The Complete Empire Trilogy. Janny Wurts

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СКАЧАТЬ Other servants waited beyond.

      The impact of the change struck Mara once again. For the first time in her life, she could not fly into the comfort of the ancient woman’s arms. As Lady of the Acoma, she must nod formally and walk past, leaving Nacoya and the hadonra to follow her up the wooden steps into the shady dimness of the great house. Today she must bear up and pretend not to notice the painful reflection of her own sorrow in Nacoya’s eyes. Mara bit her lip slightly, then stopped herself. That nervous habit had brought Nacoya’s scolding on many occasions. Instead the girl took a breath, and entered the house of her father. The missing echoes of his footfalls upon the polished wooden floor filled her with loneliness.

      ‘Lady?’

      Mara halted, clenched hands hidden in the crumpled white of her robe. ‘What is it?’

      The hadonra spoke again. ‘Welcome home, my Lady,’ he added in formal greeting. ‘I am Jican, Lady.’

      Softly Mara said, ‘What has become of Sotamu?’

      Jican glanced down. ‘He wasted in grief, my Lady, following his Lord into death.’

      Mara could only nod once and resume her progress to her quarters. She was not surprised to learn that the old hadonra had refused to eat or drink after Lord Sezu’s death. Since he was an elderly man, it must have taken only a few days for him to die. Absently she wondered who had presumed to appoint Jican hadonra in his stead. As she turned to follow one of the large halls that flanked a central garden, Nacoya said, ‘My Lady, your quarters are across the garden.’

      Mara barely managed another nod. Her personal belongings would have been moved to her father’s suite, the largest in the building.

      She moved woodenly, passing the length of the square garden that stood at the heart of every Tsurani great house. The carved wooden grille work that enclosed the balcony walkways above, the flower beds, and the fountain under the trees in the courtyard seemed both familiar and inescapably strange after the stone architecture of the temples. Mara continued until she stood before the door to her father’s quarters. Painted upon the screen was a battle scene, a legendary struggle won by the Acoma over another, long-forgotten, enemy. The hadonra, Jican, slid aside the door.

      Mara faltered a moment. The jolt of seeing her own belongings in her father’s room nearly overcame her control, as if this room itself had somehow betrayed her. And with that odd distress came the memory: the last time she had stepped over this threshold had been on the night she argued with her father. Though she was usually an even-tempered and obedient child, that one time her temper had matched his.

      Mara moved woodenly forward. She stepped onto the slightly raised dais, sank down onto the cushions, and waved away the maids who waited upon her needs. Keyoke, Nacoya, and Jican then entered and bowed formally before her. Papewaio remained at the door, guarding the entrance from the garden.

      In hoarse tones Mara said, ‘I wish to rest. The journey was tiring. Leave now.’ The maids left the room at once, but the three retainers all hesitated. Mara said, ‘What is it?’

      Nacoya answered, ‘There is much to be done – much that may not wait, Mara-anni.’

      The use of the diminutive of her name was intended in kindness, but to Mara it became a symbol of all she had lost. She bit her lip as the hadonra said, ‘My Lady, many things have gone neglected since … your father’s death. Many decisions must be made soon.’

      Keyoke nodded. ‘Lady, your upbringing is lacking for one who must rule a great house. You must learn those things we taught Lanokota.’

      Miserable with memories of the rage she had exchanged with her father the night before she had left, Mara was stung by the reminder that her brother was no longer heir. Almost pleading, she said, ‘Not now. Not yet.’

      Nacoya said, ‘Child, you must not fail your name. You –’

      Mara’s voice rose, thick with emotions held too long in check. ‘I said not yet! I have not observed a time of mourning! I will hear you after I have been to the sacred grove.’ The last was said with a draining away of anger, as if the little flash was all the energy she could muster. ‘Please,’ she added softly.

      Ready to retire, Jican stepped back, absently plucking at his livery. He glanced at Keyoke and Nacoya, yet both of them held their ground. The Force Commander said, ‘Lady, you must listen. Soon our enemies will move to destroy us. The Lord of the Minwanabi and the Lord of the Anasati both think House Acoma defeated. Neither should know you did not take final vows for a few days more, but we cannot be sure of that. Spies may already have carried word that you have returned; if so, your enemies are even now plotting to finish this house once and finally. Responsibilities cannot be put off. You must master a great deal in a short time if there is to be any hope of survival for the Acoma. The name and honour of your family are now in your hands.’

      Mara tilted her chin in a manner unchanged from her childhood. She whispered, ‘Leave me alone.’

      Nacoya stepped to the dais. ‘Child, listen to Keyoke. Our enemies are made bold by our loss, and you’ve no time for self-indulgence. The education you once received to become the wife of some other household’s son is inadequate for a Ruling Lady.’

      Mara’s voice rose, tension making the blood sing in her ears. ‘I did not ask to be Ruling Lady!’ Dangerously close to tears, she used anger to keep from breaking. ‘Until a week ago, I was to be a sister of Lashima, all I wished for in this life! If the Acoma honour must rely upon me for revenge against the Minwanabi, if I need counsel and training, all will wait until I have visited the sacred grove and done reverence to the memories of the slain!’

      Keyoke glanced at Nacoya, who nodded. The young Lady of the Acoma was near breaking, and must be deferred to, but the old nurse was ready to deal with even that. She said, ‘All is prepared for you in the grove. I have presumed to choose your father’s ceremonial sword to recall his spirit, and Lanokota’s manhood robe to recall his.’ Keyoke motioned to where the two objects lay atop a richly embroidered cushion.

      Seeing the sword her father wore at festivals and the robe presented to her brother during his ceremony of manhood was more than the exhausted, grief-stricken girl could bear. With tears rising, she said, ‘Leave me!’

      The three hesitated, though to disobey the Lady of the Acoma was to risk punishment even unto death. The hadonra was first to turn and quit his mistress’s quarters. Keyoke followed, but as Nacoya turned to go, she repeated, ‘Child, all is ready in the grove.’ Then slowly she slid the great door closed.

      Alone at last, Mara allowed the tears to stream down her cheeks. Yet she held her sobbing in check as she rose and picked up the cushion with the sword and robe upon it.

      The ceremony of mourning was a private thing; only family might enter the contemplation glade. But under more normal circumstances, a stately procession of servants and retainers would have marched with surviving family members as far as the blocking hedge before the entrance. Instead a single figure emerged from the rear door of her quarters. Mara carried the cushion gently, her white robe wrinkled and dirty where the hem dragged in the dust.

      Even deaf and blind she would have remembered the way. Her feet knew the path, down to the last stone fisted into the gnarled ulo tree root beside the ceremonial gate. The thick hedge that surrounded the grove shielded it from observation. Only the Acoma might walk here, save a priest of Chochocan when consecrating the grove or the gardener who tended the shrubs and flowers. A blocking hedge faced the gate, preventing anyone outside from peering within.

      Mara СКАЧАТЬ