Previously: The Living Palace is shaken by a prophecy sung by the Sacred Serpents. You can read this bit here.

This week everyone is still reeling, not least Queen Savandra herself. Meanwhile the court is preparing for the Full Moon rite, adding magic & passion to the mix.

Enjoy!

 

 

V Song of Savandra – Midnight

The silken curtains whisper in the nightly breeze

They billow into the room, spreading like wings

Diaphanous as the beams of the waxing Moon.

The vaulted ceiling of the room is filled with softly glowing

Fireflies, caught in a myriad little gold cages

To soothe the spirit of the Wise One who sleeps

Or rather, is trying to sleep, in the round bed below

Sunk into the floor like a pond filled with the coolest linens

The plumpest pillows, the most fragrant of reed mats.

Her cascading hair is spread in all its fiery splendour

On the floor around her. The little gold snakes that live in it

To keep it free from mice and vermin, are noiselessly hunting

And also listening to every tremor and vibration of the Palace

So they can whisper all the latest news into Savandra’s ear

When morning comes. But now her tired head is tossing on her pillow

Filled with anxious thoughts and dreams that slip into each other

About her royal children, whom she has had to burden

With such unfavourable news. Orydia has stormed off in a rage

And Andrion just blanched, bowed stiffly and walked out.

Although she really feels for Orydia, and wants to comfort her

Her son is the one she worries for the most. For even as a child

He always knew she wished he had been a girl. At first, that is,

For she loved him deeply and with all her heart. But what he

Had heard her thinking while in the womb had somehow

Stuck with him, it seemed. And when his little sister was born

She was even more proud of him, for he loved her

Without any restraint, even though she could feel his fear

That he was now superfluous. Such a generous little boy,

And she told him over and over again that she was glad of him

So she had a man to help take care of little Orydia. This task

He took very seriously, precocious little prince, always keeping

An eye on her. Sometimes she’d wonder if she had been wise,

If he would think that her love was conditional on how well

He performed. But no, he simply was like that, affectionate,

Responsible. Until, that is, the court began to whisper

That Orydia might not ascend to rule. For it was plain to many

That she showed none of the special capabilities

She should have inherited from her mother. The anguish this gave

Savandra, blaming herself, blaming the father she had chosen,

Blaming herself again, for choosing him, was nothing to

Andrion’s consternation that he might have to provide an heiress.

If only he had been a girl, the ladies of the court were saying,

Thinking he was deaf and dumb. His disappointment that apparently

He was somehow flawed after all, but could still be used as

A stud to secure the throne, was the hardest thing she ever

Had to witness. But none of this she could ever say to him,

Or to her daughter, who seemed blithely unaware of the whole

Issue, and dreamed of being Queen, and did work hard. For there

Had been no Oracle, and she was priestess first, then mother.

She had to let the Goddess speak first. How hard this has been

On her, no one will ever know, not even Falchion, her

Trusted Vizier. He has the wearing task of informing her

Again and again of Andrion’s daring exploits, his brawls, his

Conquests, his absolute refusal to choose a bride. There is

Nothing she can do but let him fight his own demons

With the vigour and talent for trouble he seems to have

Developed expressly for this purpose. But he seems grateful

That she lets him be, and none of it is meant to hurt her.

Of this she is certain. It is the ever-gossiping court he seems

Angry with, and sometimes with the Goddess. But he knows

With the insight he has always had, that the Mother Tree has

Chosen her, and that her responsibility to Tree and Land

Always comes first. His love for her is genuine, and

A great comfort to her as well. Maybe she has indulged his

Whims too much, as she has Orydia’s ambition. But that

Is what a mother does, a mother who cannot speak her mind.

She has to offer comforts of another kind.

And now the Goddess finally has spoken. But the serpents

Would not reveal which of them would produce her successor.

So now her children are irrevocably pitted against each other

For Orydia takes the sacred words as a personal insult

And so does Andrion, for reasons stated above.

Will he rise above his anger, show again the responsibility

He had as a child? Can her daughter, so charming and

Fond of intrigue, find honour in the task of being

A vessel to the reborn Queen, if she is not herself

The expected incarnation? Or can her brother focus

His tremendous energy into finding as his bride

The woman who could be this vessel in her stead?

All this trouble keeps echoing in her head.

VI Hymn to the Wise One (fragment)

Praise the Goddess, She who gave us

Our own Mother, who brings justice

And who gives her power freely

So her people all will prosper.

May the Mother Tree keep from us

Unjust rulers that are greedy

Who despise her sacred woodlands

And suck dry her flowing life force.

Other lands have unjust rulers

Draining their own land for riches

Not so our blessed land, Tree-loved

That is cared for by our Mother.

<…>

VII Song of Orydia – Morning

Unlike her mother, Orydia has slept

Like a log, exhausted from her weeping

She slipped into a dreamless sleep

And now is ready to take on the day

Just as she always is, but with a vengeance.

Always she has believed in her destiny

As the future ruler. And although she knew

The heiress is appointed by the Oracle,

She has always held that this was mere formality.

She is the only daughter, the only candidate, and

Therefore the obvious choice. She has always studied

Hard, applied herself to be really good, be good

At the responsibility her mother is always going on about.

Orydia has learned the Songs, the dances, chants and spells,

The manners of the court, all the sciences, and is

Good at everything. Nothing she has left to chance, even

If the chance she would not be chosen was remote.

And now it has all been for nothing after all. Those stupid snakes

Have chosen her wild and stupid brother over her, or at least

Have given him a shot. And he does not even want it!

So she has raged and cried all afternoon, dropped down

Exhausted, slept like the dead, and now awakens to

A new day. With remarkable resilience, only one

Of her many talents, she directly starts considering her options

While still in bed. So. How does one go about producing

Children, royal ones that is? Evidently, the new princess needs

A father. In the blessed paradise she lives in

All women are free to marry whom they choose, or be

Made with child, and stay unmarried, since all inheritance

Goes through the mother’s line, royal and common alike.

Many children in the land do not even know their fathers

And many fathers do not know all their children. Although

This is the custom in many lands, nowhere are the women

As free with their favours as in Savandra’s land. Therefore

It is is often seen as a country of whores,

But they are revered all the same. For all the world knows

That those free women, guarding the Tree,

Are keeping the world alive. So their neighbours let them be.

Orydia herself does not know her father, as is the custom. The sacred

Line of priestess-queens cannot be complicated by kinship

With other families. Such ties tear other dynasties apart, but theirs

Has lasted centuries.

She has wondered, of course, who her father might be, and

Savandra has answered her childish questions as best she could

Without revealing his identity. And Orydia has had no shortage

Of father figures, not least her former tutor, Falchion, now Vizier

And High Priest. She is still fond of him, for he has served her well.

No one could have educated her more thoroughly. Moreover, she

Has been introduced, as has her brother, to everyone who is

Someone, at court and in the land. So now she ponders the list

Of suitable young men that she has met. She is also free

To ride into the country in disguise, or serve a temple,

and mount a lowly peasant, if his blood is pure and strong.

Apparently, she thinks mischievously, wriggling her toes at

The funny but revolting thought, this is what her mother did,

For she was unable to produce a daughter with the desired traits.

Well, she can do better than Savandra the perfect. She surely will

Not fail to put forth an unheard-of magic prodigy.

And she once more starts sobbing angrily.

VIII Dance of Priestesses and Priests (choral ode)

Priestesses:

See, he is coming, skipping over mountains,

Running over the hills,

My lover, my lord, the beautiful one

His hair like a stormcloud

Like a cloud of thunder

His arms strong as a lion’s

As the paws of the leopard

His waist narrow as a strong tower

His hips are slender as a pillar.

Priests:

See how my bride comes running through the valleys,

The vales full of flowers,

My lover, my lady, the beautiful one

Her eyes like the lightning

Shining like falling stars

Her breasts round as pomegranates

Bursting with sweetest nectar

Her slender waist like a willow tree

Supple and strong as the sacred palm.

Priestesses:

My arms are longing for you, my beloved,

They ache with their longing

When will the time come, my lover, my lord

To hold you against me

To feel your heart beating

Against my tender bosom

Against my budding nipples

When will I drink your soft strong kisses

The life-giving kiss of my lover?

Priests:

My hands are searching for you, my beloved,

They search among the grass

When will they find my most precious flower

To cherish and hold you

To fill my heart’s longing?

At my touch you will blossom

At my warmth you will open

When will I drink your flowing honey

My beloved’s life-giving nectar?

 

Chorus:

Soon, when the moon has grown full, my beloved

My most beautiful lord

Most beautiful of women, my lady,

We will lay together

We will fall in the grass

In your arms you will clasp me

In your hands your will hold me

When the moon has grown full, my lover,

When she is full, like us, of desire.

IX Song of Orydia – Noon

All morning the Palace has been humming

With yesterday’s events, and also with the

Preparation of the coming Major Rite: the Sacred Marriage

Of God and Goddess in their aspects of Sun and Moon

Respectively, that happens every Full Moon night.

But Savandra cannot turn her attention to

This rite at the moment: her head is still buzzing

As is her House. After the morning’s Seating

She has retired to a quiet courtyard, where

A shady, dark green bower has been growing,

Strewn with small jasmine-like flowers, and rests

Her brow against the mossy stones. But presently

The formidable Falchion approaches, respectfully

But urgently. Gracefully her hands bid him to sit

Next to her, not at her feet. Such is his stature.

He sits, and waits for her to speak. But she nods,

And so he starts, speaking words like the following:

“Wise One, we the Council thank you for the Oracle

You have shared with your people. We know that this

Particular Prophecy must have been hard for you,

Both to hear and to deliver. Nevertheless, it is

Relieving in a way, to hear confirmed what many

Have thought for some years now.” Savandra blinks

But also smiles at his directness. This is what she

Has him for. “I realise,” he says more softly,

Looking into her clear, green eyes, “that the prince

And princess are taking the news hard, as do you.

It pains me to add to your burden, but I must warn you.”

“About what?” she asks, with a frown. He takes a breath.

“Great Lady, I fear that rumours will be whispered

Or if not whispered, thought privately, that the Sacred Words

Were spoken not by the serpents, but by the Wise One herself.”

She sits perfectly still. Then she looks at him straight and

Asks frankly: “And you, my old friend? What do you think?”

He immediately smiles, to her immense relief. “O Wise Savandra,

How can I ever doubt you? I who know like no other

How great a Priestess you are. How you could not deceive Spirit,

Even if you tried. And even if so, what you would have

Wanted, was your daughter’s succession. For the Prophecy

Will set the court on edge.” They sit in silence.

“It is already happening,” she whispers,“anger

And suspicion. It could not be avoided. You are right,

I dearly wish I could. But we will trust that good will

Come of it. Or else, what is the purpose? In a few nights

The Major Rite will be danced and celebrated. This has

Always been a moment to restore the balance,

To remind us what it all is for. The House and Land

Will be blessed and empowered, and love will be spread.

So I trust you and the Council to not even take the trouble

Of denying any such rumours, since they deserve

No acknowledgement. The princess and the prince

Are still my children, and they will rise to this

Situation with dignity and poise, once they have

Calmed down. Even if they are suspicious of me, they still

Have my trust. I will speak to them when all this has

Sunk in a little. It is the only way.” She feels better now,

And thanks him for lending his ear, and for his counsel.

He takes his leave and goes. Looking after him, she sees

His broad shoulders, cinched-in waist above the

Swaying kilt, his strong mane, and her belly

Lurches as she thinks of the sacred marriage rite

That she and her High Priest will dance on Full Moon’s night.

Her daughter Orydia, at a window nearby

Has heard most of this exchange. She feels

Strangely pensive. Has Falchion even noticed that

Her mother has not confirmed, but also not

Denied the rumour that he, ever-cautious, supposes will be

Spread? And why has her mother not spoken to her?

Of Andrion she does not even dare think for now.

Her eyes look shrouded, like a starless night.

Yes, the Prophecy is sinking in all right.

 

Next week: harsh words will be spoken, while the Major Rite draws ever nearer…