Cobweb Empire (41 page)

It was still cold, but no longer the same
biting, overwhelming chill of snowy winter that had come with them
on the majority of the trip from Lethe and then northern Morphaea.
Even the sky was a warmer hue of blue, and hinted of autumn or
spring.

Percy slept for the past hour on Beltain’s
chest. There had been no good place to stop for rest, only an
exposed plain, and thus no way to assure safety for them.

But at last, the plain ended and a mixed
terrain brought the hills and the forestland closer.

Beltain rode with a seemingly impassive set
to his features, but concealing a deep worry on behalf of the girl.
She looked far more ill than she had ever been before under similar
circumstances. True, she had not lost consciousness entirely as she
did after taking on hundreds of the dead at the siege of Letheburg.
However, her condition was more perilous now, even though she was
partially awake, because her lethargy was overwhelming while her
skin was very cold to the touch, and a sheen of cold sweat beaded
on her brow.

“Percy . . .” he whispered.
“How do you feel?”

“I am . . . alive,” she
replied. For some reason he noticed the very light trembling smile
on her lips. Then her eyes opened wide, clear and aware, yet
unearthly, and full of that strange intermediate color of
grey-blue-swamp-green.

And with those eyes she gazed at him.

Beltain felt a painful constriction in his
chest, followed by a stab of intensity. He had to look away, unable
to meet her gaze for longer than a moment, saying instead, “We will
stop to rest shortly. Just a little more until I find a good place,
safe and out of view, and then—then you will rest.”

She continued to watch him thus,
occasionally closing her eyes and falling again into a peculiar
unhealthy sleep that was close to a swoon. And he meanwhile stared
like a hawk at their surroundings, watching out for landmarks, for
moving enemy figures, for anything that might be of use or of
harm.

As the sun started to slant at his back and
his right, painting the western sky with plum fire, Beltain finally
rounded a hill then went up an incline and into a small valley that
was mostly green, with spots of the ever-present sienna. Jack was
now stepping over clumps of earth and rock and grass underfoot, and
like a miracle the snow was almost entirely gone.

In the middle of the valley, among a small
woodland clearing, stood a structure.

Beltain raised his gauntlet to stare,
because the glare of the setting sun sent horizontal rays over the
top of the hills to reflect off something golden and bright amid
that structure. It was as if another small captured sun had been
brought to ground and placed inside a terrestrial cage.

As they drew closer, with the knight
carefully looking out for any signs of life or sudden enemy
movement, Percy sighed, coming awake, then opened her eyes
again.

She blinked at the golden reflected
radiance. “What is it?”

“I am not sure yet,” he replied. “I don’t
know if we should approach. There may be people there. And frankly,
I am too weary myself to welcome another protracted fight.”

“There are no dead there,” she announced.
“That’s good, at least.”

Beltain made his decision and decided to
approach the structure.

As they moved in to narrow the distance, the
sun sank over the hills, and the painful radiance no longer made it
impossible to look directly at the thing down there.

It was a temple.

An ancient, overgrown one.

There were fluted columns of white marble,
wrought in the classical Greek Ionic order of architecture, their
capitals ornamented with spiral volutes up on top, surrounding an
interior wall with a central gate.

The surrounding trees had sprawled around
the temple perimeter, eclipsing a portion of the roof, and old
thick vines climbed up, bare of leaves in the winter chill. Had
this been summer, the greenery of the tree leaves would have hidden
the structure completely, but now the bare branches revealed the
gilded frieze and the cornices, which were reflecting the last rays
of the sun moments ago and now had softened in the last light of
sunset to a warm buttery haze. However the marble bore many cracks,
and the golden sheets were peeling in places.

“This place is very old, and apparently
neglected,” Beltain remarked, as they rode up close, and saw the
external details of disrepair. “As such, it will serve us as
shelter against the unknown night.”

The black knight dismounted, then led Jack
up to the nearest colonnade, and took Percy in his arms, carrying
her down from the saddle. He put her down softly to sit on the
third stone stair, and she reeled slightly, then put her hands down
to steady herself upright.

“Can you manage to sit for a few moments,
girl?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Good. Let me deal with Jack, and then we’ll
go inside.”

And he brought the warhorse up a few more
stairs and into the colonnade overhang, out of the wind, and where
the shadows would keep the great beast out of sight. He did not
bother removing the bridle or harness, since they might have to
ride on a moment’s notice. Instead, he took out a small feedbag
from the back of the saddle, and hung it around Jack’s neck, after
giving him some melted snow from the water sack. After the warhorse
was settled, Beltain took with him a water flask and the small
satchel of food that he’d had the good sense to request from the
inn at Silver Court when they left that morning.

With it, he approached Percy, just as the
sunset began to fade into twilight.

The girl could barely stand up on her own.
Beltain drew his arms around her waist and shoulder, holding her
around her thick old coat, and they entered the temple through the
doors that were left unfastened years ago.

Inside was near darkness.

Beltain was alert for any sign of movement,
but they were completely alone. A large hall awaited them,
dust-filled and at the same time smelling faintly of mildew and
forest, with similar rows of Ionic colonnades around its rectangle
perimeter, and a lofty angled roof held up by horizontal beams and
columns. The roof was broken in places, admitting an open vision of
indigo sky and thus allowing in the elements—which accounted for
the moisture and the hint of rot.

In the back of the temple before the sanctum
stood a great statue of a goddess, gilded and crowned with a
headdress of stalks of wheat, and seated upon a throne. Garlands of
embossed moldings in the shape of jewels appeared to cascade from
her braided curving crown of hair and her earlobes, and her wrists
and arms were braced with wide ornate bands. She was not nude but
wore a noble chiton that came down in marble folds to her sandaled
feet.

And although this attire was more ceremonial
and formal, Percy immediately recognized the Goddess of
Tradition.

It was like coming home.

A strange peaceful sense of rightness
immediately settled around Percy’s heart. The expanse of the hall
was no longer an unknown void of dust, cracked marble, and menacing
shadows but a familiar welcome sphere of comfort. Each column
breathed solidity, familiarity, and the remote ceiling overhead was
like a bower of wild roses woven together to create a shelter from
the sky.

Percy stared at the great ancient goddess
before her, with her smooth serene features and her wheat crown.
“Who are you?” she whispered, through her debilitating weakness.
“Why do I know you so well?”

Beltain, still assisting her to stand, with
his one powerful arm around her, heard her speak and replied.
“Strange serendipity, that we come upon her now, the same goddess
of your dream. The Goddess of Tradition must be watching over you,
out of her golden antiquity.”

“What are . . . gods?” Percy
whispered. “There is God who watches over us and yet there are
these others.”

Beltain shrugged, his lips curving in a
smile that she could not see in the twilight. “Priests would tell
you such things are old pagan blasphemies. It may well be so. And
yet, in this gentle light, the ancient one looks down at us, and
she is soft and harmless and fair. . . . If mortal
men have an order to them, why not gods? Let there be One who
presides over the others. Perhaps they take turns—just like men—and
choose one of their own to be God supreme throughout the ages,
until another one is chosen to lead a new Age. Or—maybe there is
always the same One God, and simply an ever-changing pantheon of
the lesser ones who march in varied prominence through time
alongside us mortals, fading in and out of favor and worship,
powered by our own desires and dreams.”

And while Percy continued to stare at the
goddess in a dreamlike daze, Beltain gently pressed her shoulder
and guided her deeper into the temple.

The black knight found a sheltered spot in
the back of the sanctum itself, that alcove behind the statue where
the ancient priests met in secret and performed their most sacred
rituals. Here, in the shadowed niche mostly free of nature’s debris
and dust, he spread out his cloak on cold marble and set down his
pack. With gentle care he helped Percy sit then lie down, resting
her head on a small bundle that was his folded blue Chidair
surcoat. While she lay down thus, closing her eyes, he quickly
removed his gauntlets and the most cumbersome portions of his plate
armor so that he could flex his body and sleep. The chain mail
hauberk remained for both protection and warmth. But he unbelted
his sword in its steel and leather sheath and set it down at his
side.

It was so quiet in the
temple. . . . As the evening deepened, the wind
increased outside. It whistled through the fine cracks in stone,
giving chase to itself, with occasional gusts entering through the
parted doors and from the missing portions of the damaged roof
above. In the openings was dark velvet sky, with a cold sprinkling
of stars.

“I dare not build a fire for us, girl, not
here,” Beltain said after a few minutes. “But now you must drink
and eat, to regain your strength and warmth. Food is fuel when
there can be no fire. . . .”

Percy weakly opened her eyes and watched the
black knight as he took out a loaf of bread and cheese from the
satchel. Again she smiled faintly, and Beltain could have sworn she
was
bemused
with him, with his very motions—the practiced
way he broke apart the loaf with his large capable hands, and then
used his knife to carve out a piece of hard cheese for her.

He took out the water flask, and drew near
her, and put his hand gently underneath her head wrapped in its
woolen shawl to lift her up enough so she could drink. Percy
received the water from him and swallowed, with difficulty at
first, so that rivulets flowed past her cracked lips and down her
pale cold chin which he wiped with his warm fingers, making her
tremble slightly. He was uncertain why she trembled, but somehow it
made him very aware of the contact . . . and now his
fingers trembled also.

After she had drunk a few swallows and took
a deep breath, he helped her sit up again, and she rested the palms
of her hands down on the cloak to balance herself.

Next, he made sure she chewed the bread and
the cheese, and watched her grow steadier as she consumed a small
amount.

She ate and breathed gently, bundled in her
coat, her legs folded primly to the side and under her, keeping the
folds of her skirt around them for warmth. Soft wisps of hair had
come loose from her shawl as it slid back from her forehead.

“How do you feel?” he asked again.

“Better—thank you.” She chewed another piece
of bread and cheese absentmindedly, and some of it ended up on her
round cheeks and the rest crumbled down her chin and the front of
her coat.

He reached out without thinking and swept
the crumbs away from her chin with his fingers, then realized what
he had done and moved his hand away. . . .

“You’ve recovered well, this time,” he said,
keeping his voice matter-of-fact. “There had been so many more dead
that you put to rest this time, compared to Letheburg. I marvel how
you do this thing.”

Percy looked up to meet his gaze tiredly. “I
don’t really know how I do it. It must be done, that is all.”

Overhead, the moon appeared. Beams of soft
light fell in dappled spots from the holes in the roof.

“Will you not eat also?” she asked, and then
handed him the remaining bread and cheese.

His fingers touched hers, in a warm instant
of contact, and he took the food, then ate, remembering that he was
ravenous also. After he was done, he put the leftover portion of
the loaf and cheese away, and drank the water from the flask,
wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

She watched his every movement.

“Time to rest now,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but first, I need to go outside
and—”

He smiled. “Yes, unfortunately there’s no
chamberpot here. Can you manage on your own?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, and even in the faint
moonglow he could see her blush.

“Good. Then go slowly and take your time,
and call for me if you need help. I’ll take my turn afterward.”

Later, they both returned to the sheltered
niche and their makeshift campsite consisting of spread cloak, two
small bundles, and piled armor plates.

In truth, Percy had barely managed to answer
the call of nature on her own, and dizziness nearly overpowered her
upon getting up and on her way back. Now she moved slowly, holding
on to some of the columns for balance, and took each shaky step
inside the temple until she could gratefully lower herself back
down on the cloak.

Beltain took his own turn and was back
shortly, after also checking up on Jack. He carried with him his
long shield that he’d removed from the warhorse’s saddle to lighten
Jack’s load a bit more, overnight. The shield was placed with the
armor, and Percy stared at it briefly, seeing the frightful
evidence of impact damage it had suffered in the last few hours
during their insane ride through the Trovadii army.