Temple of Fyre (Island of Fyre)

by Janet Lane-Walters

  Ria left the top tier and made her way down the levels. “I cannot harm the innocent for any reason. You are evil.”

  Malera fisted her hands on her hips. “You have betrayed not only me, but the temple. There are no stones to replace the ones you turned into cinders.”

  Ria met the glare from the chief priestess’ dark eyes. “I did what I was meant to do.” She stepped through the beaded curtain and strode across the rotunda. The slap of sandals on the tiles came from behind her. Gooseflesh rose on her skin.

  “We have been betrayed,” Malera cried. “Acolytes and priestesses, join me. Drive her from the temple. Stone her. As was done in the past, the temple must be cleansed of those who deny the proper ways.”

  Terror gripped Ria’s shoulders in a vise. She heard the footsteps of those who followed. Though cries for flight beat steadily in her thoughts, she refused to show her fear. Ria reached the outer door and stepped into the lane. The first rock thudded against her back and drove the breath from her lungs. She staggered, but managed to stay on her feet.

  As though the flames she’d sent skyward had triggered a solar flare, the sun brightened. Ahead of her, the wide lane leading to the temple was deserted. She glanced over her shoulder and knew she would never reach the market square before the women were upon her. Panic engulfed her. She ran. Rocks slammed into her body. One smacked her legs. She fell. The caftan tore. On hands and knees, she slid across the rough cobbles of the path.

  * * *

  Malera stood over Ria’s body. “Traitor.” The chief priestess turned to the acolyte who had been the last to join the stoning. “See what happens to those who defy me. Next time, do not be so slow or you will face the same punishment.”

  Another of the young women shrank back. A third knelt beside the body. “She lives. Should we call the alders to take her to the slavers?”

  Malera ran her hands along the handle of her flail. “Let her lie.” She pointed upwards. “The sun will drink her essence and the carrion crows will dine on her flesh.” She indicated the dark forms that circled against the blue sky. “See, they gather for a feast.”

  Two huge birds, the color of the midnight sky, landed on the path. Their orange beaks gleamed. One hopped forward and focused its gaze on Malera.

  The chief priestess laughed. “Soon you will eat.”

  The bird’s wings spread like ebony fans. “No,” one of the acolytes cried.

  Malera pointed to the temple. “Since you have no stomach for what must be done, go to the temple and tend the priestesses the traitor harmed.”

  The young woman backed away. “What about the fyrestones she destroyed? What will we do for the solstice rites?”

  “Soon, the stone seekers will arrive.” Malera stroked the thongs of the flail. Most years, they arrive before the solstice.” She raised the flail and lashed Ria’s back and legs until blood seeped through the caftan.

  The acolyte who knelt beside Ria jumped back to avoid the thongs. Something flew from her hand and skipped across the cobbles. “Why did you beat her?”

  Malera laughed. “How else will the carrion crows know a feast awaits?”

  The young woman covered her face with her hands. She scurried to the temple.

  Malera spat on Ria’s body. “I am the chief priestess, the chosen leader of the Temple of Fyre. This land is under my control. The commoners bow to me. Rewards and punishments are mine to mete.” She spun, strode to the temple and hurried to the harras. The fires raging in her body needed to be quenched as only the studs could do.

  * * *

  Ari paused at the edge of the grove and peered at the sky. The sun stood just beyond midday. Stay or go? If he pushed the burros, he could reach Rosti just as the sun set. Should he take the chance? The rocky plain between the grove and the hamlet was home to the lopestas that emerged to hunt after the sun set. One stumble on the rocks could turn a profitable season into a disaster. Tomorrow would be soon enough to head for Rosti. He would have a ten-day to sell the fyrestones and depart before the solstice began.

  He staked the burros and lifted the near empty panniers from their backs. He piled digging tools and the tent beside the wicker baskets. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead.

  The scarlet fyrestone he’d worn on the day the pair of stone seekers had found him pulsed. He pressed his hand against the lump beneath his tunic. What did it mean? He stared toward the distant walls of the hamlet. His eyes widened. A plume of fire rose toward the sun. What were the priestesses attempting? Had one of their fires escaped from their control?

  Not his business. The only traffic he had with the temple was for the sale of the opaline crystals he carried in his haversack. With the fyrestones he’d found, he would have enough coins for supplies and to buy some answers to the questions that had bothered him for years. Who was he and why had he been abandoned in the grove? Which hamlet had been his birthplace?

  He started a fire and ate the remainder of the lopear he’d snared that morning. After setting several snares, he dozed until sunset. He checked his snares and cooked two grass hens, ate one, and slept.

  When pre-dawn lightened the sky, he loaded the burros. He set off across the rocky plain, taking care to avoid large piles of rocks where the lopestas burrowed during the day.

  At the gate into Rosti, he paused to pay the entrance fee. “You’re in early,” the guard said. “Any luck?”

  Ari nodded. At least the guard asked out of curiosity, and not the prying questions asked when a man left the hamlet. Ari often wondered if there were bonds between the guards and the thieves who preyed on solitary stone seekers.

  “A bit,” he said. “Found whites and a pair of yellows before the site played out.” That had been the first of his finds, but he wouldn’t mention the others. “Sale will bring me enough for supplies and a few nights at an inn.”

  The man stepped closer. “You’re the first stone seeker to arrive. With crystals in your pack, the priestesses will welcome you. Did you see the flame yesterday at midday, the one that rose above the temple? Heard one of the priestesses tried to kill Malera. Someone said all but the white fyrestones turned black and have no power.

  Ari laughed. “Then mine should bring a good price.”

  The guard nodded. “Might reward you with more than coins. Could offer a night with one of the priestesses. Or you could be chosen to join them for the solstice celebration. Hear they like the things a man does.”

  Ari forced a grin. That was one reward he had no intention of collecting. If he gave a priestess too much pleasure, he could become a prisoner in the harras.

  He led the burros past the guard and turned into the first lane where stables abounded. He stopped at the one Jorg had always used. His thoughts turned to his dead partner, and once more, he regretted being unable to save the old man’s life. Jorg had clutched his chest and fallen to the ground. Ari hadn’t known what to do.

  The stableman accepted enough coins for a ten-day. Once again, Ari thanked Jorg for teaching him to keep a secret stash of coins. Ari led the burros into a stall. He draped the blanket roll over the gate and hung the tent beside it. He hung the panniers on hooks and set the digging tools on a ledge. The stableman lifted a stone block and the trough filled with water. While the man brought hay and grain, Ari curried the burros. Once he finished, he hoisted his haversack and lifted a sack of dirty clothes.

  After leaving the stable, he sought an inn. In the choosing, he heeded Jorg’s advice. Never stay at the same one you used the last time. Always seek one with a ground floor chamber and a private bathing room.

  The second one he visited met his requirements. “You’re in luck,” the skinny innkeeper said. “In a few days, the place will be crowded with folks arriving for the summer solstice. Five coppers a day for the room. Meals are extra. For one silver, the laundress will see to your clothes.”

  Ari nodded. He counted out the coins for the room and laundry. Though he had no intention of remaining for the solstice, he paid for a ten-d
ay, two beyond the festival. Once he sold the fyrestones and bought supplies, he would seek Jorg’s old partner. Besides the twenty coppers Ari gave the old man on each visit to Rosti, this time Ari was determined to purchase information. Once he knew all the particulars of the rescue, he would leave the hamlet. Being near the temple during the twice-yearly rites made him uncomfortable. The scarlet crystal, his heritage, always reacted. He feared one day, the stone would raise a flame and consume him.

  He followed the innkeeper down a narrow hall and noticed two exits he could use to come and go without crossing the common room. The thin man opened a door at the end of the hall. Ari noted the heavy bar he could use to keep people out. He nodded. “This will do.” He dropped the sack of dirty clothes in the hall. “Have these washed. I’ll add others after I’ve been to the temple.”

  “She’ll have most ready by morning. Will you take your meals in the common room or have them brought here?”

  “I’ll have the evening meal brought, but I’ll decide when later.”

  “Will you need a companion? I’ve a connection to one of the pleasure houses.”

  “Perhaps. First, I have business to conduct.”

  Once the innkeeper left, Ari barred the door. He dropped the haversack on the bench beneath the window and secured the shutters. He opened the pack, and one by one, extracted the fyrestones from the pack’s false bottom. As he touched each stone, the core color flickered. He placed each of the colors in a separate pouch and placed them in the large leather one he hung from his belt.

  When he left the inn, he strode down the cobbled lane to the market square. He noticed his mentor’s aged and crippled partner beside one of the food stalls. Though Ari wanted to question the man, he knew he couldn’t until after the crystals had been sold.

  What would Bil tell him? The man had been Jorg’s partner when they’d stumbled across the small boy near the edge of the grove. The scarlet fyrestone and the copper necklace had been the only clue to Ari’s identity, a clue he didn’t think the men had pursued.

  Ari’s hands clenched. Who had left him there? Who had given him the stone? He’d never heard of a man being able to use any of the fyrestones, except the white. Though several times, he’d dreamed Jorg had used one, Ari couldn’t remember finding one when the old man died.

  The savory aroma of meat pies made his stomach growl. He purchased one and a mug of ale. The nutty flavor of the beverage soothed the fiery spices of the pies. Around him, conversations flowed. He ate quickly. Once the stones were sold, he would order a feast and a woman from one of the pleasure houses to share the food and attend to his needs. He’d been without a woman’s company since the week before the winter solstice. As he sauntered toward the temple, snippets of words reached him.

  “Flame near touched the sun.”

  “Saw that. Could have ended the world.”

  “Heard the priestesses took sick. They’re not hearing petitions.”

  “After the solstice when the rites are changed.”

  Ari reached the edge of the square and followed the fyrethorn hedge to the arched entrance to the temple lane. The hedge lined both sides of the wide cobble-paved path. The brilliant scarlet blooms on the bushes hid deadly red thorns. Ari frowned. The odd thing was nowhere but here near the temple had he ever seen fyrethorn growing. He often wondered why.

  Chapter Two

  Ria huddled beside the bushes near the wall of the Temple of Fyre. How long had she lain here? Hours? Days? She had no notion of how much time had passed since the duel with Malera. Ria’s memories were filled with the confrontation, the stoning, and the strident case of the carrion crows. She’d expected the birds to attack. Instead, they had used their beaks to drive her through the hedge where the thorns had torn her caftan and the flesh of her arms. Once beyond the hedge, agonizing pain had driven her into darkness.

  Her body ached from the blows of the rocks and the slashes of Malera’s flail. Tears welled in her eyes. She could no longer be one of the priestesses who called fire from the opaline crystals.

  Hunger gnawed in her gut. Fever from the poison of the thorns flowed through her body. She wrapped her arms around her middle. What would she do? She had succeeded and called fire. She had blended the flames raised by the other women. Malera’s choice of a task had been wrong. So was the punishment the chief priestess had meted.

  Ria had been unable to destroy Gydon for its failure to pay the tithe. Malera was evil. How could women, children, and the elderly, plow the fields and bring in the harvest? Ria shuddered. To sell children to the slavers was wrong. Though she’d been treated with care by those grim, swarthy men, she’d seen how the others had fared.

  The scuff of boots on the stones of the path drew her toward the place where she’d broken through the hedge. A man strode toward the temple. His clothing was dusty and rumpled. A hunger different from her need for food arose. He carried fyrestones in the pouch dangling from his belt. The first of the seekers had arrived, but what he carried could never be hers. Malera would buy all for the temple.

  As he drew closer, her breath caught in her throat. Though unkempt, he was handsome. Tall and lean, with muscles honed by labor and sun darkened by the sun. Like hers, his hair was rich with the colors of the fyrestones.

  Her body tingled with awareness. For him, or for what he carried? He paused beside her hiding place and stooped to examine the stone. She tensed. Would he discover her and drag her to the temple where Malera waited?

  * * *

  As Ari neared the temple, he noticed a place where the hedge had been broken. What had happened? He crouched to examine the cobbles. Dark stains spotted the pale surface of the lane. He rose. Whatever the event had been, why should he care? He had a single purpose for being here. To sell the fyrestones for as many coins as possible.

  He paused in the entrance to the rotunda. Though he’d heard the things the gate guard had said and had listened to the rumors in the market square, the absence of petitioners surprised him. He’d never come to sell stones when there had been less than a handful of people waiting to speak to one of the priestesses.

  His boots clicked on the colored tiles. He glanced toward the beaded curtain that shielded the inner chamber and saw no lights. The rumors must be true. He walked to one of the tables flanking the doorway and lifted a hand bell.

  The mellow tone summoned a girl dressed in a white caftan. She emerged from one of the halls at the side of the rotunda. “No petitioners will be heard until after the solstice.”

  “I’m a stone seeker with crystals to sell.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ll bring someone.” She scurried away.

  Ari slumped on one of the benches. He closed his eyes and drifted in a half-sleep until he heard the slap of sandals on the tiles. He looked up. A woman dressed in a red caftan glided toward him and paused in front of the bench. He noticed the passion mark on her neck just above the necklace of white fyrestones dangling from gold, silver, and copper, wires. She wore bracelets and anklets of the same stones. Who was this woman? Though he’d been the seller since Jorg’s death, he had always dealt with an old woman.

  The priestess’ dark eyes swept over him in swift appraisal. “Come and show me what you have.” Her gaze slid from his face, across his chest and settled on his groin.

  The husky timbre of her voice made him wonder if she meant the fyrestones or his body. Her eyes examined him the way he judged the quality of crystals he found. His rod stiffened. The stones in his belt pouch pulsed in rhythm with his heart. Ari clenched his hands. He would trade crystals for coins, not for pleasure. For less than the value of a single scarlet, he could have the services of five women for a ten-day. “Who are you? I usually deal with an older priestess.”

  “I am Malera, the chief priestess. The acolyte said you had stones to sell.”

  “I do.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “Bring them to the table. I want to see what you have.”

  The heat raised by her touch threat
ened to burn away his intentions. “Here?”

  “Yes.” She slid her hand along his forearm and made a crooning sound. “There is strength in you.” When she stroked his upper arm, her tongue played along her lower lip.

  Ari sucked in a breath. She smelled of desire. If he surrendered to her lures, he would be lost and his quest for his identity would end. He pressed a hand against the crystal beneath his tunic. His thoughts cleared. After evading her grasping hands, he rose and strode to one of the tables. There, he spilled the contents of the first sack on the red cloth. “Fifty whites for ordinary tasks or ornamentation.”

  She lifted one. “One copper for each.”

  He saw the light of greed flash in her eyes. She wanted these stones. “Ten for each.”

  “Three,” she said.

  “Seven,” he countered.

  “I’ll give you five.”

  “Agreed.” He kept a smile from forming. The guard had been right. Stones were needed here. The coins for the whites would more than pay for the necessary supplies.

  Malera straightened. “Have you more?”

  “First the coins.”

  She clapped her hands. The acolyte who had greeted him soon arrived with a chest. The young woman placed the box on the table. Malera counted twenty-five silver coins. Ari stashed them in his belt pouch. He drew five yellows from a second sack.

  She studied them. “Enough games. Show me all you have. Ten silver for each yellow.”

  Ari nodded his acceptance and produced four orange and two scarlet. “Ten gold for each.”

  She shook her head. “Ten silver for each orange, and two gold for each scarlet.” She lifted one and stroked the surface.