Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [217]
“I saw a man I recognized from before … we called him the Whip and Leorin told me she’d killed him herself—slit him open with his own knife. He was different—ten years different, with pale hands and a silk robe—but …” Cauvin found his lamp, struck sparks for the wick, and made a nest for it in a sand-filled box—a a man couldn’t be too froggin’ careful with fire in a loft. “Leorin told me the Whip was dead. I couldn’t take the chance; I needed to see her—”
“That does not follow, Cauvin,” the Torch scolded. The only color in his face came from his weird eyes; otherwise, his withered face was white as ice.
“It followed for me,” Cauvin countered. “I went to the Unicorn. We talked; we more than talked. She put something in my wine; I didn’t drink it. Leorin left once she thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. I followed her to the Promise of Heaven—”
The Torch hummed with curiosity.
—“She went into the old Temple of Ils, all the way to the back and down into a tunnel. I waited. She came out with three men. I’m froggin’ sure they were Hand.” “They must have been quite disappointed to find you among the missing. And none too grateful to your beloved Leorin.”
Cauvin grimaced. “They gave her a warning.”
“Only a warning? You know what this means, don’t you?”
“They weren’t ready to give her to the Bloody Mother. They think she might still be useful to them.”
“Cauvin, you sheep-shite fool, you knew what she was before you took her clothes off. A wise man does not swive with a Dyareelan! You’ve given her a part of yourself and who know what it might grow into. Of course, Leorin’s still useful to them, even if they trust her no more than you do. For a month, at least, maybe longer, if she’s caught you in her belly.”
“Shalpa’s midnight cloak—Leorin … Leorin …” Cauvin groped for words that wouldn’t scald his mouth as he said them. “Leorin’s barren. She’s said so herself: If she could have children, she’d have had a passel of them by now. I’m the one who held back.”
“Until tonight. Need I remind you that you’ve shared your beloved with the Bloody Mother all along? If barrenness served Dyareela, then your Leorin was barren; if not, then quite possibly, not. There’s no guessing what can happen with a god’s blessing.”
“No, Leorin would never give them a child,” Cauvin insisted—though how could he convince the Torch when he couldn’t convince himself?
He covered his face. Better a child not be born that it be born to the Hand—but his child … How could he have done that to his child? The shame was excruciating. Behind his hand, Cauvin closed his eyes and couldn’t say a word.
“You are well aware, I assume, that if you had done what I told you to do, none of this would have happened. Now you’re ashamed. By the gods, I should leave you to wallow in your juices until you truly know the depth—and futility—of shame. But I haven’t the time. There are two treasures left, Cauvin—listen to me! Two treasures. One is sacred to all men of Ranke—the Savankh. You’ll find Sanctuary’s Savankh in a small storeroom out at Land’s End. Getting it away from the Serripines won’t be easy, but you’ll manage. The other is the Necklace of Harmony which once graced the neck of Ils, Himself—
“Oh, not the real one, of course—if there were such a thing. There are as many Necklaces as there are Savankhs, maybe more—there’s no denying that Ils is older than Savankala. Or that His priests have lost a Necklace or two along the way. The one that Ils in Sanctuary wore when I arrived here was stolen by a woman—a tiny creature, a competent thief, but a better curse: a veritable black bird of death. Take Ischade to bed and you’d be dead before the sun rose. Not her fault, you understand, the best curses never are.
“We made a new Necklace after that—couldn’t have the Wrigglies losing faith in their great god, could we? That’s what matters, after all: faith. The gods are real enough, but it’s mortal faith, mortal prayer, and mortal sacrifice that gives Them power—Ah, Vashanka—until They break faith …” The dying priest retreated into himself, then continued