The winter this year
had been short and light. The snow was
gone, except for grubby patches in the shadows of cliffs and under coniferous
trees here and there.
The water of the Veil
ran freely again, though icy and only the dedicate priestesses and priests
meditated on the stones or platforms scattered throughout the whole Vale.
The elephants were
beginning to trek up from their Orangery
and little Mwanga wasn’t so small any longer.
Didara and Jagunjagun were beginning to talk of going home and sending
other ambassadors. Innéans were talking
about visiting the Elephants’ country.
They would have a faster way to sail home, it seemed, if they took ship
all the way down the Innéthel to the sea, though it angled away from their
continent. Overland to that side of the
land was still slower. Perhaps when
Mwanga was a full year old they would begin.
Ahrimaz came up the
path, scrubbing his hair dry, tying it back with a lace after working with
Rutaçyen all morning, since before sun-up.
He wore the priest’s robe comfortably now and paused at the Goddess tree
to scatter a handful of seed for the birds and clear away an empty cage or
two. New ribbons fluttered from the
branches and he smiled as he imagined people setting their prayers here, on the
wind.
Most of his prayers
went either to Lyrian herself, or in support of his doppleganger, lost in the
Empire of another world. Who knew if
they helped? Or hindered? Only She knew. For now it was enough to continue healing his
own damaged soul.
His towel went onto
the peg in the shed, hidden just off the path, where the empty bird cages were
kept and cleaned before going down to the city to be re-filled with birds so
that people could release them. Some
birds had been captured and released so many times they hopped into the cages
in the square voluntarily.
He smiled again and
picked up one of the rakes. And a basket of wood chips. The paths were still muddy in spots and he
cheerfully went to make up the path.
Once he would have
thought that he would be screamingly bored if forced into the life of a priest
but he found that once chosen, it was amazingly peaceful. Sure, who had been clinging close to him for
some reason these past days, lay in a patch of sunlight, panting, as he emptied
his basket and raked. Limyé would be up
later to have luncheon with him at the waterfall and they would talk about how
his book “Nature or Nurture: The Monster
Within” was being received.
A class of children giggled
by and he nodded at their greetings. It is possible we need to set a brick or two
here. It is always muddy this time of
year.
Several priestesses,
staffs and rakes in hand passed him the other way, going out to begin building
the new rock garden outside the Vale and he didn’t address them but everyone
bowed. It was very quiet.
The birds went still
and Ahrimaz dropped his rake where he stood.
Someone is trying to die. He
spun on his heel and ran, Sure on his heels, whistling for healers and
assistance. It was cold still and very
practically, few people tried to give themselves to the Goddess this early in
the spring. Ever practical the Innéans,
they didn’t want to be uncomfortable as they died. He smirked to himself and ran faster. She didn’t want this one dead, he could feel
it. This supplicant truly didn’t wish to
die either. It was the sense of ‘people
will be better without me’ cry.
Ahrimaz dove into the
pool in a flat, seeking dive, aware that the Vale behind him was suddenly full
of urgency, his hands swept through the roiled up foam. Nothing.
He burst to the surface, gasping with the shock of cold. Sure had plunged into the water after
him. “Get away, dog!”
He went under again
and kicked, feeling Sure set her teeth in his ankle even as he jarred a finger a
stone, felt the pounding of the water on his back, on his head, he was dizzy,
spinning, light-headed… there! His hands
locked in cloth and he dragged the would-be suicide to the surface.
He found himself
clinging to the neck-cloth of gold just under his own face. Hair draggled across his own face. Him. Dressed as an Emperor, distraught,
grieving, fighting to go under again.
Ahrimaz shook himself once, twice, until his eyes opened and locked,
disbelieving, on his own face.
“Whatever
you have done,” Ahrimaz said to himself, “is forgiveable.”
Disorientation, a
whirl of light and dark and he found himself standing in the water at the
bottom of the Veil. His priestly robes
were gone. In their place were the
bedraggled and hampering court clothes of an Emperor. His neck was sore, his lungs sore where he’d
apparently managed to inhale some water.
Sure surged to the surface, coughing, barking and he gave her a boost
toward the rocks behind the waterfall.
The Vale was
changed. There was only one meditation
platform. The rest was wild, as it had
been when he was a boy. There were no healers
running to save him. No mind priests or
Imaryans. He was alone, save for the dog
who had followed him. He was home.
He threw back his head
and looked up the waterfall, splashing on his face like tears and would have
howled but he knew… he knew that it would not help. Goddess…
ow. Scorch me. Scorch me. It will hurt no less.
Yolend, the Empress, screaming
imprecations at him, came sliding down the muddy, untended path to splash her
gaudy robes into the water, slosh up to him and begin slapping his face.
He flinched but let
her hit him. This Yolend was trained
enough to hurt him but her strikes were open handed.
“Excuse me, lady, I did not mean to flinch
away.” He turned his head back toward
her. “Please, strike again for I surely
deserve it.”
She froze. “Ahrimaz?”
“Yes.”
Sure scrambled out and
around barking at the man coming down the hill who was dressed in a way the
Empire hadn’t seen in a dozen decades.
He bore the chain of a Senator-Immaculate, the singular position under
the Emperor. “Ahrimaz, come out. We can fix this. You needn’t…” His voice faded as he took in
how Yolend was looking at him, the white dog guarding.
“Sure. Down, dog,” Ahrimaz said mildly and offered
Yolend his hand. She took it as though picking up a venomous serpent, and they
waded out to the shore. He handed her up
to the stocky man now standing on the edge.
When she was safely clear he followed her, looking down at ruined boots
and silks and brocades on his body, loathing every stitch, mourning his
homecoming. Sure pressed against him,
whining. He took a deep breath and went to his knees before the Sen-Immac and the Empress who both gazed at him, dumb.
“I am Ahrimaz
Kenaçyen, once Emperor. I…” He pulled
open his sodden shirt exposing the brand on his chest, with the Flamen in the
centre. He could feel his tears begin and could not stop them. “… I was away
for a time. You are obviously an
exceptional man or Ahrimaz, from the other world, would not have appointed you. Knowing this world it is very likely that you shall have to execute me to let the good the other Ahrimaz has done continue. So be it. Do with me as you will.”
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