Melianarrheyal

by G. Deyke

  ~*~

  The temple is cool and dark, a welcome relief from the bright Desert sun. It is lit dimly by candles and it smells of burning herbs. The walls are covered with carven images of the gods. I have heard that there are stories written in these pictures, but I don't know if this is true. I don't think anyone knows how to read them anymore. Maybe the Namers do.

  There are kretchin in the temple, as there are kretchin in every temple: the tunnels in which we live open into the temples, so we pass through them often. They sit with their backs to the wall, their eyes glinting in the darkness as they glance our way. Their hair is cropped at shoulder length or shorter, and their clothing is thin and worn. They are like me, dirty and hungry and afraid.

  I feel almost as though I'd come home. I could belong here. But I don't.

  I follow Ty. He walks straight across the temple and draws aside an unoccupied Namer, asking: “Is one among you a healer?”

  The Namer is a tall man who might have Desert blood in him, with a black beard down to his chest. “I am one,” he says.

  “Do you remember a child born here some three years ago, to one Kerheyin of House Lithuk?”

  The Namer frowns. There is something in his eyes – is it anger or fear? I do not know, but I shrink back behind Ty, afraid it is anger.

  “I know nothing,” he says, and turns away.

  Ty catches him by the elbow. “Would it comfort you that we already know the child exists? We are not here for confirmation – only for details.” I am surprised that he includes me, that he says we and not I, but the Namer seems not to notice.

  He turns and looks at Ty more carefully. “I know you,” he says. “You've been here before.”

  Ty touches his hands together, with his fingers spread and pointing upward, his palms touching, his thumbs near his chest. I have seen this gesture before, I think, used by the people of the Desert, but I never learned what it means.

  “I visited this temple as I did all others in this city.” Even when he speaks to the Namer, his voice is lightly touched with scorn. “Perhaps you remember that I asked to hear what legends you knew.”

  The Namer repeats Ty's gesture.

  “Yes,” he says. “You had a rare interest.”

  “I have it still.”

  “And now you ask about this child – why?”

  Ty turns his wrist, quickly, up and down. Again, I think I have seen the gesture before. It must have been long ago. “I cannot be sure until you tell me what you know,” he says.

  The Namer looks at him for a time, saying nothing, perhaps considering. Then: “Very well,” he says. “Come.” He takes up a lamp and leads the way to a back room. Ty follows him silently, and I follow Ty.

  The walls are lined with shelves, and these filled with scrolls. In the center of the room is a small wooden desk. The Namer sits behind it, lighting the candles on the desk with the candle from his lamp, and turns his eyes back to Ty.

  He stands before the desk with his arms crossed, watching the Namer. I stand a ways behind him, nearer the wall, trying to make myself small. The Namer pays me no heed. No doubt he thinks I have made Ty the object of my begging, if he has noticed me at all.

  “Yes, I remember that child,” he says. “How could I not? It was strange enough.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It has not yet been three years. It was a rainy day in autumn when they came: a noble and a strange woman heavy with child. She needed his help to descend into the temple, for the birth was already upon her. I saw that the noble was of House Lithuk, for I had seen him before, although he did not often come to this temple. But the woman –

  “She was...” The Namer stops to gather his words. He continues haltingly; he must know how strange his story sounds.

  “Her face was young – perhaps older than his, but only just – and very beautiful, but it was as though she had no color – her hair was thick and long – and straight – and white, as though she were very old. And her skin, too, was as pale as any I've seen... but her eyes – her hair was nearly normal, after her eyes – her eyes were silver, true silver, shining as the jewelry of nobles. And she would not speak. Her lover spoke for her, saying she was mute – and yet I could see fear in her eyes, and joy, and love, and trust, just as any new mother might feel. I have since heard all manner of gossip about Kerheyin and his lover, and they say she arrived from Anaria, for she came in a boat and no one but traders knows what Anarians look like.”

  If she is Anarian, I know she cannot have charmed him. In Anaria the people have no talents, so I have heard. How, then, could Kerheyin choose her over Mel?

  “The birth was very difficult,” the Namer goes on, “and when the child was born it was clear the woman would not live much longer. I told them that children born in temples are often blessed, but they were both too concerned with the woman's life to have much interest. I looked for a blessing nonetheless. And what I saw –

  “The child was blessed indeed, but not by any god they knew. Do you know of Snake?” I start, hearing Snake's name spoken here.

  Ty touches his hands together again.

  “Not many do, but for kretchin. This child had Snake's blessing. I could not tell them this, for a kretchin god's blessing on a noble child is no blessing but a curse.”

  Very suddenly, I remember how I heard of a noble bastard in Saluyah before. All kretchin knew the rumor, even in Therwil: a noble bastard in Saluyah was blessed by Snake. A girl had whistled to Snake in a temple, as she walked past the noble and his lover; and she saw Snake's sign around the child, and so she knew that the child was blessed. A noble bastard blessed by Snake is news everywhere. Snake rarely cares for any but kretchin, as none but kretchin care for him.

  He is a god of cunning and survival, and of slithering through holes. He is scorned by other gods as kretchin are scorned by all others, but he has the cunning to live contently without their love – though he must always watch for them. His blessing means that the child will live, and live contently, and do whatever it sets out to do. I very much doubt that Mel will be able to kill it, for Snake's power must be greater than even hers.

  Still, I must do what I can to help her – even against Snake's will – for she is my friend.

  “But the child was also blessed by another power,” the Namer says, and pauses before he goes on. “I do not know which power it was. It was not a god we worship here, nor in the Mountains, nor in any other part of Thilua. It... it was strong, very strong, and I had the impression that it had not only blessed the child but had chosen it, for some purpose. That child will turn destiny, I think.”

  Yet another reason that Mel may not be able to kill the child! – but I doubt she will listen if I tell her so. Mel has never thought much of fate.

  Ty stiffens, very slightly, but his voice is the same as always. “Did you notice anything else about this power?”

  The Namer taps the first two fingers of his right hand against the inside of his left wrist. “Only that it needed the child for something.”

  “Mm. Go on.”

  “I told them about this strange power – only that I did not know it. The noble listened, but said nothing. The woman could feel that she was dying, I think, but she smiled when she heard of the blessing.

  “When she had nearly slipped away, he kissed the air above her cheek – here –” he touches his own cheek, briefly, “– and he stood, and told me that I must not burn her body, but rather wrap it carefully and release it into the River, with a boat if I could find one; and that I must ask for her not the blessing of the Queen, that she become one with the dark-dust, but that of the Sea-Father, that she find her way; and he took the child from my arms and left the temple.

  “Of course I found this very strange, but I did as he asked –”

  “He paid you for it.” I dislike Ty's tone. I am afraid to be in this room with him, afraid the Namer will grow angry, afraid they will fight.

  “A noble sees to it that you do as he asks,” the Namer
replies.

  Ty makes another strange gesture, a quick pass with his hand from inside to outside across his waist. “What else do you remember?”

  “Nothing more.”

  “Did you see the child again?”

  Again, the Namer taps his wrist. “It was named elsewhere.”

  “Thank you,” Ty says, and turns toward the door. I duck against a wall to let him pass, and follow him out of the temple.