Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (21 page)

“To safety,” Sara offered as a quick, sobering toast, “and to our friends.” They all drank, and a few quiet moments ensued about the table while Suzanne served the main course.

Axandra caught site of Sara and Suzanne winking at one another across the table, and got a sneaking suspicion that she had been set up on this encounter with Quinn for more than cultural reasons.

For the moment, she didn't mind. Quinn made pleasant company, even when he argued with her. He was not afraid to put forth his beliefs and his facts, even if he was trying to make a good impression on the woman he pursued.

The evening went by quickly as the hosts and guests continued to entertain each other with stories and games. They returned to the great room when dinner was finished. For the most part, they kept the topics casual, avoiding depressing talk about Soporus or the Believers or other dreadful subjects.

“So, tell me—us,” Quinn stuttered awkwardly in the conversation over yet another bottle of wine. Clearing his throat, he persisted, “Tell us something about where you grew up. I know I'm curious where you've been for so many years.”

“Oh, I don't want to bore anyone with my childhood,” Axandra attempted to shelve the discussion. She felt her face color with discomfort.

Sara snickered. The woman's skin looked pleasantly pink from the four glasses she'd consumed. “I'm sure it isn't boring, Madam. Do tell. Where did you live? Who did you live with?”

The others prodded her as well, each intrigued to hear some of the secrets she'd been keeping to herself. Miri was the only one who didn't speak up about her curiosity. The aide secluded herself to one side of the room, waiting for someone to need her help.

“Well,” Axandra resigned with a sigh. The room became very quiet and everyone ignored their cards. “I lived outside the village of Cherish, in southwest Westland, on a algodon farm with the Kortes. Reiko was my adoptive father, and Kari was my mother.” Speaking these words incited a swarm of memories she hadn't paid attention to in years. The faces of those people hovered at the back of her eyes. She missed them. “They had no other children, but they treated me as their own. Nothing much happened. I helped with the algodon field during the growing season and harvest. I went to school in the village. Kari taught me to sew and to cook. Pretty much the same as any other child.”

“Where are they now?” asked Suzanne curiously, though the woman suspected she could guess the answer.

“The Kortes were already in their late fifties when I lived with them. Kari passed away when I was fourteen after having pneumonia,” Axandra explained sadly. “Reiko missed her very much and never really recovered from the ordeal. He passed away a couple of years later. I had no other family, so I volunteered for service early. I haven't been to Cherish since.”

Suzanne's piercing blue eyes glistened. “Oh, you poor thing. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Axandra excused. “I miss them, but I know they gave their best to me.”

Tomas stroked the long whiskers of his mustache and wore a consternated frown. “Pardon me if I seem inconsiderate for asking, but what about your real parents? Did they send you to the Kortes? Why didn't you go home?”

Everyone else in the room, Quinn included, flashed Tomas scathing glares. Each one appeared to have swallowed their tongues in shock.

To evade the question, Axandra poured herself another glassful, praised the flavor of the wine, and then retrieved her cards. “Whose turn was it?”

Other than Tomas, the group uneasily returned to the game already in progress, deciding quickly that the play went to Sara. Within a few minutes, most of them refocused on the fun of the match. Tomas excused himself from the game with a grump.

After a while, the two gentlemen decided—when the ladies began to yawn—that the time had come to head back to their own accommodations.

“Thank you, Sara and Suzi, for the most delicious meal,” Tomas said graciously, heading for the door.

“And thank you for the lovely company,” added Quinn, though he seemed to be referencing the Protectress more than anyone else. He said the words with such sincerity, his voice melted her heart. “Have a pleasant night and a safe trip back to Undun City.”

“Goodnight,” Axandra wished them both, then they were out the door into the cold night. The air froze their breath into clouds as they hurried away up the narrow street.

“QE is quite adorable, isn't he,” Sara baited, keeping her voice low so that the others wouldn't hear her.

“He is,” Axandra agreed simply.

“You know, he passes through Undun quite frequently.” Sara and Axandra watched as the men turned the corner up ahead and disappeared from sight. “Perhaps he could stop by sometime.”

To this, Axandra made no answer, but smirked and raised her brows in a quick wiggle. Turning into the house, she left Sara to read into that what she wished.

31st September, 307

The first traces
of autumn struck the temperate countryside. Flowers began to fade out and turn to seed, drying in the sun and releasing bits of fluff into the wind. Nuts and fruits ripened, ready for the picking. Some fields of grain already lay bare from harvest, while others were just turning to golden red. Breadbeans, blackcorn and milkseed all awaited the scythes and threshers.

After listening to Ty Narone's arguments, the Council members agreed by vote that further continental travel be suspended until after the Sister Planet made her pass. With the numerous accounts of odd behavior in both people and animals, they unanimously believed the safest and best place for the Protectress to offer her support to the people would be from the Palace in Undun City. Axandra expressed her disappointment to the small contingent of the Council, giving them the same rebuttals she had given Ty. In the end, she agreed to abide by their decision and asked that they act as her physical liaisons by visiting their home regions frequently and report first hand the details of any more disturbing behaviors.

For the next week, the Protectress focused on the reports coming in from the Safety Volunteers who were keeping watch on neighbors and wildlife. Those Volunteers posted in coastal areas reported that rising tidal waters flooded homes near the shore and along some river banks. Due to increased gravitational forces, the tides fluctuated by several meters outside normal.

“Scientific reports indicate the trend of the rising waters will continue until Soporus begins to fall behind in orbit,” Morton informed the on- duty Council members. “They recommend we evacuate low-lying coastal areas.”

“Then we should begin immediately,” the Protectress ordered. “Can we agree today to delegate resources in each region to begin packing residents' belongings and get them moved farther inland?”

“Many could be sheltered with family members. We'll fill the inns and then turn to volunteers to house the rest,” Carmen Offut, a representative from Eastland, assured.

“Not everyone will want to be moved, Your Honor.” Osander spoke out. “We should grant the Assistors authority to remove citizens by force. It is our duty to ensure their survival.”

Antonette agreed with the young man. “I won't sit by idly while the people I know get washed away, not when it could be prevented. We've never had such foreknowledge of a natural disaster. I agree that we should move them, whether they like it or not.” As she spoke, her long finger jabbed straight into the top of her desk, emphasizing her last few words.

“Force seems uncalled for, Protectress,” refuted Offut. She rose from her desk and directed her words to the others, her golden-brown hands gesticulating as she spoke. “We still have time to persuade them to evacuate. I will volunteer to go myself—”

“All by yourself, dear?” Antonette scoffed. “How long will you try?”

“As long as necessary,” Carmen insisted, her dark brown eyes glaring at the elder Councilor. “And I would prefer to have some help, but I will go by myself if necessary. We can't just pick them up and carry them. That would strip them of their dignity.”

“Oh, boo!” Antonette jeered.

Casper Ross, with eyelids drooping, rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his wooden cane. He offered somber words. “They should be allowed to do as they wish.”

“And why do you say that, sir?” Axandra asked, thankful that Casper's soft voice forced silence to the room.

“The Covenant of Free Will. They have every right to stay to meet their fate, just as you and I have a right to choose our own paths,” he lectured. “We have never forced any of our people to do anything they did not wish to do. We cannot make that precedent now. Of course, we are talking about something completely hypothetical. We don't know who or how many, if any, would want to stay put.”

“Free Will supersedes everything else,” the Protectress agreed. “It is our highest Covenant, the reason our ancestors left Old Earth and brought life here. The people should be left to their own decisions.”

“But they should be provided safety,” Osander argued forcefully. “Sometimes people are not able to make such decisions for themselves. They become blinded—”

“We will provide the option for them to move. If it is their wish not to take part, we cannot force them to do so,” Casper pointed out, a gnarled finger in the air. “I think we should vote.”

A quick vote showed four out of six in favor of letting the citizens be. Only Osander and Antonette disagreed.

“Is that enough to follow through,” the Protectress asked to the councilors, still uncertain about the protocol of such a vote without the full council present.

“It is, Madam,” assured Osander. “It appears that you have won.”

“I wouldn't consider it much of a victory,” Axandra responded solemnly. “Thank you all for your input. Please inform the Assistance Coordinators what needs to happen and the guidelines we want them to adhere to. Good day.” She dismissed the group by turning away from them and hoped she did not let them see her eyes tearing up over yet another impending disaster. There was some clatter as the Councilors rose to leave, but little talking amongst them.

The archivist, who took notes of the meeting, immediately approached, requesting that the Protectress take some time to review his archives so the records could be entered officially. Sucking in her sadness with a deep and noisy breath, she allowed him to take a few moments of her time to do so. Then Carmen approached her.

“Your Honor, if I may speak with you,” Carmen posed cautiously. The woman must have sensed her distress.

Another discussion was the last thing Axandra wanted right now, especially if it concerned the matter with which they had just finished. She wasn't sure if she could contain herself for very long. But the needs of the councilors were as important as the needs of the people.

“Come with me.” She led Carmen to the small office where the archivist waited with his sheets of parchment. She dismissed him for a moment and gestured for Carmen to have a seat in a comfortable chair facing the desk.

“Madam, I still feel that some of our citizens can be persuaded to change their minds,” the Councilor began earnestly.

Axandra halted her with her hand palm out. “Councilor, if you wish to pursue your mission, it is your free will to do so. However, the official view from the Protectresship will be that of choice. Do you understand?”

Carmen sat as the youngest current member of the council at the tender age of twenty-four and had been a member for only a few months, barely longer than Axandra had been Protectress. Her election came from a very young class of people who dominated the eastern half of Eastland. She still believed that she was going to change the world in tremendous ways with her service. The young woman felt determined to start somewhere.

Slowly, Carmen nodded, her sleek dark hair reflecting the lamplight. “I do, Your Honor. It just so happens that my respite begins next Sunsday.”

“Perhaps you should plan a trip to the coast,” Axandra suggested coolly.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” Carmen said as she rose to leave. “Have a good day, Madam.”

I wish you Good Luck,
Axandra thought to Carmen.

A thought came back to her.
Thank you.

After Carmen exited, the archivist returned and began to lay sheets before the Protectress on the desk, along with a wooden pen filled with black ink. She asked for a blank sheet to practice on once again. She could not cease thinking of herself in terms of Axandra, the woman into whom she had grown. Ileanne was just an empty name to her, a part of her title, and no longer a person. She scratched out her official signature several times with her left hand before beginning the ritual of reading the depictions and signing off on their accuracy.

Axandra read the details of the trip to the North, following along with the date of their departure and who was in attendance. She agreed with the purpose of the trip, including the expected meeting with the sect of Believers. Then she came to details she did not remember. She read over them quickly at first, as she did most of the documents, trusting that the notes were accurate. But then, as realization sunk in that she recalled no such events, she reread the words slowly.

It was noted that the travel began on Moonsday, the first day of the week. Due to a massive herd of three-horned bison covering the only road, the travelers were forced to turn back and spend the first night in the small village of Barton, just on the border between Eastland and Northland. The herd contained several thousand of the densely-furred grazers. The humans made no attempt to go through the herd or force them to move, lest they cause a stampede or injure one of the animals. The next morning they continued North after Ty sent ahead a scout to see that the herd had moved on, therefore the group arrived in North Compass a half-day later than expected.

Only, Axandra did not remember any such herd of animals—they would have been difficult to miss seeing—and she remembered arriving in North Compass in late evening, not at midday as the narrative described.

With a flare of white light in her eyes, the Goddess flashed an image in her mind, a scene of a two-ton, dark brown beast peering curiously at her as it chewed a mouthful of yellow-striped grass. Behind this animal, the landscape lay thick with them, bison as far as the eye could see. The grazing animals stood squat and wide, pelted in thick fur to warm them in the colder climate. Three horns adorned their flat, bony heads—two between the small ears and one in the middle of the snout. Despite the darkness of the fur, the snouts were pink like new skin.

Shaking her head, she refused to accept the image as a memory and indicated to the Goddess that she would not be tricked. The visual must have come from the memory of some past host. Axandra knew that she had never seen a three-horned bison in her entire life and that had not changed on this trip.

Was the archive written falsely? Should these memories fill the blank hole in her mind? Was it possible to experience this and not remember? There was no indication in the log that she had been injured or taken ill at that time. While human memory was not the most reliable keeper of information, she felt certain these events did not happen to her.

Politely, she asked the archivist whose notes he had used to draw up the report.

“I compiled notes from Healer Eryn, Councilor Sunsun and the Elite note keeper,” he responded promptly. “Is there a problem?”

“Did they all mention the bison?” Axandra tried not to give away too much of her bewilderment as she asked, nor accuse him of any wrongdoing. He was a master at scripting these logs, but he had not been at hand on the trip.

With certainty, the archivist answered, “Yes, Your Honor. The only discrepancy occurred with the time of day. Two noted that the car came upon the herd in the morning. The other stated it was afternoon. But when one is on a long drive, it is easy to make such a mistake. Not terribly peculiar.”

“No, I guess not.” She looked down again at the inked words in graceful print. Small drawings or filigrees always illuminated the top of each document. In this case, the decoration included a few of the bison, barely four centims high, in a line across the header. “Unfortunately, I can't concur with the report.”

“Oh, dear,” he sighed worriedly.

“I will have to speak with my fellow travelers before I can sign this one,” she told him, handing him the sheets.

“I understand. I will hold it until I hear from you. Will you sign the others?”

She glanced quickly at the others. The ones prior to Northland, she agreed to sign. Those that involved the Northland trip, she refused, especially since she was uncertain of the details.

“No trouble, Madam,” he told her. Carefully, he rolled the linen-fiber sheets and slipped each into a cane tube stopped on one end with a wooden cap. With the tubes in hand, he excused himself to other duties.

With a mystery at hand, Axandra went in search of the Healer. If she indeed lacked such memories, perhaps she should discover the underlying cause. She thought back to the flashing lights that plagued her at the Landing and wondered if that had anything to do with the blanks.

She found Eryn in the basement of the Palace, working in the small room where the Healer kept her medical supplies and records. The woman busily sorted through vials of herbs, roots and extracts, checking the quantity and quality of each. Some were discarded and replaced with fresh supply. Along the far wall, several plants hung in various stages of the drying process. Today, the Healer dressed in a casual tunic and slacks with her faded terra cotta hair wrapped in a loose knot at the base of her neck. She did not immediately notice the Protectress' arrival.

“Good afternoon, Healer,” Axandra said, bringing attention to herself as she waited in the doorway.

“Oh, good afternoon, Protectress. My apologies. I didn't see you there.” Eryn stopped what she was doing momentarily to give the customary bow. “Just performing a monthly inventory. We've had a rash of headaches around the Palace these past few days. What can I do for you?”

Instructing the Elite to wait outside, Axandra closed the door and sat on a stool that Eryn motioned to. “I'm not feeling ill, necessarily,” she began, dispelling the idea that she had come to cure another headache. “I just came to—well, to clear up a few things for myself.”

“Clear up a few things? Have I done something that you dislike, Madam?” Eryn asked openly, though without much concern. “I will treat you in whatever manner you prefer.”

“No, nothing like that. It—” Axandra struggled to get the words right, to draw the question into something worth clarifying and not inane babble. “Ever since last Hopesday, I've felt completely out of synch with everyone else.”

“When we were at the Landing?” Eryn questioned. “You asked me some curious questions that day. Do you still feel fatigued?”

Fatigue. The spoken word seemed like such a simple answer to the puzzle. Traveling across the continent for many days put great strain on her, both physically and mentally. She did not feel healthy. She did not eat or sleep as well she should. Worry exacted a heavy toll.