The Map of All Things (25 page)

59
Olabar Palace

Istar and her daughters returned home from Fashia's Fountain to find a rather officious announcement from the church that Adreala, Cithara, and Istala were to be accepted into the ranks of acolytes as soon as possible. The proclamation was signed by Ur-Sikara Erima herself. It made Istar's heart sink, but she had been expecting it.

The three girls gathered around their mother to read the notice with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Though their ages ranged from ten to twelve, the ur-sikara had decided that all of the soldan-shah's daughters would enter the church at the same time.

Istala, the youngest, glowed. All the way back to Olabar, she had chattered about her dreams of joining the white-robed priestesses at the shrine; she couldn't wait to finish her acolyte training. Sikara Luaren had given her a thin bracelet to wear, an item donated by one of the pilgrims, and the girl treasured it.

Since she was the proper age to become an acolyte, Cithara had been prepared to begin her studies. “I'll miss you, Mother Istar, but I am also glad that I will stay with my sisters. Together, we won't be so lonely in such a strange place.”

Adreala, on the other hand, was not at all excited. Though she had been scheduled to enter the church the previous year, she had made excuses, dragged her feet, and cajoled her mother into delaying her entry. “There is so much else I want to do.”

Istar sympathized. “We can't always go where we choose to go. Sometimes we're just flotsam drifting in a storm.” Her own existence certainly hadn't followed the course she had plotted—a different life, in a different place, with a different husband—but she had tried to be happy here.

Since Omra was still away, Istar invited the former soldan-shah to a special benediction banquet for the three girls. Imir had just returned from a gloriously successful expedition to root out desert bandits in Missinia, and he was delighted to join them. He arrived with his head and cheeks freshly shaven, his garments laundered, but not in the traditional cut and style of Uraban royalty. Instead, he had donned an ornate furry jerkin made from buffalo suede, embroidered with gold threads; it was sleeveless, to show off the muscles of his bare arms (though not to good effect). The jerkin barely tied across his belly.

He hugged Istar before turning to gaze upon his three granddaughters. “Please stop growing, girls—you make me feel old! I can't possibly be the grandfather of such fine and mature young women.”

Cithara thanked him, Istala blushed, while Adreala wrinkled her nose at the rough jerkin. “That's the skin of some animal, and it stinks.”

“It was a gift from Khan Jikaris. Next time I return from the Nunghals, I'll bring a bit of preserved buffalo meat. That's all the Nunghals eat. You've never tasted anything like it.”

“I thought you complained about having to eat buffalo all the time,” Istar said.

“It's just a matter of degree. I enjoy the meat, but it gets a bit tiresome for every single meal.”

For years now, Istar had enjoyed a comfortable relationship with the soldan-shah's father. Not only had she been Omra's wife for a very long time; before that, as a household slave, she had exposed the murderous plot of Villiki and Ur-Sikara Lukai. Yes, Imir liked her well enough.

Over the course of the meal, Imir talked about how he intended to go back to the Great Desert as soon as Omra came back to the palace so that he could be ready for the next season's departure of sand coracles to the Nunghal lands.

Adreala perked up. “You're leaving so soon?”

He waved a hand. “The winds wait for no one! I want to oversee the construction of new coracles so I can bring more cargo back—maybe even Khan Jikaris. He keeps saying he'd like to visit Uraba, but he isn't anxious to leave his tents or his wives.”

Adreala turned to her mother with respectful excitement. “I'd like to go with my grandfather and see those far-off lands. Besides, I can visit Grandmother Lithio in Arikara!” She looked pleadingly at Imir, who had flinched at the mere mention of his long-estranged First Wife. “Won't you take me with you?”

Imir didn't know how to respond. “This isn't a court game, young lady. There are hardships—”

“Now, you know that's just an excuse to avoid training with the sikaras.” Istar pushed aside her small plate, which now held only olive pits and a dot of honey next to the bones of a small roasted bird. “All three of my daughters have been accepted into the church as acolytes. I doubt Omra would let her go.”

“Can't we make an exception?” Adreala dug in as stubbornly as she dared. “I'd rather go traveling with my grandfather.”

Her youngest sister sounded surprised. “But you made excuses last year, Adreala. The sikaras will grow angry if you keep avoiding them.”

Old Imir waved dismissively, now that he'd had a chance to think. “Oh, sikaras find reasons to grow angry with every tide.” He looked at Istar, serious now. “Does she want to go? Truly
want
to go?”

“Yes!” Adreala's voice was practically a shout.

Imir leaned across the table. “How old are you now, girl? Twelve? Saan was that age when he accompanied me on our first trip across the Great Desert.” He sat up straight, coming to his own conclusions. “It would do the girl good, Istar. I can't imagine you want
all
of your daughters to be sikaras?”

Istar definitely did not, but she couldn't say so aloud. Yet Imir himself seemed to be offering an alternative. She looked at Adreala seriously. “The journey will be hard and dangerous.”

Imir brushed crumbs from his buffalo suede vest. “Oh, it's safe enough now. We've made the crossing five times, and the sand coracles are much improved. And I saw to it that the desert bandits were eradicated. What's the harm in letting her go?”

“Please, Mother!”

When Istar saw the hopeful excitement on her daughter's face, it reminded her of Saan's sheer joy when he had sailed off in the
Al-Orizin
. “The soldan-shah will have to decide, but I'll put in a good word for you. Not every woman is made for the church, no matter what the sikaras say.”

Returning from the Gremurr mines, Omra felt pleased and satisfied, both because of the Ishalem canal and also for finally granting Tukar forgiveness. He knew old Imir would be overjoyed to hear that his exiled son would be coming home as soon as the new fleet was armored.

Even though many ministers needed to see him after his long time away, Omra set aside all matters of state. This was his family time. He played games with Omirr; he bounced little Irec on his lap. Naori brought him tea and just sat at his side, happy to have him home. Istar welcomed him with a warm hug, and the two younger daughters bubbled over with excitement about being allowed to enter the church as sikara acolytes together.

But Adreala clearly had something on her mind. With perfect manners, she asked to see her father alone to make a request, and he indulged her. Omra took a seat on the cushions beside his oldest daughter. “Now, what's on your mind?”

He didn't even take a breath before she spilled out her request to go on a long journey with her grandfather, rattling off arguments and justifications with such enthusiasm and confusing energy that Omra had to laugh and sit back. “So you'd rather cross the Great Desert than be taught by the priestesses?”

Adreala raised her chin in a regal expression. “Wouldn't you?”

He laughed at that. “You may be right.” She looked so mature and beautiful, sure of herself… much like her mother.

“And you let
Saan
go when he was my age. Grandfather Imir says he'll take care of me. He'll protect me—or I can protect him, if he needs it. After I've seen part of the world and had some adventures,
then
I'll go to any schooling you require of me. Please, Father?”

Omra kissed the top of her head. “My dear daughter, I am the soldan-shah. I am not required to give the priestesses everything.” He sat up more formally now. “And your grandfather has promised to watch over you?”

“He has.”

“Very well, then. I can tell from your persuasive speech that you have already developed valuable skills in diplomatic negotiation. Therefore, I as your soldan-shah command that you continue your education in matters of state. As I have appointed the First Wives as my emissaries to the five soldanates, you will be my special emissary to the Nunghals—apprenticed to your grandfather, of course. Travel with him and see the world.”

Adreala leaped off the cushions and threw her arms around her father's neck, kissing him with childish enthusiasm. “Thank you, thank you!”

Omra reveled in the pure affection for a few more moments, then shooed her away. “Now I need to have a few words with your grandfather.”

He joined the former soldan-shah outside in the courtyard as the moon rose. The evening air was cool and still. By lantern light, they sat under the night-blooming lilies and set out a game board with pieces of gold, jasper, and jade. They played a game of
xaries
while they talked, but Omra could barely concentrate on his moves. “I have just seen Tukar, Father. It has been a long time since his exile.”

Imir moved a piece on the
xaries
board, leaving himself open for an attack by Omra's sea serpent. “Poor Tukar… not cut out for leadership at all.”

“He's an honorable man, Father. I offered him forgiveness, asked him to come home to Olabar—but he wants to stay at the mines until he finishes the task I gave him. He's very dedicated.”

A tear appeared in the corner of the older man's eye. “I know Tukar wanted nothing to do with his mother's schemes. But tragedies have little bearing on what is
right
. Ondun has His reasons, and we don't all have a map to follow in order to understand them.”

“But some injustices can be rectified.” Omra paused for a long moment. “I told him he can come home.”

The old man looked up from the game, startled, and tears began flowing down his cheeks.

60
Main Urecari Church, Olabar

While Adreala made preparations to depart with her grandfather, her younger sisters said their farewells and approached the looming church as new acolytes. Istala and Cithara went by themselves, as was tradition, leaving all past connections behind.

The girls presented themselves as meek supplicants at a tall wooden door designed to intimidate and dwarf all who entered. Looking at the imposing barrier, Istala quoted from Urec's Log: “All are insignificant before the glory of Ondun.”

When the doors opened, the two passed through into echoing halls where the priestesses welcomed them, blessed them, and asked the girls to scribe their names onto a ribbon of clean white silk, which they tossed onto a smoldering brazier. As the smoke curled up, one old sikara said, “Now your names and lives are sealed in service to Urec and his church.”

Despite the girls' breeding, the priestesses gave them no special consideration. The church was their only family now, but Istala and Cithara understood politics well enough to know that they would rise quickly in the hierarchy. This was the surest way for a woman to gain power, prestige, and importance in Uraba.

For the first three days, the girls were assigned traditional duties as newcomers: emptying chamber pots, scrubbing dishes, working in the laundry. They bedded down on pallets in a communal sleeping chamber. Cithara realized that such humble activities were designed to teach acolytes obedience, and she performed them dutifully.

On the fourth day, the two girls were ushered to an office deep inside the church. In the windowless room, Ur-Sikara Erima sat at a desk lit with scented candles. The church leader was tall and gaunt, with prominent cheekbones and dark woolly hair cropped short except for two long locks that dangled at each side, weighted with red beads. Large gold rings hung from her ears, contrasting with skin the color of mahogany, and her brown eyes had a glazed and distant appearance. She spoke in a tumble of words, as if she had memorized what she was supposed to say. “I welcome my two newest acolytes into the joy of service to Urec and his teachings.”

Istala bowed with great reverence. “Ur-Sikara, I have dreamed of becoming an acolyte in your church.”

Erima paused for a long moment, as if drifting. “Not
my
church, child. Urec's church.” Cithara noted that the ur-sikara seemed drugged, her words faint and slurred. “You are both important to us, as well. You must learn the secret ways of the priestesses. We will be watching you.”

Distracted, the ur-sikara picked up a lutelike musical instrument with three strings and a long curled neck. She plucked the strings, creating a wailing atonal sound that pleased her, though Cithara found it jarring. Erima had apparently forgotten the girls were still there, and two red-robed women hurried in to usher the girls away. They were sent back to their studies and given documents to copy and memorize.

The next week, Istala and Cithara were assigned to different groups to learn, to sing, and to study. While saddened that they couldn't continue together, the girls did as they were told.

For several days, Cithara was tested alone. Priestesses questioned her about her life in the Olabar palace, her relationship with Mother Istar and her two half-sisters. She was asked to describe how the soldan-shah regarded her, what she remembered about her true mother, Cliaparia.

In a calm voice, she answered every query as fully as she could, but as one sikara after another continued to press for details, the girl began to wonder why the church had such a specific interest in her former family life. Cithara didn't believe that every acolyte was the subject of such scrutiny. Finally, the girl's patience reached its limit. Her repeated answer became, “I simply wish to become a sikara.” But the priestesses did not find her responses acceptable.

On the fifteenth day, her questioners led her through the winding stone halls, and she recognized the way into the ur-sikara's main chamber. Again, Erima sat at her table looking sleepy and distant. When the church leader did not deign to notice her, Cithara asked boldly, “Why am I being asked so many questions?”

Erima's gaze swiveled toward her with apparent effort. “You have a special role in the church.”

“What special role?”

She merely repeated, “A special role in the church.”

Cithara decided she would get no further answers from this woman. In earlier years, when addressing huge crowds, the ur-sikara had been an intimidating woman with a strong personality. Now Erima seemed like a shell, a rudderless ship.

Abruptly, an older priestess appeared at the doorway and took Cithara's arm in a firm grip. “Come with me, girl. It is time for you to begin a more important phase of your instruction.”

Wanting answers, the girl turned her back on the ur-sikara and followed. “Why am I being treated differently from the other acolytes?”

“You have other obligations. Now be silent.”

Without further conversation, the woman led her to a door that opened to a steep stairwell where torches lined the walls. They descended more and more stairs until they were surely belowground, and for the first time Cithara began to grasp the scope of the church's catacombs.

At last they arrived at another candlelit chamber, where plush tapestries covered the walls to disguise the fact that this isolated cell was far from the open air and sunlight. Decorative stands displayed polished fern fossils.

A woman waited for her, older than Erima and with a greater presence. Her hard eyes held an inner fire. Cithara instantly guessed that
this
woman was the real power in the Urecari church.

“I've heard great things about you, child. We believe you have the power to save Uraba from certain doom.”

It took Cithara a moment to recognize the face from a painting she had seen in a section of the Olabar palace. “I know you. Everyone believes you are dead.” It was not a question, and there was no fear. “You are Villiki.”

This woman, the wife of Soldan-Shah Imir, had been banished long ago, turned out into the streets, and was presumed to have perished.

“Exiled. Not dead.” Villiki smiled, pleased to be remembered. “You may recognize my appearance, child, and you may know my name, but do not presume that you know
me
. That will happen in time, as I devote extra care to your training. You, Cithara, have a very special destiny.”