He’d gone out without either of his bodyguards to defend him. Neither girl looked ready to forgive him any time soon. But they’d been horsing around with their wooden swords again, and he wanted to squeeze in a little more bargaining. Without the two of them rolling their eyes at him. He’d had quite enough of their mockery.
He glanced at his glowering audience and bragged, “I got a steal on a rose quartz globe the size of my fist. Fully polished quartz, not the rough and pitted stuff.”
“Good thing you got a little fist.” Lorel shoved her hands under her armpits, inside her own new coat. Pale gray, of course. At least Tsai’dona had chosen a red one. “What you gonna do with all them rocks, much less one that big?” She leaned against the side of the wagon as if she were about to collapse of boredom.
“Little?” He spat into the frozen grass and poked his crutch into her calf. “You overgrown turtle turd, you should talk. Listen, consider a rose quartz as the pommel on the hilt of a sword.” Once he figured out how to attach it to a sword. He suspected glue wouldn’t work.
“Oh.” Lorel pondered the notion at length. “I kinda like it.” She didn’t sound certain. The girl obviously had no grasp on noblemen’s flashy fashions.
Tsai’dona looked up from whatever she was doing to the driver’s bench. Taking it apart with the turnscrew from the looks of it. “Rich men’s crap.”
That made two of them. He couldn’t trust either of them for advice.
Lorel leaned closer and frowned at Tsai’dona’s handiwork. “You know what you’re doing?”
“Sure.” She rolled the cuffs of her coat up, exposing her reddened fingers. “My dad’s an upholsterer.”
What did furniture have to do with wagons? He probably didn’t want to know.
Viper shifted on his frozen foot and wished he’d purchased fur-lined boots, too. After the tour, he’d go look for some. Surely a cobbler would have a pair near his size. He’d happily stuff the toe with wool. Or wear an extra sock.
The rattle of guards marching past the stable reminded him of the dream he’d had last night. “Did you know that our ghost is worried about us? He says he’s heard of people leaving for Padue, but never of anyone who’s been here. He died before he got this far north. ”
Tsai’dona shivered and hunched over her turnscrew.
“I ain’t never seen old ghostie.” Lorel paced across the courtyard and back again.
“I haven’t actually seen him either.” That wasn’t quite a lie. He’d never seen it clearly, only its aura. “But sometimes when I’m half asleep he talks to me.” Until the Kyridon drove him off, anyway.
“I figure that’s why he don’t talk to me. I ain’t never halfway nothing.”
“That’s the truth.” He choked down a snicker. Who’d have guessed she knew herself that well? “Where’s our guide?”
“Old fat stuff?” She peered over the crowd. “The one with the priestly brother? I saw him a minute ago. Should be here real quick.”
He was coming in person? That seemed strange. “I thought he’d send a messenger for us.”
“Maybe it’s his way of getting in good with the priests.” She shrugged indifferently. “Maybe he gets extra prayers or something.”
He stood on his toes and peered up at the driver’s bench. “Are you sure you don’t want to go tour the temple with us?”
“No thanks.” Tsai’dona looked up from dismantling the bench and grinned. “Have fun, and stay out of trouble.”
“How much trouble can we get into inside a fraying temple?” Lorel sighed as though he were dragging her to another round of bargaining instead of to an interesting cultural site. “There he is.”
Viper ignored her and bowed as the stout man marched into the inn’s courtyard. “Good morning, sir.”
“Grand morning, young man.” Their guide waved cheerily. “A very grand morning! I’m sorry I’m late. We’ll need to move along sharply to meet my brother. Priests aren’t in the habit of waiting, you know. Not even for blood kin.”
The man hustled them through the streets, prattling happily every step. “A good sort, my brother. He agreed to deck out in full regalia just to greet you. Not everyday wear, no, that wouldn’t do at all. He’s in full ceremonial vestments, especially for you. We get so few callers these days, I’m sure he’s showing off just a bit. But we’re far enough off the coastal road, it’s easier for us to go out to trade than for anybody to come to us, and well, there it is. It’s a special day when we get visitors, and he wants to impress you.”
Viper lost track of the rest of the chatter and concentrated on his footing. The gravel road grew steep quite rapidly, and their guide showed no intention of slowing down. His foot began to hurt. His armpit burned. His wrist ached from holding onto his crutch.
He didn’t dare complain. Lorel would insist on carrying him.
Eventually they reached the unfinished stone perimeter. The gate towers were complete, but the wall continued only intermittently on either side. New mortar gleamed between the black stones nearest them. Workers had been there earlier that day. Why wasn’t anyone working on it now?
He staggered and leaned against the black lava tower on the left of the tall gate. “Wait. Let me catch my breath.”
Lorel stared at the temple. “Them walls really are made of bones.”
“Yes, indeed, lovely lady,” their guide said.
“People bones.”
“Well, of course. What else could it be?”
“Snip my thread if I know.” Her face was expressionless, but something about her posture made him nervous. He really should have come alone. “Let’s go, kid.”
Viper nodded and followed her though the open gate. His breathing was still a bit ragged, but he’d manage.
“This is my brother, priest Jigme. He’ll guide you through the secrets of the temple. Dragon bless your holy journey.” The stout man bowed, turned, and strolled back the way he’d come.
Priest Jigme wasn’t impressive, by himself. He could be a twin to their guide. But look at those clothes!
If one could call them ‘clothes’. He wore a loincloth of pale tan leather, soft and fine grained, and wrist bands of a slightly darker leather. Over his chest and thighs hung a jingling apron of silver beads and small bones. Human finger bones, if he was any judge. They looked just like the ones in Trevor’s gray book.
A cape made of narrow strips of the same fine leather hung from the priest’s shoulders, its shining white tones on the outer edges shading through soft golds and browns into deep ebony at its center. One hand caressed a lamp made from an inverted human skull that rested in a sling of black leather suspended from his shoulder.
He must be freezing, wandering around in little more than the hair on his skin. Viper shuddered and huddled deeper into his wool coat.
“Ain’t that a Loom-warping get up!” Lorel bounced on her toes and grinned as though she were swallowing back a mouthful of hilariously rude insults. “You could scare a warrior demon back to the hellfires.”
The priest bowed, and his bone apron clattered sharply. “That was the original intent. But this type of dress has become traditional over the years.”
“Weaver crush the Loom, I like it just the same. Come on, kid. Let’s go see more of this house of bones.”
What happened to the girl who wanted to skip this tour? She wouldn’t do something awful just to get a rise out of these people, would she? The priest must not know any Zedisti cuss words. Even translated into Duremen-Lor, the girl was swearing crudely enough to make a sailor blush. Her mother would’ve washed her mouth out with putrid shark liver oil mixed with cat pee.
Jigme led them into the outer courtyard and closed the gate after them.
“Why close it?” Lorel spread her arms, pointing her thumbs at the unfinished walls on either side. “There’s great huge holes in the miswoven thing.”
“It is tradition.” Jigme smiled tolerantly. “If there is a gate, it must be closed when not in use. And it
must be used if it exists.”
Viper was a strong believer in tradition, but he agreed with Lorel on this one. The gate would have been the last thing he’d have built.
“Weird.” Lorel shook her head. “Never understood religious stuff.”
“Most people don’t.” Jigme led the way up the black flagstone street. “Obviously, this section is not finished yet. We plan to put in rows of fountains on either side of this path. There is a vigorous spring on the mountain above us, which will supply enough pressure to keep thirty fountains spurting ten feet high.”
“That would be impressive.” Viper gazed around, trying to imagine the completed landscape. Thirty fountains seemed excessive. “We should make an effort to come through here again in a few years.”
The priest giggled shrilly. “In quite a few years I’m afraid. Our planners think it will take us forty years to finish the job.”
“Weaver toss the Shuttle.” Lorel crossed her arms over her chest. “I ain’t planning on living for forty years.”
“No, I’m sure you won’t.”
Viper looked askance at the older man, who didn’t seem to notice. Well, it was a reasonable assumption that a warrior would die young. Especially one as impetuous as his turybird.
Jigme pointed ahead at the black stone towers on either side of the gate. “Behold the towers, honored guests. Beyond that gate, the temple is finished. Now I can show you our pride in our labors.”
As they walked closer, yellow light gleamed from the carved doors. Viper’s eyebrows rose, but he shook his head. They couldn’t be solid gold; they’d be too heavy to move.
Lorel caught her breath. “Are them gates really gold?”
“They are covered with beaten gold.” Jigme bowed twice to the door. “But the gate itself is made of cedar. It is carved first, most carefully. See here, the Dragon in flight, and here She is protecting Her nest. Isn’t She magnificent, even in this poor image?”
“Most impressive.” He really needed to show more appreciation for this tour. They both did. He poked Lorel in the back.
“Yeah, really wild.” She glared down at him as if she were considering dunking him in a yet-to-be-built fountain.
Jigme tapped a small gong inset in the right tower, marched across the gate entrance, and sounded the gong set in the left.
This man was full of the strangest rituals Viper had ever seen. This tour might get entertaining yet, even for Lorel.
“How come you gotta bang on both of them?” she asked as the gate creaked open.
“Symmetry.” Jigme waved the pair through the entry into a narrow room enclosed by a second gate.
A small boy closed the outer gate, and a slightly larger girl barred it with an intricately carved pole.
Lorel frowned. “That little stick won’t keep nobody out. Not if they really want in.”
Jigme laughed. “It was never intended to. No one would dare attack the Temple of the Dragon. You must leave your weapons here.”
“Shove yourself in a chamberpot!” she bellowed. “I don’t leave my swords nowhere.”
Viper sighed and crossed his arms.
Both children cringed and backed away.
“I cannot allow our rules to be broken.” Jigme turned to Viper. “She must leave all of her weapons here. No one will touch defiled weapons. This is a holy place.”
Why was it his job to make the turybird behave? Especially when he agreed with her. She should never leave her bahtdor-bone blades behind. But this was an unusual situation.
“It’s up to you.” The little knife inside his coat seemed to throb against his chest. Surely they wouldn’t need weapons inside a temple. Perhaps he should give it up. No, he thought not. Just in case.
Lorel sighed and stared at her swords. “Oh, all right. But if anybody touches any of them, I’ll cut their hands off.”
The children stared in horror at this announcement, and in amazement as she unloaded her weapons. Two bahtdor-bone swords with the matching honor knife, two smaller Crayl steel knives, and one bronze boot knife were reverently laid on the waiting table.
“Guard these with your lives,” she said in a tone that was only half mockery.
Both children bowed to her and stood at attention on either side of the table. Both were visibly trembling.
Lorel nodded and turned to the priest. “So let’s go.”
“Have you any weapons?” Jigme asked Viper.
“With her around? I wouldn’t dare. She’d carve me up if I pretended to be competition.”
Lorel glanced at him sideways, but turned her attention to the inner gate.
Jigme smiled and leaned both hands on the door to open it. “Now look!” He gestured eloquently, his thick arm sweeping the enclosure beyond. “Is this not magnificent?”
A long avenue paved with black flagstones led to the next pair of black towers with their gold-and-gem-encrusted gate. The avenue was lined with statues of a catlike animal in various aggressive postures, alternating a dark gray stone next to a white one. All of the stone creatures displayed wild eyes and long bared teeth.
The bone temple towered just beyond the far gate.
Lorel stared down the avenue, boredom radiating from every muscle. She sauntered over to the statues and examined them with increasing interest.
“What on Weaver’s Loom are these things supposed to be?” She turned back to Viper. “They ain’t wolves and they ain’t kalicats, but I can’t figure what else they could be.”
“I haven’t seen anything like them.” And he should have, after studying natural history with Trevor for so long.
“These statues represent the serdil.” Jigme stroked his skull lamp. “They are the servants of the Dragon.”
“Oh, too bad.” Lorel sighed and turned away. “They’re just made-up monsters.”
“No, no, no!” Jigme bounded to nearest statue, his bone-and-bead apron clattering like a dying man’s teeth. “They truly do exist! They live northeast of here, within the fiery mountains of the Dragon. Fierce and cruel, they are, to any but the Dragon’s anointed priests.”
“Northeast?” Lorel looked thoughtful. “That’s where we’re going next. Maybe we’ll run into some of these serdil.”
Thunderer, no. Keep your mouth shut, turybird. He should have warned her before they got here.
The priest’s chest puffed up as though he’d like to strangle them both. “You plan to travel through the Holy Mountains?”
“No, we wouldn’t dare.” Viper stared hard at her, and prayed his turybird would pay attention. “She’s got her directions mixed up again. We’re going south and east along the river, and down the coast to Crayl.”
Lorel scowled back at him. Now she wanted to strangle him. Some days he just couldn’t win.
“I did not get the directions mixed up.” A tremor passed over her face, and her anger vanished. “You must’ve told me wrong. Else you was talking about the way from Leiya to Crayl when I was talking about leaving Padue.” She turned to Jigme. “He only tells me stuff if I drag it out of him.”
The priest smiled coolly. “My brother was that way as a child. Let’s go into the temple where it’s warmer. Cold temperatures often make for hot tempers.”
“How come you lied to him?” Lorel whispered when the priest was several steps ahead.
“Two reasons.” Two that she might understand, anyway. “One, he does not want us in his holy mountains. Two, I don’t want them knowing exactly where we’re going next. Just in case something goes wrong.”
“Oh. That part I understand.” She hustled to catch up with the priest. “That’s one Weave-snipping building.”
Jigme’s ears turned red, but he beamed with pride.
Viper examined the temple with clinical interest. He stared until he felt dizzy from following the lines and patterns in the walls. Or maybe he felt sick from the deaths represented here. And the callousness.
The patterns were caused by the arrangement of different types of bones.
&
nbsp; Long, thick bones formed the vertical lines, whereas long and fine bones created the delicate horizontal lines. Femur, tibia, and humerus for the first, and fibula, ulna, and radius formed the later. The amazing flower pattern was achieved by placing a skull within the ring of the pelvis and shoulder blades. He’d forgotten the proper word for those. Trevor would be ashamed of him.
It was extraordinarily beautiful, at this distance. And scary as the deathwind.
“Ain’t it just a Loom-forsaken nightmare?” Lorel paused to let him catch up, and rubbed her hands up her coat sleeves. “Look there, they even put rib bones around the doors and windows. And hands and foot bones, all laid out proper. Ain’t this wild?”
“That’s getting your money’s worth,” he said dryly. “I can’t think of any bone they haven’t used.”
“Yeah?” She scanned the temple again. “Which one’s a manhood bone?”
He stared at her blankly until he grasped what she’d said. “There is no such thing, bahtdor bait,” he whispered fiercely. “Don’t talk dirty in front of the priest.”
Lorel giggled and sauntered forward.
Jigme stood waiting at the final gate. The stone towers guarding this entrance were the tallest and most impressive of all. Dark olivine crystals sparkled upon the smooth blocks, echoing the shimmer of the diamonds on the golden door.
“Welcome to the Temple of the Dragon.” The priest pushed open the great door.
They strolled into a hall of dragons.
Elaborately-carved granite columns dominated the majestic chamber, each in the shape of a writhing dragon. Every pillar was different, but all gave the impression of a dragon soaring or plunging in ecstasy – or agony.
“Blood in the Weave,” Lorel whispered into the eerie silence.
Viper nodded, too awed to make a sound. A thousand years must have gone into creating this hall. Most of a wizard’s lifetime. No wonder they chose a house of human bone to surround it. Anything else would be too mundane.
Serpent's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 3) Page 13
