Silent Hall (18 page)

This was why Bandu did not like talking. It made people angry sometimes, and she
still
couldn't make sense of what they were saying.

“I think I know now,” she said to Phaedra, to calm her down.

It worked. Phaedra heaved a big sigh of relief, and calmed down almost immediately. “You understand, then?”

The trouble was that Bandu
wanted
to understand. “I try,” she said. “I don't know why men marry only virgin. Can you say?”

Phaedra nodded warily, but she did not say anything for a long time. Bandu wondered if she had forgotten the reason. Finally Phaedra began to speak, slowly, as if she wanted to give Bandu time to hear everything. But Bandu suspected her real reason was that she needed time to invent an explanation.

“Men want to be the first,” Phaedra said. “If you bleed, they know they were first. If you don't, they know someone else was first.”

“Oh. Why they need to be first?”

Phaedra nodded at the question, but paused again before she answered. “They only want to marry someone who will be faithful to them. If they weren't the first, then they know you were already unfaithful to someone else.”

Bandu snorted. She couldn't help it. “They don't know,” she said. “Maybe someone else dead! Maybe someone else leaves, like you say about Karsanye. They know if they ask!”

“Well, that's true,” Phaedra said. She tried again. “But it's not really just that they want to be first, Bandu. It's that they want to be the only one. If they weren't first, then they couldn't have been the only one.”

“Only one is important?”

“Yes,” Phaedra said. “It's very important to them.”

“Why?”

“Because it's more special that way.”

Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. “Why more special?” Bandu asked. “And how you know if you are only one for them?”

Phaedra shook her head. “You don't. But you don't really need to be. Men are more experienced, and that's all right.”

Now Bandu was getting annoyed. “Why all right? Man needs to hurt and make bleed so he feels good that he is only one, but he never bleed and doesn't need you to be only one for him? You say men are wicked!”

“No,” Phaedra said. “Well, that is, not all of them. Anyway, if they marry you, they promise in front of the Gods that they'll stay with you as long as you both live.”

So that's how the Gods were involved! Finally, an explanation!

“I understand,” Bandu said. It was all starting to make sense. “They do not break promise, because then they make Gods angry and they die.”

Phaedra looked extremely uncomfortable. “Well,” she said, “it doesn't always work that way. It can take the Gods a long time to notice, and if They favor a man for some other reason, They'll often overlook things like infidelity.”

Bandu's eyes widened of their own accord. “So you say men are wicked because they think Gods won't care?”

“Well, yes,” Phaedra said. “I suppose that's true. But keep in mind, also, that men can't always control themselves.”

It was Bandu's turn to be shocked. “But you say they need to be only ones for us! They want to hurt us, so they know they are only ones, and then they marry and break promise to Gods because they can't control? So you say men are wicked and stupid, and want to hurt us.”

Phaedra shook her head, but she said nothing. Bandu understood. If Phaedra had nothing to say, that meant that Phaedra did not want Bandu to be right, but that she was right anyway.

“You are wrong,” Bandu said gently, trying to reassure her. “Criton is not stupid, and he doesn't want to hurt me. And I don't bleed last night, only today. If he doesn't know about blood, and doesn't ask, then he doesn't care.”

Phaedra looked surprised, even a little confused. “He's a good man,” she said weakly.

“But you say first time is good and special,” said Bandu, “and that is also wrong. If first time is special, then I hope only because first time is bad. I say if other people want to be virgin again, they are stupid. I am not stupid, and men are not all stupid.”

“I hope not,” Phaedra said.

“If some men want first time to hurt and bleed,” Bandu said, “then those men are wicked. They are very wicked, and you should not want them.”

Phaedra nodded noncommittally. “I'll have to think about that,” she said.

Bandu hoped she would.

T
hey traveled northward
for some time, hoping to encounter the same hospitality they had found for Narky not so long ago. But though the lands here were fertile and the villages robust and prosperous, the pale residents all shut their doors to the islanders.

“Black skin, black hearts,” one old lady said, as she slammed her door in their faces.

Phaedra's health continued to improve, but she still could not walk. They rested under almond trees, passed through fields of wheat and rows of fig trees, and sampled the fruits when Hunter and Phaedra weren't looking. Phaedra claimed that they should be welcomed at any temple, but the first one they came to was closed to them as well. It was a temple of Pelthas, who Phaedra reminded them was the God of Justice.

“Get away, accursed wanderers!” the priest there shouted.

“Some justice,” Narky spat. They moved on.

Criton wondered about the religion of his people. Was God Most High really a cruel God, as the scroll had said? Were His priests more hospitable than those of Pelthas?

“Phaedra,” he asked, “do you know anything about God Most High?”

Phaedra shook her head. “I think He must be dead,” she said gently. “After all, the dragons and your ancestors were all destroyed.”

Criton nodded sadly. He had half expected her to say that. If the Gods really were in constant conflict, it stood to reason that a God no longer worshipped was a God no longer living.

“Do you know what killed the dragons?” he asked her.

Phaedra looked apologetic. “They say the Gods did, but they always say the Gods when they don't know the real answer. Sorry. Until I met you, I thought the dragons might have been just a legend.”

“The same way you thought about fairies,” Narky pointed out.

“You know,” said Phaedra, frowning at him, “if you had said that with a smile and a joking tone of voice, it might not have come off as so rude.”

“But it's not a joke,” Narky said. “It's true. You thought that fairies were a myth.”

“She realizes that,” said Hunter.

“I don't see why people would smile or act like they're joking if they're really criticizing each other,” Narky went on.

“It's only criticism if you don't smile,” Phaedra told him. “If you smile, it's friendly teasing. If you're going to insist on pointing out people's faults, you may as well do it politely.”

Narky shrugged. “All right, I guess I'll try that next time.”

Phaedra arched her eyebrows. “You're welcome.”

They continued northward along the mountains, leaving the tent to Phaedra, Narky and Hunter while Criton and Bandu slept outside. Criton wanted to try making love again, but he was afraid of the way Bandu might look at him if he suggested it. He sighed to himself and said nothing.

After perhaps a week, Bandu finally tugged at his arm. “Go with me,” she said.

He started up immediately. “Really? You're ready now?”

She only tugged harder. “Phaedra hears us here,” she said. “She always say she doesn't want to know things, and then she wants anyway. We go away then is good.”

She was right. Then
was
good. At first he was afraid that he would hurt her again, or that she would make him stop because she didn't like it. He was afraid he would do it all wrong. So he followed her lead this time, and she guided him until her quickening breaths were the only guide he needed. After that, he stopped thinking.

They lay shuddering together for some time, even after it was over. When they finally separated, Bandu nestled into the crook of Criton's arm and laid her head on his chest. It was marvelously comfortable, he thought, although it was odd the way his hip sockets ached now. He hadn't realized that hip sockets
could
ache. Even when all his limbs had seized up after their climb out of Hession's cave, his hips had felt perfectly fine.

“You want to marry me?” Bandu asked suddenly.

“What?” he asked, startled. “Bandu, what made you think of that?”

She put an arm over his stomach and nestled closer. “Phaedra says after people make love they marry and promise not to have others. She says you marry me because you are good.”

Criton stiffened.
I could kill Phaedra!
he thought.

“Phaedra said that?” he asked. “What did she tell you about marrying?”

“She says people make promise to Gods,” Bandu said, looking up at him. “Why do you do like that?” She sat up.

“Do what?”

“Stop moving. Make body not soft anymore. Why?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Her eyes went wide. “You are afraid! Why you are afraid?”

He rolled over and turned his back on her. “I'd rather not talk about it,” he said.

What did Phaedra have against him, that she would fill Bandu's head with thoughts of marriage? They were dangerous, so dangerous. Marriage had trapped his mother.

“We don't need to promise Gods,” Bandu said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don't care about Gods. You can promise me.”

“Forget about marriage!” he said, pulling away again. “Just go to sleep, all right?”

Bandu punched him in the back. “You want others!” she cried. “You not promise because you want others!” She slapped at his shoulder and side, making his skin sting and burn.

Criton sat up in anger, swiping back at her. Bandu recoiled. He had missed, thank the Gods! With these claws of his, he could easily have ripped the flesh from her body.

The look of shock and fear in Bandu's eyes horrified him. He jumped to his feet and ran off into the darkness. His head was pounding. It was her fault! Bandu had ruined everything! Phaedra had ruined everything! Why did they hate him so?

He ran on and on, until he could no longer hear her voice or even feel the stiffness in his legs. There was a fire in his throat, and he let it out in great billows of smoke and flame. A stream glittered before him in the moonlight, but Criton didn't slow his pace. He jumped, and did not fall. Soon he was past the stream, and still his feet did not touch the ground. An almond tree loomed in the darkness, and he rose through the air until he could graze its top. He circled a few times, then came to land on one of its branches. His head was still pounding. Marriage! Were they crazy?

After a time, Criton calmed down. How had he gotten up here? How had he done that? Would Bandu ever forgive him for running away?

Oh, Bandu. He had nearly struck her. Oh Gods, he could have killed her! Poor, beautiful Bandu! Psander's scroll had been right: he was a monster. How could he ever protect Bandu from himself? If this happened every time she made him angry, then how many fights, how many arguments before he lost control? Sooner or later, his ancestral evil would get the better of him.

He had to tell her. She would understand – she had to. He was dangerous. Surely, after this, she would want to leave him. The thought filled him with pain. He clutched the tree trunk, bowed his head, and wept.

She would be worried about him. He had to get back to her. Where was he? In the starlight, nothing seemed familiar. He wasn't even sure which way he'd come.

Criton carefully climbed down the tree, thinking wryly that Narky would be excited to hear about his flight. Now, which way was the camp? The fire had been little more than a pile of glowing embers by the time Bandu had asked him about marriage. He would not be able to spot the light from this distance. Criton left the tree and walked out into the darkness. Somewhere around here was that brook he had leapt over. Why couldn't he hear it now?

He never found the stream. He wandered about in the dark, getting ever more worried and frustrated with himself, as the night grew cold and windy. The wind was blowing out of the mountains, but it was more than just that. The rainy season would be coming early this year. By the time Criton gave up on finding the brook, he could no longer point in the direction of the tree either. He curled up on the ground, using a rock for a pillow, and drifted in and out of an uncomfortable sleep.

He awoke still in the dark, feeling something wet against his side. Oh Gods, what
was
that?

“Keep me warm,” Bandu said. “The water is cold.”

Bandu! How had she found him?

“I'm sorry I ran away,” Criton said.

“I know,” she said. “I'm sorry too. Keep me warm.”

Criton put his arms around her, and wondered at her cold, wet little body. She had found him. Somehow she had followed his trail from the camp, swum through the brook, and tracked him down here, all in the dark.

“How did you do that?” he asked. “How did you find me?”

“I find you anywhere,” she said. “Keep me warm.”

H
unter could not sleep
. It was not his fault – the clansmen had mobbed him. They had wanted to keep the horse, and they knew that it was Hunter whose purse held the islanders' gemstones. There was no other way – it was them or him. The first man had screamed as Hunter's blade slipped beneath his upraised arm and plunged into his chest. The second man had thought he could pounce on Hunter before he had freed his blade, but Hunter had slammed the rim of his shield into the man's throat and retrieved his sword while the second man choked to death with a crushed windpipe. The others had backed off then, and Hunter had led the packhorse away, looking warily over his shoulder. Two men dead, over a packhorse.

Hunter had trained hard for war. He had thought it would bring him glory and status and his father's respect. But Father was dead now, and there was no glory in killing strong men for the sake of an animal and some rocks. Those men had been fathers too.

The others never asked Hunter about his meeting with the mountain clan. They were glad to have the packhorse back, and they accepted his word that two men were dead with a kind of casual acknowledgment. To them, killing was what Hunter
did
.

Glory. How foolish he had been! There was no glory in killing fathers. The only thing Hunter had experienced that even resembled the pride he had imagined he would feel after a battle, was the way he had felt when he had rescued Criton from the Boar of Hagardis. When the boar was dead and Criton was still alive,
then
he had felt proud. He had
done
something. But as often as he told himself that those two men's deaths were not his fault, the fact remained that they had died, and he had killed them. If he had not gone back for the horse, those two men would still be alive, and Hunter would still be able to sleep at night.

He wanted to go home, back to the life he had had before, back when he had still known nothing about pointless death. He would pretend that glory still existed, and that his sword and armor were worth more than just the blood they could help him spill. Why couldn't he have stayed and been drowned along with his father? He could have died a happy fool, drowning in single-minded idiocy.

Oh Father
, he thought,
you were right to be worried about me.

The Oracle had promised his father that Hunter would have a long and meaningful life. Meaningful. If the Gods could fulfill a prophecy like that, They could do anything.

What now, though? Phaedra had said the Gods were still watching them – was there any hope of a rebirth for him? He thought enviously of the way Narky had burned his crossbow, but he knew deep inside that he could never throw away his weapons. The others expected him to protect them, and besides, he was just as attached to his blade as he was to his limbs. But was the sword a part of him, or was he a part of it?

After more days of travel than Hunter could bother to count, they came to the city of Anardis. The city was abuzz with action: it seemed that every man in sight was engaged in the work of building a city wall. Stones were piled everywhere, and young boys were struggling to push barrows full of them to the places where the men were working. A few of the men looked up and noticed the islanders, but they only pointed to one side and went back to their toils.

“Gate's that way,” one of them said helpfully.

The islanders turned and followed the direction they had pointed in, though Narky protested at the waste of time. “Why should we find the gate,” he asked, “when we can just walk through a wall? There are plenty of places where there's no barrier yet.”

“It's a matter of respect,” Phaedra told him. “They're working hard on that wall. You don't taunt them by stepping through it.”

Narky shook his head in exasperated wonder. “If you say so.”

There was only one man at the gate, a somewhat rotund elderly man leaning on a staff.

“Go away,” he said. “We don't want wanderers here.”

“We're looking for a place to rest from our travels,” said Hunter, “and for my friend to heal from her injuries.”

The old man looked them up and down. “Look here,” he said, “you're those cursed wanderers of Tarphae, aren't you? Your island is gone, so you go about the land, bringing bad luck with you wherever you go. I hear you slew the Boar of Hagardis, and brought your bad luck to the prince of Atuna while you were at it. We don't need your luck here. Our city's had enough bad luck as it is.”

“What city is this?” Phaedra asked, her face a mask of innocence.

“You've come to the once-great Anardis, girl. Great once more, as the king would have it. Time will tell, as to that.”

“That same Anardis where Elkinar's Temple can be found?”

“Of course.” The old man eyed her suspiciously.

“Thank the Gods!” Phaedra exclaimed. “I have heard that the priests of Elkinar might be able to lift our curse. Where is His temple?”

“Inside,” the man said warily. “Who told you that Elkinar's priests would lift your curse?”

Hunter wondered how she would get out of that one. He was not disappointed.

“Our curse can be lifted only through rebirth,” Phaedra said confidently. “If anybody can lift the curse without killing us, it will be the priests of Elkinar. Please, let us in to see them.”

The old man scratched his head. “Well, all right,” he said. “I suppose they'll know what's best. But don't overstay your welcome, or you'll be very sorry.”

“That's a new rumor,” Criton said once they were within the gates. “Who's been telling people we're cursed?”

“The Gallant Ones,” said Narky. “Nobody else would have gone around calling Tana the ‘Prince of Atuna.'”

“Or blamed us for his death,” Hunter pointed out.

“But how did you know what to say to him?” Criton asked Phaedra. “Who is this Elkinar? What kind of God is He?”

“He's the God of the Life Cycle,” Phaedra answered. “Birth, life and death are His domain.”

“Oh, just that?” said Narky, raising an eyebrow.

The Temple of Elkinar was not hard to find. It was a large building in the heart of the city, across from the king's palace. There were no windows in its sides, but the temple was crowned by a terrace, and from a distance one could see several trees and bushes growing there. Wisps of smoke rose from between the greenery, creating a strangely ominous effect. The plants were clearly very much alive, but Hunter still half expected them to go up in flames at any moment.

They helped Phaedra off her horse and she limped to the door, supported by Hunter and Narky. The door to Elkinar's Temple was built into one of the building's corners, and as they approached it, Hunter noticed for the first time something odd about the building's shape: the temple had only three sides. They were not approaching a normal corner, but rather the tip of a triangle.

The door was half open, held ajar at such an angle that its edge completed the triangle's point. They ducked through, and found themselves in a chamber filled with pillars. Each of the pillars was hollowed into a chimney, and the devotional lamps nestled within lit the room with an orange glow. The oil inside the lamps had been infused with some sort of spice, the smell of which permeated the chamber. Even with the door open, the atmosphere was suffocating.

“What is this place?” Criton asked. “It reminds me of something.”

“Of the womb, perhaps,” said a voice from up ahead. An elderly priestess was refilling one of the lamps with oil. The jug in her left hand shook somewhat as she replaced the lamp and moved onto the next.

“You have never been here before,” she continued. “Welcome. I am Mother Dinendra, the senior servant to Elkinar. Have you brought a tribute to the God? Do you have a request of Him?”

Hunter found that the others were all looking at him. “Our request is for Phaedra to be healed,” he said. “If you can help us, we will gladly pay an appropriate tribute.”

The priestess nodded, her eyes still on her work. “And what ails the young lady?”

“A broken ankle,” said Phaedra. “It's been a few weeks since I broke it, but I still can't walk.”

Mother Dinendra put down her oil jug and took up the lamp she had been filling. She turned to look at them. “My eyes may be failing me,” she said, “but you look like islanders! Where do you come from, that you would visit Anardis and its temple?”

“We come from Tarphae,” Narky said. “But we're not cursed,” he added hastily.

The priestess nodded and smiled. “Except with broken ankles,” she said.

She handed Criton the lamp, saying, “Hold this,” and disappeared between the pillars, returning a few moments later with a low stool. She lowered herself carefully onto its seat, and motioned for Phaedra to show her her foot.

“Does this hurt?” she asked, touching her ankle carefully. Phaedra winced. “How about this?”

After a close inspection, the priestess shook her head. “It is healing,” she said sadly.

“Then what's the problem?” Narky asked.

Mother Dinendra let go of Phaedra's ankle and looked up at him. “It should have been set before it began to heal. I can try to set it now, but that will involve rebreaking it, and even then it won't be the same as if it had been set properly to begin with. In a few weeks, you should be able to walk again. But you will always have a limp, and I doubt you'll ever be able to run, or dance, or climb stairs without holding onto a wall.”

“Oh,” said Phaedra. She looked dazed. “Oh.”

“You should plan on staying with us for a few weeks,” Mother Dinendra suggested. “Travel isn't good for an injury like this.”

Phaedra nodded absently. “Do you have any rooms where we could stay?” Criton asked.

The priestess chuckled awkwardly. “I would recommend the inn across the square,” she said. “We servants of Elkinar sleep down below in the catacombs, as we call them. The air is heavy, there is no light, we do not keep fires, and the rooms are small and cold. There is an expression: Elkinar's servants live in the light, work in the womb, and sleep in the tomb. It is not a place for you.”

“This is a life you chose?” Narky asked. “Why?”

“For some of us, it is devotion,” Mother Dinendra said. “Some have more practical considerations. I confess I am of the latter kind. I joined the Temple of Elkinar to escape from the nobility. The king is my nephew, you see. My children would have been noblemen, but Elkinar's servants are forbidden from ruling, and their children follow in their line. Mine have scattered, though my grandson Taemon is a junior priest here. It is a better life than that of a noblewoman. The Temple sheltered me in its catacombs for a long time, until one by one all my seniors died and left me in charge. No matter. It is too late for my family to drag me into anything, and if they try, I can pretend to be senile. With every year that passes, I pretend less and less.”

Mother Dinendra smiled at this little piece of self-deprecation. Hunter did not believe her for an instant. This woman was no more senile than he was.

“Let me set that ankle for you as best I can,” the priestess said to Phaedra, “and I will have to send you on your way. If I do not finish with these lamps, Father Sephas will think I really am losing my mind.”

She led them into a second chamber, this one better ventilated and better lit due to a number of angled shafts in the ceiling. There was a table here, and a few chairs, but the room's greatest feature was that it was lined on all sides with rows upon rows of shelves, most of them covered in scrolls or books. Mother Dinendra pulled a bucket of water from underneath the table, then tottered over to the far wall and pulled a sack from the bottom-most shelf. She lugged this to the table before retrieving a shallow, wide-lipped bowl from right above where the sack had been. Then she pulled over one of the chairs and sat down with some satisfaction.

“Damned fool,” she said suddenly, rising to her feet again. “Forgot the rags.”

A large pile of rags had been shoved into one corner of the room. Mother Dinendra gathered some of these and returned to the table. She poured a white powder from the sack, added water, and spent the next few minutes mixing plaster. Finally, she motioned with one plaster-covered hand to a chair.

“Sit,” she said to Phaedra.

When she had done as commanded, the priestess handed her the bowl and rags, pulled her chair closer, and sat down with relief. She patted her knee, and Phaedra placed her foot on it. Mother Dinendra grasped her ankle in both hands.

“This is going to hurt a little,” she said.

Judging by Phaedra's reaction, it hurt more than a little. The elderly priestess grimaced and commenced dipping rags in the plaster and wrapping them around Phaedra's ankle. It was messy work, and by the time she had finished, her smock was covered in white droplets and more than a few handprints.

“There,” she said finally. “Now let that set for some twenty minutes, and I'll be back when I'm done with the lamps. Do you read? Good. Then you won't lack for entertainment.”

She left them and returned to the dark smoky chamber of the building's entrance.

“Maybe Psander can do something when we get back,” Phaedra said hopefully. “Hand me one of those books, will you, Hunter?”

Hunter looked about him, more than a little overwhelmed. Codices, scrolls and papers were stacked every which way, separated by bags and jars of this and that, and the occasional candle.

“Which one?” he asked.

“How about that big black one over there?” She pointed to a black leather bound codex that lay on one of the lower shelves. He handed it to her.

“Oh!” she said, upon opening it. “It's annotated!”

“Oh?” Criton asked.

“How thrilling,” said Narky.

“Well, it's not magic,” Phaedra admitted, “but it's definitely interesting. Listen to this: ‘When They started over, the Gods created water, wind and earth.' Why does the scroll begin thus? Chalinos says, ‘Because in Their first creation, the Gods created wind and earth before water, and all the earth blew away.' Belerphon says, ‘Because when the Gods created Their first world, it was so filled with love, joy and perfection that it exploded. The second time, the Gods built the world of sturdier stuff.' Polina says, ‘Because when They created the first world, the Gods argued so violently over its contents that it grew dangerous and chaotic, and They had to abandon it and start anew.'”