they learn to heal through dreams and mind links, they can never be all that we are. Those that seek the truth will always come to us.”
“Yes.” He smiled and raised the glass. “Here’s to link memories.”
6
A week had not improved the mood of the Servants. Reivan found herself wondering several times a day if their coldness was directed only at her. Conversations ended when she drew near. When she approached a Servant with a question or request she was dealt with quickly and dismissively. Sometimes when she passed two Servants in a corridor, one would lean across to the other and murmur something.
She told herself she was simply not used to the Servants’ ways. The Servants of the monastery she had grown up in had been quiet and reserved, but she had become accustomed to more stimulating company in recent years. The Thinkers might not have respected her, but she could always engage some of them in conversation—or at least a debate. She was used to being among livelier, friendlier people, that was all.
Dedicated Servant Drevva and the other Servants who were testing her knowledge and abilities were treating her fairly, acknowledging her strengths and not making too much of her weaknesses, even her obvious lack of Skills. The other hopeful entrants to the Sanctuary were politely friendly in that way young people were to those not of the same age.
The Sanctuary baths more than made up for her cramped little room. Cleanliness was considered essential for a Servant of the Gods, and an hour’s soaking, scouring and rinsing each morning was deemed necessary for every man and woman. Feeling refreshed, Reivan dressed in the plain clothes the Sanctuary had provided her with, then stepped out of the room. As she passed a doorway she overheard a snatch of conversation from the steam-wreathed soaking room within.
“... ordain Imenja’s pet.”
“She passed the tests? I thought she was unskilled.”
“The order came from the Second Voice. I’m to allow her through so long as she passed the other tests.”
Reivan froze.
Imenjas pet?
They had to be talking about her. None of the other entrants had any relationship with Imenja, as far as she knew.
“I can’t understand it,” the first voice added. With a shock, Reivan recognized Dedicated Servant Drevva. “What’s the point of making her a Servant when she has no magical ability? Why not just make her a counsellor?”
Reivan’s stomach sank.
“I heard it’s what she asked for as reward.”
“What! Being a Servant isn’t something to be handed out like sweets to a good child!”
“Hmm,” a third voice said. “This makes me like her even less. If she was meant to be a Servant, she’d have been born with more ability.”
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Reivan’s attention back to her immediate surroundings. Aware that anyone seeing her lingering by the door would suspect her of spying—and she obviously did not need to give the Servants any more reasons to hate her—she continued on.
Back in her room, she sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed.
So I wasn’t being overly suspicious after all. They
are
treating me differently. And it’s because I’m unskilled
.
Which wasn’t a surprise, really. Being Skilled was what set them apart. Just as being clever gave the Thinkers their standing in society. It was ironic to discover that the Servants were as insecure about their superiority over others as the Thinkers were.
It’s their weakness
, she thought.
Not a weakness I can easily take advantage of, however. I’m not here to best the Servants at some challenge. I’m here to join them
.
The footsteps of someone in the passage outside her door suddenly stopped, and she saw something slide under her door. Rising, she stooped to pick it up.
It was a small scroll, slightly squashed where it had been forced under the door. She chuckled as she saw it was addressed to “Servant Reivan Reedcutter.”
I’m not a Servant yet
, she
“Yes.” He smiled and raised the glass. “Here’s to link memories.”
6
A week had not improved the mood of the Servants. Reivan found herself wondering several times a day if their coldness was directed only at her. Conversations ended when she drew near. When she approached a Servant with a question or request she was dealt with quickly and dismissively. Sometimes when she passed two Servants in a corridor, one would lean across to the other and murmur something.
She told herself she was simply not used to the Servants’ ways. The Servants of the monastery she had grown up in had been quiet and reserved, but she had become accustomed to more stimulating company in recent years. The Thinkers might not have respected her, but she could always engage some of them in conversation—or at least a debate. She was used to being among livelier, friendlier people, that was all.
Dedicated Servant Drevva and the other Servants who were testing her knowledge and abilities were treating her fairly, acknowledging her strengths and not making too much of her weaknesses, even her obvious lack of Skills. The other hopeful entrants to the Sanctuary were politely friendly in that way young people were to those not of the same age.
The Sanctuary baths more than made up for her cramped little room. Cleanliness was considered essential for a Servant of the Gods, and an hour’s soaking, scouring and rinsing each morning was deemed necessary for every man and woman. Feeling refreshed, Reivan dressed in the plain clothes the Sanctuary had provided her with, then stepped out of the room. As she passed a doorway she overheard a snatch of conversation from the steam-wreathed soaking room within.
“... ordain Imenja’s pet.”
“She passed the tests? I thought she was unskilled.”
“The order came from the Second Voice. I’m to allow her through so long as she passed the other tests.”
Reivan froze.
Imenjas pet?
They had to be talking about her. None of the other entrants had any relationship with Imenja, as far as she knew.
“I can’t understand it,” the first voice added. With a shock, Reivan recognized Dedicated Servant Drevva. “What’s the point of making her a Servant when she has no magical ability? Why not just make her a counsellor?”
Reivan’s stomach sank.
“I heard it’s what she asked for as reward.”
“What! Being a Servant isn’t something to be handed out like sweets to a good child!”
“Hmm,” a third voice said. “This makes me like her even less. If she was meant to be a Servant, she’d have been born with more ability.”
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Reivan’s attention back to her immediate surroundings. Aware that anyone seeing her lingering by the door would suspect her of spying—and she obviously did not need to give the Servants any more reasons to hate her—she continued on.
Back in her room, she sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed.
So I wasn’t being overly suspicious after all. They
are
treating me differently. And it’s because I’m unskilled
.
Which wasn’t a surprise, really. Being Skilled was what set them apart. Just as being clever gave the Thinkers their standing in society. It was ironic to discover that the Servants were as insecure about their superiority over others as the Thinkers were.
It’s their weakness
, she thought.
Not a weakness I can easily take advantage of, however. I’m not here to best the Servants at some challenge. I’m here to join them
.
The footsteps of someone in the passage outside her door suddenly stopped, and she saw something slide under her door. Rising, she stooped to pick it up.
It was a small scroll, slightly squashed where it had been forced under the door. She chuckled as she saw it was addressed to “Servant Reivan Reedcutter.”
I’m not a Servant yet
, she
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