Priestess of the Dragons' Temple

Chapter 4: Gaps in the Walls-2

When she opened her eyes, Sunna was looking at her.

“I can see why you’re so popular with the men,” Sunna said.

Iola didn’t understand. “What do you mean?” she asked, but Sunna just shrugged. “Is it something about how I look?”

Sunna shook her head. “I was only thinking aloud, another bad habit of mine. But listen, you should know that that’s really only part of it. I’ve heard the others gossiping, not just … you know.” She looked up at one of the light wells and raised her eyebrows.

“Who do you mean?” Iola asked.

Sunna picked up a bucket and sloshed water over her head then leaned against the far edge of the bath.

Iola pushed off the side and swam over, coming to rest next to Sunna. “Can people hear from up there?”

Sunna didn’t answer.

“Can I ask you something?” Iola said after a while, even though she knew she shouldn’t pry. Sunna didn’t say no, so she went on in a whisper. “Darna said that you’d seen Thorat. That you see him often.”

Sunna frowned. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. The Aralel’s always warning me not to talk about those things, or say anything that would cause questions like this.”

Iola bit her lip. “But Thorat, is he all right?”

“He’s more than all right, he’s very talented. Almost as talented as you are.” She leaned over to Iola and whispered in her ear. “And nearly as pretty.”

Iola felt self-conscious in a strange way. She edged away from Sunna, who laughed.

“Get out of my reach,” Sunna said. “I’ve got to soak my old sore bones. Healers ordered it. Off you go.” She paused and smirked. “Ardent one.”

Iola drew back further. She didn’t want Sunna for a lover, or anyone, really, not even Myril. She wanted to do her work, to be the vessel of the dragons, the body of the land, not just pretty, or even ardent, or whatever Sunna was hinting at. She climbed out of the bath, leaving Sunna in peace she supposed. She hadn’t meant to pester her.

Iola went back to her chamber to wait for the dancing teachers to summon her.

§

Darna gathered up a few beads she had from the petitioners’ offerings. She’d had three petitioners so far, each different, but not so different as she would have expected. They were eager for her body, which was strange, and they expressed their devotion to the dragons in the usual way with ritual phrases and gestures expressed as routinely as a greeting in the street.

Ah, the street. That was where she was going. One of the older peresi was going to show her the way out. She supposed that she would go out through the baths and where the launderers did their work, since she’d seen Sunna there that one night.

As it turned out, she was wrong. At the top of her stairs, Irean was waiting for her, not Sunna. Irean was also garbed in plain, dark red. The color complemented her complexion well, but Darna felt that it probably didn’t look so good with her own reddish and pale coloring. She felt gangly, if not misshapen. Irean looked over Darna’s robes with a critical eye.

“You’ll do,” she said. She led Darna over to the elders’ court and up a stair into a narrow space between the back of the elders’ quarters and a row of houses, houses which no doubt opened out onto the streets of Anamat. Darna thrilled at the sight. They stopped at what appeared to be a closet door except that the wood around the latch was shiny with frequent wear. Irean muttered a short prayer under her breath then lifted the latch.

They entered a small attic room with crates and sacks bunched against its walls. Light came in through gaps between the rafters and wall. Darna wondered if this was what all the upper stories of the houses in Anamat looked like. She’d never been inside one as a scrappling. She’d had glimpses through doorways and windows but mostly of the lower rooms. Even when her hidden paths had brought her level with the upper stories of houses their small windows had almost always been shuttered. She wondered what was in all of those boxes and bags but Irean hurried on.

“I don’t like this place,” Irean said. “Someone should dust it, but the grandmother is too frail and we can’t send the novices over here. Then they might go out, and you can’t trust the streets these days.”

Darna wondered what she meant by that, whether things had gotten worse in the lesser temples.

The stairs down were narrow, pinched between two walls. At each of the in-between stories, Irean led Darna along a narrow, almost lightless hall. At the bottom, they came to a room that reminded Darna of the ones she’d seen from the street. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, giving off a sweet scent, and an old woman sat on a bench under the room’s single window, frowning at her needlework. She scarcely moved as Irean and Darna entered.

“Darnasa, is it?” the old woman said in a creaky voice.

As much as Darna didn’t like the -sa on the end of her name, she wasn’t going to quarrel with the elder on watch.

“It is, honored – ”

Irean broke in. “This is the Grandmother,” she explained. “Give her a bead, and we’ll be on our way.” Irean took a small bead out of her pocket and handed it to the Grandmother. The Grandmother held it up to the light to inspect it. Her eyes were clouded.

She turned to Darna. “I am not quite blind yet,” she said. “Give me your best bead, or a little jewelry, and I will watch for you.” She waved her gnarled hand over the window. “I will watch for you with all my powers.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Darna said. “Blessed Irean will also be watching me, I think.”

“I certainly will,” Irean said.

The Grandmother chuckled. “You youngsters need a lot of watching, you more than most,” she said to Darna. “Don’t go chasing after your young man.”

“I don’t have a young man!” Darna objected. How could she, after so many years in the temple?

“But there’s one waiting for you,” the Grandmother said. “I’ve seen him.” She tapped her head. “Also, there’s the one you would have, if he’d have you.”

Darna didn’t know what to say to that, but Irean spared her by interrupting again.

“We should be going if we’re to be back by sundown.”

“Off with you, then,” the Grandmother said. Darna handed over a middling tailor’s bead and a small bead of pure gold. The Grandmother seemed satisfied with that, and then she was out, free on the streets of Anamat … except for Irean.

“Let’s go to the clothiers’ quarter and then to the jewelers’ street,” Irean said with sudden enthusiasm.

“I was thinking I’d go wandering by myself,” Darna said. She had hoped to go climbing up the canals, to explore her old passageways again if she could find them.

“Oh, no, no,” Irean said. “Absolutely not. It’s far too dangerous, especially in these times. The Aralel will have my head if I let such a new priestess out of my sight. Besides, I’m going to buy new robes and I’d like your thoughts on the cloth. The other girls say you have excellent judgment in such things. Maybe you can even help me bargain. I’ve never been much good at haggling.”

Despite the free air, despite turning onto the street behind the temple where she’d walked years ago, Darna’s heart sank.

§

In the library, Myril bent over a copy of the scroll Iola was supposed to be studying. It was painfully dull. The light had gone out of so many things since her initiation trance. For all the horror of being caught in that other world, with no control over her thoughts or the journey of her soul, it had also been full of awe and wonder. The old familiar pleasure of study paled to nothing beside those half-remembered sights and feelings, the intensity of color pressing down on her body, the sound of the dragon-streams under her. No wonder Iola wasn’t interested in anything but the rite these days. Myril knew that her own companionship couldn’t compare to that place, to that experience, but she still missed Iola’s company. It had been comforting. They were alike, as was Darna, though she denied it. She had slipped away from the temple, Ganie had a petitioner, Sunna had gone off somewhere, and Iola was helping with the dancing lessons, so Myril had no one at all to talk to, though Lenasa had seemed friendlier since their initiation. Myril felt restless.

A little while later, after she had progressed to the next panel of the scroll, she heard a step on the library tower’s stairs. She stood as a youngish woman entered, wearing elders’ robes.

“Are you the one who took my chamber?” she asked without preamble. She was of middling height with chestnut hair, high, blushing cheeks, and warm eyes. She fidgeted and glared at Myril.

Myril bowed, as she would to an elder. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have Helana in the shrine.”

“It’s not you, then,” the young woman said, relaxing. “I had Salara. I was a few doors over from Sunna. You know her.”

“I do,” Myril said. “That must be Iola’s chamber.” Then she remembered Ganie’s gossip from the day before. “You must be Taira, then. I’m Myril,” she said.

Taira nodded, acknowledging her. “I’m sorry. I heard about your trance. I guess you won’t be staying long.”

“I’m almost done,” Myril said, rolling up the scroll.

“Oh, no, not today, not in the library. I mean in the peresi’s courtyard.”

Myril took a deep breath and looked out the window. “I don’t know what they have planned, but I suppose not,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind staying in the temple if I could stay here all the time, in the library.”

Taira gave a wry smile. “The Aralel sent me to help with the archiving. I’m dreading it. I can’t believe all this fuss over a little scrap of parchment.”

“But why did you have it?” Myril asked, remembering the rumors.

Taira shrugged. “I wondered what the treasurers had collected over the years. I didn’t mean to let any secrets slip, but I wanted to know more.”

Myril thought for a moment. “And so here you are in the library, where you can learn more. Even if it means you’re not a Blessed One any more.”

“That’s just what the Aralel said.” Taira slumped onto the windowseat. “Of course there’s more to it than the list, but it’s not important.” She stopped and looked out the window, then continued. “Apparently I haven’t been keeping up with audiences well enough to stay in the peresi’s courtyard. The Aralel says they need to have priestesses there who will actually see more than one petitioner a moon-cycle. I can’t trance well and I can’t stomach clazan. The Aralel said if I wanted to stay at this temple, I’d have to do better with the smelly petitioners or move over to the crones’ court and be apprentice librarian. Otherwise it’s some dreadful dreary provincial temple if I’m lucky, or a mountain hermitage if I’m not.” She shuddered.

Myril sat beside Taira and took her hand.

Taira had tears in her eyes. “It’s just that … I don’t want to leave. I hated the country. I’ve never wanted to be anything but a priestess of Ara’s Landing, even if I’m not a very good one.”

Myril heard a shuffling on the stairs. “Someone else is coming,” she whispered in Taira’s ear. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. The elders’ court is so peaceful. You wouldn’t mind being a librarian, would you?”

Taira sniffed and nodded. “I guess I wouldn’t. I’ll try at least.”

“Good.” Myril tried to smile encouragingly.

Taira straightened up and dusted herself off. “Thanks.”

Myril left the library carrying Iola’s scroll. She would never be able to concentrate with Taira sniffling by the window. On the landing, she bowed to the temple librarian who was among the oldest of the priestesses. Her white hair billowed across the deep red shoulders of her robe. She paused to look at Myril through blue eyes that were just beginning to go cloudy around the edges.

“Are you Myril?” the librarian asked, squinting.

“Yes, Honored One.”

“The Aralel requests your presence. You’d better go right away, before they have to go looking for you.” The old librarian went past without waiting for a response, leaving Myril confused and suddenly apprehensive. She didn’t want to be banished like Taira, not to the hills. She hadn’t taken a petitioner since Midsummer night. She had the urge to go see if Darna had come back from her walk outside the temple.

Instead, she steeled herself to go to Aralel’s tower as ordered.

The walk to the elders’ courtyard felt like it took twice as long as usual, even though the stairs had grown no taller, the corridors no longer, and the gardens no wider. The Aralel was stunning, always impressive, and her attention made Myril nervous. She held so much power within the temple and even influenced the world outside. Myril was sure she’d get a very serious reprimand, at best. Maybe she would be turned out into the streets after Midwinter, or be sent to some lesser temple for her cowardice, a temple where the petitioners might be less devout. She crossed through the elders’ garden, trying not to draw attention to herself.

She mounted the broad stairs to the Aralel’s chambers. One of the curtains was pulled back as if someone were waiting there, watching. Myril stood in the entryway, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Come in, Myril,” the Aralel said. She had her back to the doorway. She reached up with one hand, scanning the scrolls in a case high on the wall. Her silver-grey hair poured down in waves over her still-slender and strong-looking back. It made Myril even more nervous that the Aralel had recognized her without turning to look. Still without turning around, the Aralel continued to speak.

“It’s been three generations since a girl here went into a trance as deep as yours. I spoke with the women of the palace hill temple, and I’ve asked a few questions around other temples in the valley, but no one can remember that kind of trance happening to someone they knew. Fortunately,” she said, stepping down with a scroll in her hand, “our temple keeps better records than some. I believe this is the scroll that contains a reference to that case.”

Myril stood awkwardly just inside the doorway.

“You can sit, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness,” Myril replied, but she only stood beside the stool, too nervous to sit.

The Aralel studied the scroll, laying it on the table in front of her. It was surrounded by a dozen other scrolls, a cup of water, and a plate of fruit. “There, there it is,” she said. Her finger ran over the letters as she rolled it along, then she stopped as if surprised by what she read. She looked up at Myril. “It seems the girl did try again, after another moon-cycle, and the second time she came out of trance a little before dawn, and never had a trouble with it again.” The Aralel’s brow wrinkled. “I’m still concerned though. You’re welcome to try again. Do you want to?”

“No!” Myril choked. Her palms broke out in a cold sweat at the thought. She clutched the stool in front of her, and after a long unsteady moment she sat down.

The Aralel pushed the scroll aside and came out from behind her desk. She crouched next to Myril and took her hand, cradling it in her own long fingers, knobbly at the knuckles and slightly wrinkled. “I don’t know if I’d dare it, in your place, but if you can, you would be a great priestess, possibly among the greatest.”

Myril shook her head. “I don’t know that I want to be. And I don’t think I can.”

The Aralel nodded. “The former Aralel, the one who’s the Grandmother now, said that such a thing wasn’t likely to happen again in our time, and you shouldn’t be made to go into the rite again. There was a long ago tale she told us of a young priestess who tranced very deeply indeed. She tranced for years, here at Ara’s Landing, but then she moved off to a provincial temple – Getedun border, I think. She went into trance again that Midwinter and never did come back, not at all. I couldn’t find it in our written records, but it does seem there’s a risk.”

Myril nodded mutely.

“So,” the Aralel said, “if you won’t trance, we might be able to make other arrangements. I’ve promised for years to send a girl to the chronicler’s guild. We can’t do anything formally until after Midwinter, of course, but I’d like you to consider it.”

Myril exhaled the breath she’d been holding in. The silence pressed around her as the Aralel waited for her response.

“Yes, I think I’d like that. Thank you, Your Holiness.”

“Good.” The Aralel rolled up the scroll and passed it to Myril. “In the meantime I can introduce you to the chief chronicler, who might stop in to discuss a few matters with me some time this season. If he doesn’t, there will be time enough to arrange things after Midwinter.”

Myril nodded. The chronicler had been part of the Governor’s party on the day before their initiation. He had seemed wise and sharp-witted, and less fearsome than the Aralel. Chronicling would suit her. No trances.

“Myril?” The Aralel drew her attention back to the present.

“I’m sorry?” Myril said.

“As I was saying, we’ll keep you occupied in the meantime. I want you to come here first thing after breakfast tomorrow to help me catalog these scrolls.” She waved her hand at the cases along the wall. “You might have to go into the treasury for some others as well. I can’t send you to the chroniclers ignorant of the harbor temple’s archives.”

“Of course not,” Myril said. “I’m sure that’s enough to fill a year or more, let alone the months until Midwinter.”

The Aralel shook her head. “That’s not all. We also have this not so small matter of your talents in trance.”

Myril felt sick. She looked up apprehensively.

“I’m also going to apprentice you to the kitchen priestesses, to develop your skills in augury without going into the full trance. The Chroniclers will do nothing for your spiritual talents. I expect you to work in the kitchen alternate days from now until Midwinter, and if you leave us after that, you’re to return to our kitchens for one of each quarter-moon after you leave us. Do you agree?”

“I suppose so,” Myril said. She didn’t mind the kitchens. If she did trance there, Honored Geta or one of the other elders would notice right away. They would know how to bring her back, if anyone did, hopefully before she got in too deep.

“Good.” The Aralel stood and helped Myril to her feet. “In the meantime, if all goes well, you might consider trying the rite again? It might be easier now that it’s not a crossing time.”

Myril shook her head.

“Very well.” The Aralel sighed. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She swept Myril to the top of the stair, one arm around her shoulders, and left her with a hearty pat on the back.

Myril found the Aralel’s sudden familiarity unsettling. By the time she reached her own temporary chamber in the peresi’s courtyard, she’d decided that it was just the Aralel’s way of making her feel obligated to uphold the temple, unless it was some strange kind of recognition. She settled into her chamber and studied Iola’s scroll until the evening light grew too dim to read by.

§