The Temple at Landfall Read online

  Lynn’s eyes were no longer focused on the scene outside the window as she wondered about her parents. Surely they must have known that there was a good chance she exceeded the level of ability needed to induce cloning? That rather than simply transplant a complete cell nucleus, she would be able to step inside and manipulate the strings of DNA. That she would be an Imprinter. Someone able to imprint genetic information and thereby create a human being with a unique soul.

  Lynn’s face was grim. Her parents must have worked so hard to hide their fears from her, so as not to alarm her. Lynn wished that they had not. She wished they had sobbed and shouted and that she had been dragged from their arms. Then at least the parting might have made a strong enough impression for her to remember it. But she did remember the Sister telling her that she would not be going home. Lynn could still hear the Sister’s syrupy voice as she explained how lucky Lynn was to be able to live in the temple. That Himoti was the greatest of Celaeno’s disciples and that the Goddess only chose the best little girls to receive Himoti’s gift. That Celaeno’s chosen should not cry.

  Lynn was so lost in the old memories that when the door to the meditation room opened without warning, she jumped and almost fell. Two of the altar’s stubby legs lurched into the air, waved around drunkenly, and thumped back on the ground. Lynn’s arms flailed for balance, then one hand managed to catch hold of the window, and she twisted around, half hanging, to meet the surprised eyes of the Sister standing in the doorway. For a confused moment, the two regarded each other in silence, wondering who was the more out of place. Surely the Sister had no business to interrupt her? Lynn was supposed to be meditating, and it was completely against temple rules to disturb an Imprinter at this task. But equally, she was supposed to be meditating, not looking out the window.

  It would be awkward to explain, even though temple discipline had become somewhat lax under the administration of Consultant Hoy. Lynn looked at the woman in the doorway, noting the absence of lines around the eyes staring over the mask. She was one of the new batch of novices whom Lynn had not yet learned to distinguish by outline, and maybe just young and inexperienced enough not to challenge the actions of an Imprinter, particularly if she had entered the meditation room by mistake. It was certainly worth an attempt to bluff it out.

  Lynn tried to look as confidently serene as her position allowed and asked, “Can I help you, Sister?”

  “Er...yes. I think so. You are the Imprinter called Lynn, aren’t you?”

  Damn, she isn’t in the wrong place, Lynn thought, although out loud she restrained herself to a simple, “Yes.”

  The silence returned for a few more seconds, but then the junior Sister apparently decided it would be easiest if she pretended that nothing untoward had happened. Her eyes dropped to her feet and she cleared her throat while Lynn got down from her precarious balance. When Lynn was standing before her the Sister spoke again. “You must come to Consultant Hoy’s rooms at once. You have permission to conclude your...um...meditation.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  Lynn slipped past the white-clad woman, breathing a faint sigh of relief, but while she hurried through the corridors of the sanctum, her mind whirled as fresh fears surfaced. She searched her conscience for any misdemeanor that might have come to light, but could think of nothing even remotely serious enough to justify interrupting her meditation. By the time she reached her destination, Lynn’s stomach was a sick knot and her palms felt sticky.

  The consultant’s study was large and very well appointed. The room had been designed for comfort, and it was clear from the rich furnishings where a fair slice of the imprinting fees went. The only thing marring its usual air of serenity was the consultant herself, who sat beside the fire, hands clasped tightly in her lap and eyebrows drawn together in a furious scowl. The sight of the consultant brought Lynn to a halt, wondering what could have so provoked the normally complacent Hoy. To her relief, though, it was immediately apparent that the force of Hoy’s anger was directed toward three Sisters standing at the other side of the fireplace. The atmosphere in the room was crackling with tension. Lynn was so confused that a few seconds passed before she realized that the three were strangers to Fairfield. After an awkward pause, she managed to gather her wits enough to say demurely, “You wished to see me, Consultant?”

  “Yes, Imprinter. Please come in and shut the door.”

  Lynn complied and then stood uncertainly while Hoy and the oldest of the three strange Sisters engaged in some sort of glaring competition. Just as Lynn was starting to think she would not be getting any explanations, Consultant Hoy drew in a deep breath so that her gauze mask was sucked back against her nostrils, and then turned away from her opponent.

  “We have been graced to receive a delegation of our beloved Sisters from the temple at Landfall.” Despite her words, Hoy’s clipped tones held very little in the way of love. “These are Sister Smith”—the oldest of the visitors gave a faint nod—“and her colleagues, Sisters Quento and Ubbi. It would appear that reports of your talent have reached as far as Landfall.”

  Lynn’s bewilderment grew. Especially since reports had gone both ways and, even at Fairfield, they had heard the name of Smith. The Sister’s career had been controversial, but her rise through the temple hierarchy had been unstoppable, if not always steady. Word now was that she had her rivals in retreat, and it was predicted she would take the Chief Consultant’s chair within the decade. From what she had heard, Lynn could say with certainty that the Sister’s visit to Fairfield would be for political rather than religious purposes. Although if it had been hoped to gain Hoy’s support for some venture, it had obviously badly misfired. However, Lynn’s main thought was, What does she want with me?

  Hoy looked as if she was gathering herself to say more, but Sister Smith stepped in first. She faced Lynn while, as if coincidentally, turning her back on Hoy. “Indeed. Even at Landfall we have rejoiced in the good news that you have been gifted to an unprecedented degree. And we have considered how to best show our appreciation of the blessing the Goddess has given to the world. And given through you. For while we are all daughters of the Goddess and equal in her sight, it cannot be denied that some are called to a higher destiny than others.” There was something in her tone that implied Sister Smith included herself among these fortunate individuals. “When someone has been favored by Celaeno, as you have been, it would be an affront to her beneficence to leave her to languish in a minor temple.”

  Lynn could almost hear the sound of Consultant Hoy biting her tongue at the words, but Smith went on smoothly. “The temple at Landfall is where the Elder-Ones first set foot in the world, where the blessed Himoti first instructed Celaeno’s children in the mysteries of life, where her mortal remains are buried. And surely it is clear to all, your place is there. In this, the Chief Consultant has agreed with me, and I come with her full authorization to escort you to Landfall with all possible speed.”

  Consultant Hoy could keep silent no longer. Her voice snapped out, “But it has always been the custom that Imprinters do not leave a temple once they have been taken into its sanctuary.”

  “Customary, true. But precedents exist,” Smith countered. “In the words of Himoti herself...”

  Lynn fixed her eyes on the fire and switched out of the argument. Whatever she might want was irrelevant, as it had been since the day she had been declared an Imprinter and taken away from her parents’ farm. Now she belonged to the temple, and it was no comfort to know that, in this matter, Consultant Hoy was as powerless as Lynn. No doubt Hoy would draw on the finer points of scripture to support her argument, but it would all be wasted against the supremacy of the Chief Consultant’s warrant.

  Of course money would not be mentioned, but it would be of prime importance, at least as far as Consultant Hoy was concerned. Lynn’s work contributed a quarter of all the imprinting fees taken at Fairfield. But Sister Smith’s motives might be more complicated. While waiting for the inevitable conclusion, Ly
nn did a quick calculation. Landfall was fourteen to fifteen day’s journey, which would give plenty of time to reach there for the big festival on the twenty-third of March. Celebrating Landfall at Landfall, and Smith’s chance to present her new acquisition for the temple. It would be a few plus points for Sister Smith’s tally. Her name would get mentioned in the right places; the Chief Consultant would be pleased. All of which could be turned into a step up onto the next rung in the ladder for Smith.

  The sudden onset of silence recalled Lynn from her reflection as the heated debate spluttered to a halt. Even had the outcome been in doubt, Lynn could have deduced her fate from the body language before her. The visiting Sisters were triumphant and Consultant Hoy was disgusted. It was a serious matter for the consultant, Lynn thought wryly. With the loss of income, Hoy might be forced to limit her appreciation of the heavy southern wines to the less expensive vintages.

  But Lynn did not have long to consider Hoy’s misfortune. Sister Smith came to stand in front of Lynn, claiming her attention and placing a hand upon her head. Smith raised her eyes to the ceiling and spoke in a voice resonate with the fire of piety. “May the love of Celaeno bring an end to contention and guide us all in the wisdom of her will.” Smith’s gaze dropped to rest on Lynn’s forehead. “Truly, my child, you are the chosen of the Goddess.”

  With effort, Lynn kept her face blank. But had it not been blasphemy to think it, she might have wished that the Goddess had chosen someone else.

  Chapter Two—Delays on the Road

  The next day was spent in preparations for departure. These consisted almost entirely, in Sister Smith’s view, of prayers for a safe and speedy journey. After hours spent on her knees in Himoti’s oratory, Lynn was almost left with the impression that Smith expected the Goddess to personally pack the luggage for them. The day after dawned mild and wet. A steady drizzle began before sunrise and was still falling when Lynn was escorted into the stable yard at the rear of the temple. It was a dreary way to start the journey. The damp, lazy wind swept ripples across the surface of puddles and snatched volleys of drips from the eaves of buildings.

  As Lynn emerged into the courtyard, she was greeted by a confusion of activity. Four cart horses were being harnessed to the carriage that would carry her and the three Sisters. Adding further to the commotion was the escort of a dozen Guards. The soldiers were milling back and forth, mounting, dismounting, and adjusting buckles and packs in a seemingly haphazard fashion. The cart horses were matching the weather in a mood of sullen intractability, and it required the attention of the civilian driver, her second, and three grooms to get them into the harness. Other temple servants dithered at the sidelines, unsure whether their help was needed, but unwilling to step out into the rain to volunteer. A group of Sisters huddled in the shelter of a porch, and the faces of several of the kitchen staff peered through an open doorway.

  For the journey, Lynn’s plain suit of blue had been supplemented by a thick cloak, gloves, hat, and boots. They were slightly too warm for the weather that day but might well prove invaluable later, since it was too soon in the year to be sure that they had seen the last of winter. But even with her Imprinter’s clothes hidden, everyone recognized her. The familiar sensation of knowing that all eyes were on her swept over Lynn as she stepped into the courtyard. The chaos, if not actually abating, flowed away from the spot where she was.

  Consultant Hoy accompanied her across the cobbles to the carriage—a gesture possibly intended as a mark of respect, but more likely prompted by the consultant’s desire not to relinquish control of her most valuable asset until the last possible moment. Once she was inside, Lynn removed the cloak to keep from overheating. The rain was more of a nuisance. The damp seeped into everything, and her braid was a clammy weight on the back of her neck. Yet despite the weather, Lynn was hard put to hide her excitement. Not that she had any illusions of the temple at Landfall being any better than the one at Fairfield. If Smith was anything to go by, the reverse seemed far more likely. But the journey to Landfall gave her fifteen days outside the confinement of the temple, the opportunity to see a little of the countryside, perhaps even one last close look at some mountains. It was quite literally the chance of a lifetime.

  The door of the carriage opened again and Sisters Quento and Ubbi climbed in, fussing about the mud splattering the hems of their long white robes. They were shortly followed by Smith, and in an instant, the fidgeting stopped and they had taken their seats in dour silence. When the door was finally shut, the senior Sister sent a withering glare through the small window at the ragtag group assembling to watch the departure and let out a snort of disgust. “How have they got time to dawdle around? It’s not as if they are even offering prayers for our safe journey. Consultant Hoy should be directing them to some worthwhile employment.”

  “Yes, Sister,” Quento and Ubbi agreed in unison. Agreeing with Smith appeared to be their main function in the proceedings.

  “The Goddess has not called them to her temple for the sake of their amusement. Her will is that they devote themselves only to pious endeavor,” Smith said firmly.

  Already in their acquaintance, Lynn had come to recognize the style of Sister Smith’s pronouncements, the self-righteous certainty with which she would announce the Goddess’s inner thoughts. It did not bode well for life at Landfall. Lynn suspected she would come to look back with fondness on Hoy’s easygoing incompetence, but she forced herself to push her uneasiness aside. She did not want to spoil the journey with useless worries about the future.

  The carriage shook abruptly as the driver and her second climbed onto the box, and then with a shout and the creak of axles, the vehicle started to roll out of the temple courtyard and through the gates, flanked on either side by a line of mounted Guards. Lynn stared out the window, taking her last sight of the temple. A sudden unexpected feeling of loneliness washed over her. She was not leaving behind anyone in particular that she would miss—the isolation and punishing schedule of an Imprinter’s life did not allow room for making close friends—but the temple had been her home for eleven years. It was familiar and safe. Lynn sank down in her seat, blinking back the tears. When she next looked out, the temple was gone, replaced by a row of houses.

  To the eyes of most, the town of Fairfield was uninteresting at the best of times, a product of indifferent craftsmanship, not overly well maintained, and the rain effectively washed away what little charm the place might have held. Even so, Lynn’s sense of excitement returned at the sight. So long had passed since she had been anywhere outside the temple. Between the horses of her escort, she caught brief glimpses of alleyways and shop fronts, the mayor’s house, and the edge of the cattle market. People on the street stepped aside to make way for the cavalcade, their faces holding expressions of bitterness verging on hostility, due either to resentment of the imperious temple Guards, or possibly to rumors that their Imprinter was being taken. It was a safe bet that once the news got out, Sister Smith’s name would not be popular in Fairfield.

  Before long, the town came to an end and the road became a muddy track through the open countryside heading due south. The air was heavy with the smell of wet grass and soil. The absence of crowds to push aside meant the pace picked up considerably, and the line of Guards was more strung out, giving Lynn a good view of fields already plowed for planting. Collections of shacks dotted the distance, surrounded by the familiar stumpy outlines of pigs. Lynn watched the changing scenery eagerly, while at the same time trying to appear as disinterested as possible, since she was sure Sister Smith would disapprove of her curiosity and might even order the curtains closed.

  After a kilometer or so, the carriage slowed to ford a shallow stream. By its banks stood an old woman, clad in layers of rain-soaked rags. Mud was ingrained in the deep lines on her face, and her back was bent from a lifetime’s toil on the land. She looked a hundred, though she was probably closer to fifty. It did not require the healer sense to tell that the elderly peasant was not in good
health. Yet she still held a long hoe in her hand and had obviously only paused her work for a moment to watch the cavalcade pass. Lynn’s eyes lost their focus on the landscape. Lots of people have to work hard, she told herself, and get little reward to show for it. No matter how cheerless life might be in the temple, at least as an Imprinter, there was no risk she would ever go hungry or be without a roof over her head. There were worse things to be than an Imprinter. There had to be. Yet Lynn still envied the peasant. The old woman had lived her own life and made her own choices.

  “Imprinter?” Sister Smith’s querying voice interrupted Lynn’s reflections.

  “Er...yes, Sister?” Lynn floundered. Inside the carriage, three pairs of eyes were looking at her expectantly. Smith had been maintaining a constant monologue of moralizing ever since the carriage had left the temple. She had obviously now gotten as far as requiring some response, but there was no hint of what that might be. Lynn swallowed. She was going to have to admit her lack of attention. “I beg your pardon. I missed what you said.”