by Melissa Mead
"No! That's not it. She made it, just now.” Juliar stopped turning the gem over and studied it more closely, then looked more sharply at Miska. Spensie nodded for emphasis. “Made it just now, out of a bit of rock. Someone Temple ought to know. But...” Spensie broke off, flushing.
"...someone who's not just a ‘Temple Boy',” Juliar finished calmly. “Quite right. We need someone important to deal with these dangerous ... Oh, for Stars’ sake, Gerun!” he snapped at the beefy man. “Let go before you break the young lady's arm."
Scowling, the big man let go. Miska could still feel where his fingers had been. Juliar braced himself on his stick, and carefully counted out a handful of silver pieces from a sack at his belt.
"I'll have to keep the topaz, Spensie, to show Vedi Sharanis. But would this cover a half-dozen of your fruit tarts?"
The baker looked at him, and at Miska. The anger faded from her face, replaced with embarrassment.
"It'll cover a dozen, lad. No, hush. Let me. I didn't mean to start such a scene."
Miska watched the boy start to protest, glance at her arm and Gerun's scowling face, and stop.
"Make one cherry, if you would. I'm going to have a talk with our little gemcrafter while we wait for the carriage."
"I'll send Gerun along with a pint of milk. I'm sure he meant no harm. He doesn't know his strength, sometimes."
"Mm. Thanks, Spensie."
* * * *
Juliar did nothing to force Miska to follow him. He made his slow way back to a tented corner, littered with sheaves of paper and bottles of multicolored ink. A flimsy gray curtain, now tied back, divided the tent in half. Juliar stepped catlike through this clutter and lowered himself onto a shabby gray cushion. Miska heard the young man's hip pop. He winced, almost as though by reflex. From somewhere in the mess, he produced a clean cloth, spread it over his low writing table, and began laying out row upon row of jam-topped pastries.
"Good old Spensie!” he laughed, suddenly merry. “A baker to her bones. Look—thirteen. Baker's Dozen, you know. And what a spread! Apple, lemon ... Three cherry. She knows me too well. What a lady! Deserves a better nephew than Gerun."
Juliar paused a moment, kneeling, bowed his head, and touched the silver flame over his heart. Then he seized a cherry tart and bit into it.
Miska didn't move.
"Well, go on. Help yourself.” He leaned back on the cushions, looking utterly unconcerned.
Keeping a close eye on the young human, Miska picked up an apple tart and bit into it. The sweetness nearly overwhelmed her. She finished the pastry in two bites and carefully folded her hands in her lap.
"If you want another, go ahead."
Miska bolted a second tart, then a third, stunned with delight. She barely noticed when Gerun lumbered over with a pitcher.
"Spensie said to give you this,” he rumbled. “So here, Temple brat."
"And may the Star Ladies bless you for it,” Juliar replied, his expression unreadable again. Only once Gerun had stomped away did Miska catch a flicker of bitterness in his face, quickly erased. He offered the pitcher.
"Want some milk with those, Miss ... um...?"
"Miska,” she finished automatically, before she even thought to offer a trade name. She froze. Abri—always Kestrel when he was outside the Caverns—would have been horrified. Avoca was right. This Temple person had her trading-stone. She should have taken a tart and left. Instead, she stayed and talked—even gave her name!
"I'm Juliar. Temple brat, like the man said.” He rummaged in the clutter again and produced a pair of tiny clay cups. He filled them, and passed one to Miska. She sipped...
"Something wrong?” asked Juliar, watching her face.
"No ... Is this truly milk?"
"Yes. A bit warm maybe, but milk. Nothing funny in it. Gerun's a brute, but I've never known him to poison anybody—even a cow."
"Cows? Not goats?"
"I've never had goat's milk,” Juliar commented. “Do your parents raise them?"
"My parents are dead,” said Miska shortly. Now that she'd stopped shaking from hunger, she began looking around, spotting exits from the square. There was no sign of Kimo. Perhaps she hadn't seen him after all.
"I'm sorry,” said Juliar quietly. Miska looked up at him, surprised. There was an understanding in his voice that hadn't been in Lindi's—that she hadn't expected from any human. If he had been older, she would have thought he'd lost a betrothed—his sandy hair came to just below his ears in a “widower's cut"—but surely he was too young for that? Still, Miska felt a new warmth for the human.
"It's all right. It was long ago. Thank you for the ... cakes? I have to find my cousin."
"I'll help you look.” The youth licked cherry jam off his fingers and hoisted himself to his feet. “Stand back.” He waved her out of the tent, unrolled the front, and tied down the corners.
"No! I mean, thank you, but if he sees strangers with me he'll run and hide."
"Hide?” He said only that one word, but Miska heard the change in his voice. It was the listening, waiting voice he'd first used with Spensie, and with Gerun. The cool, thinking voice. He wasn't Juliar now. He was Temple.
"He's very shy."
"And so are you, Miska. Three tarts and you're ready to dash off without even finishing your milk."
The tarts. Ah. “I'll make another jewel for you, first."
"I'm not asking you to pay me. I'm trying to help you.” A closed carriage, the same gray as Juliar's clothes, pulled to a halt just outside the square. Juliar turned briefly to look at it, shifting to partially brace himself against a tent pole.
"You've already helped me. Goodbye."
She tried to step past him. The carven staff shot out and smacked her in the ankle, just hard enough to sting.
"Don't be crazy. You are one strange little girl.” He studied her even more carefully. “In fact, I don't think you're a little girl at all. I don't know who you are, but if you run off wild like this you'll end up with worse than me. Something's scared you, that's obvious."
"Worse than humans who hit people with sticks?” Miska snapped, her attention more on her stinging ankle than her words.
"Ah!” Juliar's gray eyes got very round. Cold horror punched Miska in the gut. He knew she was other than human. Two trading rules broken.
"Is your cousin as ... unique as you are, Miska?” Juliar questioned. When Miska refused to answer he sighed, unclipped his cloak, and held it so Miska could see the white star on the gray background.
"This is the uniform that all the servants of the Star Temple wear. Most people know that, but I can see that you don't."
Miska swallowed.
"My father left me in the offering basket when I was six,” Juliar continued, with something that wasn't quite a smile. Miska looked at him in shock, and he answered with a small shrug. “He and Mama had five other children, so..."
"You had brothers and sisters?” Miska interrupted, awed.
"Lots,” he said with a puzzled smile, and continued. “Back then, our uniforms had black triangles on them. ‘Faith, Light and Clarity'; you know."
Miska didn't know, but she kept silent.
"Have you seen anyone wearing something like that?"
Miska's left foot cramped.
Juliar put his cloak back on. “Last time I cleaned the storeroom, all the old cloaks were gone. Strange. Even stranger, a week or so later, children started disappearing."
Miska remembered the Humans in the valley, the wicked splinter Midyora had pulled from Naneri's cold hand, and felt sick.
"Reminds me of some of the old stories about Imps—how they'd take babies from cradles.” Juliar snorted. “Vedi Sharanis, our High Priestess, is very upset. If this goes on much longer, people could start thinking the Temple's behind it. As if we need to kidnap anyone! It's not like we don't have plenty of orphans of our own already."
"Stealing children?” Miska couldn't begin to imagine an equal trade for that. And people blamed ‘I
mps'? Did some humans actually think the Kankenni would be so cruel?
"What frightened you, Miska? You keep looking around—did you see anyone dressed like that? Did they bother you?"
"No.” Again the memory, of ragged cloaks and rabbit bones. “Not here."
"But somewhere? Where, Miska?"
"Near my home."
"Your ... Where is that?"
Miska shook her head. Juliar sighed.
"Miska, I want to help you, and your cousin. We've found some children—do you know what people call these kidnappers? The Steel Thorns. Because the Temple's almost caught some of them. Almost. They've always been too late to save the children. And all the kids had been stuck with one of these."
Juliar held up something about an inch long, cruelly bright and familiar. The setting sunlight turned it bloody. Miska shrank away from it.
"You're just the sort they'd watch. A little girl alone ... Even your accent stands out. Is your cousin as easy to spot as you?"
"Yes.” Easier. If she, plain-faced and nearly as tall as some of the shorter humans, stood out so, what would Kimo look like to them?
"And is he a gemcrafter too? If the Thorns catch him pulling diamonds and emeralds out of thin air, they'll stick him for sure. But if we can get him to the Temple first, Vedi Sharanis won't let anyone near him. The Temple's got its eyes out for lost children right now. Your cousin may be there already. I can take you back in the carriage, and we'll see."
Miska shook her head.
"Or you can go.” Juliar spread his hands.
"You'd let me leave?"
"If that's what you want. I know you're no child. Good luck finding your cousin. I have to get back for Candlemass.” He handed Miska an oiled paper sack. “Nine tarts left. If you need a place to sleep tonight, I left the lower right corner of the tent loose. You should be able to squeeze in. There's a spare blanket in there somewhere. ‘Bye."
He turned his back on her, and limped away.
"Juliar! Wait!"
He turned.
"You will promise that I may leave, once I find my cousin?"
"I promise I won't keep you if you want to leave.” He gestured toward the carriage, where the coachman waited, bewildered. “Would you like a hand in?"
Miska climbed up the steps, and the door closed behind her.
Chapter 5
Doddi Jakki's wagon had been brightly painted, but uncomfortable. This wagon was plain gray, and no better sprung, but gray velvet pillows cushioned the seats. Inside, it smelt of cedar and melted wax. Miska snugged herself into the far corner, instinctively hiding while allowing herself to see out the window. Juliar watched her from the opposite seat, looking thoughtful.
"Figures. I finally get to ride in a carriage with a girl, and she tries to climb out the window."
"I won't climb out,” Miska kept one hand on the seat, steadying herself against the bumps. Juliar winced with every jolt. “Besides, we're going up. I couldn't jump out now."
"That's a start.” Juliar leaned over to see where she was looking. “Yes, we're going to the High City. Where the Temple is, you know."
Miska had taken too many shocks in the past hour to feel more than weary. “I don't even know what a temple is. I suppose that's another of those things that everyone knows."
"Oh yes.” Juliar smiled. “But since you don't know it, I'm going to enjoy watching the look on your face when you see it."
"Why?” Miska struggled to focus. She was exhausted, and the bumping of the carriage had settled into a lulling rhythm. “The Temple uniforms are gray, this cart is gray, the chevrals pulling it are ... Oh!"
"It's best at sunset,” said Juliar.
"Oh,” breathed Miska again, more softly. She stared hungrily through the small window. They were rounding a curve, cresting the top of the pillar. “Doddi never told me about this."
They passed through iron gates, stark in the golden twilight, into another world. Another whole city perched up here, its buildings like cutouts against the background of the river and the sea beyond. Warm light spilled from windows. Magnificent houses, gabled and balconied, creations and fantasies in stone of every color, circled the rim. Closer in, shops and boutiques rubbed elbows with gardens and parks, intricate even in their patterns of bare twig and frost. And in the very center stood a six-sided building of dark wood, simple, but crowned with a spiraling clear glass flame. As Miska and Juliar watched, the last sunlight touched the flame and set it afire. The gray carriage halted before this marvelous building, and Miska accepted Juliar's hand down. The crystal air smelled cold and sharp, and echoed with the sound of bells from above. For just a moment Miska felt lost in one of Doddi's stories, where young heroes entered enchanted castles on quests for the Ladies they served. Then Juliar stumbled, said something most unenchanting, and shattered the illusion. Now she simply felt lost, and chilled, and very far from home in a very big world.
"By the ... We're so late! I don't have time to explain about you. Here—put on my cloak.” Juliar tossed it at her. “Pull up the hood, follow me, and just copy what I do.” He set off at a rapid hobble.
Miska followed him through a small side door into a stiflingly warm, candlelit room. She caught a quick glimpse of a statuesque figure standing before something that cast a wavering reflection on the ceiling. A silver flame, like Juliar's but larger, held her saffron-colored robes closed at the throat. She was speaking in a rhythmic singsong, like Savrona had used when telling a History.
"Gather the Light to yourselves, that you may shine it forth in times of darkness...” The door thumped shut behind Miska and Juliar, but the woman went on as though she hadn't noticed. Behind a low railing, dozens of young humans in gray uniforms looked up from where they knelt to stare at them both. Juliar mumbled something not even Miska could hear, and dropped onto the nearest cushion with a joint-cracking snap that everyone could hear. A child in the front row looked up, grinning from beneath a mop of red-gold hair. Miska knelt more quietly.
"...and so,” continued the saffron-robed woman at the front of the room, “We ask your blessing at the close of another day, Holy Sisters."
Miska wondered if this woman were an Elder. Her hair, darker even than her brown skin, hung in a single plait like a betrothed girl's, and held no ribbons, white or otherwise, but her eyes were solemn and deep, her voice assured. She had Juliar's “thinking look,” matured over decades.
"Guard our rest, that we may wake refreshed and ready to serve you for another day.” She held out her hands, palms up, and then tipped them as though pouring something over their heads.
"Amen,” chorused Juliar and the others.
"Amen,” echoed Miska quickly. Juliar elbowed her in the ribs. The little girl in the front row giggled. The leader frowned.
"Go forth in peace ... and silence.” The slight emphasis carried clearly. “May the Ladies bless you, children."
The woman dipped a white cup into the stand before her, and brought it up brimming with water. One by one, the Temple servants filed past, received the cup, and drank from it. Juliar lingered until the end, and took his sip in silence. Miska took the refilled cup next. It was stone, cool under her hands, and the water was cold and refreshing. Miska drank it all, gratefully, and handed the empty cup back to the woman.
"Thank you ... ma'am?"
"Indeed. Juliar? Come back here, please."
Juliar seemed to shrink an inch with every step he took back from the doorway. “Yes, Vedi Sharanis?"
"You've brought a ... friend home with you?"
"I would have come to you sooner, but we just got here. I didn't want to be late. Later."
"I'm sure you didn't want to disrupt the service,” Vedi Sharanis agreed.
The hot air of the room clung to Miska like sticky fingers. A queasy, dizzy feeling made her wish she'd eaten something more solid than sugary pastries and warm milk. Motes flickered teasingly in and out of her vision. She staggered.
"Hey, no passing out!” Juliar grabbed he
r arm. The bruised arm. The shock brought Miska back to herself. She looked longingly toward the font, wishing it were big enough to swim in. Vedi Sharanis watched her carefully.
"Juliar, has she been ... harmed?"
"Not in the way I assume you're thinking, Vedi Sharanis. Has anyone else brought any ... children in today?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious, Vedi Sharanis."
"Mm. Look at me, child."
Miska froze. Just how ‘easy to spot’ was she? Would this stern woman think she was an ‘Imp'? A child-stealer? Slowly, she raised her face to the priestess. Beside her, she felt Juliar stiffen.
"No coat—that cloak is much too short for you ... You must be frozen.” Vedi Sharanis shook her head, making a tsk-tsk sound of disapproval. “Take her to the infirmary, Juliar. Have Nurse Dannae find her some warm clothing. Tomorrow is Starsday; there will be plenty of time for questions then. See that she gets plenty of rest—I've never seen a child so pale."
Juliar relaxed. Miska heard his soft sigh of relief.
"Not a child,” she murmured, but Juliar was already steering her toward another door.
"Juliar, wait."
They froze. Vedi Sharanis dipped her hand in the font and, to Miska's puzzlement, traced a deliberate pattern on Miska's forehead to nose-tip, then tap, tap, tap over each eye and on her chin, leaving cool wet marks. Miska blinked.
"May the Star Ladies keep you ‘til morning, dear. Sleep well."
"Thank you.” Was she supposed to splash water on this woman, now? Miska looked to Juliar for rescue. The rascal was leaning on the font, shaking with silent laughter. He caught her watching, and wiped his expression blank, then offered his free arm with impeccable formality.
"Welcome to the Star Temple, Miska. If you'll come with me, I'll show you our infirmary. Sister Dannae is a wizard with potions, possets, plasters, and ... nasty necessities that you won't have to worry about. I'll get her to make you her famous cinnamon toast."
He stopped, looking back at the priestess.
"It's medicinal, Vedi Sharanis,” he explained earnestly.
Just before the door closed, Miska looked back and caught a glimpse of Vedi Sharanis. She was trying not to smile.