He stopped immediately. “I am sorry, Lady Serra. How inconsiderate of me. I am always horrible at noticing what people wear. It’s one of the reasons I pledged myself to Enjoin—everyone wears these sheaths!”
Her head swam with his fast conversation, but his laughter held genuine warmth. “We could keep a gentler pace if we talked as we went,” she offered. “If you would not mind.”
“Of course.” He took her hand in his again, patting it. “Is there anything you want to know about the initiation, perhaps?”
“I know nothing of it, in truth. I did not plan to come, but a Brother came to Callyn—oh, you must know that already.” Her guide would surely know her business, probably better than she did. “He asked me to come, so I said yes, but he did not provide any details.”
“You may want to keep that invitation to yourself as you get to know the other initiates.” Ryn Gylles frowned. “Most of them weren’t asked to come, you know, but are here because it’s what they want to do. You don’t want to dredge up animosity.”
Serra had not considered that. She expected rancor from those who scorned the Gavenstones, but she had not thought the invitation itself would be a problem, though she should have. The initiates came here as part of their chosen life paths rather than on a whim as she did. Her path was marrying Janto and becoming the queen someday. It had been as far back as she could remember. She had never pondered a different future the way they must.
“The initiation phase,” Gylles continued, “is designed for those who believe they have a calling to serve Madel and her people. It is a trial to determine whether that calling is genuine. You will learn much of what we know of Madel, the role of ryns and rynnas in Her service and the Brothers also, though their duty is not something one can be called to pursue.”
“But I am not interested in joining the Order.”
Gylles looked at her pointedly. “That is something else you may not wish to mention to the others. I have an inkling of what the Brothers’ purposes are for you here, but I do not pretend to know all. Nor will I explain it to you so easily. You are on a journey, and you will learn what you will learn as you continue it.”
She liked Ryn Gylles’s easy demeanor but being kept in the dark did not sound appealing. Serra needed something to focus on, something to distract herself from the gloom that had descended on her since Agler’s death. She needed the light of clarity, not vague whisperings. What had she gotten herself into?
They stopped at a hut made of thatch and covered with more pressed reeds. Gylles opened the door, which arched like the temple’s, and led her inside. One woman her age and one rather older were snuggled on their cots.
“Ladies,” Gylles greeted them, “your third bedmate is here, Serra of Meditlan. Would you be so kind as to take her with you to supper when it’s time?”
“Of course, Ryn Gylles.” The younger, voluptuous woman with a messy, black tornado of hair spoke. “We are here to serve.”
Gylles laughed. “Lourda, I think Enjoin suits you, or perhaps you suit Enjoin. Thank you, and I will see you all for class tomorrow afternoon.” He beckoned Serra to join him outside then whispered, “We are going to spend a lot of time together, but not until you get settled in. Remember, you are an initiate whether that was your intent or not. Open your mind to Madel, and let Her minister to you. One of the ways She does that is through Her people. And they are to be your people also, yes? Do not forget that.”
Serra nodded, and he took his leave. Back inside, two pairs of curious eyes trained on her. Lourda spoke first. “You must be Serrafina, the princess! You are, aren’t you?”
Serra was pleased to be recognized so easily. “I am, though I am not technically the princess as yet.”
“This is so exciting!” The older woman had blonde hair and fawn-colored skin. “I have never seen royalty before, and now, I’m rooming with a princess.”
“It’s not fair you know my name,” Serra said, “and I do not know yours. Please, introduce yourselves.”
“Lourda of Ertion.” Lourda’s hair tumbled over her shoulders, unrestrained. “May Madel’s hand guide you, Princess.”
“And you also, thank you.” Serra turned toward the older woman. “And you?”
“Poline of Wasyla.” She clasped her hands together. “This is too much!”
“Don’t be silly. Now, is that my bed?” She gestured to the empty cot. A bundle of the loose material everyone wore lay on top, cheap fabric that had never been so desirable before. “Excuse me while I put this on.”
Serra undressed in front of other women all the time. The intricacies of a gown—rows and rows of buttons, laces, and threaded ribbons and feathers—demanded it. But usually Bini or another servant swooped in as soon as she made to change. This would be difficult on her own. She managed to undo the first two buttons on her back, but the third was out of reach. Pulling at the hem of the gown proved useless.
“Would you like some help?” Lourda had already half-risen from her cot.
How strange, she thought. I will be queen someday, but I cannot undress on my own. It was not fitting to treat these women like servants, but she nodded nonetheless. “If you are willing, I would welcome it.”
Both Lourda and Poline assisted, their able fingers making quick work of the buttons. Serra was soon ensconced in the sheath. The rough fabric felt as soothing as silk against her hot skin.
Poline giggled when they were done. “Imagine! I am going to a ritual with the princess.”
“A ritual right now? How many are there in a day?”
Lourda spread the fingers of one hand and touched each in turn with her pointer finger. “There is the dawn ritual, which starts before the sun rises, and the midday one, after we pick our lunch in the garden and do our chores. The evening ritual comes after our studies and before dinner, and then it’s the nighttime ritual, which we complete beside our cots. Four in all.”
“That’s a lot of time spent on our knees. Does it get boring?”
Poline gave her a queer look. “We are initiates and here to decide if we have a place within Madel’s service. Is that much prayer not to be expected?”
Serra reddened. Of course, it was. “My guide did not specify the number of daily rituals on our walk here, is all. Four makes perfect sense, one for each of our moons.”
“Your guide?” Lourda giggled. “Do you mean Ryn Gylles? Because he took you to our hut?”
“No, I mean he’s my guide for the initia—” She realized her mistake too late. The others must not have guides of their own, or Lourda would not have asked. “I must have misunderstood his intent, I think. Is it time for the evening ritual?” She hoped so, to spare herself from further stumblings. It would be much easier to keep her role secret once she knew why she needed to and what it was.
“The kneeling does get tiring,” Lourda confided as they made their way to the temple, “but I have a salve made with the lake’s mud to help with the tingling.”
She wasn’t Bini, but Serra was pretty certain she liked this woman.
CHAPTER 13
JANTO
Janto woke to a flurry of voices, one shrill, some deep and tired, most with more than a hint of exasperation to them. It was similar to the sounds around the castle when Ser Allyn announced an inspection of the staff. But these were no servants gathered around the mouth of the cave … or maybe they were. Janto had not asked their occupations around the dinner table last night. The Murat was not limited to nobility, though many Muraters became such later in life.
“Perhaps it’s a challenge—we must prove our abilities to search out food and catch what we need to break our fast.” Nap paced near the opening, itching to conquer this apparent breakfast quest.
Flivio rolled his eyes a few packs over. “Of course it’s a challenge. Everything we do here is a challenge. Imagine the novelty if our teacher gave us the rules.”
“I do not care about rules.” Farther inside the cave, Jerusho pulled on his pants. “I just want eggs
and a rasher of craval sausages.”
Janto cleared the phlegm from his throat. “Searching for our breakfast, are we?” He rubbed his eyes.
Tonim nodded from where he leaned with Nap against the cave wall. The room smelled of wet rock and a handful of men who needed a bath.
“How is your leg?” Janto shivered. He hated waking up cold in the mornings.
“Great!” Tonim turned on his heel to demonstrate. “As though I never hurt it.”
Nap’s face fell. “I did not think to ask about your recovery. My apologies—I was too wrapped up with today’s opportunities to prove ourselves.”
“That’s all right. I am glad it wasn’t easy to notice!”
Deciding to examine the ankle for himself, Janto stretched while he rose. “You are healed?”
Tonim wiggled his feet with a pleased smile.
Janto yawned. “This island and Sielban are full of surprises. At least we will not be harmed, it appears. How does that work?”
“Madel.” Jerusho spoke with confidence. “The Murat is part of Her plan for us so She ensures our health. What good is a training of men if half are sent home injured?”
“I doubt that,” Nap said. “What glory is there in conquering without risk?”
“I agree with him.” Tonim grinned. “And I have a head start on all of you, because I’ve already conquered my ankle.”
The others groaned. Recognizing a bad joke when he heard one meant Janto was fully awake. Tonim’s ankle appeared normal, no bruises or lumps. Janto pressed his fingers around it gently to check for pain. Eddy had shown him how to evaluate lameness in a horse, and he figured it would work on humans as well. “How did it feel when Sielban touched you?”
“I don’t know. I am not certain I felt anything physical at all. But I did feel differently in spirit, lighter, like I had completed a ritual. I am certain you understand. You must go to services all the time, being Dever Albrecht’s son, the king who was almost a ryn.”
Janto released the ankle when Tonim’s stomach growled loud enough to wake Hamsyn, the last to rise. Rall stood over the barrel of water in the back of the cave, brushing his teeth with a foamy, black paste made of anise.
“Shall we go, then?” Nap chomped at the bit. “Find this breakfast table and then Sielban?”
“By all means. But we must find our next path first.” Janto walked onto a ledge and into white-gold, blinding sunlight. Once his eyes adjusted, he gasped. They were not in the same place they had been last night. He was certain of it. It had been dark and the end of a weary day, but he could not have been so tired he failed to notice they had ended up here.
The forest canopy lay below him, a rug of pine needles. The shore was hidden, but past the forest’s edge rose a huge rock face surrounded by a sea of salmon-colored grass. It had to be Mount Frelom. Dark gray clouds obscured its peak, but he was amazed he had not seen it towering in the distance from the docks at Jost. It was immense.
“Isn’t it brilliant?” Rall came up behind him, eyes shining. “I cannot wait to climb it.” He relieved himself over the edge of the cliff. Rall’s enthusiasm was rousing, but the thought of climbing a mountain unsettled Janto’s stomach despite last night’s boasts. Too many memories of raccoon stew, raccoon roast, and raccoon pie at Lady Gella’s festival in Varma flooded his mind. He did not trust his stomach at that elevation.
“Can anyone see a path?” Janto could see nothing but the thin shrubs that peppered the ledge.
“I see it!” Nap leaned over the edge, bare earth giving way beneath him. There it was, a narrow path hugging the rock face. They could not have climbed it at night.
Nap tested his footing then snaked around the trail and disappeared from sight. Tonim followed on his heels. Janto pulled on a new tunic and pair of pants. He laced up his boots in record time, blood racing. Then he ran as fast as he could down the path, Rall and Hamsyn close behind. The breeze felt perfect as it hit his cheeks, a little cool but dry and refreshing compared to the unusual springtime mainland humidity. Once the path became solid ground, Janto heard chattering ahead and the clanging of plates and utensils—the clearing could not be far. With food so close, he quickened his pace.
Until a flash of silver halted him mid-stride. Something grunted, and a branch whooshed near his leg as though it had snapped back and released. Janto could see something in the forest, hiding about ten trees back. A ray of sunlight broke through the canopy and glinted off it, but he could not tell what it was.
“Watch out!” yelled Rall, running around the last bend. Janto jumped to his left but not fast enough. Rall and Hamsyn barreled into him one right after the other.
“What were you doing, just standing there! We did not see you.” Hamsyn was breathless. “Do you want to test Sielban’s healing powers again?”
“I saw something.” Janto turned to show them, but it was gone. “I’m sorry. I thought it might be important.”
“How grand—a prince who sees things in the woods!” Flivio and his wit had obviously caught up. Jerusho reached them a few seconds later.
Janto sighed. Whatever it was had disappeared, and breakfast waited.
Hamsyn located another path after the meal. It did not have a bend they could see, and Sielban had not made an appearance to guide them. With a little lively debate, everyone agreed to take it together. They yearned to explore now they’d had a taste of the island. That meadow Janto had glimpsed from the cave was especially alluring. He had seen neither grain nor weed that shade of pink before.
The noise of flying squirrels and birds had been louder in the canopy yesterday, but on the forest floor, frogs bellowed and chorna moths whirred. At least he thought they were chornas; the ebony insects wouldn’t stop flying long enough for him to get a good glimpse. Chornas had an opalescent sheen on their wings, and all Janto could swear to was the occasional glint of rainbow. In this forest, the moths’ many colors were hardly worth noting. Elongated purple, turquoise, and yellow ovals fluttered beneath tree limbs. Janto thought he must be seeing things, like the silver flash earlier. But the farther they journeyed, the more frequently the objects appeared, until one was close enough Janto called for the others to stop.
“Feathers. They’re feathers! Look at the trees.” He spoke fast with excitement. “They’re everywhere.”
Rall gaped. “I did not notice them at all.”
“Wonderful.” Flivio cracked his knuckles. “So we have found the feathers to lash, but who holds the ends of their sticks? Sielban cannot be in that many places at once.”
“He cannot,” Janto agreed. “But he must be nearby, or what would be the point of the game?” They peered into the woods, but no sign of their teacher appeared. Janto made out more feathers, some so far back as to be nothing more than lines drawn against the sky in more shades of ink than thrushberries could provide.
“Perhaps he means us to decide what to do on our own,” Nap surmised. “As adults, we cannot wait for others to tell us what to do. I think we should make our own game.”
“Or we need to be a bit more patient,” countered Rall. “We should not behave like my son, ready to jump in a pond on a sweltering day without considering the leeches.”
“You have a son?” Janto smiled at the man who beamed with the ardent pride many young fathers bore. “How old is he?”
“Three years. I have a daughter, too—Marla. You should see her, pri—uh, Janto. She’s only been with us six months, but her hair is already a tangle of sun-kissed curls like her mother’s.”
Flivio cut in, a wicked look on his face. “You married young. What happened? Did you stick a child in her first?”
Rall laughed and shook his head. “No, our son was born just before our first anniversary. We fell in love young. And we have stayed that way. Sometimes, knowing the right one is easy. I could never love someone else as I love my wife.”
“It must be hard for you, being away from them.” Janto rubbed a finger over the embroidery on his belt pouch, a gift from S
erra. He could not imagine enduring this separation if they had a child.
“Oh, yes, but I could not pass up the chance to come to the Murat! I do not know how I ended up here, truth be told.” Rall was sheepish, and Janto admired his humility. He had known all his life he would be accepted for the Murat. What must it be like to have the experience thrust on you?
“You must have been thrilled when you felt called to come.”
Rall nodded vigorously. “Besides the birth of my children, there is nothing that can compare. It was an honor when the council nominated me to go.”
To earn respect like that was something Janto hoped to do. Perhaps he could learn how from Rall and the rest of these men.
Tonim pushed off from a speckled tree trunk. “Are we done standing around, pondering our options? We can stay here parsing out Sielban’s intentions, or we can have some fun. I vote for fun—and I’m claiming the purple ones, easiest to see against the sky. Try and catch me, you nambies.” He leapt into the woods and yanked at the nearest purple feather, pulling his knife out to slice the rope from which it dangled.
“Yellow!” Nap ran into the woods, not the type to let others gain an advantage.
When only he and Janto remained on the path, the rest of the men having claimed their colors, Jerusho sighed. “It is going to be this way every day, isn’t it?” His tone was mournful. “What colors are left?”
Janto had kept a tally. “Silver and blue. Silver’s mine!” He gave Jerusho a hearty pat on the back then raced after the others.
An hour later, Janto had enough feathers tied to his belt to make him wonder if he could fly. His arms ached from climbing to reach the ones hung from high branches, making the pain from yesterday sharper. The men had stayed close together at first, but as the feathers thinned out, they’d spread farther apart. Janto had worked his way back to the line of trees where he had caught a glimpse of that creature earlier. Silver feathers hung here and there, so it must have been one of them. So much for the hunting prowess Sielban had complimented him on.
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