Part 16 (2/2)

For her, the rites had a more personal meaning. The Freshening recalled their return from the First Forest, filled with violent swings of emotions: reunions with friends and family marred by the absence of those who had died during their quest; the first tentative explorations of love shattered by Darak's recurring nightmares and inability to find his place. When Darak went back to the First Forest at the Balancing, she wasn't sure he would ever return. But he did, gaunt and haggard but more peaceful in spirit. Although it was customary to marry at either the Spring or Autumn Balancing, she refused to wait. They were married at the Ripening and within two moons, she was pregnant with Keirith.

Celebrating the Ripening without Darak would have been hard enough; the losses suffered by the tribe cast a pall over the rite for everyone. They still sang the joyous song to welcome spring. They repeated the prayers as Gortin blessed three sea trout, the first of those returning to the lake before heading upstream to sp.a.w.n. They marched to the lake as he returned one to the G.o.ddess Lacha in thanks for her bounty. But when Gortin sacrificed the second trout, wrapped it in oak leaves, and carried it into the barrow to feed the spirits of the dead, everyone recalled the ceremony days earlier when he had interred the ashes and bones of those killed in the raid. Men and women alike wept as they added stones to the cairn in memory of those they had lost.

The ceremony at the heart-oak was equally fraught with emotion. Gortin's voice cracked when he laid the third trout between two of the gnarled roots and thanked the sacred tree for watching over their people. Lisula's hand trembled as she sprinkled the libation of water. The children who usually skipped around the tree, scattering blossoms of rowan and quickthorn, simply marched in silence behind their parents.

As she did every Ripening, Griane lingered with the children to sprinkle water at the base of a rowan. It was her way of honoring her friend from the Summerlands, one of the ancient tree-folk who had helped her return to the First Forest after Fellgair abandoned her. She still preserved the sprig of blossoms Rowan had given her when they parted, the petals brittle now and brown with age.

When she said a quick prayer and began plucking blossoms from a sprig, the children stared at her, round-eyed with surprise. She repeated her prayer, hoping the spirit of the tree would understand and forgive her.

While the others returned to their huts to prepare the feast, she led the children back to the lake. They walked west along the sh.o.r.e. By the time they neared the channel, the ground rose too steeply for Callie to go farther, so she stopped and held out her handful of blossoms.

”Throw a petal into the water,” she told them, ”and say a prayer for Fa and Keirith.”

”Is that like putting a stone on the cairn?” Callie asked.

”It's like . . . we're sending our love to them. The river will carry the blossoms all the way to the sea.”

”And the sea will take them to Fa and Keirith.”

”That's right.”

”And they'll know they're from us?”

”Aye.”

”And that we're thinking of them?”

”They'll know that anyway,” Faelia said.

Griane shot her a warning glance. Faelia had retreated into sullen silence after her father departed. She spent some mornings in the fields, but more often, she disappeared into the forest, returning with squirrels or rabbits or wood pigeons that she tossed beside the fire pit, as if daring her to object. Griane said nothing. Since Darak's departure, she had never seen Faelia weep, but her red-rimmed eyes told a different story.

Together, they tossed the petals into the water and watched as they rolled back to sh.o.r.e.

”It doesn't matter,” Griane said as Callie's face puckered. ”Our prayers are on the water. Lacha will make sure they reach the sea.”

”Will she tell them about the petals, too?”

”Why don't you throw the last one in and ask her?”

Callie heaved the petal with all his might.

”Quick now. Before it comes back.”

”Lacha, G.o.ddess of lakes and rivers, please tell Fa and Keirith about the petals and that we're thinking about them and we want them to come home soon and . . .” His voice trailed off as the petal drifted back. ”Does it count, Mam?”

”Aye. It counts.”

”I'll bring Lacha an offering every day. Just to make sure.”

Callie smiled up at her, confident now that he had a plan. All she had was the hope of Gortin's vision.

The blossoms clung forlornly to the wet pebbles. Griane resolutely turned her back on them and led the children home.

Keirith tiptoed to the open doorway of the Pajhit's chamber. Outside, the guards continued their soft conversation. He could only hope they would remain where they were.

The Pajhit had interrogated him all morning, his manner polite but distant. He seemed almost bored by the procedure, but at least that was better than the Zheron's taunts. At midday, the guards had arrived to take him back to the small chamber where he had spent the night. The second round of questioning had scarcely begun when another priest arrived and the Pajhit left with him. Keirith had no idea how long he would be gone; he only knew he would have to act quickly.

Light seeped through the woven draperies drawn across the other doorway of the chamber. Cautiously, he padded across the cool tiles toward them. He hesitated when he pa.s.sed a dim hallway. It probably led to the priest's sleeping quarters. Certainly there was no bedding in the main room, only a few stone benches against the walls and a low stone table surrounded by cus.h.i.+ons. Tempted as he was to search for a weapon, he was afraid to linger that long.

He drew aside the draperies. Instead of freedom, he found a walled enclosure. All he could see above it was the cloudless sky. Tall spikes of scarlet flowers nodded against the wall to his left. Stone benches flanked the others.

He climbed onto the one in front of him and peered over the top of the wall. To his left, the glowering mountain thrust up into the sky. To his right, he saw a walkway flanked by giant pillars; unlike those he'd seen on his way to the slave compound, these were red. From the position of the mountain, he guessed the Pajhit's chamber was on the opposite side of this fortress-or temple-from the compound. It was hard to be sure, though; his first impressions had been so clouded by exhaustion and fear.

The walkway led to a stepped platform also flanked by pillars. A smaller rectangular slab of stone squatted atop it. Was that where they offered sacrifices?

With an effort, he shook off the disturbing thought and craned his neck to get a better view. The pillars offered some cover, but the ground was flat and open. A few scraggly bushes clung to the rocky soil. No houses and, surprisingly, no people. Perhaps they were hiding from the heat of the midday sun. With any luck, he would be gone by the time they emerged.

The rubblestone walls of the fortress rose behind him. He'd be clearly visible from the row of windows above. There were probably more on the level below; the drop to the ground was nearly three times his height. But even if he was seen, he'd be halfway across the open ground before an alarm could be sounded. a.s.suming he didn't break a leg when he jumped.

Whispering a quick prayer to the Maker, he gripped the top of the wall. Wriggled the toes of his left foot into a c.h.i.n.k between the stones. Took a deep breath and started to heave himself up.

Something soft brushed against his ankle. As he spun around, he caught a blur of motion and spotted a small furry creature racing toward a bench at the far end of the enclosure. Before he could recover from his shock, a voice said, ”I see you've met Niqia.”

The Pajhit stood in the doorway, surveying him impa.s.sively.

Keirith's heart raced. Any moment the guards would rush in. Would they kill him on the spot or drag him, screaming and struggling, to the altar?

The Pajhit's gaze s.h.i.+fted to the creature crouched under the bench, las.h.i.+ng its tail. ”An old friend suggested Niqia's name. In honor of a . . . lady he used to know. She, too, had a soft body and sharp claws. The Tree People haven't domesticated cats, have they?”

Keirith shook his head.

”Niqia's ancestors were wildcats, much like those that still roam your forests. It's been generations since any have been found in our kingdom. Did you know that you can hand rear wildcats if you take them as kittens before their eyes open? That's how the first ones must have been domesticated. They were crossbred with the Eriptean golden cat. The mix produced a creature smaller than the true wildcat and more of a reddish gold in color, but with the same dark markings. Also, the tail is less bushy.”

He paused, as if expecting some response, so Keirith nodded, all the while wondering why the man was lecturing him on cats instead of killing him for trying to escape.

”Niqia's fond of this garden. Although it does get intolerably warm in the afternoon. As you will have noticed. I a.s.sume you also noticed the temple?”

Keirith finally found his voice. ”Aye.”

”It is sacred to Zhe, the winged serpent. The Zheron is his chief priest. I am the priest of Heart of Sky, our sun G.o.d. You cannot see his temple from here.”

”Do you sacrifice captives there?” he blurted out.

”Yes.”

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