Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (63 page)

 
          
It
did help. With the tight metal band gone, the tension lessened slightly. He
sighed, slumping against the chair; sighed again as Shona set the circlet on
the table and began to rub his temples. "A long two months," he
murmured.

 
          
"
'Tis over now," she said. "Niall has been laid to rest with all due
ceremony… 'tis time the rest of you were able to breathe again."

 
          
He
had not thought of it like that. He had known only that the Homanans required
daily ceremonies of passing for a full sixty days to honor the dead Mujhar;
duly honored, Niall was formally interred in Homana-Mujhar's mausoleum, his
dressed-stone sarcophagus resting beside Carillon's. There was none for Donal,
who had given himself over to the Cheysuli death-ritual following the deaths of
his
lir
, but Niall's passing had not
required adherence to the stringent Cheysuli custom. His had required only
multitudinous ceremonies designed to honor his memory, after the fashion of
Homanans.

 
          
But
it was done. The sixty days, save for several hours, were now passed. And he
could breathe again.

 
          
Already
his head felt better. Smiling, Aidan reached up and caught Shona's competent
hands. "Now perhaps we can think about
our
ceremony."

 
          
Shona
shrugged, turning to perch on the arm of the chair. Because of the ceremony,
she wore skirts instead of trews, and a gem-encrusted girdle spanning the width
of her hips. "I'm not needing one of
those
to know we're bound."

 
          
"No.
But the Homanans prefer such things." He threaded idle fingers into the
weave of her braid. "And it will give Deirdre something to do."

 
          
The
archness left Shona's tone. "Aye. Poor Deirdre… gods, what grief she
feels, and yet she tends to everyone else. First to Brennan, who is a ship
without a rudder; then to Ian, who tries to close himself off to what we're
both
of us knowing is a horrible
emptiness."

 
          
"He
was the Mujhar's liege man."

 
          
"Liege
man, brother, boon companion—d'ye think the titles matter?" She pulled
herself up and sat instead on the bed, but three paces away, tugging at the fit
of her loose-cut gown. "He has spent his life serving our grandsire,
according to love and to custom, and now that service is ended. What d'ye think
he'll be doing?"

 
          
Aidan
rubbed a temple. The headache was receding, but a residue remained. '"We
have been his whole life. He has neither
cheysula
nor
meijha
… I think he will stay with
us, to give us whatever help he can."

 
          
"And
himself, as well." Shona sighed pensively, idly resettling the girdle.
"But there is Deirdre, still. Will she stay? Or will she go?"

 
          
"Back
to Erinn?" Aidan shook his head. "Homana is her home. She has been
here most of her life."

 
          
"But
Niall is dead, and her only daughter—and all of her grandchildren—live in
Erinn."

 
          
"Except
for Blais." Aidan frowned. "I wish he had come. The Mujhar was
his
grandsire, also… and yet he did not
come to any of the ceremonies. You
know
he must have heard—word has been carried throughout all of Homana."

 
          
Shona's
mouth hooked down sardonically. "Blais is not a man to do what others
expect, or desire. 'Tis a stubborn
skilfin
he is—likely he heard, but chose not to come."

 
          
"He
would have been welcomed."

 
          
"Would
he? He is the traitor's son."

 
          
Aidan
shifted restlessly. "Likely he would find less welcome among the Cheysuli
than the Homanans. The Homanans care little enough about Teirnan—what did he do
to them? His heresy has to do with his own race. It is a Cheysuli
concern."

 
          
"Aye,
well… likely Blais had his reasons." Shona eyed him attentively.
"Your head is better."

 
          
"Aye."

 
          
"Good.
Then you won't be minding a walk."

 
          
"A
walk?" Aidan frowned. "It is late. I thought we would go to
bed."

 
          
"We'll
do that after," she said. "There's something I want to see. Before, I
didn't ask because 'twasn't fitting, in light of Niall's death. But now there's
nothing to hinder it." She stood expectantly, tugging at rucked up skirts
and the binding of the girdle. "I want to see the Womb."

 
          
Aidan's
brows rose. "The Womb of the Earth?"

 
          
Shona
nodded. "I've heard all about it. My mother told me, and others… about the
oubliette beneath the floor of the Great Hall, and all the marble
lir
."

 
          
Aidan
looked at the bed a moment, thinking about sweet oblivion and an end to a
nagging headache. But Shona was due an introduction to her heritage on any
terms she liked, and he saw no reason to refuse. His head
was
better; nodding, he rose and gestured her out of the room.

 
          
"No
dogs," he warned.

 
          
She
cast him a dark look. "I've left them all in
my
chamber."

 
          
"Good.
If you want to meet the
lir
, you can
do it without dogs."

 
          
Shona
shouldered open the door. " 'Tis only because they like
me
better that you resent them."

 
          
"I
do not resent your dogs. Only that there are so many—do you know how little
room there is left to me when they try to sleep on my bed?"

 
          
Shona
preceded him out the door, kicking skirts aside. The change in attire did
nothing to hide long-legged strides. "They sleep on
my
bed, boyo, since you've banished them from your chamber."

 
          
"They
come anyway, whenever they can. Just yesterday four of them had nested—"

 
          
"
'Tis because they smell me there. But if you like, I can sleep in my own
bed." Shona headed down the staircase, yanking skirts out of the way.

 
          
"No.
But we do have kennels."

 
          
"They'll
fight with your hounds."

 
          
"I
have no hounds. They belong to Homana-Mujhar." Aidan followed a step
behind, taking care not to step on her heels or the hem of her skirts. "I
know you love them,
meijhana
—"

 
          
"Aye."
Her tone was final.

 
          
"—but
could you perhaps treat them as dogs? The servants are complaining about the
hair, and bones always underfoot, and the
other
things underfoot."

 
          
"The
pups are near to broken."

 
          
"And
do you intend to keep them all?"

 
          
Shona
continued down the stairs in silence. When she reached the bottom, she stopped,
waiting for Aidan. "No," she said at last. "But 'tis hard to
give them up."

 
          
"I
know, but—"

 
          
"They'll
go," she said fiercely. "Not all, but some of them. 'Tis what I breed
them for… to improve the lines, and to sell them. Already I have offers."

 
          
"For
all of them?" he asked hopefully.

 
          
Shona's
scowl was black. "For
some
of
them," she said. "Some of them I'm keeping."

 
          
It
was a beginning. Aidan let it pass and gestured her to continue. "The
Great Hall," he said. "The entrance is there."

 
          
When
they reached the silver doors, Aidan took a torch down from one of the corridor
brackets and carried it within, spilling haphazard illumination across the
floor. Only hours before, the hall had been full of kin and high-ranking
Homanans, all gathered in Niall's name; now the hall was emptied of life
entirely, except for themselves.

 
          
Shona
paused inside as the door swung shut. " 'Tis different." She glanced
upward. "They've taken down all the black banners—all the wreaths."
Slowly she turned in a circle. "They've taken away
everything
of the mourning ceremonies."

 
          
"The
mourning is concluded." Aidan fell silent, then amended the declaration.
"The
official
mourning is
concluded,' now begins the reign of a new Mujhar."

 
          
Shona
peered the length of the hall. "In this light, the Lion is
malevolent."

 
          
"In
any light," Aidan muttered, then carried the torch toward the firepit.
"The one on the Crystal Isle was much more benevolent."

 
          
"D'ye
think so?" Shona followed. "Blais and I decided it was naught but a
bit of wood, fashioned for vanity. There was no life to it." She watched
as Aidan mounted the rim of the firepit and began kicking aside coals. When he
handed her the torch, she took it amenably and held it so he could see.
"Do you know, they might have made it a
bit
more easy to reach the stairs… why did they bury the opening
here
?"

 
          
Aidan
continued to rearrange the contents of the firepit, waving his hands at
drifting ash. "Originally the firepit did not extend so far. Cheysuli
built Homana-Mujhar centuries ago—at that time there was no need for hiding
anything. But when they decided to give the Lion back to the Homanans, the
firepit was extended to cover the opening to the staircase." He paused,
modulating his tone carefully. "It was thought wisest to obscure the
Jehana's
Womb, so no defilement was
possible."

 
          
"D'ye
think—?" She broke it off. "Aye. They would have. My mother has told
me how bloodthirsty were the Homanans in the days of the
qu'mahlin
." She moved as Aidan gestured her aside, then
marveled as he caught hold of the iron ring attached to the hinged plate set
almost flush in the floor. " 'Tis no wonder they never found it, is it?
Buried like this…"

 
          
Aidan
gathered every ounce of his strength and levered the plate up, then eased it
down against the firepit rim. Stale air rushed out of the opening, causing the
torchlight to gutter and dance. But after a moment it stilled, and flame
bloomed afresh.

 
          
"Safe,"
he murmured, and took the torch back from Shona. "Stay close behind me,
meijhana
. If the stairs are damp, they
can be dangerous."

 
          
Shona's
tone was dry. "Aye. I'd not be knowing aught of such a thing, island-born
as I am."

 
          
"I
meant because of your skirts. You're not knowing much about
them
." Aidan cast her a bright
glance, then started down the shallow stairs, thrusting the torch before him.
The staircase was cut directly out of solid stone, pitched steep and narrow. He
had been told the stairs numbered one hundred and two; for the first time in
his life, he counted.

 
          
"Gods,"
Shona breathed "how deep do we go?"

 
          
Her
voice echoed oddly from behind. "Not so deep," he answered. "Not
so deep as the Womb itself."

 
          
Shona
said nothing else until they reached the bottom. The ending was abrupt and
without warning, in a small closet, until, Aidan found the proper keystone and
pressed. A portion of the wall grated on edge, turning; blackness gaped before
them.