The Temple at Landfall Read online

  “I asked if you could start the reading from the book of the Elder-Ones,” Smith said with a cold emphasis on each word.

  “Oh...yes, Sister. Any chapter in particular?”

  Smith settled back. “This will be a long journey. Start at the beginning.”

  The well-thumbed volume was placed into Lynn’s hands, and she opened it on the first page, although the words were so familiar that she could have recited them from memory. She began to read.

  “At the start of time, there was only Unsa, the spirit of life, who called the stars into being and cast them into the dark void and named them. Then, so she might better know her creation, Unsa took form and made of herself Celaeno, the mother, that Unsa might have material presence in her universe. For ten thousand years, Celaeno searched the depths of space, seeking a home for her children, and in her belly slept the Elder-Ones, who were not born of this world, who would arrange all things according to her design...”

  *

  The rain splattered softly against the thick green glass of the window. Lynn wiped away the mist of condensation on the inside and rested her shoulder on the wooden frame. The upstairs room of the inn provided a reasonable view of the thickly mired street below. Not that there was much to see. Opposite, three ramshackle buildings leaned against each other, as if for support. The tops of trees showed above their thatched roofs, stretching away until they were lost in the low clouds. If Lynn twisted her neck and pressed her face against the cold glass, she could just catch sight of the river and the jumble of broken, half-submerged timber that was all that remained of the bridge. A small group of women stood at the site of the wreckage, Sister Smith’s white robes clearly visible among them.

  For the four days since they had left Fairfield, the rain had fallen continuously. So far it had only hampered their progress a little, but now the weather threatened to cause serious delays. They had arrived at the small village to be told that two days ago, the heavy spring rains, combined with melting snow from the uplands, had swept away the bridge, and despite Smith’s anger, there was no chance that the bridge could be repaired or that anyone could cross the river until the floods subsided. With the grace of the Goddess, the group of locals was persuading Smith of this fact, and she was not browbeating someone into building a raft.

  Lynn raised her gaze to the skies. It was getting brighter, the clouds thinning. Even as she realized this, the rain began to ease and the suspicion of watery sunlight touched the window. But no matter what happened, they would go no farther that day. In less than an hour, it would be dusk. She shifted away from the window and looked around the room. Quento and Ubbi had been sent on an errand, so for once, she was on her own. Something that had become a rare luxury. Smith had suggested, in her usual dictatorial manner, that Lynn could make use of the time reading a book of prayers, but she was already familiar with them. Certainly well enough to answer questions should she be asked.

  The place they were halted was hardly big enough to call a village: five houses, a blacksmith’s, and the inn, set in a clearing by the river. Nothing more than a way stop in the middle of the forest. Lynn left the window and began pacing the room, remembering the ranks of dark trees she had seen from the carriage and the sweet, clean smell of the wet foliage. Her footsteps paused again by the window. The rain had stopped, she was alone, and the forest was only a few meters away. This might be the very last chance she would ever have to actually touch a tree. Even before Lynn had properly considered the idea, the door was open and she had stepped into the hallway.

  The murmur of voices came from the taproom of the inn below. Slipping out unnoticed by that route would be impossible. However, the back stairs were to her left, leading out onto the stable yard. Lynn crept silently along the hallway and cautiously began to descend. There was no sound of anyone nearby, but just as she got within three steps of the bottom, she saw the outside door begin to swing open.

  Lynn froze. Trying to dash back to the room was pointless. She would certainly be seen, and fleeing would be an admission that she knew she was in the wrong. Lynn cursed herself. Sneaking outside had been a silly idea from the start. To Lynn’s relief, the person who stepped into view turned out to be a very junior member of the inn staff.

  The girl blushed nervously when she saw Lynn in her blue Imprinter’s garb, standing on the stairs. The inn maid’s eyes dropped to the ground, and she made an odd movement that might have been intended as a curtsey, or might have been an aborted attempt to run away. There was certainly no risk of the girl challenging Lynn’s right to be there. As confidently as she could, Lynn continued walking down the stairs and reached for the handle of the door.

  “Please, ma’am,” the girl’s voice squeaked.

  “Yes.” Lynn paused and smiled in a friendly fashion, though it seemed to have little calming effect on the child.

  “Could you bless me?”

  Now it was Lynn’s turn to feel herself blushing. She had never felt herself to be very holy. The expectations of others only sharpened her awareness of her own imperfections, but she could hardly explain this to the child. Lynn groped around vaguely for a general blessing.

  Eternal Celaeno, who hangs above us all,

  May you watch over this child and guide her actions.

  And when her life is done, hold her safe forever,

  To dream of paradise in your chambers of sleep.

  The blessing was neither particularly profound nor appropriate, but the girl seemed delighted with it and skipped away happily. Lynn watched her go and then again reached for the handle of the door.

  “Imprinter, where are you going?” Sister Smith’s voice was quiet. There was no need for her to shout.

  Lynn stopped as if she had hit a wall. It took all her composure to look up the stairs to where the senior Sister stood and keep her voice even as she said, “I thought I might have left my hat in the carriage.”

  “Why would you want it now?”

  “Well, I don’t. Not right now. But I wouldn’t want to lose it.”

  The excuse was decidedly weak. And the set of Sister Smith’s eyes made it clear that she thought so too, although she was not about to dispute it aloud when others might be listening. With a sharp gesture, Lynn was beckoned up the stairs and back into the room.

  “Did you read the prayers?” Smith snapped once the door was shut.

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “And what did you think of the eighth one?”

  Smith’s tone made it obvious the question was a test, but Lynn was hard put to keep the smile from her face. The prayer was one that she was very familiar with. She hesitated for a second, as if thinking seriously, and then said, “About Himoti’s sacred petri dish? It was...uplifting. And the part in the fifth line about in vitro...”

  Smith cut off her words, clearly displeased and only slightly placated. “I fear you have been allowed to develop some dangerously lax ways at Fairfield.”

  As the Sister paced the length of the room, Lynn stood in silence, fearing what might come next. Fortunately, Smith’s wrath fixed on another target, and when she spoke again her tones were less harsh. “But perhaps it is more to your credit that you have been able to perform the Goddess’s work so well with such poor supervision. I am sure that once you are better instructed in the true love of Celaeno, you will achieve even greater things for her glory.”

  “That is my most devout hope,” Lynn said calmly, although she felt her spirits drop still further. Sister Smith used the word “love” a lot, but seemed to have her own private meaning for the term.

  “It was evident to me that Consultant Hoy lacked rigor in enforcing the will of the Goddess. I formed grave doubts about the strength of her devotion. The prayers were performed appallingly. When we get back to Landfall, I think I will have to prepare a report on the regime at Fairfield.”

  And you won’t get the half of it, Lynn thought. As long as things gave the appearance of piety, Consultant Hoy never bothered herself with what was actuall
y happening in the temple. She even turned a blind eye to affairs between the Sisters, in disregard of all the rules about celibacy. Rumor was that she frequently lapsed herself. She might have been equally unbothered if the Imprinters engaged in similar indiscretions were it not that loss of virginity would destroy the ability to imprint. The risk of losing the imprinting fees was the only thing that could guarantee Hoy would stir herself enough to intervene.

  On the other side of the room, the senior Sister was also deep in thought, probably considering the possibilities of having Hoy replaced by someone more favorably inclined to herself. But any further remarks Smith might have made were interrupted by the return of Quento and Ubbi.

  “Oh, Sister. Have you any news about the bridge?” Ubbi fluttered.

  “Yes. I’m afraid it will not be repaired before the end of the month.”

  Lynn was surprised by the tone of the announcement. The delay put a definite block on any plans Smith had of getting to Landfall for the festival, yet the Sister did not seem bothered.

  “Are we going to be trapped here until then?” Ubbi asked.

  “Of course not. We will head east. One of the crossings upstream will surely be passable. Do not worry. The Goddess will guide our steps.”

  The confidence in Smith’s voice was tangible, the utter conviction that the Goddess would exert her powers to aid them. Lynn’s eyes fixed on the floor. It must be nice for Sister Smith to know that Celaeno took such an active interest in her political career.

  *

  “Then Celaeno gathered all the Elder-Ones before her and said to them, ‘To each of you I have given a skill. That you may instruct my children in their chosen trade, so their lives may be fruitful...’”

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” The head of a Guardswoman appeared at the window of the carriage, interrupting Quento’s reading.

  “Yes,” Smith answered.

  “The town of Redridge is just up ahead. And Major Machovi thought you’d be pleased to know that even from here, we can see the bridge is open and there is traffic going across.”

  “Praised be the Goddess.” Smith paused piously then said, “Please convey my gratitude for the news to the major.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The Guardswoman disappeared.

  “Shall I continue reading?” Quento asked.

  “No. I think this would be a good time for silent prayer,” Smith replied, bowing her head. The other two Sisters copied her action.

  While pretending to join in, Lynn studied Smith surreptitiously, wondering if the Sister’s faith in the Goddess’s aid might be ever so slightly wavering. The journey from the destroyed bridge had not been easy. For five days the route had climbed steadily, taking them on poorly maintained back roads where the wheels of the carriage had frequently become stuck, requiring that the Guards dismount to push it free. Before the end of the first day, the red and gold of their uniforms was lost beneath a layer of mud. Even the horses seemed downcast; their heads drooped as they plodded over the rough farm tracks. Twice they had reached the site of bridges only to find them swept away by the exceptional weather. Now at last, they would be able to cross the river, but the delays on the road surely meant there was no chance they would reach Landfall by the twenty-third.

  Lynn shifted her head slightly so she could catch a glimpse of the scene outside the window, and restrained a smile. Maybe Celaeno had chosen to answer her prayers rather than Smith’s. The detour had taken them toward the mountains, and whenever she was able, Lynn had feasted her eyes on the jagged spires of high peaks drawing ever nearer. Mountains had become a symbol of her childhood to Lynn, a reminder of her parents’ farm in the enclosed valley to the north of Fairfield. A time when she had felt happy, loved, and free. Perhaps the Goddess, in her mercy, had granted one last close look.

  The midday bells were ringing out as they stopped in the main square at Redridge. The town clung right on the northern flanks of the mountain range that divided the plain around Landfall from that around Fairfield. Getting out of the carriage, Lynn cast her eyes up to the nearby peaks. The tops were lost in clouds, but that served only to emphasize their scale, though she was not given long to admire them. The three Sisters soon bustled her into the large inn opening onto the square, which was by far the most prestigious building they had seen since leaving Fairfield. Redridge was clearly small but wealthy.

  The proprietor of the inn rushed about, bullying her staff into making their best effort for the important guests. Food and accommodation were promised, and the spirits of the entire party began to rise visibly, particularly when Smith announced they would wait until the next morning before continuing their journey. This would give time for a visit to the town baths, a chance for the Guards to groom their horses and polish their uniforms, and an opportunity for everyone to rest. The Guards jostled each other in play as they dismounted, laughing. And for once, the rowdiness went unrebuked by either Smith or the Guard major.

  Lynn and Sisters Quento and Ubbi were shown to the inn’s most elegant suite of rooms where already the staff was laying a table for lunch. The senior Sister joined them just as the preparations were complete. Immediately, Lynn could tell that Smith was ecstatically triumphant. Her shoulders were thrown back and her eyes swept the room as if she were already ruler of the world, although nothing was said until the four were seated at the table.

  “Surely the hand of the Goddess is guiding our venture,” Smith declared.

  “You have good news?” Ubbi asked, stating the obvious.

  “I’ve been informed that the pass above Redridge is open. In three days, we can be at Petersmine, and then it will be only another six days’ travel before we reach Landfall.”

  Quento and Ubbi immediately began counting days on their fingers. Lynn’s only thought was that she would not merely get to see a mountain range; she would actually travel through it. She joined in the thanksgiving prayers with a fervor that almost matched Smith’s. The three Sisters were buoyant, slipping the food under their loosened masks with apparent relish, although the atmosphere at the dining table was not relaxed. Lynn doubted whether anywhere within a hundred paces of Sister Smith could ever truly be described in that way.

  When the meal was finished, Smith began making plans. “Imprinter, it would not be suitable for you to visit the public baths, but I have arranged for a tub of hot water to be made ready for you. Afterward, there is a small local shrine that I—”

  Smith’s words were interrupted by a knock. The door opened and the proprietor stuck her head around. “Excuse me, ma’am, but the town mayor is here to see you.”

  “Please, show her up.”

  Smith’s tone was gracious, doubtless taking the visit as a tribute to her importance. But from one look at the expression on the face of the elderly, dignified woman who was led in, Lynn knew the mayor had not come to flatter the Sister’s ego. After the most cursory of introductions, the mayor and Sister Smith disappeared into a nearby room. Lynn was grimly certain that it was bad news, although Quento and Ubbi seemed oblivious of any potential difficulty.

  The anxiety made it hard for Lynn to settle, even though the bath helped to relax her after days of being shaken around in the carriage. When she was dried and dressed again, Lynn attempted to see if anything had been learned but was unable to speak to anyone apart from Quento and Ubbi, both of whom were totally lacking in curiosity. They always let Smith do their thinking for them, and they would not start worrying until she told them to. From the window of the room, Lynn looked down on the courtyard. Several of the Guards were in sight, grooming their horses and talking quietly to each other. Their expressions were grim, and any trace of the high spirits that had accompanied their arrival at the inn had gone. Clearly, some rumor of the mayor’s news had already reached them.

  Nearly an hour passed before the mayor of Redridge left, looking even less happy than she had when she entered. Immediately, Lynn and the other two Sisters were summoned by Smith. Before she said a word, the glitter in her eyes mad
e it obvious that the senior Sister was furious.

  “That mayor is a fool. A faithless fool, with no trust in the Goddess.” Smith spat the words out.

  “What did she say?” Lynn asked the question, since neither Quento nor Ubbi seemed about to open their mouths.

  “She said it was not safe to go over the pass. There was some nonsense about a pride of snow lions in the mountains.”

  A faint sound, suspiciously like a squeak, came from Quento’s direction, but apart from that, utter silence filled the room for the space of a dozen heartbeats.

  “Snow lions are hardly nonsense,” Lynn said eventually, shocked enough to risk disagreeing with Smith.

  Smith glared at the Imprinter. “Oh, I don’t dispute that there may have been a few somewhere to give rise to the rumor. But this far south, so late in the year, it is unheard of. Even if the lions did get as far as here, they would have moved back north weeks ago.”

  “The mayor must have had some evidence,” Lynn persisted.

  “Do you argue with the will of the Goddess?” Smith’s voice snapped in anger.

  Lynn swallowed. “No, I don’t. But snow lions are dangerous.”

  “No doubt they are. But Celaeno is powerful over all, and with her love to protect us we need have no fear of any wild beast.”

  Try telling my aunt that, Lynn thought, but left the words unsaid.

  “What are we going to do?” Ubbi found the courage to ask.

  Smith hesitated for a second and then pulled herself up straight. “We will pray. We will ask Celaeno to guard us and bring us safe to Petersmine.”

  “You are not thinking of going over?” Lynn blurted out.

  “Yes, I am. The only other option is what the mayor suggested. She wanted us to go around the mountains, heading west, and join back up with our original route, but that will put days on the journey. We wouldn’t reach Landfall until April. Now, we will all get our prayer books. Have faith, and Celaeno will keep us safe.”