Bishop (The Pawn Series Book 2)

by Robin Roseau

  "I believe I will sit in the middle of this table, then," she said. "And I believe I would like two of our acolytes closest to me."

  "Then if Larien and Terél take their seats relative to me, I could have an acolyte to my side as well," I added.

  Vérundia then said, "And the remainder can fill in as you most desire."

  For the last night before the solstice, there was another change in that Vérundia was already seated by the time I arrived with Larien -- and she was seated in the middle of "my" table, with only one open seat next to her and one across, next to Terél. Larien laughed, and we took the open seats.

  "We saved these for you," Vérundia explained. "You know, I like this tradition, Yallameenara. Not all do, but I find it refreshing."

  "Change," I said in the language of the Goddess. And from around me, I heard other women echo the word, and Vérundia beamed.

  Near the end of what proved to be a delightful meal, she leaned across the table with me. "Please stay. We will need to talk with some of these others until they release us, and then I would like to speak with you."

  "Of course."

  Ten minutes later, I stood by her side as this priestess or that one vied for either her attention or mine. I remembered some names, but Vérundia was quite good at using their names early and often, helping me to set names in my head. But finally she begged off and took my arm. Once we were well clear of everyone else, she said, "You have learned things at your foster mother's feet."

  "Queen Ralalta has taught me a great deal," I said. "But it seems perhaps you have taken a lesson or two as well."

  "I suspect we both have more we could learn from your queen," she said.

  "For myself, there is no doubt at all."

  "For me as well. That is the one drawback to how we become priestesses. We come so young, and we learn from each other, but we rarely learn from the outside world. You are still young, but you have had experiences no one here has had. That is valuable, Yallameenara. Understand I recognize that."

  We arrived at my door, and I invited her in. "I have something I wish to show you."

  "And I have not reached the meat of what I wished to say."

  So we moved in and closed the door. I collected a sheet of paper from my desk, and then we both took seats facing each other.

  "I know you wish to return to your queen. You know I wish you to be happy to stay. This we both understand. And perhaps I do not have the right to keep you here, but I am going to continue to do so."

  "I know," I said. I grinned. "I have been counting footsteps to the front door."

  "And you have been turned hither and yon sufficiently enough you won't be able to find your way alone. But if you do, you must descend the mountain, and then free yourself of the mountains as well. We are a long way from Framara, even if you were mounted on your small but fleet-of-foot horse."

  "This is not what you wished to discuss," I said.

  "In a way, it is," she said. "You are staying, at least for now, and I hope it becomes permanent. I also hope you become content and even pleased. But you are here, and you have gifts, and so I say only this. I wish us to work together, not at cross purposes."

  "Have we been at cross purposes?"

  "No. I think perhaps I am expressing pleasure. And perhaps I am also saying that there is nothing wrong with occasionally challenging a tradition or two."

  I laughed. "Then I think I'm your girl."

  "Good. I wanted you to know how I felt."

  "I appreciate that. Some of the other women aren't as pleased."

  "That is because everyone wants to spend time with you, and you have placed yourself furthest from those who most feel they are deserving. I will also point out you have placed yourself furthest from those who knew your mother, some of them as close friends."

  "Oh you rat!" I said.

  She only laughed.

  "Many will stay a few days. Perhaps you can take advantage of the opportunity."

  "Perhaps my instructors will give me a day or two of respite."

  "Or perhaps you will let it be known what your schedule is, and permit additional company. Your instructors will not mind."

  "Perhaps I could invite here those who knew my mother, after dinner two nights hence."

  "That is a lovely idea. Perhaps you will do both."

  "I think I shall."

  "Good. What did you have for me?"

  "I wish to make a vow. I have written it. I wish your approval."

  "That is not how it is done."

  "Didn't you just suggest I should feel free to challenge tradition?"

  She laughed again and held out her hand.

  "Vérundia, you aren't going to be fully happy."

  "Let me see."

  I handed her the paper. She read it through. Yes, she frowned. When she finished, I said, "I cannot do the second part without the first. It must be the entire thing, or nothing at all. I am sorry."

  "I wish you could find it in your heart to do the second without the first, but if I must take the first to get the second, then I am pleased for you to give this vow."

  "I believe I should go either first or last, first, as the newest here or last due to the nature of who you believe I am and the nature of the vow itself."

  "Will you be offended if I override you? There is another place for this, and you will know it when it comes."

  "Oh, how cryptic," I replied. "No, I do not mind. I am unable to do this in the language of the Goddess."

  "You will do what you can," she said. Then she smiled, stood, and was soon gone.

  * * * *

  I stood beside Vérundia, both of us in the vestments of a priestess to the Goddess Vahamala. We alone stood in the corridor leading to the entrance labeled Life, twenty steps from the Heart of the Heart. Ahead of us, there was gentle sound, bare feet upon stone, cloth against cloth, and occasionally a shadow moved across our doorway.

  "Yallameenara, there has been one change."

  "You tell me this now?"

  "We have guests we did not expect. They will be on the dais with us. Nothing else changes, but I didn't want you to be too surprised."

  "As long as it's not Muranna."

  "It's not," she promised. She reached over and took my hand. A moment later, from ahead, the singing began, low at first, but then rising. It was not loud, but it was welcoming and joyful.

  Vérundia leaned to me. "There is no rush. If you forget your words, I will help. No one will mind, as long as your heart is in the right place."

  "Just don't trip."

  "That would be best."

  Then, together, we each took a large breath, held it, and then stepped forward.

  We moved into the Heart of the Heart and came to a stop. Perhaps Vérundia wouldn't have without me, but I still couldn't enter this place and not be overwhelmed with awe. And so we stopped, and I looked around at the magnificence. Finally, my eyes settled on the altar.

  In my look, I recognized we were not alone. There were eight places at the altar, and I had expected seven others besides us. But there would be two taking one of the places, and two others were not priestesses.

  The king and queen of Alteara had joined us.

  The song came around, and Vérundia's voice joined the others. I think I surprised her when I opened my own mouth and began to sing, quietly, but as properly as Terél and Larien had been able to teach me.

  I didn't understand all the words, but my tutors had explained the song’s meaning. It was a simple offer of greeting and joy to be in this place, and it suited the Heart of the Heart perfectly. It fit my emotions when standing in this room.

  And so we began to sing, and we began our walk around the room, turned to face the altar, stepping forward and right with each step so as to circle the altar. And as we walked, people stepped in behind us, some the first time we passed, the rest the second. First were Ullaméistra and Daraminesha, also holding hands, and I knew when they took their places at the altar, they would hold the pla
ce across from us. Next was the queen, and then the king, and then the others as we circled the altar.

  Vérundia guided our path. I actually lost our place, so distracted was I by everything else while remembering the words to the song. But she guided us, and we stepped upon the dais and into our place. We sang to the altar, and we sang to the words engraved on the altar. I lifted my nose for a minute -- not the only one to do so -- and sang to the glittering dome above us. When I glanced her way, I saw Vérundia doing the same.

  Others came in, most of them singing, only a few silent. They also circled the room, singing the song of joy and greeting, until they settled into their places.

  Soon, we were all present. But then Vérundia changed things, right there without warning me. She stepped slightly away from me, but pushed me so I turned partly to her, still largely facing the altar, and then she dropped my hand. But she gestured to me while raising her other hand, just as the last notes of the song arrived.

  I guessed what she wanted, and I sang alone, once through by myself. I didn't raise my voice, and if everyone could hear me, I didn't know. But I sang it through. And near the end, she stepped back to me and took my hand, but she raised her hand again, this time palm up, and together we all sang the song one final time.

  Then we grew silent, and I brushed tears from my eyes. I wasn't the only one to do so.

  Vérundia paused, and then she said, speaking Altearan, "Someone has learned more than I had expected."

  There was light laughter at that.

  Then she nodded to me. I reached inside the vestments and withdrew the paper. I unfolded it and set it on the altar, careful to avoid covering any of the inscribed words. It was our speech of welcoming. I had my vows memorized and hoped I wouldn't forget them later, but for this speech, I could consult the paper.

  "Life," Vérundia said, speaking the word in the language of the Goddess, but continuing in Altearan. If anyone didn't like it, she had told me, that was too bad. I thought I was rubbing off on her. "This is the celebration of life, a celebration best shared when we may gather together and rejoice in each other. We share our lives and are made richer from it."

  "Change," I said, spoken in the language of the Goddess. I had been worried about my part. I thought they would expect something solemn, and that wasn't my style. But Vérundia had begged me to speak from the heart, and to remember the eight words. And so I had written my part, and she had been pleased. "A constant part of life. Things change, and that is how it should be, because when they do not change, they grow stagnant. Change is not always comfortable, but to embrace change is to embrace the very nature of life itself."

  I represented change. Even the accent I wore was a change, and that was only the beginning. And for me, this was all continuing change.

  "A gift given," said Vérundia.

  "And a gift received," I added.

  "To share our lives, to share our voices, to share bread and wine. To share stories new and old."

  Vérundia spoke for a minute, and then it was my turn, and hers, and mine.

  At the end, we spoke together, thanking everyone for coming today and helping us in our celebration of life.

  * * * *

  I didn't know the other songs, and so I remained quiet for them. But when it was time to bring forth a singer, I did my part. And I rejoiced even when I didn't understand the words, because everything was beautiful.

  We reached the midpoint, and Vérundia had offered to let me begin the invitation to offer a fresh vow. She told me to feel free to say as much or as little as I wished. And so when it was my turn, I said, "Promises. Vows. Some of us gathered today wish to state vows, offered in joy, offered in love, offered in celebration." When I could, I used the language of the Goddess.

  "Some of these may be old vows, repeated again to reaffirm faith and commitment. Some are new promises, for life comes with change. I have a vow to offer, but others will go first. Who wishes to share a vow with us today?"

  Vérundia hadn't explained how this worked. Somehow people managed to avoid speaking together. One of the acolytes stepped forward. "I have a vow," she said, her voice low and difficult to hear. And then she spoke in the careful language of the Goddess, slowly and stumbling at times. But she spoke, and when she was done, she bowed her head.

  "Thank you, Talíahmarteen," I said. "We hear your vow. Let your heart be filled with joy."

  One by one, the women offered vows. Some spoke in the language of the Goddess; some spoke in Altearan. Oh, not everyone took a turn. It was perhaps one in five.

  And then, after I had thanked another woman, Vérundia said clearly, "I have a vow. This vow is before the Goddess, but it is to Yallameenara." Then she reached for my other hand and turned me to face her instead of the altar, and she was facing me.

  And then I heard, "I have a vow to Yallameenara." I turned, and Larien was stepping forward. She crossed to me and stepped upon the dais beside Vérundia. She laid one hand over one of mine.

  "I have a vow." This came from Terél. She stepped forward and stood on Vérundia’s other side, setting her hand atop mine.

  "We have a vow." I hadn't seen then, but Naddí and Féla approached. They stepped onto the dais and crowded by my side, touching me gently.

  Vérundia spoke. "There are others here who would perhaps join us in this vow, but we are out of room."

  She earned light laughter with that.

  "I speak for those of us touching you, Yallameenara. We say these words to you, but we do so in the Heart of the Heart, knowing the Goddess will hear us. All of us hope for you to find joy, love, and serenity in this change we have brought to your life." She used the words of the Goddess interspersed with Altearan. "And so, we vow to do everything in our power to bring these gifts to you. We offer to share of ourselves, and we hope you will share of yourself, and in so doing, we will share joy. We will share love." She then spoke strictly in the words of the Goddess for a moment, and I thought she was repeating her vow for the Goddess to understand.

  Maybe the words were simple, but my emotions were not. As I stood there, surprised by the touching sentiment, they hugged me tightly. I was still recovering before they all resumed their places, and Vérundia again had my hand, both of us facing the altar.

  "Thank you," I said finally, then I found my voice and said firmly enough for all to hear. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. Vérundia warned me there would be an obvious point for my vow, and I believe this is when she meant."

  There was light laughter, and Vérundia agreed this was the point.

  I was facing the altar, but I froze. Then I partly turned to Vérundia. "I do not often speak publicly, but when I do, I have learned to pace."

  She smiled. "The Goddess will not mind if you pace, and if she doesn't mind, no one else here will mind."

  She released my hand, and I backed away from the dais and stepped down. But I faced the altar. "My vow is before the Goddess, but it is to all of you." Then as I talked, I moved around, and while I didn't turn my back to the altar, I turned sideways to it, taking in the other women in the room as I walked.

  I didn't apologize for what I was about to say. It was the truth, and from my heart. But I did need to explain something.

  "I am careful in my promises. I do not promise something I cannot deliver. Many of you have seen this, as I negotiate words to promises I have made so that I can be sure. And so my words today are careful. This is my way."

  I circled around for a moment, and as I passed some of the women, I offered a small caress. Oh, not to all, only the ones closest to me.

  "I do not fully believe this is my entire future. Oh, it may be a part, but in spite of the joy found in this place, and the joy I find from the people here, my heart lies in Framara, and I do not believe that will change. And you all know I am skeptical that I truly am the women you believe I am."

  That was the part Vérundia had wished I didn't need to say.

  "But I am here, and I am offered gifts, valuable gifts."


  I paused just a moment then plunged ahead. "I am here. I do not promise to remain here forever. But while I am here, I vow this. I will accept joy. I will accept happiness. I will accept friendship. I accept touches. And I offer to share these as well. I vow that while I am amongst you, I will be a source of joy."

  In my wanderings, I had found Naddí and Féla, and I timed my wandering so I was standing before them. I reached to each and caressed a cheek.

  And then I made my way slowly back to the dais, but I had also found Larien and Terél. Larien was closest, and I stepped to her and kissed her. It was a simple kiss, but a kiss nevertheless. And when I next came to Terél, she also received a kiss.

  I made my way back to my place. "Prestainamatta," I said. "If you hear words spoken in this language, with this unexpected accent, I hope you can approve of my vow."

  Vérundia took my hand and said, "Thank you, Yallameenara."

  * * * *

  There were more vows. I think there was pleasure from what I had said, as guarded as it was. But I think the most pleasure came when two of the priestesses stepped forward and said, "We would share a vow. Could we do so at the place of joy?"

  I glanced to Vérundia, who nodded, and so I said, "Be welcome," and offered a gesture.

  The queen was standing there, and she moved to the side for the two women. In turn, they each set one hand on the altar and clasped their other hands, facing each other and the altar at the same time.

  "We first made this vow thirty years ago today," said one.

  "We vowed our lives together," said the second.

  "In shared service to each other and to the Goddess," said the first.

  And then they spoke in the language of the Goddess, and they were both crying at the time. But when they were done, they hugged each other, and they kissed passionately besides, but then they both turned to the altar and kissed the word before them before returning to their places.

  Vérundia squeezed my hand twice, and so I said, "Surely the Goddess shares your joy, as do all of us here. Thank you."

  There were only a few more after that, and then no one spoke, and no one spoke.