by Martha Wells
Preoccupied, Maskelle answered, "You drop the sand from your palm and then guide it into place with your breath, using a small wooden tube to make it more accurate. It's not as hard as it sounds; anyone who was clever with his hands could learn to do it." She looked at the Celestial One. "But what are you doing about it?"
"The highest masters remove the offending section of the pattern, while the others continue with the undamaged section. They thought they had established the boundaries of the affected area." The Celestial One regarded her steadily from under his heavy grey brows. "But they have not been entirely successful. Sometimes the spot changes its position to avoid them."
Rian looked from one to the other. I take it they can’t just stop, he thought. Or sweep it up and start over. If it was that simple, then surely they would have done it already. And if it really worked as they thought it did...If that was really the world in there, spread out on the floor in colored sand with that disruption, that dark design of fire and storm and yawning void in it...
"Taking it apart..." Uneasily, Maskelle said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
The Celestial One looked away. "I was afraid you would say that."
Chapter Six
The clouds had returned and a light rain had begun by the time they left the Marai. Crossing back over the causeway, Maskelle still wasn't quite sure how things stood between her and the Celestial One, if he was really serious about expecting her to stay here and help him. She thought he had hoped, somehow, that she would look at that...thing that was forming out of the sand in the Year Rite and tell him how to fix it. Fond hope, she thought sourly. But she didn't suppose he had really believed that she would solve his problem so easily. As she and Rian reached the end of the causeway, she realized she had forgotten to ask the Celestial One for money. Well, he had said he would send someone to the post house with word for her tonight; she would ask then.
She stopped at the end of the causeway and took a deep breath of the warm damp air. Darker clouds now streaked the grey sky and the foot traffic had increased as people hurried to finish their errands before the rain turned heavy. More awnings and cheap oilpaper water shades had sprouted over the little market while puddles formed in the paving. She looked at Rian, who was standing with hands on his hips, surveying the passers-by at the base of the steps with a disgruntled air that was increased by the rain soaking his hair and sticking the thin fabric of his shirt to his chest. They exchanged a look. He said, "The Rite...It really remakes the world?"
She nodded, gathering her sodden robes around her. At the edge of the market there was an open-sided wooden building where water steamed in copper pots over braisers and a rough stone oven smelled strongly of sweet bread. Having breakfast with Barime that morning had awakened a craving for real tea, not what passed for it in the provinces or among the Ariaden, and she led the way under its shelter.
Maskelle went to the back, away from the other customers, and sat down on the damp matting that covered the pavement. Rian took a place where he could watch her back and the approach from the market. The Kushorit didn't believe in eating out in public streets and avoided it whenever possible; except for the woman preparing the food and the boy helping her, the few other customers under the shelter were foreigners. They stared curiously at the old nun and the young Sitanese, until Rian unhooked the siri's scabbard from his belt and laid it within easy reach, then gazed meaningfully at them. That made them shuffle nervously and go back to their food and conversations.
The boy brought them tea in brown clay cups and a banana leaf full of little buns rolled in palm sugar. Maskelle gave him the last silver bit she had. She watched Rian taste the tea and wince. Kushorit tea was an acquired taste. "I don't know how to explain the Rite without using ritual language," she began slowly.
"I could see it was making a map." Rian frowned, rolling one of the buns around in the scattered sugar. "But I could also see that's not all it is."
"The symbols are the reality. When I was first learning the Koshan way..." An eon or so ago, she reminded herself. "There was an old story that back when the Kushor-An was still being built, before the Celestial Court moved here from Tel Adra, that word came to the Voices from the outlying islands that the Emissary of Sakkara had sent an invasion fleet."
Rian's brows draw together in puzzlement. "Sakkara?"
"I'd never heard the name before either. No one has. When the Voices heard of the invasion, it was near the Equinox when the culmination of the Rite occurs. They were still constructing the Wheel of the Infinite and they hadn't yet reached the Aspian Straits, where the fleet would have to pass to reach the Rijan Gulf and the delta, to sail up the river to Duvalpore. The armies of the Empire were very small then, barely enough to protect the villages and the roads from bandits. They knew the Sakkarans were sending hundreds of ships. So, when the Voices built the symbols for the Aspian Straits into the Wheel, they changed the symbols, just slightly, so that the Aspian Straits were closed. And that's what made the Inland Sea."
"What happened to the Sakkarans?"
"No one knows. One story is that the Voices didn't build the Wheel fast enough, and they closed the Straits with the fleet inside it. The Sakkarans were so struck by the loss of all the ships and people that they never recovered, and dwindled away to become nomads, or went north to join the Batiran Cities. I've heard the Celestial One say that he thought it more likely that in changing the shape of the land, what they actually did was change everything about it, its shape, its history, its reality." Its reality. Could the alterations to the Wheel already be affecting the world, even before the Rite was culminated? It might explain the monstrosity the Priest of the Sare had shown her, and the power of the water spirit. The thought was not comforting. She continued, "They changed the whole region to someplace else, that looked a great deal like the places where the Sakkaran cities used to be, and they sent the Aspian Strait and the cities somewhere else, that looked the same, but with no Celestial Empire to attack. Which is why we don't try to do that anymore."
She sipped her tea thoughtfully. "We don't know what all the symbols in the Wheel mean. The ones that show the bottom half of the world aren't even visible unless you look at them through the Infinite, and we don't even know what geography half of them are meant to represent except what we can see in the Wheel itself."
"There's a bottom half to the world?" Rian sounded a little skeptical.
She nodded. "The lower ranks of Koshans travel and make maps and bring them back here, so the librarians can record them and the Voices can try to identify what the still unknown symbols might represent. It doesn't always match exactly. The theory is that the Wheel shows us what the world would look like if we could see it from the Infinite."
"The Holder Lord thought the Koshan monks were spies, though he was never stupid enough to kill one."
"That would have been stupid," Maskelle agreed. "That was the kind of thing I used to be sent to deal with."
Rian looked out at the dingy market again, the rain splashing on the pavement, the stalls and awnings, and the grey walls and towers of the Marai floating above the rain-mist in the distance. He said, "If that story is true, then the Kushorit rule the world."
"In a sense. If you can destroy a thing, I suppose you can be said to rule it." She should have realized he would see it that way. The Sintane might be behind the rest of the civilized lands in many ways, but in understanding the uses and abuses of secular power it might well be ahead. "It's not called the Celestial Empire for nothing."
"But no one knows."
She shook her head. "The Voices know. That's the last part of the elevation to Voice, the revelation of what the Rite is actually capable of. The entire Koshan priesthood is based on locating the people who can be trained and trusted to be Voices. It's safer if no one else knows." She took a deep breath. "Though it's not as if anyone could build a Wheel of the Infinite, even if they knew how. It takes years of learning, not just to know how to make the symbols, but how to
weave them in and out of the Infinite.
And you have to learn how to listen to the Ancestors of the Marai, so they can guide you if you go wrong. "She glanced up at him and demanded, "Why are you smiling?"
"I was thinking of how the Holder Lord would have shit himself if he knew." Rian cocked an eyebrow at her. "You had that power in your hand, but instead you tried to take the throne?"
"I didn't want the world. I had a reason for trying to take the throne. Besides, one person can't build the Wheel, or bring the Rite to a culmination at the right time." She added wryly, "In the Infinite, timing is everything. For a long while now, mine has been terrible." She set her cup aside reluctantly. "I suppose we'd better get back."
They went outside and started down the steps to the lower plaza. As Maskelle reached the bottom, her eyes were on one of the stands in the other section of the temporary market. Piles of gourds and melons lay on wicker mats and the market woman was looking around as if gauging the crowd and the possibility of packing up early. Maskelle saw the woman glance her way, saw her eyes widen in shock. Her own self-consciousness almost betrayed her, and it took her an extra heartbeat to realize the woman was staring not at her, but at something just behind her. Maskelle swung around, belatedly bringing up her staff. She was in time to see a raggedly dressed man only two steps above her, raising a short club. Before she could move, Rian melted out of the group of tradesmen hurrying down the steps around them and caught the upraised club. The man managed a strangled yell before he met the steps face-first.
The crowd scattered with startled exclamations. Maskelle stepped up and leaned over the attacker as Rian held him pinned to the wet stone, one of his arms twisted into an easily breakable position. The man glared up at her with nothing but wholly human malice and fear in his eyes. She glanced up at Rian. "He's not under any influence." She looked down at the captive speculatively. "Except political. Are you Mirak's? Or did Disara send you? Or Raith himself?"
The man sneered at her but said nothing. Rian said, "Do you need answers?"
A little more fear crossed their captive's face. Rian's matter-of-factness was more threatening than any amount of shouted threats. "No." Maskelle straightened and leaned on her staff, the wood and silver slick from the rain. "It doesn't matter. Let him go."
Rian looked exasperated, but hauled the man up and shoved him away out toward the plaza. The man fell, rolled, and bolted off through the crowd.
"A thief, Sister?" one of the men from the market asked. A small, somewhat bemused crowd had gathered. Parts of Duvalpore could be rough going after dark, but not here, in the Temple City and at the very base of the Marai. And a Koshan nun should be safe anywhere. These people would find it difficult to believe that a Koshan could be attacked in their own city; even if they had seen the man about to deliver a blow obviously intended to be fatal, they might discount the evidence of their own eyes. Maskelle, said, "Yes, a thief."
With narrowed eyes Rian watched the man run away. "You have a lot of enemies here," he commented
"Well, yes," she admitted.
The crowd, seeing that nothing else seemed likely to occur, began to go back to their business. Rian said, "They were quick to find you, unless somebody at the post house recognized you and warned them." He looked at her and added thoughtfully, "Or the temple."
Maskelle started to deny it, then realized she knew nothing of how the currents of power had shifted in the past years. "Maybe. Maybe not. Did you see where he came from?"
"He was clumsy. I saw him as soon as we got to the causeway. He was waiting on the other side of the wall between the grassy court and the moat."
Maskelle nodded to herself. If the man had been that close to the Marai, then he couldn't have been under any kind of influence. It was barely possible to work dark magic within the boundaries of Duvalpore, but the power sink in the Infinite that the Marai formed would overwhelm any lesser force. She turned to go through the market, where the people huddled under the awnings and shades watched them and discussed the matter animatedly as they passed by. That should discourage the man's friends, if he had any. "Didn't he see you?"
Rian nodded. "I hung back at the top of the stairs so he'd think we were splitting up. He was anxious and went for you right away instead of waiting to be sure." He rolled his shoulders, shedding tension like water. "That he came for you here means they don't know where we're camped. If we're lucky they won't have a chance to follow us back, but don't count on it."
"Oh." Well, you could have told me he was there. It didn't appear to have been any of her business. Rian was drawing more attention now; it wasn't usual to see a nun with a guard attending her, especially one who was obviously from the outer provinces. It occurred to her that she might have stopped and thought a moment about the logistics of having a Sitanese kjardin who was also her lover. She hadn't asked for the guard, but she had wanted the lover. Or maybe she had just wanted a friend. No, let's be honest. I definitely wanted him as a lover. Everything else seemed to have come with the territory. If I had stopped and thought, I’d still be here in Duvalpore, in the same circumstances, but with a nice lump on my head and lonely into the bargain.
***
They reached the posting house to find that the Ariaden were already giving a performance. Inhabitants of Duvalpore typically went to ground during the hard rains of this season, but the travellers in the post house hadn't learned that kind of resignation. Walking up on their camp, Maskelle saw the wagons had been arranged in a semicircle and they had taken the giant oilcloth that could be draped on posts to form a mountain backdrop and stretched it from the top of Rastim's wagon to Firac's. Under this shelter, a small group of travellers and their children crouched on the muddy ground watching Gardick, Therassa, and Doria doing an abbreviated version of an Ariaden comedy play. Lamps hanging from the wagons made it an almost cheerful scene.
Rastim was sitting on the tail board of his wagon, watching the performance with a self-satisfied expression. As Maskelle made her way over to him, he said, low-voiced, "This is a good place for theater. We only passed the word within the compound, and look how many people came, even with the rain."
Maskelle sat next to him. It wasn't dry, but the oilcloth deflected the worst of it. "That's good, because the rain isn't going to stop anytime soon."
Rian, leaning against the wagon and surveying the camp, muttered darkly to himself in Sitanese. Rastim gave him an annoyed look. On the makeshift stage Gardick was making an elaborate pantomime of pretending to sneak up on Therassa, who was doing the same to Doria. The audience laughed appreciatively. Rastim asked, "How do we approach the chief priest about—" he lowered his voice cautiously "—the curse?"
Gisar had been quiet since the Illsat Keo and wouldn't have any opportunity to make trouble within the city boundary. Maskelle had been planning to draft Rastim and maybe Firac to help haul the cursed puppet to the Marai tomorrow to get the Ariaden's problem taken care of. She started to say this, but caught sight of indigo silk, visible even through the drizzle and mist, corning in through the gate of the post compound. It was a large palanquin. Rian had seen it too, and gave her a worried glance. She said, "No, blue means it's from the temples."
As the palanquin approached, they could see it was attended by temple guards on horseback and a number of priests, all clutching oilcloth parasols. The traders and travellers who hadn't ventured out of their wagons for the entertainment peered out now as the palanquin passed.
The play stumbled to a halt as the Ariaden caught sight of it and their audience turned to watch. The temple guards spread out, forming a loose barrier between the camp and the rest of the compound. Beside her, Rian stirred purposefully and Maskelle leaned over to take his arm and pull him toward her. He came reluctantly, and she felt rather like a handler hauling on the harness of a two-hundred-pound hunting cat and hoping it chose to pay attention. He settled against her, watching the guards warily.
The curtains of the palanquin stirred and the priests gathered a
round it, two of them helping the occupant out. It was the Celestial One. He shook the priests off, leaned on his staff, and picked his way through the mud to the oilcloth shelter. The awestruck audience shifted to make room for him. Undoubtedly many of these people, newly come to Duvalpore, did not know just who the old man was, but it was obvious from his attendance and method of arrival that he was important. Carefully, the Celestial One made to sit down, one of the younger priests hurrying forward to whisk a rattan mat under him before his robes touched the mud. The old man settled himself comfortably, then gestured to the actors. "Continue."
After a moment the Ariaden rose to the occasion. Doria stammered her next line and the play continued. "Who is that?" Rastim whispered.
"The chief priest," Maskelle told him.
Rastim stared at her in horror. "This play isn't fit for him!" he whispered tensely.
"He won't care."
Rastim moaned, then subsided into a choked silence.
After a time, when the temple guards did nothing but stoically sit their horses in the rain and the other priests huddled uncomfortably under the edge of the oilcloth, Rian settled against her a little and she felt some of the tension in him uncoil. He said, "Does he do this often?"
"No," Maskelle said. She saw Rastim was listening alertly too. The Celestial One was watching the play with polite attention, though he hadn't reacted to anything the actors said or did. He was probably deep in meditation and had no idea what was happening on the makeshift stage. "It's uncomfortable for him to go too far from the temples and the connecting canals." She hesitated, not knowing how to explain without using the Koshan words that neither man would understand. "Here in Kushor-At, the symbol is almost the same as the reality, and the temples are very powerful symbols. The Celestial One is a symbol, too, and after being a part of that for so long, it's not easy to be just a man again."
Rastim scratched his chin thoughtfully. "How did he become Celestial One? Was there a vote among the other chief priests?"