Fur and Fathers

Chapter Eleven

“We are to have visitors today.”

The announcement from Shiránnor startled the Skaira, just then assembled in the dining hall eating a leisurely supper of bread and fruit.  It had been an uneventful night, and they had been unaware of any messages from the outside world.  The Temple Complex on Vanreil was isolated from the world at the best of times, as much by its nature as by its location high in the mountains.  Though the passes were rarely completely closed by snow and ice even in the worst of the winter, they were not pleasant or safe to travel while the coldest months gripped the land; now, while the going was still relatively easy, visitors were more likely to arrive, but nobody had reported any, nor had there been mention of Speaking Stones landing on the lawn by the pool to announce one.  These were, of course, a relatively rare method of communication, and the arrival of one would have caused a stir.

“Should guest quarters be prepared, First Priestess?” asked Breíth, one of Shiránnor’s erstwhile shadows, who still couldn’t quite bring herself to abandon the habit of hovering in close proximity.  She obviously did so now in hopes of being given something else to do.  She had spent the whole night being useful to various surprised members of the community; apparently the novelty hadn’t yet worn off.

“Yes.  One will need to stay in the Infirmary.  Grenyal, she will be in your care: I charge you most strictly with her welfare.  The Goddess is with her.  She will give birth soon.”  Shiránnor paused to allow the murmuring to subside.  “One will stay with me in my quarters.  And the other three…” she paused, a rather wry smile curving her mouth.  “For the present, they will use the guest quarters attached to the infirmary.”

“Where is the child’s father, First Priestess?” asked the Healer curiously.  “It is rare for a woman to leave her own house when she is egg-heavy.”

The smile deepened.  “I had best prepare you,” said Shiránnor simply.  “The visitors are not Venelai.  They are not from this world at all.”

There was an infinitesimal pause, and then a babble of questions broke out.

By this time, the story of the visitors from another world some years ago had had time to reach every corner of Kerriel.  It had been discussed and marvelled over from palace to cot in every kingdom, and was already on the way to becoming a legend, complete with the inevitable accretions that every legend gathers to itself along the way.  The Skaira were not immune to curiosity on that score, though they had the advantage in that three members of their species had been personal witnesses to the visit.  The Daughters not only had excellent powers of observation but also precise recollection.  The three had passed on a great deal of extremely accurate information, even going so far as to recruit the services of an Artisan to record the appearance of the visitors for posterity.  Artefacts that the visitors had handled or touched were smelled carefully to record their unique personal scents; Shiránnor herself had a cushion in her quarters that one of them had sat on, Princess Fetharan a cup that he had drunk from.  The company therefore greeted the news with more excitement and interest than apprehension.

“Are these the same as you met before, First Priestess?” asked Fassery.

“Indeed they are.”  She inclined her head.  “They are in need of our help, and they shall have it.”

“The child is well?” demanded Grenyal sharply.  Her usual rather vague and sleepy manner had sloughed off like a slitherer’s skin at the prospect of such a challenge to her skills.

“I believe so.  But the mother is not.  We shall speak more of this presently.  I would speak with the members of my council before you retire to sleep.”  Her gaze swept the Hall.  “You will all have occasion to see our visitors and speak with them.  But bear in mind that they are strangers to our world and our people.  And they are weary and hurt.  Treat them with every consideration.  That is my strictest command.”

Such was the power of her rank that the Goddess Herself might have given the order.  Her subordinates nodded as one, half-exposing their wrists in acknowledgement.

*           *           *

“We are all tired and it is time for sleep, so I will be brief.”  She looked around her Audience Chamber, where her council had assembled; it was not a formal meeting, nor would it be a long one, so it had seemed absurd to convene it in the Council Chamber.  “I have already told you that one of the visitors is a woman far gone in childbearing.  The Star People have all been involved in a great battle, and her husband was killed.  But she is so sick with grief for his loss that he will not enter the Boat.  Thus both he and she are not-here and not-there.  You will need no telling how dangerous this is.  I am not sure yet how this should be dealt with, and I welcome any suggestions you may have.”  She locked eyes with Grenyal, who nodded imperceptibly; they would discuss this in more detail later.

“The visitor who will be staying with me is their commanding officer.  He has been wounded in the heart of his being, and the Star People cannot heal him.  I who am his friend can do this, but it will take a little time.”  She met Jerhazy’s outraged stare calmly.  They had all naturally taken it for granted that the visitor who would be sharing Shiránnor’s quarters would be a female; it was bad enough for male visitors to be harboured at the Complex at all in some of the more conservative priestesses’ views, but for a man to actually be a guest in the First Priestess’s house was verging on scandalous. 

“And there is one last thing of all that you need to know.  Two of the Star People who will be staying in the Guest Quarters are childless.  It is in my heart that if they so wish they should be included the Tenth Hour ceremony.”

It was probably fortunate that they had already been jolted out of their customary complacency by the events thus far.  This announcement was the last straw.  Every one of them gasped aloud.

“Star People?”  Every individual hair of the fur on Horlath’s lower body was standing on end; she resembled nothing so much as a dappled grey Skair-shaped cloud.  Her eyes were fairly starting out of her head.  Her tail stood upright, even the ultra-sensitive tip of it rigid with shock.  Even her whiskers looked aghast.

“Is there any reason why they should be refused?” enquired Shiránnor tranquilly.  “It is to take place shortly, and the chosen couples will begin arriving soon.  It seems to me that there is a pattern emerging; why else should they come at this particular time, childless as they are?”

“But what if the Goddess is offended?” demanded Horlath.  She was the presiding Priestess on this occasion; it was her responsibility to ensure that everything was done exactly in the way it ought.  “There are already ten couples, and there are always only ten.  Besides, the Star People are not of our world.  Their Gods too may be offended!”

“It seems to me that there is fully time enough for us to be told of it if the Goddess has any objection.”  The First’s voice was still mild.  “It has not been drawn to my attention that the Seer has crossed the Ocean, and a priestess still keeps vigil in the Sacred Cave, as far as I know.  As for the Star People, it is up to them to know whether their Gods will be offended.  I do not say that the decision will be easy, but it is not ours to make.  We can only make the offer.  It is up to them to refuse or to accept.”

Her logic was unanswerable, but the perturbation of her juniors was not based on logic.  Horlath and Jerhazy were the most senior members of the Council and she could see that neither of them was even close to being reconciled to the idea.

“With respect, I would suggest that it is not only our place, but our duty, to establish without doubt that such a departure does not constitute heresy.  The Tenth Hour ceremony is one of the holiest on the divine calendar –”

“Priestess Jerhazy, I do not need reminding how important the ceremony is.”  Shiránnor’s voice had become even quieter.  The word ‘heresy’ was an incendiary one and she did not think Jerhazy had used it accidentally.

“You are young, First Priestess, and lack a little experience.  I simply suggest –”

“I suggest that you stop immediately, Priestess, before I forget your years of service and send you to conduct the Good Goddess’s worship in the Outer Islands!”  The First’s anger came like lightning out of a clear sky.  Half of the council skittered backwards, spitting with fright.  “I may lack experience but I do not lack faith.  I suggest you recall that the Mother is more than capable of making Her objections known to us if she wishes to do so.  Also that I am set over you by Her authority, and that it is your duty to obey me.  I have every care for the great heritage that has been handed down to me.  I have every intention of seeing that not a word or a gesture is forgotten, that not one iota of what is owing to Her is neglected.  I need no one to teach me reverence, and you will be silent!”

They had not seen the lightning flash before, and were blinded by it.  She was indeed young, the youngest Skair ever to be appointed to her elevated rank, and they had been misled by her soft speech and winning ways into thinking that she was easy meat.  Jerhazy sat stunned, her mouth open but containing no words.

 “That is all for the present,” she told them in her usual calm manner.  “I ask for your prayers for our visitors and for me, that I may be guided in the work I have to do.  Now it behoves us all to rest so that we may be at our best when they arrive.”

There were no protests, though she could guess that, for some if not all of them, sleep would be slow in coming.  She could guess at two among their number who would be far more interested in talk than sleep.  The evening sun would find wakeful heads in one house at least.  Still, perhaps they would be successful in talking out their fears.  She certainly hoped so; such divisions as these were one of the more pressing reasons why she feared that the arrival of visitors from another world could be damaging.  It was one of the more unfortunate consequences of the priestesses’ living isolated among the mountains that malefolk, who so rarely set foot there, could begin to acquire an almost malevolent aspect to them.  Their faith did not teach this; the two sexes were equally valued, equally precious to the Gods. But it was an easy error for an exclusively female species to fall into.  It required no divine revelation to tell her that for many of her juniors, ‘male’ would be the equivalent of ‘pollutant’ where proximity to anyone of her elevated rank was concerned.  They felt that she should keep her distance, preserve her dignity, manifest Shieih at Her most terrible.  But that was not her way.  It never would be.  And she had been appointed to lead, to teach, to serve, in the way that she herself found most fitting.  She could not, she would not, fit into the mould.  The Goddess had set her here.  She had to remain true to herself, or she would be true to nothing.

She could, and would, simply demand their obedience if all else failed.  But that was not the way she wanted it to be.  Tyranny never had been and never would be the way she wished to rule.

She would need all the prayers she could get over the next days.  If not, indeed, for the rest of her life.