of the consequences
of its discovery. It was - sacred, somehow, though she had been taught that
nothing was sacred, and that everything could be used as a lever. It was -
precious. It meant something to her, something she could not explain.

That turn’s memory rose up - and she turned away,
knowing that once it was viewed, she would in for it. She, as calmly as she
could, prepared herself for the falling ax. But when it came, she was totally
unprepared for...

The rite let her go, unscathed, and the fury poised
above her turned away to a new victim. *:If the fault is not with you, then it
is with your trainer,:* her mother’s voice judged. Silonyi blinked, caught in
simultaneous swells of surprise, relief and horror. Had the Queen not seen her
transgression, then? Mayhap she did, but did not see its effects on her? And
judged that her teacher in enn hadura was to blame?

Silonyi closed her eyes. If they blamed the teacher,
then the teacher’s life was forfeit. A shame - that teacher was the only one to
show anything resembling kindness to her. She swallowed back tears as a hollow
pain and a deeper shame took her. Of all the teachers she did not like, she had
liked that one, at least. And it was within her power to save the blameless
woman. To confess - would bring reprisal back to herself, but it would not
result in death.

A weight of expectancy settled upon her, as if waiting
to see what she would do with the choice in her hands. A part of her screamed
out to save the instructor. The other coldly reminded her what she had been
taught: that while some situations required her to take responsibility for her
actions, in others, if there was someone else who could take the fall, then she
should not - and it was important to be able to tell the difference.

Torn, she fell back on what she knew, and kept her
silence, nodding in acquiescence to her mother’s judgment. A slight brush of
satisfaction touched her, and the Queen rose as would a pillar of smoke, silent
and menacing. An av’tun sparkled to life with the smell of faraway carnage.
Against the red-swirled white backdrop, silhouetting her, the Queen turned.

“And,” came the low voice, the expressionlessness of
it like a rattle of warning, “you will never utter that - phrase, ‘Sins of the
Mother’ again.”

The light vanished before Silonyi could blink at the
flowers of confusion in her garden of fear. She lay back down in the blinding
darkness that followed, and swallowed around a lump that rose, large and sore,
in her throat. She had passed a small test of some kind with her choice, one
part of her thought. The other, resolutely unsympathetic with her confused
feelings, told her that she had unequivocally failed. And that the ‘Sins of the
Mother’ was the reason.