Glasswrights' Test (28 page)

“Hail Nome, god of children, guide of Jair the Pilgrim. Look upon this pilgrim with mercy in your heart and justice in your soul. Guide the feet of this pilgrim on righteous paths of glory that all may be done to honor you and yours among the Thousand Gods. This pilgrim asks for the grace of your blessing, Nome, god of children.”

The words cut through Rani, icing across her heart. Those were the words her mother had said every morning and every evening. The prayer was traditionally spoken over the dead, but Rani's mother had made it one of protection for the living, for her children. Those words had guided Rani every day of her childhood, before she knew that she was destined for the glasswrights' guild, before she knew that she would betray her family and her friends. Before her life changed forever.

“Nurse tells me that I must pray as well,” Berylina said, and Rani was forced to remember where she was now, who she was, that she was responsible for guiding this Speaking.

She took a breath that was shakier than it should have been, and she asked, “What words do you pray?”

“I pray for Nome to bless me. I pray, ‘May Nome look upon me with his grace and goodness. May Nome protect me. May Nome guide me.'” Berylina's words were still softened with the speech of childhood, but her tone was brilliant, fierce. As Rani watched, a light bloomed within the princess's face, a burning power that expanded like a candle catching in the night.

“What?” Rani whispered. “What do you see?”

“Not see!” Berylina said. “Not see!”

“What is it? What happens, Berylina?”

“Nome comes to me!”

“What does he say?”

“Nome does not use words! Nome brings the sound of music! He pipes, like the players at my birthday feast! He speaks in music!” Joy spread over Berylina's face, and she turned her head as if she were listening to the most beautiful notes in the world.

Rani watched the transformation, watched the princess's rabbit teeth disappear, watched her strange otherness melt away. When Nome played for her, she was a different girl, a blessed girl, a child who was perfect in the hearts of the gods, in every way that mattered. She was safe. Loved. Free.

Rani wanted to let the princess stay inside the memory, wanted her to live within the beauty of the past. She could not, though. The guard would check on them shortly, bribe or no bribe. Rani must bring the princess back to normal wakefulness.

“My lady, it's time for you to come back to me, back to Brianta.” Rani saw Berylina's brow start to wrinkle, saw a protest start to blossom in her throat. “I'm going to count from ten to one. When I say the number ‘one', you will awaken, refreshed and unafraid. You will remember everything we've spoken about, everything you've told me. You will not worry, though. You will not fear. You will be warm and safe and secure.”

Rani glanced about her at the walls of the prison, wondering how she could even offer up such a suggestion with seriousness. No sane woman would feel secure inside this cell. Nevertheless, Rani pushed confidence into her voice and counted. “Ten. Nine. Eight.” She watched Berylina's face change, watched her move from her memories toward the present. “Seven. Six.” The princess's jaw seemed to jut more; her teeth protruded above her lower lip. “Five. Four.” Berylina turned her head to the right, her habitual stance for viewing people standing close to her. “Three. Two. One!”

Berylina gasped as if she were surfacing from under water. Her eyes burst open, and she heaved forward. Her breath was strangled, frantic, a wheezing clatter that echoed in the cell, louder than any of the words she had spoken.

Suddenly, Father Siritalanu was standing in the door, his face whey-pale beneath his tonsure. “What have you done to her? What did you do to the princess?” Berylina's eyes were rolled up into her head, and Rani caught her as she slumped to the ground, limp as a bolt of raw silk. “What did you do to my mistress?”

“Hush!” Rani said, looking meaningfully toward the door. “The guard will hear you!”

Father Siritalanu started to bark out something, but then he swallowed the words, as if they were too angry even for a prison cell, in this land of Jair's birth. Instead, he settled for crossing to Berylina. He lifted her right hand between both of his and he chafed it, raising it up to his heart as if he would transfuse his life force merely by the power of his prayer. “My lady,” he whispered, urgency sharpening the words. “My lady, come back to us! We need you here, my lady.”

Berylina's eyes flew open. The cast one floated wildly, as if she could not focus, but the direct one pinned itself on Rani. “Please!” Berylina croaked, the one word sounding like the flood of water from the mouth of a near-drowned man. She reached forward with both her hands, thrusting Father Siritalanu away.

Rani felt the princess's fingers close about her own, felt Berylina clutch at her with more strength than she had ever imagined the girl might have. Just as Rani was about to cry out, she felt a surge of energy—hot cold black white sharp sharp sharp.

Rani's hand throbbed with the pulse, and then her arm, her neck, her entire head. She had felt a force like that once before, years back, in Morenia, when Hal had tested her before the old king. Then, she had been forced to place her hand upon the Inquisitor's Orb; she had been required to hold it there as it burned hot with the power of all her thoughts, all her beliefs, all her dreams and expectations. Now, Rani opened her mouth to cry out, but she could make no sound, form no words.

Inside the void, she heard Berylina's whisper, heard the words that the princess had shared only a moment ago. “Nome does not use words! Nome brings the sound of music! He pipes, like the players at my birthday! He speaks in music!”

And Rani's head was filled with music—the most perfect jig ever piped, the most perfect reel ever played. Her heart raced with the music, pulsed with the notes. She heard the music in her core; she felt it in her being. She
became
the music. She became Nome.

And then, when her heart could beat on its own again, she sensed the other gods standing in the shadows, ones that she knew were especially sacred to Berylina. There was Mip, and Nim. Ile and Zil. And there, in a corner of Rani's mind, tucked away where she would rather ignore him forever, was Tarn, the god of death. He was wrapped in green-black swirls, iridescent as a beetle's back.

So, this was how Berylina saw the world. This was how her mind worked, behind her cast eyes. This was what she worshiped when she journeyed on her pilgrimage, when she declared her faith beyond the world of common men.

For just an instant, Rani was catapulted back to her youth in Moren. When she had been only thirteen years old, she had stood on the steps of the House of the Gods, been greeted by the old Holy Father himself. The ancient man had named her the First Pilgrim of the year; he had elevated her to a symbolic station, thrust her into the life she now led.

Then, Rani had thought that she should hear the gods, feel them move about her daily life. She had been ashamed that she felt nothing. She had known that she was masquerading, staking claim to a holiness that was not hers by any right.

This was different, though. This was real. This was true.

Rani wondered how Berylina had come to convey this beauty. She wondered what power the princess had used, what magic she had worked, what reverse Speaking she had fashioned. Perhaps Berylina truly
was
a witch.

Even as the fearful thought crossed Rani's mind, she discarded it. Berylina had worked no evil here. She had not used her powers to harm any other. Instead, she had reached out to share beauty and power and light. She had reached out to share her knowledge of all the Thousand Gods.

“My lady,” Rani said, bowing her head.

“This is how I know the gods, Ranita Glasswright. This is how I know them in my heart of hearts.”

“I understand, my lady.”

“Some say that I am evil for this knowledge.”

“They speak in ignorance, then.”

“They'll fight me, Ranita Glasswright. They'll fight to have me buried as a witch, because they do not understand. They'll smother me with earth.”

“I'll keep you from that.” Rani raised her head to the single narrow window, blinking her eyes in the light that suddenly seemed too bright. “I promise that I will do all in my power to keep you from that.” A thousand visions and smells, tastes and sounds and touches rose up in joyous cacophony, affirming Rani's vow. “I'll protect you, Berylina Thunderspear, or die in the trying.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

Rani blinked as she stepped outside the prison. How could the sun still hang in the sky, the dust still billow in the courtyard? How could pilgrims still walk back and forth, tugging their robes into place, fingering their Thousand Pointed Stars? How could everything be the same?

She glanced at Father Siritalanu, but the priest refused to meet her eyes. The man had called upon his personal gods in Berylina's chambers, demanding that the princess explain what had happened, what forces she had summoned. Berylina had only smiled wanly, pulling Rani's gown closer about her still-pale body. Then the princess had dismissed both of them, claiming that she needed to meditate on what had happened, study the message from the gods and the lessons she had learned from Speaking. No amount of protest from the priest would change her mind.

Rani shivered on the prison steps. She had left her gown with Berylina, although she had reclaimed her cloak, draping it over her shift. She should not be cold in Brianta. She should not be chilled beneath the desert sun.

Her belly twisted, and she remembered that she had not eaten since the spoonful of lumpy gruel that Larinda had permitted her upon her arrival at the guildhall that morning. Larinda was reveling in the power that Master Parion had given her, seeking out ways to torture Rani with their sorry past. Each morning, the journeyman required Rani to mix the gruel as she had years ago, when Cook controlled the kitchen.

Rani had contemplated refusing, but she knew that her disobedience would be reported back to Master Parion. She could not afford to brook the guildmaster now. Not when her test was so close. Not when his orders had been so explicit. Not when she had voluntarily agreed to eat only at the hall, and to be bound in all guildish things by Larinda Glasswright.

Rani sighed. She was a fool. The gods were stirring in Brianta, and she was letting herself be distracted by a rivalry more than a decade old.

Her dissatisfaction turned to true concern, though, as she contemplated what Tovin would say about the afternoon's development. He had never told her explicitly that she must not lead a Speaking, but surely he would expect her not to act without his permission. What would he say when he learned of Berylina's demand? How angry would he be with Rani when he learned that she had given in?

She hesitated even longer on the steps, and bells started tolling. The carillon was distinctive—trios of high pitched tones, which were only picked up by a handful of other temples. Father Siritalanu cocked his head and then he said, “Bern.”

Bern. The god of rain. The name summoned up an immediate sensation for Rani—her skin was brushed with the rough rasp of sand, as if she were rolling on a distant beach.

“Father!” she gasped, even as her mind rebelled against the illogic of the touch. Rain? Sand? Why should the two be joined in sensation? Was this the madness that had driven Berylina to be so different all her life, that had set the princess apart in Liantine and in Morenia and now here in Brianta?

“I do not wish to speak of this,” Father Siritalanu said. “Not here. Not now.” He glanced at the Midden behind them, his scowl seeming to state that the very walls had ears. He hurried around the corner of the building, away from the door, away from the guards.

Rani followed after, determined to ask for guidance. What was happening to her? Bern's touch was as clear as a voice, as certain as rain in Zarithia. What had Berylina done to her? What madness was taking over her mind, her skin, her ears, her eyes?
What had happened inside that cell?

As if to echo her fears, a pilgrim detached himself from the shadows at the foot of the building, limping toward them as if he were ancient, or terribly scarred. “Alms,” the man whispered. “Alms in the name of all the Thousand Gods.”

Rani started to shake her head and continue on her way. She was hungry and tired and worried about her oaths to guildhall and lover. There were too many beggars in Brianta, too many supposed innocents preying on the devotion of the faithful. And she was not willing to open up her cloak to get at the pouch where she kept her coins. The Briantans would be scandalized to see a woman on the street wearing only her shift.

Apparently, Father Siritalanu was also willing to ignore the pauper; he glanced at the creature and picked up his pace, striding down the street beside the prison.

“Mercy!” the beggar whispered. “Have mercy on a poor soul!”

Rani refused to look at the man; she hastened after the priest.

“Hold!” the beggar urged, his raspy voice becoming harsher. “If you would call yourself holy, stop in this place of sorrow and of wrath!”

“Father!” Rani called, anxious to be rid of the man. If the priest would just give the beggar a coin, they could be gone from here. They could return to their rooms and begin the serious work of figuring out how to help Berylina, what to do for her now.

For an instant, she thought that Father Siritalanu would ignore her. She could see the angry set of his shoulders, measure his high emotion in the pounding of his booted feet against the cobblestones. Rani wanted to tell him that he wasn't being fair—
she
had nothing to do with whatever strange force had come into Berylina's cell.

Rani was not to blame. She was not at fault, no matter what the priest would have her believe.
She
was the victim here, not some robed, sanctimonious man who was young enough to be her brother. She was the one who was hungry. And cold. And weary.