The High Priest and the Idol

by Jane Fletcher

  The air on the temple steps was dry and dusty, but blessedly free of cloying incense. Jemeryl took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head and inject some sharpness to her thoughts. The day had been moderately productive. Now it was time to return to Four Winds House and see what the others had discovered.

  Only Ashkinet was in the tiny room when she arrived. “Anything to report?” Jemeryl asked.

  “No, alas. Most nomads have left the city and those who remain are the ones who’ve renounced their faith in Yalaish, so they won’t be ready recruits for us.”

  “Any idea where the rest might be?”

  “Oases are dotted across the desert, some known only by my kin.”

  “Do you know how to find any?”

  “I know an important one is nearby, but as for finding it…” Ashkinet shook her head regretfully. “I was only a child when I went to Lyremouth, no older than eight. My parents could see I had magical ability and thought I’d have a better life with the Coven.”

  “They sent you on your own?”

  “No. They went with me, but my mother always missed the desert. They returned when I was old enough not to need them so much. I’ve only seen them once since. I visited just after I became a sorcerer. But I hope, once this business with the idol is done, to spend a while here.” Ashkinet gave the broadest smile Jemeryl had yet seen from her. “We exchange letters and I understand my baby brother has made me an aunt.”

  “I’m sure you’ll—” The door opening interrupted Jemeryl. Larric ambled in and collapsed on a mattress. She smiled at him. “How’s your day gone?”

  “I’ve discovered Kradja brews some of the worst beer I’ve ever had the misfortune to taste. I guess conditions here aren’t ideal.” He grinned. “But that isn’t what you want to know.”

  “Not right now.”

  “I’ve picked up bits and pieces. The most interesting was from a blacksmith’s apprentice. She and her master had been summoned to the temple by Sefriall.”

  “Why?”

  “Some problem with a locked door. Anyway, they weren’t able to open it, and mostly the apprentice was angling for sympathy over the threats they got. She thought they were going to end up decorating the road into town. But Sefriall got distracted by a messenger charging in with news about a battle with the nomads.”

  “Who won?”

  “The nomads mostly. They’d holed up in some caves.”

  Ashkinet spoke up. “Yes. The oasis I told you about has caves behind it. Well defended.”

  Larric continued. “Apparently so. The report was about how many sentinels died trying to storm them. But then Sefriall remembered her audience and dismissed them, so the apprentice escaped the gibbet.”

  “The nomads are really going to hate Sefriall.” Before Jemeryl could say more, the sound of footsteps outside caught her attention.

  The door opened for Tevi. “I see I’m last.”

  “We haven’t been back long. Have you learned anything?”

  “I know where some priests are. They’d been sheltering with a family called the Calequirals.”

  “I’ve heard about them,” Larric said, nodding. “They fled with the nomads.”

  “Great. If we find the nomads, we’ll reach the priests as well.”

  “It’s not that easy.” Quickly, Jemeryl recapped what had been said so far. “Even if we find this oasis, it might be under siege,” she finished.

  Tevi shook her head. “With a well-trained army, I wouldn’t rate my chances taking on the nomads in the desert, and the sentinels are a long way from well trained. If they set up camp, they’ll be sitting targets for hit-and-run skirmishers. They’d lose a tenth of their number every night.”

  “So if only we knew where this oasis was, we’d be all set,” Jemeryl said, sighing. “We can’t really ask around.”

  Tevi smiled. “Would it cheer you up if I said I know how to get there?”

  “How?”

  “On the way here, the first time, my guide pointed it out.”

  Chapter Eleven—The Poisoned Tear

  From a distance, the oasis was an enticing patch of lush green amid the sand. This impression did not last. Before they had got within half a mile, Jemeryl could spot the mutilated trees and trampled bushes, and the closer they got, the more evident the destruction became. Short of chopping all the palms down, someone had inflicted as much damage as they could on the oasis.

  Even so, Jemeryl was anxious to get there for a chance to rest. Either a lone wagon or four people riding out of town on horseback would have been too conspicuous and Tevi had been sure the distance was perfectly feasible to cover in two days on foot. In this Tevi had been technically correct, but Jemeryl was aware her shoulders were chafed by the straps of her backpack, blisters stung her heels where sand had leaked into her shoes, and her throat was rasped raw from gasping in hot air. At night, the temperature in the open desert had dropped so sharply that even when she was wrapped around Tevi, the chill had seeped into her bones. The wagon journey to Kradja had been idyllic by comparison.

  At her side, Ashkinet’s progress was getting noticeably uneven. At first, Jemeryl assumed it was due to fatigue. When the footsteps finally stopped, she turned, about to offer words of encouragement. However, the expression on Ashkinet’s face was not exhaustion but outrage, verging on horror.

  “Who…they…how dare they?” Ashkinet looked stunned.

  Jemeryl walked back to her. “Are you all right?”

  Ashkinet’s eyes stared through Jemeryl, locked on the vandalised oasis. “This is where Yalaish’s first tear fell to earth. It’s a sacred site. A holy site. How dare anyone defile it?”

  “It mightn’t have been deliberate. A battle was fought here. Things get damaged if they’re in the way.”

  “No. This was done on purpose. Look.” Ashkinet held out an arm, pointing. “The lilies are dead. The water’s been poisoned. That doesn’t happen in a battle.” Her tone hardened. “There will be blood spilt for this. You may count on it.”

  Ashkinet brushed past Jemeryl and marched the last hundred yards to the water’s edge. The truth of her words was undeniable. The water stank and had a dull, oily surface. The bottom was obscured, but flashes of pallid silver showed where it was littered with the rotting bodies of dead fish. Reeds had been ripped up by the roots and cast aside. Their decomposing leaves added to the stench. On the far side of the pool, a rock face rose sheer from the water. Daubed on it in blood-red paint was a huge Cyclian symbol.

  Tears were in Ashkinet’s eyes as she knelt beside the water. “My parents brought me here before we left for Lyremouth. They wanted me to see it. I think they also wanted to say good-bye. It was beautiful, peaceful. The water was clear, like liquid light.” She swallowed. “With all I’ve learned since, I know my people’s beliefs are false. Yalaish is not real. Yet I remembered this place and it’s always been…” She waved her hands, searching for words. “Home in my heart. To see it now…” Her hands tightened in fists. “Sefriall is insane to have done this. Insane. And she will pay. My people will see to it. Blood will fall.”

  Jemeryl knelt beside her. “When the idol’s gone, we can put it right. We’ll have our power back. It’ll be simple.”

  Ashkinet met Jemeryl’s eyes. “Not simple. Restored isn’t the same as never defiled.”

  No easy words came to Jemeryl. She patted Ashkinet’s shoulder and stood awkwardly.

  The oasis was situated at the mouth of a valley. On either side, twin ridges of rock broke through the sand, getting higher, until they merged in a mountainous crest to the north. The old red stone was pockmarked and crisscrossed with ravines, evidence of countless sandstorms that had left the peak a scarred finger, pointing at the cloudless sky.

  Tevi was standing a few yards away. Jemeryl joined her and pointed to the mountain. “That must be where the caves are.”

  “Yup.”

  “When Ashkinet is ready to move, we’ll head there. See if we can find anyone.”


  “It won’t be necessary. They’re coming to find us.”

  “What?” Jemeryl dropped her gaze from the peak. The valley ahead was empty, but on either side, a score or more of figures now lined the ridges—warriors, judging by the weapons in their hands. “Oh. Right. Do you think they’ll listen to us before they attack?”

  “They should do. It’s obvious we’re not sentinels. If they get a good look at Ashkinet, they’ll see she’s one of them.”

  “Shall I tell her she’s needed?”

  “They aren’t charging towards us, so there’s no rush. And her gut reaction is probably going to sit well with them.” Tevi grinned and whispered. “I can’t judge what’s an appropriate amount of grief to show at having your holy pool polluted.”

  “Don’t you thi—” Jemeryl stopped, seeing movement on the right-hand side. Two older, unarmed nomads had left the line in the company of a half dozen warriors. “I think a delegation’s coming to see us.”

  “Promising. They’re sending a couple of elders to ask who we are. Much better than trying to work it out from our corpses.”

  Larric edged nearer. “What do we do?”

  “Wait.”

  Ashkinet had also become aware of what was happening. She left the waterside. “Do you want me to talk to them?”

  Tevi nodded. “That would be best. If you want, I’ll come with you. I know some names that might help.”

  “Sure.”

  Jemeryl and Larric held back a few steps, watching Tevi and Ashkinet meet the approaching group. The atmosphere was initially tense, but within seconds it was clear that the introductions were going well. The warriors lowered their weapons. The elders, Tevi, and Ashkinet all adopted relaxed postures. Even so, Jemeryl was a little surprised when one of the elders wrapped Ashkinet in a hug. Was this a meeting of long-separated relatives?

  Tevi beckoned Jemeryl and Larric forward.

  “Shalista Jemeryl dehni,” Ashkinet said.

  Jemeryl assumed she was being introduced and bowed politely.

  “Shalista Larric dehni.”

  Larric copied her action.

  The elders bowed in reply, and then led the way towards a point on the right hand ridge, where a thicker, deeper crevice split the rock face. Ashkinet took a position between them, still talking excitedly, but Tevi dropped back to walk beside Jemeryl.

  “Did they say what happen at the oasis?” Jemeryl asked.

  “They might have. I don’t understand enough of the language to tell.” Tevi nodded at the people in front. “I think the woman is a friend of Ashkinet’s grandfather, and at the moment they’re catching up on relatives.”

  The warriors had formed a loose cordon around them, their manner making it clear they saw their function as protectors, not captors. The one walking on Jemeryl’s left got closer. “You wish to know about the battle here?” He spoke the language of the Protectorate clearly, although with a heavy accent.

  “Yes. Please.”

  “The red-cloaked demons, hundreds of them. They came here. Of course, we fought them. We would defend Yalaish si liarajali with the last drop of our blood. But so many, we had no hope and the elders ordered us to the caves. The demons could not overcome us there. So they took a coward’s revenge on the sacred trees and water, while we hid in our holes, watching them.” Judging by his expression of shame, the young man would have rather died.

  The oasis will recover. Dead people don’t get better. Remembering Ashkinet’s reaction. Jemeryl kept the thought to herself. “While you’re still breathing, you can hope to put right the wrong.”

  “That was what the elders said. If we had fought we would all have been killed, and there would be none left to hunt down Sefriall and rip her foul heart from her body. When she has paid for what she has done, then we will cleanse the oasis and beg forgiveness from Yalaish.”

  The response was rather more bloodthirsty than what Jemeryl had intended, but she chose to say nothing. Once the morphology was gone, Sefriall’s hold on power would be weakened. If she could not keep the loyalty of her sentinels, she would be in grave danger. Jemeryl wondered if, despite the murder of Ciamon, she ought to offer a warning to the new High Priest. Although surely, if Sefriall had any sense, she would be able to work out for herself that she needed to run very fast and very far.

  The elders reached the west flank of the valley and disappeared into the crevice. The rest of the party followed. Jemeryl saw that the split in the rock formed a gully, just wide enough for two to walk abreast. As they advanced further in, the walls rose high on either side, and the light filtered down, diffuse. Jemeryl heard voices from above. She looked up and finally spotted archers stationed in nooks in the rock face although in the weak light little more than their faces and the tips of their arrows were visible.

  Tevi was studying the arrangement with a professional interest. “Nice.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s the word I’d use.”

  “I guess my judgement might also depend on whether I was attacking or defending.”

  Eventually the walls joined overhead, forming a true cave. Just at the point where the darkness was too dense to walk in safely, the route turned a corner and opened into a wide space, thirty yards across, lit by burning torches around the sides. More people were assembled here, awaiting them.

  “It’s Darjain.” The relief in Tevi’s voice was evident. “And Botha standing behind him.”

  Jemeryl caught her arm. “Before you dash over, remember you’ll need to tell them who you are.”

  “Oh. Yes. Right.” Tevi looked at her hands, as if to remind herself of her changed appearance.

  Jemeryl tagged on behind, listening. Up until now, she had only Tevi’s description of the deposed priests’ leader to work on, and had been interested to meet Darjain.

  As a result of the strength potion, on the islands where Tevi had been born, while girls were raised as warriors, the boys grew up, weaker than their sisters and consigned to a life of tending house and childcare. Despite all the years Tevi had lived in the Protectorate, that had shown her the islands’ gender based stereotypes were nonsense, the attitudes ingrained during her childhood were still there. Jemeryl knew that, somewhere deep inside, Tevi could not help seeing men as vulnerable and intrinsically gentler and more nurturing than women. How much was this affecting Tevi’s view of the elderly leader of the deposed priests?

  However, Jemeryl soon reached the conclusion that, in this case, Tevi was right. Darjain really was a kind, harmless, and devout advocate of a loving god. The younger female priest, Botha, was far more strident. Her hand gripped the pendant hanging around her neck so tightly that when she released it, the design was imprinted on her palm, a crescent moon with an eye engraved on it, no doubt the symbol of her god.

  Another person joined them, presumably another priest, since he was not a nomad, and Tevi’s explanation had to go back to the beginning. She reached the point where Ciamon was murdered before this new priest spoke.

  “You were certainly right that his death achieved nothing. Sefriall is a hundred times worse than he ever was. She has disgraced us all and made me ashamed to call myself a Cyclian.”

  Darjain took the speaker’s hand. “No, Alkoan, you mustn’t take it like that. Your gods are good. The sickness is only in Sefriall. Her crimes don’t reflect on you.”

  “Only her death can expunge the stain from our faith.”

  Tevi interrupted. “Maybe, but it won’t help any more than killing Ciamon. As I said before, it’s the idol we need to get rid of. That’s why we’re here.”

  “A pity we didn’t do it before.”

  “With Parrash as a spy for Sefriall, I’m not sure how much success we’d have had. But it’s going to be different now.” Tevi beckoned Jemeryl closer. “This is Jem, my partner. The other two with us are also Coven sorcerers.”

  “I thought magic doesn’t work anymore.”

  Jemeryl nodded. “That’s because there’s a device inside the idol. It projects a
morphology on the skein that puts a perceptual bar on the upper dimension. But we’ve got a weapon that will stop it. Then we’ll be able to work magic again.”

  Tevi put an arm around her shoulders. “Exactly. Once we’ve got rid of the morphology, Jem and the others will be able to defeat Sefriall and the temple can return to how it was.”

  Jemeryl was about to object. Direct confrontation with Sefriall was not part of her plan, although possibly Tevi was right. Sefriall and her sentinels might still try to fight, even after the emanator was destroyed. Jemeryl closed her mouth. Regardless of how things went, this was not the time to argue the point.

  Alkoan folded his arms, challenging. “So why are you here, rather than in Kradja where the idol is?”

  “Because we need help. We need people to distract the sentinels so we have a chance to assemble the weapon.”

  “Then I predict you’ll have very little trouble getting volunteers.”

  *

  Alkoan was right. Once the situation was explained, every nomad aged over fifteen and below fifty volunteered, as did most of the rest. Picking who to take was a challenge for Jemeryl, but not such a big challenge as persuading those not chosen to accept her decision.

  Even after seeing Ashkinet’s reaction to the despoiled oasis, Jemeryl had not been prepared for the strength of feeling among the nomads. Of course, Ashkinet had spent decades away from the desert and was no longer a believer. The committed followers of Yalaish were affected more deeply and on more levels.

  Jemeryl soon came to realise how important the oasis was to the nomads. In damaging it, Sefriall had done more than show contempt for their god—she had attacked the core of their self-identity. She had made them feel undeserving of life, and their desire for revenge burned savage and uncontrollable. So much so, that it was her main reason for rejecting most applicants. Their ability to calmly work to a plan was in doubt.