by L. M. Roth
The ship pulled into the harbor and dropped anchor. The band of friends collected their parcels and took their leave of the Captain, and wished him a safe and pleasant journey. As they descended the plank and stepped onto the pier, their nostrils were assaulted with the smell of fish.
The market was just setting up for the day and fishmongers displayed their fresh catches alongside the vegetable sellers and fruit carts. A whirlwind of color assaulted their eyes as produce of every possible description met their gaze: fiery red tomatoes and cool green peppers, bright yellow squash and dark black olives. There were rich purple grapes and pale pink melons, vibrant peaches and delicate pears.
The sight and smell of it all roused their appetites and set their stomachs growling. None of them had yet broken their fast, so they made haste for a small inn that they espied under the shade of an olive tree. They found the prospect of dining in a shaded building more inviting than eating outdoors while standing up.
The inn had a stone floor with many cracks that tripped the unwary. The wooden tables and chairs had wobbly legs, so that one sat down carefully. It was an establishment that had clearly seen better days. Even so, it appeared to do a steady trade.
Most of the tables were occupied. Some of the patrons were shabbily clad, it was true, but Marcus was struck by their demeanor. Never had he seen such radiant faces, so many pairs of sparkling eyes. And laughter! Not the drunken silliness he had witnessed in Gaudereaux, but laughter such as he had never heard. It seemed to bubble up from within, from a source of deep abiding happiness, and not induced by wine or the pleasures of the table.
For it was clear in glancing around the room that most of the occupants were simple people, breaking their fast on the simplest of meals. The majority appeared to be eating fish and bread, there was no wine in evidence at this hour of the day. Yet these people, (all of whom seemed known to each other) greeted one another with a joy that seemed out of proportion with merely the dawning of another day.
They were seated, and their hunger intensified by the warm, inviting smell of freshly baked bread that permeated the inn, they ordered some, along with fish, grapes, and olives. The proprietor took their order and hastened away to see that it was filled to their satisfaction.
When he returned with their food, he replied that several rooms were at their disposal in response to their inquiry regarding the availability of lodgings. That matter resolved, they attended to the business of food. Too weary to talk among themselves, they listened idly to conversation at the neighboring tables. Occasionally the merry talk would drop to a whisper at some table, and those seated at it would cast a furtive glance around the room before continuing their conversation.
A few times Marcus noticed one person removing a handkerchief from the pocket and opening it just enough so that the person across from him could view its contents. This byplay roused his curiosity, so he resolved to pay closer attention.
Just then Fanchon broke the silence with one of her observations of new surroundings.
“Is this not quaint? The little rickety tables and wobbly chairs! The cracks in the floor! They must not like to throw away anything old here, no? Just keep using it until it falls apart! It certainly is different from Koohyaram! There they..”
Felix seized her arm, and bade her be quiet.
“Why?” she inquired, rubbing her arm while glaring at Felix.
“Because you are being rude. These people are too poor to throw away what they still have need of,” he explained patiently.
Fanchon had the grace to blush. She did not mean to offend, she said, and lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence.
Marcus scarcely paid attention to their exchange, his attention riveted on the latest display of handkerchief greetings. For as Felix and Fanchon exchanged words, Marcus at last glimpsed the object that each revealed to the other.
It was a pearl.
Chapter XXVII
The Temple of Light
A pearl. What was the significance behind the showing of such an object in greetings between two people? Marcus puzzled over it while the others talked and attended to their food. He himself had suddenly lost his appetite in the excitement of his discovery.
Their proprietor, whose name was Eusebias, came to their table to inquire if all was to their satisfaction. They assured him of the excellence of the meal. Felix asked him what places he could recommend for the traveler to explore. Eusebias pondered a moment, then replied that the ruins of the Temple of Lopponios was most impressive. It was no longer used as a place of worship, but the edifice was still splendid. It was located at the top of the highest hill of the main island at the edge of a grove of ancient olive trees.
They thanked him and prepared to depart. They walked out of the inn and into the bright morning light. The sun bathed them in the warming rays of a May morning. After the baking heat of the Desert of Dubar and of Koohyaram, the gentler warmth was welcome to all.
Felix’s sharp eyes spotted the Temple before the others did. As Eusebias had said, it was indeed at the top of the highest hill on the island. They set out to climb it and explore the summit.
As they ascended, Marcus pondered to himself how best to obtain more information regarding the Pearl. The merchant of Koohyaram had told him that the majority of valuable pearls came from the Isles of Solone, but how could he make discreet inquiries without arousing suspicion?
He knew of the need for caution, yet he felt a sense of urgency in the knowledge that every day that passed meant another day of imprisonment for his parents. He felt the temptation to throw prudence aside and march to the nearest merchant of pearls and demand information. But he could not risk that peril.
Lost in thought, Marcus was jerked to reality when they reached the summit of the hill. And there before them, in ruined grandeur, were the remains of the Temple of Light, the place of worship for the god Lopponios.
Here at the edge of a grove of olive trees, so large and gnarled that they seemed to have been planted there at the dawn of time, stood what remained of what must have been a magnificent temple. The base of perfectly cut and symmetrically laid blocks of white stone still covered the floor, with a low ledge of stone surrounding what had once been a courtyard. Dotting the courtyard here and there were stone benches, still intact and functional.
But the truly imposing feature were the perfectly carved pillars of white marble that rose to a height of sixty feet above the stone floor. The roof they had once supported had vanished, having fallen victim to war, weather, and the ravages of time. For its glory days lay a full five hundred years in the past, when all of Solone came to pay homage to the god of Light. Now it lay in ruins, the olive grove the only remaining witness to the halcyon days of old.
Felix strolled casually through the courtyard and idly kicked a loose stone. He whistled aimlessly, but his thoughts seemed elsewhere. He gazed out over the ledge to the city below, and the opposite hilltops. Then he seemed to collect himself, as though he had been far away. He glanced at Marcus.
“Sad, really. And yet, inevitable I suppose. I wonder what this place was like when people came to inquire of the Sybillia for guidance from the god. He appears to be all but forgotten.”
Marcus shrugged. He who had no belief in any deity saw little need to rue the downfall of this one. The ruined temple to him merely confirmed his observation of the transient nature of all things, including divinity.
“I see no need to mourn, Felix. If Lopponios really existed, surely his followers would not have abandoned his place of worship.”
“Yes, but is that not the fault of Valerium? This place thrived until we conquered Solone more than five hundred years ago. People were afraid to practice their rituals perhaps.”
“Perhaps. Yet if that be the case, one must question the depth of their devotion. For surely a man does not abandon his god because of some human ruler who has conquered his homeland and forbidden, or at least discouraged, the practice of his rituals. Such a man’s faith is not worth
having. Nor is a god whose worship depends on outward circumstances worthy of adoration.”
“Hear, hear,” Fanchon chimed in. “Indeed, who would waste time on such weighty matters on such a glorious morning! In Gaudereaux, we do not give a thought to any gods. What is of importance is the present moment and the enjoyment of life. Who cares for sacrifices and pilgrimages, when one could revel in music, dancing, and the vine instead? Let those with nothing better to do devote themselves to such dreary practices, no? I intend to seize the moment and live!”
Dag and Cort were silent, and offered no opinion on the matter. Marcus knew their veneration was firmly given to Bjorrne the Bear, of all deities the most illogical to Marcus. For why would a man worship something that could not speak, could not answer prayer, and could be killed by one of his own creation?
Their talk died down, each lost in their own thoughts. For the space of half an hour they explored the ruins and sunned themselves in the open air. A stray olive tree here and there offered refreshing shade as the sun rose higher in the sky. When it reached its zenith at noon, they decided to make their descent and return to the inn in quest of food.
Just as they began their descent, their attention was captured by the sight of a young woman who was making her ascent up the hill. The sight of a lone woman was unusual, it being the custom in Valerium for young girls to travel in groups of two or three, even if they were only walking in the marketplace. The purpose was for protection from any strange male who might be tempted to take advantage of a lone maiden. It also served as protection from gossip. It was a widely held belief in Valerium that a lady traveling unaccompanied did so to encourage the attentions of men with dishonorable intentions.
After a brief, whispered consultation, the group decided to wait at the summit to satisfy their curiosity regarding the stranger.
She made her way leisurely up the slope, as if haste was a word whose meaning was not known to her. She stopped here and there to examine a pebble of shiny quartz that took her fancy, to smell a wildflower whose perfume she was unable to resist. The slope was covered with them, so it took some time for her to reach the crest of the hill. Marcus had been too preoccupied in his thoughts to take note of the scenery during the ascent, and he noticed now that it was remarkably pretty.
The young woman’s pace was so slow that Fanchon became visibly impatient. Just as she decided to make the return to the inn without the others, the other girl at last reached them.
Clearly she had not been aware of their presence, and she started at the sight of their group. She was tall, nearly half a head taller than Fanchon, with the slow, graceful movements of some large jungle cat. Marcus had once seen a lioness on an expedition with his father to one of the more far-flung of the Empire’s outposts, and the young woman who stood before him bore a striking resemblance to that exotic creature.
Her tawny hair of golden-brown waves looked as if it would spring back from a stroking hand. Her short, straight nose with slightly flaring nostrils bespoke a patrician background. Her wide hazel eyes had a depth in them that he had never glimpsed in another’s. They hinted of mysteries sought and discovered such as he could not fathom. But her sweetly shaped lips curved slowly into a warm smile at the sight of them. She bowed her head slightly, albeit with dignity.
“Good day to you,” she said in a low, heavy voice as warm and rich as golden velvet. “I did not mean to intrude on your respite.”
She spoke in the Common Tongue, but with a cultured accent. Marcus took the lead.
“Good day to you also, lady. You have not intruded at all. We were just taking our leave.”
“Then I will not detain you,” she answered.
She stood aside for them to pass, but Felix broke with convention to go to her side. He bowed and took her hand, much to her astonishment.
“Good day, lady,” he smiled into her eyes with a sparkle in his own. “I am Felix Lucius, a citizen of Valerium.”
He quickly introduced the others, then continued addressing her.
“May I have your name, and may I be so bold as to ask if I may offer you my protection? For surely it is not wise for one so fair to wander about the city alone.”
The young woman flushed, and Marcus noted that she did not hasten to remove her hand from Felix’s. She was either too startled or too bemused to notice that he still held it in his own.
Just at that moment he heard an indignant snort of “Hmpf!” from Fanchon. Evidently she also noticed the fact. Perhaps she was peeved that Felix had never displayed such gallantry to her, Marcus reflected wryly.
The strange young lady seemed to recover herself. She drew back her hand and straightened her cloak as well as her dignity. Felix merely smiled, the cocksure smile of one who has just thrown the highest pair at dice and is sure to win.
“My name is Kyrene Nicandros,” she said, her voice faltering.
She seemed flustered, and moved slightly away from Felix. Marcus was uncertain whether she was rattled out of her composure by Felix’s charm or merely by the attention he lavished on her. Felix did not take offense, just looked at her with mischief in his brown eyes.
“I live on the main Isle of Solone. I am not afraid to walk alone, for my father is one of the leading merchants of the city. None would dare accost me, for his fury would be terrible. It would take a brave man indeed to risk incurring the wrath of Philokrates Nicandros!”
Kyrene lifted her head and tossed back her mane of tawny waves, a flash in her hazel eyes. Clearly she was proud of her father. He must, Marcus thought, be a man to be reckoned with.
Felix was not deterred.
“And why would none dare to incur the wrath of your father? Is he a great warrior?” he asked.
“He was a great warrior, but is an even greater man. He was born not in Solone, although that is his ancestry, but in Lycenium, making him a citizen of Valerium, and not one of its slaves. He fought bravely and served long in the Imperial Army. When he was past the age for fighting he came here to settle in Solone, the land of his forefathers.
“Here he started his own business. He is a respected merchant of fine pearls, and a very influential man, one whose opinion is soundly respected.”
At the word “pearls“, Marcus’ head snapped up with an involuntary jerk. Felix shot a sidelong glance at him, but kept his attention on Kyrene.
“Pearls? Are pearls of such high value in this land? In my land it is rubies. I sometimes think it is for the color, red as the color of blood. One must admit that the Valerian people seem a bloodthirsty lot, eager to subdue and enslave every other people under them.”
He shook his head as if in regret. Then he turned back to Kyrene.
“Why are pearls so valuable in your land?”
Kyrene gave him a long measuring look. She appeared to debate some question within herself.
“Pearls,” she answered, “are abundant in our waters. Many peoples travel to these islands to purchase our pearls.”
Marcus came to a decision of his own. If anyone would know the answer to the salutations with pearls that he witnessed in the inn, it would surely be the daughter of a merchant of pearls. And as a stranger in town, it would be only natural to question her on any unusual customs he happened to witness.
“I also have a question for you, Lady Kyrene. This morning while breaking my fast at the inn, per chance I noticed several people passing kerchiefs to one another, then passing them back again. I happened to see that the object in one of the kerchiefs was a pearl. Do you know the reason behind this strange greeting?”
Kyrene became very still. The only movement of her body was the widening of her eyes. She looked at Marcus so long and so deeply that he became uncomfortable. The strange girl seemed as though she were probing the depths of his soul.
“You have an obsession with pearls, Marcus Maximus. Indeed, the life of your father depends upon finding one. Yet you may need to forsake him to find the greatest Pearl of them all.”
Marcus gasped. All of
the air seemed to leave his lungs. For one long moment he could not breathe at all.
Felix quickly came to his side when he saw Marcus falter. His face paled as he looked at Kyrene in stunned amazement.
Kyrene now turned her attention to him.
“And you, Felix Lucius, you think all is concealed. But I say to you that all is known, but you may yet find mercy. And you will find true love when you love the One whose heart is true.”
Marcus had not thought that the face of Felix could have gone any paler. He was mistaken. It was now Felix who held onto Marcus for support as he gripped his arm tightly.
“Well, I perceive by the reaction of these gentlemen that you are a seer,” Fanchon squealed in delight. “Now it is my turn! Oh, how exciting! We do not have seers in my land. Indeed some people cannot see straight at all after a night of feasting!”
Kyrene turned to the giddy girl, a look of patient amusement on her face. It was, Marcus reflected, the look a mother might cast on one of her children whose playing might divert her. Yet the two girls were much of an age.
“You, Fanchon, must seek true joy and not mere pleasure. For broad is the path to destruction. Narrow is the way that leads to life, and there are few who find it.”
Fanchon looked puzzled and displeased. It was clear by the frown that replaced her smile that she did not understand the words of Kyrene. Nor did she like them.
Without waiting to be asked, Kyrene turned to Dag. He eyed her warily, as if unsure whether she was a friend or a foe.
“You who saved one life from the bear must lose your own life to the Lamb. For if you seek to save your life you will surely lose it. But if you let it go you will find it.”
