To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [42]
Here he found Mr. Data at one of the tables, the center of a small group of villagers—V’kal and Misik among them—who were watching avidly while the android played some sort of board game against a local challenger. The board and the gaming pieces were unfamiliar to Riker, but clearly it hadn’t taken Data long to familiarize himself with them. As he watched, the android tipped over two of the pieces on the board, moved a blue wooden disc next to a red ceramic triangle, and announced, “Bikbik.” His opponent stared at the board, sighed, and added another white pebble to the pile already standing at the android’s elbow. The crowd cheered.
Riker took this opportunity to tap Data on the shoulder and ask, “Where are Troi and Lelys?” “They are both outside near the well with the other women.” “Where’d you think they’d be, at this hour?” Misik joshed. “Come all this way on a pilgrimage and neglect the evening rites?” Riker covered quickly. “I’m sorry, I must have lost track of the time. Will you excuse me?” He ducked out of the inn.
The well stood in the little walled courtyard just outside the stables. There were benches all around the walls, every one occupied by village children and elders. The women, including Troi and Lelys, ringed the well, all of them holding small ceramic cups. Thin wiggles of fragrant smoke rose from the cups to the night sky.
Bava, the innkeeper’s wife, led the ritual. She was a fat, squat, homely woman, but a regal dignity clung to her as she intoned the ceremonial words. “We open the Gate of Evramur to prayer,” she said solemnly, lifting up her cup of incense in both hands and slowly moving it from right to left.
“We open the Gate of Evramur to prayer,” the other women repeated, their actions mirroring hers.
“We open the hearts of Iskir to peace.” Now Bava moved the cup in a circle before her face.
“We open the hearts of Iskir to peace.” Many circles were traced with sweet smoke while the children stared like owls and the elders sat nodding approval.
Commander Riker pressed himself against the stable wall, unwilling to disturb the rite, unsure whether or not his presence would offend. His love of Earth history was bound to a love of the old mythologies as well. More than a few of those were cautionary tales of men who had witnessed things they were not supposed to see, and who were destroyed in a variety of unpleasant ways for their daring.
The women were singing, their voices melding into alien harmonies. Riker watched with admiration as Troi and Lelys pretended to join in. At last the song ended and Bava made a sign to the others to follow her. She led them in single file to the courtyard trough where she stooped, took a handful of water, and poured it into her cup. The remaining incense died with a final burst of smoke and she placed the cup on a waiting tray held by one of the older girls present.
The other women did likewise. When the last cup was extinguished, the gathering broke up into smaller groups, some going back into the taproom, some leaving the inn, some lingering for gossip and laughter.
The children, as if freed from a spell, broke from their benches and ran around like mad things, shouting and squabbling happily. Some of them crowded around Troi and Lelys, still fascinated by the sight of anyone new to the village, but in a very little while most of them drifted back over to one of the benches by the wall. It was a stone bench, unlike its wooden mates, and it was placed under a beautifully trained climbing vine. The old man who sat there had the most tranquil expression Riker had ever seen. He waited patiently-for the little ones to settle at his feet.
The group of children that had formed around Troi and Lelys were plainly torn between the desire to join their playmates and the yearning to linger in the company of the visitors. The old man waved at them.
“My stories are for all, good ladies,” he said. “You would honor