The Temple at Landfall Read online

  Synopsis

  Lynn feels more like a prisoner than the chosen of the Goddess. Transfer to another temple is her chance to taste a little freedom on the journey, but all does not go to plan and her dull life is shattered by the dangers and choices that await her.

  The Temple at Landfall

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  By the Author

  Wolfsbane Winter

  THE LYREMOUTH CHRONICLES

  The Exile and the Sorceror

  The Traitor and the Chalice

  The Empress and the Acolyte

  The High Priest and the Idol

  THE CELAENO SERIES

  The Walls of Westernfort

  The Temple at Landfall

  Rangers at Roadsend

  Dynasty of Rogues

  Shadow of the Knife

  The Temple at Landfall

  © 2005 By Jane Fletcher. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-350-1

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: October 2005

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Cindy Cresap and Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: J. Barre Greystone

  Cover Image: Tobias Brenner (http://www.tobiasbrenner.de/)

  Cover Design: Julia Greystone

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to start by thanking all the usual suspects - Rad, Cindy, and everyone else from Bold Strokes Books, who have provided such fantastic support. My thanks also go to Pauline from the Dimsdale Press for fi rst demonstrating faith in my writing.

  Additionally I would thank the members of the Gay Authors Workshop, who patiently listened to sections of this being read out at the monthly meetings, gave support and encouragement, and a very nice round of applause when I was finally able to announce that it was going to be published.

  Dedication

  For Lizzy

  always

  Part One

  From Fairfield

  to Landfall

  March 536

  Chapter One—The Chosen of the Goddess

  From the steps of the temple at Fairfield, you could look out over the bowed heads of the assembled pilgrims and supplicants, over the thatched roofs of the houses and shops, over the broad meadow where they held the twice-yearly fair that gave the town its name, and see the distant mountains far to the north. The boundary of the known world. The line of high peaks glinted, a white so pure as to catch the breath in your throat, even under the sullen gray March sky. Looking at them, you could almost hear the rustle of the fir trees, smell the clean mountain air.

  The corner of Lynn’s lips twitched. Well, maybe that was straining the imagination too much, especially with the winds that day coming from the cattle market on the east of town, and she did not really have the time to enjoy the view. All eyes were on her. The constant flow of women up and down the temple steps was halted, held expectantly behind the line of red-and-gold-clad Guards. A few steps away stood the senior Sister, looking at her quizzically. Not much of the Sister’s expression was visible, just her eyes showing in the gap between the bottom of her cowl and the top of the thin gauze mask covering her lower face, but the faint furrowing of her forehead managed to convey the first hint of impatience. There were prayers to be sung.

  Lynn turned her back on the mountains. Between the open twin doors of the temple stood the tall statue of Himoti, the carved stone face staring down blindly on all those who would come in to entreat with her divine mistress, seeking consolation, a blessing, or a child. But today, as always on the first day of the month, the prayers were for Himoti herself, greatest of the Elder-Ones, Celaeno’s favorite, the patron of Imprinters. Lynn lifted her voice in the song of praise.

  Blessed Himoti,

  Favored of Celaeno,

  Life bringer, law giver,

  Heed our prayers…

  The pure notes were clear and strong, but even if Lynn had crooned tunelessly, she would have been listened to with entranced awe. The Guards stood impassive in their bright uniforms. The rows of Sisters lined the sides of the steps, hidden beneath their masks and white robes. The statue of Himoti towered over everyone, yet the crowds spared hardly a glance for any of them. Wide-eyed, they watched the young singer dressed in a simple suit of blue, a plain-cut tunic reaching to mid-thigh and loose leggings, no gold braid, ornament or mask. Just brilliant blue. Imprinter blue.

  But for all their attention, it is likely that few really noted the details of Lynn’s appearance, that she was a little below average height, in early to mid-twenties, fine-boned. Like all Imprinters, her uncut hair was plaited straight down her back, but a few stray wisps revealed a natural tendency to waves. Her mouth was wide, which combined with large eyes, had earned her the nickname “Frog” as a child, though none would presume to call her so now, even if the name had truly been deserved. For she was an Imprinter, the chosen of Celaeno, and it would surely be verging on a sin to think of her so disrespectfully. She was the living embodiment of Himoti’s gift to the world. Which was why it was fitting that once a month an Imprinter should step outside the temple, into the view of all, and lead the prayer of thanks in her patron’s honor.

  The rituals were slightly longer than usual, with a few extra prayers added in recognition of the fact that March was the month of the festival of Landfall, the month Himoti had first set foot on the world Celaeno had chosen for her daughters. Lynn’s clear singing filled the forecourt of the temple. The Sisters and crowd joined in at the appropriate places, incense was burned on cue, and the senior Sister read extracts from the book of the Elder-Ones, but all too soon the ceremony was over and the last note faded.

  For a moment, the silence held, and then a faint rustling began at the rear of the crowd, the first murmurs and whispers, although still subdued and respectful. Lynn let her head fall back so that she looked up into the sky at the circling black specks of birds wheeling under the rolling blanket of gray. She knew she was fortunate in her singing ability. It meant she was nearly always the Imprinter chosen to lead the prayers to Himoti, the one who got the chance to stand outside for a few minutes each month, in the open air under Celaeno’s wide skies.

  Lynn’s thoughts shifted briefly to the other five Imprinters in the temple at Fairfield. Did they get as much enjoyment from this brief excursion as she did, or were they more content in the confines of the temple? They certainly did not appear to show any signs of resentment or disappointment when they were not selected for the ceremony. Lynn was not sure if she could survive without it. Her eyes returned to the statue and she offered her own silent prayer. Please, Himoti, help me grow to like this life you have chosen for me. Lynn’s lips tightened in a line as she fought back a sigh. Maybe someday it would work itself out.

  On either side, the Sisters began to file into the temple, but the senior Sister left her subordinates and came to stand beside Lynn while waiting for the Guards to advance up the stairs and form an escort around them. The eyes above the gauze mask regarded the younger woman with approval. “You sang
well today, Imprinter.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  “Indeed, with your gift of imprinting and your singing, you have been doubly blessed by the Goddess.”

  “That was more or less what I was just telling myself.” Lynn was adept at keeping any trace of irony from her voice. Over the years, she had found it a valuable skill.

  The Guards surrounded them in a phalanx, fending off the waves of worshippers who, now that the ceremony had finished, were surging up the steps and into the temple. Although even without the soldiers’ armed presence, it was doubtful that anyone would have dared barge into an Imprinter. Certainly not on purpose. The Guard captain surveyed the scene, making sure her troops were ready, then she snapped an order and the small entourage marched through the great doors. The crowds slipped aside around them. Lynn took one last deep breath of crisp air before the daylight was lost.

  Inside the great hall of the temple, the mood was dim and oppressive. Mean shafts of watery light fell from slits high beneath the ceiling, lost in the thick pall of incense and candle smoke. The sweet smell of the fumes mingled with that of the bodies pressed around her. The hall was high and wide, yet it seemed to close in about Lynn. She felt as if she were buried in the heavy, choking atmosphere of the public temple, sight and sound smothered by the constant murmur of voices in darkness dotted with flickering candles.

  And despite the poor light, Lynn could still feel herself to be the focus of attention. She was aware of the eyes peering through the gloom, watching her progress across the hall, even though she was hidden between the ranks of her escort. She looked at the Guard walking beside her, a tall woman whose face, framed by her helmet, was set in a blank military stare. Light from candles rippled like flame over her red tunic and glinted off golden braid, buckles, and the long sword hanging from her belt. The effect was intimidating, which was the intention. The Guards demanded respect. But are they to protect me or to stop me from running away? The thought leaped unbidden into Lynn’s mind, although neither case required such a strong display of force. Surely no one would dream of harming an Imprinter, and there was nowhere for her to run.

  The entrance to the sanctum came into view, its mysteries concealed behind the heavy drapes hanging to one side of the main altar. Within was the private inner world of the temple where the Sisters and Imprinters lived out their daily lives, hidden from the gaze of the public. As they reached the curtains, the ranks of Guards parted, some taking their posts on either side, some returning to the main door, allowing Lynn and the senior Sister to enter alone.

  The two women separated just inside the entrance, Lynn to rest in preparation for her next appointment in the imprinting chapel, the Sister no doubt to talk to someone about somebody else. The air inside the sanctum was far cleaner than in the main temple and the light brighter, sufficient to pick out details on the carved wooden panels with their inset illustrations of scenes from the book of the Elder-Ones, gilt-leaf giving a hint of luxury. Lynn spared a last, cynical look at the senior Sister as she disappeared from view. It was a fair bet that life in the sanctum was less austere than most of the outside world would guess, and it was a dead certainty that it was far less holy.

  However, Lynn was not involved in the intrigue, backstabbing, and political maneuverings of the Sisters. An Imprinter was an Imprinter. There was no chance of promotion or power or any hope of leaving the temple. Lynn’s shoulders slumped as she walked. She tried to tell herself that it was wrong to think of the temple as a prison. She was privileged, gifted by Himoti. Perhaps she should try to be more grateful. But the only thought that rose in her mind was, Well, that’s my outing for the month over. Back to the grindstone.

  *

  The swirling streams of DNA spun around Lynn as she worked. It was a dance with the essence of life, imprinting patterns on the strands, teaching them how to link, making something unique, creating a new soul. Like jewels on a necklace, she strung the sequences together and tucked them up neatly within cell walls. A spark of life that would bud, split, and grow. A new human being. A daughter.

  For a while, Lynn considered her handiwork, content. But the task was over and it was time to retreat. Her focus expanded, stepping back from the spiraling double helix to the level of cells where she watched the small egg drifting toward its safe home on the walls of the womb, beginning its journey through life. Then she became aware of blood and warmth and the layers of flesh. Again she heard the pounding of two heartbeats, the constant background rhythm, forgotten while she worked. The two women. And another step back.

  In a sudden onslaught of light and sound, Lynn’s ordinary senses returned. Her eyes watered at the attack, even in the dim imprinting chapel. It was followed by a second, even less pleasant burst of sensation as her legs and arms made their tingling cramps felt. She was back in the everyday world. A woman lay before her on the altar, the mother-to-be. One of Lynn’s hands lay over her womb; her other rested on the head of a second woman kneeling beside her. The mother’s partner, whose genes Lynn had mingled and imprinted on the embryo. Their child.

  Still, Lynn was sensitized to their bodies, the blood in their veins, the air in their lungs, and the new spark of life inside the woman on the altar. But her own body’s demands began to lever her away from the bond. From the shadows on the wall, Lynn knew she had taken less than two hours to complete her work. Even so, she could feel the cricks in her neck and joints, the stiff, exhausted ache in her back, and it was not yet time for her to rest.

  Two Sisters had been watching from either end of the altar. Seeing Lynn come out of the imprinting trance, they stepped forward, and at Lynn’s tired nod that all was well, they prompted the woman to get off the altar and kneel beside her partner to join in with the formal prayer of thanks, their words echoed by the small family group who had been allowed to witness the imprinting. The prayer was short, but in Lynn’s state of tiredness, it seemed, as always, to drag on and on.

  ...Guide us in Celaeno’s path.

  Praised be the Goddess,

  And keep us ever in her grace.

  Praised be the Goddess.

  The last paired lines of the litany finished, and Lynn was finally free to leave the chapel. Just as long as I can summon the energy to walk, Lynn thought grimly. She turned around, intending to make her escape with as little fuss as possible, but halted abruptly at the sight of the couple’s family.

  An elderly woman knelt in the stalls, tears trickling down her smiling face. A soon-to-be grandmother, no doubt. The five or six other witnesses showed a similar, solemn depth of emotion, except for one woman whose face was split in a broad grin. Lynn followed the direction of her gaze and looked back to see the two women by the altar shyly, tentatively reach out to take each other’s hand, wonder on their faces, their eyes locked together. A lump rose in Lynn’s throat. How long before I become immune to this? she asked herself. Because surely one day the repetition and exhaustion would grind away the sense of awe, and she would become as deadened to the marvel of life as the other Imprinters in the temple who viewed creating each new child as a burdensome drudge to be gotten through with as little effort as possible.

  However, Lynn could not stay to share the moment with the family. Her body was shaking with exhaustion as she left the chapel, moving as quickly as her leaden legs would allow and oblivious to the Guards who slipped into place around her, but she heard someone whisper, “That was quick.”

  And it was. Lynn knew that she was by far the most talented of the Imprinters at Fairfield. Then she thought of how tired she was, and wondered how the others coped. Elspeth frequently took up to seven hours to create a new soul. It will kill Elspeth in the end, Lynn thought. Small wonder the elderly Imprinter could be so bitter about her calling.

  Even now, the demands on Lynn’s endurance were not finished. She must go to Himoti’s oratory and give thanks again for the gift the Elder-One had bestowed upon her. Only then would she be free to rest until she was called to the imprinting chapel once
more. She was the only Imprinter to regularly create three new embryos a day and had heard the Sisters wonder if four might be possible. A worthwhile question had it been inspired by the people’s need for children rather than thoughts of extra imprinting fees for the temple. For all their talk of theology, some Sisters could be more materialistic and greedy than the sharpest market trader.

  Lynn’s expression grew bleak. It will kill me too, in the end.

  *

  The window was not much to get excited about, scarcely twenty centimeters square. Its purpose was to let a little light in, not to provide a view, but if Lynn pulled the small wooden altar over and stood on it, she could just rest her chin on the sill and peer out. The room was on the south side of the temple, so Lynn could not see the mountains. In fact, with the angle of sight, she could not even see the ground, but she had a fair expanse of evening sky to watch. The solid blanket of cloud that had hung over the morning’s ceremony had started to break up, and streaks of washed blue showed through ragged gaps. A noisy flock of birds was coming home to roost. Lynn’s eyes followed their flight until they slipped from view. There was certainly nothing in the room worth looking at. Its bare plaster walls were two meters wide by three meters long. The only items in it were the altar, two candles, a small statue of Himoti, and the thin blue prayer mat.

  Lynn allowed her thoughts to drift idly, trying to recapture childhood memories of running under the open sky in the days before she had been taken to the temple. She had only been twelve years old at the time. At first, she had cried herself to sleep each night, wanting her parents. Now she could not even recall with certainty what they looked like. Neither could she remember saying goodbye to them for the last time the day she went to the temple to be tested. Her parents must have been so worried when they left her at the door of the assessment room. They must have known she was exceptionally talented with the healer sense, but perhaps they had convinced themselves that their daughter would be a Cloner, able to do no more than induce the farm animals to replicate themselves. It was a good profession to have. Cloners were trained by the Sisters, but were then free to travel from farm to farm, bringing about new animals, each one identical to its mother.