[Bêthberry]

The clouds streamed overhead like merchants off to work at the market, intent on their business and without a meandering glance to the side or elsewhere. Some blew quickly out of the frame of Bekah's vision; others massed more solidly overhead, sending shadows inking down over roof and tower and wall. It would rain soon, Bekah thought, the kind which falls heavily and quickly and which puddles deeply on the streets and gullies, falling so quickly the earth cannot contain it, and then, just as quickly, disappearing. For now, the shadows boxed around the new construction, darting forth and back, as if climbing this paen to the sky god ahead of everyone else. As she watched the tower?s construction, daily, growing taller and taller, Bekah wondered what had prompted this sudden desire to rival Rhais. Zamara had been too busy with these events, talking among those who revered Rhais, to visit her daily and help with her correspondence after her injury but Bekah knew the High Priestess was concerned.

It had been a fall, Bekah ruminated, a fall of remarkable proportions, although not her own, but the King's. She had as yet been unable to suggest as much to the High Priestess, and so her metaphor remained in the eyes of the court the literal truth. In the past month Bekah had often played over in her mind the events of her last audience with Khamul, becoming more firmly convinced in her mind that the King was no longer capable of attending to the best interests of his own nation, so firmly drawn was he to this Emissary. Or was it that ring, which he had been willing to harm her over, to regain possession? "Who or what has possessed Faroz?" Bekah asked, over and over.

Also over the past month, she had considered who she might turn to to express her concerns, with Zamara unable to respond to her request for help with the correspondence. Arlomë had disappeared behind the walls of her own estate, where Morgôs was apparently yet again lost in the kind of ritual seclusion which he more and more was retreating to. "The Avari hold themselves to be a higher kind," Bekah thought to herself, "yet they seem so little involved with their responsibilities to the affairs of this world." She worried that the nation's chief officer of the army was so absent. "No wonder people wished to limit the Avari's time of service," she thought. Yet who could she turn to? Arshalous was a vain and petty woman, more concerned with the rivalries of her house than those of state. Her children had not once returned to speak with her of events or their monumental decision. Tarkan was a brooding question who had never yet shown any discipline or strength and Bekah mistrusted him as one of the architects of this tower to Rae. Korak? Was that her only recourse? Bekah turned away from her thoughts to watch the construction again.

The workers looked like scarabs, scurrying back and forth, overshadowned now by the tower to Rae itself. Bekah became mesmerised watching the movement of worker and cloud, the second overshadowing the first, swirling like tea leaves over a sugar cube until it is lost to sight. The light seemed to slink away and she was overcome with cold and her senses dulled. Something appeared over the tower, forming out of the clouds. An eye? Was that it? Tall battlements very far away came into focus, with strange creatures flying around it. A red flaming eye pierced her thought and gloated over her;she felt herself fermenting with intense hatred and cruelty. She would have swooned had Homay not appeared at her side, to lead her gently towards the cushionss of her meeting room.

The old nurse watched as her old charge slowly came round, the yellow patches of her face dissipating into the caramel colour of her tawny skin.

"You have had the same experience, again." she murmured to the Queen.

Bekah nodded and waited for her breath to return. "This time, more clearly. It is this Melkor, I am certain. He has overtaken our god Rae and wishes to destroy our faith in Rhais."

"The healer is here, Majesty, to attend to your arm. Perhaps you can talk of this with her." Bekah assented and collected herself, willing her body into a more formal deportment and whispering silent prayer to Rhais.

Rather than becoming shorter and fewer, these visits with Dahliyah the healer had become longer and more frequent. With the loss of contacts from the nomadic trading tribes and the cessation of communication from her brother the King of Alanzia, Bekah found another voice which kept her informed of events. Dahliyah was not the only healer in the royal city but she was one of the foremost, welcomed in the poorest hut as well as the palace. She said it improved her art, to learn as broadly of illness as possible, and, indeed, she had been instrumental in warding off a plague some years ago when she recognised its breeding grounds. At that time, she had saved Siamak from the fever and had won Bekah's grateful respect and thanks. The healing arts as well were interesting to Bekah, for she often surmised that more was involved than simply the application of herbs and poltices, balms and unguents.

And so it was that Bekah herself felt drawn to Dahliyah when the Healer was called in to attend to her injury. The soft and warm hands of Dahliyah gently touching the skin of her arm had soothed and calmed her and in return the Healer had found in the Queen a woman of similar age with a mind similarly keen and perceptive. And so it came about that after Dahliyah reset the splint on Bekah's arm, cleansing the skin with scented waters and soothing oils, she would often stay and talk over tea and sweet pastries which Tabari the maid always brought out in fine array.

The first visit had given Dahliyah ample opportunity to surmise the nature of the Queen's injury but she did not become a healer to the royal palace without understanding the nature and need for discretion. Perhaps it was this innate sense of discretion which allowed certain topics to be raised. Whatever it was, Dayliyah and the Queen came to talk often of the Emissary, the gift to the King, and the new context in which Pashtia found itself. Through her Bekah learnt that the people were made uneasy by this unexpected visitor and by the rapid changes in their normally placid routine. Bekah in fact learnt many things that were swept under the carpets and not discussed openly. This visit today brought many disclosures, Bekah describing her strange visions of fiery creatures and seething hatred as she watched the construction of the Tower and Dahliyah herself sharing her concerns, for this day she was greatly uneasy herself.

"You will be careful and not fall again, Majesty," Dahliyah advised as she finished the last tape which bound the Queen's arm, looking up into Bekah's eyes.

"I shall, Healer. Now I know how dangerous is the ground I tread and I will step more carefully," acknowledged the patient.

"The King will be pleased with that. I am sure he regretted your pain."

"He did, in his way. Yet he is much distracted these days. From all reports, he has other affairs to attend to."

A frown passed almost imperceptibly over Dahliyah's face, yet it did not pass unobserved.

"You are ill at ease yourself today, Healer. May a friend inquire what causes your discomfort?"

The woman leaned back in the cushions upon which they reclined and wished in her heart she could rid herself of her wound as easily as she helped relieve those of others. Yet there were others, many others, some much younger than she, who also were as pained to the point of being poisoned as she. Dahliyah decided it must be told, for a code of secrecy would only allow the beastial cruelties to continue.

"There are indeed many things happening in our city, many dark deeds which cry out for justice. Almost every day one hears stories not only of women, but of young girls who disappear or who have endured an unspeakable wound which poisons their life. Children fear to go out at night and parents watch fretfully at the door."

"Children attacked? Children? Many? I have heard nothing of this. What quarter of the city?"

"That is the troubling issue, Majesty, in that mostly the assaults occur in the poorer sections of the city. And some..." Dahliyah hesitated.

"Do not hesitate to speak the truth of what you know, my friend. We are facing so many momentous decisions that we cannot afford to silence any issue."

The Healer nodded. "At first the affronts were limited to the Aquaba quarter and then they spread to the nearby Halava section. Then, a week ago, there were two assaults near the villa of the Emissary, where he and his attendants are staying. The girls were badly harmed and as yet are mute with fear and shame."

"The Emissary's attendants. Fifty men with nothing to do. Yet are they not watched by our soldiers? "

"Majesty, our General has not been seen for some time. Our guards grow inattentive."

"And these men of the West are free to roam to satisfy their bestial urges."

Dayliyah shuddered; it was a movement the Queen could not ignore.

"You know something in particular of this? You are intimately involved? Speak, my friend, that I may offer some solace such as you have given me."

"Of the guards, no. I have merely been asked to attend to some of the families. But Majesty, the guards are not alone in their indignities."

Bekah looked directly in Dahliyah's face, her mouth forming the name that she dared not speak aloud, the name that, like The King, was spoken of with the formal address of the definite article.

Dahliyah closed her eyes, hung her head, her entire body slack with anguish. "I am a mature woman; I know life; yet never have I had my wishes ignored, my being denigrated, my self subjected to physical defilement. Except by this man who claims to be bringing peace and allegiance to our land." She opened her eyes and looked up at the Queen.

"I was returning home late, late one night, almost early morn, from attending a difficult birthing. At first, I saw nothing in the streets, but felt a cold, whispering wind, as if the walls had secrets they wanted to tell. Then behind me suddenly he appeared, a sneer on his face, a glowing sense of power in his eyes. He gloated; he grabbed me, and then he fling me aside, with a knock to the head. I awoke later, as the sun rose over the wall, and found myself bruised and bleeding."

"And now, how are you?"

"I will recover. Others will not. This cannot continue."

"Nor will it," said the Queen.

At that moment, Homay entered bearing Tabari's trays of sweets and tea. Homay's eyes showed her awareness of the conversation but her manner was the manner of all faithful servants who understand when and where to raise questions. With a nod from Bekah, she remained to share the afternoon repast, and the conversation drew on to other matters. Then, Tabari appeared, announcing that the Emissary was seen arriving at the Palace, summoned no doubt by the King.

Dahliyah rose. "I must return to my other patients."

Bekah rose also with her. "I ask you, my friend, to speak to my other friend, the High Priestess, of these matters. We must find a way to curb this influence of this false god, this Melkor."

Dahliyah bowed and withdrew, Tabari showing her out. "Tabari," called the Queen, "please send word to the Emissary that I wish to see him, if he has time." Tabari bowed acknowedgement and went out in search of him.

"Homay, you have heard the story. We must move discretely, but carefully, as the King places great trust in this man."

Homay nodded. "I will deliver what messages you wish."

"First, speak discretely to Korak of this matter, leaving out the name of the Healer but not that of the villian. We must arouse concern for our children. And ensure that the High Priestess hears as well. I would want Arlome to know as well, for perhaps she can persuade the General of the seriousness of this matter where I cannot. And, perhaps, if events prove terrible, my brother must know as well." Homay left the audience room by the Queen's private rooms, taking the private stairway which few knew of. None would know, in later days, how the Queen's concern for these events made its way around the city, for the voices of Dahliyah and Homay were protected, but it did, for always the stories of others will come to be told, however forcefully or cruelly some promote their own story as the only one.

At that moment, Tabari appeared, announcing the presence of the Emissary himself.

"You do me a great courtesy, Emissary, in finding time to speak with me when the King has called for you."

"I have learnt that in your city the influence and power of women is respected, and I come to pay my respects." The Emissary spoke these words smoothly, without a trace of sneer or irony in his voice, for he was apprehensive over the apparent rift between the King and Queen. Neither his Lord Annatar nor he had counted upon the Queen having such influence and he wished his mission to proceed successfully.

"You speak of respect for women. Your words are aptly made, for that is the subject I wished to address with you." As Bekah spoke with the man she watched him idly fingering something in his pocket, a mannerism she had recently seen Faroz take up. Is it possible there are two rings? She wondered. Does this foreign Lord earn homage and fealty through an object? In the background thunder could be heard and the clouds overhead massed to block the rays of sunlight which had flooded into the Queen's audience room. Bekah could feel the earlier ferment of hatred and fear return, creating icy prickles in her hands, arms, feet.

"There are reports of indignities visited upon our women. Troubling reports."

"Are these new reports?" commented the Emissary. "Surely such things are always with any culture."

"That would appear to be your understanding of people. Your god Melkor seems to favour brutality and cruelty. Our goddess does not. Nor our god." Bekah was not sure this was the best approach to take with the Emissary, but it was one she felt compelled to for some reason. And it was not, at least, the approach which in the short term resolved matters between them. For his part, as the interview grew more and more hostile, the Emissary began privately to curse to himself that Faroz was a fool for making an adversary of his wife instead of a helpmate. When she confronted him with his own involvement in events, he could contain his anger no longer.

"You fool. What do you know of events that are approaching? What concern is it of yours?"

"A concern of my people, whom I serve." At this point, Beka felt a blue rage of anger for this man who was destroyed everything she had spent her adult life trying to create.

"A former enemy? Serves her people?" He laughed, and as he did so the storm clouds broke and the tower was engulfed with a dark mist which seeped into the royal palace. Ashnaz felt an arrogant power stream into him as the thought that this woman could not be silenced with words entered his mind. He tightened his grip on the ring hidden under the folds of his tunic and he walked towards her menacingly. Bekah took two steps back towards the table which held the remains of the afternoon tea. When the Emissary lunged at her, she grabbed a knife and thrust it at his face, aiming for his eye. She barely missed, but left instead a deep trail of cut flesh down his face from forehead to jawline. He reached for her wounded arm, but she repeatedly slashed and stabbed with the knife, cutting his shoulder, his arm, his chest, until finally she had rent his tunic so much that the pocket was torn. The ring fell to the marble floor with a hollow ping and rolled away under the cushions.

Ashnaz roared with fury and heartbreak at the loss of his ring, but his howls were lost in the thunder. Eyes red with rage he stormed the smaller women, bringing his hands to her throat, his long fingers digging deeply into her flesh, cutting off her voice. She fell backwards and he overtop of her, energy surging into his hands as they pressed down, breaking bone, cartilage, windpipe. Bekah could at first see into his eyes, see a manical evil light them. Then as her vision dimmed she appealed to her goddess. "Rhais, Rhais, do not allow these male gods to win. They will enslave us. They will kill us. They will destroy you. Rhais."

How long Ashnaz lay there, his hands tight around Bekah's neck, he did not know. A streak of lightning burst through his senses and he climbed to his knees, searching desperately for his ring. Finding it finally, he struggled, his hands shaking, to put it on, his silent sobs subsiding once he felt the oneness with Annatar. Clarity broke through into his mind and he thought swiftly of what he must do. He tidied the scene, arranging the cushions, returning the knife to the table. His blood which had spattered was now, like himself, invisible, but his wounds remained.

He looked around, saw out the balcony window an opportunity, and decided upon it. He lifted Bekah's body, feeling it still warm and soft and supple and smelling the light scents of her perfumes and bathwaters lingering over her. He breathed deeply. She had been a handsome woman. Then he staggered to the railing, calling upon the powers of his Lord Annatar and his god Melkor, and knocked some pieces of stonework over. He threw the body of the Queen after them. She landed arms outstretched, a sandal knocked off her foot, in her garden, at the foot of the statue to Rhais, where he had once watched her worship. He swore, cursed the feeble flesh of woman, and disappeared into the secret reaches of the palace which Khamal had disclosed to him.