Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ancestors of Avalon (36 page)

Not since childhood had anyone had the power to command her perceptions, but before Tiriki could think to resist, she responded, and instead of trees and meadows saw glimmering lattices of radiance. Dazzled, she turned and perceived the Tor itself as a single crystalline structure through which currents of energy, spiraling around the peak of the Tor, formed a dazzling circle ascending to the sky. Tiriki lifted her hand and saw instead of a human arm, a dragon dance of radiance that refracted and interacted with all the rest in turn, as intricately interconnected as the serpents on her ring.

“Why are you surprised?”
She could no longer tell if the thought came from without or within.
“Did you not know that you are also a part of this world?”

The truth of it was evident. Tiriki was simultaneously aware of her own being and of a myriad of interlocking lattices of light, layered from one dimension to the next, and containing every entity from pure spirit to stone and dust. She was aware of Alyssa’s disorderly spirit as a scatter of sparks, Chedan’s steady glow of faith and power, and the bright flicker that was Iriel, her soul-spark so close to that of Otter that they were nearly one. The power of the Tor rippled through the landscape in rivers of light. Her excitement rose as she extended her perceptions, for here, where all planes of existence were one, was where she might surely find Micail . . .

And for a moment, then, she touched his spirit. But the surge of emotion was too great, and Tiriki plunged dizzily back into her body—or rather, to whatever form her body had here, for her own flesh glowed like that of the woman whom she saw standing before her, robed in light, crowned with stars.

“Micail lives!” Tiriki exclaimed.

“All things live,”
came the answer,
“past, present, future, each in its own plane.”

Beneath the leathery leaves of unknown plants, monstrous forms moved; but also ice covered the world, and nothing grew. She saw the Tor at once tree-clad and cleared, a slope of close-cropped grass crowned with standing stones, and also a strange stone building which in the same moment fell, leaving only a tower. She saw people dressed in skins, in blue robes, in garments of many colors, and buildings, fields, and pasture overlaying the marshes that she knew . . . Her perceptions overwhelmed her, and she felt as though she knew nothing at all.

“All of them are real,”
the voice in her mind explained.
“Each time you make a choice, the world changes, and another level is revealed.”

“How shall I find Micail?” Tiriki’s spirit cried. “How shall I find
you
?”

 

“My lady, are you all right?” a man’s voice inquired.

“Tiriki! What are you doing here?”

The voices converged, distinct, but with an underlying harmony. Tiriki opened her eyes and realized that she was lying on the grass just inside the circle of stones at the top of the Tor. She struggled to sit up, squinting against the light of the rising sun.

“Were you out wandering all night too?” A sturdy figure she recognized as Reidel reached out to help her to stand.

“Wandering indeed,” said Tiriki giddily, “but where?”

“My lady?”

“Never mind . . .” She was stiff in every joint, but though the thick grasses were damp with dew, her clothing was almost entirely dry. Blinking, she looked about again, comparing what she saw with her memories.

“She seems dazed,” Damisa said with an undertone of exasperation. “Best get her downhill as soon as we can.”

“Come then, my lady,” said Reidel softly, “you can lean on me. We may not have located Iriel, but at least we have found
you.
”

“Iriel is safe . . .” Tiriki’s voice was a croak and she tried again. “Take me to Chedan. What I have seen . . . he needs to know.”

A
pillar of dust was moving across the plain, marking the progress of yet another mighty piece of stone. Micail climbed up on the embankment that circled the henge and gazed northward across the ditch, shading his eyes with his hand to make out the line of sweating men who hauled it. Others ran ahead, ready to dart in and replace anyone whose strength failed, clearing the track ahead for the rounded wooden runners that carried the load.

A stand of singers could lift such a stone for a short time; seven times that number might even transport it overland if the distance was not too great, but there were no longer enough singers left in all the world to levitate one of the great sarsens all the way across the plain. And to raise the stones once they had been brought to the circle would require the talents of all the trained singers who remained.

They had tried moving the stones with oxen, but men worked harder and longer, and they were easier to train. King Khattar seemed unable to comprehend why Micail thought that a problem. For generations, once the emmer wheat and barley were well up and the cattle had been driven to the hill pastures in the care of girls and young men, the king would call out the levy. One able-bodied man from each farmstead or hamlet was expected to report for community labor. That was how the great ditched enclosures had been made, and the barrows, the wooden henges, and probably the older circles of standing stones as well.

There is still so much that we do not know,
thought Micail.
I only hope we do not come to rue the gaps in our knowledge.
Turning, he surveyed the five pairs of sarsen stones that already stood within the circle. Despite his misgivings, he felt a thrill of satisfaction at the sight of those sharply hewn shapes against the sky. Atlantean magic could not do all the work, but it had certainly helped speed it. It was beginning to seem as if a task that would have taken the entire labor force of all the tribes dominated by King Khattar nearly ten years to accomplish was going to be finished in less than three. In a single year they had prepared five pairs of monoliths for the inner semicircle. The great lintels too were ready, and lay waiting.

When the rest of the singers arrived from Belsairath, and the lintels were raised to their places on wings of sound, then the shamans would understand the need to work with, rather than against, this new power.
And after that, we will be able to complete the new Temple without further interference.
It occurred to Micail that he had been so focused on the construction of the stone circle for the last two and a half years that he was finding it difficult to envision the work that would follow.

“My lord?” A touch on his elbow roused him from his reverie and he saw Lanath waiting there.

“What is it?”

“Will it please you to inspect the third stone now?” The acolyte’s bronze skin had a healthy glow in the summer sunlight, and the rigorous work had made the boy a man. It had been quite some time, Micail reflected, as he followed Lanath back into the semicircle of stones, since he had to rouse the lad from a nightmare.

The third stone was surrounded by a timber framework, from whose top a native workman was grinning down.

“Is like the other side, aye? You look and see—”

Micail walked around the stone once, then again, comparing its sides with each other and with the second stone as well. All of the monoliths had been roughly dressed before being erected, and each had one side that had been made particularly smooth, and slightly concave. But not until such a stone had been raised could the narrowing of top and bottom which made the sides appear straight be adjusted to perfection.

“Yes, it is good. You may come down now. Tell them I said to give you an extra ration of beer.” He smiled genially.

Micail laid a hand against the rough surface. Whenever he touched a dressed sarsen he could feel the subtle thrum of energy within it. When the construction was complete, he suspected, he would be able to sense its power without touching it.

Common people might think of stones as lifeless things, but within these stones he sensed a potential for far greater cumulative power. Already it could be perceived somewhat at dawn and sunset. Many of the native workers refused to come into the site at those times. They said the stones had begun to talk to one another, and Micail half believed it.

“Soon all shall hear you,” he murmured to the monolith. “When you are joined to your brother and the others stand beside you, we will invoke your spirit, and all will understand . . .” And for a moment, the subliminal vibration became an audible hum. He started, and noticed that Lanath had heard it too.

“It is easy in this savage place to forget all the glories that are gone,” he told the boy, “but our true treasure was always the wisdom of the stars. We shall make in this place a monument that will, when the very name of Atlantis is forgotten, still proclaim that we were here.”

“There it is!” Elara pointed past the line of trees that marked the river Aman’s winding course. “You can see the timbers of the palisade.”

Timul shaded her eyes with her hand. “Ah, yes. At first I thought those posts were more trees . . . What’s that atop them? Bull’s horns? Ah. Barbaric, but effective.”

The others, too, were chattering with relief and curiosity as the rest of the Ai-Zir village came into view. Micail had sent word that work on the circle of stones was reaching a stage where everyone would be needed, and even those who until now had remained in Belsairath had answered his call.

Elara glanced back down the line. Ocathrel had returned, this time with all three of his daughters and Micail’s cousin Galara as well. There were the great singers Sahurusartha and her husband, Reualen, along with Aderanthis and Kyrrdis and Valadur and Valorin with their various chelas, most of whom had been here at least once before. But now the senior Guardians were with them—grim Haladris and stern Mahadalku, and even, riding in sedan chairs, frail Stathalkha and old Metanor—and
there
was Vialmar, almost at the end of the line, looking about nervously as if he expected at any moment to be attacked by something, despite the presence of Tjalan’s men-at-arms.

Almost every priest and priestess who had sailed to Belsairath was present—at least those who had also survived last winter’s coughing sickness. Prince Tjalan’s wife and two of his children were among those who died. Elara had been in Belsairath when the epidemic began, and Timul had immediately pressed her into service as a healer. For so long, it seemed, the acolyte had been facing misery and death; she found herself surprisingly eager to see the village of Azan again.
Poor Lanath, he must have been bored to tears. I wonder if he ever convinced Micail to learn how to play Feathers.

“I know it looks small compared to Belsairath,” said Elara, “but the other tribal centers are no more than a few houses near the barrows, although tents and reed huts spring up all over the hillside during the festivals. Azan is the only place here that could even qualify as a village.”

“Quit babbling, girl. I understand.” Timul’s dark eyes continued to flick alertly over the scene.

Micail’s letter had summoned all the singers to help him complete, consecrate, and activate the Sun Wheel. It had apparently become an event of some importance for the tribe as well. She wondered if the queen would be there. At the time Elara left, Micail had been putting off all talk of marriage by protesting that he must remain celibate in order to work with the stones. She wondered if anyone would ever manage to get into Micail’s bed.

 

Micail surveyed the assembled priests and priestesses who sat waiting beneath the willow trees by the river.
How is it that we have become so strange to one another?
He sighed.
Or is it only I who have changed?

Once, presiding over such meetings had been part of his daily routine. He found himself mentally rehearsing the traditional salutations, the little compliments and discreet formalities that had been his best tools in administering the Temple and the city of Ahtarrath, then winced, as if the memories were muscles gone stiff from disuse. These days he was more accustomed to the rough courtesies of the Ai-Zir, or the easy cameraderie of Jiri and Ansha.