The Cultivated Girl

Chapter 25 - Pail, Metta

In a scarlet tent on Metta two women knelt on thick, straw-coloured woven mats, facing each other. They were not friends but supposed allies, one subordinate to the other. Insects and reptiles alike scattered at the charged tension crackling in the air. Some crept behind the intricately woven honey-hued tapestries lining the walls, others simply left, as they would if sensing a bush fire or earthquake.

Elizabeth pulled her brightly coloured, knotted belt tightly around the waist of her crimson ceremonial robe, wishing it was Amira's neck. She was barely holding onto her self-control.

"What do you want Amira? As you well know, we have official duties to conduct here, official duties you have been sorely neglecting of late. Where were you at the coven meeting?"

"Busy preparing," said Amira insolently.

"Preparing for what? As my deputy you are to primarily follow my orders, secondary to any other guild or sect commitments."

"Preparing for the Age of the Dragon."

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. "As we all are Amira. This is why the coven decided on a Holy Pilgrimage, now, at Samhain, so all are reminded of the might of the Goddess before she manifests in the living. Why am I having to remind you of this? Your instructions were clear, to protect and guard the Sarsaura."

"You mean Simone."

"Yes I mean Simone. How many other chosen ones are you aware of?" Elizabeth snapped in frustration. "You couldn't even get that right. Honestly Amira, sometimes I wonder why I promoted you to my deputy in the first place."

Amira smiled coldly. "You don't have to worry about that anymore. I quit."

"What do you mean you quit? You can't quit. You serve the Goddess in whatever role she chooses for you. As my deputy you are destined to eventually rise to the position of Diplomat."

"Exactly."

A hush settled over Pail, permeating the padded interior of their tent. Then the collective chant of one hundred followers of BastBula trickled into its very fibres.

Elizabeth shook her long chocolate curls back over her shoulders and breathed in deeply, steadying herself. "Amira, this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. They have arrived. We need to prepare to meet the procession and Metta's dignitaries."

"No, I need to prepare to meet them."

"I beg your pardon." For once, Elizabeth was ruffled. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Step down."

Elizabeth tensed, ready for an attack. She knew she was more than a match for Amira, despite her underling's youth.

"I have Simone." Amira's words took up the remaining air in the tent.

"Somehow I doubt that," said Elizabeth, suspecting trickery. "She's safe at Sanctuary."

"She's not. She's here."

Elizabeth could read the truth of the statement in her body. "You little fool. You risked the Sarsaura here, on Metta, where it all began. Hundreds of years of planning, dancing on a knife edge. What were you thinking? The coven will kill you for this."

"Maybe," said Amira. "Maybe not. I have my supporters. There are many who don't believe she is the chosen one. That you have lied and tricked to further your ambition. Where are her skills? She is useless at the most basic temple tasks. Where is her loyalty? She whines like a dog to be let back home."

Elizabeth moved to strike and Amira blocked her.

"Wait," she said. 'Let's say your child is the Sarsaura. Would you risk her life? Step down or hundreds of years of planning will slip and die on this knife."

"I have spent my entire life in training and service to the Goddess," said Elizabeth. Becoming the Diplomat is more than just assuming a mantle, you have to be the Diplomat."

"Then that's what I'll be," said Amira. "I think you'll find yourself in checkmate. Disappear, now and I'll guarantee her safety. The Sarsaura will live to fulfil her destiny. Your line will continue. Fight and generations to come will know the Diplomat betrayed the breeding programme for her own ambition."

There was a flash and a cloud of green smoke filled the tent. When it cleared, all that remained of Elizabeth was a silken red ceremonial robe and knotted belt.

"You always did have style," said Amira, picking up the robe. A tiny green and brown gecko darted under the rug. "But style only gets you so far. Now it's my turn." She belted the robe and left the tent.

***

Thank you all of you for your votes and comments!
I can't believe The Cultivated Girl has clocked 1000 reads.

*Joyous little twirls* :-)