Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [72]
Treia looked curiously at the rooms as they passed. Inside one, priests sat upon tall stools writing on wax tablets or scrolls of papyrus. In another, several priests sat cross-legged on the floor. In front of each was a large silver bowl, plain and elegant, filled with water. Each priest concentrated fixedly on his bowl. Occasionally a gout of flame would rise up from the water, and when this happened, the priest leaned closer; he seemed to be listening.
“Those are the Watchers,” said Raegar. “Any priest of Aelon anywhere in the world may send a message through fire and water to the Watchers, who will send it on to its destination.”
As he spoke, one of the Watchers rose to his feet and glided silently over to a priest who sat in a chair in the center of the room. He spoke something in the priest’s ear. He listened, ruminated, then nodded. The Watcher returned to the bowl and began to speak. The gout of flame wavered and danced as his breath touched it.
“Have you done this?” Treia asked in a whisper.
“Of course,” said Raegar. “How do you think the Legate knew where to find the Venjekar?”
Treia was impressed, even awed. She began to think more highly of this god, Aelon, who could perform such wonders.
They continued on and eventually reached the set of steel doors at the end of the passage. These were not as imposing as the bronze doors, being plain and unadorned. A warrior-priest stood in front, not Temple guards. The warrior-priest raised his hand in formal greeting.
“Aelon is pleased. You may enter,” he said.
“Aelon himself guards this door,” said Raegar. “Inside is the treasure vault. The priests must pray to the god for access.”
The vault was vast and resplendent with light that shone from a ball of fire hanging suspended from the ceiling, as if Aelon had captured the sun and tethered it to the roof. The light gleamed off gold and shone on silver and sparkled in the myriad jewels with a brilliance that hurt the eye. Treia was dazzled. Beautiful, valuable objects were jumbled together, piled on tables or stacked on the floor or spilling out of wooden chests. Statues (some life-size), chalices, bowls, necklaces, rings, belts, arm bands, coins, and more—all made of precious metals, many encrusted with gems—filled the room.
“Here you see proof of Aelon’s greatness,” said Raegar with a proud gesture.
Raegar was watching her eagerly, waiting for her reaction. Treia would not disappoint him. She knew what to say. She had known what to say all those years kneeling on the wood plank floor, bruising her kneecaps, chanting prayers to a block of wood carved into the shape of a dragon goddess.
“Blessed is Aelon and those who worship him.”
“Well said, Sister.”
A man entered the room through the steel doors. At his command, the doors closed behind him.
“Priest-General Xydis,” Raegar said, “this is the woman of whom I have spoken. Treia Adalbrand, Bone Priestess of the Vindrasi.”
“Your servant, Worshipful Sir,” said Treia, having been told in advance the proper form of address. She bowed low.
Zyprexa Xydis was short and well-built, with muscular arms and a thick neck and body, appearing as strong and enduring as boulder, as if the waves of life might crash into him and never wear him down.
His complexion was swarthy, his shaved head covered with tattoos and with jewels embedded in the skin. His face was clean-shaven. The blue shadow of his beard outlined his jutting, squared-off jaw. His eyes were dark and keen.
Xydis stood straight as a spear shaft and wore an air of command; he had been a soldier before he became a warrior-priest. He wore a purple robe, the border trimmed in gold. He radiated power like the sun radiates heat, and Treia could feel Raegar tense and quiver in the man’s presence.
Xydis studied her for long moments without speaking, shrewdly taking her measure. She met his gaze, refusing to quail