Authors: Deborah Chester
“Silence!”
commanded the woman behind them.
At
once Bixia bit back the rest of what she might have said and bowed her head.
She managed to keep glaring at Elandra, however, from beneath her tangle of
hair.
Still
puzzled, Elandra turned slowly back to face the sand pit. She saw a thin woman
standing on a dais beside a stone chair. The unclothed Penestrican’s hair was
braided around her skull. Her bare arms and legs revealed a network of
mutilation scars. On her right wrist she wore a simple bracelet in the shape of
a snake.
When
the woman beckoned, Elandra walked slowly around the sand pit to the bottom of
the dais. She gazed up at the older woman, recognizing an air of authority that
was unquestionable.
“Are
you the Magria?” she asked.
The
woman’s slim brows rose. In silence she inclined her head. Her eyes were filled
with intelligent scrutiny.
“Why
is Bixia being treated like this?” Elandra asked. “As bride-elect of the
emperor, she deserves respect and courtesy. Surely you do not blame her for
what Hecati tried to do.”
The
Magria’s eyes grew cold. “She has been raised by a witch. There is much to be
held accountable—”
“But
not by Bixia!” Elandra said sharply. “She didn’t know—”
“But
you did!” the Magria broke in.
Disconcerted,
Elandra stared at her.
“Yes,”
the Magria insisted. “You knew about the witch. Answer!”
There
was no denying it, not now when she finally understood what Hecati really was. “I
knew,” Elandra admitted.
“And
you did nothing. You told no one. You did not denounce her, as is required by
law!”
Elandra
bit back the urge to defend herself. There was nothing to say without being
clumsy, no way to justify her fear without admitting cowardice, no way to
explain the intimidation and coercion Hecati had practiced on her through the
years.
Besides,
she had a suspicion the Magria might already know the full circumstances.
Warily, Elandra kept quiet, saying nothing even when the Magria glared at her.
“Well?”
the Magria demanded.
Still
Elandra refused to answer. Two could play this game of silence, she thought.
A
terrible look entered the Magria’s face. “You are both fools. I waste my time
with you.”
“Then
give us to the women who are supposed to train us for marriage,” Elandra said
with deliberate insolence. “Clothe us properly and treat us according to our
different stations. Put an end to these games of yours.”
“Games!”
the Magria said sharply. “Games? There are no games here, girl. Everything that
happens in the sand pit is truth.”
Elandra
faced her without saying anything.
The
Magria slowly descended the steps of the dais until they stood face to face.
Then the Penestrican circled Elandra, studying her openly.
“You
are very like Fauvina,” she whispered. “The auburn hair and white skin, the
temper and the courage. Very like her. Yes, the cycle turns. It turns, and
destiny is written.”
Elandra
frowned, but it was Bixia who stepped forward.
“No!”
she cried. “You cannot take my privileges from me. I am to marry the emperor,
not her! It was foretold, and you cannot change that.”
While
Elandra’s bewilderment grew, the Magria turned a terrible smile of pity on
Bixia. “You have no destiny. Those who have told you so all your life have done
you a great disservice.”
“I
do
have a destiny!” Bixia
stamped her foot like a spoiled child. “I do! It says I am to marry the
emperor, and you can’t stop me!”
“Father
was told,” Elandra said in agreement. “The prophecy was clear.”
The
Magria’s eyes pinned her. “Speak the prophecy.”
Bixia
sighed, but Elandra said in a clear, precise voice: “The daughter of Albain
shall marry the emperor.”
“Yes,”
the Magria said. “That is correct.”
“
I
am his daughter!” Bixia said
hotly.
“So
is Elandra.”
“No!”
Bixia cried. “She is a bastard, a worthless embarrassment. She doesn’t belong
here. Father was wrong to even send her with me.”
“The
prophecy does not lie,” the Magria said.
“You
make a lie of it! You are evil and a—”
The
Magria lifted her hand, and Bixia’s sentence choked off. Bixia clutched her
throat, writhing and turning blue. Alarmed, Elandra realized she was in the
presence of powers she did not understand. Were these women also witches?
“We
are not witches,” the Magria said severely.
Uneasiness
crawled through Elandra. So they read minds as well. Surely they were indeed
possessed of dark powers.
“No,”
the Magria said sharply. “Do not judge what you do not understand. You have met
one real witch. Was she like us?”
“I—I
do not yet know,” Elandra said.
The
Magria’s mouth twisted. “We serve the goddess- mother of all creation, the
earth itself. With education you will come to share our love and worship. You will
walk our
way.”
Bixia
was still being choked by the Magria’s will. Elandra swallowed and made herself
face the Magria.
“I
will not walk your way,” she said defiantly. “Call your powers what you will.
They are not for me.”
“We
live with the five natural powers—that of the earth, in which all life grows;
that of water, which nourishes life; that of the moon and her mysteries; that
of blood, which is life; that of a woman’s womb, which gives her power over men
as she both takes their force and gives back sons in exchange. We do not
consort with demons. We do not walk in shadows.”
Elandra
was only half listening. She took a half step toward her tortured sister, then
stopped herself from intervening.
“Wise,”
the Magria murmured and lowered her hand.
The
invisible force choking Bixia released her. Gasping and crying, Bixia sagged to
her knees and coughed.
Elandra
went to her, but Bixia fought her off. “Leave me alone! I hate you!” she
croaked, and fell into another coughing fit.
Angrily
Elandra turned on the Magria, but the woman stopped her with a quelling look.
“Do
not waste your effort defending her. She does not want your pity.
Disappointment is a bitter cup. Let her drink it unhindered.”
“I
don’t understand,” Elandra said.
The
Magria’s eyes were clear and very wise. “Yes, you do.”
“But
I can’t be the bride-elect,” Elandra said in bewilderment. “I have no birth—”
“Your
lineage is above hers. Your mother Iaris was the daughter of Lord Cernal,
holder of most of Gialta west of the river, as your father holds most of the
eastern bank. Lord Cernal descends from the same line as the Empress Fauvina.
You, Elandra, not your half-sister, carry imperial blood. You, Elandra, not
your half-sister, had a prophecy told over you at your birth.”
Elandra’s
heart began to beat very fast. Feeling breathless, she whispered, “I am to
marry a man whose name shall be known throughout the ages.” She blinked, unable
to believe it. “But... not Emperor Kostimon!”
Bixia,
still kneeling on the ground, began to cry.
“It
can’t be,” Elandra said blankly. “I don’t believe it.”
“The
Fates cannot be denied,” the Magria told her. “You were raised as a servant in
your father’s house, yes?”
Elandra
frowned but gave her a tiny nod.
“Yet
you carry yourself with pride and the demeanor of a lady. You were persecuted
by the Maelite witch, were you not?”
Elandra’s
frown deepened. She said nothing.
“Was
she not cruel to you? Deeply, heartlessly cruel?”
“Yes.”
“Yet
you survived her cruelty. You did not let her break your spirit. Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“On
the day of your departure, the soldiers cheered you instead of Bixia.”
Elandra’s
mouth fell open. “How did you know—” She cut herself off, knowing the question
was foolish in the circumstances.
“When
we drove the witch from our premises—that fiend who would dare to defile this
place of the goddess- mother—it was not Bixia whom the witch attacked, but you,
Elandra. You, the future empress of our world.”
“But—”
“Why
should she strike you down? If you were as insignificant as you believe, why
should she waste her efforts on you? Why not destroy Bixia?”
It
occurred to Elandra that Hecati would have enjoyed opportunities to do much
mischief from her position behind the throne, but she said nothing.
“The
witch struck you with deadly intent, yet you did not die.”
“Blindness
is a kind of death,” Elandra murmured bitterly, awash with memories.
“Nonsense.
Don’t pity yourself now. That is past.”
Elandra
faced her, chin held high, eyes direct. “You could have restored my sight
immediately, yet you didn’t.”
“I
did not restore your sight,” the Magria said, equally direct. “You did.”
“How—”
“We
have tried to bend your spirit and find that adversity merely strengthens you.
I have looked on you with sight, and I know you cannot be coerced. Neither will
you work in ignorance, nor will you obey without question what you do not
understand. You have the qualities for leadership and position which your
half-sister lacks entirely. Bixia also walked the sand pit,” the Magria said,
her voice soft but relentless over the sound of Bixia’s weeping. “She failed
the test of the serpents.”
Elandra
shot her sister a swift look of consternation, but all she saw was Bixia’s
bowed head.
“But
you, Elandra, did not fail,” the Magria continued. “You were given a paradox
with conflicting solutions. The only possible means of success was to create a
third solution, which you did. You fought and defeated the snake. You are truly
the daughter of a warlord. Even blinded and at a terrible disadvantage, you did
not allow your disability or your emotions to overcome your wits. You have not
been pampered and spoiled. You have no conceit or vanity. Your mind is keen and
ready to be educated. You are ambitious and courageous. Your strength will not
fail you in the challenges ahead.”
She
took Elandra’s cold hands in hers, and smiled. “You are our next empress,
child. Destiny has called you, and it is my honor to train you to meet it.”
Conflicting
feelings raced through Elandra. This seemed so impossible, and yet she could
not deny what the Magria was saying.
What about the man in my dream?
she started to say, then
held it back with instinctive caution. In her heart, she wanted to believe he
was the man she was destined to marry, not some debauched old man.
Instead,
she skirted the question uppermost in her mind with another. “Why did you send
dream walkers to haunt me?”
Something
unreadable crossed the Magria’s face. She hesitated visibly. “That is another
matter, which we will discuss at the proper time.”
“And
my father?” Elandra said, frowning. “What has he to say to this change?”
“For
your father, the alliance and its advantages remain the same. He will be
informed.”
Elandra’s
mouth was dry. She swallowed, but it did not help. “And . .. and the emperor?”
The
Magria stroked Elandra’s hair. “My child, the emperor will be besotted when he
sees his lost Fauvina restored to him.”
Elandra
drew back sharply from her caress. “I am not this woman you speak of. I am
myself!”
“Of
course. But it will help win his heart.”