Next came the couples. They all wore the same plain white clothing provided by the Temple and their feet were bare. Entering the garden, they walked out onto the grass and waited there. Some looked excited, others nervous. Their ages varied considerably. Some had barely reached adulthood. Others were middle-aged. Reivan noted some strange matches obviously made for money or position. Older men with younger women, ugly with attractive. Even an older woman with a young man—though both looked pleased with the situation.
I don’t envy the Servant-guides their duties, Reivan thought.
The song ended. Nekaun stepped onto the grass.
“The Rite of the Sun is an ancient one,” he told the participants, “begun by Hrun many thousands of years ago. Its aim is to teach the arts of pleasure, the skills of harmonious living, and aid in the creation of new life. Today it is taking place in temples all over Southern Ithania, and even in parts of Northern Ithania where our people are still welcome.
“For a month you will remain with us. You will feast so that the fire within the woman burns hot, and drink so the well within the man fills with the water of new life.”
Reivan found herself scowling and quickly smoothed her face. Some of the great Thinkers of the last century had declared the old traditional belief that man was the source of new life and the woman literally an oven to warm it in—the hotter the better—was nonsense. Dissecting the bodies of dead women they had found no evidence of fire. No flame, no ash, no scorching. Fire needed fuel and air. There was no evidence that either existed within a woman’s body.
By examining the internal organs of both fertile and infertile men and women, they had concluded that the woman grew seeds within her body and the man provided only nutrients. It was not a popular idea and only a few Thinkers had accepted it—not even when it was suggested that the more nutrients a man supplied, the stronger and more robust the child.
Nekaun was still addressing the crowd, speaking about exploration and learning, of challenges and rewards. She found her attention drifting.
I suppose, as a Servant, I’ll be expected to support the flame and water idea, when I’m more inclined, from reading and listening to those who have performed experiments and made dissections, to believe the seed and nutrient idea. But…surely the gods would not allow their Servants to teach something that is wrong?
Nekaun had finished speaking. He clapped his hands and from out of a side door came a stream of domestics carrying either pitchers or trays laden with small ceramic goblets. Two approached the dais, pouring drinks for the Voices, the Companions and Reivan, and finally Nekaun. The rest offered refreshments to the Servants around the garden.
The Servants took three goblets each, filled them, then moved into the grassed area to choose a couple. Reivan noted that the couples with an older participant tended to be chosen by older Servants. When all pairs had become trios, Nekaun lifted his goblet high.
“Let us drink to Hrun, Giver of Life.”
“Hrun,” all chanted.
As Nekaun lowered the goblet to his lips, the Voices, Companions and participants did the same. The drink was a surprisingly strong alcoholic brew full of the flavors of fruits, nuts and spices.
“Let us drink to Sheyr, King of Gods.”
“Sheyr.”
This was not the only ritual in which the first of the gods was mentioned after a lesser god. In the many rites of the Servant-warriors, Alor was recognized first. Nekaun now spoke that god’s name.
“Let us drink to Alor, the Warrior.”
“Alor.”
Three mouthfuls had warmed Reivan’s stomach. The drink was delicious. Pity the goblet is so small.
“Let us drink to Ranah, Goddess of the Moon.”
“Ranah.”
Now she felt the alcohol beginning to heat her blood. She regarded the dregs of it in dismay.
“Let us drink to Sruul, the Soul Trader.”
“Sruul.”
Swallowing the last mouthful, Reivan regarded the empty goblet wistfully. She wondered what this drink was called, and if it was sacred to the Temple of Hrun or could be purchased elsewhere.
“That’s not part of the rite,” Vervel murmured.
Reivan looked up to see that Nekaun was now moving among the couples, welcoming them personally.
“No,” Imenja agreed. “The Head Servants of the Temple of Hrun have always been free to embellish the ceremony.”
“I like what he’s doing,” Genza said, watching Nekaun. “It’s reassuring them.” She turned to regard Imenja. “What do you think, then?”
Imenja smiled crookedly. “Of him being First Voice? I think he would grow to fit the role.”
Shar chuckled. “Rapidly, I imagine.”
“He’s popular,” Genza said, turning to watch Nekaun again.
“Among the Servants. What about the people?” Vervel asked.
“They have no reason to dislike him,” Shar replied. “It’s hard to offend anyone when you’re Head Servant of the Temple of Hrun.”
“A role which he has performed well,” Imenja added. She narrowed her eyes at Nekaun. “He is one of my preferred candidates. The others may be more experienced, but they are less…”
She did not finish her sentence. Nekaun was walking back to his place at the edge of the garden. He started addressing the couples again. Reivan did not hear what he said, instead catching a whisper behind her.
“…charming?”
Reivan glanced back to see Genza raise one eyebrow suggestively at Imenja.
Imenja snorted softly. “Charismatic.”
They both turned their attention to Nekaun. Reivan looked up and heard him say something about beginning lessons. The Servants began to sing again while leading their chosen couples out of the garden. Each headed toward one of the open doors of the inner wall. They stepped inside and the doors closed, ending the song. The garden was suddenly silent and empty.
Imenja rose, followed by the other Voices. As she followed suit, Reivan felt a little dizzy. A domestic approached to take their empty goblets. Nekaun walked back to join them, smiling with obvious satisfaction.
“It was a beautiful ceremony, Dedicated Servant Nekaun,” Imenja told him.
He bowed his head. “Thank you, Second Voice. And thank you all for participating.”
Imenja’s expression became serious. “We have always done so. This year it is all the more important to take joy in the creation of new life as well as grieve loss and death. It gives us hope.”
Nekaun nodded. “It does indeed. Will you be returning to the Sanctuary now, or would you like to stay for the feast?”
“We will return now,” she replied. “As always there is much for us to do.”
“Then let me escort you to the gate.”
Reivan watched him closely. She tried to imagine him proud and all powerful like Kuar had been, rather than this friendly and obliging Dedicated Servant, and found she couldn’t.
One thing is sure, she mused. If he becomes First Voice he will be nothing like his predecessor. If that is better or worse, I cannot guess.
As the platten turned into the street, Auraya was relieved to see that no crowd waited outside the hospice. Four guards stood beside the door, alert and ready to call for help from those that waited inside if there was trouble they could not handle on their own.
Extra guards had been employed after two had been overcome by street thugs a few nights ago, allowing a gang to break into the hospice. The intruders had smashed some of the furniture and stolen supplies, but had not damaged or taken anything that was irreplaceable. Nobody had seen the looters, but the thugs that had been hired to tackle the guards had been found. They claimed their employers were rich young men from the high end of the city.
A worker was touching up the paintwork, his movements hurried. Auraya read from his mind that someone had distracted the guards last night and painted a derogatory phrase about Dreamweavers on the wall. She smothered a sigh.
Resistance to the hospice was inevitable.
People rarely gave up their prejudices overnight, even if it appeared the gods wanted them to. If they didn’t like what the gods decided, they reasoned that the decision was simply a foolish human’s misinterpretation of their will.
And they could be right, she mused. My orders came from Juran, not directly from any god. Yet even if the idea of starting a hospice had been Juran’s alone, the gods would have put a stop to it if they disapproved.
The painter looked up. His eyes widened as he saw her. He made a few more jabs at the hospice façade with his brush, then hurried inside. As the platten pulled up before the door, the guards stood to attention and made the sign of the circle.
Auraya picked up the parcel lying on the seat beside her and stepped down to the pavement. She strode to the door of the hospice and pushed it open with magic. As she stepped into the hall inside, several faces turned toward her. She sensed the priests’ and priestesses’ relief that she had arrived and knew that they had been waiting in a tense silence. The cause of their awkwardness were five Dreamweavers standing calmly behind Raeli. Though these men and woman looked relaxed, Auraya detected anticipation, curiosity and fear.
She smiled at them all and, as always, was a little amazed at how the simple gesture could ease the tension in a room.
“Thank you for coming,” she began, meeting the gaze of each person. “What we begin today is a noble task, but one not without dangers. Recent events have convinced me that a public ceremony to celebrate the opening of this hospice would only invite trouble, and I know you all agree. Instead we will mark the occasion quietly and privately. “Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli and High Priest Teelor, will you come forward.”
The two approached her, both serious, both dignified. Auraya unwrapped the parcel, revealing a wooden plaque inlaid with gold lettering: For the benefit of all. She sensed the Dreamweavers’ and healers’ approval.
The plaque had been Danjin’s idea, and he had come up with the words. To him it was suitably ironic, since the Dreamweaver policy of never refusing help was going to lead to their downfall. For Auraya it was a reminder of why she was doing this: to save souls that might turn away from the gods.
Raeli and Teelor glanced back at the entrance to the corridor, where two sets of steps had been placed. A pair of chains hung down from the top of the entrance, spaced at the same distance apart as the hooks set into the top of the plaque. Auraya held the plaque out to the pair. They took hold of either end, carried the plaque together to the corridor entrance, climbed the stairs and attached the chains. When the plaque hung in place, Auraya spread her hands in a suitably dramatic gesture.
“I declare the hospice open.”
The Dreamweavers and healers relaxed. Descending the steps, Raeli and Teelor turned to regard each other. A smile spread across Teelor’s face and the corner of Raeli’s lips curled upward slightly.
“Everything is in place,” Auraya said. “All we need now is someone to treat.”
The pair exchanged glances.
“Actually,” Teelor said. “We have already. They came in last night. A woman having difficulty giving birth and an old man with lung sickness.”
“The woman and babe are recovering,” Raeli added. “The old man…” She shrugged. “It is age as well as illness ailing him, I think. We have made him comfortable.”
Teelor’s eyebrows rose. “Turns out they can’t cure everything,” he murmured to Auraya.
Raeli’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “Age is not a disease,” she told him. “It is a natural process of life. After thousands of years of gathering knowledge, we have no delusions about what can or cannot be achieved.”
The high priest chuckled. “I would not be surprised if you used that excuse for all the cases you fail to cure,” he teased.
Auraya watched them both in surprise and amazement. These two appeared to have formed a bond of respect, perhaps even the beginnings of friendship. When had that happened? She looked closer and saw memories of a long night struggling together to save the mother and her child. It had been a learning experience for both of them.
She felt a stirring of hope, but it was stilled again by the recollection of what she was truly meaning to achieve here. Yet the nagging guilt was eased by the knowledge that, by learning from the Dreamweavers, the healer priests were going to be able to help many, many more people. Suddenly she saw the whole project in a different way. There was little in life that did not have bad as well as good effects. This hospice was one of them. All in all, the good outweighed the bad.
And that was a typically Dreamweaverish way to look at it.
12
“You’re getting a bit old for this,” Teiti said. “But I suppose it’s good for you to have friends outside the palace, too.”
Imi pulled a face. “Of course I’m not too old! There are children older than me here.”
Her aunt looked out toward the other side of the Children’s Pool and scowled isapprovingly. “I know.”
Following her gaze, Imi saw that the usual crowd of older children had gathered by the edge of the deeper section. Unlike the young boys and girls splashing about in the rest of the pool, these lounged around as if they were above childish games. There were plenty of boys and girls in pairs, too, some with arms linked.
Not too far away, some slightly younger children mimicked the older ones. But most had not quite grown beyond their dislike of the opposite gender and their attempts at serious talk often dissolved into childish romping.
It was this group that Imi headed for once she entered the water. There was a boy called Rissi among them who often boasted of his travels outside the city with his trader father, and of knowing secret ways to smuggle things out of the city, and she wanted to talk to him.
The children regarded her with wary interest as she swam up to them. They always let her join in their romping and listen to their conversations. She hoped this was because they liked her, not because they didn’t dare tell a princess to go away.
Rissi was among them. He grinned as she drew herself up onto the bank beside them.
“Hi, Princess,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied. “Been on any adventures lately?”
His nose wrinkled. “Father found out I skipped lessons. Won’t let me go with him on the next trip.”
She scowled in sympathy. “That’s no fun.”
“The king’s birthday is in three days,” one of the girls said to her. “Are you excited?”
Imi grinned. “Yes!”
“Decided who you’re taking with you yet?”
This was the third time the girl had asked this question in the last few weeks. Imi hadn’t understood why she might “take someone with her” at first, since she already lived at the palace. Then, last night, she had realized this girl wanted to come to the party, and hoped Imi would invite her.
“I haven’t had a chance to ask father,” Imi replied. She sighed. “He’s very busy. I haven’t seen him in a week.”
They made sympathetic noises. The conversation turned to other matters. Imi listened and occasionally asked questions. Some of the questions she’d asked them in the past had been met with frowns or even smothered laughter, but the more she learned about their lives the easier it was to ask questions that made sense to them.
Teasing started, then the boys began wrestling. For once Rissi didn’t join in, though he watched their antics with a grin. Imi moved closer and called his name. He looked at her in surprise.
“If your father won’t take you out of the city, why don’t you go on your own?” she suggested.
He stared at her, then shook his head. “I’d get into trouble.”
“You’re already in trouble,” she pointed out.
He laughed. “You’re right. I may as well do what I want. But where would I go?”
“I can think of a place. I overheard someone talking about it weeks ago. A place where there’s treasure.”
From the way he looked at her, she knew she’d caught his inter
est.
“Where?”
She swam a little away from him. “It’s a secret.”
“I won’t tell.”
“No? What if you were seen swimming out the main tunnel? They’d want to find out why.”
“I wouldn’t tell them.”
“What if your father said he wouldn’t take you out ever again? I bet you’d tell then.”
He frowned and looked away. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t go that way.”
She feigned surprise. “What other way is there?”
“A secret way.”
“There’s another way into the city?”
He looked at her. “No. You can only go out that way ’cause of the currents.”
She waded closer and lowered her voice. “If you show me the way out, I’ll show you where the secret treasure is.”
He paused and regarded her thoughtfully.
“It would be lots more fun than hanging around here all day,” she said.
“Do you promise to show me the treasure?” he asked.
“I promise.”
“On your father’s life?”
The vow was a common one among the children, but it still made her pause.
“I promise, on my father’s life, to show you the secret treasure if you show me the secret way out of the city.”
He nodded, then grinned. “Follow me.”
She blinked in surprise. “You want to go now?”
“Why not?”
She glanced back at Teiti, who was watching her closely.
“Wait. We’ll have to trick my aunt or she’ll stop me.”
“No need,” Rissi said. “You can get there from this pool. She’ll see you dive, and not know where you came up. By the time she realizes you’re not here any more, we’ll be gone.”
This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, but still she hesitated. Teiti was going to be so angry.
Rissi’s eyebrows rose mockingly. “What? Afraid of getting into trouble?”
She swallowed, then shook her head. “No. Show me.”
He waded into deeper water, then dove under the surface. She took a deep breath, hoping that Teiti thought they were competing at how long they could hold their breath for, then followed.
Last of the Wilds Page 15
