The Jade Star of Athering

Bellica Agate-2

The man who had bowed earlier frowned, as if digesting her words, then nodded. "Rain-Looking want to see you. Come now; only two." He pointed to Agate and Damien.

Damien looked confused but Agate ignored him. She inclined her head and thanked the leader of the gypsy party, then turned to give instructions to Captain Shelley, whom she left in charge of the rest of the women. "Walk around, stretch, but stay close together. Don't do anything threatening; if they tell you to move, do so. Remember our highest priority. And whatever you do, don't let Bethany off by herself."

Shelley gave a lopsided grin as she saluted. "Yes Ma'am."

Agate and Damien left their horses and followed half the greeting party on foot – the other half stayed behind to guard the regiment. The group of gypsies had relaxed slightly, but still kept their weapons trained on bellica and major. Agate heard murmurs as they whispered among themselves but didn't catch more than the odd word.

"Why do they stare at you so much?" Damien whispered to her, concern in his voice.

She pointed to her forehead, at the large scar that rested there. "Probably staring at this," she lied. Sometimes she thought lies to her spouse came too easily – but only in that clear moment between sleep and wakefulness, and she forgot her wonderings quickly enough.

He nodded, accepting it, but she noticed his eyes lingering on her face and her skin that was several shades too dark to be attributed to a Southland perma-tan, noticed as he looked from the gypsies that surrounded them back to her, noticed his face as he added things together and came up with a logical sum.

She shrugged it off; pretended the truth didn't hang between them like a storm cloud. I have a job to do. Let him think what he wants.

Soon they came across the city center, where a years-dry fountain stood, desert scrub growing out of the cracks in the stone. Just beyond the fountain stood a large building – the seat of Southland royalty. To this building, largely deserted in recent times, the greeting party led the bellica and major.

The foyer was dark but Agate caught a brief movement in the shadows with her sharp eyes. No doubt the house was full of gypsies and prisoners alike.

This thought was confirmed as they were led into the main dining hall, where the leader of the bandit army had apparently set up camp. Southland natives decorated the hall with their presence, sitting or lying down on klinae and cushions. Only after Agate assured herself of their wellbeing – they did look well-fed and healthy – did she direct her attention to the Gypsy Queen.

The Queen had situated herself on a throne that looked more like a bed, with a canopy of fabric obscuring her from immediate view. Agate could see a slender female form lounging on cushions within, though the bellica was adept enough at reading body language to see that the apparently relaxed state of the woman was a lie.

As Agate came closer to the throne-bed, she saw the other woman wore a peplos-like garment -- a vestida, Agate remembered the term -- in a particularly modest style. Upon the Queen's head rested a headdress with a veil. Only her eyes, piercing blue, mirrors to the bellica's own, were visible. Now they struck Agate with their gaze.

Agate froze, then bowed low, but did not drop her own eyes. Contact was broken as the Queen looked away and spoke an order in Ixil to a nearby attendant. "Give us the room," was the general feel of it. Agate affected surprise as the people in the room were shuffled out until only the Queen, herself and her major were left.

In silence, the two women stared, assessing each other like enemies on the battlefield. Normally Agate would have held out but after all, she was supposed to be on a diplomatic mission.

She bowed low again. "Your Ladyship. I have been sent by Athering's Queen to discuss a truce. She has no wish for any violence."

The other woman raised her eyebrows, and gave a small sigh. "I do not want violence either," she said, stumbling over the words. "That is why I come here."

Agate knit her eyebrows together in a frown as she puzzled that out. "You didn't want violence so you attacked and occupied a small town?" She realized as she spoke that she'd just failed the diplomacy part of the mission. She tried not to sigh. Queen Yarrow's mistake, not mine. She should have sent a diplomat.

The Queen shook her head and closed her eyes, gesturing to a nearby chair. "Sit. We talk. I am not so good with the Atheē. You help me, yes?" As Agate took her seat, confused at the sudden friendliness of the Gypsy Queen, the woman reached behind her head and her veil and headdress came off with a small click. She set the headdress beside her and shook out her head as if trying to release tension. Agate found herself staring at the wholly un-gypsy-like features of their Queen: black hair, fair skin, blue eyes. She looked like...well. An Atherian. More specifically, like someone from the eastern province of Aeril.

The woman smiled at the bellica, but her eyes were tinged with wariness. She placed her hand against her chest, fingers splayed. "Rain-Looking. You?"

Agate stared in confusion, then realized the woman was asking for her name. Hastily she replied, placing her hand in the same position on her chest, then pointed to Damien and said his name. She tried to ignore her slip-up in pronouncing her name properly; she'd pronounced it the Atherian way for so long she didn't think she'd ever do it correctly again. Yet somehow, in Southland, in the presence of these people, her tongue had betrayed her.

She prayed nothing would come of it.

Rain-Looking repeated the syllables of each name slowly, then nodded, as she committed them to memory.

"Good name. Ah-gah-tay," she said, pointing to Agate, "mean She-Who-Guards. Brave name. Strong." She nodded once, decisively, and then frowned. "How Atherian bell-eh-kah get Ixil name?"

Agate felt her stomach twist as Damien looked at her sharply. So much for her prayers. Somehow she kept her face composed and shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm from Southland, originally. Mayhap my mother just heard it one day."

Rain-Looking nodded, seeming to accept it, but Agate caught the glance the other woman had directed at Damien. The Gypsy Queen was sharp. Agate reminded herself not to mistake the woman's broken Atheē for density.

Agate cleared her throat and adjusted her position on the low to the ground cushioned chair, smoothing the folds in the fabric of her breeches. "I believe you were going to tell us why you and your people were here, Your Ladyship." Damned if I'll call her 'Majesty.'

Rain-Looking smiled again and picked up a small bell from a nearby table, which she proceeded to ring. "Is long tale. Refreshments." Agate curbed her impatience at Ixile'a tradition as servants came and put down trays with an array of food and drink -- all Southland delicacies that the bellica was familiar with and would rather not partake of, lest nostalgia make her gag. Rain-Looking gestured to the tray in entreaty. Agate found herself about to make the gesture of polite refusal; she caught her action just in time and shook her head instead, saying "No, thank you," in Atheē. Sure she was about to be found out, her heart beat wildly in her chest, the anxiety that had plagued her for tredicems rising again sharply, but Rain-Looking didn't seem to notice. The woman took a sip of her drink, placed it to the side and then began to talk.

At first Agate found it hard to follow the woman's broken speech but soon she parsed out the Ixil rhythm, which sounded so alien with Atheē words. Eventually she was able to help the other woman along, hoping she was not revealing too much by doing so.

"Tale begin with Rain-Looking childhood. I not always of Ixile'a living," the woman said but Agate was not surprised. There was no way the pale-skinned Queen could be of Ixile'a descent; variations in Ixile'a skin tone existed, of course, but not to this degree. Rain-Looking looked downright alien. Rain-Looking waved her hand in front of her face as if dismissing her other life. "I not remember much. Lived with Ixile'a from young age. They now my people. Lived in heart of desert. Far away...gypsy? Yes? That is Athering word for us." Agate made a noise in the affirmative, though she didn't mention it wasn't such a nice word. Downright hateful, if she wanted to be honest -- which she didn't. Rain-Looking accepted Agate's words at face value and continued on: "Far away settlement; large city. Heard many legends. Rumors. People talk. I have blue eyes; must be true." Rain-Looking stopped speaking and stared into space.

Agate, though she wished to be, was not totally confused. She'd heard the same legends as a child. For Damien's sake, however, she asked Rain-Looking what she meant.

"What rumors do you mean, Your Ladyship?"

Rain-Looking shook her head and looked at Agate as if coming out of a trance. "Sho-qoot-Bak. They say that me."

Agate swallowed, though she was not nervous but unnerved. She had heard that term before. It referred to a figure in the prophecies of the Ixile'a -- one chosen of Ixchel, born of two worlds, one containing the power of the gods within her and storms in her eyes, one who would change everything known and unknown and bring salvation to her people. It was never clear in the prophecies when this person would appear, whether she was a real person, or what precisely she would do. In every generation, the rumors started up again around a particular child -- and never came to anything. Hope was a poisonous thing. It bred desperation.

For some reason, though, Agate felt this time was different. Could the prophecy be true? The kiss of air from a butterfly's wings touched her forehead and she looked up. There was nothing there.

Forcing herself to focus, she looked back at Rain-Looking, who had the same cunning look in her blue eyes as earlier. Agate met the woman's gaze steadily, and her heart skipped a beat. There was connection here, Ixchel was telling her. She just had to figure out what it was.

"That's why you wear the headdress." It was not a question but Rain-Looking nodded in answer. Agate had noticed certain details on the contraption: the white veil was held on with tiny bones, tied together with sinew. A wood-carved snake curled around the crown, tongue out as if hissing. The headdress was obviously very old. She'd seen similar pieces worn by the priestesses of Ixchel.

Silence fell as Rain-Looking waited for Agate to ask the next question and Agate hesitated. She didn't want Damien to hear it; didn't want him to see her betray her country. Asking the question admitted knowledge of the Ixile'a. It took away any advantage she might have had.

She turned to her major and wife, who was looking between her and Rain-Looking with an increasingly worried expression. "Damien, will you wait outside? I sense the Queen would feel more comfortable."

The look on his face told her he knew that was horse manure, but he nodded and stood. "As you wish, Bellica."

She turned away to hide the hurt he had caused by stressing her title. The silence stretched on until she'd heard his footsteps recede and the door open and then close.

"Why you lie to him?" Rain-Looking asked abruptly. Agate started.

"Habit." She shrugged. "I've been lying to everyone my whole life. Why should I stop with my wife?"

To her surprise, Rain-Looking laughed. "We both know, then."

Agate found herself smiling with the other woman, and wondered when she'd decided to embrace her past. "Do you have the birthmark?" She asked it point-blank, hoping to catch Rain-Looking off-guard. That plan failed.