Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ancestors of Avalon (35 page)

One custom of Atlantis that the immigrants had been able to re-create was that of coming together for the evening meal. On Ahtarrath, the acolytes had dined in a square chamber lit by hanging lamps and frescoed with interlacing images of the octopi whose tender flesh was a basic part of Atlantean cuisine.

Unlike the native dwellings, the dining hall the Atlanteans had built at the Tor was rectangular, with doors set along the woven walls that could be opened when the weather allowed. Here, the whole community—except for a few sailors who had married native women and lived with them in the village—gathered around a long central hearth whose smoke spiraled upward through the thatch of the peaked roof.

At one end, the little statue of Caratra stood upon a plinth made from a stout log. Tiriki noticed with a smile that someone had already laid a spray or two of purple asters before the Goddess. She wondered who it had been, and what words, if any, had been used.

The refugees still often spoke of Caratra as Ni-Terat, while the natives called Her Hearthmother, but all drew comfort from Her sweet regard. Today, though, Tiriki found herself suddenly feeling a little more out of place than usual. At home, she had served Light in the form of mighty but distant Manoah, whose presence was experienced only in the most rarified ecstasies of trance. But at the Tor they lived close to the earth and it seemed more fitting that the Mother who never abandons Her children should have Her home here at the center of the community.

Tiriki looked again about the crowded dining hall and smiled, remembering her teacher Rajasta’s words,
“But it is man, not Manoah, who needs testimonials in stone. He can never be forgotten. The Sun is His own monument . . .” And besides,
she realized,
this
is
a place of Light.

And so it was. In summer, as if to make up for its lack of strength by length of light, the sun lingered into the evening, its long rays slanting through the western doors, filling the space with a golden glow. The honeyed light veiled the deficiencies of their clothing, turning the countless stains and patches into subtle decorations. Tiriki felt an unexpected rush of pride. Although she could still recognize the same proud priesthood that had ruled the Ancient Land, the faces that now turned to welcome her were marked by lines of endurance and lit with a radiance she had never seen in the Temple at Ahtarrath, and it seemed to her that a new wisdom glowed even in wise old Chedan’s eyes.

As Tiriki took her seat at the head of one of the long tables, Domara close beside her, she began a mental roll call. Reidel and the unmarried sailors sat together at one table, even now maintaining shipboard discipline. Chedan headed another group, with Forolin and his family on one side and the priests Rendano and Dannetrasa on the other. The saji women were not present—they generally took their meals privately with Liala and Alyssa—but Tiriki’s table was far from quiet because the acolytes sat there.

Damisa and Selast sat together as they usually did these days, and Elis was arguing with Kalaran, also a common occurrence. Even now, Kalaran did not seem to get on well with any of the others, as if grief for the companions he had lost still prevented him from taking joy in those who remained. Tiriki frowned, noticing that the place next to him was empty.

“Where,” she asked aloud, “is Iriel?”

The acolytes looked at her and then at one another.

“I haven’t seen her since class this afternoon,” said Elis. “You never told us why the two of you were so late, Damisa. Was she working on some project that she might have returned to and forgotten the time again?”

Damisa shook back her auburn head, brows creasing in thought. “Not a project,” she said at last. “But—I meant to tell you—we were late because we saw a bear.” Her voice had risen, and folk from the other tables turned to see.

“A
what
?” exclaimed Reidel. “
Are
there bears here?”

“I gather there haven’t been for a long time,” Damisa answered. “Iriel was ecstatic. Apparently Bear Mother is a great power here, and the marsh folk used to do rituals for her in sacred caves.” She rolled her eyes, still unconvinced about the last part.

“She wouldn’t have gone looking for the bear?” Elis voiced the thought that was in everyone’s mind. Tiriki’s eyes met Chedan’s in alarm.

“We must find her!” Reidel pushed back his bench and stood up, reassuming the authority of command. “The marshes can be treacherous, and we don’t want to lose anyone else. We will form teams to search—Tiriki and Chedan can coordinate from here, and Elis should stay too, in case you need a messenger. Cadis, I want you to look around the settlement; make sure she isn’t here. Teiron, search the area around the lake, and then run down to the village and ask Heron to send hunters to track the bear. Otter will want to help. He seems to have a fondness for Iriel. Damisa, you and Selast and Kalaran—come with me. We must search the Tor, and the villagers do not go there . . .”

 

Damisa clutched at another branch as her foot slipped again, and clung, catching her breath in hoarse gasps. Above her the slope of the Tor bulked like the Star Mountain against the night. She let out a little shriek as hard fingers closed on her arm.

“It’s just me,” Reidel murmured in her ear. She relaxed against his strong arm with a sigh, a little surprised at the sense of security his support gave her. Their torches had failed some time ago, and the world had relapsed into a jumble of shadows. Reidel’s arm was one point of certainty in all the wild world.

“Has the Tor gotten bigger, or are we covering the same ground over and over again?” she asked, when she could speak again.

“It does seem that way,” Reidel said ruefully. “All these trees—they make me nervous. Almost makes me wish I were back at sea!”

“At least we can see the stars.” She could feel no wavering in his arm. “Will they not guide you as well on land as on sea?”

“That’s true—” He tipped his head skyward, where an interlace of branches seemed to net the gleaming Wheel. “And in truth . . .” He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again there was a constraint in his voice that had not been there before. “In truth, I do not wish myself anywhere but here.” Very gently he released her. “I hope Selast and Kalaran have fared better than we,” he added, and looked upward once more, not giving Damisa a chance to reply.

What should I have said?
she wondered.
How can I ask him what he means when I already know?
In the old world, even if she had not been destined for the Temple of Light, a girl of her rank might never have spoken to someone like Reidel, much less wondered what it might be like to lie encircled by those strong arms. She felt his warmth again, as he stopped to help her cross a fallen tree. She dreaded the necessity of mating, but for the first time it occurred to her that it might not be so terrible after all. Smiling in the darkness, she followed Reidel uphill.

 

“Poor old Alyssa . . . Yes, I know what you’re thinking!” The seeress parted the frizz of unkempt hair that veiled her face and peered at Tiriki with a skewed smile. “If I am crazy, though, why ask
me
if you’ve lost another acolyte? And if I am sane—why wait until midnight to ask me?”

Tiriki could find no answer. Her startled gaze sought Liala, who only shrugged and shook her head. The seeress was usually washed and combed whenever Liala brought her to any event, but apparently Liala’s control did not extend to Alyssa’s own dwelling, which was a mess of half-eaten foodstuffs, with bits and pieces of strange keepsakes from the Ancient Land lying alongside oddly shaped rocks and strange constructions of twigs and pinecones . . .

“Sanity is not the issue here—I need your vision!” Tiriki stopped short, realizing how anxiety had betrayed her. Ordinarily, she weighed her words more carefully. She relaxed a little as Alyssa began to laugh.

“Oh yes. Madness sees clearest when fate costs dearest. And since the Omphalos Stone never stops speaking to me—” She gestured toward the wall beyond which the Stone rested, swathed in silks in its wooden cabinet in the hut built to house it.

That was another thing, Tiriki realized with a shudder, that she had not thought about for far too long. She held Alyssa’s gaze with her own, waiting.

Alyssa closed her eyes and looked away. “The girl is unhurt. I cannot say if she is safe.”

“What? Where?”

“Seek the heart of the hill. You will learn your fill.” Her hair swung forward over her face once more as she resumed slowly rocking back and forth on her stool.

“What do you mean? What do you see?” Tiriki demanded, but Alyssa’s only answer was a wordless crooning.

“I hope that was helpful,” said Liala with a sigh, “because you will get no more from her tonight.”

“It gives me an idea,” said Tiriki after a moment. “Others have searched the caves, but perhaps I will see signs they could not . . .” She gasped as her eye was drawn again to the strange assembly of stones, twigs, and oddments on Alyssa’s floor. They were, she suddenly understood, a model of the Tor as it must look from high above . . . “If someone has not already seen them,” she added, with new confidence.

“I will go with you.” Liala arose and reached for her shawl. “Happily Teviri the saji is here, and can keep watch. Ordinarily, Alyssa passes from this state into deep sleep and will not wake till after noon.”

 

As Tiriki and Liala approached, torch flames wavered sharply in the chill current of air from the mouth of the cave. Taret had told her many things about this place, but Tiriki had always found herself too busy to take time to explore. Or perhaps she had been afraid. She peered with mingled excitement and apprehension into the darkness.

“Perhaps we should leave this for one of the younger folk.” Liala eyed the uneven footing dubiously.

“You have grown soft! Besides,” Tiriki added more soberly, “if Iriel needs us, she cannot wait for us to find them.” Not waiting to see if Liala followed, she started forward along the edge of the stream.

The stones, whitened by the lime-rich waters, glistened in the torchlight. In some places the minerals had crystallized in midflow and hung from the ceiling of the tunnel in an irregular series of upside-down pyramids. At their tips, drops of water formed and fell. When she reached out to steady herself against the sloping wall, the rock was cold and damp beneath her hand.

Was this passage natural, or had it been shaped by men? In most spots the stone had been worn smooth by water, but there were places overhead that seemed to have been chipped away. Curious, Tiriki quickened her pace, somehow keeping her footing on the slick stones. It was not until a sudden turning stopped her that she realized that Liala was no longer behind her. Softly she called the woman’s name, but the sound was soon swallowed in the whisper of water over stone.

For a moment she stood, considering. There had been no divergence in the passageways, so Liala could not have gotten lost—and she would have heard the splash if she had fallen from the slippery rocks. More likely, the older priestess had simply given up and turned back again. Pulling her shawl more tightly around her, Tiriki started forward once more. She was no more alone than she had been before, of course, but after a few steps she realized that knowing Liala was not behind her had made her more wary. She noticed that there was a secondary passageway on the far side of the stream, leading off to her left. As she raised the torch, she could see the sensuous curves of a running spiral pecked into the stone around the opening. Damisa had said that Iriel might be looking for a temple hidden in an ancient cave. With her lips tightening in decision, Tiriki bent and drew a leftward-pointing arrow in the mud to show where she was going, and then stepped across the glittering stream.

To the eye, there was little difference between this passage and the one she had been following, but she could sense a definite change. Frowning a little, she put a fingertip to the carving and began to trace the spiral inward to the center and then out again.

She stood, transfixed by the pattern, until suddenly she realized that her arm had dropped to her side and the torch was flaring dangerously near to her skirts. Startled, she jerked it away, peering around her.

How long had the pattern held her in trance? How far had she come? Tiriki shook her head; she ought to have known better than to touch the spiral. Taret had warned her that there was, somewhere on the island, a maze which would lead to the Otherworld if one trod it to the end.

The curved passage before her seemed less shadowed, but she could see neither very far ahead, nor back the way she had come.
I am not lost,
she told herself firmly. She had only to follow the spiral back to find the stream. And with that self-assurance, she set her hand to the stone and went forward once more . . .

In the next turning she found herself under open sky.

The torchlight seemed suddenly pale and she blinked at the light around her. Could it be morning already? The sky had all the silver pallor of dawn, but mists swathed the base of the Tor, and its slope hid the horizon.

Tiriki continued climbing, but when she reached what appeared to be the top she saw only the ring of stones, taller than she remembered, and glowing as if with their own light. The sun was not the source of that illumination, for the eastern sky was no brighter than the west. The air was not cold, but a shiver passed through her as she scanned the horizon.
I am no longer in the world I know . . .

Shifting veils of mist drifted across the land, but not the smoke from the settlement’s morning cookfires; indeed there was no sign of any habitation whatsoever . . . and yet the mists themselves were luminous, as if whatever they concealed was lit from within. Holding her breath, Tiriki strained to focus her eyes.

“You strive too hard,” said a soft, amused voice behind her. “Have you forgotten your training?
Eilantha
. . . breathe out . . . and in . . . open your inner vision, and see . . .”