KADAR PUSHED HIMSELF off the bed, rubbing his temples. He no longer got fierce headaches after speaking with Sulis, but he still couldn’t communicate long without losing the thread. It had been a month after he had first contacted her, and their conversations had only lengthened by a candlemark.
It seemed like things were going well for her and the rest of the group in the desert, although Ashraf had to be completely frustrated at this point, as Sulis insisted that the two of them were “just friends” and nothing else. Kadar did not point out to her the frustrated longing he felt in her mindvoice.
A familiar voice hastened his footsteps downstairs. He hadn’t realized Uncle Aaron would make such good time coming back from his trip to Frubia. When he got to the courtyard, it seemed like a celebration was breaking out.
Aunt Raella grabbed Kadar around the waist and spun him a few wild dance steps as he laughed. He looked at Uncle Aaron for an explanation. His uncle grinned broadly.
“You are looking at four wagons of the finest Nasirof silks ever to be imported to Illian,” Uncle Aaron announced.
“You mean the only Nasirof silks ever to be imported,” Kadar corrected, shoving his cousin aside to undo the tarp and throw it back on the precious cargo.
“That also makes it the finest ever,” Uncle Tarik said in his best salesman voice. He grinned. “I’ve cleared the back room and we’re storing these there. They’re too precious to trust to the warehouse. Let’s get this indoors before the neighbors start climbing the walls to see what the excitement is. We don’t want anyone getting a look until we’ve satisfied our first-circle customers and had a grand revealing.”
“I thought they weren’t going to be ready to export for another half year,” Kadar grunted as he lifted the heavy bales and muscled them into the stockroom.
“Something lit a fire under them,” Uncle Aaron said. “When I got there, they had this shipment ready. A Vrishni, Clay, who resides in the desert, foresaw that the shipment had to be now or not at all.” He paused and wiped his brow, then looked seriously at Kadar. “And they accepted no payment on these silks. They were told the full price needed to be used for the Forsaken and for desert families in the city affected by the uprising. It seemed excessively generous—will all those funds be needed?”
Kadar nodded, and Uncle Aaron glanced over at the rest of the celebrating family, then at him. “We’ll talk later, then. The Nasirofs themselves didn’t know why Clay said the One wanted them to give us the silks. They asked me, and I didn’t have an answer. They were afraid to anger the One, so they sent this shipment.”
Kadar responded in a low voice. “After the next restday, everyone will know.” He said. “Uncle Tarik needs to get the silk sold to the first-circle-family tailors before then.”
Uncle Aaron nodded, looking grim. “We’ll send the boys today, and set up appointments for tomorrow and the next few days. Once they know these fabrics are in, there will be a rush for the best patterns and colors. Let’s join the celebration before anyone notices us gabbing.”
The next few days were a blur, packed with special appointments, deliveries, and visits from curious buyers who wanted a first peek at the exquisite fabrics. The tailors for the first-circle families were invited to the Hasifel house and had private showings in the sitting room, and were plied with fine desert liqueurs.
Common people who came to the merchant hall trying to find the new silks were told to come back in a ten-day for a special-event sale. Uncle Aaron returned to the desert as soon as the mules were rested, wanting to get to Frubia and back before the summer heat prevented travel. Even Sanuri was working extra, weaving soft belts and tasseled robes to order for the higher-end clients who wanted accessories to match the new silk colors. Kadar had no time to visit Farrah and get updates on how her brothers were doing in the new Forsaken city. They’d been among the first to go. He sent a message letting her know why he couldn’t be at the final meeting of the Forsaken before they walked out of the Temple and circle households. He had nothing more to add anyway.
Some of the families of the Forsaken had trickled out of the city, hidden in the wagons of merchants and the wagons of sympathetic families passing through Illian. Kadar had advised that they wait until all the families were out before doing the walkout, but Farrah dismissed it as being overly cautious. He’d taken to heart what Farrah had told him about the city folk being likely to want revenge if the Forsaken walked out, and he wanted everyone safe before they began.
The morning after restday, Kadar and Uncle Tarik were in the salesroom at their selling hall, directing the complete redesign that Aunt Raella had planned to introduce the silks to the public for their opening event.
One of the tailors for the first circle, Mistress Afenback, a plump woman with white hair and a perpetually flushed face, sailed in and dramatically plunked herself into a soft chair they’d moved off to the side. They’d been expecting one of her delivery boys to pick up and pay for a final bolt of fabric. Having her come down by herself, and to the salesroom, was unusual, and Kadar sent his cousin into the small break room for tea and cakes while Uncle Tarik rearranged a few chairs to wait on her.
“Well, they’ve done it,” she declared dramatically. “You won’t be getting sales from any of the circles until this whole debacle ends.” She accepted the offered drink and sipped while they looked at each other. Kadar nodded to himself.
“What’s happening, Mistress?” Uncle Tarik asked, as Aunt Raella and Kadar settled around for the woman’s story.
“The Forsaken have quit. My own never showed up this morning after their day off. When I sent someone threatening to fire them, I was told that they wanted double the wages! I’d be broke in a week.” She waved a hand filled with gemstone-encrusted rings in dismissal. “I heard they’ve walked out all over the town. All the circle families are having to do without their maids, the trash has not been taken to the heap, no one is caring for the horses.” She leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in a lower voice. “They’ve even abandoned the Temple. When the maidens came to breakfast, there was nothing prepared. They sent someone to the dormitories, and all the Forsaken were gone, vanished with their belongings. And the stable boys walked out, right in front of the riding master!” She thumped her hand on a table for emphasis.
“About the only people who still have their servants are you Southern folk, and the people crazy enough to pay the demanded wage hike. And you’d better watch because if you give in, they’ll be demanding even more and running out on you as well.”
One of the cousins arrived with the packaged bolt of fabric, and Afenback waved it off. “I’m afraid that’s why I came in person today. Until the Forsaken give up this insanity, I have no one to sew the fabrics I’ve already bought from you. Only one or two of my girls weren’t Forsaken, and they aren’t nearly as fast or as good as the ones I lost. If I have to pay more girls like them, I can’t afford to buy expensive fabrics. And if the circle families have to hire regular people as help, they won’t be able afford silk either.”
She heaved herself to her feet and glared around at them. “You remind your people of that,” she warned. “Without the Forsaken, there won’t be extra to buy those fine goods you people import. Without our support, you won’t sell goods here. Maybe you can convince the Forsaken that this whole walkout thing is madness, and you won’t support it any more than the rest of us good, deity-fearing folk do.”
She sailed out again, leaving the bolt of fabric behind. Uncle Tarik looked after her, then looked at Kadar and Aunt Raella and raised his eyebrows.
“ ‘Good, deity-fearing folk’?” he said incredulously.
“Well, they have to warn us heathens,” Aunt Raella said dryly.
“They forget the deities were created to help us worship the One. Loving a deity shouldn’t mean you can’t follow the One’s directive to love everyone.”
“You’re selling to the salesmen, dear,” Aunt Raella reminded him, absently. “I didn’t like her warning us away from helping the Forsaken, though. No one tells me who can and cannot work in my house and shop. None of the desert merchants will like it either.”
Uncle Tarik looked sharply at Kadar. “You don’t seem surprised,” he observed. “I wondered why Aaron was in such an all-fired hurry to get everything sold and insisted that it be paid for cash, instead of on credit.”
Kadar nodded. “I wasn’t at the last meeting, but I was pretty certain they would walk out this week. If not today, I knew it would be soon.”
Uncle Tarik let out his breath. “We made enough to support the Forsaken for months,” he said. “If it takes that long. But I need to know what to expect. What are they walking out for? Do they have a list of things they want before they’ll go back to their jobs?”
“They want wages they can live on,” Kadar said. “Then they want free movement for their families. And they want a review of the Forsaken families by all four of the deities, rescinding their casting out if it was found by the majority to be unfair, as well as new laws stating what is and is not an offence that can result in being cast out.”
Aunt Raella whistled softly. “They’ll never get all that,” she said. “They’ll be lucky if the deities don’t arrest them and put them in prison.”
“There are too many of them to arrest,” Kadar said. “And they haven’t broken any laws by not working. None of them are protected by contracts for their work, so none of them are bound in any way to their employers.”
Uncle Tarik looked seriously at Kadar and Aunt Raella. “I don’t want anyone in this family going out without a guard. Kadar, you need to have Farrah come back here with her siblings to live, so we can guard her as well. All Forsaken will become targets, whether they worked for circle families or not. We might also, if the Forsaken continue to work for us while striking against the other Illians.”
“She won’t come,” Kadar said sadly. He had tried, and she had refused, saying she needed to be available to all Forsaken during this time. “She still has her mother’s business if she can get anyone to pay the higher costs. Her brothers have already left Illian.”
“So they got some of their families out?” Uncle Tarik asked. “Is that what you and Nabil were working on?”
“Yes,” Kadar confirmed. “There are still too many here, though. The Forsaken in the better houses of the district are with us, but the Forsaken living in the shanties and tents on the outskirts refused to trust us and wouldn’t evacuate.”
Aunt Raella grimaced. “Some of those in the tents are true Forsaken,” she said. “Criminals and thieves who no one will hire. You truly wouldn’t want them around the women and children.”
“But some of the supposedly ‘true’ Forsaken are second- and third-generation,” Kadar reminded her. “Blameless except for having a mother or father who broke the law. It isn’t fair that they’re treated like criminals. Many of them work for the Temple and circle families but still stay in the shanties to take care of their families. Those were the ones we were trying to relocate.”
Aunt Raella shook her head. “I still don’t understand how the Temple can both condemn these folks as beneath them and use them to prepare food and clean their dwellings. If they really believe the Forsaken are evil and debased, aren’t they worried about contamination?”
Uncle Tarik shook his head. “According to the Voices, the Forsaken are somehow cleansed by working at the Temple. Doing penance by good deeds.”
“They aren’t paid by the Temple, except in food and board,” Kadar confirmed. “They get the cast-offs of clothing from the acolytes that they can resew and redye. And they can take leftover food and damaged produce back home to their families. That makes it a prized job.”
A knock on the front door distracted them. Three women and a man, not much older than Kadar, stood just outside the door. They all wore brown cloaks.
Uncle Tarik gestured them in. One woman stepped forward, chin lifted, obviously the spokesperson. “Excuse us, Master Hasifel. We was told you would have a place for us.” She paused. “To work, that is. I’m a cook. These two can do any sort of household work. And John can do heavy work.”
Aunt Raella and Uncle Tarik glanced at each other. Aunt Raella nodded and stepped forward. “Yes, of course. We’ve just gotten a big shipment in, so we need sorters and people to help with the salesroom prep. And I’m sure Jess would love some help in the kitchen. I’ll send you to the house with Kadar.”
Kadar smiled as he watched his aunt step forward and begin to organize the group. Uncle Tarik’s face held relief. Kadar remembered his conversation with Uncle Aaron and wondered if his uncle had been afraid this would push Kadar’s aunt to leave.
Aunt Raella stopped and puckered the space between her brows, thinking. She glanced at Uncle Tarik. “How about hiring a few seamstresses, and having ready-made garments at the sale?” she asked, the shrewd business manager sensing an opportunity. “It might set us apart since Afenback told us first-circle families will have problems getting their clothing tailored.”
Uncle Tarik cocked his head, considering. “How would we know what sizes to make without measurements?” he asked.
One of the Forsaken women stepped forward. “I know a couple of girls needing work who could hem on the spot if it wasn’t too off size,” she offered. “They know what sizes they usually make, and if it was robes and kaftans and such, those don’t need to be real close fitting.”
Aunt Raella nodded. “Good. Bring three or four you trust, and maybe another for the stables. The boys would love to have a holiday. We have a loft that two or three could sleep in if you don’t have any other place.”
Uncle Tarik bent and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head. “This must be why we were given the silks from the Nasirofs,” Kadar heard her murmur back. “Why Clay said the One wanted them sent to us. We have enough.”
John took off his hat and nodded to the couple. “I’ll kindly take you up on the loft. And I know another who worked in the Temple stables. He’d be grateful for the place.”
“Why don’t you decide who can fetch the others,” Uncle Tarik said. “And we’ll set up the tasks.” He took Kadar aside. “We’re going to need a lot more food,” he murmured. “Talk to the cook about preparing food for . . .” He paused and looked around, counting. “ . . . about eight more people for midmeal and dinner. Take your cousins and a wagon to the market. See if Nabil or one of the other guards can go along with you to assist and guard.”
Kadar nodded and left Aunt Raella and Uncle Tarik to organizing the new Forsaken and the salesroom.
The first couple of days after the walkout were frantic for Kadar as he directed the new Forsaken help and trained them in his usual duties. The salesroom was crowded with new faces, and Kadar longed to escape and see how Farrah was. He had to believe that no news from her was a good thing. She’d let him know if she needed help.
He hadn’t heard any reports of violence against the Forsaken. The consensus of the townspeople was that the Forsaken would come to their senses and walk back to their jobs when they got hungry. Many poorer Illians were enjoying watching their richer cousins struggle to cook and clean and fetch from the market—the things they’d always had to do for themselves. The Temple was functioning as townspeople volunteered to work in shifts in place of tithing. If one family member volunteered, the family got a quarter off their tithes for the year. If two volunteered, tithes were cut in half.
After the third day, the new help found their rhythm. They were all used to working hard and quickly, and Kadar found himself at loose ends. He packed a basket of food from the frantic cook and sought out Nabil to accompany him for extra protection.
“Going to see Farrah?” Nabil guessed. “Let me arm myself. I’ve been curious what the Forsaken quarters look like right now.”
They avoided the Temple route, walking around to the south of the city in a wide circle, through back alleys. The faces were less friendly and more curious as they left the merchant district. By the time they were a few streets away from the nicer Forsaken neighborhoods, the men turned away from them as they passed or scowled after them.
Several of the city guardsmen were stationed along side streets leading to the run-down buildings and neighborhoods apportioned for the Forsaken. One stopped Nabil as he passed.
“We don’t want any trouble,” the guard cautioned. “You can’t use your weapons here.”
Kadar answered for him. “I’m just here to see my daughter’s mother,” he said pleasantly. “My guard is here for my protection.”
The man stepped back. “See that he doesn’t draw unless threatened. If we hear any signs of forced entry or kidnapping, we will intervene. We want peace.”
Another guard spoke up. “And if your mistress wishes to go back with you, you will have to vouch for her. No Forsaken comes into the main city without a job pass.”
Kadar nodded, and they walked between the guards.
“Interesting,” Nabil murmured when they were past. “They won’t let people kill the Forsaken, but they’ll let them starve to death in their houses if they won’t go back to work.”
“Good thing they don’t know about the stockpiles,” Kadar murmured back. All the food and supplies they’d stolen from the Temple warehouses was spread throughout the neighborhood, controlled by Forsaken rebels Farrah and Severin trusted.
They found Farrah the same way he always did midday—doing laundry. This time instead of her brothers, she had a dozen other Forsaken lifting, boiling, and wringing.
She nodded briefly when she saw them and finished directing a woman separating clothes. Kadar looked around and noticed that several other Forsaken children were playing quietly in a corner with Farrah’s sister. An elderly woman watched them from the steps.
Farrah joined them, wiping steam off her brow. She accepted Kadar’s basket with a smile and called the elderly lady over to accept it and distribute the sweets to the children.
“I have three families living with me right now,” she said, nodding toward the other children, who were crowing with delight over the handpies. “Each cramped into my brothers’ old rooms. We’ve enough to eat, but sweets are hard to come by.”
“Our cook is feeling hard-pressed to keep up with the extra mouths, even with a helper. But he wouldn’t let me leave without some pies for the kids,” Kadar said, sneaking in a quick kiss to her wet cheek.
“Did you lose many customers?” Nabil asked, watching the bustle around the yard. “Raising your prices as you did?”
Farrah snorted. “No, we gained them, more than I can handle on my own. It seems no one has time to do laundry, with so many townswomen working for the Temple for tithe reductions. So they’re willing to pay real wages just to get it all done.”
“And with their tithes halved, they can afford to pay you,” Kadar crowed. This had been his part of the plan. Most townspeople were decent toward the Forsaken but would pay them only a fraction of what they were worth because they could get away with it. They’d decided not to withhold their services to anyone who was willing to pay good wages. And with all the Forsaken banding together to set a minimum acceptable wage, the townspeople either had to pay or do without. This also distracted attention from the desert merchants, most of whom were already paying the Forsaken good wages. Or so he hoped.
“Have you had a problem with Forsaken refusing to demand better wages?” Nabil asked. “Or has everything gone to plan?”
Farrah frowned, and her lip curled a little in distaste. “We’ve had a few holdouts,” she admitted. “Most of the Forsaken walked, but a handful at the Temple stayed. There isn’t much we could do about them. Severin’s men took care of the ones out here who wouldn’t raise prices.”
“Took care of?” Kadar asked, a little disturbed by her casual tone.
She shrugged. “Convinced them it would be easier to stop providing services or raise their prices. Either way works for us.”
He and Nabil exchanged glances. Kadar wondered, with Severin involved, how many of those Forsaken had just disappeared.
“Have you been threatened during deliveries?” Nabil asked.
Farrah shook her head. “Not yet. The more that time passes, and they realize we aren’t coming back, the more I expect some sort of retaliation. Severin posted guardsmen to protect us. His brother agreed because Severin convinced him it would keep peace, but also starve us out if we couldn’t leave.” She grinned. “He didn’t tell his brother how many supplies we had stockpiled.”
A man tapped Farrah on the shoulder, and she nodded briefly toward him. “I have to go,” she said. “I want the leaders to meet in the next ten-day.”
“I’ve been completely replaced by Forsaken at the house,” Kadar told her, making his voice mournful. “I can be anywhere you need me.”
She grinned at that. “I’ll send notice through your Forsaken when I know the day and time. And thank your aunt and uncle for me. What they’re doing goes beyond generosity.” Her eyes misted over. “As a matter of fact, most of your people have been more supportive than I ever imagined after the way the Illians have treated us. I think we can actually do this, Kadar. Once there is justice in Illian—it will spread throughout the Northern Territory.”
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. “With you leading us,” Kadar said, kissing her heartily, “I know we’ll succeed.”
He released her to catcalls and grins from the other workers. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her, kissing him again, then walked away with a smile on her face.
THE CRONE STRAIGHTENED her robe, bustling through the hallway to attend the meeting with the other Voices of the deities. They needed to meet to plan a united front during the Forsaken rebellion, but she didn’t have time for this.
Her counterparts looked equally flustered as she entered the meeting room.
“Are you certain . . .” the Herald broke off talking to an exhausted-looking Tribune when she saw the Crone enter.
He held up a hand. “Enough, it’s decided.”
They subsided, the Herald leaning back in her chair, looking disgruntled, and the Tribune setting his chin in his hand to gaze at the Crone. The Templar bustled in right after she’d taken a seat, apologizing for his lateness. This newly risen Templar was still polite in his dealings with the other Voices. The Crone wondered how long before he became as arrogant as the past few men Voras had chosen.
The Crone glanced around as the Templar sat and shuffled through his pages. She nearly laughed out loud. This was the Voices in their human aspect. Herself and the Tribune, old and grouchy with stress, but delegating. The Templar, young, vigorous, and impatient, and the Herald, older but still unable to sit when so much needed to be done. In perfect times, they were poised, calculating, testing each other and vying for dominance. Spokespeople and shadows of the deities they served. Under pressure, their human nature was impossible to ignore. The Crone wondered if preferring this openness to all the scheming meant that she was getting too old to do Ivanha’s will properly. When she spoke to her goddess next, she would ask Ivanha if she wanted the Crone to train a replacement.
“So,” the Templar began. “Has anyone else heard from their deity on what to do in this crisis? Because I’ve gotten no guidance except what the viceroy and my more experienced generals have requested.”
It was a surprising, forthright beginning, and it gave the more experienced Voices pause.
“Well.” The Herald gave a half laugh after a moment. “This is a good start. I was worried we’d have to dance around for an hour to get to the deities’ absences. And no, I still have not heard from Aryn, good or bad.”
The Templar flushed, obviously uncertain if he’d done something wrong, but the Tribune gave him a look of approval.
“It is ever the way of Voras to be direct,” he said, and the Templar sat taller. “I have spoken with Parasu on other important matters. When I approached him with this latest issue, I was told we would need to find an acceptable solution on our own.” He paused and ran a hand on his brow, looking almost ill. “I am under the impression that the deities are no longer permitted domain over the Forsaken. It is for humans to decide.”
The Crone sighed. “Not much from Ivanha, except a feeling of waiting and expectation. I feel like I’ve been given a test for which there are no correct answers. What are we going to do?” She spoke more as she would to her Mother Superior than to her competitors, lacking the energy for formality.
“We’re stretched thin right now,” the Templar said. “At the viceroy’s suggestion, city guards have been posted at the Forsaken neighborhoods. My soldiers are ready to step in if there is violence the city guard cannot handle. The last thing we need is for the townsfolk to attack their old servants and make martyrs for people to rally around. I was hopeful the Forsaken would relent after a week, when they found out they could not escape their neighborhoods, but they show no signs of giving up. They’re more organized than we expected them to be.”
“The healing halls were running so short on aides, even with our trainees working, that we had to cave and start paying some of the Forsaken to come back,” the Herald said. She held a hand to still the protests the other Voices gave. “I know, I know, but I won’t let people die for lack of care. I’ve always thought our best-trained Forsaken should be given a chance to rise above their caste once they’ve proven themselves. I just don’t like being forced into it like this. Change needs to be gradual.”
The Crone shook her head. “We have to hold out longer, let them remember their place. The One knows that help is getting scarcer in the kitchens and laundry rooms as the townsfolk return to their own homes. All our maidens have been pressed into service. But I haven’t seen many of Aryn’s acolytes in the kitchens,” she said, accusingly.
“All my healers are in the healing halls,” the Herald shot back. “And all my messengers are taking care of the stables with whatever soldiers Voras can spare.”
“I will send my scholars to help you, in both the kitchens and stables,” the Tribune stated. The Crone exchanged a look of despair with the Herald, thinking the untrained scholars would be more hindrance than help. Then she sighed. Beggars really couldn’t choose. She would put them to use chopping vegetables and hope they didn’t cut off their own limbs in the process.
“Do we know what the Forsaken want?” the Herald asked.
Both the Templar and Tribune nodded.
“They want wages,” the Templar said. “Free travel with no restriction on movement. They want new rules on how and why Forsaken are created. And they want the four of us to review every Forsaken’s record and come to agreement on whether they should stay Forsaken.”
The Crone sighed in exasperation. “Because I’m just sitting around all day with nothing to do but meet with thousands of Forsaken,” she exclaimed. “The Temple would have to double taxes and tithes to pay them, and wouldn’t that please our parishioners?”
The Herald looked thoughtful. “The idea of reviewing the Forsaken isn’t a bad one,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “We personally wouldn’t have time, but we could set up a counsel of representatives. I’ve been worried about the way the ranks of the Forsaken have been swelling. If their cases were reviewed, we could see where there was abuse of the system and stamp it out.”
“We should not be dealing with these terrorists at all,” the Templar said, shaking his head. “We need to wait them out. When their families begin to starve, they’ll be back. You should never have encouraged them by giving in to their demands,” he accused the Herald.
The Crone rubbed her temples as the two began yelling across the table. Some things never changed.
The Tribune slapped his hand on the table, quieting them “Enough. Obviously, we do not have a consensus on the demands, but we need a unified way forward.”
He looked around the table. “I agree for now we should wait, see how determined these people are. I will research what wages would to do our economy and have my Magistrates formulate stricter legal rules about creating Forsaken. I would like the Herald to put together a plan for the council she has spoken about. She and I have been concerned for years that there are too many Forsaken.”
“They cannot be permitted to roam wherever they please,” the Templar burst in. “I am positive of Voras’s thoughts on this. It has been a part of my training since I was first chosen as a soldier. As the protector of this realm, we must control and track the movements of criminals and heretics.”
The Tribune waved off the Herald’s protests. “Fine. The Herald’s council will be able to determine if they are criminals, and we can allow or not allow movement then. For now we will see how this plays out and see if this situation will resolve itself. If you require the use of a highly skilled Forsaken, you may engage them on a conditional waiver.”
The Crone nodded, already trying to figure out how to have enough maidens at the children’s house and still do the domestic work around the Temple now that townspeople were going back to their normal work. As she and the other Voices rose to leave, the Tribune broke in again.
“Pause a moment,” he said, and they sat back down. “There will be a change of Voice for Parasu soon,” he told them. “I am ill. It is in my brain, it is fatal, and it is only a matter of months before I will no longer be able to communicate with my deity.”
The Crone looked at the Herald, who nodded. “One of my top healers has seen him. There is nothing Aryn can do.”
“Has Parasu chosen a replacement?” the Templar asked. He would be most interested, having just become Templar himself.
The Tribune hesitated, glancing at the Herald, who frowned.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “He has chosen a newly pledged scholar named Jonas.”
The Crone sat back in her chair, stunned. Jonas had been in the pledge class that had just ended so badly. He could not be more than twenty years old, completely inexperienced.
“You are certain that is who Parasu chose?” she asked cautiously. “The deities have been silent this past year. There is no mistake?”
He shook his head. “Parasu was quite clear.” He looked bewildered as he glanced around at his compatriots. “I do not understand it. He is exceptionally smart and talented, but has not even risen to Magistrate status. It seems Parasu and Jonas have a special bond because of how Jonas was chosen.”
The Crone thought about that. She and the Templar had refused to allow the Pledging Ceremony, feeling the desert girl, Sulis, had corrupted the pledges against the Temple’s ways. Instead of waiting, the pledges had conducted their own ceremony and had chosen the deities rather than the deities’ choosing them.
“Parasu has told me that Jonas can allow him to actually share his body,” the Tribune continued, a puzzled tone to his voice, “rather than Parasu forcing himself into Jonas’s mind using the feli. I know he is too young to lead our temple, so he will be surrounded by the smartest and most experienced of Parasu’s Magistrates,” he assured them. “He will be only a Voice for Parasu, rather than the head of Parasu’s altar as I am.”
The Crone felt a stab of envy for the boy. It would be wonderful not to feel like Ivanha was pushing her out of her body when her deity possessed her. To not be terrified, hanging on by the barest thread and instead to share her body with her deity when needed.
“That is all,” the Tribune said. The Crone noticed how he needed to hold on to the table for balance as he stood, and she felt a pang of sadness. This Tribune had been a Voice for nearly as long as she had. He had served Parasu well all those years, whether she agreed with his decisions or not. By the look on the Herald’s face as she steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, she felt the same.
The Crone shook her head. Ivanha was too jealous a mistress to allow the Crone friends outside her own altar. She would focus on the needs of Ivanha’s temple and hope her deity would be back to guide her soon.