Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ancestors of Avalon (21 page)

“It’s a pity, really,” she said to Lirini, the great singer Ocathrel’s middle daughter, who at seventeen was the closest to herself in age. “I would enjoy learning from him. When my lord is himself, he’s a charming man.”

“Charming! I think he’s the handsomest of all the priests. Do you suppose he will ever marry again?”

Elara raised one well-shaped eyebrow. Lirini did not seem to be mourning her betrothed, who had not escaped the Sinking, but then Elara doubted that she herself would have been devastated had Lanath not survived. At the moment, he seemed to be undergoing complete devastation in the game of Feathers he was playing with Vialmar, but that was not unusual. Lanath looked even pudgier than usual as he frowned at the pattern the tiles made on the board, while Vialmar, tall and lanky, with unruly black hair, drummed his fingers impatiently on the curving arm of his chair.

“Surely it is a little premature to think of such things,” Elara said repressively, though she had wondered herself what would happen if Tiriki never arrived. But what right had Lirini to gossip? She was only a chela, and even more neglected by her master, the priest Haladris, than the acolytes were by Micail.

Hearing footsteps and shrieks, Elara reached swiftly to rescue her bowl of tea as Prince Baradel raced by, hotly pursued by Princess Cyrena, whose scarf he waved above him like a captured prize. The nine-year-old princess was the last survivor of the royal family of Tarisseda, and tended to hide her sorrows by bullying her betrothed, two years younger.

“What a little brat,” sniffed Lirini. “Thinks he’s High Prince already. But he has two sisters and a baby brother, and then there’s Galara, from your island,” whispered Lirini. “She’s Lord Micail’s cousin twice over. It seems to me there’s plenty of royalty here, and precious little for them to rule over.”

“Even more priests and priestesses,” Elara sighed, “and no temples for them to serve.”

“There’s Timul—” Lirini reminded her.

“That’s true.” Elara frowned, remembering the strong-bodied, strong-willed woman she had met shortly after arriving. “I’m an initiate of Ni-Terat—well, a novice.” She blushed. “At home, I was apprenticed to Liala—” She paused a moment, remembering the Blue Robe with regret, for Liala, though firm, had always been kind to her. “The Mother smile on her. But doesn’t Timul seem to you—a little overwhelming?”

Lirini shrugged. “She doesn’t have any use for men, but she has endless patience for women. She has some kind of chapel set up. A lot of women from the town go there.”

“Perhaps I should pay her a visit,” Elara said thoughtfully.
It might be well to expand my options,
she decided, silently,
but not, of course, if it means giving up men . . . at least not before I find someone worth giving up!

She suppressed a grin. Lanath, as her future husband, wasn’t available to her yet. Again she looked speculatively at Vialmar, who had just won the game of Feathers and was cracking jokes as he tried to persuade Karagon, a quiet young man who was chela to the Grey Adept Valadur, into a game . . . Either one might be glad of a dalliance with someone less sober than Cleta. For that matter, Karagon had already attempted a flirtation, although she hadn’t realized it at the time. She smiled again. Life might become quite interesting, even on this desolate shore.

There was a stir at the doorway, and everyone rose as Princess Chaithala swept into the room.

“No, no,” the princess said graciously. “Do not disturb your games for me.” Pale green draperies floating behind her, she moved about the room, chatting with the young people. Elara noticed that she had approached first Cleta, then Lanath and Vialmar, so she was not surprised when the princess began to waft her way.

Elara turned toward Lirini, saying, “I suspect that duty is about to call me. I’m glad we had the chance to talk like this.” Before the chela could reply, Elara detached herself and was joining the other acolytes in Chaithala’s train.

“I have been thinking about your situation,” said the princess, “and wondering if we might invite Prince Micail to join you, and see if we can resolve the question of your boredom and idleness. But we may need a pretext. What do you think? Perhaps a small dinner party? Nothing formal, of course—but it might make it easier for him to recognize, without embarrassment, that he has been neglecting your training . . .”

And how much of that training would just happen to involve giving some special lessons to your children?
Elara wondered. Still, it might not be too high a price to pay, if participating in Chaithala’s machinations brought about the resumption of a proper regime of studies. It was fine to sit about, talking and playing games, but Elara feared that the acolytes were becoming like overripe apples, beginning to spoil from within.

“Micail! I am so glad you could join us! You are looking much better than when I saw you last.”

Micail winced as Tjalan laid a brawny arm across his shoulders and squeezed. The receiving room of Tjalan’s villa was crowded with priests and priestesses. The light from myriad hanging lamps set their shadows to leaping against the frescoed walls. Micail allowed himself to be shepherded to a bench beside Haladris and Mahadalku.

“You are all aware of the efforts which Naranshada and Ardral have been making to identify the ideal site for our new Temple,” said Tjalan. “We have called this meeting because it has been finally demonstrated that an energy flow does indeed run up from Beleri’in and continue across the main part of this land. Is that correct?” The prince looked to Naranshada.

“Good enough for our purposes,” Ansha said with a smile. “The theory of such forces is well known to most of us, but even on the larger islands, we were only able to identify a few very localized examples. Here it would appear that the networks are much more extensive and may provide a power source we can use. But—there are some unanticipated problems.”

A faint muttering swept through the room.

“Nothing we cannot handle,” Ansha continued, “but we will have to gain a more precise fix—preferably a site where two major pathways cross.”

“Are you saying that there is such a place?” Haladris, already one of the taller men in the room, drew himself up straight, his hooded eyes widening.

Prince Tjalan stepped forward again.

“Perhaps. A trader called Heshoth has recently arrived in Belsairath with a small party of traders in raw stuffs such as grain and hides. This Heshoth comes from a tribe called the Ai-Zir, which apparently dominates the plain that lies beyond the coastal downs north of here. At the center of their territory is a sanctuary. According to Heshoth, it is a place of great power. Their name for it means ‘a meeting of the god-ways
.’
”

“Are you certain you have understood him correctly?” asked Mahadalku. She was a powerful woman whose strong frame belied her years.

“Can he be trusted?” Metanor wanted to know.

“The merchants here consider him dependable,” Tjalan answered. “More to the point, he speaks our language. The first task, Lord Guardian, will be yours—” The prince addressed Haladris. “Use your skills to determine the potential of the site. The second component is military, and that responsibility, of course, is mine. I will be sending a patrol out to investigate the territory. We need to know if the population is numerous enough to supply us with a labor force that can support our projects.”

Is there any reason they would
want
to?
wondered Micail, but Haladris and Mahadalku were nodding a grudging approval, and the others also seemed willing to go along. Perhaps they hadn’t considered that the natives here might not wish to become the foundation for a new Atlantean empire, or maybe they did not care. But if Atlantis was fated to rise anew in this wintry land, then Micail supposed it would do so, whatever anyone might say.

 

By local standards, Belsairath might be a metropolis, but it was in fact smaller than the least precinct of Ahtarra, Alkona, or even Taris. Elara and Cleta certainly had no difficulty in finding the Temple that Timul had built here for the Great Mother. Compared to the marble columns, spires, and gilded tiles that had adorned such temples in the Sea Kingdoms, this low, thatch-roofed building was less than imposing, but the wooden uprights of the portico were properly rounded and whitewashed, and the sigil of the Goddess was painted in blue on the pediment above the door.

“It would have been more sensible to build this in the hills, where the villas are,” said Cleta. Her round face brightened as the sun peeked through the clouds that had covered the sky all day. Almost as one, the two girls turned like flowers toward the summery light, welcoming its blaze through closed eyelids.

“There probably weren’t so many of them here then,” Elara murmured. “Oh, Day Star! It seems an eon since I felt Manoah’s warmth—” But even as she spoke she felt the brightness fade, and opening her eyes, watched the clouds close in once more.

“I shouldn’t have spoken. I frightened Him away. . . .” She smiled, then sighed as she saw Cleta looking at her in confusion. “It was a
joke,
Cleta. Never mind. Now that we’ve found the place, we may as well go in.”

There were more surprises inside. As the door opened, they found themselves in a long room with tinted walls and three inner doors. One of them opened and a priestess emerged, her face placid and unemotional, but as she recognized the white robes of the acolytes, the Blue Robe began to smile.

“Lodreimi! What are you doing here?” exclaimed Elara, recognizing her in turn. Apart from Timul herself, and Marona, whom Elara did not know well, the young Alkonan woman seemed to be the only other Atlantean-born initiate of Ni-Terat, or Caratra, in Belsairath. Elara had wanted to find her but no one had been able to tell her where Lodreimi was staying.

“Serving the Goddess . . .” The Alkonan’s usual gravity dissolved into another smile. “When I arrived here I felt so lost . . . Until I met Timul I didn’t know what to do! I just know you will gain from her wisdom, too. Wait here and I will call her!”

From somewhere deeper within they could hear the repetitive sound of singing or, rather, of girls learning a song. From another direction came the scent of herbs and a faint suggestion of incense. The noise of the muddy but busy thoroughfare just outside was no more than a distant hum. Elara felt her eyes pricking with reminiscent tears as the peace of the place enveloped her. The Temple of the Healers in Ahtarra had felt just the same.

When she could see again, the archpriestess herself stood before them, a comfortably rounded woman with auburn hair braided into a crown around her head, who radiated her own subtle authority. “Elara, Cleta, we have been hoping that you would come to see us. Lodreimi has told us so much about you. Are you chilled? Come into the kitchen and you shall have hot tea, and then I will show you what we are doing here . . .”

The right-hand door led down a hall. More doors opened off of it—they led to sleeping rooms, Timul told them, some used by the priestesses, and others reserved for women who might come to them needing refuge.

“It is hard here for some,” said the archpriestess. “Among the tribes here, women are respected, as a rule, but when they come to the town there is no clan structure to protect them.”

“You give them medicines?” asked Cleta as they passed into the kitchen.

“We give them whatever we can,” said Timul primly. “Food or refuge or healing, according to their need.”

“It was intended that I should become an herbalist,” Cleta said then, “but I have not been able to begin the training.”

“You may begin here whenever you like.” Timul nodded toward a saffron-robed woman who was squatting by the hearth, stirring a cauldron that hung above the fire. “Sadhisebo would welcome your assistance.”

“A
saji
?” Cleta said doubtfully, as the woman rose with a peculiar fluid grace and turned to greet them warmly. Elara shrank away. She had heard too many tales of the saji women who had served in the temples of the Grey Order in the old days. The Grey Robes studied magic, and magic was a power that might be put to many uses, not all of them approved by the Servants of Light. The mere sight of the diminutive, small-boned saji woman was disturbing in a way that she could not quite identify.

Timul smiled gently. “Did you think them mindless Temple whores? The arts of love are one path to the divine realm, to be sure, but Sahisebo and Saiyano, her sister, are highly skilled in herbal lore.”

“Herbs to cast forth a child?” Cleta wondered.

“Those too, if necessary,” Timul said austerely, “along with those to keep it safely in the womb. We serve life here, you must understand, and the greater good sometimes requires harsh deeds. In order to save, the Goddess must sometimes slay.”

“I do know that.” Elara bowed her head, smiling tentatively as the saji woman placed bowls of tea upon the low table before them. “Even before I was chosen as one of the Twelve I was consecrated to Ni-Terat. In Ahtarra I was the chela of the priestess Liala in the Blue Robe Temple.”