Kalaran beside him, clutching an empty sack. Speechless, Tiriki and Damisa returned to the House of the Falling Leaves. Elis and Selast were just inside, packing. Flakes of ash powdered their dark hair.
“Are you the only ones left here?” asked Tiriki.
Elis nodded. “I hope the others reached the ships safely.”
“Aldel is waiting outside, and so is Kalaran, so at least you and your betrothed will be together,” said Tiriki bracingly. “And Kalhan is a strong lad,” she added to Damisa. “I’m sure that when we get to the docks he will be waiting for you.” As Micail will be waiting for me, she added silently.
“Kalhan? Oh, yes, I’m sure he will. . . .” Damisa said flatly.
Tiriki looked at her curiously. This was not the first time she had thought that Damisa’s feelings about the boy to whom the Temple astrologers had mated her seemed tepid. Once more she realized how fortunate she and Micail had been when they were allowed to choose for themselves.
“Will they be enough?” asked Chedan as Tiriki shepherded the acolytes out the door.
“They will have to be,” she answered as a stronger tremor rocked the town. “We must go, now !” As they started down the road two more jolts made them stagger, and behind them they heard a crash as the porch of the House of the Falling Leaves came down.
“That was a very heavy leaf that just fell!” said Kalaran, lips twisting as he attempted a smile.
“That was the whole tree, ” corrected Damisa tartly, but there were tears in her eyes, and she did not look back.
Elis was weeping softly. Selast, who despised such feminine weakness, looked at her in scorn. But all of them kept moving, picking their way around debris, and passing with no more than a sign of blessing when they saw bodies on the road. It was as well that they found no one in need of assistance. That would have put their discipline to too great a test. Indeed, Tiriki thought that if they had found a hurt child she would not have been entirely sure of her own self-control.
That which we seek to save will preserve the lives of generations yet unborn, she told herself, but the old sayings seemed meaningless in the face of the kind of catastrophe they were enduring now. Cinders had begun to fall once more. She flinched and drew her mantle over her head—she had discarded the pillow some time ago—then drew first one deep breath and then another, invoking the trained reflexes that would bring calm. There is no thought . . . there is no fear . . . there is only the right moment and the right deed.
With relief, she caught sight of the entrance to the Temple. Only now did she allow herself to look beyond it to the mountain. The pyramid at its top and the priest who kept it had been engulfed long ago. The smoke that billowed from its summit swirled now in a shapeless cloud, but the side of the mountain had opened, and lava was inscribing its own deadly message down the slope in letters of fire.
For a moment she allowed herself to hope that the escape of lava from within the mountain, like the lancing of a boil, would ease the pressure within. But the vibration beneath her feet spoke of unresolved tensions underground that were greater still.
“Quickly—” Chedan gestured toward the portico. Its structure still seemed sound, although parts of the marble facings littered the road.
Inside things were less reassuring, but there was no time to wonder how deep the cracks in the walls might run. The cabinet built to carry the Omphalos was waiting in the alcove, and the lamp still swung on its chains. As soon as they had lit the torches they took up the box by the long handles that supported it from the front and back, and hurried the acolytes past the cracked wall of the entry toward the passageway.
To descend that passage in formal procession with the priests and priestesses of Ahtarrath had been an experience to strain the soul. To hasten toward those depths in the company of a gaggle of
“Are you the only ones left here?” asked Tiriki.
Elis nodded. “I hope the others reached the ships safely.”
“Aldel is waiting outside, and so is Kalaran, so at least you and your betrothed will be together,” said Tiriki bracingly. “And Kalhan is a strong lad,” she added to Damisa. “I’m sure that when we get to the docks he will be waiting for you.” As Micail will be waiting for me, she added silently.
“Kalhan? Oh, yes, I’m sure he will. . . .” Damisa said flatly.
Tiriki looked at her curiously. This was not the first time she had thought that Damisa’s feelings about the boy to whom the Temple astrologers had mated her seemed tepid. Once more she realized how fortunate she and Micail had been when they were allowed to choose for themselves.
“Will they be enough?” asked Chedan as Tiriki shepherded the acolytes out the door.
“They will have to be,” she answered as a stronger tremor rocked the town. “We must go, now !” As they started down the road two more jolts made them stagger, and behind them they heard a crash as the porch of the House of the Falling Leaves came down.
“That was a very heavy leaf that just fell!” said Kalaran, lips twisting as he attempted a smile.
“That was the whole tree, ” corrected Damisa tartly, but there were tears in her eyes, and she did not look back.
Elis was weeping softly. Selast, who despised such feminine weakness, looked at her in scorn. But all of them kept moving, picking their way around debris, and passing with no more than a sign of blessing when they saw bodies on the road. It was as well that they found no one in need of assistance. That would have put their discipline to too great a test. Indeed, Tiriki thought that if they had found a hurt child she would not have been entirely sure of her own self-control.
That which we seek to save will preserve the lives of generations yet unborn, she told herself, but the old sayings seemed meaningless in the face of the kind of catastrophe they were enduring now. Cinders had begun to fall once more. She flinched and drew her mantle over her head—she had discarded the pillow some time ago—then drew first one deep breath and then another, invoking the trained reflexes that would bring calm. There is no thought . . . there is no fear . . . there is only the right moment and the right deed.
With relief, she caught sight of the entrance to the Temple. Only now did she allow herself to look beyond it to the mountain. The pyramid at its top and the priest who kept it had been engulfed long ago. The smoke that billowed from its summit swirled now in a shapeless cloud, but the side of the mountain had opened, and lava was inscribing its own deadly message down the slope in letters of fire.
For a moment she allowed herself to hope that the escape of lava from within the mountain, like the lancing of a boil, would ease the pressure within. But the vibration beneath her feet spoke of unresolved tensions underground that were greater still.
“Quickly—” Chedan gestured toward the portico. Its structure still seemed sound, although parts of the marble facings littered the road.
Inside things were less reassuring, but there was no time to wonder how deep the cracks in the walls might run. The cabinet built to carry the Omphalos was waiting in the alcove, and the lamp still swung on its chains. As soon as they had lit the torches they took up the box by the long handles that supported it from the front and back, and hurried the acolytes past the cracked wall of the entry toward the passageway.
To descend that passage in formal procession with the priests and priestesses of Ahtarrath had been an experience to strain the soul. To hasten toward those depths in the company of a gaggle of
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