"There are some references to former servants of the Mother who became her enemies when she chose Bainevah as her province and people, and others who swore to hamper her steps when she called the Three to service. I've been trying to find those names.” She lifted out a small scroll no wider than her hand.
"If I tell you what I find, will you tell me what you have found?” Elzan asked. He swore he felt the heat of her body through the cool, dry air of the archives room.
"Of course.” She paused, staring into his eyes, one hand raised to brush an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. Then a blush rose to her cheeks and she looked away.
"I am Elzan,” he said, and held out his hand, palm up.
"Challen.” She swallowed hard and held out her hand—then laughed and wiped her dust-smeared hand on her trousers before pressing it palm down against his. Elzan squeezed a moment longer than necessary before turning their hands so his was on top, sealing the bargain.
"When will you be here again?"
"I am allowed every three days, at midday."
"Allowed?” He didn't like the sound of it.
"I have ... other duties. Chief Scribe Cho'Mat has given me free reign if I study while no one is here to be interrupted."
"Ah. Forgive me. I thought you were a scribe."
"Thank you.” She smiled. “My father is, and he taught me. Perhaps in the future I will be able to study on a regular basis. However...” She shrugged and clutched her new scrolls to her chest.
Elzan wished she would hold him so tightly. It was a struggle to raise his gaze back up to meet her eyes.
"In three days then, at midday, we'll meet to compare notes on our progress.” He bowed to her.
She bowed back, then picked up a long basket and slid her scrolls into it. Challen scurried down the aisle and up the steps to the door.
Elzan considered her clothes, expensive and well made, and the fancy dressing of her hair last time he had seen her. Then he understood the blurring exercise.
"Poor girl. She probably has a society-climbing mother or grandmother who won't let her pursue her studies,” Elzan muttered. “She has to blur her face so she won't attract any scribes for suitors."
The scroll room felt noticeably cooler now that Challen had left. He laughed at himself and went back to work.
Challen's smile and bright eyes and her sweet scent infrequently intruded into his thoughts as he searched. Elzan promised himself he would talk more intelligently next time.
* * * *
Fourth Descent Moon
"Lady, I have learned something odd about the Sanctum and the traditions of the Brides and I don't know who to speak to without...” Challen shrugged and settled down onto the couch in Lady Mayar's workroom, where most of her lessons took place.
Because of the heavy traffic through the Healers Temple, she did not have the freedom to move about without her veils as in the Scribes Hall. The blurring exercise was meant for only a few people at a time, not the dozens at a time she would face in the temple. She helped other healers with minor healings, when her veils wouldn't become a hindrance.
Today, she was alone with Lady Mayar. The problem had pressed on her mind all morning, inhibiting her usually quick responses until the woman laughingly asked her what was wrong.
"My, how formal. I see that noxious Agrat is having some influence on you after all.” Lady Mayar chuckled and settled down next to her. “There is much that is odd about the Sanctum. It is a world within another world, and both false."
"No, Lady. Beyond that.” She managed a smile for the woman who often guessed the inexpressible questions and feelings Challen experienced for the first time in her life.
More precious than her friendship, Lady Mayar opened up worlds of memories of her mother, Naya; things Shazzur had never been able to tell his daughter—because they could only be shared by women.
"O'klan tells me you have read nearly two-thirds of the Sanctum's archives. Something you found there?” she guessed.
"I believe there should be ten times as many scrolls there. Did you know, Lady, that long ago the King joined with the High Priestess of the Mother at every solstice? He could take any wife he chose, but only the son of the High Priestess could be king. I cannot learn when the practice of bringing in a virgin for each solstice began. Or when they decided the King could only marry the mother of his heir."
"So you have decided scrolls are missing. Yes, that is logical.” She nodded. “Perhaps you should ask the Mother's priests if they have such things in their archives."
"I'm afraid to go as the High Priest's granddaughter. Why is it, the more power you supposedly carry because of your rank, the less you are allowed to accomplish and do? If I were the daughter of a potter or a tanner, I could go anywhere, do anything. Because I'm the daughter of the Seer, granddaughter of the High Priest, and a Sanctum Bride, nothing is ‘proper.'” She made her tone nasal, in perfect imitation of Agrat at his most pompous. “I've asked already, and all I get are vague answers and no promises. I don't want to irritate anyone by going through my Grandfather."
"You wish me to ask, as Lady of the Healers?"
"Please?"
"Don't you already have enough on your plate? You are a scribe and an apprentice healer and then when you take a moment to breathe, you must stand against Agrat's effort to make you a painted doll with an empty head."
"I enjoy frustrating Agrat. It's recreation for me."
Lady Mayar sat still for several long moments, her mouth falling open in astonishment at the girl's lighthearted retort. Then she started to laugh. She wrapped her arms around Challen and the two clung to each other and laughed until they cried.
* * * *
"One moment,” Shazzur said. He frowned, glancing over Elzan's shoulder as they walked the palace gardens, discussing the next step in Elzan's studies.
"A problem?” Elzan turned and glimpsed a green healer robe, an earnest face just touched with a fuzzy beard, and blue eyes that widened when the young healer realized the prince looked at him. He grinned and nodded and stepped away. But not far enough he couldn't hear the exchange. The young healer was just nervous enough he spoke louder than necessary. Elzan pitied him, but only for a few moments.
"First Advisor Doni'Hobad'Shazzur'Conia,” the young healer said, bowing as he approached. “May I ask the kindness of your time? It is a matter of great importance."
"Spare me Court formality,” Shazzur said with a smile. He stepped over to a stone bench and sat, gesturing for the blond, blushing healer to join him. “Jeconiah, am I right?"
"Yes, Lord Shazzur. Thank you for remembering my name.” He bowed, nearly tipping off the bench.
"What matter of great importance?"
"Your daughter, sir. Lady Kena'Naya—Kena'Shazzur,” he hurried to correct himself.
"Among the healers, her mother's heritage is preeminent, and I am glad it is so. What about my daughter?"
"She is a kind spirit, sir. Talented. Wise. Charming. Sensible.” He paused, visibly floundering for more adjectives.
"And lovely?” He chuckled when the young man blushed darker. “Her veil slipped. I won't tell."
"Sir, I wish to be a suitor."
"I see. Have you spoken with Lady Kena'Naya about this?” Shazzur stroked his beard as he spoke. From the angle where he stood, Elzan saw his old teacher did it to hide his grin.
"No, sir!” Jeconiah jerked to his feet. “She doesn't even know my name. We have spoken, but only about medicines and her patients. It wouldn't be proper."
"It would be more improper if I gave my daughter to a man who wasn't her friend. I will never give her to anyone unless she first tells me she wishes him as her husband. Go and become her friend, and then speak of marriage to her, not to me.” Shazzur made a shooing motion. The young healer scurried away as if scalded.
"Marriage?” Elzan blurted, hurrying back to join Shazzur. “She's not old enough!"
"You still see her as a toddler. She's nearly twenty
-one. If she's old enough to be a Sanctum Bride, she's old enough to break hearts.” Shazzur's merriment faded. “I think I shall speak with her instead of joining you in the archives. Brand me for an old fool, my boy. There is a long overdue speech I must give my child, and I admit I dread it."
* * * *
"Jeconiah?” Challen sat down hard on the couch in Lady Mayar's workroom. “We've barely spoken enough to know names—and he thinks that's good enough for marriage?"
"Exactly what I told him.” Shazzur sighed, smiling. “He should be flattered. He said you didn't know his name."
"Jeconiah is a sweet boy. He cares so for the children. I see him sneak toys and sweets to them."
"Ah. I see."
"What?” She stood and stalked over to his chair, fists jammed into her hips. “What schemes are you up to now?"
"No schemes. You like him. You think he's sweet."
"Not enough to marry him!"
"You refer to him as a boy. He's seven years your senior.” He sighed. “I wouldn't be disappointed if you chose him. On the ladder of possible worthy husbands, he is near the top."
"Not disappointed isn't the same as pleased.” She slid to her knees next to his chair and took his hand. “What's wrong?"
"It's more of a shock than I expected, realizing that you truly are grown. Grown enough to attract suitors."
"I don't want to marry."
"Hmm. You don't sound as adamant as you did several moons ago."
Challen stopped with her protest unborn, startled at how true her father's words rang. She swallowed hard, as if taking back the denial that suddenly tasted wrong.
"Has someone come along who can smile at you and make your heart reach to the clouds?"
"Well...” She blushed as Elzan's sparkling black eyes and crooked smile leaped to mind. The few times they had met and talked, she had been as delighted with his humor and wit as his depth of understanding of the Prophecy and his insight. Yet when she recalled their conversations, his face, his laughter, and the sound of his voice were more vivid than their studies.
"A healer, or a scribe?” Shazzur demanded, punctuating his words with a gentle tug on her braid.
"A scribe and a soldier. He's studying the Three and the Prophecy, too. Oh, but it's silly. We both have too much important work, to waste time on courting foolishness."
"Yes. Of course,” her father drawled. “What is this wise man's name? I believe I would like to meet him."
"Father, if you dare breathe one word...” She stared into her father's smiling face, terrified—of what, she didn't quite know. Then Challen realized how silly she acted and laughed as she pushed the fear away. “His name is Elzan, that's all I know. He knows nothing about me except I study the Three. I keep the blurring strong from the moment I leave the Sanctum until the moment I return, I swear it."
"Elzan, hmm? A soldier and scribe, studying the Three.” He nodded. “You can trust my silence. Now, as to your sweetheart, Jeconiah—” He chuckled when his words prompted a groan.
* * * *
"May I borrow these when you are through, Mother?” Elzan asked, as Lady Mayar returned to her workroom. He stepped away from the side table where the fragile, dusty, slightly sour-smelling scrolls lay.
"Borrow—oh, those scrolls.” Lady Mayar paused and frowned at the scrolls, then shook her head. “No, I am sorry. They are not to leave this room until they go back to Chizhedek."
"Ah, so that's where you got them.” He nodded and watched his mother settle at her worktable and make a notation on a wax tablet. “Why are you reading them?"
"Why did you look at them?” she returned without looking at him.
"I read every scroll I can touch. I can't stop. Besides, those scrolls are so old I couldn't help being curious. They're probably as old as the Hidden City.” He sat on the couch where he could see her at work.
"Nearly two centuries younger, but they are copies of far older ones. I doubt they will help you.” She raised her head and narrowed her dark eyes as she studied her son for a moment. “Why does it interest you?"
He stood, needing movement to fight the restlessness that came from thinking of Shazzur's daughter. Two moons had come and gone since the child had entered the Sanctum and he had been so busy he not only forgot his vow to find a way to let her be free and safe, he had forgotten her.
He had come to visit Lady Mayar and escape the worst of the day's heat, found her gone from her workroom, and noticed the scrolls on the side table. Their ancient condition had aroused hope. He had been disappointed to find only a passage on the Sanctum and the treatment of the Brides. Then guilt stabbed him.
Kena'Shazzur was in the Sanctum and he had forgotten his vows to be her friend and champion. Maybe he could use something in these old scrolls on her behalf.
"Shazzur's daughter,” he began.
"Is far safer in the Sanctum than any other place in Bainevah,” Lady Mayar interrupted with enough force to startle him. “She is ineligible for the ritual until her preparation ends. Then, she is only eligible twice a year. Two chances among thirteen girls. Most girls leave as virgins, with large dowries to attract worthy husbands."
"There is more to life than finding a husband or a wife.” Even as he spoke, Elzan thought of Challen. Her laughter, the intensity of her eyes when they found something that might apply to the problem of the Three. The sweet, unadorned freshness of her beauty. The jolt that passed through him when they walked down a deserted hall together and his arm accidentally brushed against her.
The delicious secret of knowing he was immune to her blurring, so no one but he ever saw her true face.
"She is safe from enemies who would harm her to harm her father. Think in mercenary terms. The King cannot afford to have Shazzur distracted. Fending off dozens of suitors for his lovely daughter would be a distraction, even for our wise Shazzur."
"How lovely, Mother?"
"Do you remember Naya?” She shook her head before he could reply. “A boy's memories. Elzan, I only worried once when your father went to the Sacred Marriage, and that was with Naya. I was First Concubine and I knew he loved me, but what if he asked Naya to become a concubine? I knew she would not make herself my rival, but Naya had no intended husband waiting for her. A woman not anchored in love sometimes will take the first offer she receives because she thinks there will be no other."
"Why did you become a concubine, Mother?” Elzan dropped to his knees by her chair and took her hand. “I know Commander Asqual loved you, and you had many suitors. I think life would be simpler if Asqual were my father.” He tried to smile.
"You would not be, my hawk, if I had accepted Asqual. I gave myself to your father because he held my heart since we were children, as I held his."
"I would not treat a woman I loved as he treats you.” He began to stand, but she would not release his hand.
"What your father and I share in private bridges the chasm that Court and appearances put between us. You will be king, and Bainevah will demand much of you and the one you love. When that happens, you will not consider the sacrifice too great."
"Forgive me,” he whispered, when he saw the hint of tears in his mother's eyes. Elzan kissed her forehead in apology.
His mind knew she was right. His heart ached for the years of what he had seen as neglect and silence between his parents.
He thought of Challen, and wished his mother had married a healer priest, a scribe, Commander Asqual, because that would leave him free to follow his heart. What good was it to be the king when the only woman he truly wanted was beyond his reach?
* * * *
As the sparse rains of fall finally came to soothe Bainevah's needs, Elzan managed to meet with Challen for a short time every third day. He was grateful his body listened to his brain—and yet, perversely disappointed. He liked the warmth and trembling her presence created. Her sparkling gray eyes captivated him and he could still make her blush if he looked long enough into them. Elzan liked to make her laugh. He did
n't realize how much until he caught himself seeking odd bits of history to tell her, incidents that would entertain her.
He found she had a sharp mind and instinct that led to consistent discoveries. In the third moon quarter after the equinox festivities, many small pieces of research hinted at a picture Elzan and Challen hoped would eventually explain all.
The Three were originally a mortal woman, her widowed son, and his young daughter; weaver folk working in Matrika's temple. A terrible storm had threatened the temple, driving away the priestesses and guards. The family stayed to take down the sacred tapestries and protect them. Then, they realized the temple was under attack and they stayed to protect the inner sanctuary.
Maquaos Shadowmaker came in the heart of the storm to shatter the walls of Matrika's sanctuary. When the stone blocks began to topple, the tapestries that the family had woven held firm, imbued with magical power. The three called out to Matrika and she granted them powers. Thread Woman tangled his hands with the product of her spindle. Color Man brightened the dark storm, turning it into sunrise. Weaver Girl caught the edges of Maquaos’ beard and wove them into her loom so he became part of Mother Matrika's plan.
For their reward, they were made immortal, charged to guide and protect human destiny and integrate all the disparate threads into the Holy Pattern. They produced tapestries holding messages from Mother Matrika; prophecies, warnings, and instructions so all who worshipped her could learn simply by studying them.
"Maquaos Shadowmaker.” Elzan nodded when Challen told him of her find. “I've read his name, but I thought he was a storm deity of a conquered nation in the second dynasty."
"Doubly conquered.” Challen made room on the bench where she sat so he could join her and study the scroll she held.
Elzan held his breath, forcing his body into stillness before he accepted her invitation.
Today her simply braided hair smelled of lemons. Elzan fought to concentrate on the scroll she read aloud, one long, delicate finger highlighting the words.
10,000 Suns Page 15
