Ancestors of Avalon. Marion Zimmer Bradley

Чтение книги онлайн.

       ONE

      Tiriki woke with a gasp as the bed lurched. She reached out for Micail, blinking away tormenting images of fire and blood and falling walls and a faceless, brooding figure writhing in chains. But she lay safe in her own bed, her husband by her side.

      ‘Thank the gods,’ she whispered. ‘It was only a dream!’

      ‘Not entirely – look there—’ Raising himself on one elbow, Micail pointed to the lamp that swung before the Mother’s shrine in the corner, sending shadows flickering madly around the room. ‘But I know what you dreamed. The vision came to me, too.’

      In the same moment the earth moved again. Micail seized her in his arms and rolled her toward the protection of the wall as plaster showered down from above. From somewhere in the distance came a long rumble of falling masonry. They clung, scarcely breathing, as the vibration peaked and eased.

      ‘The mountain is waking,’ he said grimly when all was still. ‘This makes the third tremor in two days.’ He released her and got out of the bed.

      ‘They’re getting stronger—’ she agreed. The palace was solidly built of stone and had withstood many tremors over the years, but even in the uncertain light Tiriki could see a new crack running across the ceiling of the room.

      ‘I must go. Reports will be coming in. Will you be all right here?’ Micail stepped into his sandals and wrapped himself in a mantle. Tall and strong, with the lamplight striking flame from his red hair, he seemed the most stable thing in the room.

      ‘Of course,’ she answered, getting up herself and pulling a light robe around her slim body. ‘You are prince as well as priest of this city. They will look to you for direction. But do not wear yourself out on work that can be done by other men. We must be ready for the ritual this afternoon.’ She tried to hide her shiver of fear at the thought of facing the Omphalos Stone, but surely a ritual to reinforce the balance of the world had never been so necessary as now.

      He nodded, looking down at her. ‘You seem so fragile, but sometimes I think you are the strongest of us all…’

      ‘I am strong because we are together,’ Tiriki murmured as he left her.

      Beyond the curtains that screened the balcony a red light was glowing. Today marked the midpoint of spring, she thought grimly, but that light was not the dawn. The city of Ahtarra was on fire.

      In the city above, men struggled to shift rubble and put out the last of the fires. In the shrine where the Omphalos Stone lay hidden, all was still. Tiriki held her torch higher as she followed the other priests and priestesses into its deepest chamber, suppressing a shiver as the hot flame became its own shadow, greenish smoke swirling around the pitchsoaked brand.

      The Omphalos Stone glimmered like occluded crystal in the center of the room. An egg-shaped thing half the height of a man, it seemed to pulse as it absorbed the light. Robed figures stood along the curving wall. The torches they had set into the brackets above them flickered bravely, yet the shrine seemed shrouded in gloom. There was a chill here, deep beneath the surface of the island of Ahtarrath, that no ordinary fire could ease. Even the smoke of the incense that smoldered on the altar sank in the heavy air.

      All other light faded before the glowing Stone. Even without their hoods and veils, the faces of the priests and priestesses would have been difficult to see, but as she felt her way to her place against the wall, Tiriki needed no sight to identify the hooded figure beside her as Micail. She smiled a silent greeting, knowing he would feel it.

      Were we disembodied spirits, she thought warmly, still I would know him…The sacred medallion upon his breast, a golden wheel with seven spokes, gleamed faintly, reminding Tiriki that here he was not only her husband, but the High Priest Osinarmen, Son of the Sun; just as she was not only Tiriki but Eilantha, Guardian of Light.

      Straightening, Micail began to sing the Invocation for the Equinox of Spring, his voice vibrating oddly. ‘Let Day be bounded by the Night…’

      Other, softer voices joined the chant.

       ‘Dark be balanced by the Light.

       Earth and Sky and Sun and Sea, A

       circled cross shall ever be.’

      A lifetime of priestly training had taught Tiriki all the ways of setting aside the demands of the body, but it was hard to ignore the dank subterranean air, or the eerie sense of pressure that set goose bumps in her skin. Only by supreme effort could she focus again on the song as it began to stir the stillness into harmony…

       ‘Let sorrow make a space for joy,

       Let grief with jubilance alloy,

       Step by step to make our way,

       Till Darkness shall unite with Day…’

      In the desperate struggle that had caused the destruction of the Ancient Land a generation earlier, the Omphalos Stone had become, if only briefly, the plaything СКАЧАТЬ