In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born (31 page)

T’ier-Kunai’s mouth dropped open with disbelief as Ayan-Dar looked expectantly at Ria-Ka’luhr.

“I never saw the Dark Queen.” Ria-Ka’luhr shook his head. “The honorless ones overwhelmed me as I came down from the mountain. I killed a ten or more, but one of them was lucky with a war hammer.” He pointed to a recent scar over his right temple. “I regained consciousness some time later, bound and gagged. They had me in a wagon and were taking me east. None of them ever spoke to me or in earshot, and I had no idea what their plans might have been. But thanks to one of them being inattentive for a moment, I was able to make good my escape. Along the way back to the temple, villagers were kind enough to see to my needs.”

T’ier-Kunai frowned, wondering aloud. “But why all this time could we not sense you?”
 

He shook his head. “That, my priestess, I do not know.”

The healer mistress, whom T’ier-Kunai had invited, spoke. “It is rare, but head injuries have been known to affect the song of the spirit.” Her eyes were fixed on the scar on Ria-Ka’luhr’s head. “It is not unlike a temporary loss of memory that may be suffered in such a case.”

A silence descended for a moment, and then T’ier-Kunai asked, “And why, on your way home, did you interfere with Syr-Nagath’s warriors who were in pursuit of the mistress of Keel-A’ar.”

At that, Ria-Ka’luhr was clearly uncomfortable. Ayan-Dar had been watching him closely, and could clearly sense him now. But it was as if he was sensing someone…different, as if Ria-Ka’luhr were indeed standing before him, but his emotions were those of another. It was strange, and he had never experienced the like. He made a point to ask the healer mistress about it later.

“I can offer no excuse, my priestess, except that I felt compelled to. I could not stand by and allow her to be slaughtered. And her child…” He bowed his head lower. “She was bringing her child here that she might be kept safe. I volunteered to escort her, and could not simply stand by and do nothing when the honorless ones ambushed her party.”

“I can understand, acolyte of the Desh-Ka,” she told him. “But if you are to become a priest, you must learn to stand above the everyday world, the pleasures and the tragedies alike.” T’ier-Kunai spared a pointed look at Ayan-Dar. “Beyond the
kazhas
and protecting the Homeworld from the Settlements, we are bound to constrain ourselves to the temple, and nothing more.”

“Yes, my priestess…”

The last sound of the gong shook Ayan-Dar back to the present. Ria-Ka’luhr now stood at the threshold, his back covered in sterile cloth. That was all the healers could do for one punished on the
Kal’ai-Il
.

The acolyte nodded as he caught Ayan-Dar’s gaze.

Naked, the many scars criss-crossing his body visible to all, head held high, Ayan-Dar strode to the center of the platform. Because he was a priest, only other priests could be involved in his punishment. As they shackled his feet, he cast his eyes about the stone wall that surrounded the dais, searching for the last priest or priestess who had been punished here. He grinned without humor when he finally found the name. It was one he did not recognize, over three-hundred cycles ago. “The time is overdue for another, then.”

“Ayan-Dar?”

The young priestess who had shackled his feet looked up at him, wondering if he had spoken to her.

“Just the mutterings of an old fool. Complete your task, child.”

With a bow of her head, she rose and fitted the oversized shackle to his wrist.
 

“I suspect I may be the first one-armed priest to be punished here. Please make sure not to pull my arm off when you tighten the chains.”

“Yes, Ayan-Dar.” She looked at him, and he could see the marks of mourning on her face. She was not the only one.
 

“Mourn for the evils in the world beyond our walls, child,” he told her softly. “Not for me.”

She only nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she tightened the wrist cuff.

As the wheels in the mechanism below the dais began to turn at the hands of yet more of the priesthood, Ayan-Dar took a final look around him. The
Kal’ai-Il’s
huge central dais was surrounded by three concentric rings of massive stones supported by pillars. Each ring rose higher, creating a raised amphitheater so that all could see the punishment. On the stones stood all the priests and acolytes present in the temple, everyone but a few wardresses in the creche. Over a thousand sets of eyes were fixed on him now.

He could not help but smile at the thought of the creche. Despite the tragedy of Ulana-Tath’s death, Keel-Tath had settled in quickly, accepting her new home. While he wished that Kunan-Lohr could live, that the girl would at least know her father, he knew that the master of Keel-A’ar would soon come to his end of days. Syr-Nagath would allow no other fate for him. Ayan-Dar made a silent vow to Kunan-Lohr that he would do the best he could in his stead, and that the girl would know everything Ayan-Dar could tell her about her parents. He would speak to the keeper of their Books of Time, and teach her the
Ne’er-Se
, the lineage of her family, when the time came.
 

As the chains tightened, suspending him in the air, Ayan-Dar for the first time in a long while felt as if his life had a purpose. Born from chaos as she might have been, Keel-Tath had given him a reason for being.
 

“Why do you smile?”

It was T’ier-Kunai, standing on the stone block just in front of him that put her face level with his. He noticed the mourning marks had run their course down her face and neck to disappear beneath her armor, and a tide of painful emotions swept over her soul at what she now had to do.

“Because I am happy, high priestess of the Desh-Ka.”

“I will never understand you,” she whispered as she held up a thick strip of leather to place between his teeth. It would help focus the pain and prevent him from biting his tongue.

He shook his head. “I appreciate your kindness, my priestess, but I will do fine without.”

With a solemn nod, she stepped down. Taking the whip from a waiting priest, she walked to the edge of the dais, facing Ayan-Dar’s back. Unfurling the barbed tendrils behind her, she stepped forward and snapped the
grakh’ta
forward with all her strength.

Ayan-Dar exhaled slowly as the metal barbs of the whip ripped into his back. Pain was an old and dear friend, and while the
grakh’ta’s
sting could be excruciating, he had suffered far worse in his many cycles. The truly aggravating thing, he thought as the whip’s tendrils flayed him a second time, was that he would not be able to spend much time with Keel-Tath while he recovered.
 

The whip cracked against him a third time, and he greeted the pain with a quiet sigh. He had to endure three more. Six lashes to some may have seemed a draconian punishment for what was outwardly a minor transgression, of reaching beyond the threshold to take Keel-Tath. But it was symbolic of Ayan-Dar having repeatedly pushed beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior for one of the priesthood. He knew that he would have been called to task much earlier had anyone other than T’ier-Kunai been high priestess. He also knew how much it was costing her to drive the barbs of the
grakh’ta
into his flesh. At that, he felt more than a passing sense of guilt, for it was probably hurting her more than it was him.
 

But he also felt a degree of relief at the severity of the punishment, for it would show the others of the priesthood that T’ier-Kunai was strong, and that all would be held accountable for straying from the Way.
 

He held onto those thoughts as the whip hammered against him three more times. By the last strike, despite the control he exerted over his body, the pain was leaking through his mental defenses. T’ier-Kunai was not the largest among the warriors, but she had a powerful arm, and had put every bit of her strength into the whip.
 

After the final blow, the chains lowered him to the dais with a great clanking sound. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as two priests released him from the shackles.
 

“Make sure you carve the runes of my name deep into the stone,” he told them, nodding to the wall around the dais where the list of those who had been punished was inscribed.
 

Then he turned and, after drawing himself up to his full height, moved slowly toward where T’ier-Kunai and Ria-Ka’luhr awaited him.
 

With the eyes of the priests and acolytes upon him, he took the steps that led down from the dais at a measured pace, ignoring the trickles and drops of blood that fell from his ravaged back to spatter on the smooth stone walk.

When he reached T’ier-Kunai, he bowed his head and saluted. “With your permission, high priestess, I would go to the creche once my wounds are dressed.”

“You may, Ayan-Dar,” she said, returning his salute.

“May I go, also?”
 

T’ier-Kunai looked at Ria-Ka’luhr, whose voice was tight from the pain, his body shivering. “Yes, acolyte. But do not stay overlong. You will need to rest. The full weight of the pain has not yet set in.”

After the healers quickly dressed Ayan-Dar’s wounds in sterile cloth, the two of them hobbled toward the creche, which stood nearby.
 

T’ier-Kunai watched them go, swallowed up by the throng of priests and acolytes who filed out of the
Kal'ai-Il
behind them.
 

Waiting until none could see her, she took a deep, shuddering breath before gathering up the bloody
grakh’ta
whip and following the last of the warriors out.

* * *

In the creche, Ayan-Dar cradled Keel-Tath with the greatest of care, one of the wardresses standing close by. The child looked up at him with wondering eyes before reaching out with her tiny hands, her crimson talons glinting in the soft light. He wished he had his other arm and hand, that he might let her grasp one of his fingers while he held her. Her white hair had already grown considerably, and was now like a pure white cloud framing the deep blue of her face.

Without thinking, he began to recite the ancient prophecy that he was more convinced than ever spoke of her birth:

“Long dormant seed shall great fruit bear,

Crimson talons, snow-white hair.

“In sun’s light, yet dark of heaven,

Not of one blood, but of seven.

“Souls of crystal, shall she wield,

From Chaos born, our future’s shield.”

Smiling, he added, “That was written for you, dear child. Long, long ago.”

Ria-Ka’luhr stood quietly beside him. He had made no move to hold or touch the child, but had been content to watch Ayan-Dar hold her. His eyes flicked occasionally to the three warrior priestesses, standing at intervals around the creche, who stood guard over the temple’s children. Their eyes stared toward the center of the creche’s single room, as if they were in a trance. But they watched the children with their second sight, which was far more powerful than any senses of the flesh. Nothing so small as a microbe could enter this room without their knowledge and consent. It was not a task assigned to junior priests or priestesses. Those who served here had to pass the most rigorous trials by the high priestess herself, for it was one of the highest responsibilities of the temple, and among the greatest honors.

“Someday you may serve here, as well, young Ria-Ka’luhr.”

“Of that I may only dream, Ayan-Dar.” He managed a weak smile. “I must first pass the trials of the Change.”

“That day shall come soon enough.” With a sigh, Ayan-Dar handed Keel-Tath back to the wardress. His heart almost broke as the child began to cry, her tiny hands grasping for him. “I will be back soon, little one,” he told her. “But first, I must take this battered old body and rest. Come,” he said to Ria-Ka’luhr, who was looking quite ill. “Let us get you to your quarters.”

* * *

At last in his own room, Ayan-Dar sat on a simple stool, overcome with weariness and the painful throb of pain from his lacerated back. The next few days, he knew, would be most unpleasant. What he felt now was akin to holding his hand close enough to an open flame to distinctly feel the heat. But soon it would be more like his hand resting on glowing coals. He would have to lay down at some point, on his stomach or side, of course. But once he did, he would not be able to get up very easily.
 

A soft knock sounded at his door.
 

“Come in, high priestess of the Desh-Ka,” he called. He had felt T’ier-Kunai approaching from the song in her blood.

The door opened, and she entered, bearing a tray. On it was a mug of ale and some strips of meat.
 

“And what should the peers think,” he said, smiling, “of their high priestess serving food and drink to such a ne’er-do-well?”

“That I am nearly as much of a fool as you,” she said as she closed the door behind her and set down the tray on the low table beside him.

“You looked in on Ria-Ka’luhr?”

“Yes.” She handed him the mug of ale, which he gratefully accepted. As he drank, she told him, “Having more sense than you, he has already taken to his bed to rest.”

Ayan-Dar looked at her. Something in her voice told him there was more. “And?”

She shook her head, a look of frustration on her face. “I do not know. There is something about him that I cannot explain. I only sensed it for a moment, when he was in great discomfort as he lay down. It was as if I was looking at him through a glass, a prism, perhaps, and for just that brief moment saw two images of his spirit. One was what I expected to see. The other…”

“What? What did you sense?”

“The other image of him was one of torment, of madness.”

With a grunt, Ayan-Dar set down the mug and said, “Being punished on the
Kal’ai-Il
is a traumatic event. I can accept it more easily, but for an acolyte it would be far more difficult. While there is no stigma among us after the punishment is rendered, it would be a brutal blow to a young warrior’s honor and ego. Especially for an acolyte who is a mere step away from joining the priesthood.” He shrugged, realizing too late the pain it would cause. Baring his teeth, he added, “And he had already suffered at the hands of the honorless ones. If I only knew what role Syr-Nagath played in this affair.”