Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [223]
"No," I said softly. "A little better, mayhap. I don't understand this business of jealous gods slaying one another
and fearing their own offspring. It is not so, with Blessed Elua and his Companions."
"No?" Pasiphae smiled gently. "And yet, from what you tell me, I think your Kushiel the Punisher has gotten a scion he fears."
I remembered Melisande's words, and shuddered. Kushiel has chosen you, Phèdre, and marked you as his own. To toy with you is to play a god's game. "Mayhap," I murmured. "But I am only mortal, my lady, and I am trying to save the throne of my Queen, to whom I have sworn loyalty, and I would like also to save the life of my friend, whose men died in the effort of rescuing me. Let the gods claim what they will; my allegiance lies with those I have known and loved. And do you speak against it, I will say, Blessed Elua preached the same."
"That," said Pasiphae, "is what makes him so interesting." Rising, she walked to the edge of the terrace, where the fisherfolk below could see her and stretch out their hands, beseeching her blessing. She gave it freely, opening her arms to them, and the lowering sun limned her in light. I had gotten over the shock of our first meeting, but still her presence filled me with awe. It is a different world, Kriti. The setting sun laid a burning path on the water, and I saw in the caverns that riddled the harbor walls a flicker of white robes, betokening the presence of initiates. It was they who had sounded the gongs upon our arrival.
So I had learned, although I may say too that those caverns are ancient, beyond even the remembering of the House of Minos. They have been used as dwelling places since first man struck two flints together, crying out in awe at the blue spark that resulted. But it is a sacred business, this, and best not spoken.
The lower rim of the sun's disk sank below the horizon and Pasiphae lowered her arms, turning back to me. "Your Elua does as he wills," she said gently. "But this is my place, and this is my gift. Tomorrow Kazan Atrabiades will undergo the thetalos, and if Mother Dia wills it, he will survive. I grant you leave to attend the ceremony, if you will it. Do you so choose?"
I shivered in my skin, and knew her words for truth. "Yes, Pasiphae. I will attend."
On the following day, I did not see her at all, nor Kazan, whom I had not seen since he had been secluded. I went instead to the harbor of the Temenos, and spoke with Tor-mos and Glaukos, who were overseeing the repairs to our damaged vessel. That, at least, was well done; the Kritians are great sailors, after all, and the island is rich in oak and cypress. I was happy to see that they were well-rested and of reasonably good cheer; and, too, they had seen to the security of our coffer of gold. And I confess, I was glad too of the Illyrians' company and their simple jests, taking comfort in what had become familiar to me.
They believed to a man that Kazan would overcome the challenge of the thetalos and return to them as he had been before, a fierce and cunning leader who would inflict great damage on their enemies and escape unscathed. Indeed, they had begun to spin their own mythos out of the events that had befallen us, endlessly enumerating the ways in which Kazan would take his vengeance on the treacherous Serenissimans.
I smiled and jested with them, and prayed that they had the right of it, for Kazan's sake and my own. For vengeance I cared naught, but somewhere in Caerdicca Unitas, Ysandre's progressus continued on its steady, unwitting course toward a deadly trap, while in Terre d'Ange, Percy de Somerville awaited word to seize the City of Elua. This