Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (30 page)

Difleer paled.

‘Nor should you feel sorry for him,’ stated Anya with asperity. ‘I've no sympathy with one who cares so little for the lives of others—or who allows himself to become a slave to a drug, especially fuaba.’

Gynevra stared at her sacred sister with wide startled eyes. It was as if every ilmenite pillar in Fyr Trephyr lit up the inside of her head. Anya had just supplied the missing key to the riddle of the Prince.

‘What makes you say that?’ she demanded, but the answers were already tumbling over themselves in her brain. How naive she'd been!

Anya smiled grimly.

‘Small doses of that deadly weed improve a man's sexual performance and many older Paggi men become addicted to it as they need more and more to achieve the same results. A few don't wait until they're old. A fragile temper and the development of a cruel nature where none existed before are common side effects of fuaba.’

Gynevra deflated back into her chair remembering a time when she'd thought she'd smelt the bitter herb on his breath. It all made a hideous kind of sense. Even so, she still didn't want to believe Anya.

‘But surely, knowing what it would do, Gotham wouldn't—would he?’

‘He must've known what the lion's blood might do to Craelia, but did that stop him?’ Anya snapped straight back. ‘You haven't seen our Golden Prince lately, have you?’

‘Not since—Solon was conceived.’

‘If your mind hadn't been on other things, you might've noticed even then,’ Anya replied more softly and with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Gynevra grinned openly back.

‘I certainly wasn't taking much notice of Gotham that day. What should I have seen?’

‘Long-time addicts develop etado—bulging, cretinous eyes. You'll see when he comes. Once this happens there's no hope of reversing the addiction or the condition. This is the man who should be our next King!’

If Anya had been a man, Gynevra thought, she'd have spat in her disgust. That somewhere, sometime, Anya had fared ill at Gotham's hands, she'd no doubt, but for all their amity, Anya had never come close to sharing that kind of confidence, and Gynevra thought perhaps she was better off not knowing. She had enough reason of her own to hate Anya's brother.

Nor did she have any reason to doubt the truth of Anya's information. Added to what she already knew of his temper and nature, Gynevra had no doubt Gotham had been using the drug for some time, probably well before the fateful Rafid Games in Fyr Poseidyr.

The Prince was frequently absent from the city for days at a time. Thus, her son was three days old before his sacred father set eyes on him. As Gynevra had insisted, he was accompanied by Judge Fahad and four guards. Archinus Darlen and Anya were also present. Gynevra didn't trust her sacred partner.

Yet she thought her heart would break as she watched him enter her rooms. Even a short three quarters ago when he'd witnessed her joining with Taur there had still been a semblance of the handsome golden Prince who captured the imagination and heart of every woman who set eyes on him. The man approaching her now had the bloated look of one who over-indulged in food and wine, the debauched look of one who fed the grosser sexual instincts, and the high, ugly color of one who no longer had any control over his excesses of temper.

Most damning of all, his eyes bulged from their sockets, the whites yellowed and bloodshot.

A lump constricted Gynevra's throat and her eyes burned with tears she fought against shedding. He'd appreciate neither sympathy nor pity and she felt nothing else. She'd be wise to exhibit an attitude of complete indifference.

‘So, Priestess-telon, where's the brat?’

A muscle jerked incessantly under his right eye and his mouth appeared to be permanently curled in a sneer. Thanks be to the Gods she'd surrounded herself with physical protection as well as spiritual. Had she faced him alone with the child she doubted either of them would have escaped unharmed.

She reached into the net-draped cradle at her side and drew back the soft linen wrappings from the perfect miniature man's body of her son. He was beautiful and she was so proud of him. Her heart thudded in her chest with love and delight at his perfection. How could anyone not love this tiny helpless scrap of—?

‘Padopan Bull's arabo!’ Gotham roared and his body jerked as if he'd snatch the child from the cradle.

Almost before he'd moved Gynevra threw herself between him and the baby. He tangled his fist in her hair and flung her aside but in the same instant the guards overpowered him and wrestled him toward the door.

Anya and Darlen sought to gentle her but Gynevra broke free of them and placed herself firmly between her child and his sacred father. She was fiercely delighted her son had black hair and swarthy-gold skin and gave every indication of growing into an exact replica of his blood sire. It might have gone easier for all of them if he'd thrown more to her golden coloring, but sorry she couldn't be.

By the tilt of her chin and the golden fire in her eyes, all knew she'd fight to the death for the wee Prince she'd borne. Fahad's faded blue eyes smiled in admiration, the guards' appraisal was openly sexual, and Gotham glowered with black fury.

‘Priestess-telon!’ he shouted. ‘Padopan Priestess-telon! I hope the priests scrog you to death on the altar!’

There was a gasp of horror from Lady Darlen and an angry rumbling mutter from Anya, but Gynevra was focused only on a deep knowing within her that this would be the last time she'd see the Prince. There were words forming in her heart that must be said, now.

Breathing steadily to calm herself, she laid one hand on the cradle and said, ‘I have borne a King for Trephysia. I now formally announce my return to the Temple as a priestess. I deem myself no longer to be the sacred partner of Prince Gotham of Trephysia. Judge Fahad, you are witness to this fact. Please have the documents to this effect drawn up for signing.’

‘I'll sign no padopan document, telon,’ Gotham snarled.

‘You can please yourself,’ Gynevra responded coldly. ‘I'll sign it and I'll be free. No one here in this room will dispute my reasons.’

Judge Fahad coughed deferentially.

‘I'll need to know what reasons you wish me to put on the document.’

‘Infertility, impotence, and the Prince's inability to satisfy me,’ she answered crisply, closing her heart to any feeling of pity.

‘Any one of those would do, my Lady,’ Fahad offered gently.

‘Padopan telon! I'll pay the padopan priests—’ Gotham began yelling and Fahad signaled the guards to remove him.

Gynevra gritted her teeth against the memory of her friend, Hiligon, and others she'd only heard of, who'd died that way, then ground out, ‘All three.’

Chapter 17

Gynevra sat cross-legged against the stacked ilobaron, Solon feeding noisily at her breast. Her fingers, as they so often did, entwined gently in the black silk of his hair, her gaze fixed on the downy gold of his cheek and his baby eyes which daily became greener. At almost three months, he was already King of his small domain. Difleer called him her ‘wee aurochs’ and had been known on at least one occasion to forego time with a handsome Paggi client of the clinic in order to pacify him when he was suffering from supping too fast.

Visitors were frequent and Gynevra looked up with a smile as Anya entered the room, never dreaming that the bubble of happiness in which she'd existed since Solon's birth, was about to burst.

‘Hungry wee man,’ Anya said, pulling up a chair and leaning to drop a kiss on the baby's brow. ‘I swear I've never come in here but what he's feeding!’

Gynevra laughed.

‘That's because you time your visits for when he's awake.’

‘Could be!’ Anya conceded with a distracted smile. She reached for his tiny hand and chuckled when he waved his fist about then made a grab for her finger. ‘He's got a warrior's grip already.’

‘And a warrior's fist! He almost gave Difleer a black eye this morning.’

Anya's eyebrows lifted and she leant over the baby.

‘You should know, young man, it's not wise to upset Difleer.’

Leaning back suddenly in her chair, she looked at Gynevra for a long moment.

‘What is it?’ Gynevra asked sharply when Anya remained silent. A coldness settled round her heart as she waited for her sacred sister to speak. She hadn't just dropped in to visit with Solon as she so often did.

Watching Gynevra with her intense blue gaze, she said slowly, ‘We have news from Qrazil.’

‘About the fever epidemic?’

Anya nodded.

‘Many have died. Especially among the elderly and the delicate.’

The coldness round her heart became like a fist squeezing the life force out of her. Gently she detached Solon from her breast, propped him over her shoulder and began absently rubbing his back.

‘Who?’ The question was scarce more than a whisper of breath past her lips.

‘Your sister, Alienor.’

Instinctively Gynevra clutched the tiny body tightly.

When Solon complained, Anya held out her hands.

‘Give him to me,’ she said, her voice husky with emotion. Cradling the baby against her shoulder, she murmured, ‘Gyn'a, I'm sorry.’

Gynevra covered her face with her hands. Sweet Alienor had always seemed more sprite than human, her eyes filled with a light that was somehow otherworldly. Her heart contracted with pain at the passing of her sister. For a moment it was only that which filled her mind, then like a door slamming in her heart, the true import of Alienor's death was borne in on her. Clutching her solar plexus, she sat for a moment with her eyes squeezed shut. Then drawing in a long shuddering breath, she opened her eyes and gazed questioningly at Anya.

With a sigh Anya responded.

‘Ianthe requests that when Solon reaches two years and enters the House of Children you will return to Qrazil.’

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nothing to stop her returning to Qrazil when Solon entered the House of Children. If only one could stop time! He would grow more and more like Taur, and she hungered to watch the stages of his growth, to share in his evolvement to adulthood, to be a part of the man he would become.

To have a place in his heart, in his memory. But all this would fall to someone else who would be designated maternal carer in her place. Anya perhaps. The pain was physical, deep in her chest, too deep even for tears.

She couldn't even take him with her to Poseidonia. Solon belonged to Trephysia, his existence now doubly important in light of Gotham's health. There was grief for her young sister but Gynevra acknowledged there was little room in her heart for that pain beside the agony of knowing the time would come when she must abandon her son.

Spiritually she was ready. She'd long since mastered the rudiments of apportation and practiced the power daily to take her to the Needles at Meranil just before dawn when there were none about to see her mysteriously materialize outside the circle of giant stone pillars. She'd never undertaken an apportation over a great distance but she had no doubt she could achieve this now.

On the day of his second birthday, Gynevra took Solon with his chest of new clothes, to the House of Children in the center of the city. She would always remember this place as the happiest, lightest place in all of the Glass City. The laughter and bright auras of the young ones made it so. She lingered most of that day, reluctant to leave her baby, yet knowing the time had come for him to start claiming his self-hood. The House Movuon hustled her off late in the afternoon, promising he would come under her own express care. Gynevra wished Meryan were still in charge of the House but she and Hadan had long since opted to raise their family in the healthier atmosphere of Fyr Poseidyr. They had just arrived back for a visit a few days ago and would stay for a tonn and just when Mery had come, she must leave. Life seemed to always deprive her of those she loved most. Not even the thought of Mery's eventual return to Fyr Poseidyr could assuage her grief. Crying all the way back to Ceabryn in the reica, she fell sobbing into Difleer's arms.

The housekeeper, her own cheeks wet with tears, prepared her a soothing bee balm bath then cozened her into bed with a tisane of valerian. She woke knowing the only thing stopping her from returning to Fyr Poseidyr was the crystal programming. There was still a few days’ work to complete the programming of Crystal 10 and two more crystals unprogrammed. Increasingly suspicious as to the true purpose of the Star Quest, Gynevra considered that might be a good thing. Incomplete, the program couldn't be activated. But partially programmed, a fire crystal was unstable and dangerous. She’d leave when the programming of Crystal 10 was completed.

During these last days she'd concentrate more on the content of the program rather than just holding the energy. Maybe she'd learn enough to substantiate her vague feelings of disquiet. Each morning on her way back to Ceabryn from Meranil, she called at the House of Children to visit with Solon even though she knew she'd leave in tears. He'd already begun to need her less yet she couldn’t stay away.

Once the Crystal 10 program was complete she daren't let Kah start programming Crystal 11. It was too dangerous. Even more dangerous was the desire within herself to accost him with the enormity of the suspicions which had crystallized into certainty over the last two days. Worry as to what she should do with the awful knowledge kept her indecisive. It was time to take counsel with Dogon.

As usual Dogon took the opportunity to teach her another valuable lesson.

‘This is a time for action. In order to be sure of taking right action one must be absolutely calm and unaffected by emotion. So, concentrate only on ascertaining right action, save emotion for later,’ he instructed.

‘But what is the right action?’ Gynevra asked.

In his inimitable way, Dogon smiled with his eyes while retaining an expression of solemnity.

‘I can only tell you what is right action for me. Only you can know what is right action for you—and in your heart, you know. Go within, to that quiet place of stillness and find your truth.’

Gynevra sighed. Just once, it would’ve been good to let someone else shoulder the responsibility. But Dogon never let her forget that as Archinus she would have the ultimate responsibility for many difficult decisions. Decision-making was something he never allowed her to compromise. And as always, he was right. She did know what she had to do.

Sitting up a little straighter, she looked her mentor in the eye and said, ‘Then it's imperative I leave here as soon as possible. I can stall Kah for a day or two by feigning sickness, but no longer.’

‘I can help you with that,’ Dogon responded and this time the smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘Difleer is going to Fyr Poseidyr with you?’

Gynevra nodded.

‘Then she'll be secreted aboard the `Sea Horse', which is in port and due to sail at dawn. The promise of high uson on his delivery of the ‘goods’ safely to Fyr Poseidyr will ensure Captain Darin's silence. You and I will apportate to Qrazil on the high energy at the close of Dawn Latreia.’

‘But—what if you're seen?’

A smile touched Dogon's fine dark eyes.

‘I'll already be in dematerialized state. As you complete the latreia, raise your energy up instead of lowering it. I'll be waiting for you. We'll make your first long apport together.’

Sun-birth was imminent.

In the darkness of the Holy of Holies atop the great pyramid tower of Temple Qrazil in Fyr Poseidyr twelve priestesses in sky blue gowns and gold belts, knelt in a circle. With eyes focused on the faint glow of the water-filled crystal sphere balanced on sacred golden hands in the center, they waited.

Behind each priestess a censor burned, filling the sanctuary with the aromatic, opalescent haze of frankincense. A soft hum vibrating from twelve throats coalesced in the crystal and radiated out from it to fill the inner Temple of the Goddess with tangible energy. High on the rim-walk in the dome above the circle, Archinus Ianthe opened one of the three hundred and sixty day-ports facing the eastern horizon.

The darkness softened. The Archinus, satisfied all was in readiness for the birth of the new day, stepped aside from the day-port and readied herself to intercept the first beam of fiery light as it pierced to the heart of the sanctum. In the moment it lit the gem of the day on the opposite wall of the dome, Ianthe captured its fire in the great crystal of the arch scepter and directed it down onto the sphere glowing but faintly on the golden hands within the circle of priestesses.

In an instant the chamber was lit by a shimmering dazzle of rainbow light. As one, the women rose, and arms lifted toward the now radiant crystal, began to raise the tone and strength of the humming vibration. As they reached and held the resonance of the twelfth tone it was pure and crystalline, and to the watching Archinus each woman became a bright column of light energy. Even-numbered days carried male energy and were therefore God-days, but this being an odd-numbered day, carried female energy and was a Goddess-day. Ianthe hummed the Goddess tone, an octave down from the twelfth, and let the sound of it fill her head. Then swelling her lungs with air and projecting the tone directly into the crystal sphere, she invoked through her third eye, the energy of the Goddess.

From the crystal a light-form arose, immensely beautiful and radiating such deep love and intense power every heart was touched and uplifted by Her presence. To Ianthe, this moment of connection with the God or Goddess, and through them with the Source of all Creation, was the essence of who she was. The energy of the Gods, which imbued her spirit at the start of each day, was her driving force, her reason for being.

Her power.

As her voice faded, so too did the image of the Goddess. The priestesses, lowering their arms and allowing the humming vibration to fall back down the scale until it faded away, returned to the physical state. Then with hands crossed at the heart they joined the Archinus in the greeting to the Gods and the Sun, and in the invocation of the blessings of power, prosperity and protection of the Goddess for this new day.

The sacred words rose up to the dome, there to join with the energy of centuries of dawn greetings that had gone before. The priestesses moved gracefully back, each stooping to retrieve a smoking censor in preparation to backing out through the twelve doorways into the outer sanctum. But as they rose with censors swinging, their feet seemed melded with the stone of the floor.

The Goddess hadn't finished with them yet. A portentous energy filled the sanctum and Ianthe found her scepter arm swinging back to catch the last of that ray of sun's light before it rose beyond the tiny aperture of the day-port.

In the flare of rainbow radiance that again blazed from the crystal, two figures formed, and though at first they were light forms, as had been the Goddess, they quickly solidified until in the center of the circle beside the crystal sphere, stood Gynevra with Dogon at her back.

The silence, the stillness of the sanctum in that moment was as real and solid as the stone walls. Not a muscle moved, not an eyelash twitched. Breath was suspended. As the only male present, the balance of energy lay with Dogon. The initiative was his. He placed his hands on Gynevra's shoulders and spoke in a soft, yet sonorous voice.

‘On the energy of the Goddess, I have returned the Archinus Elect to your midst. It is her first long apport. She will need your care.’

Then as quickly as they'd appeared, he left through the light, leaving Gynevra alone within the circle.

She was home. Sacred Ist, she was home in Qrazil.

Scarcely had the knowledge fixed in her mind than the light that filled and surrounded her abruptly faded and she fell unconscious to the floor.

‘You realize this is a very serious accusation you make, Princess?’ King Ahron rapped out, his countenance darkening alarmingly. ‘I find it totally preposterous to imagine Prince Gotham would try to overthrow me.’