Weaving in her cloister,
While the angry winds conspire;
The spider takes no heed
Of all their noise and mischief
And their empty, sullen words.
- The Canticle of Menkeret.
A bead of sweat rolls down between my breasts. I catch it and taste its saltiness. It is the salt of me, the salt of my blood, the blood of the Mentrassa. To me; a woman in the bonds of captivity and the sole representative of my people in this accursed land, that blood is a precious thing. Only seldom now does my bondage cause me to despair and then, it is only because I am unable to alleviate the plight of others. They are, invariably, my fellow slaves.
This night is hot indeed, but its heat does not annoy me. It is midsummer after all in Darrakhai and Darrakhai lies far to the south of Mentrassanae, my home. I lie in my pallet nude but for a long string of heavy turquoise beads. It is a recent gift from a Darrakhai lord, a man whose name I do not care to know but to whom I gave pleasure; pleasure enough, it seems, to warrant such a costly bauble. I wear it now only because I have spoken incantations over it, blessed and purified it with water; dedicating its use to Menkeret, Lord of Illuta, my god.
In former times I would spend long summer nights like this at the very top of my family’s house in Illuta, in the cozy confines of my father’s observatory. He had built a comfortable, velvet-padded cradle inside the tiny room, from which he could contemplate and observe the stars and planets in quiet solitude. He used it rarely after he married my mother and even less after I was born. To me it was a place of refuge from the endless bustle of our great house. Occasionally my father would join me and, nestled snugly together, we would talk. It was of sorcery that we most often spoke.
“No my daughter,” he would say kindly, shaking his head.
“‘T is neither the time nor the season. If you would be the successor to such as Zia Tal Kadzior, the great sorceress, you must study and discipline yourself as I have done; learning the sorcerer’s ways one step at a time. Beginning with that which can do you and others the least harm.”
“But father…..”
“You saw what happened when you opened the sacred Canticle and read from it without my guidance.”
“Yes,” my face began to blush.
Noticing this, he smiled and hugged me. In his quiet, soothing voice he continued.
“You have the potential of being a great and powerful sorceress; you are already an adept, an initiate of our mysteries and you know the discipline of arru-sha. Your studies are far in advance of those of the sons of other members of my guild and I do not generalize when I say ‘sons’. You are the only woman of Mentrassanae to be initiated into the art in centuries. You should be as proud of yourself as I am of you.”
That night’s conversation made an impression on me for a number of reasons, but primarily because it was the first time that my father had acknowledged that I was now a woman. I remarked upon this and he smiled.
“Oh you are a bright girl and a willful child still, but a beautiful woman you have indeed become.”
Later that night, as we gazed through his optical instruments, watching the transit of the volcanic moon Teleia across the face of the giant planet Cavourus, he said to me,
“Much sorcery, you know, cannot be committed to paper.”
“Why? Would setting it down cheapen it, allowing it to be read by the common masses?”
“No. The nature of much of the power is purely instinctive. It comes from your heart and from your mind just as a spider knows how to build a web without needing to be taught how to do so. Trust in your dreams my daughter, in your feelings, in your senses and in your intuition – there great magic lies.”
Tears now bathe my eyes as I recall his words, his kindly face, his gentle touch and his deep green eyes. Eyes just like my own; eyes into which I may never gaze again. I grasp the string of turquoise tightly.
There is a quiet knock at the door. Quickly I stand, dry my eyes and clear my throat. Since my visitor has taken the trouble to knock I know them to be a slave and not a Darrakhai.
“Please enter.”
The door opens and I am greeted by the much lined face of old Talhrana. I hold this old Naeussi woman in high esteem. Of all the many slaves in the house of Heshuzius, she is both the wisest and most advanced in years; having spent more of her life as a slave than as a free woman. She is a veritable fount of wisdom but seldom speaks and maintains her silence now. I know that she must be here at the behest of my Lady Itelyssia for she is one of Itelyssia’s personal attendants. She glances at my naked body and the merest hint of a smile crosses her inscrutable face. She then turns. On the stone floor behind her sits a platter upon which I see a portion of roast pork and a profusion of vegetables and greens, all aromatic and sumptuously cooked with spices. Talhrana picks up the platter and presents it to me.
“By the grace of our Lady Mistress,” she says laconically.
I take the platter from her, breathing in the wonderful aromas. Setting it down upon my pallet, I notice that she is still standing at the door.
“Talhrana, friend most venerable, would you care to join me? There is far more food here than I alone can eat.”
“Nay, my child, the gods bless you a thousand fold.” she says quietly. “I have my duties to attend to.”
I am disappointed but I understand; it is her way to obey as it is mine to rebel. She reaches into her pocket and draws out a heavy, dark object. It is a key. A key from whose loop hangs a silken cord with a trio of beads; two of gold and a central one of rare lapis lazuli. I recognize it immediately; it is the key to the Lapis Chamber. My eyes widen as she hands it to me, I can barely contain my joy.
“I am commanded to tell you that you are to return this key to the office of the House Steward by dawn tomorrow.”
I take it from her, promising her that I will. She does not add, “If you do not, we will both be punished.” She does not have to.
I thank her and as she departs, she glances again at my nudity. There is softness in her eyes. Perhaps I remind her of her own youth and of her beauty in former times. As she departs I close the door and look at the platter. There is enough food to feed four slaves but if I was to share it, I would certainly incur the mistress’s displeasure. The Darrakhai are not a particularly altruistic people and find it difficult to comprehend selfless behavior in others. They see such behavior as foolish, but they do understand punishment and reward. This food and this key, it seems, are my rewards for having lately pleased the Lady Itelyssia.
I pick up the key. I have attended and served with my body in the Lapis Chamber but never before have I been in possession of the key. I decide to take the food with me and to leave the remainder discreetly in the kitchens where one or other of the slaves might partake of it. I wrap a length of homespun loosely around my waist, tying it at the hip and leave the room. The long corridor outside my cell is silent and lit only by small lamps. I take several turns along the way. On this side of the house the corridor is usually empty and uncluttered so my curiosity is roused as, ahead of me on the floor, near one of the ancient recesses in the wall, I detect an object.
It is just a small, plain slipper, such as the slaves wear, but as I pick it up, I notice several dark drops on the floor next to it. Fresh blood, only minutes old. My mind races and I think of old Talhrana.
“If she passed this way, one as conscientious as she would surely have picked this slipper up. She may not have passed this way, or, if she did then the slipper and blood might be hers.”
I cannot detect a pattern in the drops on the floor but a number of the stones on the wall are also stained and here I can see finger marks.
“Why would anyone want to hurt a woman as old and inoffensive as Talhrana?”
I set the platter on the floor and rapidly check to see that I am indeed alone. Seeing no one, I press my hands against the wall in a number of places, tapping the stones as hard as I can. The wall does not move. In an instant I shut my eyes and concentrate; entering the state of arru – sha. Soon my mind is able to see beyond the stones to a dark space behind them. There are cobwebs, dust and debris but there is also a doorway, just a few paces away. The dust around the doorway is much disturbed and recently. I open my eyes and frown. There is some sinister mystery here. Were I more proficient in the sorcerer’s arts, I would be able to pass through the wall, as once; I had witnessed my father do. For now the hidden door must remain a mystery. As often happens, lines from Menkeret’s sacred canticle now enter my mind. When this occurs, my people believe, it is divine revelation, although the god’s meaning is seldom clear.
Darkness! By the heart of night unequaled;
Sullen wasteland of my tormented soul,
Where I and I alone am doomed to wander
Through silent and flowerless fields of pain.
Lost is today and lost is the morrow;
Mires both, of chagrin and of sorrow!
Ominous words indeed !
After having passed several more junctions in the corridor, I come to a broad flight of steps. These eventually lead down to the very lowest levels of the great house. Darrakhai is an ancient kingdom. There is mention of it in Mentrassan chronicles going back over two thousand years. Its cities have suffered many upheavals; having been overwhelmed and destroyed by natural disaster, foreign conquest and by civil strife on numerous occasions. The house of Heshuzius has not been spared the fortunes of its parent city; the vast, labyrinthine edifice has been added to, destroyed and rebuilt many times, making it a collection of layers, each built upon the ruins of its predecessor. I descend the stairs.
I now come to a landing where there is a long, torch lit room. Its far wall is dominated by a vast wooden door. Intricate, geometric iron work embellishes and strengthens the ancient timbers of this door, which are as black as a raven’s wing. I pause in the middle of the room to admire the ancient workmanship and to say a silent prayer for the souls of the trees; unsung heroes that they are. This is the door to the mysterious Lapis Chamber but it has not been used for centuries and is an artifact from quite another time. To the left of it, almost invisible, there is another door. This one is small and wrought of telkka wood, cleverly painted to imitate the surrounding stone. It is to this door that I have the key.
The Lapis Chamber is an ancient room; the relic of a bygone age of elegance. Its workmanship is superbly ingenious and of startling complexity. On every wall and in every space of a huge, octagonal room there are mosaics of exquisite beauty; stylized in their design but representing fabulous animals and sacred plants, mystical places, deities and august persons of long ago, whose names are lost behind the mists of time.
The Lord and Lady Heshuzius entertain their most important guests in this room and it is also the scene of family rites and religious ceremonies. But they are largely ignorant of its history and the true significance of its decoration. I have often been amused by the many contradictory accounts of how old the room is, of what its original purpose might have been, of who built it and who the master artists were. The origin of the costly materials used in its construction and decoration is yet another of its mysteries. Of these materials, the rarest is lapis lazuli. There are large, highly polished slabs of it set into the walls at eye level and countless smaller pieces besides. The intense blue of this true lapis predominates, yet much of the room’s colour comes from beautifully wrought glass and ceramic tiles of all shades, made to imitate costly lapis. Elsewhere there is gold, sardonyx and porphyry, mother of pearl and many exquisite materials that I cannot name. That the Lapis Chamber is a sublime masterpiece and a place of mystery, there is no doubt, but of one other thing I am also certain. The Darrakhai of the present day could never have conceived it.
At the far end of the chamber and taking up about one third of the available space is a huge sunken pool. Fed by an underground spring and regulated by some remarkable hidden system, the water is always fresh and constantly cool. It beckons me as I set my platter down upon one of the raised stone benches. These ‘benches’, for want of a better term are adorned with many intricate motifs, but one in particular always catches my eye when I am in this place. It is itself an eye; black, half hooded, with a look of divine serenity, not unlike Menkeret’s sacred eye. I greet it reverentially.
Shedding my loincloth and the heavy string of turquoise, I place these along with the key upon the bench and walk to the edge of the pool. My spine tingles with expectation as I place a toe in the water and send a splash out towards the center. I look up. In the middle of the pool there is a tall pedestal. Yet another notable feature of this remarkable place. Upon the pedestal there stands the life size statue of a richly dressed and adorned woman. As with the rest of the room; many precious materials have been used in the making of this figure. I have secretly contemplated it many times whilst serving here. It is a composite statue made of metal, ivory and stone; richly inlaid and of wonderful construction. Her identity, like so much else in this room, is a mystery. Again I have heard many outlandish accounts of her; each at odds, in the main, with the others. To me she is, simply and assuredly, a goddess.
Again I dip my foot in the water. It is pleasantly cool; again tingles of pleasure shoot through me, just like cool raindrops on my skin. I need no more invitation. I will forever be grateful to Oltos, my lost love, for many things. One of these is that I am a fine swimmer and diver; indeed I would say that my confidence and ability in the water would now rival his. He would have been proud of me. Standing with my feet together, I flex my muscles, extend my arms and lower my head. I dive and say a silent prayer to the unknown goddess before me. Now the cool water caresses my body and soothes my limbs. Long strokes cut cleanly through the water, leg muscles flex, propelling me through the sensuous fluid. Floating on the surface now, I take several deep breaths then dive. Deeper and deeper I go, until the water surrounds me, returning me to the time before my birth.
“Hold your nose and blow my lady,” says a warm, rich, voice deep in my mind. “The tiny holes in your eye lids will expel the air and you can dive deeper. This is how we, the fisher folk, gather corals and sea urchins.”
“Yes Oltos. I remember, your instruction, I remember, my love.”
The water caresses me like the touch of a thousand soft and soothing hands. I swim the total circuit of the pool twice; diving several times to examine the richly decorated floor. What a people these ancient Darrakhai must have been to create this; a place so unlike anything built by their modern descendents. When I serve in this room, one of my duties is to rescue drunken guests, of all shapes and sizes, who fall into the water. Oh the indignity! But now that I am here alone, the room is wholly mine; I am its lady mistress. But my solitude is all too brief.
For faintly, I here a sound. It is the sound of the door opening. Several quiet footsteps follow and I see a tall, black clad figure enter slowly. I slip silently back into the pool before I am seen and float motionless, observing the intruder’s approach. It is a man; a dark and lithe individual, fine featured, fine limbed but curiously graceless as he looks about with astonishment at the wondrous room around him. It is Jaano.
As he slowly approaches the pool a smile forms on my lips. I silently take several deep breaths; my eyes unblinking as I watch him staring at everything around him like a traveler newly emerged from the desert sands. But he fails to see me. I let him take a few more steps towards the pool and I dip my head under the water. Legs and arms work hard to pull my body down. I have more than enough strength to allow me to dive to the very bottom of the pool. Once there I enter the state of arru – sha. At once the water becomes weightless upon me and I feel tremendous energy building in my limbs. Veiled in a golden spindle of pulsating light; I feel my feet touch the smooth bottom of the pool. Tentacles of visible light, alive and heavy with a thousand colours emerge from my spine and I send them writhing up out of the water to where poor Jaano stands. I can see him in my mind’s eye. Now I raise my arms above my head and push the water aside as if it were air, my legs flex powerfully with the forces that course through them. I rise! Up and up, I gain speed with each second and break the surface with a loud splash. I see Jaano’s face and I come level with the head of the statue upon its high plinth, then I am above these and close to the ceiling. Now I regain control as gravity takes hold of my body at last and I begin my descent.