by Jean Johnson
“You converse with others from here?” Aradin asked. “How, if I may ask?”
She nodded at one of the copper-hued puddles near the altar at the center of the moss-lined hollow. Its vine almost touched the surface. “Some of these basins serve a clear purpose. That one there permits voice-based communication with other Guardians who govern unwieldy pools or focal points of magic. All it requires is a touch of the liquid . . . though I am told that if I ever bring a mirror in here, Guardian Kerric can link a simple visual scrying surface between his power-source and mine. I have considered it, particularly in light of the troubles he’s been seeing over the last few months, but, well . . .”
“You don’t want anyone peering into the heart of the Grove and possibly trying to wrest away control of it?” Aradin guessed shrewdly.
She blinked in surprise and shook her head. “No, the power of my God and Goddess would prevent that. No, I’m more worried about leaving a mirror out in the open, where the rain could fall on it, the temperatures could shift and crack it with too much cold or too much heat, or even a bird could fly past and drop its liquid chalk on the surface just at the wrong moment in time,” she muttered bluntly. “The point is, the Bower keeps some things out, yes, particularly hostile plants or hungry creatures, but not all things are kept outside the gazebo’s weave. This is a garden, not a stronghold.”
“That makes sense,” he allowed. “Though with a properly enspelled frame, such things won’t matter. In fact, I was just reading a book about that sort of thing, written by an Aian mage, Kerric Vo Mos. It had some clear instructions on how to enchant a protective frame for an outdoor mirror.”
“Kerric Vo Mos, you said?” Saleria repeated, brows lifting.
“Yes. I could show you the book if you like,” he told her, gesturing at the wide cuff of his sleeve.
“No, that won’t be necessary. You see, Kerric Vo Mos is the same Guardian I just mentioned,” she told him, mouth curving up in humor.
His brows rose. “Oh. I did not know that. But that means you should already know the man knows mirror-based magics like no other,” Aradin said, eyeing her. “Not that I’m advocating a mirror must be placed in here; just that it can be done safely, with the right precautions and protective spells. The decision is yours.”
Saleria nodded, then frowned softly in thought. Finally, she sighed and threw up her hands, letting them drop at her sides. “Fine! Educate me in all the finer points of all the bits of the world I’ve been missing ever since I chose to become a priestess. But it’ll have to be done piecemeal, since there’s only so much time I can allot out of each of my days for education. I still have to walk the paths, drain the plants and the trees, and convert it all into prayer-energies.”
The smile he gave her was a ruefully amused one. “If I were to spend all our spare time—widespread and scattered though it may be—in teaching you such things . . . then I would have to stay here for the rest of my natural life. Are you prepared to host me that long, Holy Sister? The Convocation may happen a few days from now or a few months, but what you propose would require a much, much lengthier association.”
He looked rather appealing when he smiled like that. Of course, he looks rather appealing any time he smiles, period, Saleria acknowledged, studying him. So why does it annoy me all of a sudden to be called his Sister, even if it’s only by vocation? Sighing, she let it go for the moment. Sort of. “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get this Grove under better control, so that it no longer poses a danger to pilgrims who come here seeking to be closer to our God and Goddess. If that means asking for your help, then I shall ask for it . . . within the strictures of my office and the guidelines as I understand them.
“And I’d like you to call me Saleria,” she said, prompted by that inner, annoyed thought. “That is, if I may call you Aradin or Teral as appropriate? If we are to work together on the problems of this place, I’d say that strict formality is a thing for chapels and cathedrals, not for a pair of gardeners trying to tame the Grove. So we don’t really need to keep calling each other Priest or Witch or Holy Sibling, yes?”
His smile widened. “I quite agree. Saleria.”
“Thank you, Aradin.” There, that feels a lot better. A silly little thing, setting aside an otherwise appropriate label, but it feels right, she decided, smiling back. Turning her thoughts to what lay ahead, she said, “I’m not sure of what your experiments would require, but if you’re willing to assist me on morning and evening rounds, it would free up the time to bring in whatever might be needed—and bollocks to the Prelate who says I cannot have an assistant,” Saleria added firmly. “I am the Keeper of the Grove. I shall be the one to decide how best to Keep it.”
Aradin grinned behind her back, enjoying her burst of assertiveness. (I do believe we’re a good influence on the lady.)
(I doubt her superiors would say that,) Teral observed dryly, but not without humor. (But yes, I do believe we are. As she says, it’s her job, not theirs.)
FOUR
Seated in her study, Saleria did not have to wait long to speak with Councillor Thannig, the Councillor for the Department of Prophecies. As Keeper of the Grove, she had a scrying glass that connected directly to one of the many mirrors in the Hall of Mirrors at the capital. All she had to do was catch the attention of a page, who sent off for the Councillor requested, and wait. It seemed he wasn’t far from the Hall, though, for he came into view within just a minute or so, his teeth gleaming white in his brown, northern-born face.
“Keeper Saleria, how lovely to hear from you. I am flattered that Your Holiness requests my aid,” Councillor Thannig praised her, smiling in warm welcome. “In fact, I just received a report that mentions you . . . or at least, your office. How can the Department of Prophecies assist you today?”
Surprised by his words, Saleria lifted her brows. “Ah . . . what sort of report regarding me?”
His smile faded, replaced by an expression more rueful and somber. “We have been digging up old prophecies regarding those meddlesome fools on the Isle of Nightfall, off the east coast of Katan, and their attempts to reconvene the Convocation of Gods and Man. We haven’t had any truly strong Seers in several hundred years, but a few of the lesser ones in the interim have given missives which we’re beginning to see come true. One of the ones we unearthed in the process, the Song of the Guardians, specifically mentions the Grove. If you like, I can have a copy of it made and sent your way.”
“Was one of them by the last Duchess of Nightfall, the Seer Haupanea?” Saleria asked.
He frowned for a moment in thought. “I . . . hmm. I think so. At least, I think some of hers are in the mix. She didn’t make that many,” Councillor Thannig dismissed. “Now, what else can the Department do for you?”
“Actually, that is exactly why I called,” Saleria admitted. “I’d like to know all the prophecies related to the Grove . . . and out of curiosity, any involving this Convocation of Gods and Man. If Kata and Jinga are going to be summoned in some impending Convocation soon, I should like to petition Them for Their aid in fixing the many problems with the Grove.”
“Well, we haven’t selected an appropriate representative yet,” Thannig hedged. “The Arch Priest would like to have that honor, but so would Lady Apista, Councillor for the Temples . . . though considering she gave those exiled fools on Nightfall a sacred bell to ring, summoning an incipient crown, she’s not in high favor in the Council’s eyes at the moment. I honestly don’t know why she did so. She’s ruined her ranking in the budget debates for Temple repairs and constructions.”
Someone called out something to him from beyond the edge of the mirror’s reach. Leaning out of the frame, he stroked the edge to give himself a moment of aural privacy while he conversed. It gave her time for her rather troubled thoughts.
Politics? They’re all worried about politics in the face of the Convocation being restored? When having it be
restored—by whomever—would give us far greater wonders and glories than mere politics? Jinga’s Bollocks! Aradin warned me, but I didn’t actually believe it until now.
Here was the exact reason why Aradin had avoided the Council of Mages and the Arch Priest in his search for an appropriate representative. Saleria knew what “ringing a sacred bell” meant, since it was part and parcel of the duties of all priests to know what that meant. If any portion of Katan wished to secede and demanded a sacred bell so they could summon a manifestation of a new God and/or Goddess, the priesthood was required by law to present the petitioners with one.
The ugly implication behind this careless revelation is that these bureaucrats would not have given the exiles a sacred, blessed bell to Ring the Bell to declare their independence from Katan. I know why she did it, because the Councillor for the Temples would not care to break the covenant of her vows with Kata and Jinga . . . but these . . . these politicians don’t see the whole, and thus holier, picture at hand.
Well, bollocks to that, she thought firmly. They shall not get a single word otherwise out of me . . . and I shall figure out a way to be the representative of our people, not our political ambitions.
Thannig shifted back fully into view and stroked the edge of the mirror, restoring sound. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”
Keeping her expression calm, if solemn, she merely said aloud, “Something about politics, milord. You may concentrate on that however you wish, Councillor, since the ways of government have little to do with the ways of prayer . . . but there are signs that the Grove will soon be free to change to something calmer. If this Convocation is the means, then so be it. If not, there are still things I can do, and should be doing, as Keeper of the Grove and Guardian of its magics. Which means I really do need to know what prophecies might be associated with it, so I know what to look for in the coming days.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll have them copied and sent by messenger to you,” Councillor Thannig promised. “Is there anything else the Department of Prophecies can do for you, Keeper?”
“Thank you, but no, that should be plenty,” Saleria demurred, not sure she wanted to deal with any politicians right now. “Forewarned is forearmed, and that’s all I should need. You have my gratitude for your willingness to assist me in my search . . . and I shall say a prayer for you and the Council,” she added on impulse. A prayer to hopefully bring you all to your good senses. “Kata and Jinga bless you, Councillor Thannig.”
He gave her a slight bow, one dark-skinned hand splayed across his blue-clad chest. “We on the Council live to serve . . . or at least, that’s what we’re supposed to do. Have a good day, Keeper Saleria. May Kata and Jinga bless you, too.”
A gesture from his hand ended the connection, leaving her with a blue glow for a moment before the mirror returned to being a normal reflective surface. Reaching up, she pulled the curtain back in place over the mirror, which was mounted behind her desk. The addition of the curtain had been one of her requests to Nannan upon taking up the guardianship of this place. The thought of someone staring at the back of her neck unnerved the young priestess. She had enough trouble with her danger instincts being roused and sharpened daily by her walks through the Grove; she didn’t need to worry about that as well.
As if conjured by thought, Nannan bustled into the study, her hands damp and clean, but her apron dusted with flour and bits of dough. “Daranen suggested there might be more than three for the evening meal. Who would the fourth one be?”
“A foreign priest who is something of an expert in magics, plants, and herbalism. He will be working with me for a while,” Saleria informed her housekeeper. I don’t think the messes in the Grove can be untangled in just a few days, though. She didn’t say that out loud yet, because she didn’t know what Aradin’s long-term plans were. “Easily several weeks, I should think. Probably longer.”
“He’s not to be staying here, is he?” Nannan asked her in a disapproving tone. The plump, matronly woman might be ruthlessly cheerful in the morning, but she didn’t approve of priests or priestesses getting up to “shenanigans.” Which meant she did not like Shanno, the young Deacon of Groveham, who in the half-year since his arrival had flirted shamelessly with whichever young lady might smile his way. Saleria couldn’t object to Nannan’s distaste; there was something about the younger priest that irked her, too, though she couldn’t put a finger on it. But this was another matter, one not related to the young, brash deacon.
Dismissing thoughts of Shanno, she instead considered her housekeeper’s words. Sitting back in her chair, Saleria tapped her lips gently with both forefingers, then pointed at Nannan. “That actually isn’t a bad idea. Though I suppose I should see first if his ideas will work and his presence will be helpful before offering him one of the guest rooms here.”
“You cannot be serious!” Nannan protested, rearing up to her full, if modest, height so that she could look down her nose at Saleria.
It was rather like being stared down by an affronted hen. Biting her inner cheek for a moment to quell the urge to smile, Saleria sat up again, giving the older woman a calm look. “I am quite serious. There are seven bedchambers in this house. I have one, you have one, and Daranen has one. That leaves four to spare. Since your husband has long passed, your children are grown and gone, Daranen is a confirmed bachelor—”
Nannan snorted at that. Saleria knew it was because the widow fancied him a little, but let it pass, continuing smoothly.
“—and my family lives a month’s ride to the south, there is no reason to hold all four of those rooms ready for unexpected guests. Or rather, any further unexpected guests,” she amended. “I highly doubt an entire troupe of foreign dignitaries is about to descend upon the Keeper’s house, demanding lodgings. I will give it another day or two to observe Aradin Teral’s progress on his efforts, and if they prove viable, I shall invite him to stay here, where it will be more convenient. As he will be assisting me in my many duties with the Grove, the budget for the Keeper of the Grove can very well pay for his food, as well as giving him free lodging.”
“But, Your Holiness, to have a strange man in the house!” Nannan protested. “What of your sanctity? What if he has designs on your position, and its power? He could seek to wrest away your control of the Grove!”
“Bollocks to that,” Saleria snorted, making her housekeeper blush at the vulgarity. She didn’t let Nannan’s stare stop her from continuing briskly, “Boisterous Jinga would thump him on the head with His own holy fist, I am quite sure of it.”
Nannan shifted her hands to her flour-dusted hips. “Well, what if he has designs on your person, hmm?”
That wrested a soft laugh from her. Smirking, Saleria leaned back in her seat again. Her thoughts had strayed a couple of times in that direction already, so she wasn’t offended by the possibility. Not when they’re both handsome men . . . though I’d far rather court the living half. Not sure I’m comfortable with the thought of being intimate with a technically dead man . . . Oh, but that Aradin . . . “And what if he should?”
Nannan gave her an affronted look . . . then gasped, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh! Then Kata would thump him with Her fist, of course. Well, I suppose it would be okay in that case . . .”
And that wasn’t the conclusion I myself had drawn. Mainly because Saleria highly doubted it. For one, neither Aradin nor Teral struck her as the sort of man who would push himself on a woman. For another, much was made of the northern God’s exuberance and passion for life versus the southern Goddess’ calmer temperament, but it was well-known among the priesthood that Kata was no shy, shrinking flower when it came to Her Heavenly marital duties.
Indeed, it was said that She was the one who had given the sacred knowledge of how to make contraceptive amulets to Her people so that they could enjoy such pleasures without the worry of unexpected, unplanned-for children. Not Jinga, as one would have
expected, though there was a male equivalent to the female version.
She didn’t disabuse Nannan of her notion, however; instead, Saleria let the housekeeper leave with a flick of her hand, muttering something about attending to the day’s baking. Something else made Saleria think it wasn’t likely either man would seek to dally with her, however attractive she might find him. Yes, Aradin was quite handsome; in his own way, so was Teral. However, the two men moved and operated in one body as if never out of the other’s sight.
Or the other’s mind, whatever . . . I can only imagine that would be a detriment to lovemaking. No doubt their whole priesthood is sworn to celibacy, poor things. Maybe a little flirting is allowed, since the way Aradin looked at me, and touched me—that was flirting. But full-on intimacy?
Some among the Katani clergy swore themselves to vows of chastity, to take no lovers until marriage. Others swore their passions to their Patron Deity, seeing it as a sacred duty to love vigorously and well . . . provided no promises were broken. She didn’t know of a single priest or priestess in the empire who had sworn vows of celibacy, however. They did take vows to break no oaths, cross no marital boundaries, and respect the rights of all to say “no” whenever they wished to say it, at whatever point in the proceedings—but not true celibacy.
No priest or priestess in Katan would swear to take no lovers at all, nor any vows to avoid marriage, should they be interested in it. Such a thing would go against the very underpinnings of their faith, for Kata and Jinga Themselves had willingly wed, and Their marital efforts had made the entire continent quite fruitful for a full year afterward, despite a terrible drought plaguing its northern half at the time.
No, They were Maiden and Lover, the romantic aspects of Spring, plus They were Father and Mother, the nurturing aspects of Autumn. And the Lord and the Lady might be the protective aspects of Summer, but They did not shy from adult activities . . . and it was believed that even the wisest aspects of Winter, the Crone and the Guide, were still capable of being loving toward each other, and thus lovers, despite the frailties and difficulties of old age.