Candles and torches gave the central Scratha temple a very different aspect than sunlight. Where it had been welcoming and safe during Cafad’s visit with Idisio and Riss, now it hung shadowed and mysterious, with darkness gathered in odd spots that didn’t—quite—match up to the available light sources. The surface of the pool was black, reflected flames glimmering across the surface without revealing anything beneath.
Cafad had never seen it this way. Mystery and wonder, danger and chaos etched the air, sending an exhilarated shiver down his spine at random intervals.
The Callen of Ishrai knelt at one side of the central pool, the Callen of Comos—a spare, quiet man with a shaven head and several vicious facial scars—to the other. Cafad had only spoken to the man during his Open Conclave petition; since then, he’d kept to the temple area as though reluctant to face anyone on non-consecrated ground. Seg had assured Cafad that this wasn’t uncommon behavior among Callen, and that there was no offense to be taken from it.
Cafad and Seg stood some paces back from the front edge of the dark water, with Retiae just out of arm’s reach, halfway between Seg and Riss, a scant four steps from the edge of the pool. Nissa, Gria, and Mei stood near the doorway. Cafad hadn’t wanted any of them present, but couldn’t deny their right. At least Nissa and Mei would, hopefully, stop Gria from any foolish interference.
Riss stood stone-still, back straight, clad only in the traditional loincloth. The designs on her pale skin stood out in stark contrast. Mei had done an excellent job. Each line was precise and unwavering, the color consistent, everything in its correct place and proportion.
Cafad had managed to learn some of the symbolism. The swirl across her stomach meant Riss was pregnant, and the jagged line on her left leg meant that she’d gained the favor of at least one powerful ha’ra’hain. The fluid line snaking over her lower back indicated that she wasn’t sworn to the service of any Family at all, but was an honored guest here.
The air hung warm and humid. Cafad found himself breathing deeply, grateful for the ambient moisture even as he felt sweat beginning to soak through his ceremonial clothing. His kathain would have a dreadful job getting this outfit clean—
This wasn’t the time for trivial thoughts. He blinked, refocusing, and watched the reflections dancing across the dark pool as the Callen lifted their voices in song. Overlapping harmonies and sentiments rang out; one side speaking to the grace and healing, the other praising the honor and power of the gods and their chosen servants, the ha’reye, ha’ra’hain, Chosen, and desert lords, each in their place, each a step down from the previous; all things in their proper spot, meeting the design set at the beginning of days.
Riss’s shoulders twitched, her calm breaking for a moment, then stilled once more.
Send me my given, Scratha ha’rethe said, tone petulant. Your ceremonies mean nothing to me.
The ceremony will ease her path to you, Cafad answered. He’d been warned the ha’rethe might get impatient. Ha’reye generally disliked focusing on human activity for any length of time. They grew especially irritable if they had only roused because they wanted something. These steps are necessary for humans. Trust me, and wait a bit longer.
Scratha ha’rethe fell silent, a brooding shadow in the back of Cafad’s mind. He steadied his breath and kept his mind as blank as he could, layering, layering, moving important emotions and thoughts into even deeper hiding.
Riss’s head tilted back, eyes shut, a hard flush coming to her face. It had reached out to her directly, ignoring Cafad’s request. Not a good sign, but there was no way to protest without drawing its wrath. The Callen changed tempo and pitch, adapting smoothly to the moment as Riss began to move forward.
Retiae dropped to her knees, leaning forward to put her forehead on the ground, and let out a warbling, wailing sound that guttered into a deeper moan as Riss’s feet touched the water. Cafad glanced at Seg, startled. His s’e-kath was regarding Retiae with a distinct frown. But Riss took another step, and another, water rising to her knees, then to her thighs, despite the pool only being knee-deep at best.
The song dropped to a lower register, words blurring into long, monotone notes.
Riss half-turned, looking over her shoulder at Cafad, at Retiae, at Seg. As her gaze came back to Cafad, her eyes widened with abrupt terror.
“No,” she said, voice high and pleading. “No, don’t do tha—”
Her voice cut off as a swirling wall of water rose around her, hiding her from view. Sulfur tainted the air, and a wave of heat beat against Cafad’s face. Then the pool was still and empty, not the slightest ripple or bubble showing the recent disturbance. Gria cried out, harsh and angry. Cafad could feel Nissa and Mei latching onto the girl’s arms, stopping her from charging forward.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He stared, muscles locked, numbly contemplating those last, frantic words, until Seg shook him from the daze and guided him to his rooms.
“It is done, lord,” he said as they went. “The Callen are satisfied that the ceremony was complete. They say those last moments mean nothing, lord. Scratha ha’rethe, from all we can tell, is content. It will not speak to you for a time, lord, that is normal. It is getting to know its given.”
The words blurred around him, scarcely intelligible. He felt the bed come up under him, and warm bodies tuck in close—male, female, it didn’t matter, it only mattered that he wasn’t alone, that he was safe, that he was....
...Loved, so loved, so very....
He shut his eyes, turning sight and thought alike away from that half-recalled conversation, not entirely sure why nausea surged through him at the memory.
“All is well, lord,” someone murmured in his ear. “Rest, lord, we will care for you. All is well.” Was it Lichni? No, it couldn’t be. Why was that? Memory was flat and shaky against a sandstorm of bewilderment. Another name rose as possible: Nissa? No, she wouldn’t be here right now—why not, why not, why can’t I remember anything?
“I’ve been used,” he said vaguely. “Something’s wrong, some—something’s not—”
“All is well, lord,” a man’s voice said from near at hand. “Your reaction is normal, lord. This was your first time offering a given as a bound lord. It has withdrawn the bulk of its support from you for a brief time, as it is focusing on the given. This stage can be very disorienting. Rest and allow your kathain to care for you. Let them do their jobs, lord.”
Seg. That had been Seg. He was safe, then, if Seg was nearby. He could trust that. The warmth around him slowed his thoughts to a torpid crawl. “Retiae,” he said, voice fuzzy, as one final name cleared in his mind. “What happened to...?”
“All is well, lord,” Seg repeated patiently. “Rest, lord. Rest. I have everything under hand. All is well.”
As Cafad tucked his head against a warm shoulder, a light pattering began overhead. He drifted into darkness, the last of his fear dissolving under the steadily increasing roar of a torrential downpour.