The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [111]
All the same, the priest acted as if his god had appeared before him in a blaze of wrath and glory. And perhaps that wasn’t so far off the mark, for Melia had once been a goddess herself—a fact of which the young man seemed quite aware. He hastily brought them wine, slopping some of it on the floor and wiping it up with the hem of his robe.
Only as she drank did Aryn realize she was indeed terribly thirsty; she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it sooner. Her eyes flickered to Mandu’s peaceful stone visage, but before she could wonder more the young priest beckoned them toward a door.
“This way, Your Holiness. He is waiting for you.”
When they stepped through the door, they found themselves standing in an utterly empty room. It was difficult to tell how large the space was, for floor, walls, and ceiling were all white. There seemed to be no distinct way to define where one plane ended and another began, and the light was a silvery glow that emanated from nowhere and everywhere at once.
“Welcome,” a dry, warm voice said.
Aryn looked up and saw the room was not entirely empty. An old man floated in midair in the center of the room, cross-legged, hands on knees. His robe, hair, and flowing beard were all the same silver-white as the stone walls. However, his wrinkled cheeks were a dark, coppery color, and his small eyes were as brown as nuts.
Melia stepped forward, beaming. “Orsith. It is a joy to see you again.”
The old man smiled; it was one of the sweetest expressions Aryn had ever seen.
“My dearest, the joy is mine. But you must forgive me that I do not come down to greet you more warmly. I am in the second day of a Stillness, and I have yet one more day to remain here. Even speaking is a bit of a violation, but I suspect Mandu will forgive me under the circumstances.”
“Oh, I’ll see to that,” Melia said. “And don’t worry, I shall come to you.”
With that the small woman rose into the air, until she sat cross-legged like Orsith, hovering a few feet from him.
Falken let out a snort. “Show-off.”
Lirith moved closer, wonder on her dusky face. “Forgive me, Orsith, but may I ask how you do it?”
“Do what, lovely one?”
“Float without touching the floor.”
The old man shrugged bony shoulders. “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea. I simply sit as still as I can and think about nothing at all, and after I while I notice that the floor has quite fallen away from me.”
Lirith smiled and nodded, as if this meant something to her, but Durge frowned, furrows digging into his forehead.
“And where are we to sit?” the knight grumbled.
Orsith smiled. “Why, you may sit anywhere, my serious fellow.”
“But there is nowhere to sit,” Durge said.
Orsith cocked his head. “Well, that’s odd. And here I was thinking there was everywhere to sit.”
Aryn laughed, then sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Yes, that’s it, my dear,” Orsith said. “And what striking eyes you have. Have you seen the blue pearls in the emperor’s palace? There are no more than a dozen in the world. But drab pebbles they seem compared to your eyes. The emperor will have to throw them out the moment he sees you.”
Aryn gasped. She felt Lirith squeeze her hand as the witch sat down beside her. Falken followed suit, then finally Durge. The Embarran’s knees creaked alarmingly.
“Orsith,” Melia said, “there is much to talk about. It has been so long since I have seen you.”
“I believe my beard was considerably shorter and blacker the last time you were in Tarras.”
Sorrow flickered across Melia’s face. “So it was, Orsith. But we will have to speak about the passing years another time. Right now you must tell me everything you know about poor Ondo.”
Now the humor in Orsith’s expression was replaced by gravity. “I fear it will take little enough time to tell you what we have learned. Usually Mandu prefers to remain apart from the arguments and rivalries of the other gods, but even He has been forced to become involved by what has happened. I have been