Glory? No such Saalsi term. “A vision beheld”…one beheld an abstract concept like glory? In Saalsi, it could be said in the literal, the figurative, the active and inactive, or if one were very clever, the dryly ironic or the highly suggestive. Choose the wrong one and serrin listeners would get the wrong idea entirely. But none of them really fit. How did one translate between the glorious passion of Tullamayne and civilised, sophisticated serrinim? Serrin, of course, did not bother trying-if they wished to understand such writings, they'd learn the entire language and read it in the original. But did that mean they truly understood it better that way? Errollyn didn't think so.
That over, and more exercises done, she was mentally and physically exhausted, and it was still only midafternoon. Any more of this, and she would scream. Evening brought dinner-a bowl of half-decent stew-and the relief of cool air. And a priest, after she had eaten, who threw her a robe and told her it was time for a bath.
He led her down the stairs and into the archbishop's chambers, which were empty and lit with candles They continued into a vast hallway with a vaulted ceiling and grand tapestries and paintings. Sasha could not help but look up as she walked-she'd never imagined to see the inside of the Porsada Temple. Not as a Nasi-Keth, and certainly not as a woman. The huge hallway was eerily quiet, save for the footsteps of their four guards. Had they emptied the hall lest anyone spy a woman in the temple? Or was it always this quiet?
Outside Sasha had only a moment to observe the spectacular night lights of Petrodor stretching far out around the harbour, before she was led down some stairs cut into the side of the cliff. The stairway was lit with lamps, steps smoothly hewn with the sharp-edged precision that seemed natural to sandstone. To the right and below, she could hear the ocean swell heaving. Only now did she realise exactly where she would be taking a bath. Probably the priesthood were scandalised enough at a woman in residence at the temple-the idea of her stripping off and bathing there was too much to contemplate. She was struck by a sudden image, as they descended, of a small army of priests hand-scrubbing the stones of the cell in her absence until their knuckles bled. She nearly laughed. Just as well for them it was not yet her time of the month.
After a long, switch-back descent, they reached a small cave, within which was a landing. Lamps lit the rocky ceiling to ghostly effect, as the swell roared in and climbed the landing's broad steps, and cast an ankle-depth of water across the flat flagstones.
“I'm bathing in there?” Sasha asked, as they paused on a ledge several steps above the awash flagstones. “That's salt water, I'll need a bath after my bath.”
“Salt water will do fine,” said the priest. His voice was thin and reedy within his hood, and she had yet to see his face. “There will be fresh water to wash your hair later, and soap. In case you are thinking of swimming to escape, there are permanent posts for holy guards just beyond the cave, one on the rocks to either side of the cave. They use crossbows extremely well. Should you miraculously be only wounded, and not killed outright, the swell is large tonight, as you can see. It should surely dash a wounded swimmer against the rocks.”
And many healthy ones, Sasha thought, watching the next surge come roaring through the cave, and rush up the barnacle-covered steps. What an amazing place. The ocean had mesmerised her ever since she'd first laid eyes upon it two months ago. It was strange, and fearsome, but she was Goeren-yai, and loved all things wild and beautiful. Surely there were ancient spirits here, deep in the depths.
The guards retreated from the cave, and the priest followed. They had not bound her arms, perhaps considering (correctly) that she was not as formidable as a man barehanded, and that her recent bruises would slow her even further. And there were four of them, all big, and armoured with shields. Even she wasn't quite that stupid.
Sasha pulled off her dress and underwear, and stepped onto the slippery flagstones. The water was cold on her feet, but in Lenayin, she'd swum in water far colder than this. The swell surges were not so strong on the far side of the cave, she saw, and splashed her way across the landing, observing the wooden posts driven into rock where small boats, on calmer seas, would tie up to allow passengers to disembark for the temple. And she wondered how many visitors the priesthood received, in the dead of night, direct from ships from foreign lands.
Bathing was a challenge, and several times she had to jump up the steps to avoid a pummelling swell. But, in between surges, the water stayed calm enough for her to get thoroughly wet. The chill seemed to help her bruises and she emerged feeling refreshed. Certainly, she thought as she splashed her way back to her clothes, it was much nicer down here than in her cell. Perhaps they'd let her stay a while longer. The waves made such an amazing, echoing roar as they came in, and the patterns of lantern light reflecting off the water, and dancing across the ceiling, were truly beautiful.
She was drying herself with the robe she'd been given when she sensed movement from the corner of her eye and spun. It was the priest. Sasha stared at him, warily, and continued drying herself. Her nudity was a weapon against men such as these. Damned if she'd try and hide it.
“I'm not dressed yet,” she stated the obvious. “Come down to observe your holy vows?”
“I've got something for you,” said the priest, and reached inside his robe.
Oh great, I bet you do, Sasha thought with exasperation. Another horny priest, as in all the Goeren-yai jokes. Well, she might struggle barehanded against four holy guards, but she was pretty sure she could handle this scrawny little idiot.
When he pulled out her sword in its scabbard instead, she was completely astonished.
“You can have it,” he continued, his face still hidden within the hood, “but you have to swear something first.”
Sasha stared at him. And realised that some clothes might actually be good, right about now. She pulled on the robe and tied the sash at the waist. “I'm not swearing anything. Who the hells are you?”
The priest pulled back his hood, and revealed the face of a small man, bald and bearded, with lively eyes now earnest and…anxious. The face of a man who was up to something. “My name's not important. What I'll do for you is very important. I'm going to help you escape. All you have to do is listen.”
Sasha nodded warily. Escape was good. Just keep him talking. “I'm listening.”
“My brothers are being murdered,” the small priest said. “The archbishop has taken sides-and his chosen side is that of Family Steiner. He is behind the murder of my brothers, I am sure of it. I expect I shall be the next victim, or close to it, so it's very important that you listen very closely.
“Something very big is coming. The archbishop and Patachi Steiner have made plans, I'm certain of it. Halmady were a threat, and I'm not entirely sure why-maybe they really were plotting against Family Steiner, it's possible, but I simply don't know. Now Halmady have been eliminated, and-”
“Eliminated! When?”
“Last night. Eight families in all, most of their patachis are dead, and the Dukes of Danor, Coroman and Vedichi lent soldiers to the fight. The Steiner alliance has purged their ranks, and something far bigger looms. I do not know what to do. Fear lurks the temple halls, and the Holy Guard are supposed to provide protection, but there are rumours that some are bought men. Family Maerler would challenge Steiner on these murders, but a threat to the archbishop would give Steiner all the excuse they need to eliminate Maerler, and many of the dukes may join them, in the name of defending the archbishop.”
“And Steiner's alliance is the northern stack,” Sasha half murmured, aghast. The little priest frowned at her. “They're closer, Father. They can blockade the temple if need be. Or capture it. Maerler can do neither from the south.”
The priest nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I fear that the archbishop merely ploughs the field for decisions to come, decisions that require holy blessing. The other fathers can be troublesome, they have a voice in the council and they are drawn from all the families…it has always been a bal
ance before, but now the balance is tilting. Do you understand?”
“You…you think that Patachi Steiner will strike at Maerler for good, with the archbishop's blessing?”
The priest shrugged hurriedly. “Perhaps. I cannot speculate, I am a man of the gods, not of politics. All I know is that the archbishop has violated his holy vows and approved the murder of those who should be most beloved to him. He is no longer an agent of good, but an agent of evil. I cannot allow him to succeed. Should I do so, I could never face my gods again.”
“And how will my escape aid you?”
“It will unbind the hands of Kessligh Cronenverdt, whom the archbishop fears. And something else that shall become clear later. How well do you swim?”
Sasha frowned. “Well enough for a Lenay. Where am I swimming?”
“Out there.” The priest pointed out beyond the mouth of the cave. “I have arranged with loyal men to have a small boat waiting, beyond the light. If you can reach it, they will take you to Dockside.”
“What…tonight?”
The priest nodded. “Now. This very moment.”
“And the crossbowmen?”
“The far emplacement is only for show, it's rarely ever manned. Tonight it is not. I have just visited the men of the near emplacement, and they now sleep.” He held up a hand, displaying a familiar-looking ring. On its inside protruded a slim needle, just like the one Marya had used. “But you must go now, or they will be discovered.”
“They'll be discovered anyhow!” Sasha exclaimed. “Or they'll tell what happened to them…unless you…?”
“No.” The priest shook his head and gave a little, helpless smile. “My vows do not allow murder, and the gods despise a hypocrite. They will catch me, and I will probably die. Such is life.”
“You could come with me,” Sasha suggested.
The smile grew a little broader. “I can't swim. It was not meant to be. Here, take this as well.” He reached into a pocket within his robes and withdrew a leather pouch. “You will need both hands, so fasten this about your neck. It has a clasp, make it tight, for the sake of all the holy spirits do not drop it.”
“What's in it?” Sasha asked dubiously, taking the pouch.
“There's no time. Don't unwrap it, I packed it tight. Just be certain you tell Kessligh Cronenverdt what I've told you, and give that to him. The rest will explain itself. Now you must go. The guards wait further up the stairs, they will grow suspicious.”
Sasha fastened the pouch about her neck as suggested and took her sword from him and tied the leather bandoleer together where it should clip to her belt…which she now lacked. Slipped the bandoleer over her shoulder. And paused on the step down to the landing, looking back at the small priest.
“Look,” she attempted, “if the boat's just out there, you could make it. You just stroke and kick, like this…” she demonstrated.
The priest smiled more broadly. “It is not my fate, Sashandra Lenayin. May the gods look upon you.”
“I'm Goeren-yai,” Sasha objected.
“The gods are generous.”
Sasha nodded and descended the steps. “Thank you,” she said. And splashed across the landing to the barnacled steps. A swell crashed on the lower steps and rushed on, water spraying about her shins. Staring out into the dark beyond the cave, she was struck by sudden, frightening doubt. Perhaps it was a trick. Perhaps they needed to dispose of her in some manner that did not look like cold-blooded murder. Here she was, making an escape attempt with a stolen object of some description, only to be shot by vigilant archers. She stared up at the small priest suspiciously.
“Have faith, Sashandra Lenayin,” he said. “And know this-if you do not escape now, you shall be disposed of eventually. You have been a troublemaker all your life, I know. In Petrodor, the powerful dislike troublemakers. They'll never let you go alive. Take your chance while you have it.”
Still eyeing him warily, Sasha made first the Goeren-yai spirit sign, then the Verenthane holy sign, in quick succession. The priest's smile grew wider, and he repeated her actions. Sasha had never, ever seen a Verenthane priest make a pagan spirit sign. Most would never risk it, for fear of their souls. It was good enough for her.
The next swell rushed up the steps and, as it came to its peak, she dove into the water. The water churned as the receding wave rushed back down the steps, and spun her into the middle of the cave. She splashed hard, and the bandoleer strap immediately slipped from her shoulder and dragged at her arm. Kicking to keep her head above water, she adjusted it…and found herself being swept dangerously close to the cave side. She put her head down and tried swimming again, but the bandoleer was slipping around now, the weight of the sword pulling down, alternately banging an arm and then a leg. And now a new swell approached, heaving her upward and pushing her back into the cave mouth despite her struggles. Already her arms were aching, and her breath coming hard, and she began to wonder if this were such a smart idea after all.
But then the backwash from the second swell swept out of the cave, and took her out with it. Suddenly she was in deep, cold water, and could see brief glimpses of cliff face through the salt that stung her eyes. There behind her, a small, square guardpost with arrowslits. She swam harder, heart thudding, telling herself that if she just survived the first shot, she could dive, and swim underwater, and come up for air only briefly. But now, her lungs were beginning to burn. She was extremely fit, she knew, but swimming was not an accustomed activity. Fitness meant different things for different activities. Worse, the sword was trying to drown her. Probably, the thought occurred to her as she struggled and gasped and splashed, that was some kind of divine, poetic justice.
At least she hadn't been shot. She clung to that optimistic thought as the swell heaved her up once more, and forced her to swim uphill. She tried not to think about the vast, dark, gloomy distance that now stretched below her, within which all kinds of strange and usually hungry creatures she knew to dwell. She simply made stroke after stroke, and tried to find a rhythm despite the frustration of the sword, justifying that swimming must surely be like running, where rhythm was everything.
Finally she stopped and trod water, and looked about. She couldn't see any boat. Well great, just fucking wonderful. Out into deeper water, she could see the lights of ships at anchor. There was no way known she was going to make it out that far. She should head back, only westward, back toward Petrodor. If she could get ashore just downshore of the cave, she might be able to make her way down the cliff face, hopping along the rocks, until she reached the Cliff of the Dead. If the waves didn't smash her against the cliff first. But she didn't see that she had any choice-too much longer out here and she would drown.
She'd barely begun stroking again when she heard a splash nearby. She looked about and saw with shock the bow of a boat coming straight at her. It pulled alongside and a man in a hood shipped his oar and leaned over to offer her a hand. Sasha grabbed it, hauled, and embarrassed herself by barely managing to get her arms over the edge. The man grabbed her about the waist and pulled her over, and she fell gracelessly onto hard wood and bench seats. And lay there, gasping. Whoever that little priest had been, she owed him in a big way. And she hoped that his gods would save him from an ill fate.
“I…I didn't see you,” she gasped, heaving for air. “I thought I'd have…to swim back.” The boat was moving now, steady strokes of the oars. She propped up her head to look, and found that the wet robe had ridden up as she'd come overboard, exposing her from the waist down. Thankfully, the two oarsmen now had their backs turned as they rowed, and in turn blocked the view of the man at the tiller. She'd hurt her hip coming into the boat, and she rubbed at it, pulling the robe into some kind of modesty. One more bruise to her collection.
She struggled up, and took a seat at the bow, pulling off the dangling sword and putting it aside. She remembered suddenly to feel at her throat and found the leather pouch still in place. They were headed into deeper water now, but roughly back t
oward Petrodor. Behind, Porsada Temple loomed, white and shimmering in torchlight. Strange how the whiteness of the exterior made no impression inside. Strange to think that she'd been there at all.
The oarsmen stroked on as the boat rose up on the heaving swell. Sasha blinked her eyes clear of sea water and gazed back at the men in the boat. All hoods and cloaks. She clambered back a bench, to look between the oarsmen at the tillerman.
“Thank you,” she told him. “Are you priests too?” There was no reply. Nor, she observed, the prospect of receiving one about anything. “Sure, I understand. No questions. Fine with me. Thank you anyway.”
They were good oarsmen though, she reckoned, having seen enough of small-boat seamanship to be a judge of that. She doubted they were priests. Possibly they were simply men for hire. In which case, she should sit still and shut up, before they realised she might be worth more money to someone else than whatever the little priest in the cave had paid them. Possibly they didn't even know who she was.
She passed the time examining her sword for damage and watching the passing ships at anchor. The sword looked fine, though she would need to polish it soon-serrin steel rarely rusted but salt water wasn't good for anything. And she'd need to rewrap the handle binding.
Eventually the boat brought her alongside a pier at Dockside, and Sasha jumped off onto a tied-up fishing boat. The men rowed off immediately, leaving her to climb across two more boats and then up a ladder to the pier. The pier was mostly empty, as was the dockfront. That was unusual. The air seemed tense with danger, even here in Nasi-Keth heartland. She crouched where she was, knowing that it would be near impossible to see her amidst the rigging of tied boats against the black background of the harbour. She searched the docks with her eyes. She'd been away two days, she had no idea what had happened, nor how far the Halmady trouble had spread downslope.
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