Eight–or was it nine?–days later they left the sands behind them. A line of peaks had appeared on the horizon a few days before, growing ever taller as they approached. Ahead, the road wound between the claw-like toes of the mountains then climbed the more generous curves of their lower reaches before disappearing into a fold of the steep higher slopes.
That trek would begin the next day, thankfully. The sun hung low in the sky and a dark huddle of buildings shadowed the desert’s edge not far ahead, the distinctive radiating lines atop a temple spire rising above the highest roof. It was the hour when people returned to their homes, and as Rielle and her guardians entered the village the locals stopped to stare, their gazes lingering on the chain around her neck before they continued on with more haste than before.
The same had happened at the few other villages they’d passed through. Rielle could not guess how common it was for priests to bring a tainted this route to the prison, but it was often enough for the locals to know exactly what she was. In one village three youths had followed them, jeering. In another the occupants came out of their homes to hiss curses at her. Sa-Mica had instructed her to walk between him and Sa-Gest. At first she’d assumed this was to prevent her dashing away and perhaps using a villager as a hostage, but she soon realised it was mostly for her own protection.
It appeared that in this village all she would be subjected to was glares, and most of these from doorways and windows. The main road was the only thoroughfare, lined on either side by buildings. The temple was at the furthest end. Though taller than the rest thanks to the tower, the building was disproportionately small, which gave it a top-heavy, looming presence. Sa-Mica led them around it to two low brick buildings: one with two wings stretching forward from either side, the other nestled in the courtyard between them and barely bigger than the cell back in Fyre.
As she saw the gate set into the front of the little building Rielle realised there was more than a resemblance. All of the temples they had stopped at so far contained a cell, but this was the first she’d encountered with one separate from the other buildings.
A priest emerged from the central section of the larger building and walked forward to meet them. His expression was warm as he saw Sa-Mica, but his smile faded instantly as he examined her and Sa-Gest.
“Welcome again, Sa-Mica,” he said. “I see I will be having a late night, tonight.”
“Only a little later than usual, Sa-Jeim. This is Sa-Gest, who will be taking a position on the mountain. He will share the watch with me.”
Sa-Jeim nodded to the young priest. It might have been an illusion cast by the thin light of dusk, but there was something about the calculating way he looked at Sa-Gest that sent a chill down her spine. She could not decide if she’d read dislike or envy, or both.
“Then we’d best get you all settled,” he said, drawing a cluster of keys out of his robes and gesturing to the cell.
Rielle shrugged off her pack and handed it to Sa-Mica. The village priest opened the gate and she obediently stepped inside. Leaving Sa-Gest to guard her, the other priests headed into the house.
It was dark inside the cell, but the walls radiated warmth absorbed during the day. The only feature was a bench built into the back wall, of the same bricks that formed the walls. The floor was of stone covered in sand that had blown in through the gate. It smelled of stale urine and since she could not see well enough to be sure if the bench was clean, she took handfuls of sand and tossed it onto the bench hoping that it would absorb any lingering residue.
Sa-Gest waited beside the gate, his pack at his feet. It was not long before Sa-Mica emerged, bringing food and drink for them both. Her meal was stewed grains and a cup of water. She endeavoured not to look at Sa-Gest’s, but it smelled of meat and agil, the herbed and spiced liquor priests produced for their own consumption and that was said to have healing qualities. Though her meal was flavourless it was, at least, not the hard and dry fare they’d been eating for many quarterdays.
Soon Sa-Mica returned carrying a bucket, a sleeping mat and a chair. After opening the gate briefly to give her the first two, he sent Sa-Gest to the house to sleep. He turned away while she relieved herself, then settled onto the chair and brought out his little book. It was fully night now, so he lit his reading lamp and held it over the pages.
Spreading the sleeping mat over the bench, Rielle sat and listened to his deep voice.
“Over a hundred years ago there lived a wealthy widow named Deraia who had five children. Though she could afford to hire servants to do all the domestic duties, she loved to cook and was famous for it.
“One day there came to her land a terrible plague. When the first of Deraia’s children fell ill she turned to the healing lore passed down from mother to daughter in her family, but it proved ineffective and the child died.
“When the second child fell ill she turned to the physicians of the city, famous for their knowledge and skill from centuries of study, but they had not encountered this sickness before and the child died.
“When the third child fell ill she turned to the priests, but by then the temple was filled with victims of the plague and, with too few priests to treat them and not wanting to favour rich or poor, they selected who to cure by ballot. Her child was not selected and died.
“When the fourth child fell ill she prayed to the Angels for three days and nights and made offerings and performed all the rituals, but despite her piety the child died.
“When her last living child fell ill she turned to the oldest of the books passed down to her. There she found knowledge of magic long hidden, taught herself to use it, and the child lived.
“Afterwards she was seized by such guilt that her daughter should live while other children died. She knew her soul was already lost, so what did she have to lose by saving more? So she treated those of relatives and friends, hiding her method and persuading them to keep secret the fact she had done so.
“Yet the more children she saved, the greater and stronger her guilt became. Why should the less fortunate suffer and her wealthy friends not? So she ventured into the poorer areas of the city alone and soon the city was full of stories of the lady who cured with a touch, though none would say how.
“But when the priests heard of this they guessed the truth and set a trap to catch her. Once found she admitted her crime and submitted willingly to their judgement. She had done so much good, however, that instead of gathering to drive her out of the city, people came to protest and bar the way.
“Fearing rebellion against the Angels’ wisdom, the priests sought advice from the ten most respected priests of the world. These men gathered and weighed the good the widow had done against the theft of magic. They knew that she must remain well guarded, lest she continue using magic. They knew she must be punished or others might seek to emulate her. They knew her punishment must be one the people would accept.
“They decided that she, and her daughter after her, must replace the magic she had stolen. When she was told this, and asked in which way she wished to work, she thought long and carefully. She had no skill but healing and cooking. If she could not help people with one, then she would do so with the other.
“So for the rest of her life Deraia and her daughter prepared meals for the poor and raised money for the temple. It was said these meals were astonishing, for to generate magic one must do more than simply combine ingredients by rote. People came from afar to experience them.
“And those who watched over her believed that she and her daughter had more than repaid their debt to the Angels before their deaths, and expected to see them in the spiritual realm.”
Sa-Mica closed the book and, as always, closed his eyes for a little while. Rielle remained quiet, but her mind churned with questions.
What is he up to? While not all of the stories he’d told had been about people using magic and being forgiven, most were. Was he trying to tell her that she could redeem herself? If he was, and she did, what happened then? Would she be freed when her debt was paid?
Yet whenever she asked him about the prison he would not give her details. It had occurred to her a few nights ago that he might be unable to speak of it around Sa-Gest, though she couldn’t guess why.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.
“None you have not already refused to answer,” she said, failing to keep the hope from her voice.
“Then may the Angels watch over you this night,” he said, and stood up.
She sighed and shook her head. Why did he ask, when he was not going to answer? Perhaps because I’m not asking the right questions. He chuckled. It was a comforting sound, but an odd expression of warmth given their respective roles and situations. “A few more days, Rielle.” He blew out the lamp. “Go to sleep.”
Despite the hard bed beneath it, she comprehended nothing after her head met the sleeping mat until sound and light roused her.
Her body ached. How can it be morning when I’m still so tired? Opening her eyes, she frowned as she saw the cell was still dark. Yet she could see her shadow outlined on the wall above the bench, cast by a faint light outside the cell. It was moving, but she wasn’t. So the source of light must be moving.
Then she heard the breathing. Rapid, slightly hoarse, coming from the gate. She turned her head, then instantly regretted it.
Sa-Gest was pressed up against the bars. His stare was intense, but as she saw him his teeth flashed, illuminated by a spark of light floating between them. One of his hands held something small and square. His other arm was moving in short compulsive jerks. Looking down, she saw a tangle of fingers and what they were holding and froze in shock. He laughed quietly.
“Come over and assist me,” he invited. “And when we get there I’ll make sure you’re treated… well… better…” He caught his breath. “Ah… too late.”
Already tensing to stand, she managed to duck out of the way. He’d aimed for her face. If he’d aimed further down her body she might not have been able to dodge in time. Even so, his seed spattered over the sleeping mat.
She gasped in disgust, then wished she hadn’t. It told him he’d succeeded in revolting her. Swallowing bile, she pushed the mat over and onto the floor, hoping the dry sand would draw out the moisture.
Vile, disgusting man.
“Never mind,” he said. She kept her gaze averted as he fiddled with his robes. Tucking himself away. “I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities. It won’t hurt you to get some skill in it before we get there. They’ll be expecting that and much more on the mountain.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes met his before she could stop them. He smiled and nodded. “That’s right. I’m trying to do you a favour. You don’t want to arrive there unprepared. And friendless.” He snorted. “And don’t think Sa-Mica will help. He’ll be heading off to collect other tainted.”
Ignore him, she told herself. He’s trying to frighten you. Yet what if… No. It can’t be true. He was still holding the square object, she noted. Seeing her attention shift to it, he grinned and turned it out to face her. The magical light reflected off a surface coated with some kind of shiny paste. As the object turned further and she saw the colours and shapes painted upon it she froze in horror.
It was the nude painting Izare had started. The one she had finished. The one that had vanished after Sa-Gest and Sa-Elem had inspected Izare’s house. Smudged at the edges where he must have held onto it, still wet when he’d taken it. Anger filled her and she tried to snatch it from him, but he pulled away too quickly and laughed.
“No, you can’t have it. I still need it. It’s kept me company for many a night,” he told her. “Not as pretty as the one of your face, of course, but that was too big to fit in my pack.”
Rielle’s breath caught in her throat. The portrait! She had not seen it since the day she’d run from her family. Had Sa-Gest taken it when the priests had sought her at Izare’s house? He must have. I never saw it after that. Why didn’t Izare tell me? She clenched her fists. If I had to kill him to escape, I wouldn’t regret it, she told herself .
A shiver went through her. Suddenly escape was no longer a fantasy but something she craved. Everything that had been done and taken from her had been justified, but if she had to spend the rest of her life in the control of this man… she did not deserve that. Nobody did.
Then why not now? Why not take magic and try to break free? Sa-Mica was in the house. Fighting one priest was better than two…
“What is going on?”
Sa-Gest jumped away from the gate and the cell was suddenly dark. Lit from behind by the house light, a figure strode towards them. Though his face was in shadow she instantly recognised Sa-Mica by his walk. Sa-Gest turned and shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“What have you got there?” Sa-Mica demanded. “No, I saw what you were holding and that is not it. Give it to me.”
Something passed between the two priests. A new spark appeared and Rielle glimpsed the painting in Sa-Mica’s hands before the light vanished again. Then flames replaced it, and the burning square fell from his hands to the ground. She stared at it. The only painting she and Izare had worked on together was gone, yet all she felt was relief.
“Fool,” Sa-Mica said. “Tell me why I shouldn’t send you back to Fyre?”
“I didn’t touch her,” Sa-Gest protested. “I was just… talking to her.”
“Blackmail or taunting?”
“Neither! I just—”
“Go to bed. Wake Sa-Jeim and tell him we need him to start his watch early. Tomorrow you’ll carry her pack as well as yours.”
Sa-Gest hunched and walked away. A short time later the local priest emerged, yawning. Sa-Mica moved away a little and lowered his voice as they began talking. Rielle strained to catch the words.
“Sorry… this,” Sa-Mica said.
“Is she…?”
“No. I think he knows. I don’t know how.” The scarred priest’s voice quietened.
Sa-Jeim shook his head and murmured something. Rielle edged closer to the gate, closing her eyes and listening.
“… do you do this?”
“Because I must.” Sa-Mica’s voice had grown forceful. He stilled and glanced her way.
“It gives me hope that you, born and raised in that terrible place, came out a better man than most,” Sa-Jeim said firmly, then asked a question she could not make out. Sa-Mica shook his head. Sa-Jeim sighed then started towards the cell.
“I will get the truth from you eventually, Sa-Mica,” he called over his shoulder, the warning softened by the affection in his voice. When the old priest neared the cell she was able to make out his expression in the starlight, and she shivered at what she read in his face.
Pity.