people to turn to the New Gods doesn't matter, I think. What does matter is that they do turn. It is their ulti shy;mate salvation. I would commit any number of crimes to ensure that!'
The priest put a hand on Hederick's shoulder. 'You speak like a much older and wiser man,' he said. 'There are miracles that only Seeker priests can perform, and the demonstrations with the red and yellow fire are of that sort. I will show you all these things, and more. You will do the priesthood proud, Hederick.'
'I'm invited?'
Tarscenian nodded.
Hederick cleared his throat. 'I have no wealth to give,' he stammered.
Tarscenian shrugged. 'You have considerable talents. I have seen you use them.'
He knew, then, about the poison? 'And. . that is acceptable?'
Tarscenian's brow wrinkled. His voice grew curt. 'Of course, Hederick. Not everyone has material wealth to share with us. Some people's gifts must take other forms.'
'I have begun to use these talents,' Hederick admitted. 'You approve of my … gifts to the faith, then?'
A bushy eyebrow curved upward. 'Of course, Heder shy;ick.'
Hederick raised a silent prayer of thanks to Omalthea, Sauvay, and the rest.
At that moment, a cry went up outside.
The villagers had found Kel'ta's body.
Upon Tarscenian's orders, the villagers dined in the square to honor Kel'ta's passing. Once again roast prairie pheasant, stuffed with sage, disappeared from fired-clay platters as though it had taken flight. With it went golden squash dotted with honey, thick bread slathered with but shy;ter, and streams of fresh milk. Despite the funereal aspect of the adults, some of the children chattered and played.
Seated at the table in their cleanest work clothes, the men paused often to gaze reverently at Tarscenian. He occupied a grand chair at the head of tables that were spread with cloths newly embroidered with Seeker sym shy;bols. He'd given up his travel-stained brown robe for a new one of fine linen, lovingly stitched by one of the women.
Venessi had been coaxed from her house for the funeral and dinner. Tarscenian sat next to her but paid scant atten shy;tion to her. The rest of the villagers did the same. Venessi's champions had been silenced. Hederick's mother looked so forlorn that the boy went over next to her, taking a free chair on the side away from Tarscenian. She didn't look at him, even when Hederick touched her hand. Her gaze seemed never to leave her lap. She picked at her cold pheasant and sipped a glass of wine without seeming to care.
'Mother?' Hederick whispered.
'Leave me alone,' she answered vehemently. 'This is all your fault. You and your evil nature.'
'Mother, you are just being stubborn.'
'You have abandoned Tiolanthe. You brought this infi shy;del here.'
Hederick patted her hand and imitated Tarscenian's tone. 'You were mistaken about Tiolanthe, Mother. But you have another chance, thanks to Tarscenian. Surely Omalthea will forgive you if you beg her understanding.'
Her head came up. 'Forgive me? Forgive me? I should seek forgiveness from a goddess who does not exist?'
Hederick's breath caught. Her eyes held horror and hate. 'Heathen boy!' she whispered, and caught his arm with a clawlike hand.
Just then a sound came from the far end of the table. A ripple of started exclamations made its way through the villagers. One man stood up, knocking his chair over, and froze. 'You-' he choked out.
Hederick's gaze went to Tarscenian's face. The priest's expression flashed from thoughtful to surprised to panic-stricken, then to awestruck. It's like he's seen a real god, Hederick thought. The boy swiveled toward the foot of the table.
Tarscenian was right. A goddess had appeared in Gar-lund.
Her grass-green eyes glittered like the wings of a drag shy;onfly. Her hair, the hue of ripe wheat, curled and swirled around her head like a mass of golden snakes. She wore a robe, but not of the indigo or gray homespun type favored by the Garlund women. This was pure white, made of some slippery-looking material that Hederick later learned was silk. Turquoise and green stitching glittered at the neck and wrists. A twisted silken rope the color of a summer cloud cinched the robe at her slender waist and fell to tassels at her ankles.
Then Hederick knew her.
It was Ancilla.
Chapter 2
Hederick's sister was nearly thirty, but she looked young and rav shy;ishing. Slender fingers curved around the gnarled head of a worn wooden staff.
Struck dumb, the villagers studied her.
' 'Cilia?' Hederick finally whispered. The murmur resounded like a shout.
She closed her eyes, moved her lips in soundless words, then turned and looked at him. Her wide mouth parted in a familiar smile.
'I told you I'd come back for you, Hederick,' she said softly. 'I surely had not expected that my little brother would become a man while I was gone.'
As Ancilla glided toward him, Venessi's nails dug into his arm. Hederick sat motionless and did not move to grasp Ancilla's proffered hand.
Tarscenian cleared his throat, half stood up, and spoke rustily. 'You're Ancilla, I gather.' He spoke his own name. 'I am a Seeker priest.'
Hederick's sister turned cold green eyes his way, but she had no time to reply. Venessi found her voice at that moment. Some of the old imperiousness returned as she snapped, 'She's a witch, Tarscenian! I condemned her years ago. Send her away. She's evil.'
Annoyance crossed Tarscenian's handsome face. He towered over Venessi. 'Madam, this woman is your daughter. You seem to make a bad habit of casting off your children.'
Venessi gestured excitedly. 'She uses magic. Look at her! Is that the garb of a righteous woman?'
Tarscenian stared at Ancilla like a thirsting man gazing at a spring. 'Perhaps,' he finally said. The rumble re shy;turned to his voice. 'Venessi, you are tolerated here solely because you are Hederick's mother. Be silent.'
Venessi cast Ancilla a glance of pure hate and drove her nails deeper into Hederick's arm.
Ancilla had been watching Tarscenian all the while. 'I could destroy you easily, you know,' she said to him. 'Your powers are nothing next to mine.'
Tarscenian appeared unimpressed. 'Your white robe tells me you're aligned with good. From what I've stud shy;ied, such a one would not kill blindly. And I do have my gods to protect me, Ancilla.'
They locked stares for what seemed an eternity. 'The Seekers are misguided,' she said.
'There's always that possibility, with humans.'
'The Seeker gods are myths.'
'Plenty of people believe in them, Ancilla.'
'I have seen many like you,' she said quietly. 'You offer poor folk hope, and then you abandon them. You glean them of everything of worldly value. They never realize it until you are gone. You are a charlatan.'
'People with hope are not poor.'
'But the hope is vacant!' Ancilla cried. Her green eyes flashed. 'There are no Seeker gods!'
'I believe in them,' Tarscenian repeated.
'Of course,' Ancilla shot back. 'They're making you rich, 'priest' '
The villagers watched, fascinated, their common minds comprehending little of the argument. They knew, though, that a condemned witch challenged their holy man, and it ought to be only a matter of moments before Omalthea herself would rise and slaughter the sorceress.
'And your gods, Ancilla?' Tarscenian demanded. 'Where are they while the world's spirit starves? Your Old Gods are the ultimate cause of this misery.' Ancilla said nothing. Tarscenian added, softly, 'Are you a mage?'
