“Kalanath?” Dianthe said, looking at him with concern. Kalanath’s entire body was rigid, his eyes focused on some point beyond Ghrita’s head.
“How long ago?” he said.
Ghrita’s amused expression softened into something resembling compassion. “The temple war ended five years ago. You were safe to return all that time.”
Kalanath turned away, closing his fist on his staff and bowing his head. “Five years,” he said. He swept the staff around in an arc that slammed into the bulkhead near Ghrita’s face, sending chips of wood flying. “Five years!”
No one spoke. Kalanath’s shoulders heaved as if he’d run a mile. Sienne’ heart ached for him. Into the silence, Ghrita said, “There’s something else. Your mother is alive, Kalanath. I don’t know if that makes it better, or worse.”
Kalanath’s head went up. “Alive?”
“The old divines were afraid to kill a madhi. They imprisoned her. She was freed when they were ousted. She has a respected role within the temple at Chirantan, or so they tell me. I’ve never met her.” Ghrita straightened. “I hope you don’t think I tell you this as some kind of persuasion to get you to return with me. I think it’s kinder for you to know the truth.”
“Kinder.” Kalanath closed his eyes. “When you know nothing will keep me from the temple now.”
“The temple hoped you’d return regardless. I suggested that was optimistic of them. From what I hear, you have no reason to love them, even if the ones who wanted you for breeding purposes are out. So I told them I wasn’t going to keep your mother’s fate a secret.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it to be thanked.” Ghrita glanced at Alaric, looming nearby. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in telling me what takes you to Omeira? Given that it certainly has nothing to do with my quest?”
“You’re right, we’re not interested,” Alaric said. “Scrapper business, and none of yours.”
“Fair enough.” Ghrita approached Kalanath without a trace of fear. “Then I’ll ask you straight up—will you come to the temple? Find out what they want of you? I can assure you they won’t try to hold you against your will. They learned to their cost five years ago what it means to interfere with a devesh.”
Kalanath lowered his staff. “I told you, I will go because it is my mother,” he said. “That is all.”
“That’s more than enough.” Ghrita made a complicated bow. “With your permission, I’ll tell them you’re coming. You and your friends—or am I wrong in thinking you won’t be separated?”
“Will they allow us into the temple?” Dianthe said.
“The temples of Omeira are sanctuaries for all, even those who are not one with God. There are places you won’t be allowed to go, but they will welcome you. As friends of Kalanath, if nothing else.”
“We can’t stay,” Alaric said. “Our journey won’t wait.”
“As I said, no one will try to stop you leaving.” Ghrita turned and walked to her cabin. “I’m relieved to have this off my chest. I didn’t relish the idea of finding an appropriate time to tell you. Maybe I should thank Romanus.” She disappeared inside the cabin.
Silence fell once more. Finally, Alaric said, “Well. That was unexpected.”
“Are you all right?” Sienne asked Kalanath.
He nodded. “My mother is alive,” he said. A smile crept across his lips. “I lived with the guilt of killing her—not of killing her, of being why she was killed—for so long, it is like losing a burden I forgot I carried.”
“We’re so happy for you,” Dianthe said, touching his shoulder.
“But we need to decide what to do next,” Alaric said.
“I cannot imagine how we can make that decision, absent knowledge of what the divines at the temple intend,” Perrin said. “Suppose they wish Kalanath to remain, to fulfil some purpose we cannot know?”
“That’s exactly what we need to decide,” Alaric said. “Whatever their intent, they likely will want Kalanath to stay, if only to assuage their remaining guilt. I want to know if there’s anything about being a devesh that might induce you to do as they ask.”
Kalanath shook his head. “I feel I do not owe them things. More so now that I know the old divines’ treatment of me was not God’s will. But they will have knowledge that will help our quest, so maybe what we should ask is, what trade will we allow ourselves to make? If they show us the way to Ma’tzehar in exchange for me?”
“We wouldn’t make that deal,” Alaric said. “You’re one of us, not a bargaining chip.”
“I decide, not you, Alaric,” Kalanath said. “But I do not think it will come to that. The nirana—” he jabbed a finger in the direction of Ghrita’s cabin—“said it: interfering with me lost them God’s voice for a year. They will not risk it again.”
“But they don’t have to put pressure on you, they just have to offer you something you want,” Sienne pointed out.
“We do not know what that is,” Kalanath said, “so I think it is not important to make guesses. But I promise I will not leave you before I have seen this through.”
Perrin cleared his throat. “I believe I will petition Averran,” he said, “and leave the choice of blessings entirely in his rather crotchety hands. It may give us some better idea of what we are to expect for the coming days.”
“The rest of us will leave you to it,” Alaric said. “I hate sitting idle, but Captain Talvanus is right that we’d just be in the way above deck.”
“Maybe we can help with breakfast,” Sienne said. “Or they’ll let me use the galley to make our own.” Now that the terror of the battle was over, hunger gripped her stomach.
“Coffee,” Dianthe moaned. “Why is there never any coffee?”
Sienne stood at the rail seven days later, running her fingers over its rough surface and watching the lights of Chirantan draw nearer. At nearly midnight, there shouldn’t have been as many as there were, or at least that would have been the case in Fioretti. Chirantan was big, bigger than Rafellin’s capital, and extended far back from the harbor so the lights blended with the skyline and made it seem the stars had fallen to earth, though the lanterns burned gold instead of witchlight blue. No magic in Omeira. It was the strangest notion, making Sienne feel even more alien than just the fact of her being Rafellish.
Her fingers caught on a gouge in the wood, and she picked at it idly, the remnant of a sea serpent attack three days before. It had kept the journey from being monotonous and given them common cause with Ghrita, who until that battle had kept scrupulously to herself. Sienne had felt awkward around her when she wasn’t annoyed: awkward because Ghrita had deceived them, annoyed because the woman didn’t make a secret of her attraction to Alaric. It wasn’t as if it mattered, and jealousy wasn’t even on the table, but Ghrita’s boldness…yes, she’d stick with “annoyed.” Sienne had caught herself acting possessive in response to some comment Ghrita had made, and felt embarrassed at the look Ghrita gave her, amused and slightly pitying as if Sienne weren’t mature enough to handle a little friendly competition. Which there wasn’t.
“Eager to be off?”
Sienne turned. Talvanus joined her at the rail, her head bare to the night breezes. She found the same gouge Sienne had and ran her fingers across it. “Can’t say I’ll be glad to see you go, the lot of you. This ship would look far worse if not for your help.”
“We saved our own lives as well as yours.”
“Still. It’s appreciated.”
“You’re welcome.” Sienne gazed out over the distant city again. “We won’t go ashore until morning, right?”
“If you want. Chirantan’s a deep harbor, and we sail right up to the docks, not like Fioretti, where we have to weigh anchor away from shore. You’re like to find inns open even at this hour, but you’re welcome to stay aboard until dawn if you’d prefer.”
They hadn’t mentioned Kalanath’s identity, or their destination in Chirantan, to anyone else aboard ship. “I think we’d lik
e that, thanks.”
Talvanus nodded and clapped her companionably on the shoulder, then strolled away aft. Sienne cast one last look at Chirantan’s warm lights, which gave the illusion of a friendly welcome. Who knew what they’d actually find there? She turned away from the rail and headed for the ladder.
To her surprise, Perrin sat cross-legged outside their cabin, his eyes closed and his hands resting open on his knees. Sienne slowed her steps, not wanting to disturb him, whatever he was doing. A peculiar smile, faint but unmistakably pleased, touched his lips, and as she drew near, it broadened, giving his face such a glow of happiness she felt like an intruder for seeing it.
A board creaked under her foot. She froze. Perrin’s eyes opened. They stared at each other, and Sienne swallowed, searching for something to say. Perrin held up a finger as if to say “wait,” and closed his eyes again. Sienne held still, watching Perrin for some evidence that would tell her what he was doing, but his face was still now, with no hint of the pleasure he’d shown before.
Finally, he opened his eyes and stood. “My apologies,” he said. “The others are sleeping, and I chose not to disturb them.”
“Were you praying? Isn’t it a little late for that, even for Averran?”
“I was not. I was in communication with Cressida. For whom it is not so late, given the differences in our respective locations.” That smile appeared again, as if Perrin knew a beautiful secret.
“Oh. Is she well?”
“As well as can be expected. My father’s men have not appeared, demanding the children’s return, and they are settling in with your family quite amicably.” The smile became more serious. “I do not think I ever sufficiently thanked you for your intervention on Cressida’s behalf.”
“You did. But…I hope it helps.”
“I am certain it will.” Perrin got to his feet. “And what keeps you up so late?”
“Just restless. We’re nearly there, and I wanted to see the city. Not that there’s much to see in the darkness.”
“I, too, am curious about our destination. Until I joined our merry band, I had never been outside Fioretti in my life. This is the farthest I have ever gone from the city of my birth.” Perrin gingerly pushed open the door to their cabin. “Morning cannot come soon enough.”
Sienne nodded. Stepping carefully over Dianthe, she settled down next to Alaric, who stirred sleepily and put his arm around her. She snuggled in and sighed with pleasure. He gave off a steady warmth that was almost uncomfortable in the muggy confines of their cabin, but it was so nice to be held close she didn’t mind.
She’d almost drifted off when a peremptory knock sounded at the door. Alaric’s arm over her tensed. “What is it?” he said.
“Captain asks you join her on deck,” a voice said. “Someone’s waiting on you.”
“What?” Alaric rolled to his feet and opened the door as their companions stirred around them. “Who, someone?”
The sailor licked his lips nervously, his gaze shifting from Alaric to Sienne and away again. “Someone important, belike. A whole procession, with lanterns and bells and things.”
“You mean at the docks?” Alaric turned away from the sailor to face the others. “Would the temple know we were coming just at this moment?”
“We do not know what Ghrita told them,” Kalanath said, “or what they may have seen in vision. It is possible.” He yawned. “Though I do not like that they do not give us sleep.”
“Me neither.” Alaric faced the sailor again. “Tell the captain we’ll be up shortly.”
Sienne raked through her hair with her fingers and stood. “Should we tell Ghrita?”
“Ghrita knows,” Ghrita said, appearing in the doorway. “I didn’t expect a welcoming party.”
“Who is it?” Dianthe said. “The temple?”
“Yes. At least, I assume so. And no, I don’t know why they couldn’t wait until morning.”
“I think to tell them to wait,” Kalanath said. “I do not like this. It is like they say, you there, it is our time you must wait on.”
“Let’s at least see who they’ve sent,” Alaric said. “We don’t have to go with them, if that’s what they want.”
They made their way up on deck to find the lights of the city much closer and brighter, some of them as large as bonfires. Those burned high in the air, making Sienne wonder about the towers, invisible in the darkness, they must surely be at the top of. She trailed after Alaric, who strode to where Talvanus stood watching the fast-approaching docks. “Who are you people?” she said. “I’ve never received a sending from an Omeiran divine before. ‘The scrappers,’ it said, like that was some kind of royal title. And that’s a delegation from the temple, or I miss my guess. Right where we’re intended to dock.”
She pointed at one of the docks. A handful of figures waited there, unmoving, beside a curtained palanquin from whose corners large bells hung, sending the faintest of tinkling sounds across the water. Two of the figures carried flambeaux that cast a flickering glow over the scene and turned the figures’ dark robes orange. They were too distant to make out more than that, but Sienne felt certain every one of them was staring at the approaching ship.
“Divines,” Kalanath said. “Of the highest rank.”
“How can you tell?” Dianthe asked.
Kalanath gestured with his staff. “They wear the robe of the first circle…dark green, or midnight blue, I cannot tell. I do not recognize any of them.”
“I wonder who is in the palanquin,” Ghrita said. “Surely the Hierarch wouldn’t come to you? That would be a bit much.”
“Who is the Hierarch now?”
“Chakhran Ririkhariyaa.”
Kalanath stiffened. “That is a name I know.”
“He wasn’t consenting to your treatment, Kalanath. He wouldn’t still have authority if he did.”
“I do not remember that. I remember him giving me a cup to drink before my visions.” Kalanath shook his head as if to dislodge a memory. “I do not trust him.”
Ghrita shrugged. “You’re the one who would know. I wasn’t in Chirantan at the time.”
“You continue to sound as if the things of your faith matter little to you,” Perrin said. “What kind of nirana does that make you?”
She smiled. “One who is free to be the temple’s left hand in matters of faith. My beliefs are secure enough—that is, those of the nirana are secure enough—that we are trusted not to become…corrupted…by your heathen religion. And yet your divines and priests clearly have access to God’s power, though you go about it wrongly. The temples wish to understand this better. For me, it means I have a certain flexibility of understanding that most of the divines of Omeira struggle with. I assure you, my devotion to God is undeviating.”
Perrin smiled back, shaking his head. “As is mine. I find it curious that God should allow our understanding, so very different, to end in the same results.”
“It’s not something I understand well myself. Nirana are taught to fight so they may defend the temple in times of anarchy, which happens occasionally. Matters of religious doctrine above the general don’t much concern us. You should ask the divines—they’d welcome a chance to set you on the right path.” Ghrita smiled and winked.
Kalanath had continued to watch the men—it was all men, Sienne could now see—waiting for them. All but one looked like the Omeirans Sienne was familiar with from Fioretti: dark skin, copper-rust hair, high cheekbones and narrow eyes. The one exception had black hair rather than red, but still looked recognizably Omeiran. Three of them were portly, one almost gaunt, but all six of them stood as proud as kings, their heads held high, their faces expressionless.
Sienne looked at Kalanath. His face was as still as theirs, making him look more fiercely handsome than ever, like a ruling duke about to receive a royal delegation. He seemed so much a stranger Sienne reached out to him, touching his hand.
He jerked, and turned toward her, the spell broken. “Are you afraid?” she sai
d in a low voice.
“Yes. And no. They will not hurt me, but this…” He gestured at the waiting delegation. “This, I do not understand. I do not know what they want of me. And that makes me afraid.”
“We’ll stand by you, whatever happens.”
He smiled, a strained expression. “I count on it.”
The helmswoman brought the Wave’s Crest neatly to the dock, barely bumping against it. Sienne heard the captain’s commands to weigh anchor and other nautical things in a daze, her attention entirely on the men waiting to receive them. One of the sailors flung the rope ladder over the side. Kalanath moved toward it, but Alaric intercepted him. “I don’t want you to be the first one down,” he said. “I’ll go first, and you can follow. Sienne, you go last, and be prepared for treachery.”
“I promise there’s no danger,” Ghrita said.
“I believe you. But we haven’t survived this long without taking precautions.” Alaric slung his leg over the side and descended the ladder. Sienne opened her spellbook to fury and watched him go, her heart in her throat. If they were wrong…
The divines had been watching the ship’s rail where they all stood. When Alaric began his descent, all of them shifted, drew closer together like a flock of dark geese huddling against the storm, and began muttering words too low for Sienne to make out other than that they were speaking Meiric. Alaric reached the dock and took a couple of steps toward them, making them back up into the palanquin. Ghrita, alighting shortly after him, held out her hands in placation and said in Meiric, “He is the devesh’s bodyguard. Show respect.”
Sienne stifled a grin at Alaric’s sudden elevation. He’d probably think it a fine joke, given that Kalanath was a deadly fighter who had no need of a bodyguard. She watched all her friends climb down the ladder, then released her spellbook and followed. The thought of using float or jaunt occurred to her, and she as quickly dismissed it. No magic in Omeira meant these men were likely not used to seeing it done casually, and they seemed nervous enough that she didn’t want to push.
Sands of Memory Page 8