Back | Next
Contents

9

A cruel wind wailed along the street, inciting dead leaves to ran races, whipping up the rank smell of horses from the stones. It tugged at Eleal's cloak and tried to snatch her precious load from her arms. It threw dust in her eyes. In this corner of the town the evening's activities would not normally begin for hours yet, but twilight was coming early under the storm clouds and she must complete her business and be well away before it did. Bending into the gale, she trudged with her uneven gait—clip-clop, clip-clop-clip. The wind repeatedly tried to push her off balance or rip the cloth wrapping from the burden she carried.

Jurg was a fine town, her favorite town in all the Vales, but all towns had seamy corners and River Street was seamier than the backside of a patchwork quilt, a fetid alley that made the area near Cherry Blossom House seem dull as a virgin's diary. She had only ever ventured here before once, and then in broad daylight. The Cherry Blossom whores came regularly, but always around noon, and even then Tigurb'l Tavernkeeper sent bouncers along to protect them. Eleal could have asked a couple of those thicks to escort her this evening, but they would have been more dangerous than the ill-reputed denizens of River Street. They would have demanded to know what she carried wrapped in that rag and then promptly relieved her of it. The brighter ones would also have cut her throat so she couldn't tattle back to Tigurb'l.

It had cost more than five Joalian stars. If she let it slip, it wouldn't be worth a copper pig. If she fell and went down on top of it, she might not be, either. The sucker was as tall as a two-year-old child—and heavy. The push of the wind was uneven. The cobbles were uneven. Her legs were uneven. Clip-clop . . . clip-clop . . . clip . . .

There were few other people around. The town mice had fled the coming dark and the cats had not yet emerged. The one or two men who came hurrying past all looked at her as if they could not believe their eyes—this was no place for a woman alone. She should have borrowed some less pretentious garments, too. Her cloak alone had cost almost half a star, burgundy-colored Narshian llama wool with white goose-fur trim.

But here was her destination. Amid all the shabby tenements, run-down stores, and mysterious anonymous doorways stood a grand pillared entrance, far older than all of them. The original proprietor was still in business, for the portico bore a massive metal hammer, the symbol of Karzon. Usually the holy buildings in a city were clustered close together. Isolated temples like this one were so rare that Eleal knew of no others—it was as if the god who lived here had been spurned by the other gods of the city, as if they would not associate with him. This was the home of Ken'th, avatar of the Man in Jurg.

She dared not pause to catch her breath, although her heart was racing like a cheetah. One more effort to think this project through and her courage would fade like mist. Blinking the wind tears from her eyes, she hurried up the steps, clutching her precious bundle. Clip-clop, clip-clop . . . The old tiled steps showed signs of wear. That amused her, because no one ever admitted to worshipping at the temple of Ken'th. Mother Ylla, that horrible hag, had told her once that only boys and old men did—she had overlooked harlots.

The door stood open. It was a small door for so large a portico, and the interior beyond seemed dark. Again, Eleal felt her nerve waver. Her insides had tied themselves into hard knots; her arms shook so violently that she feared she was about to drop the figurine. That would ruin all her plans! But gods should be approached with humility and reverence, not this burning anger, this vitriolic craving to get even. Who ever brought a plea for justice to the Man? Justice was the prerogative of the Maiden, especially her aspect of Irepit, who had once sent one of her nuns to save Eleal from a reaper and must therefore be well disposed toward her. Unfortunately, Astina's aspect in Jurg was Agroal, goddess of virginity, not at all the right goddess to handle a problem like this—nor one that Eleal Singer would dare to petition, whereas she had a special call on Ken'th. Get even! I will be revenged on D'ward! She clenched her teeth and lurched forward into the temple. Clip! Clop! Clip!

 

The circular chamber was small for the home of an important god, but that was because Ken'th attracted solitary worshippers, not great congregations. To her intense relief, it was presently inhabited only by a restless wind, which rustled leaves it had brought in as offerings and stirred the draperies covering the walls. High, narrow windows above them shed little light on the gloomy hall. In the center, two oil lamps burned on the low dais, their flames jumping nervously—they could not be half as nervous as she was! Above them stood the figure of the god.

Unlike the Youth, the Man was normally portrayed clothed, but of course this was Ken'th. Lit mainly from below by the lamps, the carving was impossibly priapic. She had been only a child on her previous visit, yet even then she had been confident that the anatomical details were based on wishful thinking. Now she knew that from experience, but she could also tell that the sculptor had been much more skilled than whoever had painted the pornographic murals in the upper rooms of Cherry Blossom House. The musculature was superb. The set of Ken'th's hands on his hips and the tip of his head demonstrated male arrogance beautifully—man the irresistible. The face bore an expression at once sensuous, demanding, and callous. She thought of her mother, wondering if she had come here of her own free will, or if the god had sought her out somewhere else.

Eleal limped closer. She should kneel, she supposed, and yet she felt strangely reluctant to do so. Her heart was fighting to escape, a terrified bird in a bony cage.

A curtain swished open, revealing a dark little room behind. She jumped, almost dropping the figurine. A man strode out silently on bare feet—a priest, of course, although he did not look like a priest. Male servants of other deities wore long robes, and most shaved their scalps and faces. Being Ken'th's and on duty, this one had only a green wrap tied around his loins. His hair hung to his shoulders, his beard merged with the fur mat on his chest. He was tall and well-built, an exemplar of young manhood, but the temple of virility would have many more applicants to choose from than most did.

He came around the plinth and stopped near one of the lamps, regarding her with approval. "You are welcome to this holy place, beloved."

Eleal clutched the figurine tighter—much tighter and she would break it. "Thank you, father," she said, and was annoyed to hear the quaver in her voice.

He nodded slightly, eying her burden curiously. "I see you bring a substantial offering. How may I aid you? What mercy do you seek from mighty Ken'th?"

"I wish to speak with the god himself."

"An elderly husband, perhaps? An embarrassing delay in conceiving?" He would be willing to remedy the matter, with the god's help and a suitable fee. He might even waive the fee in her case.

"No, father."

He smiled, unable to conceal his eagerness. "Then too much success in conceiving? You wish the god to withdraw his blessing? This, too, may be arranged, beloved."

That was why the harlots came. It would be all much the same to him, for although that ritual included some complicated preliminaries to appease the god and ensure the required result, all Ken'th's rituals included coitus. All that involved women, anyway. What happened with the boys and old men, she did not know and did not want to.

"Not that, either. I wish to speak with the god."

A flicker of impatience. "Present your offering, make your prayers, and then I shall aid you in the rites."

"No. I—I wish to meet him in person."

The man blinked. Then he grinned broadly. "You are ambitious, daughter! Whatever your need, I am authorized to represent the god in the performance of his sacrament."

Eleal had never met a man who did not think that of himself, and she could recognize the too-familiar eagerness in the priest's manner. He advanced a step. She backed away. He noticed her limp and frowned.

Unable to think of anything more to say, Eleal pulled the cover from the figurine, a female dancer poised on one toe, about to take flight from its plinth, carved Niolian crystal flashing in the lamplight. Its beauty was heart-stopping. She had spent all afternoon haggling with the dealer, and even then he had emptied her purse to her last twelfthpiece. Surely such an offering would earn the god's attention?

The priest sucked in his breath. "You bring a rich gift, lady!" he admitted. "It is fitting." He tore his eyes away from the carving to study her again, noting the quality of her robe. She could almost hear him concluding that a woman who wore such a garment to visit River Street must be out of her mind.

He reached out. "Let me take it for you."

"No!" She moved it away.

"Then lay it on the dais, carefully."

"No! I wish to give it to the god in person. I want Ken'th in the flesh!"

"You are verging close to blasphemy, daughter!"

His tone annoyed her. He was little older than she was.

"Tell the god that—"

"Give me that carving before you drop it." He reached out again.

Again she lurched back. Seeing she could not evade him any longer, she turned and hurled the figurine at the feet of the idol. The crash echoed from the stone walls; a hail of diamonds danced across the floor. The priest cried out in horror.

"There!" Eleal shouted. "I have given my offering to the god! Now let him hear my prayer!"

The priest backed away, watching carefully where he put his feet. "You are crazy, woman!" His voice was unsteady. "You commit sacrilege and blasphemy! Begone, lest Holy Ken'th smite you in his wrath!"

"I want Ken'th!" she yelled. "I have words for his ears alone!"

"Go! You are out of your wits, I say. Beware that he does not curse you, so that no man will ever consummate his holy sacrament with you."

"He is my father!"

The young priest curled his lip in disgust. "One of those, are you? Be thankful to mighty Ken'th for giving you life and do not trouble him further." Coming around, staying clear of the shining fragments, he grabbed her arm so hard that she cried out.

"I have a special service to offer him!"

"Begone, madwoman!" He began pulling her to the door.

She struggled and clawed at him. He took hold of her other wrist and manhandled her easily, practically carrying her.

It was not working out as she had planned. She had thrown away everything she had ever earned and would have nothing to show for it. She was going to be balked of her revenge. "I want to tell him of the Liberator!"

"I am sure you do. And you doubtless have a few prophecies he should hear also. Pray to him in the privacy of your bedroom, and he will hear." They had reached the door. "Out with you!—and do not linger in these streets, for the god's presence here makes men bold. It is no place for a woman alone."

With that cold warning, the priest threw her out. The door slammed behind her as she sprawled down on the rug.

 

Back | Next
Framed