Misery's Child (The Cadian Chronicles) (21 page)

 
The shops were the most amazing of all.
Every one of them had enormous glass-paned windows in which hung merchandise of
all shapes and forms. (Only one shop in
Jennymeade
had real glass windows; that was Danaus’ Jeweler & Goldsmith.) Hats, shoes,
glassware, ceramics, perfumes and soaps, jewelry, armor, cushions and
furniture—and so much of it! Many stores displayed bolt after bolt of
cloth in dazzling colors and patterns, but there were even a few that filled
their windows with dresses and tunics already made. What a luxury!

The smell of
baking bread lured her towards an ovenry. She hesitated a moment before going
in, wondering if the shopkeeper would be annoyed if she didn’t buy anything.
She waited until a trio of women with baskets over their arms came along and
then followed them inside.

Marta stood
looking hungrily at the pastries and loaves arranged on trays and wished she
had even a copper quarter-placa in her pocket.

“Careful, lassie,”
the ovener laughed as he deposited another tray on his shelves. “You gonna
drool all over my lovely kruckas.” He was obviously not a native; he wore no
sash and he spoke Shallanie oddly.

“I’m sorry.” She
stepped backwards onto someone’s foot. “Pardon me.”

“Let me guess. You
here for the festival, yes?” His large doughy face did not look troubled; in
fact, he seemed greatly amused. He turned to address the woman waiting at his
counter with a basket full of brown bread. “Two and a quarter placas, my lady.
Oman’s blessings to your house.”

“I’m here with my
sister,” Marta blurted out. “She’s consecratia.”

“Indeed? What’s
your father’s name, child?”

Perhaps he thought
she was making up stories. She told him with her chin tilted defiantly. Scrolls
with the names of consecratia were posted all over the city.

“If your sister
looks anything like you, she must be a beauty indeed.” The ovener grinned to
show enormous crooked teeth. He reached under the counter and pulled out
another basket, from which he plucked a small cake. He tossed it to her.

“With my
compliments, my little lady of Kirrisian. The Mother’s blessing to your
sister.”

She thanked him
and hurried out the door so he would not see her devour it in two bites. It was
a trifle burned on the bottom; perhaps that’s why he’d given it to her for
nothing. The cake was nonetheless delicious, sweet with golden sugar and
butter.

She wandered the
open market where all manner of food could be purchased. Remembering the
ovener, she smiled brightly at every proprietor who looked her way. The women
largely ignored her or, if they saw her at all, narrowed their eyes as if they
sensed she was up to no good. From their stalls, she moved away quickly before
one of them asked why she was wandering alone.

Several of the
men, however, smiled back and when she told them she was the sister of a
consecratia, offered her samples of their wares.

She tasted chicken
broiled in herbs, lamb grilled with lemons, paggies dipped in spun sugar and
honey, numerous slivers of fried fish and several morsels she did not even
recognize. By the time she noticed the sun hanging low in the sky, her stomach
was full and her hands greasy.

The crowds were
thinning as people made their way to their homes or lodgings. Several of the
shops had closed their shutters.

She had turned
down several streets before she realized she was lost. She had not remembered
passing any of these buildings, most of which were taverns. Through the open
windows she could see their tables filling with men and even a few women.
Laughter and loud voices lifted through the air as if carried on the glow of
the tavern lamps.

A man in a window
called out a lewd suggestion to her and she quickened her step. Oh, her mother
would kill her if she found out she’d wandered into the tavern streets. She had
to get back to the camp quickly.

Women hung over a
balcony up ahead. When they saw her coming, they burst into laughter.

“A little young,
ain’t
ya, dearie?” the prettiest of them called. “Well,
never too young to learn a trade, my da always said.”

Her companions
seemed to find this particularly amusing. Marta glared up at them as she
trudged past, taking in their tightly laced bodices and unbound hair, the
too-bright mouths and gaudy jewelry. They were younger than Tanra Jille, and
prettier, but they were doubtless the same kind. So such things went on even in
the White City?

Shadows moved
against the curtains behind the women and she instinctively knew they were male
even before the deep voice shouted out a name: “Abshira!”

The prettiest one
sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes at her companions. “Coming, Danaus, my
impatient lover, com-
ing
!”

Marta’s head flew
back in laughter before her hand could reach her mouth. So this was the
pressing business meeting he and Tomack were in such a rush to attend!

She filed the
knowledge away with a smile as she hurried back to camp.

Secrets were
almost as delicious as food, and sometimes more satisfying.

***

The Festival of
the Single Moon lasted seven days and seven nights. The first two days were
deliberately unimportant. Nothing of consequence was scheduled in order to
accommodate those who always arrived late. Instead, the first two days were
spent finding lodging, for those rich enough to afford the hostelries and
rooming houses, or pitching tents, for those who weren’t. Consecratia and their
families camped either way, in a segregated section of the enormous common
nearest the Bridge to Omana Teret. Great walls of purple cloth lashed to poles
surrounded three sides of the consecratia camp, effectively cutting off those
inside from the rowdier elements nearby. On the fourth side, the Great River
itself stood guard.

A legion of
soldiers, hand-picked by Bastrop of Tira as Keeper of the Isle, stood sentry at
the seven entrances to the camp. The guards were there as an honor more than a
precaution; no Omani would dream of intruding on the consecratia, though many
eagerly paid formal visits if they were so invited. Only the families, issued
purple armbands to identify them, and the priests and cadia passed in and out
without question.

Lillitha and the
other consecratia were not forbidden to go into the city so long as their
cadia-techa accompanied them, but they had little time for sightseeing. Nearly
every hour was spoken for. There were dinners and meetings and interviews and
examinations, all arranged by either the cadia or the bene-priests; then there
were family obligations to fulfill, as many distant relatives were eager to
rekindle familial ties with the consecratia’s families. Lillitha met so many
cousins, aunts and uncles that her head ached from trying to remember them all.

On the first eve,
they attended a dinner in their honor hosted by the cadia to welcome them to
Omana Teret. Bathed and freshly dressed in their second-best burlangs (the
first being reserved for the actual ceremony on the seventh day), they were
escorted by their cadia-techas across the bridge to the Isle for their first
look at Omana Teret.

The palace and the
temple sat on a small island in the middle of the Great River. People called it
a palace but it was really a connected series of buildings built on the ruins
of an ancient castle dating back to the earliest days of the Omani Realm. Belah
and his troops had camped on the then-uninhabited isle because it was easily
defensible. After Belah’s death, Cadia the First had a vision in which her
brother appeared and told her to build a fortress to protect the fledgling
heart of Omani. Cadia had drawn up the plans according to her vision. Belah’s
eldest surviving son, Chatom, oversaw the construction.

In the beginning,
the Isle was only accessible by boat. The river spanned roughly a quarter
parsec on either bank. As the population of Omana Teret grew, the bridge was
added. It was made of fine gray granite and topped with gleaming white marble.

In the passing
centuries, Omana Teret and its bridge suffered additions and remodeling with
the ascension of every new shallan. Each felt it necessary to put his stamp on
the Isle. The original fortress of simple stone was enlarged and built upon
until Cadia the First would scarcely have recognized it.

By the time
Lillitha crossed the bridge, arches of delicately scrolled marble soared
overhead and wrought iron lanterns, overlaid with beaten gold that added to the
dazzling display, made her path nearly as bright as day. Indeed, the entire
palace loomed ahead with flickering lamplight in virtually every window. And
there were thousands of windows nestled among the towers, turrets and balconies
that in some places reached as high as six stories.

The palace was now
not merely one structure but a maze of structures connected with arches and
walkways. It was beautiful, as everyone said, but also very forbidding. Lilli felt
herself shrinking as they approached the main gate.

Iafrewn, beside
her, grasped her hand excitedly. “Oh, Lilli, I’ve never seen anything so
lovely, have you?”

She shook her
head, unable to speak. She had the strangest urge to turn and run as fast her
legs would carry her. Something was wrong with this place. She felt as though
every window was an eye spying down on her. Perhaps something was wrong with
her; she was supposed to feel awe and reverence for this holy place, she should
feel uplifted and enlightened, not the sinking dread that made her hands go
cold.

She tried to tell
herself it was only because Yanna was not here to share this moment. She
already felt diminished and slovenly because she had no second-best dress to
wear, only an every-day burlang borrowed from Iafrewn, who was an inch shorter
and quite a bit broader. Ersala had pinned it in the shoulders, but there
wasn’t much anyone could do about the length or the plainness of the gown. Her
only adornment was the thin silver chain and tiny medallion set with a single
piece of amber no bigger than her fingernail. Her mother had given them to her
on the day of her consecration, the last of the family jewelry passed down from
Kirrisian mother to Kirrisian daughter over a hundred summers. The other girls
were flawlessly outfitted in the finest weaves, many with embroidery around the
hems, sleeves and neck; they all had golden medallions engraved with verses
from the Book of Belah and set with a multitude of precious stones.
 

She had no idea
that the simplicity of her garments only heightened her beauty. Once inside the
cadian wings of the palace, even consecratia were allowed to take off their
wimples and veils. As she removed her headdresses, Lillitha had no way of
knowing that the stares in her direction were born of admiration and
astonishment, not disdain for her second-hand burlang.

A petite, delicate
woman in red robes came forward from the far end of the massive hallway. She
seemed to float towards them as if she had no feet at all. Her robes were
obviously of a rich material, but other than the gold buttons that gleamed down
her bodice and the beaded prayer chain that draped over her shoulder and around
her waist, she wore no other ornamentation. At the end of the prayer chain hung
a tiny book, its leather cover adorned with a gold and jewel crest.

While the buttons
declared the woman a member of the cadialana, it was the prayer book that
revealed her identity. Lillitha drew in a quivering breath as Cadia-Dedre Osane
looked at her without any expression at all.

Lillitha scarcely
heard the words of welcome or the introductions that followed as other cadia
came forward. She felt dizzy every time she lifted her eyes to the vaulted and
frescoed ceiling that loomed so far above.

The delegation that
met the consecratia consisted of the twelve members of the cadialana and the
heads of each branch. Each had their own interest in the seven girls assembled
before them.

The
cadia-techas
— the teachers — were interested
in how the girls would reflect on their own cadia-techa’s preparation. Dafread,
secretarie of the techas, would interview Lendenican and the others during the
course of the week. Then she would test the consecratia to determine the scope
and depth of their knowledge. Dafread would pass judgment on how well the
cadia-techas had performed their duties.

Minirate, as
secretarie of the cadiasecratia, looked at the girls and saw
her
own
memories. The branch consisted of former consecratia who chose to
remain in the order—either after their six summers were completed or
after not being chosen as shallana
breda
. Currently,
there was no former shallana
breda
among their
numbers, only rejected consecratia. Minirate had been on the other side of the
receiving line only twelve summers before and her expression was tinged with
pity. She knew what it was to have dreams dashed, to serve in a lesser capacity
than she had aspired to.

Soccia, easily the
oldest sister in attendance, represented the
cadia-apothecas
— the medics and healers. Already she eyed the widths of the girls’ hips,
their skin and eyes for any signs of physical weakness.