Story III

On her way up the stairs to see the Crone, Kavia was troubled by thoughts that something was amiss. She passed two of the cook’s helpers in the hall and thoughts of the food filled her mind. Was the menu correct? Had she included all of Joia’s favorites as well as the proper foods for the evening’s rituals? Was all the food in the kitchen fresh? Are there enough helpers? Are there enough servers? Had she accurately estimated the number of guests that would have to be fed? Kavia had been over this list in her head a thousand times and everything checked out. Similarly, all the other collective lists in her head seemed to be well taken care of well. Decorations were complete, the final stages of cleaning were in progress, and lodgings had been secured for all the guests, even those close enough to attempt the journey home that night. The ceremonial devices were in readiness and all that had a part to play in this evening’s rituals had been so well rehearsed that their parts were more natural to them now than even breathing. Zev, the KeepMaster and her adoring husband, had come in from his rounds of the Keep early and was meditating alone in his sanctum in the north tower. Everything seemed to be well in hand, yet something was still bothering Kavia.

As she reached the door to the Crone’s chambers, Kavia stopped to collect her thoughts and straighten her appearance. It was never wise to enter the Crone’s presence with less than full attention. That lesson had been driven home time and again to Kavia as a child. She had spent many days doing penance-chores as a result of her youthful curiosity and lack of locus.

Kavia gave the customary 3 sharp raps on the door to signal to the Crone that she wished to gain admittance to her sanctum and then 2 more so that the Crone would know that it was the KeepMistress who awaited and that she was alone. When no signal came from within to forbid her entrance, Kavia gave one last twitch to her skirts, opened the door and stepped into the Crone’s sanctum.

Upon entering the room Kavia was struck, as always, by the view from the lone window. The window was enormous, covering all but a very few inches of the entire far wall. The view was unimpeded by other buildings or towers and it seemed as if eternity could be viewed sitting there in front of the window. Indeed, many speculated that the Crone was doing just exactly that; seeing into the future, as she maintained her vigil at this window. Something was wrong with the view today, though. It seemed, to Kavia’s eyes, somehow blurry and indistinct as if a fog had rolled in. There was no fog, however. It was midday and the Broad Stars were at their zenith in the sky. Kavia knuckled her eyes unconsciously as if trying to clear them and sharpen the view.

“What do you seek?” The Crone had not appeared to be aware of another presence in the room, but appearances, with her, were always deceiving. “Speak, girl! What is it you seek? Come stand in front of me that I may see your face.”

Dutifully, Kavia stepped around the Crone’s chair to stand a respectful distance in front of her. Was there a trace of a tear in the Crone’s eye? Strange. Kavia could not remember ever having seen the Crone cry or, for that matter, ever having heard of her shedding tears. Surely a being so pale and faded could have no tears left to shed.

“Give it to me!” the Crone demanded. Kavia took a step back in spite of herself. She really had no idea what she wanted. She stood stock-still and lowered her eyes.

“Fool!” the Crone hissed. “You have the wisdom of the ages from the Time Before Time there in your hand and you can’t even feel it. Wretched, pathetic girl. All that is in your head is the running of the Keep.”

Kavia had suffered through many of tirades of this sort before. Experience had taught her to stand silent with eyes downcast until the Crone’s wrath was spent.

Suddenly the Crone’s tone softened and became almost loving. “There was a time, Kavia, when you were so much more and yet….” The steel returned to her voice so quickly that Kavia doubted that her ears had heard the softer caressing tones.

“Give me the bauble in your pocket, girl. Give it to me now.”

Kavia complied hastily though she was confused as to why a bit of trifle like that paste medallion would be of interest to anyone but a child playing at the game of Nobles. As she stepped back, a musky odor tickled at her nose. What was that smell? Images tried to form in Kavia’s mind, but nothing would take shape come clearly. She seemed to see Candi running through a very dark forest and snarling all the while. Then Joia was in front of her, her beautiful hair cut into ragged shocks and blood on her hands as she knelt before….

“Get out! Get out now!” The Crone’s feverish voice was nearly a shriek.

Kavia bowed deeply from the waist as she had been taught and walked towards the door with great dignity. Inside, though, her mind was racing and she not only had a headache to contend with, but her stomach was now clenched like a lead-sheathed fist in her middle. She managed to step into the hall and shut the door before her legs turned to jelly and she melted down onto the floor.

Sitting there in a daze is just exactly where Arram found her a short time later.