Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (7 page)

17th Quadrember, 307

On the ninth day of her new life, Axandra, sleepless from the voices and phantasms in her head, wandered about the Palace. She meandered with only the minimum of direction, downstairs first to look around at the Council Chamber while it sat vacant.

She rested there for a short while at one of the Councilor's desks, and she found herself trying to decide how she would best address the latest inquiry about more busses on route from village to village. She felt much too nervous to get up in front of the Council members and start spouting off her reasons in favor of such a project. If she prepared herself properly, she hoped the anxiety would lessen. Just sitting in the vast chamber made her feel more comfortable with the place.

Her wandering took her up a side set of stairs, which she discovered half-hidden at the dark end of the north corridor. Of course, there would be additional stairways throughout the Palace, allowing for quick exit in emergencies, but she also thought about how Miri seemed to move about the large building so swiftly. This staircase rose narrowly and only went up the second floor, into the hallway occupied almost solely by the Library, save for a pair of closets hiding brooms and dusters.

Axandra crossed the second floor from north to south and thought about her shadows—an Elite guard following her almost everywhere she went. Not the same one the entire way, to be sure. As she moved from level to level, a new one appeared, taking over the watch of the last. The objective was to keep a set of eyes on her wherever she roamed. These were standing orders of their Commander, Ty Narone, whom she had not yet met, but had been told would meet her the next day to discuss further security measures. She found this security less comforting and more of a burden, and she felt self-conscious about her every action and inaction. What if she needed to scratch an awkward itch when she thought no one was looking? She avoided making any possibly inappropriate motions unless she was in the lavatory—where thankfully no one followed—or in her suite. The Residence was the one place where the Palace eyes did not see her. She stayed there when she didn't need to be anywhere else.

On the south end of the Palace, the second floor looked down upon the Grand Hall, which was being decorated for her installation in just seven days. Below her, the room took a significant portion of the south wing. Each side wall was lined with stained glass and beveled windows, each about a meter wide and three meters high. The windows spread the colors throughout the room as the last of the evening sunslight seeped through.

A skeleton of stone ribs supported the vaulted ceiling, bearing the weight of the arched roof. The Grand Hall stood three stories high and extended from the front of the Palace like an extra limb. From this vantage point, she could see almost every corner of the open room. There were no chairs, but a runner of blue carpet and metal stands separated her procession aisle from the soon-to-be crowd. Though not yet finished, the backdrop behind the dais depicted the symbolic objects she would receive, carefully hand-painted in vibrant colors in larger than life images.

The installation of a new Protectress happened once in a generation. The people expressed great pride in celebrating the occasion with exceeding flourish and artistry.

Continuing on to the south end of the long corridor, Axandra found, as she suspected, another stairwell. This one led in both vertical directions, opening into the basement tunnels below and above to the third, fourth and fifth levels. Noises echoed here in spite of the carpeted runner on the stone steps. From above, she heard instruments playing and voices singing.

Curious of the origin, she climbed upward past the third floor to the fourth and poked her head out the doorway into the corridor. This door already hung ajar, allowing the sounds to bleed into the stairwell. The music sounded louder here, but the source remained unseen.

These rooms housed many of the resident staff, affording them shelter and the basic necessities in exchange for their service to the Palace community. Each member was afforded a small apartment with private baths and small kitchens. During her tour of the Palace, Axandra was given a brief look inside one currently unoccupied. She wasn't expected to ever come up to this level, let alone need to know the layout of any of the servers' quarters.

Stepping out of the stairwell into the corridor, she noted that these walls displayed decoration to the same degree of the public floors. One side of the corridor broke with windows every few feet, hung with dark violet drapes tied back for the view. At a certain point, the windows stopped and a room, one on top of similar octagonal rooms below, jutted out from the east side of the building. This room harbored the source of the commotion, and Axandra crept toward it softly.

She recognized the song being sung and sang along in a whisper, “
… went out on the ice and CRACK he fell right through.”
One of many songs often taught to children and loved by adults.

Axandra came to the doors of this room, a double-wide door that was closed on one side and open on the other, and peeked in with hope of not being seen. Inside, there were staff members from many of the Palace functions—the laundry, the kitchen, housekeeping, etc. She didn't recognize them by name, but she had seen many of these faces on her tours.

On the window-side of the room gathered a trio with lutes, guitars and drums on their laps. They rested between songs at the moment and one man strummed lazily on his guitar strings while the three talked over what to play next. At a table to the right, another group played a raucous card game. A chorus of light-hearted boos rose up as the participants of the game lost to a single player, who cheered for herself.

Seeing them relaxed like this gave Axandra a twinge of jealously. She once could go to the pub and join in the evening's play, sip at an ale and sing a loud song. She missed those evenings. She hadn't had a free moment to just sit and play since she had left home. Either her brain occupied her with the images of the long-lived Goddess or she was simply too exhausted. Even during the ship voyage on the open ocean, she had occupied her time doing chores for the crew, cleaning up or helping prepare meals as trade for her passage onboard. And she doubted she could walk right in and enjoy this fun without everyone in the room going out of their way to bow and give her the most comfortable seat.

She listened as the players began their next piece of music. It sounded like a lullaby, a tune she did not recognize. The woman with the small hand drum began to sing, her lilting voice mesmerizing. “When the winds blow 'cross the prairie, my heart goes to find you—”

“Miss!” exclaimed a voice in the corridor.

Abruptly, everything stopped. The occupants of the room looked up and saw her near the door. Chairs scraped on the stone floor as people stood. Everyone rose at once, shock reddening their faces. Staggering their motions, some suddenly remembered to bow. Others followed suit.

Miri came up the corridor accompanied by another young woman, Lynn. Startled by Miri's loud voice, Axandra jumped back and one foot turned as though ready to run. But her sense of reason held her in place. Having already been spotted, turning to run the other way exhibited childishness, even if she hadn't wanted to be seen. Miri and Lynn picked up the pace of their walk, hurrying to her.

“Miss, what are you doing up here? Did you need me?” Miri asked almost frantically. She excelled at sensing when Axandra needed her assistance and worried she failed in her relatively new duties.

“No, I was just wandering. Please, everyone. Go back to what you were doing. I didn't want to bother anyone.” Axandra waved them back, but no one seemed willing to move. They all waited for some other sign, uncertain what to do while she stood in their presence. “Please, you don't have to stand. Just go about as you were. Good evening.”

Axandra moved away from the door so that they might think her gone. Her face blazed hot with embarrassment. As she moved farther down the hall, Miri followed her.

“I didn't need anything. I heard the singing and wanted to see what was going on,” she explained to her aide. “I couldn't fall asleep.”

“Let me get you something that will help. Eryn keeps several herbs—”

Axandra waved her off. “No. Nothing like that.” She rubbed her brow for a moment, starting down the hallway again. The static in her brain became suddenly loud and obnoxious. “I just needed to get out of my room. Let her—the singer—know that she has a lovely, lovely voice. I would like to hear the end of that song sometime. Goodnight.” She increased her pace, finally leaving Miri behind. She hit the stairway down and escaped back to the Residence, her brain throbbing.

“Stop, please,” she begged the Goddess, trying to block out the noise. Her eyes witnessed dark trees around her, and she smelled the moist decay of a forest. Struggling, she stacked gray bricks starting at the ground and building up, blocking out the scene.

Whose eyes are these?
To her left, she heard voices calling out,
Over here! Look over here!

The gray bricks trembled. She didn't have any strength to cement them together.

Stubbing her big toe on a piece of furniture brought her back to her own realm immediately. Hissing curses, she hopped holding her toe with her hand. As she breathed in, the scene around her returned to the sitting room, a comfortable room scented with the garden through the open windows. A cool wind rustled the curtains.

Axandra breathed in deeply, her hands to her waist feeling her lungs fill up, relieved that the episode seemed to be over. The mistiness of her vision persisted. Moving into the bedroom just beyond, she sat on a chair to check her aching toe, but saw no visible damage, though pain flared through the bone. She sat with her head in her hands trying to think about what she saw, but it all seemed erased so quickly. Only the voices echoed on. She didn't know who they were or where or what was going on.

At the mirror, she began the ritual of brushing her long spiraling hair, the motion soothing her until her eyes drooped a little. She washed her face and hands and climbed into the oversized bed, pulling up the warm algodon covers that kept off the nighttime chill. She slept with the windows open every night, like she used to in her cottage. But she did not hear the ocean surf here, nor the clicks and chirps of the ocean-dwelling curana. Below, she heard the wind in the trees and in the distance, the rumble of thunder from the Great Storm. She lay awake listening, afraid of what her eyes would see if she closed them.

20th Quadrember, 307

The peaceful society
of the small world of Bona Dea succeeded based upon each individual's service to the greater community. Time spent in service guaranteed the basics of living and allowed the pursuit of personal interest without strife. No one went hungry when food was available. Everyone had shelter in a comfortable home, books to read, instruments to play, tools and other items. In service, some cared for children or taught lessons. Others helped construct new homes or repair roads or maintain the general infrastructure. There were always jobs available, from recycling, sowing and reaping the crops, preserving food, treating wastewater and so many other vital tasks. Masters such as clothiers, potters, masons, carpenters, weavers and other craftspeople, trained apprentices in the perfection of their arts. Goods were distributed equitably. Rare items or local treasures were often bartered among neighbors.

In her old life, Axandra took her turn as teacher and nurse. She volunteered as an Assistor for two years when she turned sixteen, after her father, Reiko, passed away. After meeting Jon and joining him in his home by the sea, she used her hobby of fashioning jewelry to trade for special wants, and she assisted the elder neighbors with their chores. For her contribution to the community, she received food, shelter, and other amenities for a contented and quiet life.

As Protectress, Axandra's service to the world-community would be complete—she would be provided anything she needed or desired for the remainder of her life. She no longer needed to volunteer to teach or harvest or nurse, yet she would do all of these things in the course of her life-service. She would serve the people in whatever manner they needed her and was expected to do so without grudge or complaint and only to question if the needs conflicted with the Covenants.

In that respect, she was responsible for knowing the Covenants by heart.

These guidelines on living life in peace as a whole seemed simple when read to oneself. For over three hundred years, the humans of Bona Dea had lived life so simply, wanting for nothing, contented with their existence.

Axandra understood the simplicity masked a more complicated system or there would be no need for the People's Council and Protectress as they were described in the extended body of the Covenants document. It was the nature of human beings to disagree and argue. She participated in many arguments with those who did not share her views. Argument created an exchange of knowledge. Humans also shared the desire to grow and to better themselves and their world for the children who would follow them. Conflict nurtured innovation and tempered overachievement.

Axandra studied the Covenants a little every day and discussed them with whichever Councilor acted as her tutor, particularly the Covenant of Free Will.

“Does Free Will overrule the other Covenants?” Axandra asked Casper as they sat in the Archive vault looking through the records of her mother's service, reading pages upon pages of natural disasters that took place across the continent. “Free Will gives us the right to choose our individual paths. What if someone chooses not to provide service? The other covenants will still give him food and shelter, even if he provides nothing.”

“Dear,” Casper said with a fatherly smile of his almost lipless mouth. Cataracts clouded his dark brown eyes. He leaned upon his cane with his hands and chin. He didn't see very well, but who needed sight when the emanations of others indicated who was nearby. “Yes, Free Will gives everyone the right to refuse to provide services—but such action will have consequences. It then becomes the Free Will of others in the community to deny him food unless he collects it himself.”

“Then the effects of one person's actions begin to break down the system,” she concluded.

“Yet the system is still in place,” Casper reminded, a gnarled finger tapping the air in her direction. “And I have known several young people in my time who have tried what you suggest, to live without working, to be served without serving.” Casper swayed on his seat as he spoke, his eyes straying toward the high ceiling and the books stacked on the shelves. “They always find that, unless they sit like a lump on the ground, they are always providing something to someone else. Even if it is only to provide conversation to an old man.”

“So no one feels the need to withhold,” Axandra followed, wondering where his story originated, “and the Covenants are protected from failure. I see.” She nodded, understanding his reasoning.

“And you must set an example by serving when and where needed. The people look up to you. If you stray, they will also.”

“I understand,” Axandra told him. “I must be the perfect moral compass for the citizens.”

“Oh, not perfect, my dear. Just Human.”

Nancy Morton's answer differed somewhat.

“Miss, Free Will is imaginary. No one is absolutely free to do as he or she wishes,” Nancy scoffed. Axandra dreaded her days with the Head of Council, who never smiled at her and always seemed inconvenienced to be giving lessons. “Those around you always affect your decisions, even in the smallest way. You can't escape influence unless you live under a rock.”

“So while we have given ourselves the freedom to make choices, you say that our choices are made for us,” Axandra paraphrased.

“Yes,” Nancy confirmed. “From the day you are born, you are told how to think and how to act. You believe that you had the Free Will to run away and escape the life you were born into,” Nancy told her bluntly. “Yet you are here. Was that your Free Will?”

Axandra began to defend herself, but no words flowed from her tongue. At last, she said, “The people need me.”

“You are welcome to believe that.” And Nancy left the discussion at that.

+++

23rd Quadrember

Two days prior
to the installation, Axandra and the Councilors practiced the ceremony and unlocked the artifacts from the safe in the basement Hold, bringing each out of its customized case.

The collection consisted of five objects, one for each of the regions that made up the continent and islands, simply named Eastland, Westland, Southland, Northland, and the Great Storm. The Gifts had originally been presented to the First Protectress as symbols of the people's acceptance of her leadership. Viewing them against black velvet on a long table, Axandra and the Councilors admired the artistry of each piece. Axandra listened with amusement at everyone's tendency to whisper around the objects, as though their very voices might crack the centuries old antiques.

Eastland presented a square tablet of white and gray granite carved with the figure of a woman and children, perhaps a teacher or a mother nurturing the young ones. This symbol represented their permission to be nurtured and instructed to become better individuals and therefore a better community. The granite came from the same quarry that had given the stones for the Palace, near the base of Mount Zetnic near Undun City. Below the carved image was etched the phrase
With Love Comes Peace
.

From the Northland came a wooden staff about two meters tall, which made it stand above Axandra's head by almost a full third. Sturdy, it also possessed flexibility, with enough give that it could be bent in a smooth arc. Upon the staff was carved A tree bends to the will of the wind, but breaks if it does not yield.

An amethyst medallion touted to be the smallest and lightest Gift in the collection. Southland was noted for the gems mined in a network of natural caves that wound in labyrinths beneath the highlands. Simply mounted in a sterling silver claw, the crystal hung on a long chain that would be placed around her neck during the ceremony. The Southlanders felt that their stones exhibited special properties capable of enhancing the telepathic abilities of the wearer. While this claim bore no scientific basis, the legend of the stones continued with each passing of this medallion. She would wear it for the first week of her service, then it would return to the hold for safekeeping, coming out only on special occasions.

Westland gave the First Protectress a gavel carved from a curana bone, a heavy ivory substance that was rarely seen. The aquatic creatures headed for deep water at the end of life, their corpses sinking into the deepest abysses of the Ocean. Occasionally the bones washed ashore or a curana would perish upon beaching and scavengers would clean the flesh from the bones. These rare objects were prized by those who studied the Ocean as well as those who believed such gifts were delivered to them to remind all humans of the fragility of life. The surface of the gavel depicted the animals of the oceans—the fish, the curana, the corals and others, crowded along the head and handle. The First Protectress had been asked to ensure that this new world never became like Old Earth, a vacant ball of toxic gas, devoid of all life except human.

Lastly, the Prophets of the Great Storm gave her a mirrored box. The silvered glass lay in a smooth silver metal frame, hinged so that is folded like a clam shell. Axandra recognized it, for the sliver had come from a smaller such box. Had this been the method of instilling the First Protectress with the Goddess herself? Was this case to protect the entity if there was no new host to inhabit? Councilor Morton recited that the mirror showed the Protectress a reflection of herself to remind her that she was one of the people she served, not a goddess to be adored and waited upon. A humbling thought.

I am the Goddess
, Axandra thought as she set the ornate item back on the cloth.
I can't forget that now.

In the same order in which they were originally given, the Gifts would be presented to the next Protectress, as they had for generations. The group practiced several times over two days, making certain Axandra could handle each piece with care and move about the dais without stumbling. Axandra never thought of herself as graceful. She carefully measured every stride to prevent tripping over her own feet.

To adorn the new Protectress, a dressmaker designed an elaborate gown that complimented Axandra's features. From the strapless, fitted bodice of periwinkle silk, the skirt cascaded in layers of gathered gossamer in metallic gold and grayish shades of blue, clear to the floor. At her neck, fastened to the bodice with a gold and jeweled broach, a long scarf of the same gossamer fabric went over her shoulders and draped down her back about half way down the skirt. Numerous fittings took place to size the gown just right and test the fabrics. Several things changed in two weeks—the designer did not like this color or that gather or that stitch. Two days before the ceremony, the gown still lacked the hem and all of the fasteners. With all the things she had to worry about, Axandra dismissed this from her mind. She trusted the tailors to finish on time.

Now all that remained was convincing herself that she was up to the task. Axandra didn't feel ready, not for service of this magnitude. The last two weeks, she'd seen the slimmest example of what lay in store for her for decades to come. Perhaps she never would be ready. But her parents—her adopted parents—taught her to follow through with her commitments, and that is what she would do.