Dar had three more feasts to host before the Council of Matriarchs met, and she dreaded each one for a different reason. Her thirty-first dinner would include Meera-yat, who had fled from her in panic. The next night, Dar would host her own family, an awkward situation at best. Word was out that the council had requested that Muth la’s Draught be prepared, and Dar anticipated a mournful evening. Muthuri
might not be upset, thought Dar, but she’ll pretend to be Zor-yat and her sister were the only orcs that Dar knew who were capable of duplicity. She did not look forward to seeing her muthuri. Dar’s final feast would be for Muth-yat’s hanmuthi, and that meal promised to be the most strained of all.
Dar spent her days roaming the Yat clan hall, as if saying good-bye to it. She found that if she let her thoughts flow freely almost every sight evoked some memory from a former queen. Thus she saw the building through many different eyes that viewed it from the vantage point of earlier times. She gazed at Muth la’s Dome and saw it as a rude hut on a nearly empty mountaintop. She peered through bricked-up doorways into vanished rooms. She ventured onto snow-covered terraces and saw brak blooms swaying in spring breezes.
Occasionally, Dar encountered someone who spoke to her, thus pulling her back to the present. The round of feasts had served their function well. Everyone knew her. It was also apparent that everyone knew what she was about to face. Some were certain that Dar would pass the test. Most were apprehensive. Others were deeply troubled. No one spoke what he or she was thinking, for that would be discourteous. Yet Dar had little difficulty discerning their emotions. While it was heartening to sense the outpouring of sympathy and concern, it also increased Dar’s sense of doom. It drove her to seek the loneliest corners of the hall. Most of those were in the oldest part, where many of the rooms and hallways were used for storage.
The last three feasts proved to be the ordeals that Dar anticipated. Meera-yat refused to come to hers, so only her daughter showed, embarrassed by her muthuri’s rudeness. Dar’s feast for her own family had the gaiety of a funeral. The meal for Muth-yat was the worst of all.
Muth-yat once had three daughters. While visiting the late queen in Taiben, they had contracted her mysterious “illness.” Othar pretended to treat them, but he provided no antidote for his poison. So, unlike the queen, all of Muth-yat’s daughters had died. Her hanmuthi was diminished to herself, her husband, and a youngling grandson, the only child of her eldest daughter. Dar blessed each as they entered the royal hanmuthi. When they were seated, a son brought forth the evening’s repast, which Dar had ordered specially. It consisted of a single dish, a traditional stew called muthtufa. After Dar served everyone, she looked Muth-yat squarely in the eye and said, “This is same dish Velasa-pah prepared for me and my companions when we journeyed from west.”
Muth-pah calmly returned Dar’s gaze. “Gar-yat prepares it well.”
“Hai,” said Dar. “But Velasa-pah’s stew tasted different. I suppose it’s because his recipe was older.”
“Very likely,” said Muth-yat.
“When I saw him in this hall, I should have asked for his recipe.”
Muth-yat dropped the pretense of unconcern. “You saw him in our hall?”
“Hai,” replied Dar. “This time, it was vision. Haven’t you read those deetpahis in lorekeeper’s locked box? Velasa-pah was allowed to die after he greeted me.”
“That is secret lore,” said Muth-yat, “and there are sons present.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Dar. “But when time grows short, it should not be wasted.”
Only Dar, Muth-yat, and Nir-yat fully understood the conversation, but the others sensed its import from the tenseness in the air.
“Visions are warnings of trouble,” said Muth-yat, “ and troublemakers.”
“Muth la sends us trials,” replied Dar. “We flee them at our peril.”
“I intend to face danger,” said Muth-yat, “and eliminate it.”
“Do you question my fitness to rule?”
Muth-yat smiled. “I’m only one of seven.”
There was a long span of awkward silence before Dar spoke again. “Did you ever forgive Zeta-yat for becoming queen?” She smiled as Muth-yat’s face grew pale. “I possess Fathma, so I have your sister’s memories. You were enraged that she was deemed more worthy than you. She backed you for clan matriarch in hopes of winning back your love, but she never knew if she did.”
Muth-yat looked away.
“You might as well speak up,” said Dar, satisfied that she had struck a nerve. “Next queen will have my memories, and silence speaks loudly.”
“Zeta’s spirit doesn’t belong in you!” said Muth-yat.
“Do you think you’ll be comfortable with her memories? Or mine?” countered Dar. “Crown is burden. I know that all too well. Think upon what you seek.”
“You’re most discourteous!” said Muth-yat.
“Families sometimes bicker, Auntie,” said Dar. “Yet I have hope that all can be mended. I was reborn in this hall. I love it deeply. Trust in love rather than fear.”
Muth-yat refused to meet Dar’s gaze. “All I can do,” she said, “is what I think best.”
Twenty-seven
Dar bathed on the morning of the Council of Matriarchs, hoping to scrub away the scent of fear. Nir-yat braided her hair and painted talmauki on her nails. When Dar finished her preparations, she went to the Great Chamber. She ascended the throne and sent Zna-yat to inform the matriarchs that Muth Mauk was thinking of them.
Dar prepared to face the matriarchs and attempt to persuade them of her fitness. She wouldn’t surrender without a fight. Nevertheless, Dar felt as she had on the dawn when soldiers spilled from a barn to assault her. She had been prepared on that day also, though a ladle was her only weapon. This time, Kovok-mah can’t save me. All I have is my wits.
The matriarchs arrived, and Dar blessed each by name. Dar knew what to say next, for the lorekeeper had coached her. “Today we honor tradition with this first meeting of great mother and foremost Clan Mothers. It’s our duty to protect Muth la’s children and show them her path.”
Muth-yat stepped forward. “Today we must affirm that Fathma was bestowed in accordance to Muth la’s will.”
“Hai,” said Dar. “Upon that matter I shall speak first.” She gazed at the faces before her and easily discerned each matriarch’s mood. She counted three friends and four foes. I only n^^ to change one mind, she thought. Then Dar began her attempt.
“Muth la gave me two lives,” said Dar. “I was born washavoki. That life was hard beyond your imagining. Yet I knew of no other until Muth la set me among urkzimmuthi. Then she sent me both visions and trials. I came to believe that urkzimmuthi should not fight for washavokis. I resolved to lead sons home. Muth la guided me as I journeyed eastward. I encountered Velasa-pah. I lived in Tarathank. I found Lost Clan. I returned sons to their muthuris’ hearths.
“After I arrived here, Muth-yat came to me and spoke of her vision. She said I appeared to her to ask why I was not yet born. Then she told me of magic for rebirth. That magic was hard to endure and dangerous, but I gladly shed my old life. My spirit was transformed, and Zor-yat counted me among her daughters.
“Because my form was unaltered, Muth-yat wished me to go to Taiben. There, our queen dwelled. Black Washavoki said he was healing her sickness. Those words had no meaning. His magic was evil. He gave our queen his words to speak. That’s why she called for so many sons to kill for Great Washavoki.
“When I freed our queen from Black Washavoki’s magic, she agreed to flee with me. She did not say that this would kill her. She was willing to die because she deemed me worthy to receive Fathma. When I became Muth Mauk, I returned to Taiben to face Great Washavoki and Black Washavoki. Now they are dead. Sons no longer kill for washavokis. Instead, they protect washavoki great mother. All this was Muth la’s will, which I fulfilled.”