The Law of Isolation (42 page)

He’d seemed to be in a hurry, pressing her on the most important points, skimming over minor details with assurances they could cover them in more depth afterwards. She didn’t know what deadline weighed so heavily on him. Maybe he just wanted her to join the rest of the Faithful as soon as possible. She still hadn’t been allowed to meet anyone else, not even the other Elders. Some of them would be there tonight, to evaluate her performance and judge whether she was worthy to be accepted by the Lord of Justice.

Or maybe it had something to do with the ball. Semanel had been excited when, in the course of the long account he’d required of everything she’d ever done, she’d mentioned the invitation Kevessa had procured for her. He’d insisted that she must go, even though Nirel had lost all interest in attending. It wouldn’t be any fun without Kevessa. But she would do whatever Semanel asked, so even though it baffled her, she’d dutifully sent off a reply to the hostess, stating that she and her father would present themselves at the appointed time. She didn’t know how Semanel had prevailed on Kabos to agree, but after one session with the Elder, Kabos had never again shown any reluctance. He’d even escorted her on multiple visits to the tailor and cobbler and milliner to assemble her outfit.

She could only guess that it had something to do with what Semanel had told them that first night, about the secret plans the Faithful had to someday escape from the miserable plight they suffered in Ramunna. Semanel had dropped the occasional offhand comment or oblique reference that hinted to Nirel that those plans were going forward already. The idyllic future he’d spoken of might be mere months away, not years. She burned with curiosity to know more, but he would reveal nothing to her until after she passed the Trials. Maybe tonight she’d finally learn the full truth.

She walked back to the cluster of buildings beside Kabos. They split off from the others and entered the house they shared. Kabos had chosen one as far as possible from the empty blackened ground where the shrine had once stood. Even after only two months there, it felt like home to Nirel. The three tiny rooms had a warm, friendly feel that reminded her of their farmhouse in the mountains. She liked to think that the family who’d lived there before would be glad it had gone to those who shared their Faith.

Nirel’s stomach rumbled, but she made no move toward the chest where they stored their food, or the pots and pans piled by the hearth. Elder Semanel had ordered that she fast before her Trials. She hadn’t eaten since sunrise. She was sure that contributed a great deal to her weariness and the headache that was starting to throb behind her eyes. She stirred the coals in the fireplace, added several lengths of wood, and sat down to go over the book of Ordinances one last time.

Kabos notified her when the bath was free. She shivered through a quick scrub and dressed in her warmest clothes. The weather was much milder here than in her homeland, where at this time of year they might very well have seen several snowfalls. But somehow the heavy humid air chilled her as deeply as the crisp mountain winds had.

The village was quiet, warm yellow light spilling from windows, when they left for the city. Kabos set a brisk pace, and Nirel hurried to keep up. They had to go through the Dualist quarter to the commercial district in order to visit the tailor, then back within the walls for the clandestine late-night meeting where her Trials were to be held.

Her ball gown was beautiful, all rich golden and brown fabrics, some smooth and shiny, others soft and fuzzy, yet others heavy with raised floral patterns. The textures and colors combined in a way that conveyed an impression of sumptuous wealth. Nirel was glad the Matriarch had ordered her tailor to continue to provide whatever the Tevenarans wanted without payment, because the gown had to be outrageously expensive. The many-layered skirts were so wide she could have concealed a small horse under them.

When the tailor proclaimed herself satisfied with the fit and finished marking the few places that needed further attention, Nirel gratefully slipped out of the gown and pulled on the much plainer garment she’d also had the tailor make. The woman clucked in disapproval as Nirel slid it over her head. “Are you sure this is what you want, dear? That high neck does nothing to flatter your lovely figure. And the color is so drab it wouldn’t be out of place in the Dualist quarter.”

Nirel’s heart raced. She fought to keep her voice casual. “This is much closer to what I wore at home. And Father doesn’t like it when I wear revealing clothes. He’s unhappy enough about the ball gown. I thought it would be wiser to please him with this one.”

The woman patted her shoulder in commiseration. “I understand about over-protective fathers. You’re a smart one to play him so well. Yield in small matters so you can get your way when it counts.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nirel replied, wishing the woman would be quiet. She was far happier with the grey woolen dress than the rich ball gown. It met all the requirements of the Ordinances for a woman’s modesty. She could wear it without shame for her Trials.

The hour was growing late. Nirel’s nervousness and hunger combined to set her stomach churning. She hurried through the last of the formalities with the tailor. Kabos nodded approval of the grey dress, and they set off for the Dualist quarter and the shrine.

Elder Semanel’s shrine looked the same as it had that first night, a little yellow light seeping out around the thick curtains to illuminate the symbol painted above the door. Now Nirel knew what it signified. The Lord’s hand grasping the Rod of Justice, surmounted by the ring of stars that symbolized both creation and the crown of reward that awaited those who followed the Lord’s Ordinances.

The door opened. Elder Semanel’s kind face smiled at Nirel, though he didn’t speak. The small front room was crowded with silently waiting men shrouded in the solemn robes of Elders. They turned to look at Nirel as she entered. The faces shadowed under their hoods betrayed no welcome, or curiosity, or wariness, or hostility, only studied her with emotionless judgement. She gulped and ducked her head.

Kabos stepped in behind her and the door swung shut. The locks clicked loudly in the silence as Semanel fastened them. Still without speaking, he gestured toward the hallway, indicating that she should precede him into the shrine.

She ducked through the panel of drapery into the now familiar and beloved space. She sank to her knees directly in front of the sacred scroll and bowed her head, as Semanel had instructed her. She closed her eyes and tried to formulate a mental prayer to the Lord of Justice in the formal, stylized phrases that were the only properly respectful way to address him. But her thoughts kept skittering off into irrelevant, impertinent, even blasphemous tangents. She noticed the creaking of joints as the elderly men knelt, forming a tight ring around the perimeter of the circle. She smelled the musky scent of their bodies as the combined heat of so many warmed the enclosed space. She wondered wildly what they might do if she were to suddenly jump up and start singing one of Gan’s favorite bawdy tavern songs at the top of her lungs. The laughter that bubbled up in response to the image nearly broke free from her lips. She had to cough to cover it.

Was the sudden cold weight of disapproval that met the undisciplined sound only her imagination, or were the Elders really glowering at her? She sank lower, thoroughly sobered, and forced her mind back to appropriate meditations.

Semanel and Kabos, as her sponsors, knelt on either side of her. Kabos had gone through his final purification and restoration a few days earlier. She hadn’t been allowed to attend that ceremony. She wondered if it had been similar to this one, or completely different.

She knew they would continue to kneel in silence for at least an hour, maybe longer, until Elder Davon, the leader of the Faithful, judged she’d proven her ability to discipline her body into submission. There’d been no indication which of the many Elders was Davon. They all wore identical robes, and she hadn’t been able to distinguish special deference given to any individual.

Time dragged on. Hard as it was to keep her mind focused, Nirel had no problem holding her body still. Semanel had trained her for this by requiring her to kneel unmoving through most of their long sessions.

She gave up trying to pray and let her thoughts wander. She pictured Kevessa stepping from the deck of the
Verinna
onto the dock in Tevenar. What would she think of her first glimpse of the wizards’ power? She’d probably be thrilled, delighted, fascinated.

Would she believe Nirel if she told her the sparkling golden light that seemed so innocuous was actually a trap, a temptation, a snare, to drag the unwary or unknowing down into the depths of corruption? Like any temptation, it seemed attractive on the surface, but revealed its true nature on closer examination. It deceived those who wielded it into believing they had the right to take actions reserved to the Lord of Justice alone. Only he could rightly deal out life or death, healing or truth or power. Any attempt to escape the consequences of his righteous judgement must inevitably lead to misery.

It was like a charlatan selling you a miraculous powder you could sprinkle on your fields, that would magically produce a bountiful crop without you having to do any work. Come harvest, you would starve, because all such promises were empty. Only facing hard, uncompromising reality without shrinking or shirking could lead to true prosperity.

Nirel was so lost in thought she missed whatever subtle signal Elder Davon gave that the her first Trial was over. Elder Semanel’s voice jerked her back to awareness. “Turn and face your questioners.”

Obediently, Nirel shifted around on her knees and settled back onto her heels, her back straight. It was harder than she’d expected to meet all those cold, merciless eyes.

Without any preamble, the Elder on the far left end of the arc spoke. “What is the Ordinance for the eighth day of the third month?”

For a moment Nirel panicked. Ruthlessly she shoved her fear to the back of her mind and summoned up the answer. “‘Wife, obey your husband. His word to you is like the word of the Lord of Justice. Do not turn aside from following his commands, lest he discipline you with the rod of Justice.’”

Without any indication of the correctness or error of her response, another Elder spoke. “Which month’s Ordinances concern the requirements and restrictions the Faithful must observe in trade and other financial transactions?”

“The ninth.”

More questions followed with unrelenting speed. Nirel was forced to answer without thinking, depending wholly on the thoroughness of her training. “How many ordinances deal with the requirements a man must meet to be considered for dedication as an Elder?”

“Seven.”

“What Ordinance commands the Faithful to respect the laws of the land in which they live?”

“The tenth day of the sixth month.”

“What does the following day’s Ordinance permit?”

“It permits the Faithful to violate those laws if they contradict the Ordinances or place the Faithful in danger.”

“What does the Ordinance for the twenty-fourth day of the first month require?”

“That all Faithful must—”

On and on it went. The questions flew at her in an endless torrent, until Nirel felt she was knocking away stones hurled at her by an angry mob. None of the Elders allowed the least hint of approval or disappointment to color their voices. Nirel couldn’t tell if she was doing well or failing miserably.

“Recite the Ordinance for the eighth day of the third month.”

Wait, hadn’t she answered that question already? Or had that been the third day of the eighth month? Were they trying to trick her? Had she gotten it wrong before, and they were giving her the chance to correct her mistake? Nirel’s head swam. She hesitated a fraction of a second, just long enough to break the steady rhythm of question and response. But she knew the answer, so she gave it, repeating the same words she’d spoken before. Still no one gave any sign to let her know whether she’d been clever and avoided their trickery or made a fool or herself by misunderstanding.

The flow of questions continued. The words started to lose meaning in Nirel’s mind, becoming nothing more than a series of nonsense syllables that she must echo by rote, with as little understanding as a mimic bird. She slipped into a trance-like state, losing awareness of anything but the responses that had been drilled into her.

Suddenly one of the questions slammed her back into full awareness. “Complete the following: ‘If any among you, from the babe born this morning to the aged one who will die before sunset, submit himself to the unnatural power wielded by the minions of the Lady of Mercy, so that it invades and changes his body…”

She couldn’t let herself give any sign, not a pause, not a swallow, not a quiver in her voice. “…Cast him out from the Faithful, for he has become an abomination in the Lord’s eyes.”

She must have succeeded, because the questions continued without a break.

Finally, without warning, silence followed one of her responses. For a space of around ten breaths all was silent. Nirel bowed her head, too tired for any coherent thought. She wasn’t yet done. Her body and mind had been tested. One Trial remained.

An Elder spoke. This time his voice was slower, more thoughtful, but still unreadable. “Consider this situation. A man of the Faithful sails on a trading voyage. On his return, his ship is becalmed, so that though he had thought to return well before the day when he must present himself at a shrine for his yearly examination, as required by the nineteenth Ordinance of the first month, when the day arrives he is still at sea. What must he do?”

Nirel took a deep breath. Elder Semanel had prepared her for the questions designed to evaluate her spirit, and this was a fairly simple example of the type. “He must present himself at the shrine at the earliest possible moment upon his return and confess that transgression to the Elder along with the rest. The Elder will assign him appropriate penance, in accordance with his judgement of the severity of the man’s fault, and he must perform it with a penitent heart. Then the Lord will see that the wrong is balanced by the repayment, and he will have no need to punish the man further.”