The Grove

FOUR

Seated in her study, Saleria did not have to wait long to speak with Councillor Thannig, the Councillor for the Department of Prophecies. As Keeper of the Grove, she had a scrying glass that connected directly to one of the many mirrors in the Hall of Mirrors at the capital. All she had to do was catch the attention of a page, who sent off for the Councillor requested, and wait. It seemed he wasn’t far from the Hall, though, for he came into view within just a minute or so, his teeth gleaming white in his brown, northern-born face.

“Keeper Saleria, how lovely to hear from you. I am flattered that Your Holiness requests my aid,” Councillor Thannig praised her, smiling in warm welcome. “In fact, I just received a report that mentions you . . . or at least, your office. How can the Department of Prophecies assist you today?”

Surprised by his words, Saleria lifted her brows. “Ah . . . what sort of report regarding me?”

His smile faded, replaced by an expression more rueful and somber. “We have been digging up old prophecies regarding those meddlesome fools on the Isle of Nightfall, off the east coast of Katan, and their attempts to reconvene the Convocation of Gods and Man. We haven’t had any truly strong Seers in several hundred years, but a few of the lesser ones in the interim have given missives which we’re beginning to see come true. One of the ones we unearthed in the process, the Song of the Guardians, specifically mentions the Grove. If you like, I can have a copy of it made and sent your way.”

“Was one of them by the last Duchess of Nightfall, the Seer Haupanea?” Saleria asked.

He frowned for a moment in thought. “I . . . hmm. I think so. At least, I think some of hers are in the mix. She didn’t make that many,” Councillor Thannig dismissed. “Now, what else can the Department do for you?”

“Actually, that is exactly why I called,” Saleria admitted. “I’d like to know all the prophecies related to the Grove . . . and out of curiosity, any involving this Convocation of Gods and Man. If Kata and Jinga are going to be summoned in some impending Convocation soon, I should like to petition Them for Their aid in fixing the many problems with the Grove.”

“Well, we haven’t selected an appropriate representative yet,” Thannig hedged. “The Arch Priest would like to have that honor, but so would Lady Apista, Councillor for the Temples . . . though considering she gave those exiled fools on Nightfall a sacred bell to ring, summoning an incipient crown, she’s not in high favor in the Council’s eyes at the moment. I honestly don’t know why she did so. She’s ruined her ranking in the budget debates for Temple repairs and constructions.”

Someone called out something to him from beyond the edge of the mirror’s reach. Leaning out of the frame, he stroked the edge to give himself a moment of aural privacy while he conversed. It gave her time for her rather troubled thoughts.

Politics? They’re all worried about politics in the face of the Convocation being restored? When having it be restored—by whomever—would give us far greater wonders and glories than mere politics? Jinga’s Bollocks! Aradin warned me, but I didn’t actually believe it until now.

Here was the exact reason why Aradin had avoided the Council of Mages and the Arch Priest in his search for an appropriate representative. Saleria knew what “ringing a sacred bell” meant, since it was part and parcel of the duties of all priests to know what that meant. If any portion of Katan wished to secede and demanded a sacred bell so they could summon a manifestation of a new God and/or Goddess, the priesthood was required by law to present the petitioners with one.

The ugly implication behind this careless revelation is that these bureaucrats would not have given the exiles a sacred, blessed bell to Ring the Bell to declare their independence from Katan. I know why she did it, because the Councillor for the Temples would not care to break the covenant of her vows with Kata and Jinga . . . but these . . . these politicians don’t see the whole, and thus holier, picture at hand.

Well, bollocks to that, she thought firmly. They shall not get a single word otherwise out of me . . . and I shall figure out a way to be the representative of our people, not our political ambitions.

Thannig shifted back fully into view and stroked the edge of the mirror, restoring sound. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

Keeping her expression calm, if solemn, she merely said aloud, “Something about politics, milord. You may concentrate on that however you wish, Councillor, since the ways of government have little to do with the ways of prayer . . . but there are signs that the Grove will soon be free to change to something calmer. If this Convocation is the means, then so be it. If not, there are still things I can do, and should be doing, as Keeper of the Grove and Guardian of its magics. Which means I really do need to know what prophecies might be associated with it, so I know what to look for in the coming days.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll have them copied and sent by messenger to you,” Councillor Thannig promised. “Is there anything else the Department of Prophecies can do for you, Keeper?”

“Thank you, but no, that should be plenty,” Saleria demurred, not sure she wanted to deal with any politicians right now. “Forewarned is forearmed, and that’s all I should need. You have my gratitude for your willingness to assist me in my search . . . and I shall say a prayer for you and the Council,” she added on impulse. A prayer to hopefully bring you all to your good senses. “Kata and Jinga bless you, Councillor Thannig.”

He gave her a slight bow, one dark-skinned hand splayed across his blue-clad chest. “We on the Council live to serve . . . or at least, that’s what we’re supposed to do. Have a good day, Keeper Saleria. May Kata and Jinga bless you, too.”

A gesture from his hand ended the connection, leaving her with a blue glow for a moment before the mirror returned to being a normal reflective surface. Reaching up, she pulled the curtain back in place over the mirror, which was mounted behind her desk. The addition of the curtain had been one of her requests to Nannan upon taking up the guardianship of this place. The thought of someone staring at the back of her neck unnerved the young priestess. She had enough trouble with her danger instincts being roused and sharpened daily by her walks through the Grove; she didn’t need to worry about that as well.

As if conjured by thought, Nannan bustled into the study, her hands damp and clean, but her apron dusted with flour and bits of dough. “Daranen suggested there might be more than three for the evening meal. Who would the fourth one be?”

“A foreign priest who is something of an expert in magics, plants, and herbalism. He will be working with me for a while,” Saleria informed her housekeeper. I don’t think the messes in the Grove can be untangled in just a few days, though. She didn’t say that out loud yet, because she didn’t know what Aradin’s long-term plans were. “Easily several weeks, I should think. Probably longer.”

“He’s not to be staying here, is he?” Nannan asked her in a disapproving tone. The plump, matronly woman might be ruthlessly cheerful in the morning, but she didn’t approve of priests or priestesses getting up to “shenanigans.” Which meant she did not like Shanno, the young Deacon of Groveham, who in the half-year since his arrival had flirted shamelessly with whichever young lady might smile his way. Saleria couldn’t object to Nannan’s distaste; there was something about the younger priest that irked her, too, though she couldn’t put a finger on it. But this was another matter, one not related to the young, brash deacon.

Dismissing thoughts of Shanno, she instead considered her housekeeper’s words. Sitting back in her chair, Saleria tapped her lips gently with both forefingers, then pointed at Nannan. “That actually isn’t a bad idea. Though I suppose I should see first if his ideas will work and his presence will be helpful before offering him one of the guest rooms here.”

“You cannot be serious!” Nannan protested, rearing up to her full, if modest, height so that she could look down her nose at Saleria.

It was rather like being stared down by an affronted hen. Biting her inner cheek for a moment to quell the urge to smile, Saleria sat up again, giving the older woman a calm look. “I am quite serious. There are seven bedchambers in this house. I have one, you have one, and Daranen has one. That leaves four to spare. Since your husband has long passed, your children are grown and gone, Daranen is a confirmed bachelor—”

Nannan snorted at that. Saleria knew it was because the widow fancied him a little, but let it pass, continuing smoothly.

“—and my family lives a month’s ride to the south, there is no reason to hold all four of those rooms ready for unexpected guests. Or rather, any further unexpected guests,” she amended. “I highly doubt an entire troupe of foreign dignitaries is about to descend upon the Keeper’s house, demanding lodgings. I will give it another day or two to observe Aradin Teral’s progress on his efforts, and if they prove viable, I shall invite him to stay here, where it will be more convenient. As he will be assisting me in my many duties with the Grove, the budget for the Keeper of the Grove can very well pay for his food, as well as giving him free lodging.”

“But, Your Holiness, to have a strange man in the house!” Nannan protested. “What of your sanctity? What if he has designs on your position, and its power? He could seek to wrest away your control of the Grove!”

“Bollocks to that,” Saleria snorted, making her housekeeper blush at the vulgarity. She didn’t let Nannan’s stare stop her from continuing briskly, “Boisterous Jinga would thump him on the head with His own holy fist, I am quite sure of it.”

Nannan shifted her hands to her flour-dusted hips. “Well, what if he has designs on your person, hmm?”

That wrested a soft laugh from her. Smirking, Saleria leaned back in her seat again. Her thoughts had strayed a couple of times in that direction already, so she wasn’t offended by the possibility. Not when they’re both handsome men . . . though I’d far rather court the living half. Not sure I’m comfortable with the thought of being intimate with a technically dead man . . . Oh, but that Aradin . . . “And what if he should?”

Nannan gave her an affronted look . . . then gasped, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh! Then Kata would thump him with Her fist, of course. Well, I suppose it would be okay in that case . . .”

And that wasn’t the conclusion I myself had drawn. Mainly because Saleria highly doubted it. For one, neither Aradin nor Teral struck her as the sort of man who would push himself on a woman. For another, much was made of the northern God’s exuberance and passion for life versus the southern Goddess’ calmer temperament, but it was well-known among the priesthood that Kata was no shy, shrinking flower when it came to Her Heavenly marital duties.

Indeed, it was said that She was the one who had given the sacred knowledge of how to make contraceptive amulets to Her people so that they could enjoy such pleasures without the worry of unexpected, unplanned-for children. Not Jinga, as one would have expected, though there was a male equivalent to the female version.

She didn’t disabuse Nannan of her notion, however; instead, Saleria let the housekeeper leave with a flick of her hand, muttering something about attending to the day’s baking. Something else made Saleria think it wasn’t likely either man would seek to dally with her, however attractive she might find him. Yes, Aradin was quite handsome; in his own way, so was Teral. However, the two men moved and operated in one body as if never out of the other’s sight.

Or the other’s mind, whatever . . . I can only imagine that would be a detriment to lovemaking. No doubt their whole priesthood is sworn to celibacy, poor things. Maybe a little flirting is allowed, since the way Aradin looked at me, and touched me—that was flirting. But full-on intimacy?

Some among the Katani clergy swore themselves to vows of chastity, to take no lovers until marriage. Others swore their passions to their Patron Deity, seeing it as a sacred duty to love vigorously and well . . . provided no promises were broken. She didn’t know of a single priest or priestess in the empire who had sworn vows of celibacy, however. They did take vows to break no oaths, cross no marital boundaries, and respect the rights of all to say “no” whenever they wished to say it, at whatever point in the proceedings—but not true celibacy.

No priest or priestess in Katan would swear to take no lovers at all, nor any vows to avoid marriage, should they be interested in it. Such a thing would go against the very underpinnings of their faith, for Kata and Jinga Themselves had willingly wed, and Their marital efforts had made the entire continent quite fruitful for a full year afterward, despite a terrible drought plaguing its northern half at the time.

No, They were Maiden and Lover, the romantic aspects of Spring, plus They were Father and Mother, the nurturing aspects of Autumn. And the Lord and the Lady might be the protective aspects of Summer, but They did not shy from adult activities . . . and it was believed that even the wisest aspects of Winter, the Crone and the Guide, were still capable of being loving toward each other, and thus lovers, despite the frailties and difficulties of old age.

So my God and Goddess would not object if I could dally with one of the two . . . but I think I’d balk at both at once. It is written that Kata and Jinga insist that pairings of two males or two females is not anathema, though male-and-female is more normal. Two of whatever is normal . . . but to put three into a relationship? Saleria shook her head and sighed.

Daranen came back into the study at that moment. He had a fresh satchel of letters posted to the Grove Keeper from all over the empire balanced on his shoulder. Sidling behind his desk, he glanced her way. “Such a heavy sigh. Care to share?”

She opened her mouth to refuse, then changed her mind. He, at least, is easier to talk to than Nannan about certain things. “I’m thinking of allowing Aradin Teral to reside here in the Keeper’s house with us. Would that bother you?”

“Not really. You told me when you came in earlier that he freely oathbound his powers against stealing the might of the Grove out from under us, and against using its powers to cause serious, willful harm,” her scribe reminded her. “And he does seem sincerely interested in helping us—oh, speaking of the Darkhanan Witch, I saw him in the market, bartering with the mercantile shopkeeper for a series of glass flasks. Master Denisor looked rather taken aback at having the quality of his wares questioned so thoroughly.” Daranen chuckled at the memory.

“Aradin . . . no, sorry, Teral did say his own father was a glassmaker,” Saleria pointed out, getting the two men straight. “And Aradin has apparently been trained in apothecary-style herbalism, as in the brewing of potions, powders, unguents, and salves. No doubt he’s trying to find suitable containers for his impending experiments.”

“Experiments?” Daranen asked, raising one eyebrow at her.

She envied his ability to do that; Saleria could raise or lower both simultaneously, but had yet to figure out how to arch just one. “Yes, experiments—I told you about the oath, but I forgot to mention the rest of it, sorry. Aradin is going to help me see if any of the magic-warped plants in the Grove have useful properties which can be extracted and preserved. If not . . . we’re going to figure out a way to remove them from existence.”

Now he raised both brows. “No more attacks on the village from ambulatory masses of roses and marigolds?”

“Nor from walking gladiolas, or flying bluebells,” she promised. “And no calf-sized foxes with seven tails and fish fins on their backs, either. If he can make progress on helping me unravel the troubles in the Grove, that is.”

“Shall I just nip out and see if he needs help carrying any of his belongings over from the inn, then, to make sure he doesn’t waste any time walking every day from there to here and back?” Daranen asked, half-rising from his desk. He grinned and sat back down again, clearly only half joking. But still, somewhat serious about welcoming the other man. “. . . Right, then. If there’s anything I can do, ask me and I’ll try my best. But most of what I do best is sort correspondence and compose the exact wordings for prayers.”

“And that is a task you do exceedingly well. I’ve never been a great speech-writer, but you know how to turn a phrase just right—I’m still surprised you haven’t taken up the priestly vows, you’re so good at it,” Saleria admitted, nodding her head at the mail satchel, fully as long as Daranen’s arm and as big around as either of them could clasp the cylindrical sack. Some days, the sack wasn’t quite so full, but other days, he brought in a sack and a half of letters and scrolls filled with petitions, requests, pleas, and prayers. “Have you the evening’s prayer list drawn up?”

Daranen shook his head. “Almost. I had to rewrite the ‘lost pets’ prayer list a little bit. I’ll have the scroll ready to go by your evening walk. And I’m not taking holy vows. I much prefer my secular freedoms, thank you.”

Nodding, Saleria lifted her chin at the bay window. “Then I’ll go visit the market. Do you need anything?”

He smirked. “No, I’ve done my shopping, but you can say hi to the man when you see him.”

She started to protest that the Witch wasn’t her reason for going, then sighed and let it go. She was curious about Aradin Teral, and what he was purchasing. Leaving the study, she headed out the front door.

This section of Groveham featured walled residences with garden spaces. Not because the owners were wealthy and exclusive about whom they allowed into the privacy of their homes, but because they were located near enough to the Grove wall that an additional wall was considered helpful in slowing anything that escaped from the Grove. She could hear children shouting and playing some sort of chasing game in one garden, though the gate was closed. A trio of boys was drawing chalk designs on the cobblestones in front of another gate; happy domestic sights and sounds.

Once children turned six, they were given basic education in reading and writing during the morning hours, but were often let go at midday so they could play in the afternoons. At twelve, they were often apprenticed into a craft, or if their parents or a sponsor could afford it, granted a higher level of education. Her parents had enrolled her in a higher school in their city, since she hadn’t made up her mind yet at the age of twelve if she wanted to be a mage-warrior in the Imperial Army, following more or less in her non-mage father’s footsteps, or a mage-for-hire like her mother technically was, or . . . well, at fifteen, she had felt called to serve the God and Goddess, and that was that. No time for play after that, when I had to catch up with all the acolytes who had been apprenticed three years earlier than me.

The shrieks and the laughter were good sounds, though. They also sent a brief pulse of pity through her. At least Katani priests can marry and have children. I can’t imagine what Darkhanan Witch-priests could do, living their dual lives. Who’d want two men for their mate, and one of them dead at that?

Or worse, she wondered as the thought occurred to her, what if a woman was married to one Witch-priest, only he died and ended up Guide to another man. Would her husband, now a Guide, expect to continue their marriage? Would she even want to, given it’s technically the body and life of another man? And the children—surely they’d be of the Host’s body and seed, not her late husband’s. I can’t imagine the kinds of headaches that must cause. Or . . . or if he ended up Guide to a female Host, or . . .

A new thought crossed her mind. What would the children think, to find their mother or father suddenly dead, and yet not really dead? What would that do to a culture? Do those whose parents aren’t chosen to be Guides grieve all the harder for not seeing their parents again, even if it’s only secondhand?

She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if these Witches were permitted children. Deep in thought, she navigated between the various townsfolk and visitors as she reached the edge of the market, until a familiar tenor broke through her thoughts.

“Your Holiness! How nice to see you outside the Sacred Grove,” Deacon Shanno called out. “And such good timing, for there are many people here in town to see you.”

Heads turned her way, most of them belonging to visitors. Several of them started toward her, while behind them, she could make out the pale, smirking face of Shanno, his blond hair pulled back into a braid and his brow banded by a polished copper circlet. A bit pretentious of him to wear a circlet when he wasn’t a nobleman, but it was copper, and it was unadorned with either design or gems.

Annoyed, Saleria kept her expression calm and bland. “You know very well that all petitions must be presented in writing, and not in person, Deacon Shanno. I am to be allowed a normal life outside of my duties, which includes the politeness of not being pestered by unending petitions in person. Thus said Holy Kata and Holy Jinga.”

A few hesitated. A few more of the men and women who had come to Groveham to be near the Sacred Grove pressed closer, drawing in breaths and opening their lips to speak. She cut them off, her gaze still on the apprentice priest.

“I am in some ways considered Their closest servant next to the Arch Priest, but even so, I would not go against the will of the Gods,” Saleria added dryly. Expressions fell. She hadn’t meant to disappoint so many, but the deacon riled her with his assumptions and airs. Focusing her words on the men and women before her, she added politely, “Every petition is important, no matter what the request. If a person takes the time to organize their thoughts and put their wishes onto paper, then their request is made all the more clear. Every single letter and scroll is read, I assure you . . . and there are free writing supplies available at the Groveham cathedral, and a box which is cleared twice daily, with all petitions brought to me in an orderly fashion.

“Being a mere mortal, I cannot guarantee what answers They might give,” she added, lifting her palms and her eyes upward to the sky, “but it is my sacred duty to read and pray on your behalf when I am in the Grove. When I am here in the market, however . . . I am merely looking for food.”

Most of the visitors to the town sighed and nodded and turned away; some headed for the cathedral, with its eight walls and high dome. One couple lingered, a pair with the medium brown skins of northern Katan. Holding hands, they approached Saleria. The young woman glanced at her swain, blushed, and gave the Grove Keeper a hopeful look. “Your Holiness . . . could we have your blessing on our impending wedding?”

“And any advice you could give?” her betrothed added. They had good-quality clothes, the sort merchants might wear, and obviously had enough money and time to make the journey here, but they looked young to her. Young, and impressionable.

Saleria composed her reply carefully, giving them a smile. “My blessing you may have: May you each know a long and good life filled with many more moments of happiness than sorrow. And the blessing of Sweet Kata and Joyful Jinga you shall have as well, when Prelate Lanneraun witnesses and blesses your walking of the eight altars. As for marital advice . . . I have not been married, myself. I am therefore not qualified to lend you any, other than that marriage between mortals is never perfect.

“There will be times when you merely disagree, and times when you fight,” Saleria warned them gently. Sometimes young couples like this rushed into marriage, though there was hope they were wise despite their tender years. “The important thing is to remember that you choose to love each other. Every single day, when you wake up and face the new day, you have a choice. You can choose to love, and forgive, and seek to compromise and take turns. To share the day’s tasks, triumphs, and tragedies, to support each other through the difficult times and to help make your good times even better. You can choose to understand, to forgive, to set aside or peacefully discuss and listen to each other’s worries, needs, and requests . . . or you can choose differently, to tread some path other than love.

“Each and every day, you can make that choice, and you make it every single time you interact with each other, in how you interact. I hope both of you choose wisely, and follow through on your decisions to the betterment of both yourself and your partner,” she finished. “That is the only advice I am qualified to give.”

“Your words are most wise, Holy Keeper,” the young man stated, giving her a formal bow. “We will keep your advice in mind.”

“Yes, we will,” his betrothed agreed, smiling warmly as she curtsied to Saleria. “May the Gods bless you with the kind of love we know, Your Holiness. The Keeper of the Sacred Marriage Grove should know a long and happy marriage, herself.”

Saleria chuckled and blushed, and gave them a brief bow in return, since she still wore her mostly white Keeper’s trousers and jacket; curtsying was for skirts or long robes. “Thank you for your kind thoughts and blessings. I am obliged to remind you that the Grove is closed to visitors, but our Prelate is skilled in marital ceremonies, and the town itself is more than ready to assist you with any other of your needs. May the Gods bless you, and may you enjoy your stay in Groveham.”

“And you,” they offered in parting.

Saleria moved past them, angling toward the slender blond man with the copper band girding his forehead. She drew near just in time to hear him loftily proclaim, “. . . keep my doors open to all who come, should I ever become the Keeper of the Grove.”

“Deacon Shanno,” Saleria stated, letting her tone in the use of his minor title show her reproof, “you have actual duties to attend to at the cathedral, do you not? Perhaps these kind people will allow you to do so.” Mindful of the watching eyes of visitors and townsfolk alike, she waited until most had drifted away, then spoke quietly, though kept her expression pleasant. “Shanno, why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asked innocently. Or rather, mock-innocently. She wasn’t fooled. Tossing his head, his golden, chest-length locks sliding over his white priest-robes, he shrugged. “I’d think you’d be happy to garner the attention of your fellow Katani. After all, they should have the right to bring their petitions to you directly, as the one priest in all of Katan who can speak directly to the Gods and be assured They will listen.”

“It is forbidden because there are too many people who want to touch the divine. I am mortal, not divine, but if I do not keep that distinction clear, they could run the risk of worshipping me.” She watched him roll his eyes, and sighed impatiently. “Did not your instructors at the temple schools teach you anything about what happened to Keepers who were mobbed by crowds of pilgrims?” she asked him. “Keeper Bareias, whose ribs were broken? Keeper Shantan, whose knee was ruined so badly, even the best of Healers had trouble putting it to rights? And the post-Shattering panics that lead to the death of Keeper Patia?”

The young deacon snorted and looked away. Saleria stared at him. This was why she didn’t like him, or at least part of it. Too young, too arrogant, too self-convinced he knows everything and everyone else knows nothing. Kata, Jinga, I hope You give him a solid lesson in wisdom and humility someday . . .

“When she died, Shanno, there wasn’t anyone on hand to contain the mutations in the Grove for weeks, and that led to the Vegetable Riots. Half the town wiped out because the crowds could not control themselves in their rush to ‘garner the attention’ of the Keeper!” Saleria asserted, lifting her hands toward him. “Think, Deacon, before you speak. There is no one here in Groveham, nor for a hundred miles around, who is strong enough to take care of the Grove should something happen to me.” Yet another reason why I keep asking for an assistant . . .

“I could,” the young man boasted.

She gave him a pitying look. “No, Shanno, you could not, or you would have been selected to be on the list of potential Keepers already. I have seen that list, and your name is not marked upon it. It took a manifestation of the Gods Themselves to get people to leave my predecessors alone. Please do not try to change the way things are. You have not that power, and you never will.”

“Well, maybe that’s because I’m not fully into my powers yet,” he countered, chin still lifted in his arrogance.

That wasn’t how she meant that last version of power, but she knew he wasn’t going to listen. For such a youthful stick, he was as stubborn and unyielding as steel sometimes. The deacon—appointed a bit too early to the rank, in her opinion—looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over, and Saleria couldn’t help but wonder if a bit of wind might catch the underside of his jaw like the sails on a fishing boat when he lifted it like that. If will alone were enough to manipulate magic, perhaps he could have been a possible candidate . . . but not before having that self-importance lurking in those blue eyes knocked out of him somehow.

At her rough, weary sigh, Shanno continued stubbornly. “Everyone knows that a male mage’s strength in magics continues to bloom well into his early twenties, and I am just now twenty, as of last turning of Sister Moon. I could turn out to be even more powerful than you, Jinga willing.”

Not knowing how to refute that politely—because it would take a miracle from Jinga, who might have the sense of humor for it, to give a weak mage like Shanno the sheer strength of both body and mind to withstand the needs of the Grove—Saleria gave up trying. Shanno was too young to believe anything she’d say about his physical and magical strength not being up to the task.

At twenty-six, she wasn’t that much older than him, but she, at least, had the sense to know her limitations. She also had the benefit of early combat training, thanks first to her warrior father, and then later to her combat-mage teachers. Shanno . . . she didn’t think he’d be able to win a wrestling match more than half the time with a non-ambulatory marigold, let alone a thettis/morning glory/bug vine.

“Just . . . please refrain from trying to draw attention to me again like that, Shanno. Be respectful of your rank as a deacon, which includes the responsibilities it entails, which means toward your fellow priests as well as to your parishioners. Have a good day,” she finished politely, before moving on, deeper into the Groveham marketplace.

Pushing him from her mind, Saleria moved toward one of the dairy farmer’s stalls. Maryam, the seller, offered her a sample from a platter of little brown-veined cubes, murmuring that they had been made with a locally brewed stout for extra flavor. Nibbling on the first piece, Saleria slowly nodded; the stout lent a nutty, sharp tang to the cheese. She reached for a second piece, debating how much to buy from the older woman . . . and heard a hushed exchange behind her.

“The Holy Keeper likes that cheese!”

“We should probably get some—the Gods must’ve blessed it!”

Closing her eyes, she sent up a brief prayer for patience, then managed a smile and turned, eyes seeking out the pair of speakers. It wasn’t the young couple who had approached her for a blessing and some advice, but it was a pair of visitors from among those who had thought to approach her after Shanno revealed her identity. Clearing her throat, Saleria spoke.

“I choose this cheese simply because I like the way Maryam, the maker, flavors it with stout. Other than that, it is just cheese—and like any other cheese, either you will like it, or you will not. There is nothing holy about it,” Saleria finished dryly.

Behind her, Maryam chuckled. “Not the stout-soaked, no, it’s quite solid . . . but the emmentha cheese has lots of holes in it!”

Caught off guard, Saleria broke down into a laugh. Catching her breath after a few moments, she grinned over her shoulder at the older woman. “That’s not quite the same sort of ‘holy’ . . . but you’re quite right, there are a lot of holes in that one. Tasty holes, too.” Looking back at the middle-aged couple, she addressed the visitors again. “I swear to you, at this moment I am just another woman enjoying the marketplace, the same as you, or her, or that elderly lady over there.”

The man merely frowned at her, but the woman craned her neck to look in the directions Saleria pointed. He persisted. “We came here to see the Sacred Grove. But everyone says we cannot go into the Grove, and that we must be content with being near it. If you are its Keeper, then you are Sacred as well. Why should we not worship you as the next-nearest thing?”

Saleria shook her head and tried not to damn the young deacon in her thoughts for this trouble. “I am just one servant in a long line of servants; my job is to tend the unruly plants within the Grove, and to pray on behalf of all the written petitions I receive, not to be worshipped. Worship Kata. Worship Jinga. They are worthy of your admiration, your faith, and your love for Them. You can go to the cathedral and go up to the viewing balcony, if you wish to see the Grove. But ever since the Shattering of Aiar, which warped the aethers and ruined the great Portals, the Grove has been too dangerous even for a moderately powered mage to enter, never mind gentle souls such as yourselves.

“Dealing with it is my task, and my holiness begins and ends within the walls of the Grove. Out here, I am simply another priestess, for all my fancy titles. Now, if you will excuse me, this perfectly ordinary priestess is hungry for perfectly ordinary cheese—”

“Oy!” Maryam protested, scowling at her. “It is not ordinary cheese! It is very fine cheese.”

Saleria smiled and rolled her eyes. “—and I am going to purchase her fine but otherwise perfectly ordinary cheese in order to sate a perfectly ordinary, normal sense of hunger. May the God and Goddess bless you, and I hope you enjoy your stay in Groveham.”

They continued to watch her as she turned back to the dairy farmer. Saleria purchased a small wheel of it, tucked it into the string bag she had brought, and moved on to the next stall. Thankfully, that last couple didn’t follow her. Saleria made a few more purchases, wandered the market stalls and the shops that ringed the square, then finally found her erstwhile new assistant still haggling over several vials in the glazier’s shop. Both he and the glass merchant, Denisor, glanced up at her arrival.

Denisor smiled and waved briefly, Aradin lifted his chin in greeting, and the two men concluded their bartering. The last of the vials went into the straw-padded crate on the counter, more straw was piled on top, and a lid was settled overall. Sealing it with a spell, Aradin lifted the crate to the ground and swept the folds of his Witchcloak around it, making the crate vanish in that odd, seemingly magicless way of his. The glass merchant blinked, then shook it off and looked at her.

“And what can I do for you, Your Holiness? A bit of glass for your home?” Denisor asked her.

“I’m here to see him, actually,” Saleria said, nodding at the foreigner. “Have you everything you need, Aradin?”

“I could use a few more things, but I have enough to start,” he told her. He nodded at the merchant and held open the front door for Saleria. “I can come back for the rest tomorrow. You said earlier that you attend to the last tree right before your evening walk?”

“Yes. I use the energies siphoned from it to strengthen the wardings on the Grove wall, so that hopefully nothing can escape while I rest overnight,” she said. “You are welcome to join me in my evening rounds, since you’ve behaved well so far.”

“I would like that. Will we be visiting the Bower?” Aradin asked her, taking no offense at her words. He knew they stemmed from the protective nature of her job.

She nodded. “We can, if we go now.”

“Then let’s do that,” he agreed, smiling at her.

Unaccountably, Saleria felt her cheeks heat. There shouldn’t be any reason for her to blush just because a man smiled at her, but he did smile at her, and she did blush. Swallowing, she turned away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

(Adorable,) Teral observed. (Did you see how her cheeks turned pink?)

He wasn’t the only one. Aradin kept smiling as he followed the Guardian of the Grove. (Indeed. Do you think it’d be wrong to mix our quest with some pleasure, now that it looks like we’ll be working with her on more than just the Convocation problem?)

(From the way Priestess Tenathe tried to get me into bed with her, at least some of their priesthood doesn’t have any issues with chastity or celibacy,) Teral pointed out. (But a single blush does not make a fully welcomed attraction, either.)

(I’m just glad you didn’t take Tenathe up on that offer,) Aradin muttered mentally. (Older women are fine, but when she went on that rant against the people of Nightfall, that would’ve been awkward, trying to extract either of us from her affections as well as denying her the position of representing Katan.)

(Affections had nothing to do with it,) Teral chuckled. (More like plain old lust, if you ask me.)

(So to speak,) Aradin amended dryly. (I do want to ask her, but I’m not sure what the right timing of it should be.)

(Opportunities can present themselves, but sometimes a man has to simply seize a good enough moment and make a gentle inquiry. I suggest in private, though,) Teral cautioned him.

(Private-private, or will you be around?) Aradin joked lightly. He had to dodge around a clutch of elderly women coming from a side street, which forced him to hurry to catch up with their hostess.

(Well, I’d like to know the results,) Teral said, his mental tone the equivalent of a wry shrug. (But if you want me to leave, I can. I believe it should be nighttime in Darkhana by now, so I could always go meet up with the others in the Dark.)

(I don’t mean to kick you out,) Aradin said, mindful of his Guide’s rights and needs.

(I know, but we can report that we finally have a potential priestess to represent the Katani people. Or rather, I can first query the Dark on my way to the gathering to see if she is the best match, now that we have a candidate again,) his Guide offered. (With the previous potential candidate, Tenathe didn’t know about the people of Nightfall and the Katani king’s opposition to their efforts when I first asked if she thought she could be a representative of her people to the Gods, but the moment she threw her fit, that parameter changed everything. This one does know . . . more or less.)

(Let me ask her formally before you go,) Aradin said. Clearing his throat, he spoke quietly, pitching his voice for Saleria’s ears as they turned the corner toward her home. “Saleria . . . the country which has the potential for the thing I mentioned . . . they are considered a foe by your nation’s king. Would that make you hesitate to represent your people, if in doing so your very presence helped them succeed in their task?”

“What, the Convocation?” she asked, not catching on that he wanted to speak about the subject obliquely in public.

“Shh,” he said. “But yes.”

“Why should I want to stop it?” she asked, giving him a puzzled look. “Such a thing should be celebrated, encouraged, and assisted back into being.”

(Promising . . . Go on,) Teral nudged him.

“Well, your king wishes it to be done by his own people, rather than outlanders,” he confessed.

Frowning softly at that, Saleria considered his words. She considered them all the way into the Keeper’s house, and beyond. Only when she had shut the Grove door did she respond, by asking a question. “Who has the better chance of pulling it off the soonest? Katan, or this other land?”

“Nightfall. Technically, it is a part of Katan that has rebelled and broken away from your Empire, and they are determined to prove their independence by hosting the Convocation, with all the Gods and Goddesses of the world as their Patrons,” Aradin told her, and braced himself for her reaction.

“You sound very confident about that,” Saleria stated. Her tone was merely thoughtful.

“They have the cooperation of the Witches in gathering the Names of all the Gods and Goddesses.”

Folding her arms, Saleria studied him thoughtfully. She did have the gossip Councillor Thannig had given her, but she wasn’t going to blindly trust Aradin . . . or Teral . . . on what the dual Witch knew. “How do you know all this? As far as I know, the only Nightfall I’ve heard of is a small island on the eastern side of the continent—a continent which is the entire Empire of Katan—and if it is some other Nightfall, then it would be much farther away. So. How can you know all this? How do you know they’re trying to resurrect the Convocation?”

(That’s not so promising,) Teral observed, (but go on.)

Aradin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his Guide. Teral wasn’t the person standing in front of him, after all. “One of our fellow Witches ended up in the city of Menomon, which lies well outside the bounds of your empire. While there, they heard of a request for the Scroll of Living Glory by the people of Nightfall, which contains details on how to re-invoke the Convocation of the Gods. They—the Witch pairing—asked questions of the Dark, and determined that the people of Nightfall, which is indeed the former Katani island in question, have the best chance at succeeding. Not the only chance, but the best, as circumstances currently stand.

“The people on Nightfall do seem to be in a state of rebellion against your empire,” he continued. “I don’t know all the details, but it seems they have Rung the Bell in proper ritual form to make themselves a new, independent kingdom, have been answered with a holy crown . . . and apparently intend to manifest all the Gods and Goddesses as their official Patron Deities.”

She knew about a city of Menomon, though thanks to Guardian Sheren’s misfortunes a little while ago, the Fountainways between there and here had been closed while the older mage recovered. Aradin’s words only confirmed what Saleria knew. What little she knew, technically, since until now her world had revolved predominantly around the Grove, the village, and all the petitions received. But now we have a piece of Katan breaking away and trying to restart the Convocation. “How ambitious of them.”

Aradin shrugged and clasped his hands lightly together. “There is enough ambiguity in the Dark’s reply to put the end result in some small shadow of doubt, but less so than for any other nation about which we have queried. At the moment, they have the best chance . . . if perhaps not the only chance. So. What is your opinion of that?”

Saleria knew what he was really trying to ask. He wanted to know if she would try to sabotage their efforts—an absurdity from this far away—or try to wrest control, or stop it from happening, or whatever. She didn’t care for any of those things, however. “I guess I’d say good luck to them, and may Kata and Jinga bless their attempt.”

He frowned, taken aback by her light reply. “You honestly don’t object?”

“It occurred to me, as we were walking through the house just now, that if my king wanted to do it, he’d probably want to invoke the Convocation here.” Spreading her hands, she indicated the carefully spell-warded patch of flagstones that kept the Grove-warped plants away from the entrance to her home. “This is the holiest spot in all of Katan, and it is utterly unsuited for a meeting of Gods and Mankind. Even if you can wrest a miracle antidote from your dripping magic-sap experiments and somehow leech the excess spell-saps from the soil of the Grove, it will still take far too much time. Years’ worth of time.

“I may not be a Hortimancer, but even I can guess that much,” Saleria told him. “If these Nightfallers have Rung the Bell to demand Divine Patronage, and if they seek to reconvene the Convocation of Gods and Man . . . then the two events are probably tied together, which means they have less than a year and a day to do so,” she added. “That is far sooner than anything this Empire could put together, I am sure.”

“Possibly yes, possibly no . . . since with enough magic and effort, just about anything is possible . . . but probably they couldn’t,” Aradin agreed.

“Probably not, no. It would be far better for the whole world to have the Convocation of Gods and Man restored and resumed, regardless of who hosts it, than to let the world continue to suffer from its lack. And . . .” She hesitated, bit her bottom lip, then confessed with a touch of distress, “And my own prayers to Kata and Jinga about healing the Grove have gone unanswered all this time . . .

“Maybe, just maybe, if They appear in person at the Convocation, and if I can represent our people before Them, then maybe I can get a straight answer out of Them as to why they’ve let this place . . . fester!” Sweeping her arm out, she indicated the wilderness within the encircling walls. “That is far more important than who hosts the return of the Gods. All kingdoms will be welcome once it resumes, and that is all that matters.”

(I think now is not the time to point out that those kingdoms who misbehave toward the host kingdom can be excluded from the next one,) Teral murmured quietly.

(Ah, but not from the first one,) Aradin countered. (They all have to be represented at the first one, all the active kingdoms with duly manifested Patron Deities. I remember reading that in one of your scrolls on the matter, and it’s the reason why we have Witches lurking within reasonable snatching range of Mekhanan priests. . . . I do think she’s the one, Teral. Or an incredibly good actress, but I’ll bet it’s the former, not the latter.)

(I’ll verify it with the Dark, but I don’t believe she’s acting, either,) his Guide murmured. (Be careful with yourself while I’m gone. You won’t have me watching out of the corners of your eyes.)

“Right,” Aradin murmured, answering both his Guide and his hostess.

The feeling of Teral slipping out of his Doorway and into the Dark that lay behind it was like a cold winter draft in a fire-warmed room. He was used to the sensation, the way it prickled across his skin, but it always helped to have a distraction until the goose bumps went away. He gestured at the tool shed that contained her assortment of pruning and collecting staves.

“Shall we each grab a staff and head for the Bower, then? The sooner I learn how you tend the Grove, the sooner I can learn how to substitute for you when you go off to represent the people of Katan.”

Saleria nodded and opened the stout, weathered door.