People gaped at her and muttered to each other, but no one tried to stop her. Some ran to carry news of her arrival. Men, women and children poured from houses and workplaces to watch her progress. When she reached the central square, with the dome of the main shrine rising over the surrounding buildings, she stopped. Inside the shrine would be a more appropriate place for what she was about to do, but they’d never let her enter. They might not let her stay here. But even if they forcibly removed her, she would carry out her plan.
A crowd surrounded her as she knelt in the street, facing the door of the shrine. She pictured the painted draperies within and the serene white Ordinance scroll between the ever-burning lamps. She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and began to pray.
Only a short time passed before pounding feet slid to a stop and a hoarse voice demanded, “Nirel?”
She finished the last few words of the prayer and looked up. “Yes, Elder Davon?”
He stared down at her. “What are you doing here? How—” He looked toward the harbor, as if he might have missed the arrival of a ship.
“I walked.”
His eyes widened. “All the way from Tevenar?”
“Yes.” She’d left through the same mountain pass she’d taken with Ozor’s band as autumn progressed toward winter. Hunting and foraging had kept her belly full. A length of canvas, some rope, and a few stakes had let her turn any convenient branch or sapling into a tent. The sun and stars had guided her westward.
“Good Lord, daught—” He broke off. “Why?”
“This is my home.”
He drew a shuddering breath. “No. It’s not. Don’t you understand, I have no choice. The Lady’s power entered your body. There is no way under the Ordinances for me to pardon you. No penance, no show of devotion, can be enough. Not even one so remarkable as what you’ve done by coming here.”
“I understand.” She raised her voice. “I call on the Lord of Justice himself to vindicate me. Like the Elders to whom he first gave the Ordinances, I will stand vigil. From this moment I will pray for him to appear, without eating or drinking or sleeping, until either he answers me, or I die.”
Davon took a step backward. “Daughter, no,” he breathed.
Instead of answering, Nirel bowed her head again and began to recite aloud the Prayer of Peace. The voices around her stilled in deference to the holy words.
She half expected him to order her dragged away, thrown into a cell or put aboard a ship back to Tevenar. But he was silent while she completed the prayer, and all through the Prayers of Repentance, Adulation, and Petition that followed.
Finally, as she paused to lick lips already starting to dry, he spoke, the deep richness of his voice marred by a slight tremble. “As long as Nirel holds to her purpose, let no one interfere. The Lord of Justice will answer her or not, as he chooses.” A long pause, and deep breath. “If she abandons her vigil, she will be expelled from Faithhome. If she dies, her body will be cast into the sea.” Another pause. “If the Lord of Justice comes, we will do as he commands.”
Murmurs of acknowledgement rose all around. Elder Davon dropped his voice to a whisper as his hand briefly touched her head in benediction. “I hope he does.”
* * *
Davon quietly ordered some of the other Elders to take turns keeping watch. Nirel heard Elder Semanel’s voice raised in urgent questioning, and Davon briefing him on the situation. After that Semanel was constantly nearby, but Nirel refused to meet his eyes or speak with him.
Hours passed. Nirel prayed aloud until her mouth was too sticky to continue, then shifted to silent prayer. People walked around her. A few of them murmured words of encouragement, more made scornful comments, but most were silent.
Her knees dug into the hard dirt of the street. The sun baked the back of her neck. Her legs and feet went numb. Her empty belly rumbled. Her throat felt choked with sawdust.
As the sun sank toward the ocean, tantalizing scents of cooking drifted from the nearby houses. A surge of saliva provided a moment of blessed relief, but soon her lips and tongue and throat were drier than ever. Her stomach ached. She focused on the words of the prayers to distract her mind from her discomfort. This was only the beginning.
A burst of running feet and a voice strident with outrage broke her concentration. “What does the filthy slut think she’s doing?”
“Petitioning the Lord of Justice,” Elder Semanel said sternly.
“That’s ridiculous! The Lord of Justice would sooner stomp her to dust than listen to a single word from her lying mouth!”
A heavy hand fell on Nirel’s shoulder and shook her. She looked up to see Nolaren glaring down at her. “You disgust me. Could you not even accept your disgrace with proper shame? How dare you force your foul, corrupted body into our presence?”
The door of the shrine flew open and Elder Davon strode out. “Nolaren, leave her alone.”
Nolaren gave Nirel a final shake and released her. “Why hasn’t she been driven out of Faithhome with the rod of justice? How can you tolerate this abomination in our midst?”
Davon’s voice was quiet, but hard as steel. “Nirel is standing vigil to request the Lord of Justice’s presence. I have decreed that no one may disturb her. I will assume your actions were due to ignorance of my command, not willful disobedience. But you no longer have that excuse.”
“So the little foreigner’s bent you to her will, has she? I’ve heard the rumors, you know. How you were smitten with her when you judged her Trials and let her pass when she should have failed. How you took her into your house under your wife’s nose, calling her your daughter so no one would suspect. How you knew all along she’d been corrupted but ignored it until you were forced to acknowledge the truth lest your sin be revealed.”
“You’re speaking nonsense, Nolaren. Go home, unless you want even more penance on top of what you’ve already earned.”
Nolaren sneered at him. “You think everyone loves you because you freed us from the Matriarch. But you’re wrong. A lot of us are starting to see the truth. How many people have we buried since we came here? How many children starved this winter while the Elders and their families ate their fill? What use is freedom in this Lord-forsaken wilderness? You and the old men who support you had better watch out. Plenty of us would like to see a new generation of Elders take charge.”
“That’s enough, Nolaren. Go out to your farm and don’t show your face in town until Nirel’s vigil is over. I suggest you spend the time plowing and preparing to plant, if you’re so concerned about the scarcity of food.”
“I’m perfectly happy to never look on her face again. I’d be delighted if she really did kneel there until she falls over dead, but it will never happen. She’ll break down and beg for water and food before another day is through. Then you’ll realize I was right. If you want my help driving her away, just ask.” He turned and stormed off. After a few strides, he scooped something from the ground, spun, and hurled it. A stone slammed into Nirel’s shoulder. Pain exploded from the spot. Nolaren vanished around a building.
Elder Davon took a step after him, then stopped, blowing out his breath. “I’m sorry, Nirel. I promise, he’ll receive heavy penance at his next confession, no matter how your vigil ends. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”
Nirel worked her mouth until it was damp enough to speak. “Thank you.”
He reached for the place the stone had hit, then let his hand drop. “I should let you get back to praying.”
“Please.” Nirel bowed her head, but snuck glances at him from under her lashes.
Davon watched her for a long time. Finally he sighed and returned to the shrine. The door clicked shut behind him.
Twilight faded to darkness. The night wore on. Despite her discomfort, Nirel fought drowsiness. Prayers ran together in her mind, and she found herself repeating phrases or scrambling the order of lines. Her head nodded; she jerked it up with a grimace, but it happened again and again. Eventually she starte
d biting her tongue to jolt herself awake. When that lost effectiveness, she prodded the bruise on her shoulder until tears came to her eyes.
Deep in the night she had to climb to her feet and stumble to a privy lest she shame herself. When she returned to her place, lowering herself to her knees again hurt so badly she muffled a cry. The trip roused her for a while, but at length she fought sleep again.
After an eternity during which she dozed on and off despite her best efforts, black gave way to gray. Smoke rose from roofs as people stirred their fires to life. People emerged from houses to go about their daily tasks. A group of women chatted as they walked to the river with empty pails. When they passed Nirel again, pails sloshing, she had to clench her fists and chant the Prayer Against Temptation over and over to keep from lurching to her feet and rushing to snatch one.
She was sure everyone in Faithhome came to gawk at her at some point during the day. Many of them speculated on how long she would last. The fifth Ordinance of the seventh month forbade gambling, but she overheard a number of wagers arranged in whispers. The odds were high that she would give up before another full day passed. Only a few bet that she’d be stubborn enough to perish of thirst. She didn’t hear anyone stake their money on the Lord of Justice making an appearance.
At some point the hour she’d begun her vigil came and went. Nirel was too miserable to care much. Her whole body hurt. Her lips were cracked and raw. She kept falling into a daze and losing track of her prayers. The sun beat down until her skin burned and blistered.
How long must she endure? The legends didn’t mention how long the Elders had fasted. Josiah had said it took three full days to summon the Lady. The thought of twice as long as she’d already spent was so daunting, it might as well have been forever.
At the hottest hour of the afternoon, Elder Davon emerged from the shrine. He held a cup to Nirel’s lips. “Drink, daughter, please, just a little. The Lord of Justice will forgive so small a lapse.”
She batted the cup away, terrified of the intense lust that gripped her. She forced a whisper from her parched throat. “Don’t.”
He backed away without a word and returned to the shrine. Nirel stared at the wet patch in the dirt until it shrank to nothingness. She wept when it was gone, but no tears came to her eyes.
The second night passed in a daze. Dreams intruded into her consciousness until she wasn’t sure what was real. She walked in a cool forest and knelt to drink from a stream, but it turned to hot salty blood in her mouth. She rocked on the waves deep in the hold of a ship, while Lena sang a lullaby and stroked her hair. She made love to Josiah in the moonlight, laughing with him for sheer delight, but then blinked and it was Nolaren looming over her, holding her down and laughing in scorn.
She woke, heart pounding, to find Elder Davon kneeling beside her with a cup at her mouth. “Drink,” he begged. The liquid spilled into her mouth and she choked, gagging and spitting until she forced every drop out. He wept, and his tears soaked into the ground, turning it into a giant pool of mud that sucked her into its smothering depths. But instead of wet mud, arid dust invaded her nostrils and throat. She shriveled into a strip of dried meat hanging over a smoky fire. A hand seized her and teeth ripped into her, tearing away big chunks. They chewed and chewed but couldn’t swallow, because her throat was so terribly dry.
She woke to daylight. People surrounded her, muttering, although she couldn’t tell whether it was in sympathy or anger. After a while they went away. Davon kept coming back, but he only looked at her without speaking.
For a while in the afternoon she was lucid enough to pray. She used the correct words when she could, but she kept forgetting, so eventually she let herself ramble the way Josiah had, begging and pleading, confiding secrets she’d never told anyone, confessing all her shameful thoughts and feelings, describing in wistful detail her dearest and most impossible dreams. Surely the Lord of Justice would know she was doing her best, even if her words lacked the deference his worshipers were always supposed to maintain.
As the orange sunset blazed across the sky, a crowd gathered around again. This time their voices were tinged with respect, even awe. Davon crouched before her. “Nirel, it’s been more than two days. I don’t think you’ll make it another without water. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? You’ve shown us how much this matters to you. I can allow you to live in Faithhome. You can serve as a healer, the way you did before.”
Nirel ached to surrender to his kindness. She forced a word out, scarcely able to understand the rasp of her own voice. “Faithful?”
Davon sounded on the verge of tears. “I can’t. The Ordinances don’t let me.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes.
After a while the sound of footsteps told her everyone had gone away. She let her body sag until she huddled over her knees and dropped her head into her hands.
An arm went around her shoulders. She turned her head to find Elder Davon kneeling next to her. He gave her a rueful smile. “At least I can keep vigil with you.”
She sighed and leaned against him. All through the night his warm presence strengthened her.
A few more hours. Then it would be over.
One way or another.
* * *
At sunrise, Lena came and knelt beside Davon. He smiled at her and switched from silent prayer to verbal. Her voice joined his, high and low twining together in familiar harmony.
Semanel arrived, but instead of standing guard, he knelt with them and added his voice to theirs. An hour later, Mila and her husband joined them. Later, Davon’s older children took their places one by one and added their voices to the prayers.
The parents of her four diabetic patients were next, along with the oldest of the children, a boy near his Trials. Other people she’d treated came, along with their families. Even the relatives of some of those she hadn’t been able to save knelt and prayed. The mingled voices were loud, now. Nirel mouthed the words along with them, though she was far beyond the ability to speak.
At midmorning Elder Semanel rose and left for a quarter hour. When he returned, a large group of Elders accompanied him. They sank to their knees all around and raised strong voices in prayer. Their wives and families gradually joined them.
As the hour that would mark the end of three full days approached, even more Faithful gathered. Nirel looked around. At least a third of the population of Faithhome was kneeling with her. Maybe closer to half.
Around the outskirts of the praying throng, other Faithful stood and watched, scowling. There were a lot of young men; Nirel recognized some of Nolaren’s friends. She didn’t see him, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he was lurking just out of Elder Davon’s sight. A number of Elders were among those who looked on in disapproval, pointedly silent. Their wives and children stood with them.
Nirel’s mind felt clear, much clearer than normal. She found she could form audible words again. The unison thunder of voices lifted her with them. Their prayers ascended into the sky. Surely the Lord of Justice couldn’t help but hear and answer.
The sun crawled across the cloudless blue dome. Where exactly had it been when she started? She couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. The Lord of Justice wasn’t the Lady. He didn’t have to abide by her rules. Nirel would not stop praying, no matter how much time passed.
She floated, light and free. Maybe this was death. Maybe the only way he could accept her back into his presence was if she went willingly all the way to the end. A complete sacrifice. Once she was free forever of her corrupted body, he could welcome her again.
The steady rhythm of prayer faltered, jerking her into the present and her parched, starved, miserable body. She opened her eyes. Directly in front of her, before the doorway of the shrine, the air shimmered and rippled like waves of heat over a flame. Around her, everyone fell silent. Nirel held her breath.
A man took shape. His form wavered as the form of the Lady had, but instead of remaining obscured, he grew clearer and c
learer until he stood before her, solid and real. He was tall and stern, gray-haired and bearded, dressed in the robes of an Elder. Light shone around him, so pure and bright and dazzling the hot afternoon sunshine seemed dim twilight in contrast.
Nirel stared at him, amazed and awed and terrified. Belatedly she ducked her head and lowered her eyes to his sandaled feet. “Welcome, Lord of Justice,” she croaked.
His voice was rich and calm. It reverberated deep within Nirel, wiping away her fear and filling her with a sense of holy peace and purpose. “Why have you called me?”
Her voice came more easily, steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Please, Lord, I wish to be counted among your Faithful again.” She dared raise her eyes to his face. “More than anything in the world I want to serve you. If you forgive me and accept me back into your presence, I will remain true to you and your Ordinances for the rest of my days.”
He looked at her, his eyes seeing deep into her being, knowing everything about her, judging it all with pure impartial truth. “The power of the Lady of Mercy once entered your body.”
“Yes, Lord.” Nirel took a deep breath. “I did not ask for nor permit the servants of the Lady to heal me. They did so against my will.”
“The will my sister granted humankind, which allows you to choose to do evil.”
“Or good. Isn’t that why you gave us the Ordinances, to show us how to choose good? I’ve done my best to obey the Ordinances since I first learned of them.” She swallowed. Perhaps that wasn’t strictly true. “When I’ve broken them, I’ve done the full penance required for absolution.”
He continued to look at her, and she was certain he knew exactly how many times she’d repeated the Prayer of Repentance as she’d walked the width of the continent. Surely it had been more than enough to balance the misdeeds she’d committed with Josiah.
“You asked my appointed representative to pardon you, and he refused.” His gaze went briefly to Elder Davon, who inclined his head, then returned to Nirel.
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