Beyond the Master’s Gate
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for the horses and mules to carry them up the road to the top of the cliffs.
When they reached the place where the road divided—one branch leading down towards town, the other heading further up, to the castle—Katia took a deep breath. How she’d missed this smell: a mixture of salt, seaweed, and sheep. Funny how she could still smell the fleeces, even when she was far away from the animals and the processing sheds.
She’d longed for this moment over the last six months. Yet as much as she’d wanted to come home—was back, now—she didn’t want to stay here. Not if it meant giving up her dream of becoming a priest. So she turned away from town, where home and family was, and set her face determinedly towards the castle and what she hoped would be her future.
The castle had sat above the town for centuries, watching over generations of miners and their families day and night, a constant reminder of what Indigon and the royal family depended on for their wealth.
Katia had never been inside the purple-grey stone walls, built from rocks hewn in the days of the first mines. As she rode through the Master’s Gate, she could barely contain her excitement—even Ma and Da had never been here before. She twisted in the saddle, taking note of everything so she could tell them later.
The walls loomed over her, taller even than the Academy’s temple tower, linking the Master’s Gate to four more towers. Each of the towers had a name. The one to the left of Master’s Gate, Katia knew was Black Tower, though she’d never been able to work out how it got its name. Seen from the town, it was the same colour as the others, but from inside the walls the reason for the name was obvious; the stones of the tower were charred and blackened from about halfway up.
Sevanya saw her staring at it. “They say the mines used to be guarded by a giant fire-breathing lizard.” She nodded towards the Black Tower. “When the first Master of the Mines built this place and started digging, the lizard tried to burn him out.”
“Really?”
“That’s what they say . . .”
Bertrann laughed. “More likely to be from the time the old hall burnt down, when my great-great-great-grandfather was a child. A lightning strike. Set the roof of a building that used to be at the bottom of the tower alight.”
Of the two, Katia preferred Sevanya’s version.
“D’you know the names of the other towers?” Bertrann asked Katia as everyone dismounted and the horses and mules were led away.
“Um . . .” Course she did. Why was so tongue-tied all of a sudden, when there was a chance to demonstrate something the other novices wouldn’t have known? Katia pointed to the Master’s Gate and worked anti-clockwise round the other towers. “Master’s Gate, then Sea Tower, because it overlooks the cliff. Temple Tower, because the temple is built over the mine entrances, aaaand . . .” What was the last one? She screwed up her face, trying to remember.
Something to do with light . . .
She clicked her fingers. “Lantern Tower. Because they light the lantern on the roof to show the Master of the Mines is in residence.”
Bertrann nodded, and a glow of pride warmed her face.
“Very good,” he said. “And the buildings, against the wall? D’you know what they are?”
Dammit. She didn’t. Katia shook her head, deflated. “No, sire. I’ve never been inside the walls before.”
Bertrann pointed to a low squat building at the base of the Sea Tower. “Kitchens.” His finger moved to a much larger building which straddled the space between the Temple and Lantern Towers. “Great Hall, where we eat and are entertained. Bedrooms and offices are in the towers or within the walls themselves.”
“Thank you, sire.” Katia committed the information to memory, then shivered. A chilling rain had started to fall as the light faded.
“Harolt, can we get inside, sharpish?” Bertrann called. “I don’t fancy getting soaked before Even Prayer.”
“Of course, sire. This way.” Harolt hurried them all to a door in the wall between the Sea and Temple Towers.
Katia followed the Elders and king along a corridor so broad, half-a-dozen men could easily have walked side by side down it. Wide eyed, she drank in the details of the colourful tapestries hanging on the purple-grey stone and stared open-mouthed at the statues set into alcoves, all of them lit by glass lanterns filled with candles and hanging from the ceiling. Bertrann and his guards fell behind as the king took time to study one or two of the artworks more closely, but Katia stayed close to Harolt and Sevanya, who carried on walking.
There was a definite theme to the decoration in the corridors: hunting. In tapestried forests, animals were being chased by dogs or brought down by arrows; in woven fields, rabbits were about to be caught by swooping birds of prey; the brass and marble flanks of huge antlered stags and vicious-looking boars shone in the candlelight. Which was all rather surprising, as Indigon didn’t have forests. There weren’t even many animals on the island—unless you counted sheep. Was the art a reminder of the things Lord Arolf had given up when he was appointed Master of the Mines? If so, he must miss hunting very much.
“I assume,” Harolt said, “Elder Sevanya, that you will speak the Blessing of Erat this evening?”
“I will.”
“It is an honour to hear it spoken outside of Eraton.” Harolt glanced over his shoulder at Katia. “The novice. Does she know how to swing an incense burner?”
“Do I know how to—?” The words were out before Katia could stop them. She might struggle with some things, but swinging a thurible . . .
Sevanya shot her a sharp glance, reminding her to be seen and not heard.
Katia bit her lip.
“The novices have covered the preparation of incense and oils, yes,” Sevanya said.
“That’s not what I asked.” Harolt stopped walking. “I have already prepared the incense for Even Prayer. I simply need to know whether she can swing it in the correct places when the ceremony demands it.”
What Katia wouldn’t have given, then, to speak her mind. But good novices didn’t do that, so she clenched her fists and hid them in her skirt, trying not to frown.
“Yes, she can do that,” Sevanya said.
“Good.”
Cool fingers caught hold of Katia’s chin and lifted it. Startled, she stared into Elder Harolt’s long face. The three god-beads of gold, silver, and green jade woven into the end of his plaited beard, glinted.
“Tell me, are you enjoying life at the Academy?” he asked.
Katia swallowed hard. What could she say? That every day, she remembered how hard her family were working to keep her there? That for her, it was better than carding wool or spinning or weaving? Or—gods forbid—a world away from working in the mines, risking Miner’s Lung or Purple Finger?
“There’s a lot to learn,” she finally managed.
“Shall we continue to the temple?” Bertrann asked, coming up behind them.
Harolt released Katia’s chin and without another word led them on, until he paused in front of a pair of wooden doors with the symbol of the triple gods carved into each.
“This,” he announced, “is Lord Arolf’s temple.” He grabbed the handles, gave them a twist, and with a dramatic gesture pushed the doors open.
They swung inward with a definite squeal of rusty hinge.
Well, that rather ruined the effect.
Katia’s barely suppressed giggle caused a brief quirk at the corner of Sevanya’s mouth.
Bertrann chuckled. “Reckon you need a drop of oil for that.”
Harolt ignored the comment, but his nostrils flared as he stepped into the temple.
It was disappointingly plain. After the colourful frescoes of the gods Katia had been used to seeing in her home town’s temple, she had expected something really special in the castle. Instead, the bare and windowless walls felt almost dungeon-like. At least it wasn’t dark. Hundreds of wall brackets held mirror-backed candelabra, which threw flickering light onto rows of wooden benches. Cushionless wooden benches. Katia’s backside ached at the sight of them. Even the town temple had had cushions. At the far end of the nave was the altar, just a simple stone block, with the symbol of the triple gods hanging over it.
Katia stared at the symbol and gasped. Could she touch both sides of it, even if she stretched? She doubted it. And it was probably worth a small fortune. She was sure the left half of the circle was polished gold, the twisted metal rays reflecting the flames of candles until they burned like the sun it represented. The right half—the moon—was silver, its surface hammered to give texture until the metal seemed to glow from within. Overlaying the central portion of both precious metals was a triangular slice of green agate, topped by a snowy-white quartz peak: the mountain.
On either end of the altar stood the sun and moon lamps—sun on the left, moon on the right. Only the sun lamp was lit, as was proper during daylight hours. And between the lamps was something Katia had never seen on an altar before: a large chunk of transparent purple crystal.
“Is that . . . indigolite?” Katia whispered.
“It is.” Bertrann strode to the front of the temple and eased himself down onto a bench, wincing. “My brother likes to see beautiful objects, though he’s not so good at choosing comfort.”
Harolt hurried forward too. “Lord Arolf will join us shortly, sire. If I may continue . . . ?”
Bertrann waved at him. “Do what you have to, Elder. Don’t mind me. Sevanya, a word?”
Katia was left standing alone as Sevanya went to join the king. With a jolt, she realised Harolt was beckoning her forward. She joined him near the altar, and he peered down his long nose, sizing her up.
“Wait here,” he said, then swung on his heel and walked towards a wooden box—big enough for a grown man to stand inside—at the right of the nave. The front of the box was an elaborately carved screen, which he pulled open.
Katia craned her neck. What was inside? A flash of silver, the glint of candlelight on glass. She saw the burner, swinging loosely on its chain, and realised it was an incense store. Every temple had one, of course, but they were usually out of sight of the congregation. The one in the Academy was so big, it was more of a schoolroom, with workbenches and enough burners in it for every novice to practise setting one up.
“Here.” Harolt thrust the chain into Katia’s hand. “Make sure you do it right,” he snapped, distracted by the doors squealing open again. “My Lord, welcome,” he called.
Arolf didn’t even glance in the Elder’s direction. He only had eyes for the king, who rose slowly to his feet as Arolf drew closer.
“Sire.” Arolf bowed almost as low as Harolt had done.
Bertrann barely gave Arolf time to straighten up before he enveloped him in a bear hug. “Brother, it’s been too long.” Something flashed across the king’s face—was it hurt or anger?—as Arolf broke free of the embrace.
“Indeed.” Arolf smoothed the creases out of his jacket. “Two years, seven months, and thirteen days, I believe.”
The brothers were as different as ink and indigolite.
True, Bertrann hadn’t been exactly what Katia had expected when she had seen him in the flesh for the first time. For a start, he didn’t look much like the man whose profile was minted onto the coins that worshippers dropped into the Academy temple’s generosity box. The real king was older, his features sharper. And he was disappointingly short; if Katia stood on tiptoe, she was sure she’d be taller. But then she had shot up in the last six months, embarrassingly so. That’s why her tutors kept telling her to stand up straight—she’d got too used to stooping among her vertically challenged peers. It was small consolation to Katia that Bertrann at least dressed the part of a king. Even today, in travelling clothes, his jacket was cut from expensive fabric, embellished with gemstone buttons and decorated with gold thread embroidery. Gods only knew what he wore on state occasions.
Arolf had the same sharp features as Bertrann, marking him out as a close relative, but he stood almost a head and a half taller than the king. He didn’t appear to lay as much value on clothes—his were simply cut and lacked decoration, the indigolite and silver medallion he wore as Master of the Mines his only adornment. But the real difference was something about the way he held himself, an air of confidence that Bertrann lacked.
If Arolf were dressed differently, he’d look much more like a king than the real one.
Katia squashed the treasonous thought quickly. Bertrann had held the Kingstone and been blessed by the triple gods. Not Arolf. It didn’t matter what the king looked like. It was what he did that was important.
The temple was beginning to fill up, servants and soldiers sliding along the benches.
Harolt cleared his throat. “Sire, my Lord, Elder, if you would like to take your seats? I shall robe up.” His smile slipped as he turned away from the royals. “You,” he hissed at Katia. “Don’t get anything wrong.”
Katia’s stomach lurched. If she did make a mistake—and she was bound to—there were so many people here to see it. Heat rushed into her cheeks at the thought of her family being told of it. Mind you, they’d find out soon enough if Sevanya ordered Katia to stay behind . . .
That’s why Katia had to get her part in this service right, try to remember all her training; so much depended on what she could do.