Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (10 page)

“Ok. Ok. You know what I think is inside? What I've always wanted to find.”

“Remains? Actual remains?” Axandra exclaimed with genuine excitement.

“Yes!”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Sara questioned incredulously, completely floored by his unwillingness to finally break through. “This is your dream finding!”

“It absolutely is, and I want to do it right. You have no idea how much I just want to take a hammer to one of the pieces and smash it to get inside. But if I do it right, take my time, we'll learn so much more. Tomas will be here sometime in the next month with the drill, and we'll get started. Until then, I just have to be patient.”

“I'm so happy for you,” Axandra grinned.

“This could be the biggest breakthrough of you career,” Suzanne praised.

“Thank you,” he said humbly.

Sara cocked her head curiously. “But why would the remains be in pieces?”

“My hypothesis is that, in some burial cases, the major organs are removed for preservation: the heart, the lungs, the brain, and so forth; and the major extremities: hands, feet, and genitalia. The rest of the body is discard elsehow, but these items are placed inside these containers so that the dead person may still have access to them in the afterlife. These pieces are deemed the most important physical anatomy.”

“So they dismember the dead?”

“Apparently so. I won't really know until I open the containers, but there certainly isn't room for the entire body inside. Not if these people were as large as we are, which appears to be the case.”

Axandra had a sudden idea. She wanted to ask Quinn what he thought, yet it brought the conversation right back to where she didn't want it to be, especially during dinner with friends. She also feared that if she didn't ask now, she'd forget. Everything about her life now circled around immediacy of action.

“If you do find a brain inside one of those jars, would you be able to see if it had any…lesions?”

Sara and Suzanne lapsed into stunned silence, lips curling into thin lines to prevent offering any opinions.

“Lesions? I don't know how well preserved…Oh.” He understood suddenly why the question. Her line of thought was going directly where his had been headed for the last several months. Did the Stormflies cause the extinction of the previous civilization on the world? “I just won't know until I see it.”

The awkwardness of the moment faded away as the four played a loose game of double solitaire and opened a second and third bottle of wine. The clock struck midnight before their guests were ready to leave.

“We'd better be going,” Suzanne said, coaxing her lover to her feet. Sara wobbled slightly and leaned on her spouse for support. “Thank you for the lovely evening. We're looking forward to the wedding next week. We'll talk to you soon.”

“Please do,” Axandra encouraged, embracing each of them and basking in their affectionate emanations, a sensation rarely exhibited towards her in recent days. “Be safe.”

Quinn helped with both the inner and outer doors of the anteroom, then locked the inner door behind him as he returned. He collected the empty glasses, setting them on the sideboard. He was still unaccustomed to leaving a mess for someone else to clean up, but the Residence was not afforded a kitchen or a sink to wash dishes. In the morning, around ten, the housekeepers would tend to the home of their honored leader, cleaning, dusting, and collecting the recycling, laundry and used dishes. Quinn tried to stay out of the way if he was home. He felt awkward watching them work.

Axandra slipped on a night dress and drew a shawl over her shoulders. The open windows let in a cool breeze that prickled her flesh, abating the oppressively humid heat that had accumulated during the day when the suns attempted to evaporate the previous night's drenching. The earthy scent of damp soil clung to the breeze, invading the bedroom.

“We can close the windows,” Quinn offered. He removed his shirt and slacks and favored fleece pajamas. The long sleeves keep his arms warm, which he wrapped around his wife comfortingly.

“No, no. The chill doesn't bother me. There are plenty of blankets.”

“Then come to bed.” He guided her to the comfortable mass with gentle hands at her back, switching off the lights as he went.

“Did I just make a fool of myself?” Axandra asked into the dark. It seemed easier to begin difficult topics once the lights were out and the mask of darkness hid their faces. It offered a certain amount of anonymity. “Should I have known about Mainsteer? It sounds like information I should already be aware of.”

“Sweetheart, not at all. I don't know if you were told about the gossip-monger or not. He's not worth worrying over. He doesn't have enough ground covered.”

The eclipsed memories of recent months continued to trouble her. She was angry with the Prophets and her own mother for causing this suffering. She felt like a burden to everyone around her, never sure when her mental faculties might take their leave. As a result, she cooped herself up in the Residence as much as possible to avoid embarrassing herself and the staff.

“Please listen to me, darling,” Quinn urged in a whisper, fighting to keep frustration from his voice. “We can't dwell on this now. We're getting married in a few days. Let's flood this time with happiness and playfulness. We won't have these days again. I love you, and no matter what our future holds, I will go on loving you.”

Cupping her hand against his cheek, she looked for the glint of light on his eyes. “I love you, too. I know you love me, and I thank you for everything you give me. Most days I can hardly believe all that you do.”

“Wonderful,” he said proudly. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

With a gay laugh, she kissed his lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

+++

4
^th
Duomont (Hopesday)

“Carefully, carefully,” Quinn urged as the whirling tip of the drill approached the hand-molded clay container. This was the real deal, their one and only chance to do this the right way and keep the sealed pot more or less intact. They'd perfected the procedure on other fragments of similar material, after a dozen failed attempts, but variations of moisture and content could prove all of the previous trials to be wasted energy.

Tomas King ignored his partner as he worked, glad the noise of the drill blocked out most other sounds. The container was securely stabilized in the padded vice they'd contrived, base up. The operating lever moved smoothly under his hand. As the drill tip met the clay, shavings erupted from the new opening, curling away neatly. No cracks formed. Perfect.

Once the drill bit met negative resistance, he reversed the drill direction and lifted the press as slowly as he'd lowered it.

Quinn was biting his lower lip anxiously, eager for the procedure to be complete. The hole was large enough to use tweezers to withdraw a sample. Donning his gloves to protect the same from contamination with his own genetic material, he grabbed hold of a shred of the encased material and slipped the specimen into a glass tube. Once sealed, he scribbled the necessary date on the label. At this point he stopped to study what he had retrieved.

“It's definitely organic,” he said, his voice nearly euphoric, rising through the octaves. He recognized telltale characteristics of mummified animal matter similar to bits recovered from the sinkholes east of Sweetwater. “This has to be it, TK! This is what we've been looking for! Imagine what we can do with this information.”

Tomas was always the stoic. “This does look promising,” he stated flatly. He stowed the vial in a padded box and proceeded to wax the hole to seal it once again. Opening the vice, he set aside their first success and reached for the second, the one marked 'heart.' “I will be very curious what the genome tells us. I'm really curious where they will fall on the cladogram of indigenous species.”

“I know! It's going to be a great year! Let's open the next one.”

10
^th
Duomont, 308 (Moonsday)

The binary stars cast duel shadows across the uneven paving stones, silhouetting the arbor and the bushes verdant with spring growth. Under the watchful eyes of their four witnesses and under the authority of the Head-of-Council, Axandra Saugray, Protectress, and Quinn Elgar, archeologist and historian, met to commit their bonding vows. The rite and ceremony created a public and recognizable record of their emotional love and mutual agreement to care for one another in life.

By no means were any of the Bona Dean people limited to their choices of love or relationship and the choice to bond without public record brought no public disdain. As Protectress, the epitome of the Bona Dean people, Axandra accepted her responsibility to create a marriage recognized by all and without reproach from anyone.

Quinn, accepting his new role as the mate of the Esteemed Matriarch, agreed to commit to whatever rite and ceremony his beloved required, as long as they achieved the ultimate goal. This private ceremony satisfied his desire to be bonded to the one with whom he shared a supernatural connection.

Sara Sunsun with her bond-mate Suzanne Quezon, Miri Stockers, and Ty Narone flanked the intended couple, bearing witness to the vows and pronouncements enacted by Antonette Lelle as the officiant. Each witness observed two individuals so drawn to one another that no other notion could distract them from looking into one another's eyes and souls.

“Axandra,” Quinn spoke softly, his words barely audible above the birdsong. He looked into his bride's green eyes, the color emphasized by the spring green surrounding them and the white roses framing her sleek chignon. “I promise to love, respect, honor, and cherish each and every atom that makes you who you are. I will follow you wherever you may lead, for I am your bondmate from this day forward.”

Axandra tried to relax her cheeks, which ached from the near-permanent smile carved from today's occasion. Quinn's stormy blue eyes pierced her soul like star shine, and his cheeks blushed a cheerful pink.

“Quinn, I promise to you an unimpeded view to my soul, so that between us we bear no secrets. I wish that you could see that I try to love you as much as you love me. You are my bond mate, and I am yours, for our entire lives.”

Antonette took one hand from each, pressed them together at the palms, then proceeded to loosely tie the complimentary limbs with a symbolic cord twisted from violet and gold threads.

“With this cord, I bind your hands, and in doing so bind your hearts, souls, and futures together. May you always feel love, know companionship, and experience passion, so long as the two of you may live.”

With the exercise concluded, Quinn leaned in for a vow-sealing kiss. Axandra met him half-way, delightedly embracing the body of the man who offered his complete soul. They parted only out of respect for their guests, remembering to save their intimate celebration for private quarters.

“What a beautiful morning!” Annie cheered, arms open to praise the suns. “Congratulations, you two! I wish you many happy years together.”

Sara and Suzanne eagerly embraced their friends.

“Now that it's official, will the two of you be traveling together for archeological adventures?” asked Suzanne with a wink. Many of Quinn's former travels took him to North Compass, where she and Sara kept their home. Quinn often stayed at their house, avoiding his own family. She wished to see more of her friends away from work.

“If my schedule will allow for that,” Axandra grinned. “We'll see.”

“But I'm not going back out for a while,” Quinn reiterated a personal promise he'd made just a few days ago to his intended. While Axandra continued to heal, Quinn would focus his study on the artifacts he had already collected. He intended to divine the meaning and purpose of the figurines they'd recently located. With the Stormflies still at large, he wanted to remain close to home. Too many worries to be running around the continent. “Besides, there is plenty for me to do around here.”

“Be sure to come and see us when you can,” Suzanne begged her newest friend, pecking Axandra's cheek. “Now, let's have some wine and cake.”

+++

With three dozen more guests than the ceremony, the Great Hall bustled with musicians, dancing, and casual dining. Guitar, flute, and hand drums set a playful mood with trilling melodies over quick, syncopated rhythms, inciting couples to twirl on the open floor. Not a single hand lacked a glass of liquid cheer, and the volume of conversation reflected the ample servings.

Even Ty partook of the festivities as a guest, giving himself one-time permission to be off-duty in the presence of his mistress. The concept made him feel uncomfortable, so he sipped his beverage very lightly and watched the room. Couples pirouetted, stepped, and skipped in time. The buffet tables invited individuals to graze through fruits and berries, cheeses, and crisp breads. A cluster of tables arranged in the corner offered rest and conversation.

Among the guests, Ty recognized the councilors and their spouses, the local Safety Coordinator, and Principle of Undun City, as well as several of Quinn Elgar's acquaintances. Most notably absent was any member of Elgar's family. As one of six siblings and a living parent, surely one of them would attend the bonding of the century. With other security interests taking higher priority, Ty had not finished compiling information on Elgar except to be certain that the man possessed no motive or affiliation that might harm the Protectress or her office. Reinitiating that task, Ty intended to dig into why Quinn appeared estranged from his extensive family in North Compass.

“Commander, you look like you're still at work,” chided a lilting voice to his right. The Protectress was teasing him. By the look of her rosy cheeks and glistening eyes, she'd consumed at least a half a bottle of wine in the last hour. “Have some fun today, please.”

“My apologies, Madam,” Ty said with a slight bow of his head. “It is difficult to relax when in your presence. I am always in charge of your safety.”

“That's why you have Ben,” she pointed out. The second-in-command stood dutifully at the main door, eyes surveying the crowd, “and the fourteen other guards posted around the perimeter of this room. Let them do the work. How about a dance?”

“That would be…inappropriate,” Ty declined, willing his cheeks not to turn pink with embarrassment. He'd never been approached to dance with the one whom he served.

“Who made up that rule?” she frowned, creating a cluster of uneven dimples in her small chin.

“Madam, it simply is not appropriate for me,” Narone insisted firmly. He locked his jaw and set his shoulders back.

Quinn arrived from the left, freeing his arm of a tag-along teenager, the Principle's eldest daughter. The young woman appeared slighted to be cast off, evidence of her infatuation with Mr. Elgar's famous face. “There you are, my wife. Thanks for keeping her company, Mr. Narone. I believe it is my turn for a dance.”

The newly wedded couple skipped away toward the dance floor, swallowed by the crowd.

Relieved, Ty returned to his observations. His eyes drifted back to Ben, a tree trunk of a man clad in gray and gold, the half-meter white feather in his cap wavering at the slightest movement of his dark blonde head. The formal uniform highlighted the body tone of the wearer, and Ben stood out as an excellent specimen of his gender. Ty admired Ben in many ways. The Lieutenant Commander performed excellently, having provided protection to their mistress on several occasions, even at the possibility that his own life was in jeopardy. The younger man would make a fine commander if the position were to come open.

Ty imagined, briefly, finding Ben off duty, so that he might express his appreciation in a more…intimate way. Years had gone by without Ty finding anyone as nearly attractive as his second-in-command. Fate, however, prevented his fantasy from becoming reality. As inappropriate as it would be to accept a dance with the Matriarch, engaging in a personal relationship with a subordinate was ten times worse, no matter the power of the attraction.

As quickly as he let it loose, Ty shut down that part of his personality. At no time would he allow himself to cross that line. Moving a few steps across the hall, he removed Ben from his line of sight.

Instead his eyes fell upon Lynn Grady, the weaselly laundry attendant left behind in Nancy Morton's wake. While the previous Head-of-Council still lived, Lynn was a staunch ally, agreeing with every accusatory statement the traitorous councilor made about the new Protectress and her love interest. For her to stand in this room as a guest of the couple made Ty clench his jaw and raised his blood pressure. If his words had been heeded, the young woman would be in service elsewhere, preferably as far away on the continent as she could get. It was the Protectress' decision to allow Grady to have a second chance and make amends. In Ty's opinion, the Protectress had a tendency to see too much good in people who had already proven themselves unreliable. A fault of her youth that would one day be wizened by experience. Ty did not trust the young woman and noted to himself to have her monitored more closely.

Lynn stood apart from the bulk of the guests. No one approached or even threw an eye in her direction. That was, until Franny Gilbert, Councilor from Southland, sidled up to her and started into a conversation with a queerly twisted smile on her sagging face. Lynn's expression of surprise, subsequently lengthy pause, and then stuttering response indicated the aide had no expectation of holding a conversation with anyone in the room, let alone a senior member of the People's Council.

While Ty could not hear the words spoken, he observed Lynn's brief three-word responses and accompanying body language. The aging woman appeared to be shining on Lynn, showering her with compliments about her dress and hair, which were peculiar comments in and of themselves, since Gilbert rarely complimented anyone nor cared about any of those subjects. The old woman wrapped a caring arm around Lynn's shoulders and steered her away past the buffet table to a table and chairs on the far side of the floor.

Narone decided to avail himself of another glass of wine, taking him past that very table on his route to the beverage service.

“Don't worry about them, Lynn-darling. They are simply jealous that you're still here,” Gilbert assured the young assistant. “Don't give them another thought.”

“That's easier to say than to live, Councilor Gilbert,” Lynn objected, eyes cast down at the mortared seams in the stone floor. She wrung the fingers of her right hand with those of her left, the chaffing of the rough skin audible at close range. “I can't take many more days of their contempt. I'd be better off somewhere else.”

“Just let me take care of that.” Gilbert's words arrived upon Lynn's ears with the kind of authority that could not be denied.

Ty pondered curiously what the councilor intended to do.