how to use artifice to hide her plain appearance, she risked any priest she met demanding the use of her body. And had she wished to leave the Tyr, she would have required a sponsor’s letter and a brace of monitors to guard her. She had come to her position hoping to put an end to the tradition of holy prostitution, but had already realised that the priests would not give up that privilege easily.
She met no one else until she was in the outer precincts, at which point her basket and air of hurried purpose were enough to avoid unwanted attention. At her chosen exit, she opened the plain wooden door with the key from her purse. It opened onto a quiet street of townhouses, all built with an extra storey on the downslope side to compensate for the steep incline. The buildings leaned towards each other conspiratorially, as though trying to hide the street from the looming bulk of the Tyr.
Kerin wanted some green herbs and fresh fruits; the smell of the herbs would stay with her when she returned to the sterile stone of her rooms, and she could share the fruit with Damaru. The best market for such produce was near the Mint, and she took her time getting there, enjoying the sensation of being under the open sky and taking pleasure in the pretence that she had only the cares of a household and family to concern her, rather than those of a whole world. How odd, she thought, that what was once common drudgery is now a luxury.
Kerin was glad to find the market was not busy, and that high cloud diluted the summer sun. Coming from the highlands, she was still unaccustomed to both crowds and heat. She shopped slowly, drinking in the sights, smells and sounds of the world she was striving to save. Though the purse hidden in her basket was full of coins, she haggled, purely for the pleasure of such ordinary interaction.
A faint twinge as she leant over to reach for some early strawberries reminded her to find a treatment for her wounded arm. She had already heard one seller of medicines extolling the virtues of his cures to passersby; he claimed he could ease toothache, bad blood and the unpleasant – though rarely fatal – flux that was the latest ailment to sweep the city. No doubt when the winnowing times had held the land in their grip he had claimed to cure the falling fire too. Of course, there was only one cure for that. She doubted even this quack’s best remedy would be as effective as the miraculous drugs Sais had procured when her arm had been wounded up on the Sidhe ship. Those healing machines and potions on the Setting Sun would be beyond this hedge-doctor’s comprehension.
Her route to the medicine-seller took her across the square, towards the speaking-stone. There were several such platforms around the city; Urien called them playhouses for earnest fools. Kerin concluded her business quickly, buying a salve whose smell spoke of recent animal origin; as she turned to go, she heard a growing commotion. The current speaker was having some effect on the crowd. Kerin drifted towards the speaking-stone.
It was a man, of course – any woman who tried to take the stand would be shouted off before she could even open her mouth. He looked like a merchant rather than a craftsman, though his clothes did not speak of great wealth. As she got closer, he responded to a shouted comment from his growing audience.
‘It is not blasphemy! I do not preach against the Mothers – they made us; we are their children. What I say is that the priests, who are mortal men, have lost their way!’
From the crowd a voice shouted, ‘They are the servants of the Skymothers. Their steps are guided by Heaven.’
‘I once believed that to be true. But something has changed—’
‘Aye,’ shouted someone else, ‘the lights in the sky!’
‘I too have seen those nightly apparitions, but I do not presume to understand their meaning. All I say is that we may no longer be able to trust the Tyr to lead us.’
The crowd was becoming
She met no one else until she was in the outer precincts, at which point her basket and air of hurried purpose were enough to avoid unwanted attention. At her chosen exit, she opened the plain wooden door with the key from her purse. It opened onto a quiet street of townhouses, all built with an extra storey on the downslope side to compensate for the steep incline. The buildings leaned towards each other conspiratorially, as though trying to hide the street from the looming bulk of the Tyr.
Kerin wanted some green herbs and fresh fruits; the smell of the herbs would stay with her when she returned to the sterile stone of her rooms, and she could share the fruit with Damaru. The best market for such produce was near the Mint, and she took her time getting there, enjoying the sensation of being under the open sky and taking pleasure in the pretence that she had only the cares of a household and family to concern her, rather than those of a whole world. How odd, she thought, that what was once common drudgery is now a luxury.
Kerin was glad to find the market was not busy, and that high cloud diluted the summer sun. Coming from the highlands, she was still unaccustomed to both crowds and heat. She shopped slowly, drinking in the sights, smells and sounds of the world she was striving to save. Though the purse hidden in her basket was full of coins, she haggled, purely for the pleasure of such ordinary interaction.
A faint twinge as she leant over to reach for some early strawberries reminded her to find a treatment for her wounded arm. She had already heard one seller of medicines extolling the virtues of his cures to passersby; he claimed he could ease toothache, bad blood and the unpleasant – though rarely fatal – flux that was the latest ailment to sweep the city. No doubt when the winnowing times had held the land in their grip he had claimed to cure the falling fire too. Of course, there was only one cure for that. She doubted even this quack’s best remedy would be as effective as the miraculous drugs Sais had procured when her arm had been wounded up on the Sidhe ship. Those healing machines and potions on the Setting Sun would be beyond this hedge-doctor’s comprehension.
Her route to the medicine-seller took her across the square, towards the speaking-stone. There were several such platforms around the city; Urien called them playhouses for earnest fools. Kerin concluded her business quickly, buying a salve whose smell spoke of recent animal origin; as she turned to go, she heard a growing commotion. The current speaker was having some effect on the crowd. Kerin drifted towards the speaking-stone.
It was a man, of course – any woman who tried to take the stand would be shouted off before she could even open her mouth. He looked like a merchant rather than a craftsman, though his clothes did not speak of great wealth. As she got closer, he responded to a shouted comment from his growing audience.
‘It is not blasphemy! I do not preach against the Mothers – they made us; we are their children. What I say is that the priests, who are mortal men, have lost their way!’
From the crowd a voice shouted, ‘They are the servants of the Skymothers. Their steps are guided by Heaven.’
‘I once believed that to be true. But something has changed—’
‘Aye,’ shouted someone else, ‘the lights in the sky!’
‘I too have seen those nightly apparitions, but I do not presume to understand their meaning. All I say is that we may no longer be able to trust the Tyr to lead us.’
The crowd was becoming
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