15

The lammergeier dropped her off on the path, just out of sight of the Temple, and Mikayla followed the path to the Temple’s main entrance. The land felt different on this side of the mountain, almost wild, as if it had no Archimage and never had. But surely Haramis is Archimage of Labornok as well as Ruwenda, Mikayla thought.

The Temple was easy to find; it seemed to radiate energy, although it was energy of a type Mikayla had never encountered before. It didn’t draw power from either the land or the air, and the energy that she sensed did not seem to act upon the land. It floated in the air, like the fog had at the Tower when she had been working weather magic. Yes, she realized, that was what it reminded her of; it seemed to be some sort of excess, something unheeded, shaken loose from whatever the primary magic being worked was.

Casting a glamour to make herself unremarkable, as Uzun had taught her, she went inside quietly and followed the sound of voices. The outermost portion of the Temple was an enormous room. The ceiling was so high that Mikayla could barely see it, and while the room was full of pillars, fashioned in many different forms, the pillars were far enough apart that a full-grown lammergeier could fly between them with its wings fully extended.

Mikayla examined the pillars she passed on her way through the hall. The ones nearest the entrance were an icy blue white and were shaped like stalactites and stalagmites meeting in the center. The only light in this hall was the daylight spilling in from outside, so it got darker as she went farther into the cave. But there was still enough light to see that the design of the pillars changed as one moved away from the entrance. The ones farther in were many different colors and were in the form of various types of plants—mostly trees, although Mikayla did recognize a few flowers among them. And a good many of them were things she didn’t recognize. She wished she were looking at them through the mirror and could ask it to identify them.

The next room in had a higher floor and lower ceiling and was lit by a pair of oil lamps hanging from the ceiling at the front of the room. There was a dais below the lamps, hidden on one side by a curtain; the rest of the room had wooden benches decorated with elaborately carved designs set on both sides of a center aisle. The benches were nearly all filled, but Mikayla found a seat in a back corner. No one seemed to notice her; people were talking to their neighbors and presumably waiting for something to happen.

Then two people in long black robes with golden masks covering their faces entered and took their places on the dais. One of them said something brief that Mikayla didn’t catch, and the people in the room all sat down and grew quickly silent.

Then they started chanting, and everyone else joined in. After a few minutes Mikayla found herself singing along with everyone else—even though she had never heard either the words or the tune before in her life. This was not even a style of worship she had ever encountered before. It was as if the chant was in the room, and if you were in the room—even if you were wrapped in a dark cloak, hidden in an unlit corner, out of everyone’s sight—you were part of the chant. Or maybe it was part of you.

“Meret, Thou Lady of the Southern Peak, have mercy upon us.”

“Meret, Thou who makest the Noku, the River of Life, to rise from the Underworld to give life to the Land, have mercy upon us.”

“Meret, Thou who savest us from the venom of the Worm, have mercy upon us.”

“Meret, Thou who …”

The chanting was simple and repetitious; anyone—however simpleminded, unmusical, or unfamiliar with the entire idiom—could pick it up in a few minutes. Mikayla wondered vaguely if it had been designed that way on purpose.

In any event, it was making Mikayla feel very strange. She felt as though she were falling asleep, but she couldn’t be, because she was still singing. Still her eyes kept closing despite her best efforts to keep them open, and her head dropped forward until her chin touched her chest. This is magic, she realized suddenly. It’s not a type I’m familiar with, but this is definitely magic. She concentrated long enough to get a basic personal shield around herself and her thoughts, and then, feeling safe enough for the moment, relaxed back into the chant.

After about half an hour, the chanting stopped, and one of the figures in the golden masks, a man by his voice, began speaking. Some of what he said was familiar to Mikayla; she remembered reading bits of it in several of the books in Haramis’s library. But as the man went on speaking she realized that his account differed from the ones she had read. At one point, she found herself opening her mouth and saying aloud, “That’s not true!” Fortunately she didn’t say it loudly, and her voice was lost in the chorus of folk loudly agreeing with their leader. At least now Mikayla was awake, free of whatever spell the chant held.

He was a convincing speaker, she had to admit that. He seemed completely sincere, and quite possibly was. But the doctrines he was advocating, such as the need for sacrifice, and the efficacy of blood (he was a bit vague about whose blood) to wash away the troubles that beset the people, were centuries out-of-date. The one thing of which Mikayla was perfectly sure was that the books she had read about this sort of religion were old, very, very old. And Haramis had told her that blood sacrifice had been stopped in Ruwenda long before even the Archimage Binah was born. So why was anyone advocating it now?

Well, this is Labornok, not Ruwenda, Mikayla thought. But Labornok and Ruwenda were united almost two hundreds ago, when Prince Antar married Princess Anigel. And Prince Antar was the only surviving member of the Labornoki royal family. I think.

Granted, as the youngest princess, I never really studied history or government, but surely Labornok is ruled from the Citadel. How has this religion survived here?

Still, if this is what it takes to get Uzun a proper body, I guess I should be glad it survived, however it did. And if Haramis used her own blood to put Uzun into the harp, then blood magic can’t be totally forbidden or wrong.

Besides, there was magic in the room; Mikayla could clearly feel the power being raised, and there was no blood being shed here now. She was no stranger to power; even as a child she had used it sometimes for simple things such as mind-speaking to Fiolon, although she had never realized that what she was doing was magic until Haramis started training her.

But the power with which she was familiar was a solitary power, raised by one person, even though that person might be drawing on things outside herself, such as boosting the power by sitting in direct sunlight, for example, and using the sun’s warmth. And since Haramis had started her on the cram course in “How to Be an Archimage in Many Difficult Lessons,” Mikayla had learned much more about how to use other power sources for magic.

But what she had learned from Haramis was still basically a solitary magic, linked with the land, but not with other people. Here was a group of people being molded into a single source of power—even Mikayla, despite her training and her shields, could feel herself being sucked in. Who controlled this power, and what was being done with it?

The man stopped talking, and the chanting started again. This time, although the congregation was chanting the same words as before, as was the man who had been speaking, the other person at the front of the room—and several other women, judging by their voices—were singing something in counterpoint in a different language. Mikayla couldn’t see any other woman there, but there was the curtain on one side of the dais. Perhaps the singers were hidden behind it. The overall effect was exotic and mysterious, perhaps, Mikayla thought, even spooky.

Despite her unease, the chant took hold of Mikayla again. It soon seemed to her that it had always been with her and would go on forever; she could hardly remember a life that had not been spent in this room, chanting along with everyone else. Mikayla did not notice when she fell asleep.

“Well, what have we here? A gift from the Goddess?”

Mikayla sat up, blinking, and focused on the young man standing over her. It took her a moment to orient herself, to remember that she was in the Temple of Meret and to realize that she had fallen asleep on the bench where she had been sitting. The man, apparently about three or four years older than she was, still held a broom carelessly in one hand. He must have been sweeping the room, Mikayla thought. I guess my glamour wore off while I was asleep, so he found me when he reached this corner.

“Looking for someplace warm to sleep?” the young man asked, leering unpleasantly at her. “You can sleep with me, girl—I’ll bet we will become good friends.” He dropped the broom against the bench, leaned over and pinned Mikayla against the wall, and kissed her. At first, shock held her motionless, but when he tried to force his tongue between her lips, she was overcome by outrage. Making a fist, she slugged him in the stomach as hard as she could. He released her and doubled over, trying to get his breath back.

“How dare you?” she exclaimed, breaking free of him and retreating toward the center of the room so that he couldn’t pin her in the corner again. “Have you gone mad? You can’t treat me like that!”

“By the Worm, what’s the matter with you, girl?” he snarled, getting his breath back and approaching her again, albeit more warily than before. “You’re carrying on as if you were a royal virgin!”

“I am!” Mikayla snarled back.

“Of course you are,” he snapped sarcastically, “and I’m the Husband of the Goddess Meret!”

“Really?” a dry voice interrupted from the front of the room. “Strange; I thought I held that office.” From his voice, Mikayla was pretty sure that this was the man who had led the chanting. He was dressed in a long black robe, but he no longer wore the gold mask over his face.

Mikayla decided that she liked his face. He had gray hair and regular features, and the lines on his face hinted at a sense of humor. “What seems to be the problem, Timon?”

“She”—Timon indicated Mikayla scornfully—“says she’s a royal virgin.”

The Husband of the Goddess regarded her thoughtfully. Then he made a sudden gesture with his hands, his fingers twisting in a pattern Mikayla could not follow. A blue light surrounded her, and she gasped.

“You have nothing to fear, child,” the Husband said, “as long as you tell the truth. Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” Mikayla replied. The blue glow remained steady.

“As you can see, Timon,” the Husband said, “she is a virgin. And virgins are scarce enough here that we don’t want to lose one.” He looked sternly at the young man. “So forget whatever you were thinking about her. And leave her alone in the future.” Timon glowered, but bowed his head in apparent acquiescence.

The Husband turned to Mikayla. “Come with me, my child.”

Mikayla briefly considered bolting for the exit and summoning a lammergeier to carry her away from here, but reminded herself that she was here to get Uzun a new body. There’s no point in running away quite yet, she told herself. And I don’t think the Husband of the Goddess Meret means me any harm. Actually, he seems nice. Maybe he’ll be willing to help me.

The priest led her through the entrance in the front of the room by which he had entered, down a hallway to the left, and into a room that was apparently the Temple library. Mikayla was still surrounded by the blue glow—it had moved when she did—but she ignored it as she looked around at all the scrolls. They have a bigger library than the Citadel and the Archimage put together, she thought in awe. Surely they will have the answers I need to help Uzun.

The Husband clapped his hands sharply twice, and a young boy, clad in a short black tunic tied with a cord at the waist, ran into the room.

“Yes, my Father?” he said, apparently expecting to receive orders.

“My respects to the Eldest Daughter of the Goddess Meret, and I should appreciate it greatly if she would join me here as soon as possible.”

The boy didn’t answer; he simply bowed and ran from the room. Within minutes there was the sound of sandaled footsteps in the stone hall, and a tall woman in a black robe came in.

“What do you wish, my Father?” she asked deferentially. Then she saw Mikayla. “Who is this?”

The Husband sat in an elaborately carved chair and pointed to a bench behind Mikayla. The woman sat down in a simpler chair by one of the reading tables, and Mikayla took that as her cue to be seated on the bench. The Husband smiled at her encouragingly. “I’d like you to answer a few questions for me. You said you were a virgin, is that true?”

“Yes,” Mikayla said, trying not to sound bored. She was getting tired of repeating it. What’s so important about being a virgin? she wondered. Everyone is one at birth.

“And you are of royal birth?” The woman’s eyes widened, but she remained silent.

“Yes,” Mikayla said again.

“Who are your parents?”

Mikayla didn’t know why, but she felt a sudden reluctance to give her parents’ names. Perhaps it was the memory of something Uzun had said to her in the course of her studies with him. “Names have power,” he had told her. “To know a person’s name is to have power over that person.”

“My father is the King of Ruwenda and Labornok,” she said simply, “and my mother is his Queen.”

“Is she royal?” the priest asked.

“Princess of Var,” Mikayla replied briefly.

“Your pardon, my Father,” the woman said quietly, “but if I may?” He inclined his head, and she turned to Mikayla. “Does this mean that you are a direct descendant of Prince Antar of Labornok?”

“The one who married Princess Anigel?” Since coming to live with the Archimage, Mikayla had learned more about the triplet princesses and their Quest than she had ever wanted to know, despite her general lack of attention when the subject came up. But Fiolon and Uzun spent so much time trading ballads on the subject back and forth that it was impossible for Mikayla to avoid getting the general outlines of the story.

“Yes,” the woman replied.

“Then I am,” Mikayla said. “He and Anigel were my I-don’t-know-how-many-greats-grandparents.”

“A princess of the royal family of Labornok,” the woman said softly. “I can hardly believe it. Truly Meret favors us.”

“Indeed She does,” the man murmured. “Do your parents know that you are here?” he added, returning to more practical matters.

“No,” Mikayla said. “If they think about me at all, they probably think I’m locked up in the Archimage’s Tower.” Two sets of eyebrows raised, and two sets of eyes regarded her thoughtfully.

“Locked up?” the man asked. “Why?”

“The Archimage has some crazy idea that I’m supposed to be her successor,” Mikayla explained. “She took me when I was twelve, and I haven’t seen my family, or left her Tower, since then.”

“It sounds perfectly miserable,” the woman remarked sympathetically. “Where does the Archimage think you are now? And why did she let you go?”

Mikayla shrugged. “She didn’t let me go, and she doesn’t know where I am. Last I heard, she didn’t remember my existence.” At their questioning looks, she continued. “She took ill while visiting the Citadel, with some sort of brainstorm. She doesn’t remember a lot of things, especially recent things, and she’s had me for only about two years.”

The Husband and the Eldest Daughter exchanged glances.

“Two years,” he said, almost to himself. Obviously this meant something to him.

“She’s been training you as her successor,” the Daughter said. It was not a question, but Mikayla nodded anyway.

“That explains quite a lot,” the Daughter remarked.

Have they noticed the strangeness in the land, too? Mikayla wondered. Haramis should be Archimage of Labornok as well as Ruwenda; has her illness disturbed the balance here as well? It didn’t feel quite that way to me, but I don’t know Labornok the way I do Ruwenda.

“Yes,” the Husband agreed, turning back to Mikayla. “Why have you come here, then?”

Mikayla decided not to try to explain the “magic mirror.” She had noticed how angry Haramis got when she mentioned devices of the Vanished Ones, and she didn’t want these people angry with her. “I have a friend,” she explained, “and he needs a new body. And I saw this Temple in a vision, and there were people working on a statue.” She frowned, trying to remember exactly what it was she had seen and to figure out how best to describe it. “They were performing some sort of ritual, something about opening the mouth. And I thought perhaps the people here could help me make a new body for my friend.”

“What’s wrong with the body he has now?” the Husband asked.

“It’s a harp.”

“A harp?” the Husband sounded incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Mikayla said. “I’ve been living in the same Tower with him for years. He’s a harp, and he’s blind, and he can’t move. And that makes him very unhappy since the Archimage took ill, because he can’t scry and see her the way I can. And she keeps asking for him—apparently she’s forgotten that she turned him into a harp about one hundred and eighty years ago—and he wants to go to her. And he can’t.”

“He’s been a harp for nearly two hundreds?” the Husband asked.

Mikayla nodded.

“How was that done?”

“Somebody made the harp,” Mikayla explained, “and the Archimage put some of her blood in a channel in the middle of the pillar, and there’s a part of the top of my friend’s skull at the top of the pillar. He doesn’t remember exactly how it was done, since he was dead for part of it.”

“So you have access to a piece of his original body—this skull fragment,” the priest said thoughtfully, “and his spirit resides in this harp. Yes, I believe that under the circumstances, we could make a new body for him.” He looked at her. “What is your name?”

The blue glow still surrounded her, and Mikayla was fairly sure that it was some sort of truth spell. And if she wanted their help, refusing to answer was probably not a good idea. “Mikayla.”

“Princess Mikayla.” The Husband bowed his head slightly to her. “I believe that we can give you what you want. Are you prepared to give us something in return?”

“If it is within my power,” Mikayla replied cautiously. What do I have that they could possibly want?

“We want a month of your time each year for the next seven years,” the Husband said. “Each spring, when the river rises and the three moons come together, will you spend a month with us, as a Daughter of the Goddess, living with the other Daughters and taking part in the rituals?”

“Somebody would have to teach me the rituals,” Mikayla said. I can’t imagine why one more Daughter for the rituals would be worth much, but if that’s all they want, I should be able to manage it. And it will at least be a change from listening to Haramis scold me or Uzun mope about Haramis’s illness.

“We will teach you everything you need to know,” the Eldest Daughter said. “But you do realize that you will have to remain a virgin for the next seven years?”

“That’s not a problem,” Mikayla said. “Haramis wants me to remain a virgin for the rest of my life.”

“Haramis is the Archimage?” the Husband asked.

Ooops! Mikayla thought. I didn’t mean to give them her name. On the other hand, it’s in so many ballads that it’s hardly a secret. She nodded.

“Have you made any vows to her?” the Husband asked. “Or to anyone else?”

“No,” Mikayla said, with just a bit of the resentment she felt toward Haramis showing in her voice. “She’s always been too busy telling me things to ask me to promise anything.”

Both of them smiled at her. “We are asking,” the Husband said. “In exchange for a new body for your friend, will you spend a month with us each year for the next seven years?”

“Yes,” Mikayla said. “I will.”

“Very good,” the Husband said. “I will speak to He Who Causes to Live about the body for your friend. It will take him seventy days to give birth to the new body; can you remain with us that long?”

Mikayla thought of the image of Haramis as she had last seen her. It doesn’t look as though she’ll be recovered enough to miss me before seventy days are up, she thought. Seventy days isn’t long. And even if she does come back sooner, it’s worth it. I don’t care if she does get angry with me for leaving the Tower. Uzun is a friend; he’s been good to me, and I want to help him. Aloud she said, “Yes, I can stay here that long.”

“Excellent,” the Husband said. He turned to the Daughter. “I commit her to your charge, Eldest Daughter.”

The woman stood up, and Mikayla hastily followed her example. “Yes, my Father,” the woman said, bowing. She turned to Mikayla. “Come with me, Little Sister.”

Mikayla bowed briefly to the priest. “Thank you, my Father,” she said. He smiled and nodded to her, clearly dismissing her from his presence.

The Eldest Daughter took Mikayla’s hand and started towing her rapidly down the hall. “You will be housed with the Daughters of the Goddess,” she explained. “We do not use personal names here. I assume that you do know that true names have power; I notice that you did not give the names of your parents. As one of the Daughters of the Goddess, you will address Her Husband as ‘Father.’ I am addressed as ‘Eldest Sister’ and the other Daughters are called ‘Sister.’ Is that clear?”

“Yes, Eldest Sister,” Mikayla replied, paying careful attention to what she was being told. She had the definite impression that she was expected to learn these lessons quickly and correctly. And for the first time in over a year, she cared about what she was being taught.

She was here by her own choice, and for her own reasons. She had given her word and accepted theirs, a situation quite different from that at Haramis’s Tower. She wasn’t sure exactly what they wanted from her or what she was supposed to learn, but for Uzun’s sake and to accomplish her goal of getting him a proper body, she was going to try her hardest to be what they wanted her to be. Besides, she thought, they asked me if I were willing to do this; they didn’t just tell me to do it and expect me to obey like some mindless puppet.

They entered an antechamber, then passed through a curtained doorway on the far side of it. On the other side of the curtain was a large chamber cut out of the rock of the mountain and brightly lit with torches set in the wall at frequent intervals. A number of other rooms with brightly colored curtained doorways led off it. “The Daughters live in these apartments,” the Eldest Daughter told her. “You are not to go beyond the curtain we just passed without permission, and you must never leave these rooms unless one of the other Daughters is with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Eldest Sister.”

“Good.” The priestess clapped her hands together sharply; the sound echoed through the rooms. Four young women came out of various side rooms to gather in the central chamber. They appeared to range in age from four to six years older than Mikayla, and they looked at her curiously, but they seemed pleasant enough. They were dressed in heavy white, long-sleeved, high-necked robes, tied with white cord at the waist. “We have a new Sister,” the Eldest Daughter announced, indicating Mikayla.

“Welcome, Sister,” the others murmured in chorus. Mikayla noted that they spoke in unison and on the same pitch.

“I thank you for your welcome, Sisters,” she replied. She hoped that she would fit in here. At least they were all smiling at her. Unlike Haramis, none of them seemed to dislike her on sight. Maybe they would even be friends.

“Your room will be the one with the green curtain,” the Eldest Daughter informed her. “There is a chest in there with clothing that should fit you. Please put it on, and rejoin us here. You have much to learn.”

“Yes, Eldest Sister.” Mikayla hurried to do as she was told.