‘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 of black sorcery. For a time it had been feared that the corruption was absolute; and so the priests had circulated the story that the Stone had been lost, with so much else, beneath the vengeful sea.
In a way, the lie was truth; but the deep place in which the Stone lay was this cavern beneath the temples and the city of Ahtarra. With the arrival of the Stone, this midsize island of the Sea Kingdoms of Atlantis had become the sacred center of the world. But though the Stone was far from lost, it was hidden, as it had always been. Even the highest in the priesthood rarely found cause to enter this shrine. Those few who dared consult the Omphalos knew that their actions could upset the equilibrium of the world.
The song changed tempo, growing more urgent.
‘Each season by the next is bound,
Meetings, partings, form the round,
The sacred center is our frame,
Where all is changing, all the same…’
Tiriki was losing focus again. If it was all the same, she thought in sudden rebellion, we wouldn’t be here now!
For months, news of earthquakes and rumors of worse destruction to come had been running. like wildfire throughout the Sea Kingdoms. In Ahtarrath, such terrors had at first seemed distant, but the past few nights, Temple dwellers and city folk alike had been plagued by faint tremors in the earth, and persistent, dreadful dreams. And even now, as the song continued, she could sense uneasiness in the other singers.
Can this truly be the prophesied Time of Ending? Tiriki wondered silently. After so many warnings?
Resolutely, she rejoined her voice to the rising architecture of sound, whose manipulation was perhaps the most powerful tool of Atlantean magic.
‘Moving, we become more still,
Impassioned, we are bound by will,
Turning in perpetuity
While Time becomes Eternity…’
The shadows thickened, contorting the swirls of incense that at last spiraled into the chill air.
The music stopped.
Light blazed forth from the Stone, filling the shrine as completely as darkness had before. Light was everywhere, so radiant that Tiriki was surprised to find that it carried no heat. Even the torches shone more brightly. The singers released a collective sigh. Now they could begin.
First to take off his hood and move toward the Stone was Reio-ta, governor of the Temple. Beside him the blue-robed Mesira, leader of the healers, lifted her veil. Tiriki and Micail stepped out to face them across the Stone. In that light, Micail’s red hair shone like flame, while the wisps that escaped Tiriki’s coiled braids glistened gold and silver.
Reio-ta’s rich tenor took up the invocation…
‘In this place of Ni-Terat, Dark Queen of Earth,
Now bright with the Spirit of Manoah’s Light,
Confirm we now the Sacred Center,
The Omphalos, Navel of the World.’
The richness of her husky contralto belied Mesira’s age. ‘The center is not a place, but a state of being. The Omphalos is of another realm. Many ages the Stone lay undisturbed in the sanctuaries of the Ancient Land, but the center was not there, nor is it in Ahtarrath.’
Micail voiced the formal response, ‘Mindful that all here have vowed that what is, is worth preserving, and to that end bending might and will…’ He smiled at Tiriki, and reached again for her hand. Together they drew breath for the closing words.
‘We arrive forever in the Realm of the True, which can never be destroyed.’
And the rest responded in chorus, ‘While we keep faith, Light lives in us!’
The otherworldly illumination throbbed as Mesira spoke once more.
‘So we invoke the Equilibrium of the Stone, that the people may