didnt need that
. Not that there was really time to do more than nap; it couldn’t be more than two hours until dawn.
Barime returned as the Ariaden went back to their wagons. She said, “It was time you were back. I’m only glad that I was here to see it.” She gave Maskelle the full bow that was due her rank, then turned to Rian and gave him the courtesy bow due to honored strangers. Rian seemed startled at having his presence acknowledged, but managed to return the gesture.
Barime embraced Maskelle again and then went back to the temple living quarters. Rian stepped up beside Maskelle, watching Barime leave, and asked, “Can all the Koshans do magic?”
She rubbed the back of her neck and let out her breath. “Yes and no. The closer you come to a full understanding of the Infinite, the more your ability to manipulate the spirits of earth, water, and air increases.” She leaned on her staff, looking up at the temple platform. The lamps had been left lit for courtesy to the visitors and the three shrines looked larger without the people to lend perspective. “And the less your need becomes to use that ability.” She shook her head. “It has nothing to do with rank. There are monks and nuns, living as hermits in the deep jungle, who are more powerful than the Priest of the Sare or any of the higher ranks.”
Rian regarded her, suspicion in those green-gold eyes. “So Koshans don’t use their magic.”
“Not the way you think of it, no.”
“Except you.”
“Except the Voice of the Adversary.” Maskelle went up the steps to the central shrine, past the guardian monkey men, and stood in the open doorway. The interior was dark, the intricate carving of the Adversary’s various incarnations lost to shadow.
It was not very spacious or lavish, but no Koshan temples were. The sizes and shapes of the buildings were important, the heights of the towers and the doors, the curves in the carving, the number of paving stones in the floor, that invoked the spirits of the Infinite, not what was inside. This one was empty except for the niches in the walls for offerings of fruit and flowers, brought by the villagers and farmers in the surrounding countryside. It smelled of damp stone and must and the moss that grew on everything during the rainy season despite the constant efforts to scrub it off.
Rian was standing at the bottom of the steps. Patiently, as if prepared to wait all night. For someone who could be as sarcastic as he was, it was a little surprising. She leaned in the doorway, the rough stone cool against her back, and said, “What were you in the Sintane?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, eyed her warily, then said, “I was a
kjardin
for the Holder Lord of Markand.”
“What’s that?”
“A retainer, a personal guard. There aren’t the right words in Kushorit.”
She motioned for him to come up and he hesitated. “Why is there a demon carved above the door?”
“It’s the aspect of the Adversary that eats evil.” She shook her head. “The Adversary isn’t a demon. The Adversary eats demons for dinner.” She turned and moved into the little shrine. There was nothing here, just so much empty stone.
You expected something else
? she asked herself. The shrine was as empty of any spirit presence as the jungle and the river were crowded, but Maskelle could sense it was a recent vacancy. The temple had the feel of a room warmed by a living presence who had just stepped out the far door, just before she had stepped in the near one.
Rian had climbed the steps behind her and she glanced back at him. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but he was looking up at the shadows where the ceiling extended up into the tower. She said, “The word in our language for ‘Adversary’ translates to the word for demon in some of the outlying provinces. That’s where those stories come from. The Adversary is the only Ancestor, the only humanlike spirit, that never lived in this world as
. Not that there was really time to do more than nap; it couldn’t be more than two hours until dawn.
Barime returned as the Ariaden went back to their wagons. She said, “It was time you were back. I’m only glad that I was here to see it.” She gave Maskelle the full bow that was due her rank, then turned to Rian and gave him the courtesy bow due to honored strangers. Rian seemed startled at having his presence acknowledged, but managed to return the gesture.
Barime embraced Maskelle again and then went back to the temple living quarters. Rian stepped up beside Maskelle, watching Barime leave, and asked, “Can all the Koshans do magic?”
She rubbed the back of her neck and let out her breath. “Yes and no. The closer you come to a full understanding of the Infinite, the more your ability to manipulate the spirits of earth, water, and air increases.” She leaned on her staff, looking up at the temple platform. The lamps had been left lit for courtesy to the visitors and the three shrines looked larger without the people to lend perspective. “And the less your need becomes to use that ability.” She shook her head. “It has nothing to do with rank. There are monks and nuns, living as hermits in the deep jungle, who are more powerful than the Priest of the Sare or any of the higher ranks.”
Rian regarded her, suspicion in those green-gold eyes. “So Koshans don’t use their magic.”
“Not the way you think of it, no.”
“Except you.”
“Except the Voice of the Adversary.” Maskelle went up the steps to the central shrine, past the guardian monkey men, and stood in the open doorway. The interior was dark, the intricate carving of the Adversary’s various incarnations lost to shadow.
It was not very spacious or lavish, but no Koshan temples were. The sizes and shapes of the buildings were important, the heights of the towers and the doors, the curves in the carving, the number of paving stones in the floor, that invoked the spirits of the Infinite, not what was inside. This one was empty except for the niches in the walls for offerings of fruit and flowers, brought by the villagers and farmers in the surrounding countryside. It smelled of damp stone and must and the moss that grew on everything during the rainy season despite the constant efforts to scrub it off.
Rian was standing at the bottom of the steps. Patiently, as if prepared to wait all night. For someone who could be as sarcastic as he was, it was a little surprising. She leaned in the doorway, the rough stone cool against her back, and said, “What were you in the Sintane?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, eyed her warily, then said, “I was a
kjardin
for the Holder Lord of Markand.”
“What’s that?”
“A retainer, a personal guard. There aren’t the right words in Kushorit.”
She motioned for him to come up and he hesitated. “Why is there a demon carved above the door?”
“It’s the aspect of the Adversary that eats evil.” She shook her head. “The Adversary isn’t a demon. The Adversary eats demons for dinner.” She turned and moved into the little shrine. There was nothing here, just so much empty stone.
You expected something else
? she asked herself. The shrine was as empty of any spirit presence as the jungle and the river were crowded, but Maskelle could sense it was a recent vacancy. The temple had the feel of a room warmed by a living presence who had just stepped out the far door, just before she had stepped in the near one.
Rian had climbed the steps behind her and she glanced back at him. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but he was looking up at the shadows where the ceiling extended up into the tower. She said, “The word in our language for ‘Adversary’ translates to the word for demon in some of the outlying provinces. That’s where those stories come from. The Adversary is the only Ancestor, the only humanlike spirit, that never lived in this world as
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