Roger Parkinson - Summon Your Dragons

“And did you convince them?”

“In principle, yes. They agree that you ought to be allowed to do it. There is still a question whether you will succeed.”

“Is it some difficult task?”

“The rite isn't difficult. But whether Kiveli will listen is the question.”

“Don't you still revere Krith, the sky god?”

“Of course. But Kiveli has the power.”

He wondered if he could have reasonably expected any other answer from a religion of women.

It was several days before he heard any more about this rite of Protection. During this time Adhara avoided him, sleeping in the women’s lodge. She would not tell him anything about it, or even when it would take place. The other women also avoided him. Some of them seemed almost hostile and few would speak to him.

One morning Adhara met him emerging from their rooms.

“The rite will take place tonight.”

“What must I do?”

“Eat nothing this evening, bathe and put on clean clothing, and no weapons. I'll meet you at dusk.”

He did not see her again until dusk. Bolythak, who had the management of one of his herds, had wanted him to come and see how well it was doing. He wanted to build up Bolythak's confidence so he went with him, but it meant that he was away from Meyathal at noon and could only eat some wheat cakes in the fields. By dusk his stomach was churning with hunger, especially with the smell of the evening meal in his nostrils. He wondered if they would know if he ate something, but Adhara had trusted him to follow her instructions. He could not break that trust.

Adhara led him to the stables where they found horses and rode out from the palace. It was bitterly cold, but the sky was clear. A fingernail moon shed some light on their path. Menish had no idea where they were going. They stopped at the riverbank.

“Here we must cover your eyes.” Without waiting for his objections Adhara tied a cloth around his head, blocking out his vision. She inspected it carefully (he supposed that was what she was doing) before leading his horse off with her own. “There was debate about tying your hands to prevent you moving the covering. I told them that we could trust you.” After that Menish could hardly disobey even if he were inclined to.

But he did manage to guess where they were going. Some light from the waning moon gave him a sense of direction and he knew every horse path around Meyathal intimately. Although she twisted their path, circling and doubling back to confuse him Menish knew when they arrived at the place called Gomol-thal, the place of death. Menish could picture it in the night sky, rows of high earth mounds, beneath each one a king of Anthor lay. One day, perhaps, his own mound would lie here under the moon. But no, he would lie like his father did in the Mountains of Ristalshuz.

He could hear the muffled whispers and breathing of dozens of women clustered near one of the mounds. He did not know which one it was. There was a fire, he could smell burning and feel the welcome heat on his face. Some of its glow penetrated his blindfold. Was the fire part of the rite, or was it just to keep them warm?

Adhara helped him dismount and led him forward. He still did not know what he was expected to do.

“You're standing before the image of Kiveli. This will be uncomfortable and a little undignified, but it's the custom. Lie down.” Menish did as he was told. “We have a heavy boulder, not too heavy, but not light. We'll place it on top of you. While it's there you must address Kiveli briefly and without flattery, stating your need and why she should help.”

Before he could protest he felt a solid weight on his abdomen. It knocked the air out of his chest and he had to wait a moment before he could begin, but the pressure on him was uncomfortable enough to make him want to get it over with quickly. He wondered if this was some kind of joke, he must have looked ridiculous.

“O Kiveli…” he had to pause for breath. Why did they have to put a rock on his belly? “Gashan will soon attack Anthor… They have the ability to throw fire… and they have other magic… We have only brave hearts and swords… You have helped us before… Help us again… Let none of our people die… in the battle… but destroy Gashan.” He could not raise enough breath for any more words except to say to Adhara: “get this off me.”

The weight was lifted and he filled his chest with air.

“Take a moment to rest if you need it, then you can get up,” Adhara said quietly. At the same moment the women around him began to sing. It was an old song, more of a chant than the kind of thing that was sung nowadays. Menish had heard it before, he could not remember when. It was a hymn to Kiveli, about green grass in the spring and new calves. He listened for a moment while his breath returned to normal then climbed to his feet.

“What happens now?”

“Nothing more. I'll lead you home.”

They climbed onto their horses and Adhara led them away, the women continued to sing. Eventually the song faded away with distance.

“Why the boulder?” asked Menish. “It was strange.”

“For you it would be. The boulder was a symbol of birth. By accepting the boulder you identified with Kiveli the creator and protector.”

“I see why there were arguments about a man doing it. Did Kiveli hear me?”

“Of course she heard you. You did well, my love. But it's Kiveli, not we, who will decide if she'll act.”

Menish held his tongue, but he remembered the same thing being said of Aton when the Emperor was killed. The gods will answer prayers if it suits them. It was not like buying cattle where people could be trusted to keep their bargains. People could be relied on. Gods could not be.

Once clear of the harbour Shelim, who had taken the tiller, turned the boat northwards, for every Vorthenki knew that the dragon isle lay to the north east of the lands of men, far out in the great ocean. Azkun knew they expected him to call the dolphin to guide them, but all he could think of for now was the hymn the Vorthenki folk had sung to him and the promise he had made them.

They sailed on into the dusk with a good wind and a calm enough sea. Althak contrived to ignore Thalissa completely. Azkun needed no special sight to see he was uncomfortable in her presence. He moved about the boat checking the ropes, tightening them or loosening them where necessary while Shelim manned the tiller, and ignoring any offers of help from her.

Early the following morning Althak found that a sack of oats in the hold had split open and an impromptu porridge was forming in the bilge water. They spent about an hour cleaning it out and Azkun found it a foul task. The hold stank of the fat used to seal the wooden hull, a thick, sulphurous smell that caught in the throat like acid. Tenari could not be made to help and Shelim was busy with the tiller. Althak and Thalissa were least disturbed by the stench below deck so Azkun found himself by the gunwales lifting bail buckets of oaty sludge from the deck hatch to empty over the side as Thalissa passed them up to him.

“Why did you come with us?” asked Althak; there was bitterness in his voice. Thalissa paused so long that Azkun thought she was not going to answer, but she did.

“When you've lost everyone dear to you, and you find them again, you can't let them go.”

“How can Azkun be dear to you? You've hardly seen him since he was born.”

“I spent nine long months with him in my womb. I spent three days with Tenari before Menish took her away. They're all I have.”

“Tenari scratched you. What makes you think Azkun has any more love for you?” The buckets stopped.

“Why do you hate me, Althak?”

“Because you are what you are.”