Bertrice Small - A Distant Tomorrow

When he had gone from the guest house Lara dug into her saddlebag and retrieved a carved and gilded wooden peach. Opening it, she drew out a simple gown of pale green silk with long flowing sleeves, a straight skirt and a modestly draped neckline. She had no sandals, but her bare feet would not be considered untoward on a summer’s night. Lara quickly put on the gown, brushed her hair, and rebraided it into a single plait. Then she draped a long matching veil over her head. There was no mirror in the guest house, but Lara knew she looked every inch the proper woman.

Returning the Dominus was surprised to find her so modestly garbed. “I did not know you had such a gown with you,” he said.

“Would you have me appear before your High Priest garbed as a warrior woman, my lord Dominus?” she countered.

“Your look is deceptively innocent,” he remarked.

She smiled mischievously. “I believe the High Priest will find me quite suitable,” she told him. “Now let us go, my lord Dominus.”

Taking her arm he led her from the guest house.

THE HIGH PRIEST of the Brotherhood of the Great Creator peered sharply at Lara with his rheumy old eyes. He was pleased to see that both her demeanor and her dress were modest. He had never been to Hetar, and he knew little about it. But stories he had heard in his youth declared that Hetar was a venal and licentious world. The woman before him seemed pleasant enough, but something fretted him about her. When she met his gaze for a brief moment, her emerald eyes to his clouded ones, he knew exactly what it was.

“She is faerie!” he declared in a hard and shaking voice.

“Yes, the Coastal King said she was half-faerie,” the Dominus said.

“She will have magic, and magic is evil. It cannot be tolerated here in Terah,” the High Priest replied. “Kill her, Magnus Hauk, and her magic will be destroyed. Hetar has sent her to harm us, I am certain of it. If you will not slay her I will have my guards do it before she infects you with her evil – if she has not already done so.” He now glared at Lara with disdain.

“There is something you should know about this lady, my lord Aslak,” Arik said quietly. “We can hear her voice.”

The old man jumped backward with shock. “Evil!” he insisted pointing a bony finger at Lara.

“No, my lord Aslak,” Arik told the high priest. “We hear her voice because she is not of Terah, but even more amazing, she had told us that our women do indeed speak. It is we who cannot hear,” he explained.

“What blasphemy is this?” Aslak demanded angrily. “The women of Terah were condemned to be voiceless through eternity.”

“No, my lord Aslak,” Lara said softly. “It was the men who listened to their women who were cursed. Because I am of Hetar you can hear my voice, and I have both heard and spoken with your women.”

Aslak had grown pale at the sound of Lara’s voice. Now he stumbled backward, clutching at his chest. His eyes began to roll back in his head, and his mouth moved but no sound could be heard. Suddenly he collapsed onto the floor.

Arik knelt, and sought for a pulse. He drew a small smooth metal square from his robes, and held it before the High Priest’s nostrils. The mirror remained clear, and unblemished. “He is dead,” Arik said sanguinely. “He was very old.” Then rising he went to the door of the High Priest’s chambers, and called out. “The High Priest has collapsed! Come quickly, my brothers!”

And there was suddenly the ringing of a bell, and the chamber filled with the men belonging to the order.

“The High Priest was just giving his blessing to the Dominus and his proposed wife when he collapsed,” Arik explained loudly.

It was a reasonable explanation, and the sight of the modestly garbed and veiled woman clinging to the Dominus, her head hidden in his shoulder, certainly gave credibility to the scene.

“He was an old man,” one of the brotherhood said. “All praise to the Great Creator for his goodness in taking Aslak in such a merciful fashion.”

“And all hail to the new High Priest Arik,” another of the brotherhood said, and the chamber echoed with huzzahs.

Arik nodded graciously at their acclaim. Then he said, “Nephew, take the lady Lara from this scene of sadness. It is not fit for her lovely eyes. My brothers, we must prepare our departed brother Aslak for his funeral pyre.”

As the men of the order surrounded their fallen leader, the Dominus led Lara back to the guest house in the lake.

“This is terrible,” Lara said softly to him. “I have killed the old man with the very sound of my voice.”

“He died because it was his time,” Magnus Hauk said. “He was very old, and narrow in his thinking. He would have been an impediment to our plans to reverse Usi the Sorcerer’s curse upon us. My uncle will be a more forward thinking High Priest which suits me, and that will be better for Terah. There is magic here. There always was, but under Aslak’s influence those who have it were forced to keep silent.”

“But he was so shocked at the sound of my voice,” Lara worried.

“Your voice is a beautiful one. I think it was that beauty that overcame him,” the Dominus told her.

Lara laughed weakly. “What a time, Magnus, to be so gallant,” she said.

“Sit down,” he ordered her, and then he poured them goblets of wine.

“Drink this. It will calm you. And then you must go to bed. We have an early start.”

“But will there not be a departure ceremony of some sort?” she asked him. “Should you not be there for it? He was your High Priest, and you are the Dominus.”

“We do not celebrate the passing of a soul from this place into the domain of the Great Creator. Death on this side of the door is the natural course for life to take,” Magnus explained. “Even as I speak to you Aslak is being placed upon his funeral pyre. Our dead are burned within the hour of their passing. That way we are able to put the past aside and concentrate upon the future. When I have seen you settled in bed I will go and pay my final respects.” Then he put her to bed as if she were a child, making certain she drank all the wine in the goblet. “I will be back within the hour,” he promised.

But whether he was or not Lara never knew, for she slept soundly the night long, awakening to the sound of singing birds and the promise of sunrise. Magnus lay on his back next to her, sleeping peacefully. Lara observed him for several long minutes. He was a very handsome man, but rugged, much as Vartan had been. Not at all like Kaliq, who had been almost as beautiful to behold as she was, Lara thought with a fond smile of remembrance. Suddenly she became aware of the faint scent of burning on the morning wind. Aslak’s funeral pyre, she realized, as she slipped from the bed, and quickly dressed herself in her leather pants, silk shirt and vest. She was pulling on her boots when the Dominus awoke. “It’s morning,” Lara told him.

He groaned. “I was longer than I anticipated, and then innumerable cups of wine had to be drunk to Aslak and to my uncle.”

“We could wait a day,” she offered.

“Nay,” he said pulling himself from the bed. “I want to find Usi’s private chamber, and the book of spells. Tell me, what does Sirvat’s voice sound like?”

“Like rough yet delicate chimes. All of your women have exquisite voices. Usi’s curse was a cruel one that you have been denied the sound of your women’s voices. To think you never heard your mother singing to you as a child.” Lara picked up the delicate green gown she had worn the evening before, and before his astonished eyes poured it back into the open half of the wooden peach. Adding the veil, she closed the carved fruit and tucked it in her saddlebag.

“If I had not seen you do that I should not have believed it,” Magnus Hauk said.

“It always astounded my husband, too.”

They both heard the door to the guest house open, and a wary look touched Lara’s face. She fell silent. The servant entered with the early meal and set a tray upon the table in the chamber outside before departing again.

Magnus Hauk peered into the other room. “He’s gone. Let us eat, pay our respects to my uncle and then be on our way. The men-at-arms will be awaiting us.”

Arik greeted them warmly, and as there had been no time the night before he listened to Lara’s quick explanation of where she believed the book of spells could be found. “Send word to me when you have found it,” he told them. “It should be hidden away where it can never again be used,” the new High Priest said.

“If I find it, once I have reversed the curse,” Lara said firmly, “I will destroy the book. Evil has a life all its own, and draws other evil to it, my lord Arik. We should take no chances.”

“Then let it be as you have said,” Arik replied. “I bow to your wisdom.”

“Not so much wisdom as caution,” Lara said with a small smile, and the two men chuckled at her observation.

Then uncle and nephew embraced. Arik turned to Lara, and hugged her, too. “Farewell, faerie woman,” he said. “We will meet again, I have not a doubt.”

“I hope so,” Lara told him. She liked Arik.

They rode out from the Temple of the Great Creator on a glorious summer’s morning, passing what remained of Aslak’s funeral pyre on a nearby green hillock as they rode. The day remained fair, and by sunset they once again espied the towers and turrets of the castle of the Dominus.

“Tomorrow,” Lara said, “I will ride about the castle, and see what I can see.”

Sirvat was awaiting them, eager to learn what had transpired. Magnus Hauk left Lara and his sister together, asking only if husbands had been found for his three former Pleasure Women. “Tell my brother I have almost concluded negotiations for them all,” Sirvat said to Lara, who repeated the message.