Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (8 page)

25th Quadrember, 307

The ceremony would begin at five o'clock. At four o'clock, Axandra dressed and sat at the vanity while Lynn and Miri styled her hair in cascading tresses held in place with gold, sparkling hairpins. The girls chatted excitedly while they worked, commenting how beautiful the Heir would be processing down the aisle and how they wished they could be on the floor.

“But we'll have an even better view from the mezzanine,” Lynn said. “I hope to get up there early, if Marta doesn't think I need to be somewhere else.”

Axandra applied color to her lips while listening to them pine their lowly status.

“But it would be so much nicer to down among the principals and governors, right near the Gifts,” Miri bemoaned, pinning up a hunk of curls. “I've always wanted to see them up close instead of in photographs.”

A knock came at the main entrance of the Residence. Lynn hurried to see who came calling. When she returned, she had only a message. “Councilor Morton wishes to see you in her office in a few minutes. There is word about the missing man from Cutoff.”

The two women finished the preparations so that Axandra could get downstairs. Axandra hoped to hear good news. Following her to keep the train of her dress from dragging, Miri and Lynn scurried to keep up the pace down the wide staircase and into the Council wing.

In Morton's office gathered four other Councilors. The Night Watcher from the village of Cutoff had returned to Undun City with the Assistors. With everyone present, he gave his report.

“He's been found, Your Honor. However, he's not well. The Healer says he isn't likely to survive. He shows signs of malnourishment and dehydration to the point that his body is shutting down. A smaller group of Assistors stayed in Cutoff to help the Healer care for him.” He was clearly distressed. Like everyone in the room, he hoped to bring better news. He continued with the details of the search. “We found him a two days ago in the woods,” the Watcher described, “curled up at the trunk of a broken tree. He clutched a small kitchen knife. He wouldn't move or speak. I've known this man all of his life—and the man we found wasn't the one I remember. He looked like a ghost and only mumbled nonsense.” He looked to the councilors with pleading eyes, seeking explanation. Finding nothing, his eyes fell away again to his memories. “He's very sick. I pray the Healer can find what's wrong with him.”

Axandra must have witnessed the Assistors in the forest those few nights ago, as she remembered the trees and the smell of decay. Perhaps those voices calling out were the ones to find the man. Had she continued to share the moment, perhaps she would have witnessed him too and seen what the Night Watcher described.

Axandra approached the man. The Councilors took notice and tensed, uncertain what to expect from her.

“May I take your hand,” Axandra asked the man, holding her own hand palm up toward him.

Timidly, he lifted his hand, one roughened from work and weather. He hesitated before placing it in hers, gulping so that his prominent larynx bobbed up just below his chin. Despite his height and bulk, he behaved like a timid child.

At the touch, the images of the lost man filled her vision. Pale and ghastly, he appeared like one already dead. Lips thin, he trembled, the only sound he made a hissing noise and slight moans as he shook.

While sharing these thoughts, Axandra projected comfort to the Watcher and offered him strength. He clung to it, for he felt weak and helpless against this unknown thing.

“I promise we will do everything we can to discover what happened to your friend,” Axandra told him aloud.

“I trust you, Protectress,” the messenger said, his voice calmer. “You won't fail us.”

He held such conviction, as though she stood as a divine creature with mystical powers. If only he knew how right he was.

Releasing him, Axandra backed away.

“I'd like to go now,” the man requested. “I'm going to visit his family here in Undun. His sister lives in the city.”

“Of course. Please offer our sympathies,” Axandra allowed, bowing to him as he in turn bowed to her.

Still clutching his cap in his hands, the Watcher was escorted out by one of the Palace guards.

“Is it a virus?” asked Councilor Sunsun. “Or a mental illness?” She asked the questions aloud, well aware no one in this room had the answer. “We should have several Healers investigate the illness, examine the man. We don't want to spread anything this terrible.”

“Agreed,” said Axandra. The other councilors present nodded as well. “And check others in the village for symptoms. If it is contagious, we will need to control it quickly.”

Antonette once again stepped forward for service. “I will arrange it, Protectress.”

“Thank you. Report to us as soon as something is discovered.”

“I will go as well.” Osander rose and addressed Axandra. Once a staunch opponent of her claim, his distrust suddenly lessened. “We should inform neighboring towns to watch for these signs. By your leave, Protectress.”

Morton raised a hand. “Councilors, she is not the Protectress yet. Not for another thirty minutes.”

Antonette bowed with respect to Morton and Axandra. “Your pardon, but she has proven herself to be the Protectress today. We will address her as such.”

Even Osander agreed to this. The Councilors all bowed to Axandra. It was an overwhelming display of respect and adoration. The emotions warmed her heart.

What caused this sudden change in their attitude? Though they accepted her as the physical Heir, they each retained their doubts that she would fit the part, having been raised outside of the Palace. They reserved uncertainties about how she would handle situations such as this one, faced with a possible catastrophe. Her collapse the other day had not given them much cause to give up those doubts.

Now Axandra sensed confidence and trust washing away those qualms. They wanted her here with them as they served the people. They did not see her as an outsider any longer. She was the Protectress.

Only one last person viewed her as any less, and that was Nancy Morton.

What must I do to prove myself to you?
she wondered at the woman.

“And the ceremony starts in just a few minutes,” Morton prompted. Clapping her hands, she called the Councilors to attention. “Places, everyone. We have a Protectress to install.”

+++

Four voluminous bars
into the brass fanfare, the main doors of the Grand Hall swung open and allowed the seventeen members of the People's Council to enter two by two, with Nancy Morton following up at the rear. Each wore silk robes of their station in colors that signified their region. They all smiled cheerfully, for it was a momentous day to welcome a new Protectress. Most of the Councilors exited the procession as they came to their contingent of Principals and Governors. Only five proceeded forward, those elected to bestow their respective tokens.

Behind Morton, Axandra strode gracefully down the blue runner, aware that all eyes were on her as she approached the raised stage. She graced her face with her best smile, pulling the expression from the admiration the councilors had shown her just moments ago, the happiest idea she could muster.

She could see the finished mural now, each of the Gifts rendered larger than life in spectacular color. Behind her, a contingent of twenty Elite marched, led in by Commander Ty Narone, wearing shining gold breastplates over sleek grey shirts and crisp charcoal pants. Their caps sported arm-length white feathers that bounced up and down with each high-kneed step. Between the ranks, the Elite transported the Gifts in their cases, handling them with reverent care.

At the raised stage, Morton oversaw the delivery of the Gifts to the tables set and draped with gold cloth. The fanfare continued throughout this ritual, played by a quintet of brass players seated openly to the right of the stage. Their tones reverberated off of the arched ceiling and melded into each other. The last notes died away before Morton addressed the congregation.

“Citizens, welcome,” Morton bowed to them. She smiled proudly, possibly the first real smile Axandra witnessed on the woman's face since their first meeting. Nancy typically scowled, her lips straight or down-turned, disdainful of anything that might be considered a breach of protocol, to which Axandra was prone.

“We come together this day to receive into service Ileanne Saugray as the Protectress. Our Covenants state: The Protectress, a service heretofore distinguished by these covenants, shall serve the people and the planet. She shall be the voice of the people. She shall be the eyes of the people. She shall be the heart of the people. And in this service, she shall protect the people. She shall be born of the same family as her predecessor, so there may be no feud of power, and she shall remain the Protectress as long as she lives, removable only by death itself.” Morton recited the paragraph of the Covenants that described the position. Agreeing noises came from the audience. “Ileanne is the daughter of Elora, one of many women descended from Amelia, proven by birth to be the only true Protectress. Ileanne, do you accept the terms of this service, knowing that you are obligated to continue it throughout your life?”

“I do,” Axandra accepted, her own voice echoing in the hall. She stood as straight and as tall as her body was able.

“Do you accept the responsibility of protecting our way of life and our lives, even as it may interfere with your own life?”

“I do.” Though she had practiced listening to and understanding these words, the reality of their meaning felt heavy. There would be no leaving now. Her decades of hiding meant nothing. She had not escaped what had frightened her all those years.

“And do you, Ileanne, vow to hear, see and feel the needs of the people and provide for them and comfort them, so long as you live?” Morton asked the questions without expecting any answer but those practiced. She would not be surprised today.

“I do, Your Honor.” Axandra bowed at the waist after this final answer, first to Morton. Then she turned to the audience and bowed to them, signifying a bow to the entire population. She climbed the three steps of the dais and stood beside Morton, facing the crowd. She reminded herself not to try to count their number, to think of them only as one, a less intimidating digit.

“At this time, I invite the regions to bestow their gifts. Foster Tremby from Eastland.”

Foster came forward from the left, where four of the five presenters awaited their participation. Climbing to the table, he retrieved the granite tablet, then approached while holding it out between his hands. “From Eastland, Honorable Matriarch, our finest stone. A master engraver created for you a portrait of a teacher and children willing and eager to learn from her example. We accept you as our protector and are ready to learn from your example.” Bowing, he extended the tablet.

Taking the heavy stone, Axandra raised it over her head, calling out that she accepted the gift and thanking the Eastlanders, who raised their voices in loud cheers. Morton set the tablet on the table for display.

“Sara Sunsun of Northland.”

The slender young woman collected the wooden staff and offered it horizontally with the words, “From Northland, Your Honor, a gift from our strongest tree, the rockwood. It grows in rock and ice, and thrives in winter. This staff may bend, but it will never break. We accept you as our Protectress. May you bend as the needs of your people change, but never break or fail to uphold our values.”

Again, Axandra took the gift and raised it toward the ceiling. “I accept this gift and I thank all of Northland for their support.” Cheers and hoots rose from the Northland contingent.

“Franny Gilbert of Southland.”

For her age, obvious by the creases in her skin and the thinning strands of gray hair wrapped in a loose bun, Franny lithely scaled the steps to the table and retrieved the medallion from its small case. Though her fingers looked gnarled with arthritis, she had no difficulty grasping the thin chain of silver.

“Esteemed Protectress,” Franny spoke in a ragged voice. The hall grew even more still as she spoke very softly, and everyone wished to hear her words. “From Southland I bring you our most prized stone, this violet amethyst from the caves of Mt. Measure. We believe wearing this stone gives strength and power to the mind. As it is your duty to be our eyes, ears and hearts, we give this to you so that you will see, hear and feel all that we feel. With this gift, we accept you as our protector.” Franny bowed, then proceed to adorn Axandra's neck with the faceted and polished stone.

Bowing to the Southlanders, Axandra graciously accept the gift and thanked them for their contribution.

“Casper Ross of Westland.” Morton called out to the fourth presenter.

The white haired, cocoa-skinned man moved less nimbly as he walked up the stairs, back hunched. One hand held the front of his jacket as gravity pulled the lapels forward. Slowly he moved to collect the bone carving and carried it carefully over to her.

“From Westland, Esteemed One, I present this gift. The bone of the curana is a rare find and, when one is given to us by the Ocean, it is cherished and celebrated. To you, I give this rib, as it as been sculpted by a master artisan with the life of the sea, to remind us that we share this planet with life that was here long before we came. We must all protect that life. We give this cherished gift to you and ask that you keep the planet safe from any harm. We accept you as our protector.”

At last, the ceremony neared its end. Only the final gift remained to be presented, the mirror.

Morton called out among the audience. “Will the Prophets please come forward to present their gift?”

They had instructed Axandra that the Prophets would remain hidden until they were called for, as they preferred to remain apart from the public. From behind the dais, three Prophets emerged, having come into the hall through a hidden door. Tyrane was among them, his hood lowered and face visible. The other two hid their faces with their hoods pulled far over their heads. These two stood to the side, waiting.