The Age of Light (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 1) (21 page)

“What if there were someone working in conjunction
with Mother?” he asked. All heads turned to him. “You know, someone to feed her
extra av’rita and to ward off any attacks?”

“Still too risky,” Luyon said emphatically, looking
Audola in the eye. “That someone would have to be comparable in strength to the
Mother Queen to accomplish that, and the only one with such power is the
Av’rujo
.
Who will also be expending valuable
av’rita
to aid in
the first Rite. Perhaps the two of you could do it,
Av’Son
,
you and your brother - but only after a cycle of training to work in complete
harmony with the High Queen. It is out of the question.” He seemed to expect
having the final say on the matter. He looked around, as if daring any to
challenge him. His eyes locked with Audola’s. Hers narrowed slightly, as if she
would gainsay him. Then she looked away without speaking.

Rilantu excused himself after that to go and help
with the preparations. Her Voices talked of mundane things. Sinyi and Luyon got
into their usual disagreement over standard Trade prices and methods. Jarisa
and Ashma discussed import and export within the Ritious City.
Thiam and Dariaku spoke of the challenge issued by Tokia. Audola sat quietly,
still rolling the idea around in her mind, testing its weight, tasting it,
looking for a way that it might be. She could train more
Rit’ati’u
,
but that would take too much time...

:Audola.:
The clear, strong voice pulled her out
of her revere of thoughts. She glanced up to see all her Voices’ eyes on her.

“Forgive
me,” she murmured, “my - attention was on the upcoming Rite-casting.” Not
really a lie. Not quite.

“It is
zenith
,” Luyon
said, his eyes telling her that he was not fooled, nor was anyone else, really.
“Perhaps we should
zen
-break.” He
clapped for servers.

Audola cringed at the thought of food, but all her
Voices watched her like
kiro
, scavenger
birds of the Norae. Besides, she needed the fuel if she were going to attempt
the Rite of Seeking this turn. She knew that it would take much out of her and
that she should build up a reserve of energy by eating more than she normally
did. Most major Rites required this, in fact. Still, the wondrous food tasted
like straw, the fine juices like slightly flavored water. She was and was not
looking forward to the Rite casting. And yet she was, for it meant that she
would finally be doing something to find the Heir.

the
turning of light peaked and turned its march toward eve...

The
tura’ku
drums were
wild, almost frenzied as their rhythm reverberated around the light filled
room, creating their own counter harmony. They called to the light, called to
Av
,
called with the voice of the wild savannas and steamy jungles. They were joined
by high-voiced
tum’tyn
and voices raised in
half-chant, half-song.

“In light we
shall find her

In light we shall hold her

The light shall
guide her

Home.

“By this Rite we
shall bind her

By this Rite
shall space enfold her

In this Rite let
her abide

And no longer
roam.

“We seek the
Heir of T’Av’li’s Throne

We seek the
Carrier of our Blood

Flesh to flesh
and bone to bone,

By Mother’s love
and Sisterhood.”

The whole
conglomerate shaped the gathered light to the will of the rite-casters. The
creation began to take shape under the relentless pounding of the drums, as if
glowing metal shaped by a forge. It coalesced into a deep golden ball of molten
fire, then spread like a scroll of
papi’ras
upon the
air before the chanters. Flowing colors rolled across the surface of the sheet
of light, writhing as if alive and discontent, before settling down into
distinct features. The deep greens became dense forest-like impressions, the
dark blues in-land seas and rivers. Light green savannas were studded with gray
mountains and patched with slightly darker sword swards and cultivated fields
of light yellow, rusty red and deep purple. Lines and dots of lurid black
denoted
wuman
and
Av’Touched
made structures and roads, each sporting a minuscule label.
Lon
borders were outlined in pale red.

Then came the gold, dark, rich, spreading over the
immense map, overlaying everything with a fine mesh of lines. This was the
Av’ru
.

Three voices continued the primary chant. The
fourth, strong, deep, full, diverged into a different harmony, this one
strangely compelling, as if calling out to souls in the wind.

“My Daughter’s
Daughter

Av’s own Daun,

Hear and answer
our call

Sing and re-sing
our song.”

The calling wail rose and fell, intermixing with the
original song/chant, interweaving the names with the golden strands of the
Av’ru
.
The wail of light reached forth, spinning out into the ether of
Av
,
in the place between places, striving for some distant objective. Two daughter
shafts split off to fall within the Ritious
City and connect with
their intended targets, while the main spear of light arched high to the
Av’ru
,
then sped along its golden dome to the far Weste, like an arrow of retribution
from the wrath of
Av
. In the blink of
two
san’chrons
it had gone two-thirds of the necessary distance, drawing powerfully upon its
progenitors. And in another half
san’chron
it
struck, slicing off a tiny piece of its target’s
av’rita
,
to be placed within the map and to be retrieved later when the target and the
map met. Bright golden points appeared upon the map, two moving about, and the
last stationary. The lines of the
Av’ru
flashed,
accepting the names and essences of those called, meshing the substances of the
ones called-to into themselves.

Finally all the voices changed in unison, the drums
rising to a crescendo.

“Daughter hear

Daughter call

Daughter know

This empty hall

“Daughter’s
laugh

And Daughter’s
cry

Return our song

Ere eve is
nigh!”

A roll of
papi’ras
writhed
into life, unfurling itself and rising, stretching the length and breadth of
the insubstantial map. The
papi’ras
was
prepared with special inks that danced right above its surface, waiting to be
shaped by the rite. The glowing image contacted with the scroll and became one
with it, giving form to the vivid pigments upon the smooth, prepared surface.
The drums reached a height, as the voices reached their peak, and the
amalgamation of vision and parchment completely melded. The harmony froze in
that breathless instant of perfect union, then spiraled down in lazy circles,
bringing the finished map down with it, the creation diminishing in size as the
harmony diminished. The great conglomerate of voices melted into a
heartbeat-like
pay’ta
, releasing the map into the
hands of the High Queen. Her voice held the last quavering note as the lain
held the shimmering light. Reluctant to die, the light faded gradually, leaving
behind only the softly pulsing map as proof of its glory.

Audola slumped, spent, and the two attending
Rit’ati’u
,
her assistant Rite-casters, caught her, eased her back into the cushions. Then
they bowed, murmuring parting praise, and rose to leave, their cream and gold
embroidered silk robes swirling around their slippered feet. Audola, however,
stayed where she was, remaining in her
Av’rit’ain
as the
light had lingered, raining golden sparkles around her. She lay watching the
golden specks dance about her, her fatigue allowing her to do little else.
Then, when she was able, she sat up and slowly unrolled the enscrolled map,
gazing at the stationary point, touching it ever so gently, as if at any moment
it might disappear. It was a warm spot of light, and she fancied she could feel
it pulsing beneath her fingertips with life. Dry tears flooded her throat.

It
is part of her soul, her
av’rita
,
she mused darkly to herself
,
-
perhaps it does
have life at that.

She sat quietly, awaiting the return of her
strength, tasting the bitter/sweet flavor of the notion. Then, abruptly, she
swallowed at the dry tears, snapped the scroll closed and stood. She slowly
exited the
Av’rit’ain
like an old woman would
when hurried, as if she would leave the thought behind. Servants awaited her in
the outer lain. She deposited the map into a treated leather tube, sealed it,
and passed it to one of the carriers.

“Please take this to Rilantu,” she said quietly,
seating herself to hide her temporary weakness. The attendants bowed and left.

When her
vitality returned, Audola walked through the wide corridor from the
Av’rit’ain
,
her special
lain
for performing complex Rites, to
her resting
lain
in a dream-like daze. It was no
dream, though, but rather a light-mare of vague, half-formed notions of the
worst aspect, scenario after dread scenario wriggling into existence, giving up
their fruit, and expiring before they were fully realized. She moved almost by
reflex to the cushioned window seat facing the Este and sank to her knees
there, her eyes large and glazed in a stiff face.

:She is alive,:
the deep, satin voice of the
Av’rujo
said soothingly.

“She is alive,” Audola echoed, a strange tightness
in her chest that was no stranger at all. The dry tears threatened to become
wet, but would not spill. Her stomach was hollow, contracting painfully and her
sinuses flooded. But the sadness again would not pour forth - the tears, again
would not come. Not as they had before the Salaka. She could not even admit how
much she truly missed and feared for her daughter.

:I have finished my contemplation of the matter,:
the
Av’rujo
said quietly.
:I believe the Doan can be trusted.:

“Thank you, Mother.”

When Audola said nothing further, the
Av’rujo
seemed to withdraw. Audola bowed her head in her un-shed grief. She closed her
dry, scratchy eyes, felt her face grow long with sorrow. A soft hand gathered
her head to a gentle shoulder.

“Mother,” Audola cried in a whisper, burying her
face in the loving embrace.

“Hush, my child,” the glowing voice said, the hand
stroking her hair.

Audola clung to her mother’s form and finally wept
the dry tears.

The attack
stunned them. Not
ten’granes
after
the completion of the Rite of Seeking it came, a surge of malevolent ‘
rita
,
tearing, rending, seeking a way in, red claws on the surface of her mind.
Audola lunged to her feet, throwing up a shield of
av’rita
around herself and her mother. The
Av’rujo
put up her
own shield and Audola needed only to worry about herself. The assailant
battered away at the shield, clubbing at it with raw, blunt power. She formed a
mental spear and cut disdainfully through the jagged, amorphous bludgeon, for
it was crude and inexpertly wielded, though powerful. It was like nothing she
had ever encountered before - almost like the opposite of
av’rita
,
like the spirit of the void of light, if such a thing existed.

“Mother, I will deal with this,” Audola said through
clenched teeth, tracing the energy surge back, and holding the wriggling,
squirming mind that had spawned it. It tore at her, but it was no match. It was
spiky-sticky, a nest of snake heads with no tails.

The
Av’rujo
concurred, and Audola turned back to her captive.

“Who and what are you?” she asked, squeezing. She
was not in the mood to be charitable. The mind squealed, then wrenched
suddenly, fracturing and slipping through her grasp. It flowed away like slimy
water in a sieve. All it left was a spiteful laugh and a nasty feeling in her
thoughts.

Audola turned and whispered a purification rite,
trying to cleanse herself of the feel of it.

“Unritious,
unclean, unlight

Hold forth the
raging glare