Desert Rising (3 page)

Sulis studied her audience carefully. Most were very young animals, trying to prove their dominance among the pride. Many were of a heavier build, similar to the mountain
feli
that would attack the mules of the caravan in the Northern mountains if Aaron didn't post guards. Some even had stripes. But one
feli
, a male, had been sitting quietly in the back of the pack the entire time, staring intently at her and twitching his long tail. He was tall and rangy, with a smaller, more elegant head than the bulky snow feli she'd met first. His short hair was a tawny color, but unlike the wild desert
feli
whose shape he shared, he was not spotted. Two long black stripes accented his long, aristocratic nose. His posture showed a dominance and maturity the other
feli
lacked; she could almost feel amusement coming from him for the actions of the other felines. Her attention caught, he padded forward and sat in front of her as though he'd just been waiting for her to wake up and realize she was his.

“Well, you're it then, are you?” she asked him. His purr rumbled through the hall, but he did not undignify himself in front of the pride by asking for a petting.

Sulis turned to the acolyte at her side. “Does he have a name?” she asked the bemused woman.

The Counselor studied Sulis and the
feli
a moment. Her own
feli
came and sat at her heel now that the commotion was over. She nodded once, as though Sulis had met her expectations.

“His name is Jinn,” she said.

“Djinn,” Sulis repeated, using the nomadic inflection. “The desert spirit of mischief. My name, Sulis, has much the same meaning: curiosity-­seeker.”

“I have a feeling you will suit each other well,” the Counselor said. “At six years of age, he has waited a long time for you to come. I'd wondered who he was waiting for. My name is Elida, and I will show you to your new home.” She looked Sulis up and down, taking in her obvious desert heritage. “The One must have interesting changes in store with the pledge group she has called up this year.”

She walked to the doorway across from where Sulis had entered the sanctuary, and Sulis followed in her wake.

“I only hope we have the wisdom to accept what comes with change,” Elida added before stepping out into the hall.

They walked to a doorway where a very pregnant woman sat, blessing and directing the line of ­people waiting to enter the shrine of Ivanha.

“New pledge,” Elida told the woman, who looked Sulis up and down.

“Counselor . . .” the woman protested but was cut off by a slicing hand motion from Elida.

She turned to Sulis. “Wait here a moment while I smooth the way for you,” she said kindly, and ushered the pregnant woman into the shrine room.

Sulis stared after the women a moment, dropping her hand down to rest it on Djinn's head. He purred, and she glanced around to find the line of temple visitors staring unabashedly at her. They made her nervous, and she stared past them, attempting to ignore their whispers. At the curve was the entrance to the deity Parasu's shrine, and as she looked, Ashraf stepped out, jangling a purse in his hand, a frown on his dark, handsome face. He glanced around the hall at the pushing crowd, spotted her, and stopped, his face expressionless.

He followed her arm down to where her hand rested on her
feli's
head; then he grimaced and met her eyes. His expression showed that he was far from happy, that perhaps he thought her a fool for following through with her plan.

Elida returned and beckoned for her to follow as the pregnant woman resumed her post by the door. Sulis glanced back at Ashraf, and he raised his hand in a forlorn gesture of either recognition or farewell. She smiled once at him before raising her head proudly and stepping into her new life as a pledge.

 

Chapter 3

T
HE ROOM
S
ULIS
found herself in was small and bare, except for two dark wooden chairs and a long, scarred table that held an inkwell and quill. Elida had left her here after they'd gone through the shrine of Ivanha and into a long, tall building Elida said contained dormitories and classrooms. Elida had also said that this pledge class was to be housed in the dormitories of Ivanha, which gave Sulis shivers. It was from those same dormitories her mother had fled, after she had been chosen as an acolyte by Ivanha and before Sulis was born. Sulis would have to watch what she said around Ivanha's acolytes, so that they would not recognize her as her mother's daughter. She hoped that the twenty or so years since her mother had been a pledge would have dulled their memory.

A door opened in the back of the room, and an older woman entered, dressed in robes a deeper shade of rose than those of the acolytes she'd seen so far. The woman had a white covering on her hair, framing her face so that it seemed twice as large and the wrinkles around her eyes and lips more deeply etched. She was holding a sheaf of papers, which she set on the table beside the inkwell. She studied Sulis as though looking for something, and Sulis stiffened, trying not to give anything away with her demeanor.

The woman gestured to the chairs and waited until Sulis was seated before seating herself. Djinn curled himself around Sulis's feet, yowling when she nudged him for more leg room. The woman narrowed her eyes.

“I am the Crone,” she announced. “I will be handling your admission to the Temple.” She paused as though giving Sulis time to respond.

Sulis immediately stilled. The Crone, Templar, Herald, and Tribune were considered Voices of the deities, and were second only to Counselors of the One. All the same, Sulis had no idea what response was expected of her. Apparently, silence was not it. The lines around the woman's mouth tightened.

“You no longer have a family but the Temple, yet we are required to notify your former family that you are paired and send them a stipend if such fate causes hardship to that family.” She paused expectantly.

Sulis already had planned for this. “I am Sulis Shalindar, from the merchant district. We just came in today with a caravan though my uncle Tarik has a permanent merchant hall here in town.” She used her father's surname rather than her clan name, which her mother would have pledged under.

“Tell me, my dear,” the woman said. “What brought you to the Temple on this day?”

“I was . . . curious,” Sulis lied. “I'd always heard of the great Temple and wanted a look. Certainly, I never expected . . . this.” She bent her head down as though afraid, watching the woman through her lashes.

The Crone seemed suspicious. “Yet the Counselor stated you believe you picked a
feli
rather than a
feli
choosing you, and you showed no fear.”

Sulis shrugged innocently. “They're all so beautiful,” she gushed. “We have many wild
feli
where I come from, but these were all different. One had so much fur that he would never make it in the desert.” She babbled on, and the Crone seemed to lose her suspicions as she talked. “I told him that, and he was so offended.”

Sulis smiled and continued. “But this one, he came stalking through the others, right up to me. I certainly didn't have a choice there.”

She realized, as she stared at the
feli
in question, that this was absolutely true. The Counselor's words finally hit her. Djinn was six years old. He'd been born the same year her mother died, when she'd started feeling the calling to pledge. He'd been waiting all that time for her to come to the Temple. Sulis felt a rush of gratitude as she ruffled his furry ears. It seemed the One had not sent her into battle alone after all. She remembered Counselor Elida's amused expression and realized the woman had known it really was the One choosing the
feli
and not Sulis. Sulis flushed, feeling foolish about her arrogance.

She glanced up at the Crone. Sulis thought the woman was probably salivating at the thought of getting her hands on one of the desert barbarians and converting her to the landed religion—­possibly getting her to reveal the travel routes that would let them spread the Temple into the desert like a plague. Sulis wished her luck with that. The landed wouldn't steal desert gold if she had anything to say about it.

The Crone jotted down some things on the papers in front of her. She asked Sulis questions about her education: writing, reading, and sum-­making. The woman seemed doubtful of her claims. She suppressed a surge of anger that the woman thought her ignorant because she was from the desert. Most desert clans' children, boys and girls, learned their books early and quickly so that they could be apprenticed for much of their late childhood. The city folk taught only their boys and only from books, so they learned late in life the practical knowledge Sulis had known for a decade. And city girls were taught practically nothing—­no reading, no writing. Many could not even ride well or bargain for their silks.

The Crone looked horrified when Sulis admitted she could not weave, embroider, or do fine lacework. It didn't appease her to know that Sulis was good at leatherwork and stitching, and was a good hand around the cook fire.

“We don't even have classes on those necessities here,” the woman admitted. “We expect that our girls' mothers would have instructed their daughters already.”

Sulis shrugged unapologetically. “I am certain the boys will not have learned needlecraft. What do they do?”

The Crone sat up very straight. “Men don't need to learn such work,” she said bluntly.

Sulis shrugged again. “Then just think of me as a small man,” she said, thinking that their job divisions were very odd.

After all the questioning was over, and more horror was expressed at Sulis's ignorance of the fifty prayers and church hierarchy, the Crone called in a rose-­cloaked girl who didn't look much older than Sulis was. She goggled at Sulis's brown skin and flame-­colored robes.

“Angelase, find her appropriate clothing and show her to the pledges' long room while I arrange for her testing,” the Crone told the girl, who bowed respectfully.

“Normally, we would put you in classes with your fellow pledges right away, but your upbringing is unusual, and you will need training in even the basics of what Northern children grow up learning.” The Crone's voice implied that this was Sulis's fault. “I will arrange orientation, deportment and scripture classes for the next few weeks, and perhaps by mid-­summer you will be able to join your classmates.”

Sulis gave her a quick bow, imitating Angelase, and followed the girl out of the room, Djinn on her heels. Angelase led her downstairs to an underground storage region. The area was damp, and Sulis cringed at the sight of cloth stored in racks in the musty earth.

“What a terrible way to store cloth,” she said softly. The girl shot her a sharp look.

“How would you know?” she asked as she rummaged around on the shelves, looking for something in Sulis's size.

“My family deals in cloths of all kinds. Dark and dampness can ruin a good silk, and breeds molds and moths that eat holes in the fabric,” Sulis told her.

Angelase thrust a gray cloak at her and began rummaging on other shelves for personal items. “Well, we don't deal in silks around here. It's not proper for the Temple acolytes,” she replied, her tone condescending. “I suppose you wouldn't know better, being raised a heathen and all. You'll find that what your kind thinks is proper isn't accepted here.”

Her kind? Heathens? Her family had always been devout! They didn't worship the deities, but her grandmother was worship leader of their village and could sometimes channel the One directly. She opened her mouth to tell Angelase this, but the girl thrust supplies on her and walked back up the stairs before Sulis could say a word. She shut her mouth, fuming, and hurried to follow.

They went up several flights of stairs until they reached the top floor. Its peaked ceiling and slanted walls meant this was some sort of attic. The room was dim, illuminated by natural light from windows on the only two vertical sides of the room. Six beds lined the left-­hand wall, from window to staircase. At the foot of each bed was a wooden chest that served as both a bench for sitting and a place for storage. Angelase led her to the bed by the window on the far side of the room—­the only bed that did not have personal items on the side table.

“This is yours. Put your clothes in the chest when you're not wearing them. You need to change into apprentice robes. You can keep the robes you're wearing in the chest as personal items, or give them to the poor.” Angelase looked Sulis up and down as though wondering if even the poor would want such colorful, obviously Southern robes. “You will change behind those screens for modesty,” she said, pointing to a small, closet-­like section of the room, “and the privy and washroom are on the first floor. The housemother will be along after she has spoken to the Crone about your lessons. Normally, the housemother would have welcomed you, but the Crone deals with all problems of Ivanha.” Angelase's tone let Sulis know that there was no doubt in her mind that she was a problem.

Sulis kept her mouth shut with great difficulty. She wanted to tell Angelase just what a problem she could be if the girl didn't lose her smug attitude. Sulis had been in enough tussles to know that what she lacked in size and strength, she more than made up for in speed and ruthlessness. It would be easy to smear the girl's face into the rough rugs that lined the floor, but Sulis was trying to get along. Breaking the girl's nose would certainly not fall into that category.

“Thank you,” she said meekly.

Djinn brushed past the girl to leap onto the cot beside Sulis. Angelase drew back as though she'd been stung.

Sulis looked from the girl to the
feli
sprawled on the bed. “Aren't they allowed on the furniture?” she asked.

Angelase took a step back. “The
feli
can go wherever they wish,” she said. “There are none that would command a sacred animal.” She sounded as though she wished someone would try.

Sulis remembered Counselor Elida's cryptic remark that she didn't have to worry about Sulis's being terrified of her
feli
, and wondered if fear was a common response to the big cats. She could understand fear from the towns­people, who were unfamiliar with the
feli
, but not the acolytes, who worked around them every day.

“Excellent!” Sulis said, dropping her load of robes and linens and sitting beside the feline. “I'm sure he'll be a warmer blanket than the sheets you gave me. I thought the Temple could afford better.”

“I'm certain the housemother will be with you soon,” Angelase said stiffly, and left Sulis alone in the room.

Sulis sighed. “I don't think we made a good impression, do you?” she asked Djinn. He bumped his head under her chin and purred softly.

“At least one of us is happy,” she told him. She nudged him aside and stood. She might as well change into the robes that marked her new status. Maybe that would start her off well with the housemother. She needed at least a ­couple of ­people on her side if she was going to survive her internment in the Temple.

T
H
E
C
R
O
N
E
S
T
E
E
P
LED
her fingers in front of her, wondering what the One must be up to, bringing another desert child to the Temple. She'd just dismissed the housemother, ordering her to treat the girl no differently than the others—­which pretty much guaranteed she'd be harder on her.

A tap on the door made her smile joylessly.

“Come in,” she ordered, unsurprised when a tall man in a deep maroon tunic slipped through the doorway.

“Crone,” he greeted her, and she nodded and gestured to the other chair.

“Templar,” she replied, as the highest-­ranked scion of Voras seated himself. “What brings you here this evening?”

He appraised her coolly, and she stared back at him. Thirty years her junior, he was the third replacement Voras had chosen since Ivanha had chosen her as Crone. Voras, the deity of war and passion, valued strength over experience, which meant she had to deal with an insolent puppy every decade or so. This one was finally beginning to realize that she could cut as deeply with her cunning as he could with his straightforward aggression.

“I hear you have a new girl,” the Templar said, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded and waited, wondering what his god would have told him.

He frowned at her, no doubt used to women wanting to give him more than he asked for. But her goddess had taught her well; Ivanha knew that the key to keeping control of men was to not give them what they wanted. It was to make them ask, sometimes beg, until the want became a need. So Ivanha's Crone waited for him to come to her.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Have you seen her yet?” he asked.

The Crone nodded placidly. “I felt it wise to interview her before putting her in with the other girls.”

The Crone didn't add that her
feli
had come to her with an urgent summons from Ivanha asking her to take the matter in hand. And then the blasted feline had disappeared, so she could not report back to Ivanha for orders. The Crone believed that Ivanha could monitor what she was doing and saying, but even the highest-­ranked acolytes had to channel through the
feli
to get orders and hear what her deity wanted. The One constantly meddled in the deities' business, directing her contrary creatures so the deities could not manage their domains properly. She was like a controlling parent, unwilling to believe the deities could manage without her. Unlike a controlling parent, the One would never die and leave her children in charge.