by Jean Johnson
Tomaso wrinkled his brow in thought. He had plenty to spare, and the pouty look of his half-scowl was almost cute in a way. Brows working, he mulled it over, then asked, “Perhaps what you need is a Seer, not a priest?”
“That would be more of a one-way form of communication, from the minds of the Gods to the mouths of Their chosen vessel, to the ears of us mere mortals,” Aradin corrected gently. “That is also a matter for warnings of the future. What we seek is a two-way communicator who can work with those things we mortals already know about. An arbiter and an advocate. Someone who is used to speaking with your God and Goddess, bringing the concerns of your people to Them, and bringing back whatever rulings or prayer-effects They may choose for Their replies.”
“Well, I don’t know about rulings, exactly,” Tomaso mused, scratching at his wrinkled, stubbled chin, “but if there’s any priest or priestess in the Empire who speaks with the Gods on a daily basis about the concerns of their parishoners, and manages the sheer power of prayers on a daily basis, all without dabbling in politics . . . then it would be the Grove Keeper. That’s about as far as you’ll get from politics for a holy intermediary who also possesses a distinct level of authority.”
“The Grove Keeper?” Aradin asked. He could feel Teral’s confusion and curiosity as well as his own. “I don’t think either of us have heard of that position before. At least, not outside of the land of Arbra, where their deity is the Goddess of Forests . . . and I’m not sure if that is one of their titles or not. What do they do?”
“He . . . actually, I think it’s a she right now,” the elderly priest corrected himself. “She is the Guardian of the Grove, a place which used to be the Holy Gardens where Blessed Kata and Jinga were wed, uniting the two main kingdoms of this continent into a single empire ages ago. Unfortunately, when the Convocation of the Gods destroyed the Aian Empire two hundred years ago, give or take, the Grove became a place of untamed, uncontrolled magics. Energies too powerful to allow pilgrims to visit or betrotheds to wed.”
“That sounds like yet another location in need of healing,” Aradin muttered dryly. (Which means it is all the more imperative Orana Niel speaks at the Convocation of the Gods,) he added silently to his Guide.
Tomaso continued, patting Aradin’s knee. “If there is anyone who is an expert on judging the merits and turning the petitions of the people into the quite literal power of prayer, it would be the current Grove Keeper. If you will indulge an old priest in the lengthy process of rising and retiring to my study, I will see if I can find a map showing you how to get to the Grove. That is, if you are prepared to travel that far, and to face the dangers which make it an ill-advised place to visit for the unprepared, never mind the unwary.”
“I am a well-trained mage, and a cautious man by nature.” Aradin comforted him, clasping the older priest on the shoulder. Rising, he turned and offered his hand to assist the elderly clergyman to his feet. “And my Guide is even more careful than I. If it is not forbidden for a foreigner to visit such a holy place, then we will go.”
“Forbidden? No, not at all,” Prelate Tomaso dismissed. “But difficult? Yes,” he grunted, struggling to his feet. “It is no longer the garden of delights it was—one more tug, young man! Ahhh, there we go. This way . . .” Canes in his hands, the priest headed for one of the doors leading into the wings of the church. “My body may be getting old, but the Gods have given me a still-sharp mind. I remember your fellow Witch’s visit. She brought the most lovely, delicate tea from some place in Aiar. A mountainous land . . . Cor-something . . .”
Aradin perked up at that. “Oh, yes, I’ve had a variety of Aian teas in our travels. And other things. Studying plants is one of my specialties. I’m always eager to find out what plants are being harvested and used in various ways locally for magical, medicinal, and culinary uses wherever I go.”
“Heh! You’ll find the Grove a terrifying place, then,” Tomaso chuckled. “But before you go, I think I can find a tin of spell-preserved tea somewhere. Will you stay and have a cup, while I dig for those maps? And perhaps, could I have a chance to meet your, erm, Host? No, sorry, your Guide, was it? You would be the Host, yes?”
“Yes, and we’d be delighted,” Aradin agreed, following him through the door. Privately, he wondered what the elderly priest meant by that quip about the Grove, but knew he’d either learn it in conversation or learn it when he got there. The polite thing was to let his host dictate their conversation. “Teral would be happy to meet you in person as well, so to speak. At least with you, we won’t have to explain what to expect first.”
Chuckling, the Prelate continued to lead the way, his pace slow but otherwise steady. “I suspect you’ll have to explain it to the Grove Keeper, if she has the time to meet with you to discuss your request. They’re usually wonderful people, the Grove Keepers, very trustworthy, but they’re often far too busy with their duties to bother with learning about foreign lands and exotic oddities.”
Aradin smiled wryly. “That actually fits in with what we’re looking for. I can only hope she’ll suit our needs.”
Table of Contents
Praise
Titles by Jean Johnson
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
THE SONG OF THE GUARDIANS
Special Excerpt from The Grove
ONE