Ancestors Of Avalon - Ancestors of Avalon Part 10
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Ancestors of Avalon Part 10

Micail's royal upbringing had trained him in all the right responses. He bowed just so far and spoke softly of the impossibility of forgetting such beauty, but his mind and his heart were far away.

"You are too kind," said Chaithala with equal composure. "I do the best I can. My lord says we must keep up our standardsa"" She glanced around to make sure that the servants were keeping every cup, goblet, and plate full.

"You have done very well," he answered automatically. The constant clamor of conversation made his head ring. Worse, he had taken a polite drink with almost everyone so far and strongly suspected he would not remember anyone's name by morning.

"There is a great deal to do," the princess said. "But I wished to speak with you because, in a way, we are both faced with the same task." She beckoned him to follow her into a long gallery that looked out on a pleasant courtyard open to the sky.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I am afraid I find these underground rooms a little constricting, even with all the light-wells and ventilation shaftsa""

"A style," the princess observed softly, "which shielded fair Alkonath from the fierce summer sun will serve well here to conserve heat."

"No doubt you are right," Micail demurred. The same tubes of polished bronze that brought in what sunlight there was would also keep out the winds that scourged these cold grey shores. "But I am too much a son of the Sun," Micail finished, with the necessary flourish, "to thrive where its presence is seen less often than it is implied by shadow."

"That may be so, but you will find no more sunlight in the windows of the port precinct than you do here." Chaithala smiled. "My lord has told me it is your wish to remain in Domazo's Inn, rather than to lodge with us here. It is your choice, of course, but still I hope you will visit often. I, too, have some need of your counsel."

"So you said." Micail tried to look attentive.

"It concerns the education of my children. My lord has so many responsibilitiesa"their upbringing has been left to me."

"Madam, forgive me, but I know nothing of teaching children," Micail stammered, suppressing a pang of sorrow as he remembered the babies Tiriki had lost. All my house is dead, he thought. What can I teach the living?

"You misunderstand me, my lord. They already have a most satisfactory tutor, a learned and patient man. No, rather it is of the content of their education that I wished to consult you, for the acolytes are given into your traininga"is it not so?"

"Ia"" He paused and looked at her closely. "You are entirely correct, madam, but I have had little chance to fulfill my duty to them. The House of the Twelve was moved to Ahtarrath only last year. And only four of them are with us nowa"" For a moment grief for all those lost closed his throat once more.

"Yes," said Chaithala brightly. "But at least those four are here. Do you think they might visit us from time to time? The gods know we shall have priests enough!" She gestured back toward the main hall with a rueful smile. "But it seems to me that most of them have become far too holy to remember how to speak with children. With only their example, I fear that my three will grow up with no appreciation for the true meaning of our religion."

"I will gladly ask if they are willing," Micail said slowly. "Certainly I myself have not yet given them much to do." His mind whirled with guilt and speculation. The princess had said before that they faced the same task, and he saw now that it was true. How could the acolytes preserve the wisdom of Atlantis if he did not instruct them? But without Tiriki it seemed that the only thing he could teach was failure and despair.

"That is all I ask, Sir Prince." Chaithala favored him with another charming smile and laid her hand upon his arm, gently drawing him back toward the swirling crowd. In a moment, she let go of him in order to introduce the priestess Timul, who had served the High Priestess of the Temple of Ni-Terat in Alkonath, and was now the head of the Blue Order in Belsairath. Like the princess, Timul had come to the new land a little more than a year ago and seemed to have transplanted very well.

Tiriki would like her, Micail thought sadly.

Somehow he kept his eyes open and greeted everyone. Some were from Ahtarrath, among them his own older cousin Naranshada, the Fourth Vested Guardian. There was also old Metanor, who had been Fifth Vested Guardian in the Temple, and of course Ardral, whose position as Seventh Vested Guardian came nowhere near reflecting his actual prestige.

As the son of a royal house, Micail had been brought up to function in gatherings like this one. He knew that he ought to be moving around, establishing relationships, distinguishing the powerful from the merely influential, but he could not summon the energy. He had never realized how much he depended on Tiriki in situations like these. They had worked as a team, supporting each other.

A servant came by with a tray of ila'anaat liqueur in ceramic cups as fine as shell, and Micail grabbed two, downing the first in a single swallow. The stuff was tart and sweet and left a trail of fire from throat to belly.

"Yes, might as well enjoy that while we can," said a wry voice. "The ila berry can't be grown in this latitude."

Through his watering eyes Micail recognized the bronzed and mustachioed face of Bennurajos, a muscular, middle-aged priest. Originally from Cosarrath, he had long served in Ahtarrath, and Micail remembered him as a strong singer and a specialist in the art of growing plants.

Micail took a smaller sip from his second cup and let the fire within build and diffuse through his limbs. "Pity. But I suppose you would know."

Bennurajos wobbled his head from side to side. "There are some vines that look promising," he said, "but I won't be able to tell what they're good for until they ripen."

"I'm not even sure what season it is," Micail murmured.

"Yes, it makes an interesting problem. At home, the sun was constant and we prayed for rainfall. Here it must be sunshine men dream of, the gods know there's all the rain they need!"

Micail nodded. So far, it had rained every day. "If this is springtime, I dread the winter." He blinked, suddenly queasy, and shook his head sharply, but the odd feeling would not go away. Is it the heat in the room, the noises, smells, liquorsa"?

Bennurajos stepped back, sensing that Micail had lost interest in the conversation. Micail tried to say something courteous and friendlya"he had always been fond of Bennurajosa"but his self-control was eroding. He shook his head again, tears burning in his eyes.

"You must forgive him." It was Jiritaren, appearing as if from nowhere. "Lord Micail suffered a severe fever on the voyage here and is not yet entirely well."

"Where were you? Were you watching me?" Micail accused.

"Come away, Micail," Jiri said softly. "There are too many people here. It will be cooler in the garden. Come outside with me."

They pushed past a cluster of priests from Alkonath. He ought to know thema"memory supplied the names of First Guardian Haladris, a rather proud and pompous man, and the famous singer Ocathrel, who held the rank of Fifth Guardian. And there were survivors from the Temple on Tarisseda, the priestess Mahadalku and Stathalkha the psychic. A gaggle of lesser priests and priestesses moved about on the fringes. More than a few seemed familiar to him, but that, he decided, was only because they looked so obviously to be priests of Light. But none of them interested Micail. There could never be a big enough crowd until it included the one person he wished for so desperately.

Seven.

How could I possibly know whether I like it here?" Grimacing, Damisa swatted a midge from her arm. "Ask me tomorrow!" "Will your opinion have changed?" Iriel's words came muffled through the veils she had swathed around her face and throat to protect herself from the midges and other insects that seemed to swarm everywhere along the river. Reeds edged the shore and willows hung over the brown waters of the channel that the Crimson Serpent was following. Yesterday they had seen the sun and felt a promise of warmth in the air. But today the sky was as gloomy as their spirits, and mists hid the line of hills they had glimpsed from offshore.

"Not at all," Damisa denied, with an envious eye for Iriel's veils, "but I can't help thinking, if you had asked me yesterday whether it wouldn't be better to go back out to sea, I would have called you an idiota""

"You're the idiot," said Iriel automatically, her own eyes still fixed upon the lush riverbank that was slowly passing beyond the railing. Damisa shook her head, suspecting she was not seeing whatever it was the younger girl was staring at.

To Damisa one meandering stretch of marshland was quite indistinguishable from another. If tangled willow trees weren't overhanging a stretch of murky water, there were tall spiky reeds or thorny stunted shrubs. Either way, they couldn't get anywhere near the solid ground. The interior is probably all just foggy undergrowth anyway, she thought. For three days, they had been misled by the numerous rivers that fed into the estuary, each broad and promising at its mouth, but becoming too choked with half-submerged oaks, willows, and vines for the ship to do anything but retreat. She hoped someone was making a map.

"Look!" said Iriel excitedly, as a flock of birds rose noisily from the reeds and scattered like a handful of stones flung across the pale sky.

"Enchanting," Damisa said dully, not so easily shaken from her gloom. She was beginning to suspect that the hills they had seen from the sea were no more than a vision sent by mischievous sprites to entice them into this wilderness in which the Crimson Serpent was doomed to wander until they all sank into the muck and mire below.

Or is the rotten smell I've been noticing all day something recently half eaten by something waiting to eat us?

The river had in fact become much more brackish as they moved inland, but its level was still determined by the sea. Yesterday the men Captain Reidel sent ashore as scouts stayed out too long and were stranded in the marshes until ebb tide. By the time they could get aboard, they were covered to their necks in mud that was full of leeches and . . . Damisa shuddered and swatted another tiny-winged predator from her eyebrow, swearing, and Iriel snorted with laughter behind her veils.

"Oh, shut up," Damisa warned, watching Arcor, the grizzled old Ahtarran sailor, taking soundings from the ship's bow. How does he stand it? she wondered. His knotted muscles flexed and released beneath the short sleeves of his tunic as he swung out the line and the lead splashed into the water, again and again. Midges clouded around him, but he never once paused to swat them. Even a few moments' inattention could leave them stranded on a mudbank until the evening tide.

By sheer force of will, Damisa ignored the little insect now walking on her elbow. I should not complain, she told herself, thinking that even Arcor had an easier job than the men who rowed the small boat that was laboriously towing this one upriver . . . She hoped Reidel knew what he was doing. The only thing worse than being eaten alive as they floated through the wilderness would be to get stuck here, unable to move at all.

Suddenly Arcor stood up, peering ahead.

"What is it?" came Reidel's calm voice. "What do you see?"

"Sorry, Cap'n. Thought 'twas a helmet," Arcor joked. " 'Tis only Teiron's bald pate! And there's our Cadis wit' him, keepin' the magpies off!"

The captain's broad shoulders relaxed in a light laugh, and Damisa, watching, felt her own tension easing as well. Reidel was only a shipmaster, and a lot younger than he looked, but in the past weeks they had all come to depend on his quick mind and ever-ready strength. Even Master Chedan, to say nothing of Tiriki, seemed to defer to him, which seemed vaguely wrong to Damisa. Abruptly she realized that she had been assuming that their journeys would lead them to a new civilization and Temple in the new land. She and the other acolytes had spent quite a lot of time speculating about what the people here would look like and, to a lesser degree, how they lived, or where; but so far it seemed that there simply were no inhabitants.

Whicha"she frowneda"might be better. At the moment they were quite simply castaways. Reidel had done well enough at seaa"maybe even remarkably wella"but how would he fare against angry savages?

Lost in thought, Damisa jumped when the undergrowth shivered and two men suddenly pushed into view, muddy to their calves and perspiring freely. But she saw their teeth flash in fierce grins and recognized them as Teiron and Cadis, who had been sent out to explore earlier. Arcor tossed a rope over the side and they scrambled aboard to the welcoming jokes and laughter of the other sailors.

Tiriki and Chedan emerged from below, accompanied by Selast and Kalaran. It occurred to Damisa that she had not seen Elis since morning. Was she still trapped below deck, assigned to cheer up the priestess Malaera, who was still weeping for all they had lost? Damisa shuddered . . . That's right, she drew today's duty with the Stone. Ugh. Even with it in its box, just sitting outside the cabin door, it makes me uncomfortable. Better the bog-rats! Or even Malaera's endless tears . . .

"Good news, gentles," the shaved-head Alkonan sailor Teiron was saying. "There be someone in these parts! Where 'e live I don't know, but someone made that trackway in the marsh!"

"Trackway?" Chedan repeated. "What do you mean?"

Teiron moved his hands tentatively, sketching on air. "It'sa"a raised pathway, over the muck. Too weak to take a chariot I guess, but still good an' solid. Made from split planksa"laid across logsa"everything pegged into place. An' since some logs are old and some are new, someone must keep 'em repaired."

"But where does the path go?" Iriel wondered out loud. "Didn't you even look? Are there lions?"

"No, no lions, little mistress," the Alkonan said mildly. "At least I didn't see any. But we were under orders to return quicklya""

"I'd guess the plank road leads there," said Cadis, pointing past the trees that lined the shore. The mist had begun to fade away. Before them they could see the spreading blue waters of the lake that fed the stream. Beyond it, thin spring sunlight glistened on the green protruding tip of a hillside perhaps a thousand ells farther in.

Tiriki gripped Chedan's arm as they advanced across the muddy trackway. The carefully cut planks seemed to sway alarmingly underfoot, but after so many days on shipboard, she suspected she would have felt unsteady walking on the smooth granite stones of the Processional Way in Ahtarrah. She swallowed, fighting back the familiar nausea. She no longer felt as wretched as she had at sea, but she was far from her usual self, and she felt bloated, even though she could see that her wrists were growing thin.

On the high ground just ahead, a group of marsh dwellers in leather kilts awaited them with faces that were impassive but not, she hoped, implacable. They were small in stature, but wiry and well muscled, and pale where the sun had not browned them. Their dark hair glinted with rusty highlights in the sun.

Tiriki focused on her feet. It would not befit the dignity of a priestess of Light to arrive with her backside smeared with mud, even if the hems of her robes were stained already. If I slip now, likely I will drag down Chedan with me, and maybe Damisa and old Liala as well. Taking a deep breath, she kept her steps as measured and solemn as if she walked not amid a ragtag of sailors and refugees, but at the head of the Great Procession to the Star Mountain.

I should have worn my cloak, she told herself as the sweat cooled on her brow. The sun was finally shining, but the sky remained cloudy, and the air held a chilling dampness. Why that should surprise her she did not know. Chedan had said often enough that the weather here was peculiar. But I haven't been truly warm since last Micail held me . . . Ruthlessly, she put the thought away.

Only the faint cries of birds disturbed the silence, as the natives continued to stare. Their black eyes seemed to examine every detail as they approacheda"from the elaborate priestly costumes and the glittering metal that gilded Chedan's ceremonial dagger to Reidel's short-sword and the short pikes of the sailors. Some of the natives carried cudgels or spears, but most were armed with bows of finely worked, polished yew, the arrows flint-pointed. The sailors noticed that the marsh folk did not seem to even have bronze and took heart. A little swagger even came back into their steps.

Tiriki took a breath and stopped a few feet away from the natives. Chedan halted just behind her, and then Reidel. The sailors took up positions on the plankway, ready to cover a quick retreat. The silence became absolute.

Raising her open palms to the sky, Tiriki trilled the lilting formal phrase: "Gods, look kindly upon this meeting." Only then did she remember that these people almost certainly would not understand the Atlantean tongue. She tried to smile, wondering if it would help to bow again . . . but the marsh folk were no longer looking at her. Their eyes had returned to the foreign silhouette that had drawn them herea"the high-prowed wingbird just visible through the willows that hid the river.

"Yes," said Tiriki, still smiling tightly, "that is our ship."

Perhaps in response to her words or her gestures, a thickset man with heron plumes waving from his headband stepped forward, showed his palms, and made a series of rippling gutteral sounds. Helplessly, Tiriki turned to Chedan, and after a moment the mage replied, rather slowly, in the same sort of speech. Tiriki blessed again the fate that had sent Chedan to these isles once before. She sensed it was going to be hard enough to reach an understanding with these people even with the help of words.

The headman's scowls melted away, and he spoke again. Chedan's eyes widened in surprise.

"Tell me what you're saying," Tiriki whispered.

Chedan blinked at her. "Oh. Sorry. This fellow is the chieftain. His name is Heron. He says our arrival is fortunate, or fated. If I understand correctly, these people spend winter in the hills, and have only now returned here for the hunting seasona"and to celebrate some kind of festival."

As Tiriki nodded thoughtfully, Chedan turned again toward Heron, and initiated another complicated exchange . . . Tiriki bit her lip and tried to look patient and wise.

"He says," Chedan interpreted at last, "their priestessa"a wise woman of the tribea"has invited you to visit her. Apparently she dreamed about our ship. He says all may come and receive her blessing, but the men must wait apart while she speaks with youa""

"What? Lady, you must not go alone!" Reidel interrupted, with a protective glare that, Tiriki thought, was really meant for Damisa. She had observed such glances often lately and wondered if the girl herself had noticed them.

"Tell him we will come," said Tiriki suddenly, and catching Heron's gaze, gave him a smile and a nod of her head. "I think that Liala and Damisa and I can handle one old woman by ourselves, no matter how wise she may be."

Reidel muttered and cast a dark look around, but Chedan turned and indicated to the chieftain that he should lead the way. To Tiriki, however, the mage said softly, "Do not underestimate these people. There are some in this land who wield great power. I do not know if that is the case with this wisewoman, but . . ." He shrugged, and said again, "Do not underestimate her."

With Reidel and Cadis at their back to guard against treachery, Tiriki, Damisa, and Liala followed the trackway across the marsh and through a dense stand of beeches and alders to a wide, raised platform made of broad planks. At its center were a number of huts and low-walled buildings, some weathered or even roofless, but several had been freshly daubed with mud and thatched with green reeds.

The inhabitants emerged to greet thema"a mixed group, old and young. Although the women were no taller than an Atlantean child, many of them clasped even smaller children, who stared at the newcomers out of huge dark eyes. Tiriki wanted to spend some time there, but the chieftain hurried them on into the marsh again, along yet another wooden trackway, until they reached the banks of an island of solid ground. The distinctive point of the hill they had seen earlier loomed up ahead, between the trees and the clouds.

Until now, the marsh folk had behaved almost casually, laughing and talking among themselves, with many a sidelong glance at the strangers. Now they all fell silent, and began to move with exaggerated care, as if the spot was somehow as unfamiliar to them as to the Atlanteans. The wooden planks went no farther, but there was a path, old and well trodden, and edged with small rounded stones.

Tiriki knew immediately that this was holy ground. The rustle in the leaves made it clear, as did the subtle shift in pressure in the air. It was not only because the path was so level that she found herself straightening and striding more freely. She began to draw strength from the earth and the air. More than relief, she felt a surge of actual hope, and a quick glance showed her that Liala felt the same wonder at the unusual energy here.

The path wound gently upward along a wooded slope, curving only occasionally to accommodate a particularly venerable tree. From time to time the smooth green rise of the Tor could be seen between the leaves, and this, she realized, was because the trees were thinning.

Before them lay a small meadow. To the left, a tangle of hawthorns formed an enclosure. From an arched opening in the bushes emerged a small stream, edged by rusty red stones. On the right, farther up the hill, white stones jutted from the ground, half hidden by trees. From among them, a second stream coursed down to join the first. On a knoll just above the point where the rivers joined, nestled a small round hut, its faded close-packed thatching extending almost to the ground. Unlike the simple shelters in the village, this building had clearly been there for a very long time.

They had not quite reached the edge of the rushing waters when a figure emerged from the hut, leaning on a short staff. To the Atlanteans, her stature seemed that of a girl of ten, but as she raised her head to survey them Tiriki saw a face webbed with wrinkles and knew that this was the oldest person she had ever seen.

Heron held out his palms and greeted the wisewoman in his throaty speech, then turned to Chedan and spoke again.

"This is their priestess. Her name is Taret," Chedan interpreted. Tiriki nodded, unable to look away. Though the wisewoman's flesh was ancient, surely no one had ever had such lively and penetrating black eyes.

As the Atlanteans made their various bows, Taret took another step forward.

"Welcome," said the wisewoman in the tongue of the Sea Kingdoms. "I wait for you." Her words were heavily accented but otherwise entirely understandable. Observing their surprise, she grinned merrily. "Come now."

With hardly a pause, the priestesses set out across four great stepping stones that bridged the turbulent waters. But when Reidel sought to follow, the chieftain stepped in front of him. Immediately, the sailors rallied to their leader and the scene grew tense, but Chedan put his hand on Reidel's shoulder and drew him gently back.

Taret, standing at the edge of the water, stared at the mage for a long moment, but his only response was to make an odd kind of salute to the sun.

"Ah! You, then," said Tareta"it was clear to whom she spokea""you shall walk here."

Chedan looked startled, but Heron appeared even more surprised. He looked from Taret to Chedan and back again several times before, with a conflicted expression, he moved aside, allowing the mage to tread the stepping stones.

Chuckling softly, the wisewoman settled herself on a sturdy three-legged stool just outside of the doorway of the hut, and motioned to the others to take their ease on a bench carved from a felled tree trunk.

Taret's bright black eyes darted over each person in turn, and came to rest on Tiriki's headdress and the wisps of golden hair that were visible beneath it. The wisewoman smiled again, but more gently.

"Sun people," she said, with evident satisfaction. "Yes. Children of red snake that I saw in dreams."

"We are very thankful to have found this place," answered Tiriki, and though her words were formal, they were enlivened by genuine emotion. "I am Tiriki, a Guardian of the Light. This is Chedan, Guardian and magea""

"Yes. Man of power," said Taret. "Most men, I don't ask to come here." Chedan was flustered at the compliment and made another little bow, but the wisewoman's gaze moved inquisitively to the others.

"Liala is a priestess of the healers and kinswoman to me," said Tiriki, not quite realizing how slowly and carefully she was enunciating the words. "And Damisa is my chela."

Taret inclined her head. "Welcome. But there is another." Again her ageless eyes probed at them. "With you in my dream . . . one who sees into closed places. Perhapsa"" She gazed curiously at Liala, then shook her head. "No. But you are friend to her, maybe?"

Tiriki and Chedan exchanged glances as Liala replied, a little nervously, "We do have a seeress. Her name is Alyssa. She injured her knee during the journey, and I have tended her, but she is . . . unready to leave the ship."