They both turned their attention to Nekaun. Reivan looked up and heard him say something about beginning lessons. The Servants began to sing again while leading their chosen couples out of the garden. Each headed toward one of the open doors of the inner wall. They stepped inside and the doors closed, ending the song. The garden was suddenly silent and empty.
Imenja rose, followed by the other Voices. As she followed suit, Reivan felt a little dizzy. A domestic approached to take their empty goblets. Nekaun walked back to join them, smiling with obvious satisfaction.
“It was a beautiful ceremony, Dedicated Servant Nekaun,” Imenja told him.
He bowed his head. “Thank you, Second Voice. And thank you all for participating.”
Imenja’s expression became serious. “We have always done so. This year it is all the more important to take joy in the creation of new life as well as grieve loss and death. It gives us hope.”
Nekaun nodded. “It does indeed. Will you be returning to the Sanctuary now, or would you like to stay for the feast?”
“We will return now,” she replied. “As always there is much for us to do.”
“Then let me escort you to the gate.”
Reivan watched him closely. She tried to imagine him proud and all powerful like Kuar had been, rather than this friendly and obliging Dedicated Servant, and found she couldn’t.
As the platten turned into the street, Auraya was relieved to see that no crowd waited outside the hospice. Four guards stood beside the door, alert and ready to call for help from those that waited inside if there was trouble they could not handle on their own.
Extra guards had been employed after two had been overcome by street thugs a few nights ago, allowing a gang to break into the hospice. The intruders had smashed some of the furniture and stolen supplies, but had not damaged or taken anything that was irreplaceable. Nobody had seen the looters, but the mugs that had been hired to tackle the guards had been found. They claimed their employers were rich young men from the high end of the city.
A worker was touching up the paintwork, his movements hurried. Auraya read from his mind that someone had distracted the guards last night and painted a derogatory phrase about Dreamweavers on the wall. She smothered a sigh.
Resistance to the hospice was inevitable. People rarely gave up their prejudices overnight, even if it appeared the gods wanted them to. If they didn’t like what the gods decided, they reasoned that the decision was simply a foolish human’s misinterpretation of their will.
The painter looked up. His eyes widened as he saw her. He made a few more jabs at the hospice facade with his brush, then hurried inside. As the platten pulled up before the door, the guards stood to attention and made the sign of the circle.
Auraya picked up the parcel lying on the seat beside her and stepped down to the pavement. She strode to the door of the hospice and pushed it open with magic. As she stepped into the hall inside, several faces turned toward her. She sensed the priests’ and priestesses’ relief that she had arrived and knew that they had been waiting in a tense silence. The cause of their awkwardness were five Dreamweavers standing calmly behind Raeli. Though these men and woman looked relaxed, Auraya detected anticipation, curiosity and fear.
She smiled at them all and, as always, was a little amazed at how the simple gesture could ease the tension in a room.
“Thank you for coming,” she began, meeting the gaze of each person. “What we begin today is a noble task, but one not without dangers. Recent events have convinced me that a public ceremony to celebrate the opening of this hospice would only invite trouble, and I know you all agree. Instead we will mark the occasion quietly and privately.
“Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli and High Priest Teelor, will you come forward.”
The two approached her, both serious, both dignified. Auraya unwrapped the parcel, revealing a wooden plaque inlaid with gold lettering:
The plaque had been Danjin’s idea, and he had come up with the words. To him it was suitably ironic, since the Dreamweaver policy of never refusing help was going to lead to their downfall. For Auraya it was a reminder of why she was doing this: to save souls that might turn away from the gods.
Raeli and Teelor glanced back at the entrance to the corridor, where two sets of steps had been placed. A pair of chains hung down from the top of the entrance, spaced at the same distance apart as the hooks set into the top of the plaque. Auraya held the plaque out to the pair. They took hold of either end, carried the plaque together to the corridor entrance, climbed the stairs and attached the chains. When the plaque hung in place, Auraya spread her hands in a suitably dramatic gesture.
“I declare the hospice open.”
The Dreamweavers and healers relaxed. Descending the steps, Raeli and Teelor turned to regard each other. A smile spread across Teelor’s face and the corner of Raeli’s lips curled upward slightly.
“Everything is in place,” Auraya said. “All we need now is someone to treat.”
The pair exchanged glances.
“Actually,” Teelor said. “We have already. They came in last night. A woman having difficulty giving birth and an old man with lung sickness.”
“The woman and babe are recovering,” Raeli added. “The old man...” She shrugged. “It is age as well as illness ailing him, I think. We have made him comfortable.”
Teelor’s eyebrows rose. “Turns out they can’t cure everything,” he murmured to Auraya.
Raeli’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “Age is not a disease,” she told him. “It is a natural process of life. After thousands of years of gathering knowledge, we have no delusions about what can or cannot be achieved.”
The high priest chuckled. “I would not be surprised if you used that excuse for all the cases you fail to cure,” he teased.
Auraya watched them both in surprise and amazement. These two appeared to have formed a bond of respect, perhaps even the beginnings of friendship. When had that happened? She looked closer and saw memories of a long night struggling together to save the mother and her child. It had been a learning experience for both of them.
She felt a stirring of hope, but it was stilled again by the recollection of what she was truly meaning to achieve here. Yet the nagging guilt was eased by the knowledge that, by learning from the Dreamweavers, the healer priests were going to be able to help many, many more people. Suddenly she saw the whole project in a different way. There was little in life that did not have bad as well as good effects. This hospice was one of them. All in all, the good outweighed the bad.
And that was a typically Dreamweaverish way to look at it.
“You’re getting a bit old for this,” Teiti said. “But I suppose it’s good for you to have friends outside the palace, too.”
Imi pulled a face. “Of course I’m not too old! There are children older than me here.”
Her aunt looked out toward the other side of the Children’s Pool and scowled disapprovingly. “I know.”
Following her gaze, Imi saw that the usual crowd of older children had garnered by the edge of the deeper section. Unlike the young boys and girls splashing about in the rest of the pool, these lounged around as if they were above childish games. There were plenty of boys and girls in pairs, too, some with arms linked.
