years ago?’ Tiriki prompted, a little too firmly.
‘You and Micail were no more than children,’ Deoris smiled, ‘when Rajasta came. Do you remember?’
‘Yes,’ answered Tiriki, ‘it was just before Domaris died.’ For a moment she saw her own pain echoed in her mother’s eyes. ‘I still miss her.’
‘She raised me, too, you know, with Rajasta, who was more of a father to me than my own,’ Deoris said in a low voice. ‘After my mother died, and my father was too busy running the Temple to pay attention to us. Rajasta helped take care of me, and Domaris was the only mother I knew.’
Although she had heard these very words a thousand times, Tiriki stretched out her hand in swift compassion. ‘I have been fortunate, then, in having two!’
Deoris nodded. ‘And I have been blessed in you, Daughter, late though I came to know you! And in Galara, of course,’ she added, with a look almost of reproof.
The gap in their ages had given Tiriki and the daughter Deoris had by Reio-ta few opportunities to know each other. She knew much more about Nari, the son Deoris had borne to fulfill her obligation to bear a child of the priestly caste, who had become a priest in Lesser Tarisseda.
‘Galara,’ Tiriki mused. ‘She is thirteen now?’
‘Yes. Just the age you were when Rajasta brought me here. He was an eminent priest in the Ancient Land, perhaps our greatest authority on the meaning of the movements of the stars. He interpreted them to mean that we had seven years – but it was the date of his own death he foretold. We thought then that perhaps he had been completely mistaken. We hoped…’ She plucked a sprig of lavender and turned it in her fingers as they walked. The sharp, sweet scent filled the air. ‘But I should not complain; I have had ten more years to love you and to enjoy this beautiful place. I should have died beside your father, many, many years ago!’
They had completed a circuit of the spiral path, and stood once more opposite the Mother’s shrine.
Tiriki stopped, realizing that her mother was speaking not of Reio-ta, who had been a kind stepfather, but of her true father. ‘Riveda,’ she muttered, and in her mouth it was like a curse. ‘But you were innocent. He used you!’
‘Not entirely,’ Deoris said simply, ‘I – I loved him.’ She looked around at her daughter, fixing her with those stormy eyes whose color could shift so swiftly from grey to blue. ‘What do you know of Riveda – or rather, what do you think you know?’
Tiriki hid her frown behind a flower. ‘He was a healer, whose treatises on medicine have become a standard for our training today – even though he was executed as a black sorcerer!’ She lowered her voice. ‘What else do I need to know?’ she asked, forcing a smile. ‘In every way that matters, Reio-ta has been my father.’
‘Oh, Tiriki, Tiriki.’ Deoris shook her head, her eyes filled with secret thoughts. ‘It is true, Reio-ta was born to be a father, and a good one. But still there is a duty of blood that is different than the honor you owe the man who raised you. You need to understand what it was that Riveda was seeking – why it was that he fell.’
They had come to the center of the spiral, where the Goddess smiled serenely through her curtain of flowers. Deoris paused, bowing her head in reverence. Behind her was a garden seat carved of stone, inlaid with a golden pattern of turtles. She sank down upon it as if her legs did not have the strength to carry both her and the weight of her memories.
Tiriki nodded to the Power the image represented, then leaned against a nearby olive tree and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, waiting. It was not the Great Mother, but the woman who had borne her whose words interested her now.
‘Your father had the most brilliant mind of anyone I have ever known. And except perhaps for Micail’s father, Micon, he had the strongest will. We never fell in love with ordinary men, Domaris and I,’ Deoris added with a rueful smile. ‘But what you must understand first of all is that Riveda was not a destroyer. Both black and white are mingled in the grey robes his order wore. He knew from his studies and the practice of medicine that any living thing that does not grow and change will die. Riveda tested the laws of the Temple because he desired to make it stronger, and ultimately he broke them for the same reason. He came to believe that the priesthood had become so locked into ancient dogmas that it could not adapt, no matter what disaster might occur.’
‘That is not so,’ Tiriki replied indignantly, defending the traditions and training that had shaped her life.
‘I sincerely hope that it is not,’ Deoris smiled tolerantly. ‘But it is up to you and Micail to prove him wrong. And you will never have a better chance. You will lose much that is fair in this exile, but you will escape our old sins as well.’
‘And so will you, Mother! You must agree to come away—’
‘Hush,’ said Deoris, ‘I cannot. I will not. Riveda was tried and executed not only for his own deeds, but also for much that was done by others – the Black Robes, who were only caught and punished later. It was their work that broke the bonds Riveda had loosened. They sought power, but Riveda wanted knowledge. That was why I helped him. If Riveda deserved his fate – then my guilt is no less.’
‘Mother—’ Tiriki began, for still she did not entirely understand.
‘Give my place to your sister,’ Deoris said, resolutely changing the subject. ‘I have already arranged for an escort to bring Galara and her baggage to your chambers the first thing in the morning, so you will have a hard time turning her away.’
‘I assumed you would send her,’ Tiriki said, exasperated.
‘Then that’s settled. And now,’ said Deoris as she got to her feet, ‘I think it’s time we rejoined the men. I doubt that Chedan and Micail have had any more luck in persuading Reio-ta than you have had with me. But they are two against one, and my husband may be feeling in need of reinforcement by now.’
Defeated, Tiriki followed her mother back to the porch, where the men were sitting with goblets and two small jugs of Carian wine. But Micail looked thunderous, and Chedan was also glaring at his drink. Only Reio-ta showed any sign of serenity.
Tiriki shot Micail a glance, as if to say, I take it he is also still determined to stay?
Micail nodded faintly, and Tiriki turned to her stepfather, intending to beg him to go with them.
Instead, she pointed to Deoris, exclaiming, ‘You would go fast enough if she decided on it! You are sacrificing each other, for no good reason. You must agree to come with us!’
Deoris and Reio-ta exchanged tired glances, and Tiriki felt a sudden chill, as if she were a novice priestess chancing upon forbidden mysteries.
‘It is your destiny to carry the truth of the Guardians to a new land,’ said Deoris gently, ‘and it is our karma to remain. It is not sacrifice but an atonement, which we have owed since…’
Reio-ta completed her thought. ‘Since before the…fall of the Ancient Land.’
Chedan had closed his eyes in pain. Micail looked from one to the other, brows knitting in sudden surmise.
‘Atonement,’ Micail echoed softly. ‘Tell me, Uncle – what do you know about the Man with Crossed Hands?’ His voice shook, and Tiriki also felt
