Bride Quest

An adventure of the Fourth Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith and Harry Sullivan.

by Clive May (clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk)

The copy right of all things pertaining to the concept and characters of Dr
Who is the property of the BBC.  This story is a work of fan fiction; it has
been written simply for the pleasure it gave me in writing it; and no money
has or will change hands with respect to the story.

The story and original characters are copyright Clive May 2001.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fourteen

The small flock of sheep had wandered under the trees of the little roadside
copse, out of the hot sun.  The shepherdess, a tousle haired ragamuffin girl,
was settled comfortable in the fork of a tree.  A wisp of her long, black
hair fluttered back and forth before her lips, as she snored away the heat of
the day.

A prairie hen was bustling about among the sheep, trailing a gaggle of brown
fluff-balls in her wake, busy snapping up the insect life being disturbed by
the feet of the wooly animals.  The air was full of the sound of thin piping
cries, as she drew the attention of her chicks to this tasty morsel, or that.

The leaves of the trees were laughing in the rush of the Mother's Holy
Breath.  It was almost as though they laughed for the sheer joy of being
alive, as they poured alluring scents into the air, to draw the pollinator to
the yearning trumpet opening of their yellow flowers.

Suddenly, there was a new sound.  An asthmatic wheezing built up in the
Stifling air.  The prairie hen clucked in alarm, and disappeared into a clump
of grass.  The tiny balls of fluff vanished, as if by magic.  The rasp, rasp
of the grazing sheep paused as they lifted heads to stare, at a large blue
box shimmering into solidity in the shadows.  A door opened.  The Doctor
stepped out.  He glanced around, shot a toothy grin at the little girl
sleeping in the tree, before bending his searching gaze to the ground.

In a moment, he saw what he sought, and moved to it with two long strides.
Bending, he picked up the small wooden whistle with its trailing thongs of
leather.  He grinned, then slipped it into a pocket.  After a last, long look
around the tranquil scene, he re-entered the box.  The sound rose, faded, and
when it was gone, so was the box.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

All around the circular wall of the Great Hall of the Mamalon Temple, crowded
a silent congregation of Kulak.  The brightly clad host was gathered to bear
witness to a very special joining.  At the focus of the people's attention,
Demereen and Kulaan stood, side by side, under the green Vee banner of the
Goddess.  Barefoot, they were attired only in plain robes of brown dyed wool,
with the hoods pulled over their hair.  The couple held hands while they
attended to the words of a red robed priestess.

The trio stood before the Shrine of the Mother - a small tent of green silk,
pitched under the central dome of the great hall.  Sheltered by the small
pavilion, was a heart-shaped table, forming a simple altar.  It was covered
in a drape of red silk.  The cloth was embroidered with a pattern of
interlocking indigo chevrons.  Upon the rich fabric, rested a light blue
pottery bowl, likewise decorated with indigo chevrons around the rim.  The
ornamental grail was filled to the brim with a pale liquid, giving off an
aromatic smell.

The plump, elderly Priestess, finished her reading from the Book of the
Customs and Codes.  She closed the ancient leather bound volume, and beckoned
forward a dun robed male servant of the Mother.  She handed him the sacred
book.  Turning, she reached through the leaf shaped opening of the Pavilion.
Murmuring a prayer, the priestess laid hands upon the Bowl, lifting it with
reverence.

she presented the bowl to the great Vee banner, hanging from the pole set in
the floor, a pace behind the couple.  Carefully, she spilled some of the
liquid onto the floor, then offered the bowl to Demereen.  The girl bent, put
lips to the rim, and sipped the aromatic liquid.  She did a small courtsy to
the Priestess, and carefully cupping the bowl in her bound hands, offered it
to Kulaan.  The boy's hands enfolded both bowl and Demereen's hands.  He,
too, put his lips to the rim, and drank from the milky contents.  Their eyes
met, and locked, over the sacred libation.  The bowl went back and forth,
from lip to lip, until its contents had been drained.  The Priestess received
the empty bowl, and replaced it on the altar.

"Kulaan, Son of the Grass Mouse, Son of the Kulak, Child of the Goddess, are
you prepared and resolved to take up the duties and obligations of a true
born man of the Kulak?  And to receive and cherish the blessing of the Holy
Mother Goddess, pledged through the vessel of your intended?"

"I am so resolved, Revered Mother," Kulaan answered in a strong voice, his
eyes never leaving Demereen.

"Demereen, Daughter of the Eagle, Daughter of the Kulak, Child of the
Goddess, are you prepared and resolved to take up the duties and obligations
of a true born woman of the Kulak?  And to bestow the blessing of the Goddess
upon this man."

"I am so resolved, Revered Mother," Demereen answered strongly, holding that
sweet contact of the eyes with Kulaan.

"If you are both so resolved, Kulaan to receive, and Demereen to give, then
Demereen, Daughter of Kharran Khan, bestow the kiss as token of the blessing
upon Kulaan, Son of Kularan."

With heart pounding, Demereen leaned close and kissed her beloved under the
green banner of their Goddess.  Kulaan's heart, too, thudded heavily in his
chest.  The kiss was a formal requirement of the ceremony only; but there was
no stiff formality at this bestowing.  They kissed rather longer, and rather
more deeply, than was strictly necessary.

A heartfelt sigh rose from the watching crowds of gaily dressed onlookers,
packed tightly in the Great Hall of the Mamalon Temple.  In the front ranks,
nearest the shrine, were a dozen or so of the foremost Southland Clan Lords,
arrayed in all their finest festival dress.  They stood cheek by jowl with a
like number of Drylander Chiefs, likewise gaudily attired in their most
colourful garb.  As the kiss drew out, the proud chief men of the Kulak
visibly relaxed, breaking into broad smiles, as the tension eased at this
ostentatious demonstration of Clan unity.

There would be peace - at least for this season.

Off to one side, among a gaggle of other couples awaiting their turn to
pledge their lives this day, stood a young mother.  She was proudly showing
off to Bryllaan and Marleen, the new baby that had changed her from Zamaleen
the girl to Zamalen the woman of the Kulak.  That fragile bundle of life had
also earned her the vivid indigo chevron tattoo on her left arm.

At the very front of the congregation, Demereen's father reached out to
gather the thin old man at his side into his chest, giving him a great
affectionate squeeze.  The smile on the face of Kulaan's father grew a trifle
strained at the exuberant manhandling; but it was just as satisfied as that
worn by the Khan.

At last, Demereen and Kulaan broke the kiss, and turned to face the priestess
once more.  The plump old lady smiled, intoning formally.  "The Lady is now
bound to you with chains stronger than life itself.  There is no longer need
of mundane bindings."

With trembling fingers, Kulaan fumbled with the knotted leather thong binding
Demereen's wrists.  Untying the knots seemed an impossible task; but at last
it was done.  Demereen fished his totem out from between her breasts.
Together they managed to get the thong into the loop with the two others.
Demereen pushed off the hood, and shook out her hair.  With tenderness, Kulan
bound it up with the thongs, and spread the pony tail out over her wool clad
shoulders.

At the back of the congregation, the Doctor laid a hand on Harry and Sarah's
shoulders, getting their attention.  He nodded to the entrance way behind
them.  Quietly, they slipped from the hall of the Mamalon Temple.  Without
speaking, they crossed Inner Court, and stepped through the gates into the
gardens of Outer Court.

Little First Moon had just risen.  Sitting on the bench to the right of the
entrance, bathed in its silver shimmer, was the Shivan Witch.  Her hands were
folded in her lap.  An expression of the profoundest serenity graced her
sharp features.  She rose as they emerged.

Standing on the bench, she beckoned to them.  The Doctor paused before her,
bowing his head, and holding out his hands.  The Shivan Witch blessed him
formally.  Then, to Sarah's amazement, she leaned forward and kissed him on
the cheek.

"Fret not, Oldest and Fatherless," she told him in a gentle voice.  "Put
aside your guilt." The Doctor made to speak, but Shiv nodded and went on:
"Yes, Doctor.  I am full aware there is much blood on your hands; but it is
not the blood of the Anthro-Shivan.  The obligations of blood which you owe
do not fall due to us. Go from here with an easy heart, Oldest and
Fatherless."

The Doctor took a step back, seemed about to turn away, then said: "Little
Mother we - I -' The Doctor faltered, his voice trailing into silence; but he
began again with more determination.  "Though there is no debt of blood
between us, Little Mother, what can be done, be assured that I will do."

The grey dressed woman made an odd, graceful motion.  It was half dip,half
courtsy, half bow.  She said: "The thought is kind, Time Lord.  But your
TARDIS has shown me the folly of wanting what must not be.  I accept that We
are beyond any help of the kind you might attempt.  And there are but a
handful of us left now to endure, just the luckless and the hardiest. Yet
even we diminish in number with the passing of the centuries.  Soon, we shall
have gone from the world entirely.  Until that day comes, when the last of us
is lost, we shall continue to solace our grief by the nurturing of the
children of the others." She cast out a plump arm in a wide gesture to take
in the Kulak. "Though we are resigned to our despair, we are not unhappy; for
there is contentment enough in the cherishing of our foster children to bring
a golden glow to the lonely, wearisome existence your people made for us."
The Doctor nodded slowly.  "This Time Lord abides with you in your grief,
Little Mother."

"For that, you are doubly blessed, Doctor," Shiv said.  "Now, go well, Oldest
and fatherless.....And let be your people's guilt."

"Stay well, Little Mother," the Doctor responded, and stepped back.

The Shivan beckoned to Harry.  He stepped up, held out his hands, palms up to
receive blessing.  The Shivan slid her palms over them, and said in a gentle
voice.  "Go well, Gallant Brother." She leaned forward and kissed him on the
forehead.

"Stay well, Little Sister," Harry whispered, wondering where from came the
knowledge of the proper response.  He stepped back, and the Shivan inclined
her head, beckoning Sarah forward.

Sarah stepped up in front of the little woman.  The Shivan slid her palms
over Sarah's hands with the lightest caress.  "When the Goddess calls, how
will Sarah Jane answer?" she asked.

"Sarah Jane will answer strongly, truly, certainly, yes." The response came
from somewhere deep within the essential femaleness at Sarah's core.  She had
not known the words before she spoke them; but now she understood that she
had always known them.

She turned her face up to be kissed.  Instead, the Shivan reached down, and
brushed her right hand over Sarah's abdomen.  A tiny, secret smile lit her
dark gaze.  She said: "When the Goddess touches you, Sarah Jane, and the
enemies of the Mother press close, say with certainty and pride: 'I am Sarah
Jane, a true Daughter of Terra, touched by the Goddess, and the Shivan
protects me.' And the enemies of the mother will flee back into the barren
void that bred them, for my arm is long, and my reputation fierce!"

With that, their strange leave-taking was concluded.  The three companions
strolled away through the gardens, following a path to the gate, and the
bustle of life beyond.  Left behind on the bench, the Shivan watched them
departing in the direction of the future.

"Marked for deletion?" she whispered, musing on the Doctor's words in the
medical area; and knew that the regret that had harried her mercilessly down
the centuries, would shadow her faithfully to the grave.  Her small figure
growing indistinct in the gathering dusk, Shiv settled herself to await the
fall of night.

Inside the Mamalon Hall, the murmur of voices and the tinkling of temple
bells stilled, as a solitary flute began a traditional wedding tune.
Pregnant with a hope of new beginnings, the achingly sweet melody lilted
through the flower scented garden.

Upon hearing the music, Shiv's mood brightened.  A broad grin spread over her
face.  Chuckling, she hopped down from the bench, to await the advent of the
wedding procession from Temple.  Long experience had taught her that it was
folly even to attempt the cultivation of a mood of melancholy, when the Sons
and Daughters of Terra were at Festival.


The end




-----------------------------------------------------------------------------