Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) (11 page)

CHAPTER TEN

“Healer!” Tara-Khan shouted into the silence that had befallen the shocked survivors. “I need a healer!”
 

Half a dozen healers set down the younglings they had rescued and quickly came to where Tara-Khan was cradling Keel-Tath’s unconscious body. He had turned her on her side so she wouldn’t drown in her own blood, which was now running not only from her mouth, but her nose, ears, and eyes, as well.

“Leave her to us,” said the eldest of the healers, who had been the most high of her caste at the temple. She gently pried Tara-Khan’s hands from Keel-Tath and pushed him away. They surrounded her, their filthy white robes staining the floor with mud and blood. Quickly stripping off her armor and undergarments, they carefully probed her body with their fingers while extracting the healing gel, the symbionts, from their own bodies. The eldest and another placed theirs over Keel-Tath’s face and chest, and the oozing, pulsing gel sank into her skin.

The mistress of the healers looked up at Tara-Khan. “There is nothing for you to do here, warrior. Attend to your duties.”

“Yes, mistress.” He bowed his head and saluted before turning away to face the others who had gathered nearby.

“She is in the best of hands,” Dara-Kol said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
 

“Do not fear,” Ka’i-Lohr told him, his eyes lingering on Keel-Tath’s blood covered face. “She has come this far. She will not leave us now.”

“And what of Alena-Khan?” Drakh-Nur asked. The giant warrior, battered and bloody, blinked with uncertainty as he looked at their new surroundings. His hands clenched tighter about the handle of his war hammer.

“She is badly wounded,” another healer said, “but she will live, as will the others.”

“How many?” Dara-Kol demanded. “How many live?’

The healer lowered her bloodshot eyes. The mourning marks on her cheeks were obscured by blisters and charred skin. “Seven of the Desh-Ka remain to us, mistress.”

“Seven,” Dara-Kol whispered.

“And all are grievously wounded. None shall die, but it may be some time before they are fully healed. Our symbionts, as our own bodies, are terribly weak.”

“I understand. Do what you can. If you require anything, all you need do is ask and I will try to acquire it.” Dara-Kol made a gesture of helplessness. “If there is anything here.”

“My thanks, mistress,” the healer said. “Food and water would suffice for now, if any may be had. Animal hides for beds would also be of great comfort to the wounded.” She bowed her head and saluted before returning to where her sisters and brothers were carefully arranging the injured so as to give each more space on the gleaming white floor.
 

To one side, the wardresses herded the younglings, who had quieted down, away from the wounded. One of them, his face smeared with blood from a gash in his forehead, caught her eye. He bowed his head, then knelt on unsteady legs and saluted her. The other younglings, seeing his example and following his gaze, followed suit.

This drew the attention of others, and as if in a living wave, all had turned toward her and bowed their heads, rendering a salute to her.

“Why?" she asked into the silence. “I am not a priestess, let alone the most high. I never even attended the temple!”

“That does not mean that you are not worthy of their honor,” Sian-Al’ai said from beside her. She was the only one, aside from the badly injured, who was not kneeling. “The mantle of leadership, for now, falls to you, her First.”
 

Dara-Kol took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Very well. Healers and wardresses, continue with your duties. The others, to me.”
 

As the others gathered around, Sian-Al’ai asked, “What is this place? Never have I seen the like.”

“Few have,” the master of the keepers of the Books of Time said as he stared at the building around them with undisguised wonder. “It is much like the great palace of Kha’za-Nur’te, which was built at the height of the First Age. A fragmentary record of it remains…remained…in the Books of Time maintained by our order.” He looked over at Keel-Tath. “Ayan-Dar was fond of telling her stories of those times, of the heroes of old, and showed her some images of the palace. But this…” He turned back to Sian-Al’ai and shook his head. “This is far larger and more elaborate than Kha’za-Nur’te. This, which must be the throne room, I suspect could contain the entire palace of that ancient time.”

“How did it come to be?” Sian-Al’ai wondered. “The Great Moon was only a dead ball of molten rock. This must be new.”

“It was created by Keel-Tath’s hand,” Tara-Khan whispered.

“And how would you know this, warrior?” Sian-Al’ai asked.

He shrugged. “Because it was not here before she set foot upon the moon, and now it is.”

“That is not important…for now,” Dara-Kol interrupted. “We all have countless questions, but they must wait until Keel-Tath awakens, for I suspect only she has the answers.” Her gaze landed on Tara-Khan. “Survival comes first. We have shelter here, but we must find out if we have anything beyond air to breathe with which to sustain ourselves.” In short order, she divided the survivors into search parties comprising a cross section of the castes and a few warriors each to provide protection, should it be necessary. She also left behind a small group of warriors to defend the wounded and the younglings. “Food and water are our first priorities,” she said. “Beyond that, explore and learn what you can about this place. It is mid-morning now. Report back before the Homeworld sets.”

With that, the search parties bowed and saluted. Turning around, they separated, making their way across the enormous plaza that surrounded the central pyramid toward each of the seven arched entrances that fed into the throne room.

***

“You’re not going to need that, my tresh,” Ka’i-Lohr said, nodding his head at Tara-Khan’s drawn sword as they passed beneath the sweeping arch high above their heads into their assigned corridor.
 

“Perhaps not,” Tara-Khan told him, uncertain. He gripped the handle of the sword even tighter.
 

The corridor was wide enough to accommodate a full cohort of warriors standing shoulder to shoulder, and was half again as high. While light reached its mouth from the crystal windows in the throne room, it was also lit along its length. But no torches were in evidence. The walls themselves, and even the floor, glowed with a soft light that fully illuminated its length.

“How far does this go?” Drakh-Nur asked quietly. To everyone’s surprise, the giant’s voice did not echo from the stone walls, but fell upon their ears as if they were standing in an open field. The perspective of the tunnel narrowed to a dark point in the distance. “I cannot see the end.”

They walked onward in tense silence. After a time, the entrance to the throne room had shrunk to a size smaller than Tara-Khan’s thumb on his outstretched arm. Yet the opposite end of the corridor seemed no closer.

“It is alive, growing.” The trio of warriors turned to look at Shar-El’nai, one of the builders who had accompanied them. She had knelt and put her hands to the floor. “I can feel it. It is like nothing I have ever known.”

Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr exchanged an uneasy look. Shar-El’nai was one of the temple elders, and had been born long before the last war between the Settlements. In her own way, she had been as responsible for the victory against the Settlements as had Ayan-Dar and the others of the priesthood, for she had guided the builders in the massive preparations for the temple’s defense.
 

She remained there, still as a statue, for several long moments as the others stood silent around her. At last, she blinked her eyes and sat back. She had difficulty standing, as if the many pendants that hung in rows from her collar weighed her down, and Drakh-Nur gently helped her to her feet.

“What is it?” Tara-Khan asked.

Before she could answer, the stone on either side of them began to change as if it were made of putty. It drew away from them, as if some unseen hand was pulling a string attached to the other side. Then a small hole appeared in the center of the deformation, and all at once, at breathtaking speed, the hole irised open into a doorway. While not as immense as the portal to the throne room, it was nonetheless as tall as five warriors standing head to toe, and nearly as wide. A similar doorway formed on the opposite side in perfect synchrony.

In but a few breaths, the stone on each side had solidified into graceful arched portals, and the corridors beyond grew and lengthened as they watched, mouths agape in wonder.
 

“More!” One of the others pointed farther down the main corridor, to where other portals were opening at irregular intervals as far as they could see.

Stepping to the portal on the right that had opened nearest them, Shar-El’nai placed her hands upon the stone and closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath and held it. “It is a canvas,” she finally breathed.
 

“Look,” Drakh-Nur whispered.

The stone around Shar-El’nai’s hands began to change color, from a satin white to a shimmering gold. Slender tendrils of gold filament grew from the spot in the form of an elegant vine, twisting and intertwining. The vine continued to grow until it had spread across the stones that framed the arch. Then buds formed along its length, finally blossoming into flowers of brilliant crimson.
 

The others of the party stood rooted to the floor, staring in awe at the ancient builder’s handiwork. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

“
Oh
,” Drakh-Nur sighed. “It is a tor-kal’an vine.”

The others turned to regard him with looks of disbelief.
 

“And how would you know that?” Ka’i-Lohr asked. “I have never seen you show the slightest interest in plants or flowers.”

“I saw one in bloom, just as this one is, when I was very young,” he explained, his eyes still riveted on the arch. “They are extremely rare, and found only deep in the Great Wastelands.”

“If you saw one in bloom, then you were fortunate, indeed,” said El-Lu’an, one of the keepers of the Books of Time who had accompanied them. “Theirs are among the most beautiful flowers to behold but, as Drakh-Nur said, they are rare to the point of being mythical. Few take root, and then grow very slowly for nearly two hundred cycles. Then, after a hard rain at the proper time, they explode into bloom for a single day to spread their seed, after which they wither and die.”

“This one shall never die,” Shar-El’nai whispered as she stepped back from the stone, gazing upon her handiwork. “For as long as this palace stands, it shall bloom each day and be reborn, an offer of thanks to the child who saved us.”

“Mistress,” Tara-Khan asked her, “which way should we go? Where do these new portals lead, or should we stay here and continue along the main corridor? What can you tell us of this place?”

Shaking her head slowly, she said, “I can tell you little of use, young warrior. Beyond what I can see with my own eyes and touch with my body, as I did the stone here, I am blind. I have tried, but looking deeper into the workings of this place is akin to staring into the noonday sun. It is simply overwhelming to my senses.”

Ka’i-Lohr gestured to her creation. “You said that it was a canvas. What did you mean?”

“What you see around us is the foundation upon which we may build,” she told him. “As great as is this structure, it is yet nothing but plain thread of a great tapestry yet to be woven.”

“Have we anything to fear?” Ka’i-Lohr asked.

“No,” Shar-El’nai said, a smile of wonder on her ancient face. “We have nothing to fear but rapture.”

Frowning, Tara-Khan reluctantly sheathed his sword.

“Which way?” Drakh-Nur asked quietly. All turned toward Tara-Khan.

“Through there.” He nodded toward the portal now wreathed by the golden tor-kal’an vine. “Shar-El’nai has blessed it with her touch. We must take that as a good omen.”
 

“And one path of which we know nothing is just as good as another,” Ka’i-Lohr added quietly.

Together, they moved down the new corridor, which, many lengths farther on, was still growing.

***

Unlike the main corridor, the offshoot they had chosen to follow began to bend and twist, gradually descending from the level of what they had come to think of as the throne room. At one point, Ka’i-Lohr quipped that it was mimicking the revered builder’s creation, but the only response was nervous looks.

“Wait,” Shar-El’nai said, bringing the party to a halt. She knelt down on creaking knees and touched the white stone floor.

“What is it?” Tara-Khan asked.

“Feel it,” she said.

Everyone did as she instructed. Tara-Khan knelt down and touched the stone. Instead of the smooth cool surface he expected, the stone was warm and gave slightly under his touch, as if it were very firm flesh. Taking his dagger from its sheath, he probed at the malleable stone. The tip met solid resistance. Drawing back his hand, he made a short stab at the rock, and the tip of the blade sparked.

“Drakh-Nur,” Ka’i-Lohr said, “strike the floor with your hammer.”

“Do not,” Shar-El’nai warned as Drakh-Nur raised his war hammer. “The stone lives, much as does the metal of your blades. It is a living thing, in which we now reside. It must be respected.”

“What would happen?” Ka’i-Lohr asked. Drakh-Nur lowered his weapon, a look of obvious disappointment on his face.

“I do not know,” the elder said, “but I would not care to find out. Remember that we are in the house of Keel-Tath. It is unlike any other creation I have ever known, and we shall not sully it out of mere curiosity. It offers us hospitality by comforting our feet. That is why it is soft beneath our tread.”

“Just on its own?” Tara-Khan looked around. “Or is someone manipulating it?”

“I do not know,” she told him as Drakh-Nur helped her up. “Nothing like this has existed since the end of the Second Age, and perhaps even the First. But I suspect we draw closer to understanding, in some small part.”

Tara-Khan looked at her. “What do you mean?”