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be irreparably sundered. The rituals of the temple, whose origins are one with the God Himself, are the balance between mortal and immortal. Anyone who circumvents the rituals, for any reason however well-intentioned ... anyone who does not hearken to the call of the hierarchy in its needs subverts the proper relationship of god and worshipper to the damning harm of both!' Again the experienced Imperial Hierarch stared down on the young, awestruck Prince. Molin was only half-conscious of overstating the case for stringent observation of the rituals. Vashanka's displeasure when He was not properly appeased was extensively documented. The rituals were all intended to bind a capricious and hungry deity. The crowd outside Molin's window raised its voice and shut down their conversation; the day's verdicts were being proclaimed. There would be two more hangings on the morrow. Kadakithis started when his name was used to justify the awful punishments the Empire meted out to its criminals. He shrank back from the window as a huge black crow landed on the sill, swivelling its head in a lopsided start of dark-curiosity. The Prince shooed it back to the gallows. 'I will do what I can, Molin. I will speak with my advisers.' 'My Dear Prince, in matters regarding the spiritual well-being of the Imperial Presence in Sanctuary, I am your only trusted adviser.' Molin regretted his burst of temper at once; though the Prince gave him smooth verbal assurances, the Vashankan priest was now certain that the Hound Tempus would know by sundown. Tempus: a plague, a thorn, a malignancy to the proper order of things. A son of Vashanka, a true-son no doubt, and utterly unfettered by the constraints of ritual and hierarchy. If even a fraction of the rumours about him were to be a a T T n n s s F F f f o o D D r r P P m m Y Y e e Y Y r r B B 2 2 . . B B A A Click here to buy Click here to buy w w m m w w o o w w c c . . . . A A Y Y B B Y Y B B r r believed; if he had survived dissection on Kurd's tables ... It could not be believed. Tempus could not be so far beyond the hierarchy's reach. Well, Molin thought after a moment, I'm a true-son too. Let the Prince run to him in sweating anxiety. Let him consult with Tempus; let them conspire against me - I'll still succeed. Generations of priests had bred generations of true-sons to Vashanka. The god was not quite the blood-drinker he once was. Vashanka could be constrained and, after all, Molin's side of the family was far bigger than Tempus's. He watched the Prince leave without feeling panic. The crow returned to the window-ledge as was its daily custom. The bird cawed impatiently while Molin and the mute prepared its feast: live mouse dipped in wine. The priest watched the bird disappear back to the Maze rooftops, staring after its flight long after his wife had begun to shout his name. 4 Seylalha stood perfectly still while the dourfaced women draped the sea- green froth around her. The women would not hesitate to prick her sharply with their bodkins and needles, though they took the greatest of care with the silk. They stepped back and signalled that she should spin on her toes for them. Deep folds of material billowed out into delicate clouds at her slightest movement. The texture of the cloth against her skin was so unlike the heavy tatters of her usual attire that for once she forgot to watch the intricate dance-language other instructors a; they discussed their creation. The time must be drawing near; they would not dress her like this unless it was almost time for her marriage to the god. The moon above her cell was a thin crescent fading to blackness. a a T T n n s s F F f f o o D D r r P P m m Y Y e e Y Y r r B B 2 2 . . B B A A Click here to buy Click here to buy w w m m w w o o w w c c . . . . A A Y Y B B Y Y B B r r They got their instruments and began to play. Without waiting for the sharp report of the clatter-sticks, Seylalha began to dance, letting the unhemmed ends of the silk swirl out to accompany her as she moved through the hundreds of poses - each painfully inured in her muscles. She flowed with the atonal music, throwing her soul into each leap and turn, keenly aware that this meaningless collection of movements would become her only, exquisite plea for freedom. When she settled into the final frantic moments of the dance the sea-green silk was caught in her flying hair and lifted away from her body until it was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |