by Martha Wells
The clouds had cleared enough that the moon was visible, making it easier to drive the wagon. It was a short track through the jungle and soon the lamps on either side of the temple gate were visible. The wall around the temple compound was so low a tall man could easily see over it. There were three small shrines inside, the tallest of their delicate towers barely thirty-three feet high. There was also a library and quarters for the handful of monks and nuns who lived here, a low series of buildings on the opposite side of the compound from the shrines. The Ariaden's wagons were drawn up outside next to the low wall, near the stone-paved edge of the little canal that watered the temple. There was no room for wagons inside, but they wouldn't have fit through the narrow gate, anyway.
There were more lamps burning inside the compound, and as Rian drew their wagon up to the others, Maskelle swung down from the box. A blue-robed nun was coming out of the gates, carrying a handlamp. She lifted the lamp, revealing a wrinkled face and the faded designs of her rank on her shaven skull. She said, "Ah, Sister, your friends said to expect you. We haven't much hospitality to share, as most travellers don't stop here, but we welcome the company—"
Maskelle held the hair back from her face in a lank tangled handful, and said, "Barime, it's me."
The older woman stopped, staring, screwing up her eyes to see, as if she had to read the 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 didn’t 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 e
lse? 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 a human. Before the rise of the Koshan temples, it was thought to be the god of luck, both good and bad. But that's a misunderstanding of its purpose."
"So what's its purpose?"
"To destroy evil." Maskelle moved to the open doorway at the back of the shrine.
There were steps here too, leading up to a round stone platform at the back of the temple. It was within the boundary of the low walls, but high enough to be awash in moonlight and screened by the thick green of the treetops, cut off from the light of the court and compound by the stepped tower of the shrine. The breeze had died and the night was quiet except for the calls of nightbirds. She sat down on the smooth stone, still warm from the day's sunny intervals. She heard Rian step onto the platform behind her and said, "This is a moon-viewing platform. It's important to some of the rituals to know the exact shape of the shadow patterns on the moon."
He moved up beside her, looking up at the full moon. There was a mottled pattern of dark and light across its surface tonight. Without referring to the texts that recorded all the permutations and their meanings, Maskelle could only translate it as far as "portentous events." With the approach of the rainy season Equinox and the culmination of the Hundred Years Rite, that was only to be expected. Rian sat down next to her and relaxed into a sprawl.
"This is one of my temples," Maskelle said, "or it used to be." She shifted around to face him. "Why did you come to the Empire?"
He let out his breath and started to pull off his buskins. "It's a long story."
"That's no reason not to tell it."
He wrestled with a recalcitrant knot in the bootlace. She didn't think he would answer, but then he said, "The Holder Lord died."
She frowned. She could see that prying information out of Rian was going to be no easy task, even under the best of circumstances. "You were much attached to him?"
"More so than I thought, apparently." He managed to wrench the buskin off, gasping in relief, and stretched out on his back.
Maskelle gave up any attempt at subtlety. "I can see why it's a long story, if you tell it like this."
He sat up on his elbows. "All right. I'd only been at Markand Hold a year. I was part of a treaty between Markand and Riverwait."
"Part of a treaty? They trade..." She hesitated over the word he had used, then settled for "personal guards?"
"Not usually, but when the Holder Lord of Markand's legion is on the border and he's naming treaty terms and he points at you and says 'And I'll take that one,' nobody has much choice about it."
She watched him thoughtfully. "So Riverwait gave you up to an enemy."
"The Lady Holder of Riverwait gave me up." He looked away. "The Holder Lord of Markand had been coming to her hall for years and I was the first of her cortege. We didn't get along. He chose me as part of the treaty because he knew what it would cost her in honor. She didn't have a choice. Refusing to give me to him would have been refusing the treaty, and Markand would have overrun us within a month."
"But she gave you up."
"I know that part, we don't have to go over it again," he said, some annoyance in his voice. "I spent a year at Markand serving the Holder Lord."
She frowned. "Serving how?"
He sighed. "As a kjardin. A personal guard."
Maskelle sat back, wrapping her arms around her knees. She could imagine it all too readily. From what she had seen of Rian, he would have made no secret of his dislike when the Holder Lord had come to Riverwait on his earlier visits. The Holder Lord of Markand must have been something of a sadistic games-player to demand the favorite bodyguard of the Lady Holder as part of a treaty in the first place. And it must have been an interesting year at Markand for Rian, a virtual prisoner in the guise of a trusted retainer, and of course everyone else in the Holder Lord's court would have known.
Rian was watching her face and must have followed her thought. "I made sure he didn't enjoy it too much," he said. "There are ways."
"I can imagine."
He laid back down and stretched, brows lifted ironically. "I think I overdid it, though."
It was a nice sight; she had always been attracted to lean men with flat stomachs, even if his skin was a little light for her eyes. "Oh?"
"There's an old custom, that when a High Holder Lord dies his best guards and servants go to the grave with him."
"Go to the grave?" Maskelle repeated blankly.
"Continue to serve him in the sunland," Rian explained. Seeing that she was still baffled, he spelled it out. "Get killed during the funeral, so the relatives can prove how much they really did honor the old bastard."
She looked away to conceal her reaction. To a member of a religious order which had debated for ten years on whether it was acceptable to allow cut flowers as spirit offerings, the idea of a living human as part of burial goods came as something of a shock.
Rian added, "It's fallen out of favor. But the priests read the omens and said the Holder Lord needed company on the journey into the sunland. Everybody, the family, the bodyguards, the wives, the clan leaders, the Guild Chiefs, all got together to decide who it would be. Guess who we picked?"
"I see. And I suppose the Holder Lord left detailed instructions about this to his priests before he died." Intellectually Maskelle could appreciate the final refinement of cruelty, but then she had been told often that she seldom did much of her thinking with her brain. The Holder Lord of Markand is dead, she reminded herself. Which was fortunate, because otherwise she would have to go to the Sintane and kill him herself. "How did you get away?"
"I survived the funeral games, which they let me know was very inconvenient for them. The Holder Lord's Heir wanted me put in the tomb alive, the way they used to do it. The guard captain, who was my lord officer, thought they should strangle me, which is also an old custom. But the chief priest decided to be magnanimous and had them give me a drug that would keep me unconscious through the burial rites, so I'd wake up just in time to suffocate."
"Small favors."
"Very small. But they didn't get as much of the drug down me as they thought, and it took so long they were late for the beginning of the rite, which starts in the Hall of the Hold. I pretended I couldn't stand, moaned and thrashed around, and they left me in the funerary chapel attached to the burial mound, with only a couple of guards outside. I was just conscious enough to put a finger down my throat and get rid of the rest of the drug. It almost took too long, but I was finally able to wake up enough to take one of the guards from behind and the other when he turned around. I got out of the chapel just before the procession came into sight. There was nowhere else to go, so I headed for the border into Gidale. The Heir sent hunters after me, so I had to keep going." He sat up, unbuckled his belt, and half-drew the siri to show her the hilt. "See that? This isn't mine, it's the Holder Lord's. I took it from the offering table. It had panthers and stags worked in gold; I sold those in Tirane."
Maskelle grinned in appreciation of the irony, though she suspected Rian had regretted giving up the sword's ornaments. "Why didn't you want to tell me this, why make me pry it out of you?"
He set the sheathed sword aside, though still within easy reach, and laid back down, propping himself up on one elbow. "You're a religious and I've been condemned as a sacrifice by priests, how did I know how you were goi
ng to take it?"
"I see." If she was going to do what she knew she wanted to, it was time for a little honesty. "It's not half so bad as some things I've done."
"And what's that?"
"I killed one of my husbands. Well, some people believe I killed all of them, and in a way, that's true."
Being Rian, he frowned and said, "You had husbands?"
"Three. The first one, Ilian, died because he trusted me too much. He followed me into danger and I couldn't protect him. I killed Sirot, the second one, myself, because of a vision I had." She looked up at the enigmatic face of the moon, framed by faint faded stars. She had gone over this so many times in her own thoughts, but she realized this was the first time she had spoken of it aloud to anyone in seven years. "I thought it was from the Adversary, but I made a mistake. I was using too much power, relying on it and not the words of the Ancestors." Regret stung her again and she had to stop speaking to control her voice. She had hated Sirot by then, and everything had been a good deal more complicated than she was making it sound, but the essentials were really all that mattered. "My husband's son, who was only a boy at the time, was one of the heirs of the Old Emperor. The vision told me that if he took the throne, the Celestial Empire would disappear in a storm of darkness and chaos." She looked at Rian. "So I tried to stop that from happening, any way I could. My husband fought me and I killed him for it. The third husband, Vanrin, was a man who supported me out of love and folly and ambition, and he was killed in the fighting afterward."
Rian was watching her worriedly, his brows drawn together in concern. "But you stopped the boy from being the heir?"
"No, he was made the heir, and when the old Emperor died, he took the throne. And nothing happened." She laughed a little, bitterly. "The vision was a lie, a trick of the dark spirits, but I believed it completely." She shook her head. "I've been in a great deal of difficulty and most of it's my own fault. I betrayed my sacred duty to the Koshan Path. The Adversary will no longer speak to me, but while I still live there won't be a new Voice to replace me, so the Empire has been denied the Adversary's counsel for the past seven years. In the fighting I used too much of my power and gained the attention of the dark spirits, the things that live in the shadows. Like the river when it runs hard and wild like this, and whatever it was that killed that boy and replaced his soul with something else." She smiled wryly at how long the catalog of her folly was becoming.