“The last of our Elders perished before he could pass on the sacred knowledge to a successor. So those of my parents’ generation and mine grew up without proper instruction, though the others taught us as best they could. I know that doesn’t excuse my straying—”
“No, but it does explain it.” Semanel waved Kabos silent. “I accept your sincere desire to return to the true Faith. I’ll listen to your confession and assign the appropriate penance. But that’s a private matter, not for any ears but yours and mine, not even your daughter’s. And it will take many hours, probably over multiple sessions. It’s much too late to begin tonight.”
“As you wish, Elder. I’ll do whatever you require.” Nirel still couldn’t get used to her father submitting so completely to another’s authority. Although it was just the sort of submission he’d always required to his own, so perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised that he offered it to someone he considered his superior.
Semanel smiled. “And you, my daughter. Do you wish to seek of your own will to follow the Lord of Justice and learn of his Faith? You’re of the age when even our children who have been raised in the Faith can no longer rely on their parents’ Faith, but must claim it for themselves.”
The question caught Nirel off guard. She did want to learn more. Something about the close quiet space with its swirling vibrant patterns and calm center spoke to her in a way nothing she’d ever heard about the Mother did. Semanel had a grounded, certain authority she instinctively responded to. She thought of the generations of her ancestors, remaining true through centuries of persecution, facing exile and death so that she could receive the Faith they so ardently believed in. Did it matter that she’d have to conceal a trivial bit of her past? Semanel had made it clear he’d accept her anyway, as long as she kept that moment secret.
Still, she held back from committing. “My mother wasn’t one of the Faithful. Does that make a difference?”
Semanel glanced at Kabos, who nodded after Nirel repeated her words in their own language. “Only a little. Your course of instruction will be a bit longer, though not the rigorous course required of a convert with no Faithful ancestry. The Trials of body and mind and spirit are the same for everyone.”
Nirel swallowed. “Trials?”
“You’ll learn about them in the course of your study. As long as your Faith is true, you need not fear. The Lord of Justice will sustain you.”
Maybe she’d fail, then, if the Lord of Justice truly considered that being healed by a wizard made her unworthy. Nirel put her shoulders back. She could pass any test they gave her without help from anyone, human or otherwise. “All right. Yes. I want to learn about the Faith. I want to be one of the Faithful.”
Semanel smiled at her, though she thought she saw something rueful in his eyes. “The Lord of Justice accepts you as a candidate for his favor, my daughter. From this moment he will watch everything you do to determine whether you’re worthy for him to welcome into his family. His demands aren’t easy, but you’ll find his favor worth anything required to earn it.”
Nirel bowed her head. “Yes, Elder.”
Kabos cleared his throat. “Do you know of a place within this quarter where we may find lodging? When the Matriarch learns of our Faith, we’ll be required to remain here, as the rest of you are.”
Nirel gulped, thinking of Kevessa. She’d feel betrayed when Nirel didn’t return. They’d been looking forward to the ball, when Kevessa would introduce Nirel to her friends, and Nirel would show off how well she’d learned Ramunnan customs.
Semanel cocked his head, studying them. “Don’t be so hasty, my son. The Lord of Justice doesn’t require our isolation. That’s a human law, forced on us by his enemies. As long as you’re able to keep your identities secret, do so. It’s valuable to us to have as many of our members as are able conceal their heritage and move freely outside the walls. You’re already high in the Matriarch’s favor. The more influence you can gain, the more help you can be to our cause.”
Nirel’s heart leaped. Maybe she wouldn’t have to give up Kevessa’s friendship, or the other things she’d come to value about Ramunna, after all.
Kabos frowned when she relayed Semanel’s words. “If you’re sure that’s acceptable.”
“More than acceptable, my son. It would be a great service to the Lord of Justice.”
Still Kabos seemed uncertain. “Please, we know so little about this land. What do you mean, our cause?”
Semanel glanced toward the panel of drapery through which they’d entered. He dropped his voice so low Nirel had to strain to hear. “Someday we’ll no longer be slaves to the unbelievers. We’ll live under our own laws, in our own land. We’ll keep the wealth we earn by the Lord’s blessing, not surrender it to their greed. We’ll be free, not penned within walls like captive beasts that can be slaughtered at whim.” He hesitated while Nirel caught up with the translation. She kept her voice just as quiet as his. “I’ll need to confer with the other Elders, and we’ll have to meditate and pray on the matter, but I feel your coming may be a sign from the Lord of Justice. Perhaps the time is finally at hand when the seeds planted and nurtured over generations will at last bear fruit. Your influence with the Matriarch may be the final thing we need to give our plans a chance of success.”
Nirel stared at the Elder. Kabos nodded gravely. Semanel was silent for a moment, looking at them with distant, shadowed eyes. After a moment he shook his head. “But even if that’s the case, it’s a matter for the future. Only after you’ve completed your journey into the Lord’s favor will you need to concern yourself with such things. For now, give yourself over to the road. It will be long and arduous and require your undivided devotion.”
Kabos bowed his head. “Yes, Elder. We will. When do you wish us to come to you for the sessions you spoke of? It will be difficult to leave the palace without attracting attention.”
“You’ll be living in the village to the north soon, yes?” Semanel’s face went grave. A rush of grief and anger swept Nirel as she remembered the bound captives being carried off to the Matriarch’s dungeon. Those were her people, now. It might be her ripped from her home or cast into prison someday, if the Matriarch ever discovered the commitment she’d made tonight. At Kabos’s wordless nod, Semanel went on. “Once you’re there, it will be easy for you to come here without drawing notice. I’ll give you material to study between now and then.”
He turned to Nirel. “Come. It’s close enough to midnight I can show you the first of your lessons.”
He rose. Nirel climbed to her feet, her legs numb from kneeling so long. Painful prickling swept them, and she rubbed her thighs. Semanel waited patiently until she could stumble after him.
He led her to the white hanging. “Do you read Ramunnan as well as you speak it, my daughter?”
Nirel blushed. “No, Elder.” She must have Kevessa teach her the Ramunnan letters as soon as possible.
“Let me read this to you, then. It’s today’s Ordinance. Or yesterday’s, rather, for now it’s time for me to put it away until its day comes again. There’s one Ordinance for every day of the year. Of course we obey all of them every day, but we give special study and meditation to each as its turn comes. You’ll be required to learn them all before your Trials.” He traced the lines, his fingers hovering just above the surface of the snowy white fabric. “‘If you have food, and one among you has none, so that he be tempted to steal lest he die, you must divide your food with him, so that you both may live and remain pure. If he nevertheless should take more than his just portion, cast him out from the Faithful, for he is a thief.’”
Semanel folded his hands across his breast and bowed low before the hanging. Then, with slow, reverent motions, he lifted the length of fabric from the hooks supporting the wooden rod at its top and rolled it carefully around the one attached to the lower end. He wrapped the scroll with a shiny black cord and tied the ends in an elaborate knot.
Below where the scroll had hung sat a wooden ches
t, as tall as Nirel’s knees and as wide as her outstretched arms, carved with geometric patterns echoing the ones woven into the draperies. Semanel raised the lid. Inside, the chest was divided into ranks and columns of square compartments, each containing a scroll like the one the Elder held. He slid the scroll into the single empty space, and extracted another from the space beside it. “This is the Ordinance for the day that’s beginning,” Semanel said as he closed the lid of the chest. With practiced movements he untied the new scroll’s knot and unrolled it to reveal a rectangle of snowy fabric identical to the other except for the words embroidered on its surface. He set it in place on the brackets and repeated his deep bow. “We thank you, Lord of Justice, for the gift of your Ordinances, which guide us day by day in your righteous path.”
Nirel glanced at Kabos as she finished translating Semanel’s words. He was staring at Semanel with an expression of mingled wonder and longing. When Semanel followed Nirel’s gaze and met his eyes, he cleared his throat and looked down. “My grandfather told me how the sacred scrolls should be honored, as they were in his youth, but I’ve never seen it done. It’s just as I always imagined.” Nirel was astonished to see his eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I understand, my son.” Semanel came to rest his hand on Kabos’s shoulder. “Do you remember what the next Ordinance is?”
“I think—it also concerns theft? Because all the Ordinances on a certain subject are grouped together…”
“That’s right.” Semanel turned to Nirel. “We’re in the midst of the group of Ordinances which concern how those of the Faithful should treat each other. It’s followed by the group which denotes how we must treat those outside our community. Other groups concern our duties to the Lord of Justice, the proper relationships between men and women, and the proper relationships between parents and children. And one whole group describes how we must keep ourselves pure when interacting with those followers of the Lady of Mercy who wield her power. A section I suspect will have far more relevance to you, and to all of us in the coming days, than it’s had for a thousand years.” Serene as Semanel’s voice remained, Nirel suspected he was more shaken by the night’s events than he was willing to let them see.
He turned back to the hanging scroll. “‘If one of your children, over the age of three years, but not yet of age to undergo the Trials, should take that which belongs to another, you must discipline him with the rod of justice, so that he will learn that this is abhorrent in the Lord’s eyes. If after his Trials he should continue to steal, cast him out from the Faithful, for he is a thief.’”
Kabos nodded as he listened to Nirel echo the words, staring at his clasped hands. “I’ve tried to follow the Ordinances, as far as my imperfect knowledge let me. I’ve always tried.”
Nirel’s heart burned with love for him. He’d been right all along, and Josiah and the wizard and the Council in Tathorlith had been wrong. The Lord of Justice required parents to discipline their children, just as Kabos had always done. They’d been wrong to try to stop him, and to try to take her away from him. She’d been right to defend him. His punishments had been necessary to teach her right from wrong until she was old enough to see the difference for herself. He wasn’t cruel and uncaring, the way they all thought. He loved her, and was willing to face their scorn in order to guide her in the true path.
“I know, my son.” Again Semanel laid his hand on Kabos’s shoulder. “I’m glad I’ll have the chance to guide you back into the Lord’s favor. Now come, you need to return to your place in the palace so you don’t fall under suspicion.” He pushed aside the curtain and led them back into the hallway. He opened a cabinet and rummaged inside, emerging with a small leather-bound book. He studied it, frowning, and turned to Nirel. “Perhaps I shouldn’t send this with you. You won’t be able to read it, and someone might discover it.”
“No, please,” Nirel said, reaching for the book. “I have a friend who can teach me to read your letters, and I’ll teach my father. I don’t want to have to wait until we come back to learn more. We’ll be sure to hide it well.”
“All right,” Semanel said, surrendering it to her. “It’s a privilege to have such an eager student.” He beamed at her before turning to Kabos. “I’ll keep your coming private, except for the other Elders. Once you’ve completed your restoration we’ll introduce you to the rest of the community.”
Kabos nodded. “Of course.”
Semanel ushered them to the door. “Come again as soon as you’re settled in your new home. Until then, may you walk in the path of Justice.”
“Until then,” Kabos said, and Nirel echoed. They nodded to him. He nodded back and shut the door behind them. The sound of locks sliding into place echoed in the still night.
Nirel tucked the little book into the purse on her belt, where it just fit. She’d keep it with her until they left the palace. Kevessa would be eager to teach her to read Ramunnan as soon as she asked.
Could she trust her friend with the secret of what she’d learned this night? Kevessa might understand. Or she might be just as horrified as any other Ramunnan. Better not to say anything, at least for now.
Nirel untied her horse and swung awkwardly onto his back. She followed Kabos as he guided his steed through the dark streets. She didn’t remember how to get back to the gate, but she trusted him to find the way.
He was silent until they were within sight of the gate, where the same guard kept watch. Then he reined in his horse. She pulled hers to a halt beside his.
He looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I hope… I hope I’ve done right, bringing you here.”
“Of course you have, Father,” Nirel asserted stoutly.
He shook his head. “Maybe my sins are too great. Maybe I’ve angered the Lord of Justice by seeking to regain favor I don’t deserve.”
“Elder Semanel didn’t think so. He knows better than we do.”
“I hope you’re right.” He was silent for another moment. When he spoke, it was almost too soft for Nirel to hear. “As long as he doesn’t strike down another of my children for my wrongs.”
He wheeled his horse and headed for the gate. Nirel sat frozen for a moment before she urged her horse to follow.
Was Kabos right, and Ilana’s deformity a punishment meted out by the Lord of Justice because he’d fallen away from the Faith? Why would the embodiment of perfect justice harm an innocent child for something her father had done? How could a Faith that sang to her soul with its beauty also chill her bones with its harshness?
But Ilana was fine. The wizards’ power had healed her.
The same power the Faithful considered irredeemably corrupt…
Nirel shook her head. She put her hand on her purse, feeling the hard shape of the book within. Maybe it would contain answers to her questions. Or maybe Elder Semanel could explain it to her in a fashion she could understand. Until then, she’d just have to trust that the path her heart was leading her down was the right one.
Fifteen
The window over Master Dabiel’s hand cleared until only a thin rim of gold twinkled around the edge of the circle. Josiah leaned forward so he could see better. The image within was dark, nearly washed out by the slanting beams of sunlight pouring through the courtroom’s high windows. But he could make out a circle of figures seated on the ground, touched by silver moonlight. The view shifted to show each face in turn. Braon, Seriti, Kalti—and there he was, walking toward the others. He’d seen his own face through windows before, but it was always a disorienting experience. Was he really so gangly-looking, with such an awkward gait, and did his knees and elbows always stick out at such funny angles? Did the curly mop of his hair always fall in such a messy tangle over his eyes?
The window shifted to focus on Mathir. His image glanced over his shoulder and nodded as the image of Josiah joined the circle of apprentices. “Good. I think you’re the last one coming. We were just talking about the patients who’re going to be in trouble by the time we get back.
We’ve all got one or two. How about you?”
Mathir looked and sounded just as Josiah remembered. He’d thought his own voice had begun to sound deeper and more mature recently, but it came from the window as high and squeaky as a child’s. “Yeah. A boy with diabetes. Braon, you and Master Todira work with him, too, don’t you? Azien?”
Josiah looked over to where the real Mathir sat, on the far side of the arc of chairs. Within the window Braon answered. Mathir slumped in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes intent on the window belied his indifferent posture.
Beside Josiah, Elkan stared into the window, his expression carefully blank. Josiah swallowed. He couldn’t quite remember the exact words he’d said that night, but he knew that the only time he’d mentioned Master Jomin’s desperation about Azien to Mathir had been during this conversation. What if he had given Mathir the idea to ask for bribes? Maybe what he’d said could be misinterpreted that way, even though he’d never intended it. Maybe instead of proving his innocence, this precise record of the past would condemn him.
His image in the window spoke. “He’s not going to make it without us. His parents were terrified. His father was so desperate he tried to offer us money to get us to help him, but Elkan wouldn’t even listen.”
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