The ring of five dragons, p.35
The Ring of Five Dragons, page 35
part #1 of The Pearl Series
“Za Hara-at,” she whispered. “Eleusis’ dream.”
Nith Sahor nodded. “Lady, Rekkk cannot find the Dar Sala-at on his own. Will you help him in his quest?”
Giyan stood white and shaking. “So it is true.” Her voice was a reedy whisper. A new path was opening up before her, and like all new paths it had a fork. She remembered with astonishing clarity her vision of standing on the wishbone, seeing the Ramahan konara at the end of one fork, and at the end of the other fork, the armor-clad V’ornn holding her child, shining like a star, in the neural net of his gloved hands. Like all her visions, this one was coming true. With every fiber of her being she knew that the next step she took would be down one fork or the other. “I foresaw this moment, in a moment of madness, I thought. Ever afterward I have been trying to deny its validity.”
“And yet the moment has come, Lady.”
“The moment to trust a Gyrgon and a former Pack-Commander with the fate of the savior of my people.” Tears streamed down her face. She knew which fork she would take, which fork she was destined to take. There was no turning back. Of course. The path had been there all along. Waiting. She would be reunited with her child far sooner than she had anticipated. She felt exhilarated and terrified at the same time. What changes had been wrought in the Nanthera, and afterward?
“Nith Sahor,” she said in a thin voice, “how came the Ring into the possession of the Gyrgon?”
“It was a gift given none too freely by the new regent.”
“Wennn Stogggull But how—?”
“That I do not know, Lady.” Nith Sahor spread his hands. “And I am not now in a position to Summon him.” Nith Sahor’s head turned, the tertium circuits in his skull flashing in the light. “The moment I watched the Ring of Five Dragons kill my brethren, I broke with the will of the Comradeship. I suspect my movements are being monitored. I have taken the necessary precautions here in my laboratory, but to Summon the regent now would be unwise. These recent decisions have been… difficult. But I find that I have no choice.”
“Neither do I,” Giyan whispered. “My people must be saved, no matter the cost.”
Nith Sahor nodded. “It is settled then.” He turned to Rekkk. “Despite your heightened powers, I must urge you to exercise extreme caution. Our enemies are legion. Worse, they are often masters of disguise. Try to trust no one, but if you must, offer your trust wisely.”
“I understand.”
“I know you do.” Nith Sahor put his ion-gloved hand on Rekkk’s shoulder. “You are my eyes and ears. My disciple. I have shown you how to use your advanced okummmon, both as a weapon and as a communicator, but because it is still a work in progress, you will have need to improvise as you go. Though I assure you it is as flexible as it is powerful, there will be limitations, ones that, inevitably, I have not foreseen.”
He returned his gaze to Giyan. “Lady, you better than any other know the dire consequences should you fail in your quest.”
“We will not fail,” she said.
“May whatever gods or goddesses you believe in go with you and protect you.”
Climbing up the rock chimney proved quite a bit less daunting than it had looked, due in part to a good, hot dinner, some more sleep, and, most of all, Thigpen’s guidance. Riane was relieved to find that they emerged much farther down the mountainside than where the Ice Caves were—on a heavily wooded promontory more or less level with the middle of Heavenly Rushing.
“This is as far as I go, little dumpling,” Thigpen said.
Riane knelt down. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“Too much to do, too much too much too much.” Thigpen began to lick herself. “You go on now.”
“I can help you.”
“No, you cannot. Something odd happened at First Cenote; something that should not have happened. I smell a scheme of Pyphoros’ making. Trust me. You are not prepared for him yet.”
Thinking of Pyphoros, Riane shivered. “If, as you say, things are worse, all the more reason for me to stay here with you.”
Thigpen looked at her as if she were the stupidest female on Kun-dala. “You know you must go back.”
“I am tired of being told what I must and must not do.” Riane looked south where, in the far distance, Axis Tyr lay and, within its walls, Kinnnus Morcha and Wennn Stogggul. “If I am the Dar Sala-at, then I have power; if I have power I can exact my revenge—“
“Now you sound just like a daemon.”
“My parents were murdered by two V’ornnr Riane cried.
Thigpen was looking at her with sad eyes. “You remember what happens when you forsake searching for answers. Evil comes. You are not evil, Riane, but I daresay you are being tempted by evil.”
“They must pay for what they did!”
“And they will. But it is not the Dar Sala-at’s destiny to have her hands covered with their blood.”
“What is my destiny, then?” Riane said bleakly.
“Your destiny right now is to return to the abbey. And it is your obligation to fulfill it.”
“All right,” Riane said. “I will do what you ask.”
“It is not what I ask, little dumpling. It is what is written; it is what must be.”
Riane looked at her a long time. “What if I say ‘No’? What if I simply walk away?”
“You won’t.” Thigpen’s intelligent eyes held hers fixedly.
“Will I see you again?”
Thigpen smiled. “Müna willing.”
Riane looked down at the path that led back to the Abbey of Floating White. She knew that she had gotten all the answers she could from the creature. “I’ll be off then.”
She had turned to go when Thigpen said, “Wait.” Thigpen trotted over to her and stood on her four hind legs. “You may pet me, if you wish.”
Riane bent over, stroked Thigpen’s lush silky fur. The long tail swished back and forth in pleasure.
Thigpen rubbed her head against Riane’s hip. “Müna’s blessings be with you, little dumpling.”
Rjane held everything in, and it was only when she was out of sight of the creature that she allowed herself to feel the sadness of their parting. She missed Thigpen already, but on the other hand she cheered herself with the knowledge that she would be seeing Leyna Astar soon. What luck that Konara Laudenum and Bartta had had a falling-out. The only saving grace of life inside the abbey was her growing friendship with Astar.
Five hours later, she arrived at the rear entrance to the abbey. Apparently, she had been spotted coming down the path to the Ice Caves because the huge iron-banded doors were swinging open. A large group of acolytes—many of whom had so derisively seen her off—as well as a goodly number of novices crowded the courtyard, staring. She craned her neck, searching for Astar.
“Riane, we thought you were dead!” called one.
“Where have you been?” called another.
“Are you injured?” asked a third.
“I am fine,” she said, slightly bewildered as they crowded around her.
“I was delayed by a mountain squall.” This was the story she had decided to use to explain her absence.
“Rianel” a commanding voice cried. All of them—acolytes and novices alike—fell silent and bowed as they parted to make way for Konara Urdma. Her persimmon-colored robes roiled around her, mirroring her vexation. She was a slight female with an elongated face that made her look like an ice-hare. “You are long overdue. Do you have any idea the fretting your absence has caused?”
“I am sorry, but I had to wait out the squall,” Riane said, her stomach clenching in anger. After her days of freedom, coming back here seemed like a terrible prison sentence. She had to steel herself not to run back up the path into the mountains.
“If there ever was a squall; which I very much doubt,” Konara Urdma snapped. “Let me tell you, Riane, that insolent tone of voice will be your downfall.” She took Riane -by the ear and twisted. This caused a titter to run through the assembled throng, and very soon that titter had gathered force, becoming first a ripple of giggles, and then a tidal wave of laughter.
Riane gritted her teeth. She was obliged to run to keep up with Konara Urdma’s long strides, but at least it got her away from the jeering crowd.
“I have heard overly much of your rebellious spirit.” Konara Urdma kept up the pressure on Riane’s ear even though there no longer seemed to be a need. She exuded an unpleasant smell, as if she had been rooting around in damp earth. “You were given a specific assignment and were expected to carry it out to the letter. The Calling is sacred. The rules must be obeyed.”
Riane opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again without making a sound. She knew there was nothing she could possibly say that would change Konara Urdma’s mind.
She hurried them along until they arrived at the chamber where Bartta sat hunched over a thick manuscript. As they came closer, Riane could see that she was translating the thick cor-hide sheets from the Old Tongue into modern-day Kundalan.
Bartta looked up when Konara Urdma half flung Riane into the side of the old wooden desk at which she sat.
“Konara, this acolyte of yours—” Urdma began, but stopped abruptly at a curt signal from Bartta.
“Riane, are you injured?” Bartta asked as she rose.
“No, Konara,” Riane said.
“Or ill?”
“No, Konara.”
“She is willful and disobedient,” Konara Urdma said with some distaste.
“Do you not recall your own difficult beginnings, Konara Urdma?” Bartta put her arm around Riane’s shoulders. “Do not judge others so harshly lest you forget your own prior sins.”
“Yes, Konara,” Konara Urdma said, genuflecting.
Bartta smiled. “You have my gratitude for bringing Riane safely back to me. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, Konara,” Urdma whispered. “Thank you, Konara.” She bowed her way out.
When they were alone, Bartta turned Riane to face her. “Now let me have a look at you. None the worse for wear, I warrant.” She sighed. “But when you did not return last night, you gave me quite a turn. In another few hours, I was going to organize a search party.”
“I am sorry for frightening you, Bartta,” Riane said.
Bartta nodded. “Well said, my dear.” She guided Riane out of the chamber. “No one knows better than I how difficult the Order can sometimes be. But, trust me, it is simply a matter of adapting to our insular way of life. All that is required is patience and obedience to Müna. Soon you will be the most accomplished of acolytes. I myself will see to it.” They were walking down corridors, moving deeper into the heart of the abbey As they progressed, however, the corridors become darker, less ornamented, and gradually colorless.
“As part of your homecoming, I have a surprise for you,” Bartta said.
They had arrived at a small, dark, cramped, passageway in a section of the abbey wholly unfamiliar to Riane. There was something about this area that reeked of extreme age, of power long forgotten, and lost magics most ancient.
Bartta stopped in front of an old scarred heartwood door. When she unlocked it using a key on a long chain attached to her robes it creaked on massive unoiled iron hinges.
Riane’s heart was beating fast. She liked nothing about this, but now, upon walking down this clingy passageway, upon seeing this door, a wave of foreboding swept through her.
Don’t go in there!
“Why are you hesitating, dear?” So saying, Bartta shoved her roughly through the doorway, then turned and locked the door behind them. Flames from old-fashioned reed torches illuminated the high-ceilinged, windowless chamber in a fitful orange glow. Riane gasped.
The chamber was pyramidal in shape, without ornament or furni- ture, save for a large glennan chair, exquisitely carved and turned. The same peculiar quality about both chamber and chair was intimidating in its primitive power. The beautiful chair sat on a raised plinth in the center of the room. Old runes were carved into the plinth, and these same runes, Riane noticed, were also incised into the four legs of the chair.
Astar sat in the chair. Metal mesh straps held her tightly at wrists, ankles, and forehead. Her head was tilted far back so that her mouth was pointed at the ceiling. She looked as if she were about to swallow a long, slender crystal rod which hung rigid and unmoving from a device at the back of the chair.
“What. . .” Riane had to swallow before she could go on. “What are you doing to her?”
“Now what do you suppose I am doing?”
Riane saw Astar’s terrified eyesfand ran toward her.
“I thought as much,” Bartta muttered, and swinging her arms wide, spoke three words. Immediately, Riane was frozen in place. Though she struggled, mightily, she was paralyzed completely. She could see and hear, but the more she struggled the tighter the grip on her until it became laborious for her even to breathe.
“Try to relax, Riane,” Bartta said. “There is nothing you can do.”
Bartta went across the chamber until she was standing directly behind Astar. Lovingly, she stroked the crystal length above Astar’s head. “From time immemorial it has been known as the had-atta. Do you know that word, Astar? In the Old Tongue, it means ‘flute.’ It is an ancient method at divining true intent.” Bartta stroked the crystal tube again. “You see, my dear, I have had my eye on you. Having come by rumors of your disrespectful tongue, I have for some time suspected this beautiful exterior harbored a rebellious, even a deceitful spirit. Therefore, I assigned you to be Riane’s instructor.”
She whirled on Riane. “You formed a bond with her. In your company, I knew she would relax her guard. If the rumors about her were true, I needed to know. And if not, well, no harm would be done.” She turned back to Astar. “I spied on you, I saw what you did to her, how you used the qi, the sacred needles on her.” She leaned in. “How, Astar? How did you, a mere leyna, a novice, gain knowledge available to just a few konara?”
Astar squirmed, her eyes open unnaturally wide. Her beautiful lips were grotesquely distorted in order to accommodate the flute.
“And the ideas you put in her head about Kyoful What would a novice know about Kyofu, Astar, hmmm?”
Bartta began to lower the crystal tube down Astar’s throat. The flesh bulged out, Astar began to gag. Riane tried to shout “No!” but only the tiniest whimper emerged. Tears of anguish and frustration rimmed her eyes, held in place by whatever sorcerous stasis she was in.
Bartta lowered the flute again, and Astar began to scream. But it was not like any scream Riane had ever heard. The sorcerous flute absorbed the vibrations of the vocal cords, channeling them through its matrix, amplifying them, spewing them out as an eerie keening. Bartta held the had-atta steady. “Of course, there is the chance that even the guilty may be redeemed.”
She turned to Riane, and said matter-of-factly, “I imagine you would like to know what will happen. Unless she relents, I will lower the flute into Leyna Astar’s esophagus. The deeper the flute goes, the louder she will scream, the more the flute will amplify those screams. If the flute shatters, it will be proof that she is unrepentant. If it does not, then she can be rehabilitated.”
Astar’s beautiful face was ashen. Sweat stained her robes, ran off her skin in rivulets. Tiny tremors commenced to inform her body with a life all its own until she looked like a marionette dancing at the ends of invisible strings. Her nostrils flared as she frantically sucked air into her lungs, and she wept openly.
Bartta smiled at Riane. “Oh, do not cry. Custom dictates that she who has been wronged has the right to administer the sentence.” Riane saw the flute tremble slightly; she was terrified Bartta would let it go all the way down. “Say the word now, Riane, so Astar will be punished to the full extent of the law.”
Riane opened her mouth and, to her astonishment, her vocal cords at least were freed from the spell. “I will not,” she croaked. “Nothing Leyna Astar has done merits punishment.”
“Is that so?” Bartta cocked her head. “Then you vote for life.”
“Yes,” Riane whispered through dry lips. “Grant her life, I beg you.”
“Yes, beg me.”
“Please, Bartta, let her live,” Riane said again.
“‘Please, Bartta, let her live,”Bartta mimicked, her face distorted. “Well, yes, I suppose that can be arranged. But it is entirely up to you, Riane. Astar’s one chance at life is for you to do as I say, now and forever. To become obedient as a lamb. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” she said in a parched voice. “If you will save her, I will do whatever—“
A scream emanated from Astar.
Riane, sickened and horrified, sensed what was to come. She strug- gled with all her might against the paralyzing spell. “No, don’t, please,” she cried. “I can save you. I will do—“
The scream came again, louder, harsher this time, ringing around the walls.
“No, you don’t! You’ll give me all your secrets! I swear!” Bartta lunged for the flute’s thong, but it was too late. Astar had already begun her death scream.
It billowed up from the very core of her, passed through every cell in her body, gaining strength as it went, and when she released it, the flute shattered into ten thousand jagged fragments that embedded themselves in her.
“No, no, you cannot die!” Bartta unstrapped Astar even as she was drowning in the powerful surf of her own blood. “You must tell me what you know!”
Astar vomited blood all over Bartta’s magnificent persimmon-colored robes.
Ring Of 5 Dragons
Book Three
WHITE BONE GATE
“The ascendancy of evil is as inevitable as tfce rising of the sun or the shifting of the tides. The face of evil may alter, but its underlying nature remains constant. Evil enters us through a rupture in White Bone Gate. The precise site is often difficult to locate and even more difficult to repair. Given the nature of this Gate, restoration of the individual is exceedingly dangerous, and often impossible. …”
