Keeping the Fire: The Mirror Prayer

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The low moan of the keyed fiddle droned a backing for the melody of a twin pipe in the Chamber of the All-Wurms. While the temple given over to the old gods above had twelve fine oriels that filled the chamber with light, the place for the All-Wurms, which lay directly below it, was a dark, wet, and chill dungeon. This was by design. The old gods worshiped more commonly among Flinish folk and a fair number of alliance citizens were also worshiped more in times of merriment, social gatherings, and auspicious events. One went to the All-Wurms for only two things, foretelling and death. It was held in Flin that the All-Wurms were four primal forces so great, that the white moon was said to be the eye of one opening and closing as it looked down upon the world. One cannot pray to these beings any more than an ant can understand the dealings of a human being. Those few that tried often went mad or at least, failed to further comprehend the affairs of the mortal realm. Such people made fine fortunetellers and had a knack for bringing messages to and from the dead. For a lesser mortal, drawing the notice of the wurms meant drawing their ire and a guarantee that they would seek brutal vengeance against whatever was asked. Thus Tavya was there to take part in one of the oldest of Flinish rites, the mirror prayer. One implored the attention of the beings and asked for exactly the opposite of one's desires. Make a prayer for success of your foe in hopes that the wurms grant failures, pray for rain when one wants sun, for a child when one wishes none, and for death when one wishes to make it through an illness.

Tavya had come here for such a prayer, setting her words down on paper and burning them before statue of the four faced dragon, praying as only the wealthy could afford to pray. Polena waited for her respectfully behind one of the many conical pillars that supported the roof. She observed water dripping down the spiral of the pillar and wondered where it came from. This whole place was anathema to her, was part of everything the People had rebelled against. Yet she knew that Tavya had not invited her here as an insult. To be brought into the temple and await an audience was a sign that someone valued your time second only to the ancestors and the gods. It was an honor to wait like this. Tavya came to her at last as the piper had finished, the keyed fiddle still droning on, lower now and joined by the gentle clack of incense holders brought for the next rite by attendant priests. Tavya bade Polena sit on a low bench near the entrance of the temple, and she did but it was no more comfortable here than before. It seemed the Minister was trying to hide tears below a veil, but either the matter did not trouble her overly or she hid her sorrow well, for she was first to speak in the djashar as they had always done.

“I thank you most graciously for your visit and my apologies that you should have to come ot me here. I trust that Gambre brought you my missive?”

“Yes he did and it is not a bother to meet you here,” Polena lied, “but I did as you asked and have found no sign of any warning Coralm had.” Tavya had found many reasons to delay Polena's visit, but those delays were forgotten the moment she promised to share what she had found in Coralm's papers.

“Nothing? Or nothing that you can find? Perhaps there is some hidden meaning to his words you don't understand, some secret or hint.”

“Perhaps. Dangerous things often hide in plain sight. You looked down on me from the alcove just before we were attacked.”

“I did,” replied Tayva, her voice offering nothing for Polena to cling to, “I was very anxious to see your words before the king. Do you think I would miss that?”

“Of course, anyone who is anyone would have been there. But you were there. The men that attacked used crossbows. Quite skillfully too. It is an eastern weapon.”

“One also adopted by the Right Hand of Edjin, some of whom came with the Djaught,” Tavya replied, “But please Polena, do not speak so. You act as if you mean to accuse me of something. Yet I have helped you at every turning. I gave you access to the library, my man saved you from that mercenary in the weaver's hall, I now have offered my assistance in finding those that attacked you and Coralm, why would I want you to fail when all of my aims are met by your success?”

Polena bit her tongue. She was used to honeyed words and used to berating, but this tonic of both was something different. It was made worse as Tavya took her hand in that familiar Flinish fashion but stoked the underside of her wrist when she drew it away. It was deliberate, manipulative, and so upset her thinking that she had to work to control a her voice as she replied.

“I told you I found a suspicious letter while looking through Coralm's lectern. Indeed, I did, but it was not one of his. If Coralm had plans or fore warnings, he did not write them down. The letter I found was yours. Read this line please.”

“Polena,”

“Please!” demanded Polna, thrusting the paper to Tavya. The Minister looked at the folded letter, writ by her own hand and in her own color – green ink upon a warm cream colored velum. After a moment her eyes turned questioningly to Polena's.

“That first line Tavya: “I am saddened to hear of this dreadful attack. Someone tries to silence you, but I am filled with gladness that their bolt did not meet it's mark.” all the talk of the Fortress is on the attack against Coralm. He was shot, I was not. The assassins fled afterwards. I have told no one,” again a lie, for she had told Mage Alembic, “that the bolt was meant for me. How did you know that?”

“Well of course it was meant for you,” Tavya said, seeming terribly hurt, “who else?”

“Coralm, speaker for the Alliance here.”

“Coralm is a diplomat and a keen negotiator, but everyone knew his sage was coming to speak. Why not kill the sage?”

“You really claim that you knew nothing?” said Polena, moving her face closer to Tavya's. The Minster recoiled slightly, sucked in air a little, and seemed to fight for the right words. Underneath her prayer veil Polena could not see her eyes, only the gleam of candle light from votives burning near the four faced statue that served as alter. She felt a sudden doubt fill her. In the clear light of Coralm's room as she sat at the balcony above the hall this morn this treachery had seemed so clear. Now that she made the accusation it seemed childishly paranoid.

“I see,” said Tavya at last, then, regaining her composure she continued somewhat more loudly, “I see, Polena. I had hoped we could get passed this common conflict that your People and my People face. This age old hatred, I thought we could overcome it, you and I, but maybe I misjudged how deep such hate is rooted. I meant you no harm, I mean you no harm, and I shall do you no harm in the future.”

“I just,” said Polena, trailing off as she gave voice to her doubt.

“Say no more. I can't speak of it now. Please come back to me on the morrow.”

“Tavya, please understand.”

“I do.” replied the minister taking the Luminary's hand, “but this was not my intention. But misreading truth from illusion is a failing even of dragons. On the morrow.”

That was the last of it. Tavya left first, taking her attendants along with her. A heavy, damp silence filled the chamber. Polena sat a long while reading and rereading the letter Tavya had sent her. What seemed clear proof of treachery in Coralm's room now seemed a clear misrepresentation. She could not believe that she had read so much into oddly phrased words or baroque sentences. Clearly writing across the gaps of their two cultures and in a language of yet a third there were bound to be unintended messages. How had she thought any different. On the morrow she would have to swallow her pride and apologize. Tonight she would go reread all that she had read that day. Yet, even now she felt some terrible foreboding that she would gain no further understanding from anything she read. It was a chill similar to the one the Chamber of the All-Wurms gave her, a deep, heady chill that came from knowing just how much one cannot fathom.

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