C f bentley, p.15
C. F. Bentley, page 15
Chapter 21
Bleary-eyed, Sissy trudged into the small chapel the next morning for more lessons and drills in ritual. A kernel of anger formed a knot in her belly.
After spending so many hours trying to read document after document, and feeling sick at signing things she did not understand, but too afraid to admit to Laud Gregor she didn’t, she’d slept fitfully. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw jumbles of letters spinning around. None of them made coherent patterns. And they taunted her with their randomness.
And she still hadn’t been allowed to talk to her family. Too much. Temple asked too much of her.
Laud Gregor appeared in the doorway looking rested and refreshed, as if he hadn’t sat up half the night. “Out. All of you out!” He banished Laudae Shanet and Laudae Penelope and all of their acolytes.
“The rest of you,” he scowled at Sissy’s seven little girls, “go do some lessons or something, elsewhere.”
Jilly led the girls in a rapid scuttle out the doorway. From tiny giggles, Sissy knew they’d gone no farther than just around the corner.
“Now begin, Miss Sissy. Show me what you have learned.”
‘Which ritual?” she asked meekly, not daring to look at him. If she did, she just might let him see her bewilderment, her confusion, and her anger.
“Begin with morning prayers and work your way through the day.” He settled into the chair Laudae Penelope usually occupied. Only, he relaxed into it rather than perching on the edge waiting to pounce the moment Sissy made a mistake, just like Cat waiting at a mousehole.
One by one, Sissy followed the prescribed order of crystal tones and prayers. In less than an hour she had completed the daily rituals.
“And now the ones for Holy Day,” Laud Gregor ordered. “You do know those, don’t you? You have to know them all before your ordination.”
“Yes, I know them,” Sissy replied as she set down her favorite crystal wand. She made sure the delicate thing wouldn’t roll off the altar.
The golden cat, curled at her feet, purred in a comforting rhythm in time with her tapping of the crystals. When the last chime died away, so did the deep rumble. Satisfaction.
Dog drowsed by the doorway. His ears cocked to listen for changes in her mood or words.
She loved working with the crystals. Not enough. She needed to go home.
The ache deep inside her to go home grew by the minute until she thought there was nothing left of her. She needed to visit each room in the new flats, breathe the familiar scents of her family. Mama’s baking would make the air rich with cinnamon and sugar. Grandma’s skin left a sharp papery smell on everything she brushed against, and she did that a lot because of her screwed balance.
Sissy needed to touch each threadbare piece of furniture, memorize the texture. Remember bouncing on Pop’s lap in one, climbing up the back with Stevie on another, curling up with a blanket and her youngest sister Ashel when the toddler was sick.
Most of all, she needed to hug every one of her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and especially her brothers and sisters. And Pop and Mama.
A lump grew in her throat, making her feel emptier than ever.
“I want to see my family,” she said softly into the silence that followed the last echoing chime. Cat’s ears pricked, but he did not open his eyes or lift his head from its rest atop his paws.
Laud Gregor looked up sharply from the single chair. He didn’t miss much, she’d discovered in the last few weeks. They felt like years. Very lonely years. Except for Cat, Dog, and Godfrey the lizard. Without their undemanding presence she didn’t know if she could have continued at the Temple as long as she had.
“I’m working on arrangements with Lord Chauncey and his liaison with the Worker caste,” Laud Gregor said with reassurance. “These things take time. Now run through the Holy Day prayers with the appropriate chimes.”
“No, these things don’t take time.” She forced herself to look him in the eye. “You make things happen in a hurry, when you want them to. You promised me access to my family. Now you are stalling.” She crossed her arms, keeping her hands away from the temptation of working with the wand and the crystals.
Cat shifted in his sleep, mimicking her unease. Dog sat up from his post by the door.
“Sissy, what you ask is unprecedented. I have to get the approval of the entire High Council… ” he explained with extreme patience.
“No, you don’t. All you have to do is give Pop a visitor’s pass and send a car for them, or a loxen cart, even a pedicar.”
“You don’t know. You haven’t been here long enough… ” A tinge of anger colored his voice. Patience and understanding evaporated.
“I do know. I asked. No one of Temple will tell me anything. But if I ask questions of the Workers who serve you, they answer truthfully. Now I want to see my family.” Pointedly, she stepped away from the altar.
“Sissy… ” He stood, looming over her.
Cat woke up and stretched front to back, then back to front. He sat upright and began washing a paw. Sissy knew from the angle of his ears that he listened for signs of upset.
Dog whined a question and crept forward.
A rustle of clothing told her that her girls listened avidly.
Sissy stood her ground. “You broke your promise to me. I’m going back to my home and back to work in the factory where I’m needed. And wanted. And where I can get clothes that fit. In colors I like.” She stepped around Laud Gregor. Cat followed her, pointedly staying away from the High Priest.
Dog took up his place at her left heel, ready to defend her to the death.
“What’s wrong with your clothes?” Laud Gregor grabbed her arm and spun her around.
Sissy examined his face for signs of trickery. He looked honestly puzzled.
“What can I say? Can’t you see? Tell me who owned these dresses before me, and I’ll give ‘em back. I’m used to hand-me-downs. I’ll take someone else’s castoffs if I can just give these back.” She plucked at the too tight skirt and the neckline that threatened to slip off her shoulders exposing her small clothes.
“What do you mean, ‘hand-me-downs’? I ordered a dozen new gowns and pairs of shoes made to order for you.”
“Then you got cheated. And I don’t like this green. It’s ugly.”
“Yes, I see that it is not the most flattering.” He crossed his arms, then lifted his left hand to tap his caste mark. A habitual gesture she’d come to recognize. Why did he need to remind people of his superior caste? He was the highest of the high!
“I sense Laudae Penelope’s hand in this,” he said at last. Five quick steps took him to the comm unit behind the altar. He pushed a button. “Guilliam, send the dressmaker to Miss Sissy’s quarters.”
“Very good, sir. What color fabric should I tell her to bring?” Guilliam’s disembodied voice came through the tiny speaker. Was that a yawn behind the false briskness? Sissy had never known the man to be less than completely alert and aware of everything around him. He hadn’t had any more sleep than she. Why?
Sissy shook her head, jarred into distrust at this instant communication within the Temple. At home, people ran back and forth between flats and shops. Nothing was very far away. Why waste money on expensive equipment, and the energy to run them, when talking face-to-face was so much nicer and gave you a chance to visit?
Now all she had was remote conversations over those costly electronics.
“Green, of course. We always wear green,” Laud Gregor said.
“What shade of green?”
>”Um… “
“Why do we have to wear green?” Sissy asked.
“Green reminds us of Harmony’s bounty,” Gregor sighed. “Haven’t those women taught you anything?”
“What about the blue of a summer sky, or the yellow of ripening corn, or the red of a love flower? Or… or why not purple to match our caste mark? I like purple. I want to wear purple.” Sissy grinned as she imagined wearing a simple gown in silky fabric the color of the mountains at sunset.
Mama would love it. Her sisters would gasp with envy.
“Sir,” Guilliam said. “There is a precedent. Our records indicate that one hundred years ago, Temple caste wore red and gold. It seems that at the time the choice of color was up to the current HPS.”
Sissy’s smile deepened. “Then I want to wear purple. Everything in purple.”
Gregor’s eyes widened in horror. “Do you realize the upset, the massive turnover, the waste of time, labor, money, and energy to change the wardrobe of every member of our caste!”
“You all don’t have to change if you like green. But I like purple and I want to wear it. Mr. Guilliam just said I can.”
>”But… but this is unprecedented.”
“No, it isn’t,” Sissy insisted. “He just said I could choose for myself. So why can’t everyone else? I know. I want each of the seven priestesses at Crystal Temple to wear a different color.”
“In the name of the Seven, woman, you can’t overturn centuries of tradition on a whim.”
“Yes, I can. You want me to be your High Priestess, you’ll do it. And you’ll let me see my family.”
Cat stropped her ankles. He opened his mouth in a cat grin.
Gregor frowned, then ignored her last statement. “But if we show different colors and styles in our formal robes, then the populace will be able to pick out favorites. A cult of personality will develop. We will lose the harmony of anonymity.”
“Fine, then all the formal robes can be whatever color you like as long as it isn’t this vile vomit green.”
“Your formal robes will be darker emerald green once you are ordained,” Gregor sighed in defeat.
“That’s fine.”
“But you must wear shoes. If you go barefoot, you will stand out in the formal rituals.”
“Then find me a pair that fit.” “Fit? Shoes always fit.”
“No, they don’t. Not unless they are made to fit.” He sighed again. “Laudae Penelope has a lot to answer for.” “Yeah, she does. So when do I get to see my family?” “I’ll arrange something.”
“Guilliam will arrange it. That way it will get done. For tomorrow. Holy Day. After services.” Sissy returned to the altar and picked up her wand. A bit of warmth wiggled in her midsection. One win at a time.
Now she just had to figure out why Gregor thought it so important to smile and pretend to give her what she asked for, without giving her anything.
She bet it had something to do with all those forms he had her sign without reading.
Tonight, when everyone was asleep, she’d go back and try to read the blamed things. Having a room to herself could be a blessing sometimes. In this convoluted world of the Temple, a bit of privacy might come in handy.
Even if it was so terribly lonely.
A bird chirruped outside the window. That gave Sissy an idea. For tomorrow. One battle at a time.
Chapter 22
Jake drew his sword twenty paces from his opponent. Ten more paces and he dropped his pack. Behind him, he heard twenty swords clear their scabbards. His men readying to protect his back.
Da Hawk’s men ranged behind him. Belatedly, they also drew their weapons when they saw Jake’s men do it. Curious. No time to think on that.
Two paces from da Hawk, just barely inside the circle he lunged, without pausing for an honorable salute, letting the mud carry him farther forward than his legs could from that distance.
About the only rule these guys observed was the boundary of the circle and one hand on the sword. Sort of like the Spanish Circle school of fencing. But that was the end of the resemblance. No rules, no right of way, no off target. Slash, jab, score a bloody touche any way you could, so long as you did it first, before the other guy scored on you.
But his men would keep da Hawk from murdering him. Touche only, not a killing wound.
Morrie da Hawk reacted, fast. Faster than Jake thought possible. Parry four, low and inside, riposte to his high six, the shoulder of his weapon hand.
Jake parried and lunged for a low seven, the hip of Morrie’s off hand. Morrie sidestepped and brought his sword toward Jake’s partially exposed back.
Not about to fall for that beginner’s mistake, Jake dropped to his knees and rolled to the edge of the circle three meters out. More than enough room to brace his feet and bounce back up.
His feet kept moving. No traction.
Was that a gentle hand on his belt, helping him up? He’d give that man an extra helping at dinner, even if it meant Jake went a little hungry. He kept his swing tight, parrying the next jab to his heart.
Morrie breathed hard. Sweat poured from his face, a different color and texture from the rain that drenched them both.
Jake felt the effects, too. But not as bad as his opponent. He had to end this quickly or Morrie, one of the best sergeants in the platoon, and a…
afriend would be useless for a couple of days.
With a flick of his wrist, Jake bound Morrie’s blade, keeping it angled away from his body.
But Morrie was more determined. He gave in to the pressure, letting it carry his blade to the outside with just enough slack to disengage with an undercut and thrust toward Jake’s knee.
Jake had seen Morrie do this before in drill. Anticipated it. Caught a circular parry exposing Morrie just enough to slice lightly along his belly.
A gasp of surprise. A line of red following Jake’s blade tip. Morrie stepped back, clutching his wound.
“Halt!” Lieutenant Charl da Martin called.
Instantly a medic caught the wounded man beneath the shoulders and eased to him the ground.
The rest of the platoon stepped away, sheathing their weapons. They gathered around the lieutenant, a man younger than Jake, younger than ninety percent of the platoon, but he’d inherited his rank and had an extra hash-mark beneath the red square of his caste mark indicating his officer status.
“What you trying to prove, da Jacob?” Lieutenant da Martin asked belligerently. He stood with hands on hips and a scowl on his face.
“Ease up on him, sir,” Sergeant Camden da Yehan growled. “He’s seen a lot of action, solved some serious crimes of late with bad results. Let him run and fight hard if it makes him easier to live with.” A pregnant pause that suggested Jake’s hurt went deeper, more personal.
The unmentionable out-of-caste love affair.
“Barely nicked him,” the medic called. “Some light pressure bandages and he’ll be back on duty tomorrow.”
Charl Da Martin grumbled something about emotions having no place within the ranks, then turned to address the gathered platoon.
“Listen up, men. The ordination of the new HPS takes place two weeks from today. Every Noble in the empire will be present, along with their entourages. Every priest and priestess in the empire will be present, along with their entourages. That’s a lot of people who control a lot of power. We cannot allow the dissent among the desert Worker caste to spread to the capital.”
Dissent? That surprised Jake. That suggested large numbers and organization. More than just a single disgruntled Worker causing trouble.
What was so bad in the desert that spawned a Worker revolt?
“Deployment?” Jake asked. A major riot in the capital might prove enough of a diversion to let him break into a Badger Metal factory.
“Patience,” he almost heard Pammy counseling him.
He wanted off this rock and back in the civilized space of the CSS. The best way to ensure that was to stay cool and in control of his cover.
“Since you seem intent on proving yourself better than the rest of us, da Jacob, you lead the detachment covering the Crystal Temple forecourt. No one gets into Temple grounds without an invitation, a pass, and ID. Not press—they can use remote hover cams. Not your mother. Not even someone with a sparkling Temple caste mark. They all have to have an invite, a pass, and ID,” Lieutenant da Martin said.
“As a side note,” he continued with barely a pause for breath. “The media have offered us copies of all of their recordings should there be trouble. We’ll have evidence to convict.”
“Why do they want to cooperate with us? They never have in the past,” Jake said. That bit of info came direct from his implant.
“Cooperation is just part of their bid to become a separate caste.”
They didn’t want to be responsible to, or censored by, anyone but themselves. Just like the press in the rest of the galaxy.
Lieutenant Charl went on to give details of how many men at each gate, how many patrolling the perimeter, what weapons to carry in addition to their swords and which of them to display.
Jake chilled. From the rain, he told himself. Too much rain out of season.
Standard security procedures. If they knew how to do this right, they must have done it before. A lot of times. All was not as peaceful and harmonious on Harmony as the government pretended.
Very interesting. Pammy needed to know about this just as soon as Jake got back to civilization. Maybe before, if he could figure out how to send a secure signal.
Time to start prowling around the comm center.
Sissy stared at the thick sheaf of papers long and hard. Night had fallen hours ago. The Temple slept, including Cat and Dog. Godfrey prowled his glass cage, kept warm by artificial lights. She had privacy and time to think after a long, long day of study and ritual practice. She could do without the study. History and government bored her. Practicing with the crystals and the prayers and the patterns of movement enthralled her. She’d gladly do that all day long. If Laudae Shanet and Laud Gregor would let her.
Sadly, they wouldn’t. She had to learn so much before she could complete her training as High Priestess.
Carefully she sounded out each letter of the string of long words. “Whereas the Gov-er-n-men-tal hi-er-ar-chy needs to network… ” she knew that word well. She’d used it often enough in building nav systems. “Needs to network within a pat-ern-al-is-tic attitude… What in the name of the Seven does that mean?” She sighed.
