LITMIR.BIZ

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are to be useful as Ilduin, it would seem that we ought to know who we are and how our powers work.”

      He was silent for a moment, as if drawing himself out of a dark pit. “You speak of the Mysteries.”

      “The Mysteries?”

      “Aye. The secrets of the Ilduin. The Ilduin of old may have known. ’Twas said their powers were gifts from the gods. But whatever they knew, they kept to themselves. ’Tis said that at the end of the First Age, when horror and destruction lay all around, the Ilduin oversaw the building of the Anari temples and concealed all the Mysteries within those temples. If that be true, none has ever found the answers, though many have tried over the centuries.”

      The stew was soon ready. Sara had an amazing way of throwing a few things into a pot and in a short while producing a savory meal. Tess ate with a hunger that surprised even herself, as if she had not eaten in weeks. Almost as soon as the food hit her belly, she could feel herself strengthening.

      By the time Sara and Tom had finished cleaning up and were about to put out the cook fire, Giri began to ride up the slope toward them. He came fast, but not fast enough to cause alarm.

      When he reached them, his face was grave and full of sorrow. “Let us go down to Gewindi-Telner. They have offered us lodging at Telnertah, the village temple.”

      He looked past them at the other Anari. “You will follow us.”

      * * * *

      From times past, Archer recognized a few of the older Gewindi, and they him. His travels had taken him over most of the known world in his time, and taken him more than once. A few nods greeted him as he and Tess led the procession into town, but beyond nods, the greetings were nonexistent. The usually warm and outgoing Anari had become cautious of strangers over the three generations of their enslavement, and with the day’s bad news, they were even less inclined to warmth. Most faces were stoic, but on some tears coursed down.

      Giri led them straight to the temple and into the guesthouse, made of stone and roofed over with a perfectly carved vault of granite.

      “Stay here,” he told the party. “There is to be a judgment, and outsiders will not be welcome.”

      He stayed to help unload the horses, then guided their mounts away to a stable. The rest of the party remained in the comfortably large round room that was somehow ensconced in the temple. There was a door that led into the temple proper, but Tom soon discovered it was locked.

      “We can’t go in there?” he asked.

      Ratha shook his head. “Not without invitation.”

      In a corner was a small fountain with water gushing up from it, probably from some underground spring. There was a hearth on which wood for a fire had already been laid, though not lit. And there were a half dozen elevated stone pallets that could serve either as chairs or beds.

      Windows beneath shades of animal skin that could be rolled up or down gave a view onto the sun-shaped plaza and beyond, to one of the curving paths that led between leafless trees to another section of the village.

      Tess found herself drawn to the window and stood there for minutes uncounted, feeling as if she stood on some kind of brink.

      “What is it, Tess?” Sara asked, coming to her elbow. “What do you see?”

      “’Tis not what I see but what I feel.”

      Sara nodded and remained beside her, staring out the window. More minutes passed, then a soft sigh escaped her. “It speaks to us.”

      “Yes. But I don’t understand.”

      “Nor I.”

      Together they continued to stare out at the sun-drenched plaza and the winding stone path, so carefully laid out by long ago masons.

      “This work is amazing,” Tom said, peering closely at a wall. “The stones are seamless.”

      He pulled a hair from his head and attempted to slide it into the almost invisible crack between two stones. “I can’t…and the joints aren’t even square. See how each rock is cut in a different shape, yet each fits exactly into the others?”

      “That is one of the many wonders of Anari stonework,” Archer said. “The stones are locked together so that nothing can dislodge them. But wait until you see the other things they create from stone. Items of such beauty and intricacy that no one else can mimic them.”

      “Our blessing and our bane both,” Ratha said. “But that is about to end.”

      With those words, he reminded them all that they had come to join a revolution.

      Tess turned back to the window, Sara at her side, and resumed her study of the view, unable to escape the feeling that it was speaking to her.

      The sun was sinking low in the west when at last Jenah returned. He was followed by a group of young men and women who bore stone platters of food for the guests and, surprisingly, flowers for Tess.

      She accepted them with a smile and an expression of gratitude, but felt uncomfortable at being singled out in this fashion. After all, Archer, Ratha and Giri had fought beside the men of Gewindi Tel and certainly deserved more thanks than she did.

      “Eat,” said Jenah. “Then we have a favor to ask of Lady Tess.”

      That news was enough to destroy Tess’s appetite, but out of courtesy she tasted the food…and found it to be too wonderful to pass up.

      Giri came to sit beside her around the feast and said reassuringly, “Fear not, Lady. All will be well.”

      “Guests are treated royally by the Anari,” Archer added. “Among the desert peoples, to deny succor to a stranger is a mortal sin. Now that they are sure we are not agents of Bozandar, the old ways resume.”

      “Aye,” Ratha agreed, with a laugh. “Wait until you taste the hospitality of Monabi-Tel.”

      Giri joined his brother’s laugh. “Indeed. Monabi-Tel must exceed Gewindi-Tel.”

      “Of course,” Ratha said.

      His voice broke into song, a melody that sat low in his chest and seemed to rumble with the memories of the mountains themselves.

      Monabi-Tel an leekehnen

      Monabi lohrisie

      Zar Tel mim Torsah seekehnen

      Monabi lohr

      Monabi fohr

      Monabi-Tel wohbie.

      Tess found herself laughing, despite having no idea what the words meant. Somehow the melody made her want to clap her hands as gleefully as a child. Finally she asked, “Of what do you sing, Ratha?”

      “It is a children’s song,” he replied with a grin. “The words do not work well in your language, but it is something like this: Monabi-Tel live decently, Monabi people say. Our Tel craves wisdom peacefully. Monabi are good. Monabi are strong. Just ask Monabi-Tel.”

      “As you can see,” Giri said, joining in the mirth, “we are raised to be a proud people.”

      “And yet you make fun of yourselves at the same time,” Tess said.

      “But of course, m’Lady,” Giri said. “To be proud and not make fun of oneself is arrogance. To make fun of oneself and not be proud is self-loathing. But to be proud and still make fun of oneself, that is wisdom.”

      “Monabi-Tel were always our bards and tricksters,” Jenah said with an almost imperceptible wink. “Take naught that they say seriously.”

      “And Gewindi-Tel were always our solemn and hardworking mentors,” Giri replied. “Look not to them for joy, but only for labor.”

      “How much of any of this should I take seriously?” Tess asked with a playful smile.

      “Very little,” Archer said, chuckling.

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