The Temple at Landfall

by Jane Fletcher

  They arrived on a narrow balcony set on the side of the building housing the Chief Consultant’s apartments. Directly below was the Guards’ parade ground. Presumably, the vantage point was normally used during ceremonies when the Chief Consultant and the senior Sisters could take the salute of the assembled Guards or read them suitable extracts from the book of the Elder-Ones.

  Guards were assembled on the parade ground now, stretched in silent lines across the open space. Among them was a small block of Rangers, their subdued uniforms in marked contrast to the red and gold of the Guards. At their head stood the unmistakable sturdy outline of LeCoup. Lynn’s heart leaped, but no tall lieutenant occupied the place at the captain’s side, and in truth, that would have been more than could be hoped.

  The expression on Lynn’s face changed to a frown; she was unsure why she had been brought to witness the drill, or of what part she was supposed to play, since the balcony was not the focus of attention. All soldiers were facing to the side, their eyes trained on a construction of three posts formed like a doorway, but with no door, no wall.

  Suddenly, comprehension dawned on Lynn. She backed off. “No. I don’t want to see this.”

  With lightning speed, Sister Dunsin’s hand shot out, grabbing Lynn’s wrist and preventing her retreat. “But you will. I’ve read the reports of the court-martial, and I still have some doubts. Maybe this Ranger did assault you, and you’ve played along out of a misplaced sense of gratitude for her saving your life. In which case you have the right to see your assailant punished. Or maybe this Ranger is totally innocent. In which case you should be made to see the harm your wickedness has caused. Or maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle, so both cases apply. But whatever actually happened in that stable, you will remain here and bear witness.”

  There was no escape. In anguish, Lynn’s eyes returned to the parade ground, in time to see the small party of prisoner and escort appear from a dark doorway and march out into the daylight. The silence of the assembled soldiers was tangible, overwhelming, as the group halted before the posts. Kim’s jacket and shirt were removed, leaving her naked from the waist up. Her wrists were bound to the top bar, and then the escorting soldiers stepped back. Kim looked so very alone. Tears of desperation started in Lynn’s eyes, but there was nothing she could do.

  A Guard major stepped out from the group of attending officers to read out the charge and the sentence. Then she signaled to a soldier from the Militia in her black uniform who stood waiting at the side, coiled whip in hand. Lynn wondered whether it was part of the punishment, added humiliation to suffer at the hands of the ordinary Militia, like a common criminal, or whether it was just that no one else would volunteer for the job.

  The Militiawoman advanced toward the posts unhurried, as if savoring her part in the gruesome drama, the only movement on the whole of the silent parade ground.

  As far as could be heard from the balcony, Kim took the entire punishment with hardly a sound. Lynn was sobbing before the count reached ten.

  Chapter Ten—A Peculiar Aspect of the Goddess

  The solid blocks of stone under Lynn’s knees felt soft, like shifting sand, but did not cushion her from the savage tingling that played along her legs, balled in the small of her back, and crawled up her spine—the ache of cramped muscles and stiff joints. She knelt before the shrine to Himoti in the dimly lit oratory, head bowed, hands clasped in supplication, exactly as she had done for the previous five days. Her track on time was slipping, but the windows of the oratory had been dark for hours. Surely it would soon be time for her to be released for the pitifully small amount of sleep that was allowed her?

  The voices of the four Sisters who were also in the oratory rose and fell in unison, praying for her redemption, praying that Himoti would forgive her and not take away her powers of imprinting. Praying that the temple doesn’t lose any money. Despite her tiredness, Lynn could still manage the cynical thought. The rhythmical chanting stopped and Sister Dunsin walked forward to stand in front of Lynn.

  “Do you repent of your disobedience and fully admit to your misdeeds?”

  “Yes, Sister.” Lynn was far too tired to disagree, even if it had been wise to do so.

  “Do you humbly beg forgiveness of the Goddess?”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Do you swear to live by the rules the blessed Himoti has decreed for Celaeno’s chosen ones, freely and joyfully?”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  I don’t believe you mean a word of it. Something in Dunsin’s posture made the thought as clear as if she had spoken aloud. But after a long, hard stare at the kneeling Imprinter, the Sister raised her eyes and said, “We will all join in one last prayer.”

  The chanting began again. Lynn moved her lips in time while fighting to suppress a yawn. The spectacle she had made of herself on the balcony had more than convinced Sister Dunsin of her guilt. Lynn suspected that gauging her reaction was one of the main reasons for the Sister taking her there in the first place. But despite her aches and the bone-numbing weariness, she was not, strictly speaking, being punished. She was being shriven in the hope that a large dose of prayer might nullify any detrimental effects from her lapse in virtue.

  What censure there was had been directed largely at Sister Smith. Imprinters were kept in the temples so they might be guided by the Sisters. Obviously, Lynn needed more guidance than most and Smith had not done her job. Of course, there were also technical problems in punishing an Imprinter. They had no privileges to withhold or possessions to confiscate, and any harsh treatment was likely to end up costing the temple money. Five days’ imprinting fees had been lost as it was, on top of the time she had spent on the delayed journey from Fairfield.

  However, Lynn was starting to find things extremely unpleasant. The cramp in her joints had long ago passed the point that might justifiably be described as painful. And she had been allowed so little sleep that there was nothing she could do about it. One irony of the healer sense was that the more in need of it you were, the less able you were to heal yourself. Using the healer sense took intense concentration. Exhaustion or pain made it impossible to reach the level of detachment necessary to step beyond the confines of your normal senses.

  As an Imprinter, Lynn had the gift to an extremely high degree, but even she had limits, and five nights with only a few hours’ sleep had pushed her well beyond them. Of course, it was possible to pre-empt the pain, to use the skill when you were still well enough and stop the body from imposing its limitations, but it was not wise. Pain and tiredness were important warning signs. A healer who switched them off could unwittingly and quite literally work herself to death.

  The light in the oratory was dim, and Lynn’s eyes were playing games with her. The flames above the candles wobbled, the walls the light fell on wobbled, and for a moment, the ground under her knees wobbled, sending a surge of nausea through her empty stomach. But she needed sleep more than food, and Lynn’s hopes fixed on Dunsin’s use of the phrase “one last prayer.” She hoped that she would still be able to stand up when the time came to leave the oratory. Her whole body ached as if she had been kicked and beaten, although no one had laid a hand on her. It was forbidden to shed the blood of Imprinters. A protection not granted to Kim. Lynn’s eyes scrunched shut as she remembered the last sight she’d had of the Ranger, half dragged, half carried from the parade ground. It was the vision Lynn called on whenever she started feeling sorry for herself.

  The cycle of prayer finally came to an end. The last words echoed away into the darkness. The Sisters bowed low to the shrine of Himoti and relaxed slightly. One turned to the door, and Lynn gathered herself to rise, not sure if her legs would obey her. But before she had the chance to put them to the test, Sister Dunsin appeared before her.

  “If you please, Imprinter. I have a few words I wish to share with you in private.”

  Lynn managed to restrain the groan of despair that rose to her lips. How much longer would the dictatorial Sister kee
p her from her bed?

  Dunsin waited until the other three Sisters had quit the oratory before she spoke again. “I have been talking with the Chief Consultant. She has agreed we have done everything for you that we can. It now remains only to see whether you still stand in the grace of the Goddess. You will be allowed to rest tomorrow, but the day after you will be assigned to duties in the imprinting chapel. And then we shall see whether you have truly begged for forgiveness from the heart”—Dunsin paused and looked at Lynn with distaste—“which I personally have serious doubts about.”

  “I have listened to all that has been said—” Lynn began.

  “And not paid heed to any of it.” Dunsin’s voice was forceful. “I wonder if you realize what might have happened to you if the Goddess had not shown her mercy and saved you from your own folly. Do not doubt it was her will that dispatched Sister Smith to your aid, for the Goddess will use even the unworthy to achieve her goals. And you are most fortunate that the Goddess did not desert you.”

  Lynn said nothing, though it was not quite the way she saw things.

  “The blessed Himoti demands that we keep Imprinters safe within the temple, shelter you from the sins of the world, but I wonder whether we do not sometimes leave you vulnerable in your innocence. Although the circumstances you found yourself in were unique, to be virtually unchaperoned in the company of Rangers. Rangers.” Dunsin spat out the word as if it was a term of abuse. “What do you know of Rangers? You became infatuated. Did you think she returned your feelings, cared for you? Rangers tally up their lovers like they do the heads of wild beasts they kill. Conquests, they call them. Trophies to their prowess. And that is all you would have been to her: a fine boast, when she was drunk enough to dare say it aloud.”

  No. Lynn bit her tongue, though her heart cried out against Dunsin’s lies.

  “And if you hadn’t been rescued by the bounty of the Goddess, what would have happened? Do you imagine tender caresses? Some sweet romantic experience? Do you think Rangers make gentle lovers?” Dunsin paused for emphasis. “Fool. You had put yourself in her power. She would have taken what she wanted from you, and I can guarantee it would have been more than you wanted to give. She was taller than you, stronger than you. She would have forced you into acts that I will not mention in this holy place.” Dunsin stopped, breathing harshly, and then continued in more measured tones. “You do not know in what danger you stood or how much you have to thank the Goddess for.”

  Kim would never have harmed me. Lynn hugged the certainty to herself.

  “I think you should remain here another hour in private prayer. I will light a candle to mark the time for you. Think well on everything I have said. Open your heart to the Goddess and let her love drive away the vile baseness that has ensnared your soul.” Dunsin lit the wick on an hour candle and placed it where Lynn might see, then turned and walked away. Her soft footsteps faded until there was no sound in the darkened oratory.

  Once she was alone, Lynn’s eyes fixed on the small shrine. Himoti, eldest of the Elder-Ones, the patron of Imprinters. Suddenly, tears began to flow down Lynn’s face and after days of empty words, true prayers came to Lynn’s lips, the entreaty from the core of her being. “Please, Himoti. I don’t care what happens to me. I’ll stay in the temple, do your work, follow all your commands. But please, look after Kim. Keep her safe. And someday, maybe, put it into her heart to forgive me.”

  *

  The family group was assembled in the imprinting chapel, shifting awkwardly, unsure of where they were supposed to stand. Lynn came to an abrupt halt when she saw them. During the previous days, it had been so easy to ignore Sister Dunsin’s prophecies of failure, but now it had come to the test, and she was swamped by the rushing onset of fears. For the first time in her life, Lynn had doubts about her own ability. Suppose Dunsin was right? For Lynn knew there was no real repentance in her heart. Would Himoti withdraw her gift? And what happened to Imprinters who could no longer follow their calling?

  The two young women at the altar looked at her with expressions of awe, seeing only the suit of brilliant blue. Lynn wondered whether she still had the right to wear it. The question nagged at her as she slowly advanced up the chapel, half in a daze. The Sisters on duty arranged the mother-to-be and directed her partner to kneel by the side of the altar. Lynn came to a stop, not daring to meet the eyes of the two Sisters. She knew they would be watching her with misgiving, which could only further undermine her confidence. Lynn’s hands stretched out, moving more by habit than intention, and for a second they paused, hovering over the two women, the prospective parents. Lynn began to focus her concentration, preparing to reach inside the shells of their bodies—and wondered if she still could.

  The woman on the altar had been instructed to lie still, but slightly nervously, she turned her head, rolling her neck to meet her partner’s eyes. A look passed between them. The look. Something Lynn had seen hundreds of times before. Well over half of all couples would share that searching gaze. It had always seemed a minor issue before, a slight distraction, but suddenly enlightenment burst upon Lynn. The knowledge of what it meant to look into another woman’s eyes and see your world reflected there. Kim’s eyes in the stable.

  For a second, Lynn froze, stunned, as she finally truly understood what it was to be an Imprinter. The hopes she had within her power to fulfill. The world the Sisters with their dead prayers and teachings could not begin to convey. The creation of a child could be merely the mechanical splicing of DNA, the clinical job described in the books the Elder-Ones had left for Imprinters. But the wanting of a child was a thing of love.

  Carefully Lynn lowered her hands to rest on womb and head. The sense of the women’s bodies flowed into her, the hot rush of blood, the sparkle of electricity, and more than that, the love between them. With absolute certainty, Lynn knew she could create this child. Never had the task been simpler, because this time she would weave not only the DNA but also the love.

  As the last doubts in her mind were swept away, Lynn sank into the imprinting trance.

  *

  It was a matter of tradition that Imprinters were, as far as possible, anonymous. They were the living conduits that channeled the Goddess’s bounty to her children, no more than symbols of her divine will. This was why Imprinters lost their last name on the day they entered the temple. No family could claim them, and their first names were normally used only when the Sisters found the need to distinguish between them. But Lynn’s exceptional ability was attracting comment, setting her apart from the other Imprinters, and not just among the Sisters. As the months passed, there were signs that even the ordinary folk outside the temple knew of the young Imprinter who performed her work with unprecedented speed and surety.

  Sister Dunsin took considerable pains to ensure that Lynn did not fall victim to the sin of pride. Her daily lectures concentrated on self-sacrifice and the perils of forgetting humility. But it was obvious that whatever Lynn’s mentor might personally think, other Sisters were starting to look on Lynn more favorably. The unfortunate circumstances accompanying her arrival in Landfall were if not forgotten, then at least not dwelled on.

  An ancient Sister came to talk to Lynn one day, a small, round woman. Her forehead had a crisscrossed tapestry of wrinkles, yet the eyes above the mask were soft and compassionate, and her voice was cheerfully eager. She had received special permission from her superiors to talk to Lynn on matters of theology, to see if she could find out why Lynn had been so supremely blessed by the Goddess and if the lessons might be applied to others.

  The Sister had some quaint theories of her own based on what was, to Lynn’s mind, a rather implausible reading of one of the chapters of the book of the Elder-Ones. The superiors were obviously humoring their elderly colleague in granting her permission to investigate her unworldly ideas. But the Sister was well meaning. She used the phrase “the love of the Goddess” as if she meant it, and money was clearly not her motive. In fact she even naively suggested
that if imprinting were made easier, then the fees could be reduced. A warmth filled her voice when she spoke of babies and the joy they could bring to a family. She should have been a grandmother. She had a genuine affection for the ordinary people, which Lynn cynically suspected was why a Sister of her age was not higher up the temple hierarchy.

  Lynn fielded the questions as tactfully as she could, almost regretting to disappoint the Sister’s hopes. It was not easy, especially when the ancient eyes met hers and the Sister asked, “Is there a peculiar aspect of the Goddess that you meditate upon?”

  Lynn battled to control her face and bite back the words that threatened to let slip: The aspect revealed to me when I had Lieutenant Kimberly Ramon’s tongue in my mouth. But it would be cruel to shock such a kind-hearted, innocent Sister.

  Lynn made a vague answer, falling back on the accepted wisdom of the temple, and at last, the elderly Sister dropped her head sadly, thanked Lynn for her time, and left.

  *

  Lynn still found it impossible to describe herself as happy in the temple, but she had reached a passive acceptance of her fate. Her greatest sorrow was the knowledge that Kim must blame her, even hate her, and quite justifiably curse the day they had met. Whereas Lynn’s regrets were only for the day of their parting. It was she who had gone to the stable, and she who had spoken out of place. The responsibility for what happened was hers alone, and Kim was the one who had suffered for it. The sense of guilt and shame cost Lynn many hours’ sleep.

  At other times, the memory of Kim helped inspire her work, not just through the insight given into the love between partners. Lynn knew she would never again set foot outside the temple, but the children she made would go out into the world and walk on the same earth, under the same wide sky as Kim. And maybe one day, the squadron might pass through some outlying village, and Kim would see one of the children she had created. Of course, the Ranger would not recognize Lynn’s handiwork, but it would make a bridge between their lives, a point where their worlds might touch.