“Master Fa,” she choked, chiding herself for not visiting lately.
“Lunicia?” he croaked in return. He looked up, but at nothing, his eyes unused to staring into shadow such distances as the few feet remaining between them.
“Yes, Master.”
“So it was you. I thought Administrator Gerhard made up some crisis to amuse me.”
She smiled. Quick as a whip. Nothing feeble about this great man’s mind. “I have come with questions about a sign I have seen.”
His soft chuckle was a lilting wheeze. “My dear, is there something yet under the dome of sky you forgot to ask in all the long years of your instruction?”
“My greatest fear, Master, is that there will be.”
He laughed again and she tried not to steal that mirth from him as she told him of the child and the bull and the star. It was this last that held his interest most. What had been seen? Through what celestial house did it travel? What time? What day?
She tried to be thorough. She sent the boy for charts. Her own young Gwynn came with the evening meal, which she had missed. It was only then that she realized how late she had kept the old man pinned to this seat and her endlessly entwined puzzle.
He did not complain, only asked for tea, asked for a blanket for his shoulders as he leaned out the open window to see the sky for himself. He coughed and wheezed and rambled a little about the will of the ancients that could bend the path of stars.
“Not so, today,” he concluded, and slumped back into his chair. “Not for a long time.” It seemed more that he had given up, than discovered some definitive answer.
When she finally realized the lateness, she kissed his forehead and begged for his dismissal. He was so caught up in the puzzle that he had refused his boy, Gwynn and Lunicia several times. But this last request was granted when he looked into her own tired eyes and seemed to see her at her true age for the first time in years.
“High Priestess! High Priestess!” came a cry that pierced her dreams. Behind the knocking and the insistent call, the Temple Tower bell was ringing in a painfully slow bass that echoed a sound she had been dreaming.
“High Priestess! Please rise!” The girl she opened her door to was young Clare, a child of the port streets she had gathered three months before. Her mother was a lady who served sailors at port. Clare’s life, had she stayed with her, would have been the same. In the Temple, she was blossoming like a flower finally finding sun. She had lost the hungry eyes of a needy child and had settled from skittish and untrusting into a girl of genuine serenity.
Until today. “High Priestess! There’s been a death!” Standing at the door, Clare looked small and lost, her wide eyes darting between Lunicia’s open door and unseen distractions down the hall.
“Come inside, child,” Lunicia ordered. “Who has died?”
“Master Fa!”
Lunicia’s heart was stabbed with lightning. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, High Priestess! I memorized the name.”
She had asked too much of him. Had hastened his death. A wave of guilt crashed down on Lunicia’s shoulders, threatening to crush her against the floor. She reached out her hand to steady herself on her bed, then sat, only barely conscious of having managed not to miss the tick. “Oh, my. He was…my friend…my mentor.” She felt tears well up in her eyes and could not bring herself to wipe them as they overflowed. “I saw him too little to lose him so soon.”
“I’m sorry, High Priestess!” Clare bawled. “Please don’t cry!”
“Come, child.” Lunicia patted the mattress. “Calm is one of the states of being you can attain, is it not?”
“Yes, High Priestess.” Clare sat dutifully beside her teacher and drew herself up like a student already mastering meditation. But she was looking with sympathetic eyes at Lunicia’s own barely controlled grief.
“I will dress and go to the Temple hall. Wait here to escort me down.”
By the time she arrived, the hall was crowded. Temple staff rushed about. Priests gathered near the altar, novices in their cliques, and acolytes hanging around them. They all fell silent the moment she entered. As she made her way to the far end where the priests stood, her eyes kept catching, then losing the gaze of everyone she passed.
Among the priests were some of her closest friends. They had been her peers through years of study and now were her circle sisters and brothers. She had never felt—not since her first days as an angry girl demanding a return to her home, her dolls and servants—this coldness from them. Even the most sympathetic seemed to avoid looking at her.
She found herself too timid to approach anyone other than Drust, who was always sweet to her. He had followed her in the early years when she roamed the grounds looking for a crack in the wall. He had cheered the loudest when the Moon Mantle was settled on her. “Tell me of this terrible thing, Drust.”
“High Priestess,” he said, softly. The title was completely unnecessary. Among them they were all equals and only priests were within earshot. His eyes fled hers and focused on the floor in front of him. “Our aged High Master has died quite suddenly.”
“I know this much. Did he pass in his sleep? I was with him only hours ago. He seemed frail, but not ill.”
Drust’s head shot up. His brown eyes finally focused on hers. “Madam, there are rumors that you poisoned him—his tea. Or cast a spell on him!”
“What? What is that?” The other priests closed tighter around them. Several attempting to hush her. Others, carefully watching, studying her face, her eyes, how she moved.
“How can that possibly be?”
“Madam, the acolyte who attended him told the Administrator that you forced Master Fa to endure a long ordeal.”
Lunicia felt her cheeks flush. “I was with him for hours. We worked together on a mystery.”
“Through the night?” asked Laymore, whose lifelong limp kept him from consideration as High Priest. He leaned toward her now, as if that shorter leg might somehow carry the power of interrogation.
“It grew very late. I ended it out of concern for him when I realized…he was excited and wanted to go on. It interested him.”
“What interested him?” This from Livia, two years older and with a penetrating mind.
“I had seen a sign—in the stars, the morning after New Moon Ritual.” Lunicia flexed her fingers. She needed to ground herself. Of course, by now she should have told the other priests of the signs she had seen. “I—I never thought to sit with you and talk of this. I’m sorry.” A deep breath in, she would tell them everything now. “First there was this sign in the—”
“Lunicia, did you direct Master Fa to contemplate a signet you drew for him?”
“Yes. The sign, of course. I saw it several times since the new moon.”
“There is a charge that you cast a spell on the Master. That you composed a spell in a diagram—”
“That’s ridiculous!” Lunicia said, loudly enough to be heard through the hall.
All other conversation stopped and everyone turned to stare at her. The new accusation on all their faces was that she was disrespectful of this gathering for Master Fa. They stared until she withdrew, turning back around to face her priests.
“What benefit would I gain in casting a spell on Master Fa?”
Cenric stepped forward. His position was to head the Temple school. He was broad of shoulder, strong of jaw. His voice was resonant. He often used that voice to great effect on her. “Lunicia, did you tell Novice Porcia that the gifted are selected as babes?”
“No such thing,” Lunicia sighed. “Oni, the midwife said so. I warned her off. She was cantankerous. I sent Porcia to bed when she got out of hand. If she listened at the door—”
“To cast blame on students and old women is not becoming, Lunicia,” Cenric chided. “Any discussion around the children on this subject is forbidden.”
“Of course,” Lunicia replied. “All these things, all since the new moon. I worry we’ve been cursed.”
A sigh rose all around her. Even those close to her shook their heads.
“Do you hear yourself, Lunicia?” Livia asked. “Every other thing but you is to blame.”
“What if there is a curse? What if that sign…?” She could see a veil of cynicism fall across the eyes of her fellow priests. The Temple was the island’s most powerful institution. It was well warded, and—with the single exception of Oni—housed the only gifted people allowed to live on the island over the age of twelve.
“Enough, Lunicia.” Cenric announced, “The Circle of Priests will deal with the matter after Master Fa’s funeral.”
It was two days after Master Daman Fa’s funeral that the next blow was struck. Lunicia received a letter from her sister. Their family tomb had been vandalized in the night. Horrible things were scrawled on the walls and the bones of her parents and grandparents were spread through the burial grounds. The other families were racing through the graveyard, lifting them off the other resting places and burning all they found.
It was young Gwynn, again, who accompanied her to the cemetery. The other novices had politely excused themselves with the needs of the Temple and personal failings. Standing in the large hall where they had gathered for morning meal, Lunicia felt as vulnerable and shy as she had as a young girl, standing there the first time, looking at clusters of faces barely concealing their contempt for the spoiled little girl who had kicked up such a fuss at being plucked from her luxury to live a life of penniless study.
Gwynn may well have regretted her loyalty by the time they stood in the shadowy cool of the tomb. They were alone. The glaring servants of wealthy families would not step near the Petrolan mausoleum. The stones outside the door were pocked with spittle and small burn marks, the remnants of tiny curses flung by untrained workers.
Inside was clean, regrettably so. Whomever the Pretrolan family had convinced to cleanse the place had been painstakingly thorough. Leaving only the bare stone, freshly whitewashed and lacking the ornament Lunicia remembered from her one time inside as a child. It is possible they were stolen, but as likely that the cleaners chose to expunge the shame with broad strokes.
“There is nothing here, Mistress,” Gwynn’s hushed voice breathed.
Lunicia squinted at the freshly painted surfaces of the tomb. There were the faintest traces on the North wall, a sweep of arc and perhaps two dots. It was hard to say for certain. “Give me your hand, Gwynn,” she said. “We’ll seek with our inner eye.”
Gwynn was far too nervous to focus, but Lunicia felt a surge of energy from her and was able to use that to lift the veil. She managed to see the shimmer in the air of the tiny space. And in this state she also saw the bold brag of her new enemy. There, on the walls, all over the floor and hanging in thick strands in the air they breathed was the telltale of a spell. It was heavy and convoluted, like glistening smoke, a tangle of ashy curses that writhed in obscene twists on themselves. The names of the Temple acolytes were entangled in the latticework. There were the names of the novices. It held her name in its thicker strands. On another carbuncled vine, was Damon Fa, and another held the name of her parents and sister, many priests—maybe all of them—even Oni. There floated Gwynn’s name, too, twisting through corrupt ether in front of the instinctively perturbed girl.
“We must leave!” Lunicia said, holding tight to Gwynn’s arm and rushing her out of the chamber.
It was rare for any master to show fear, unheard of for the High Priestess to flee anything. Gwynn squealed as she ran, pushed by Lunicia the short distance out to the bright sunlight. There, the two encountered an audience of angry servants paused in their ghastly tasks.
“Quickly, girl,” Lunicia said, not slowing for the sake of dignity. She could almost feel the malignancy of the curse snaking through the air behind her, opening its etherial jaws at her back as she pushed the novice through the maze of tombs and shrines to their waiting coach.
She bit her lip, letting Gwynn sit beside her, whimpering against her chest as the coach raced through the streets. She felt only barely safer as the huge Temple gates closed behind them. The wards on them and around the grounds were for the Temple itself. There were some for the High Priestess, but only the office, not the woman. There were others for the acolytes, but not evoking their names, not specific to these boys and girls who were so constantly drawn from the far reaches of the island by her and the other priests.
In fact, as the frightened horses drew to an overly quick stop, stomping in a frothing, heaving panic at the edge of the main courtyard, Lunicia thought she could see the traces of a mist that had breached the naive protocols she had followed, handed down by her own confident master, and his. The Temple grounds felt exposed and dangerous in the failing light.
As Lunicia hurried up to her room, she remembered the faces from the hall this morning. Priests, novices, acolytes, all bore the same expression. Her memory cleared around their eyes, the downturned edges of their mouths, their carefully composed blank faces. So, the spell had already penetrated the Temple by then and those were the first blushes already showing.
“Mistress, please!” Gwynn begged as she ran to keep up to the rippling flow of Lunicia’s robes down the long stone cloister. She was nearly breathless by the time they reached Lunicia’s room and its dark, thrice-warded door. “Tell me—what to do!—Tell me!—If the Giant of the Abyss comes for me tonight…”
“Do you trust me, Gwynn?” Lunicia swirled inside, once again grabbing hold of the young girl’s arm.
“Yes, of course!” The novice seemed to think this was a test of faith.
Lunicia grabbed her shoulders and held her face inches from her own. “Do you trust me? Me, the woman with whom you have meditated for many hours on the high days?”
“Yes!”
“Trust?”
“Yes, I do!” Gwynn’s eyes were tearful and sincere. The tomb violator’s spell did not work. Or had not worked, yet. Or Gwynn’s trust was too strong, her mind too sharp.
“Clear the center of the room.” Lunicia was busy fetching the bottles of incense and candles she would need from her tiny cupboard. Her fingers lit on the small lump of char Master Fa had used to teach her the first lessons in ritual magic. It was worn to nearly a nub. She had only been saving it for sentimental reasons.
The rules of the Temple said that Gwynn was too young to see the markings she was making on the floor, too young to see this ritual performed. To break more rules was foolhardy for a politically embattled High Priestess, but the curse named Gwynn in the same way it had Master Fa. Lunicia was certain she was in danger.
“I don’t know these symbols.” The fear in Gwynn’s voice crept through her quiet words.
“Gwynn, I need you to help me with this ritual.” Lunicia sat down within the circle, guiding Gwynn down with her. “I’m going to cast a spell of protection around you, one that will stay with you for a while.”
“You don’t have to do that, Madam,” Gwynn replied, her voice soft. Her eyes wet.
“I’m sorry, but I do. And I need you to make it strong enough to work.”
“Me, Madam?”
“I will recite the spell. You will focus on the intent. Be very clear about what that is. This is a spell to protect you from the effects of a curse. Don’t think about me, or anybody else.”
“But—”
“You will help the rest of us, only if you are protected.” She squeezed the young girl’s hands. “Do you understand that? You!”
“Yes, Madam.”
The next day, Oni responded to Lunicia’s summons. She returned to the Temple more tired looking in the midday sun as she ever had in the dark of evening. She waddled slowly along the stone walkways to where Lunicia waited in the garden.
“Welcome, Oni,” Lunicia said, as warmly as she could.
“High Priestess,” Oni replied. Care and formality were not Oni’s specialty in Temple matters. There was a biting edge to her voice, and something like resignation, as well.
“What is this?” Oni growled, grunting as she plunked down on the bench.
“My fellow priests are currently meeting. There were other—secret—meetings with Old Masters that have already occurred. It seems that I am considered too careless to be High Priestess. It seems, I should not have allowed a certain novice to learn of Temple policy regarding age and magic.”
Oni’s eyes rolled humorlessly. The smile on her broad face was not friendly. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I know that.”
“No, fool.” Oni slapped her lap and leaned forward. “It’s not wrong to let the truth be heard. The children should know what they are about.”
“Oni, did you allow a gifted child to be left wild?”
“Left in their home, you mean?”
“Left outside the Temple, outside our guidance.”
“I abide, High Priestess!” Oni said, her voice rising to shrill. “I always abide. Your Temple rules are foolish! Foolish! Foolish! But I abide!”
“I don’t mean to accuse, but there have been signs of danger to us all. In your travels about the island, have you seen…”
Oni’s face fell. It was like a mask had been removed, exposing the frightened woman beneath. Her voice softened, too. “I’ve been fighting curses. They tax me. Vile, is what they are. Angry and rude. Ignorant, malformed things.” As she said this, she picked an amulet off her chest to grip tightly.
“Could this be a gifted child? Do you know of any born, not gathered?”
“There may have been one. Back when I attended babe Clare. There was a boy there, a child clinging to his mother until I sent him out. He was but four years or so, but I did not know his name. I had not midwifed him. If he quickened in her belly while she was kept aboard ship, he would not be a land child and no spell detect him.
“It was your past masters who set the spell buoys that kept the gifted from reaching the island. They failed to think of every single means of being born, didn’t they?” Oni rolled back on her hips. “You cannot keep nature pinned down with stone and pruned with oaths! Sprouts will crack the cobblestones apart. Children will be born. All this!” She flung her arms wide apart, her eyes dancing with anger. “It’s all just so much paving, isn’t it?”
Lucky or Unlucky? 13 Stories of Fate Page 9
