Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [11]
I followed the black-clad figure, studying the movement of the body beneath the flowing robes, the sway of the hips. A woman, I thought. I wasn't sure if it made me more or less uneasy. She led me through another set of doors, down a set of hallways to the baths of purification.
Although I'd never gone, I knew the rituals. I'd asked Phèdre about it once. It used to bother me that she went, betimes. I was fearful of the violent catharsis she found in it. The dark mirror, Mavros would say.
And now I sought it.
The baths were stark and plain. Light poured in from high, narrow windows. There was a pool of white marble, heated by a hypocaust. The water shimmered, curls of steam rising in the sunlight. The priestess pointed at the pool.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked her.
She tilted her head. Sunlight glanced from the mask's bronze cheek. In the shadows of its eye-holes, I could make out human eyes. The bronze lips were parted to allow breath. I thought she would speak, but she didn't answer, merely pointed once more.
I unbuckled my sword-belt, pulled off my boots, and stripped out of my clothing, piling it on a stool, then stepped into the pool. It was hot, almost hot enough to scald, and yet I found myself shivering.
"Kneel.”
A woman's voice, soft and sibilant, emerging from between the bronze lips. I knelt, sinking shoulder-deep in the hot water. It smelled vaguely of sulfur. She took up a simple wooden bucket, dipping it into the pool. I closed my eyes as she poured it over my head in a near-scalding cascade; once, twice, thrice. When no more water came, I loosed the breath I'd been holding and opened my eyes.
The priestess beckoned.
I clambered out of the pool, naked and dripping. Water puddled on the marble floor. She handed me a linen bath-sheet. I dried myself and looked about for a robe, but she pointed at my piled clothing.
"Seems a bit foolish," I muttered. She said nothing, so I put on my clothes and followed as she led me out of the baths, feeling damp and anxious.
We entered a broad hallway with a high ceiling and another pair of massive, bronze-clad doors at the end of it. The temple proper. The doors clanged like bells as they opened. My mouth was dry.
Kushiel's inner sanctum.
All I could see at first was the effigy. It towered in the room, filling the space. I wondered how they'd gotten it through the doors, then realized the entire temple must have been built around it. His arms were crossed on his breast, his hands gripping his rod and flail. His distant face was stern and calm and beautiful, the same visage echoed in the mask of the priestess who led me, and those of the priests who awaited us.
One held a flogger.
I couldn't help it, my throat tightened. At the base of the effigy was the altar-fire. A few tendrils of smoke arose. The stone walls of the temple were blackened with old soot. The flagstones were scrubbed clean, though. Especially those before Kushiel's effigy, where the wooden whipping-post stood.
"Damn it!" I whispered, feeling the sting of tears. I thought about Gilot. No more tears, I'd promised him when we set out for Tiberium. Impatient at myself, I strode forward. I made an offering of gold and took up a handful of incense, casting it on the brazier.
Fragrant smoke billowed. I'd offered incense to Kushiel in the ambassadress' garden in Tiberium; spikenard and mastic. This was different. This was his place.
A bronze mask swam before me. A priest, a tall man. He bent his head toward me. "Is it your will to offer penance?”
"Yes, lord priest." I blinked my stinging eyes, rubbing at them with the heel of one hand. "Do you know who I am?”
"Yes.”
A single word; a single syllable. And yet there was knowledge and compassion in it. Behind the eye-holes of his mask, his gaze was unwavering. The decision was mine.
I spread my arms. "So.”
Hands undressed me; unfastening my cloak, unbuckling my sword-belt. Anonymous hands belonging to faceless figures. Piece by piece, they stripped away my clothing,