remains of Maskelle’s rank design, barely visible at the edge of her hairline. “My child, it is you,” she said finally. She put the lamp down with a shaky hand and came forward to embrace her.
Maskelle managed not to hug her too hard, feeling her eyes prick with foolish tears and annoyed at herself for it; the old woman felt as light and fragile as a dry wisp of grass. She said, “I had to come here, Barime. It wasn’t safe on the road.” She laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “Do you think He’ll mind?”
Barime drew back, smiling and shaking her head. “If He does, that would be Answering us at least, one way or the other.” Rian was unharnessing the oxen and she waved at him, the gesture taking in the others already in the compound. “Your companions are all most welcome.”
Old Mali appeared in the gates and hurried toward them, taking the lead oxen and the harness away from Rian and batting at him when he tried to help her. Barime took Maskelle’s hand and led her to the temple.
The compound was awash in light, the stone lamps set on the pillars and the edges of the shrines’ platforms all lit now, revealing the pinkish gray tint of the stone and chasing shadows through the filigree of carvings. Parrots and tigers and female figures wove through the three-tiered pediments and the heavy decoration around the doors. A group of seated figures that managed to combine the grotesque with the whimsical—men with the heads of monkeys, another one of the Adversary’s incarnations—guarded the small open court in the center, life-sized and lifelike in the flicker of flame. On the packed dirt of the open space in front of the monastic quarters, Firac was giving an impromptu demonstration of Ariaden theater with one of the small string puppets, a curious group of monks and nuns gathered around him. Maskelle saw with relief that most of them were too young to remember her. They didn’t look at all upset at having their rest disturbed, but then Koshans were used to going without sleep when the rites required it. Killia was sitting on one of the low walls, her daughter in her lap. The little girl looked much improved, and curious about the men and women with their shaven heads and colorful tattoos and vivid blue robes.
“You’re tired,” Barime said, looking up at her. “There’s time to talk in the morning.” She looked at the group around Firac. “I’ll send them back to bed. It’s not often we get visitors, and never foreigners with such interesting toys. Will you take vigil in the shrine?”
“Yes.” Maskelle sighed. “For all the good it will do.”
Barime embraced her again and went to chase the others back into their quarters. Rastim came up to her, his face drawn from exhaustion but his expression holding nothing but relief. “It went well, then, getting rid of the you-know-what?” he asked.
“Yes, it went fine.” She saw Rastim glance suspiciously at Rian. who was standing a short distance away and looking around at the compound. She said, “You’re wrong about him, you know. He doesn’t mean me any harm.”
Rastim gave her a doubtful look, but said, “Maybe so.” The temple’s inhabitants were retiring to their quarters, the Ariaden straggling back out to the wagons. He added, “You were right, we should have come here and not stopped at the post. Gisar stopped his knocking as soon as we got past that bird thing out on the road.”
“Was it your wagon that was stuck?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.” She was glad she had sent them on. If Gisar had had enough power outside his box to trap the wagon wheel in the mud, then they had gotten here none too soon. But Gisar was only a minor creature and would have no wish to draw the attention of the Adversary. “We’ll be in the city tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”
“So should you. You look tired to death.” Rastim patted her shoulder and followed the others.
“Thank you,” she called after him.
I
Maskelle managed not to hug her too hard, feeling her eyes prick with foolish tears and annoyed at herself for it; the old woman felt as light and fragile as a dry wisp of grass. She said, “I had to come here, Barime. It wasn’t safe on the road.” She laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “Do you think He’ll mind?”
Barime drew back, smiling and shaking her head. “If He does, that would be Answering us at least, one way or the other.” Rian was unharnessing the oxen and she waved at him, the gesture taking in the others already in the compound. “Your companions are all most welcome.”
Old Mali appeared in the gates and hurried toward them, taking the lead oxen and the harness away from Rian and batting at him when he tried to help her. Barime took Maskelle’s hand and led her to the temple.
The compound was awash in light, the stone lamps set on the pillars and the edges of the shrines’ platforms all lit now, revealing the pinkish gray tint of the stone and chasing shadows through the filigree of carvings. Parrots and tigers and female figures wove through the three-tiered pediments and the heavy decoration around the doors. A group of seated figures that managed to combine the grotesque with the whimsical—men with the heads of monkeys, another one of the Adversary’s incarnations—guarded the small open court in the center, life-sized and lifelike in the flicker of flame. On the packed dirt of the open space in front of the monastic quarters, Firac was giving an impromptu demonstration of Ariaden theater with one of the small string puppets, a curious group of monks and nuns gathered around him. Maskelle saw with relief that most of them were too young to remember her. They didn’t look at all upset at having their rest disturbed, but then Koshans were used to going without sleep when the rites required it. Killia was sitting on one of the low walls, her daughter in her lap. The little girl looked much improved, and curious about the men and women with their shaven heads and colorful tattoos and vivid blue robes.
“You’re tired,” Barime said, looking up at her. “There’s time to talk in the morning.” She looked at the group around Firac. “I’ll send them back to bed. It’s not often we get visitors, and never foreigners with such interesting toys. Will you take vigil in the shrine?”
“Yes.” Maskelle sighed. “For all the good it will do.”
Barime embraced her again and went to chase the others back into their quarters. Rastim came up to her, his face drawn from exhaustion but his expression holding nothing but relief. “It went well, then, getting rid of the you-know-what?” he asked.
“Yes, it went fine.” She saw Rastim glance suspiciously at Rian. who was standing a short distance away and looking around at the compound. She said, “You’re wrong about him, you know. He doesn’t mean me any harm.”
Rastim gave her a doubtful look, but said, “Maybe so.” The temple’s inhabitants were retiring to their quarters, the Ariaden straggling back out to the wagons. He added, “You were right, we should have come here and not stopped at the post. Gisar stopped his knocking as soon as we got past that bird thing out on the road.”
“Was it your wagon that was stuck?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.” She was glad she had sent them on. If Gisar had had enough power outside his box to trap the wagon wheel in the mud, then they had gotten here none too soon. But Gisar was only a minor creature and would have no wish to draw the attention of the Adversary. “We’ll be in the city tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”
“So should you. You look tired to death.” Rastim patted her shoulder and followed the others.
“Thank you,” she called after him.
I
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