Rosethorn rode quickly as she left Briar. The sooner I go, she told herself, the sooner I return to them. Who knows what mischief they’ll get into without me to keep an eye on things?
She looked back after ten yards for a last glimpse of her boy, but a heavy fog had come from nowhere to hide the north bank of the Snow Serpent River. She faced south again and let her patient horse follow the trail. As they moved into the canyons of the Drimbakang Lho, she prayed to Mila of the Fields and Grain, the Green Man, god of growth that was orderly and chaotic, and even Briar’s own Lakik the Trickster to look after him and Evvy.
One thing she had found while carrying the Four Treasures was that her path was always clear. Since leaving the fort she had seen it as a shining pale ribbon along the main road, across the bridge, and now on the simple one-mule track. She only had to stay on it.
Her burden was company of a sort. It carried myriad voices to her. Most of them spoke languages she had never heard, even after all her years of life on the Pebbled Sea. Some bits of conversation came in tongues she knew quite well, speaking of trade, the governing of nations, the weather, the condition of crops, or the behavior of children. The voices held her attention so well that the horse would nudge her when he required rest, water, or the chance to crop grass.
She brought out one of Evvy’s glow stones for light once the sun had set, not for herself, but for her mount. Finally he dug in his hooves to let her know he had walked enough for the day. She made their camp in a stand of trees and rubbed the easygoing animal down, then covered him with a blanket against the mountain cold. She ate yak jerky and cheese for supper, though she wasn’t particularly hungry. Her own common sense, at least, was still working.
Best of all, she breathed easily. She might resent the detour to Gyongxe and the separation from both of her young people, but it was good to fill her lungs again.
The package wasn’t even that much of a burden in a physical sense. She felt its light pressure on her chest, but it wasn’t heavy. She slept on her side with the box still around her neck, one arm draped lightly over the Four Treasures.
She woke at dawn, fed her horse and herself, and continued her upward trek. The gleaming path turned away from the one-mule road onto a game trail some time after noon. Wild mountain goats and yaks politely moved aside to let them pass.
The trail led to a slender ledge over a deep gorge. On her side the cliff rose over a hundred feet into the air above her. “I hope you’re nimble,” Rosethorn told the horse. She gulped when she looked down. The gorge plunged far deeper than she had expected. A ribbon of blue-and-white water tumbled over rocks.
The horse calmly followed the trail around the curve on the ledge and onto wider ground again, deep into shadowed lands. The mountains rose higher, and the path rose with them. Rosethorn relaxed and returned to her dreaming state. That night it was cold enough that she built a fire.
The next day the trail took them down a thin canyon. It was so narrow that Rosethorn could touch both walls when she stretched out her arms. She could tell her mount did not like the close quarters.
“What can we do?” she asked him softly. Even so her voice echoed. “See the path? This is the way we have to go.”
“Few have the gods’ blessings to come here.” The deep male voice boomed between the stone walls. Rosethorn reined in, unsure of what was going on. “You are expected, bearer of the Living Circle’s Treasures. You have come to the Temple of the Sealed Eye. Ride on.”
After she caught her breath, she decided there was nothing else to do. She nudged her mount, clicking her tongue between her teeth. He snorted and tossed his head, but he did advance. The path descended as the canyon widened. Rosethorn could hear a waterfall.
A clearing opened before them. Soft grass grew around a wide pool. It was supplied from a waterfall that dropped thirty feet from a cliff. Three caves opened into the cliff face beside the waterfall.
“Leave your horse,” the voice ordered. “He will be cared for. Enter the temple — if you choose the correct entry.”
“And if I do not?” Rosethorn asked. Really, this is absurd, she thought impatiently. I have the Treasures; I found this hole in the wall — these
“The temple protects itself,” the voice replied.
“Did you hear that?” Rosethorn muttered to the horse as she dismounted. “The temple protects itself. The rest of us can enjoy our nice little mountain vacation that we took when others need us.” She went about removing the horse’s saddle.
“Grumbling will not assist you,” the voice told her. “The animal will be looked after.”
“Grumbling makes me feel better,” she retorted. “If you don’t like it, you should have given the First Dedicate instructions, or made it possible for
Lark, Rosethorn thought, bringing her lover’s face before her mind’s eye in case this did not go well. She took a deep breath, picked up a stick that lay on the ground, and advanced on the cave. Using the stick, she cleared away most of the cobwebs before she walked inside. The glowing path led her down a narrow tunnel, so narrow that in some places the stone brushed her shoulders. Rosethorn bit her lip and went on.
As the daylight faded behind her, she saw light from another source. A fungus she did not know grew high on the walls and the roof of the tunnel. The farther she came from natural light, the brighter glowed the fungus. It gave off a whitish-green illumination, one that was not favorable to her skin. She grimaced at the sight of her corpse-green hands, but consoled herself with the thought that no one would possibly care about her looks down here. As a religious dedicate she knew it was a weakness to be vain of her creamy skin. It was doubly so because she spent nearly all of her time in the sun.
“Concern for appearance is a folly of the world,” the voice said, as if he’d read her mind.
Rosethorn spun. Behind her stood a black-skinned man so large he had to bend to keep from bumping his head on the roof. He wore a plain Gyongxin jacket, breeches, and boots. A white mark in the shape of an eye was painted on the middle of his forehead.
Rosethorn clutched the Treasures tightly. She didn’t want him to see that she was shaking. No man had seen her frightened since she had run away from the chains in her father’s farmhouse. “I don’t know how you read my mind, but it’s rude,” she snapped. “And my weaknesses as a dedicate are between me and my own First Dedicates.”
“In the Temple of the Sealed Eye all is known,” the man said. “Continue to go forward. Keep to the left of the tunnel.”
She didn’t like to turn her back to him, but it was a question either of staying here or going ahead. She certainly couldn’t go back, through him. As she moved on, the Treasures gripped her mind. They showed her strange images: a great city under attack; a young black man trying to get two girls who resembled him out of a beautiful house; soldiers in Yanjingyi armor surrounding them. They were separated and sold, the girls and the young man, in a Yanjingyi city. The young man was made to work on a rice farm. Then he found his way through forests and up into mountain passes, starved and half naked, until he collapsed. The last thing Rosethorn saw was a Gyongxin woman with the white eye painted on her forehead: She was bending over the fallen young man.
The vision faded.
“Is that you?” she asked, forgetting the big man most likely couldn’t see what she did. “You were an escaped slave?” She looked back at him.
He sighed. “Your Treasures could leave me my secrets.” He reached out. “Careful!”
She bumped a tall rock on her right. Something there hissed and scraped, darting at her. She stumbled back. The thing retreated, hissing still. Rosethorn turned to face it and carefully backed up until she struck the opposite wall. On the flat top of the rock was a serpent-like thing with a human skull. Its body seemed to be all vertebrae. It had no skin, no flesh, no muscle; its material was shaped like bone, but it looked to be a combination of metals.
