Tales of
Erogenia
Episode 1: The Snow
Princess
Chapter 3:
Cirilia
Seated on her carved oak
throne, Cirilia, Queen of the Snow Leopard tribe surveyed her tall, raven-haired
warrior daughter. Even allowing
for the partiality of a mother she had to admit that she and Zennar had wrought
well. There was no denying that
her sometimes headstrong daughter was the very epitome of Erogenian
womanhood. Over six feet tall,
and perfect of limb and feature, she was a vision of the perfect Erogenian
female warrior.
She deeply regretted that
Zennar had never seen his daughter.
She had no doubt he would have been exceedingly proud of her and his
absence was certainly one of the defining factors in the development of her
daughter’s personality. She
could not help thinking that if Zennar had been present during Zenaria ’s
formative years she might have turned out
differently. Not that she was
entirely disappointed in Zenaria; far from
it. Few women could boast of
such a daughter. Possessed of
a grace and beauty that rivalled that of the gods and stronger than any man,
Zenaria did not lack for physical
attributes.
Not was she disappointed
in her daughter’s personality – for the most
part. Zenaria
was kind, caring, fearless,
passionate in all things, and extraordinarily
dutiful. She had just one serious
character flaw; Zenaria was possessed
of a stubborn pride that constantly seemed to get her into
trouble.
“Proud like her
mother,” Cirilia thought.
“And like her father.”
Her loins stirred as her mind flicked back briefly to the night Zenaria
had been
conceived. It had been during
the wild celebration following their victory of the
Kavalians. Ah that had been a
night! She hadn’t had one
like it since then, although sometimes her current lover came
close. She flicked a glance in
the direction of Ergond, her chief male
advisor. He smiled slightly and
gave her a nod so imperceptible that only she could see
it. Tonight
then. She took a slow deep
breath. In the meantime there
was the matter of her daughter.
Zenaria stood straight and
tall in front of her. It was
not the custom of Erogenians to bow before their queen and Zenaria was least
likely of all to bow to anyone. She
let her eyes settle on her daughter for a few seconds before
speaking. She had found that
her steely gaze had the effect of making those who appeared before her listen
more carefully.
The situation was a little
awkward. This was a formal audience,
not a mother-daughter chat. To
her left stood Ergond, his golden chain of office, golden armbands, and
ceremonial sword of office, making clear that he was there in an official
capacity. To her right stood
Argonna, Priestess of Snow Leopard; slender in robes of deepest burgundy
and radiating an almost unearthly beauty.
Cirilia herself was dressed (just barely) in a golden halter-top and
a length of golden fabric that depended from her hips and flowed down in
front and back, leaving her exquisite thighs and legs open to the
waist. Both garments were of
the finest Sandakar silk, and by Erogenian standards, the height of
modesty.
“Zenaria ,” Cirilia
began and then stopped.
“Daughter,” she resumed.
“This is as difficult for me as it is for
you. You are aware of what you
have done.”
Zenaria
nodded. “I let my pride
get the better of me and disgraced myself before the
tribe.” Although Zenaria’s
words were repentant, nothing about her demeanour suggested she was in the
least bit sorry.
“You did more than
that,” Cirilia continued.
“You broke the nose and knocked out four teeth of my arms
master. “Garrod, for all
his arrogance will not be easily replaced.”
“Replaced?” asked
Zenaria , seemingly surprised.
“A broken nose and a few missing teeth should not keep him from
his duties.”
“No, but his spirit
quest will,” Cirilia replied.
“Shaming him in front of the tribe has seriously disturbed the
balance in his
cha, and he has gone
to restore it. How long he will
be absent cannot be determined. A
spirit quest takes as long as it takes.”
“The tribe is better
off without him,” Zenaria responded.
“He constantly spoke against you and the place of women in our
society. He was a fool who deserved
what he got.”
“He was the leader
of a misguided, but dangerous faction,” Cirilia said,
calmly. “And a man I preferred
to keep where I could watch him.
There is an ancient Erogenian saying: Keep close those who are you
friends; keep closer those you fear most.
Now that Garrod has absented himself from the tribe there is no way
that I am able to keep track of him.
No one may accompany a warrior on a spirit
quest.”
“Then what are we to
do?” For the first time
Zenaria sounded the faintest bit contrite.
“We?” Cirilia
asked. “We do
nothing. There is something,
however, that you must do.”
Cirilia signalled to Argonna
with her eyes. The beautiful
dark-haired high priestess stepped forward and
spoke. “My
child. You have upset the balance
of your
cha. It is for you and you alone to correct
that imbalance.”
Argonna’s melodious
voice flowed over Zenaria like water.
For the first time in her life she went to her knees in front of the
priestess, her head bowed.
“And how will I do that?
What shall I seek that will restore the
balance?”
“That is for you to
determine. No one but you can
walk your spirit quest. However,
I have seen something of your future.; something I think might
help.”
Zenaria waited expectantly and Argonna
continued. “For moons beyond
counting the people of the Snow Leopard have had no contact with the ten
tribes of
Erogenia.
I would have you go into the southern lands beyond the Ice Gate and
find these lost tribes.”
“I will do it,”
Zenaria
replied. “I shall let my
spirit quest take me to the lost southern
lands. I will restore the
cha.”
Argonna smiled, her almost
beatific features lighting up the audience
chamber. “I knew you would,
my child. Go with the blessing
of the Snow Leopard.”
Cirilia got to her feet, signalling that the audience was over. She watched, a wistful expression on her face, as Zenaria, her back straight and proud, strode from the audience chamber. “May the Snow Leopard walk beside you, my daughter,” she whispered.
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