Samples from books that we have published at Eartherean Books.
This is another in a series from the fourth book in the 4-book series The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn: Darkbridge.
© 2009 by A. Adam Corby
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
Prologue: The Song Sung Every Waking
IN THE MIDST of the haunted walls of High Town the ash-strewn streets resounded with the clattering of barbarian warriors riding down again to their camp; then silence crept back among the stones. It was a silence rendered only more profound by the light rain and the vague movements of a few dogs and rats. High above them the Brown Temple of Goddess seemed to preside over the scene, rising dark and undamaged against the sky like an outlined hill that had watched unmoved the turmoil of the ages.
Within the Temple’s gold-chased marble walls the echoes of a strange chanting might be heard. It was a low, slow chant, a chant of slumberous, seductive beauty. The voices of the chant shuddered as they sang, like flames held out in a stiff, sullen wind.
Let no one aid him, let all revile him and relish his pain.
Let him die in darkness alone and senseless.
Let nothing of him survive, O Lady. Nothing, not even the memory of his name.
Let his blood boil and his flesh scab, let his bones rot and fail him. Let the one he loves most strike the blow. O Goddess, hear our words!
O Goddess, O Dear One, O Lady Unequaled, grant us the strength to accomplish your will. Our hearts and bodies await you. Fill us with your fire. Let us be the flame of your anger, that scars and burns and blackens life to cinders. He has slain, he has destroyed, he has ravaged and burned. Now let him be burned!
Bare-footed, garbed hair to ankles in robes of black, their faces hidden behind golden masks worked by antique ways into the likeness of Goddess, even as their foregoers had done through all the centuries before them since the building of the Temple, the last half-score of holy virgin priestesses sang in a half-circle before the ancient altar.
When the barbarians had first overrun High Town, a few had entered these chambers. In the midst of their plundering the barbarians had discovered on the stone bench before the fire and high idol the broken, naked corpse of an aged woman. They had looked upon the corpse uneasily, thinking of the Gray Priestess: fear took them, they dropped their sacks of loot and fled.
Later, disturbed by certain strange reports, the chieftains had set men to watch in the Temple. These warriors found the high stone shelves of offerings restored to their former order. The chambers were empty of life, but the floors had been swept and the sacred fire still burned before the idol. There was no sign of the old woman’s corpse. The warriors made jokes and sat down to await whoever came, but they did not touch the offerings. When these men never returned to camp, no others might be ordered to follow them. So the Brown Temple was let be, and the dreaded armies of Ara-Karn rode wide of it on the far side of the square.
And now the last ten priestesses broke their half-circle and put an end to their ritual. Each in turn bowed to touch the lips of her mask to the stone bowl of the fire. Then they passed below to the secret chambers, there to await that time when the jade orb of dark God should fall into the dark horizon.
Before, there had always been fifty of them.
Now the others of the Fifty, those who yet lived, were journeyed to the bright horizon. There the heat and glare of Goddess were things unbearable, and the sands and ledges of the unbounded Desert began. Nothing could live there but the sands dancing in whirlwinds, driven mad by the nearness of Her. Beyond the shores of the Desert some rocks rose up in a high island out of the waves of sand. There were deep caves in the rocks, and even water. And there the priestesses of all the fallen cities had come to gather with their attendants.
There in that refuge beyond the lands where men dwell they had vowed to remain in prayer to await the downfall of the conqueror and the rebirth of Goddess’ cult.
The gentlewomen had learned much on the bitter road to that refuge. Already they knew how to seduce and steal and slay. Goddess guided their hands and taught them what was needful; Her bounty was generous. The older priestesses had perished, despairing of life under the hand of Ara-Karn; the younger ones remained, a different breed.
They had set about devising new rituals to maintain themselves. A new rank of priestesses had already been formed, of those who might lie with men and bring forth daughters to replenish the number of the initiates. But the male offspring were left on the heights of the rocky ledges in the light of Goddess, to suffer, dry, and die. And the few boys left alive were crippled, their leg-bones broken and bent, their hands broken and broken again, so that they could not run swiftly nor strike a blow. Nor was that a cruelty, because it had been ordered by Goddess, and the kindliness and mercy of Goddess were by-words.
So it was determined the last priestesses would refuge in the Desert until the one girl-child would be born, she who would be the Creature of Goddess. And she would lead the priestesses out from the sands and back into the green lands where men dwell, and there overthrow and extinguish the cult of Ara-Karn and restore the worship of Goddess.
§
WHEN THE JADE ORB of God fell at length into the dark horizon, nine priestesses departed the Temple. They rode the back roads of the City down to the Sea Way, to follow it unto the bright horizon and the hidden refuge. Silently and sadly the last priestess of Goddess kissed her sisters and bade them good-journeying.
She had been named Alsa, the Pointed Brightness, when she had been initiated. Some seeing her would have called her a girl, but in truth she was a girl no longer.
Alone she entered again the high hollow chamber of the altar. It would be her task to tend the sacred fire and await the coming of the Empress Allissál, the Body of Goddess. Those who still hid in the City would continue to support her with food and whatever else she wished. And perhaps it would not be long before the Divine One would appear, and Alsa’s wait would end. Then she could lead the earthly incarnation of Goddess away to the secret refuge, there to lead her priestesses in worship and in vengeance.
Laying her young body on the worn stones before the altar, Alsa prayed that it might be soon. Then she raised her golden face and bent her body back, sitting on her heels, and she raised her dark-swathed arms, and began again the song. Her voice resounded weirdly from beneath the golden, ancient mask and off the bloodstained walls.
O Goddess, O Dear One, O Lady Unequaled, hear me, hear my words. The Man has come and defiled your temples and ravished those made holy in your service. He has struck down your altars and reft you of offerings. Strike him, and reave him of life in return.
Let no one aid him, let all revile him and delight in his pain.
Let him die in darkness alone and senseless.
Let nothing of him survive, O Lady. Nothing, not even the memory of his name.
Let his blood boil and his flesh scab, let his bones bend and hurt him. Let the one he loves most strike the blow. O Goddess, hear my words!
