Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [90]
Aylaen wiped her running nose with the back of her hand and walked off with Zahakis, holding her head high.
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Zahakis rode to the Temple on horse back, with Aylaen riding behind him. She paid little attention to the crowds or the people in the streets who stared at the two of them. She was so weary it was all she could do to keep from falling off the horse. Zahakis brought her to the Temple and sent a messenger to summon Raegar.
He came swiftly, accompanied by Treia.
“I will send an escort for her tomorrow to commence her training,” said Zahakis.
Raegar frowned, displeased. “Perhaps she will not want to leave. Aelon might call upon her to serve him as a priestess.”
Zahakis glanced at Aylaen. Her face was flushed and filthy, her clothes torn and sweat-stained, her hair straggling into her face, her fingers and arms scratched and bloody. He thought about the trouble she had caused and would continue to cause.
“I wish Aelon luck with that,” said Zahakis.
Treia and Raegar took Aylaen into the Temple. Raegar showed her the wonders, the huge statue of Aelon, the gifts people were leaving. Aylaen yawned and stumbled and almost fell asleep standing up. Treia, seeing her fatigue, suggested that she take her back to her room.
Aylaen accompanied them, too tired to pay any attention to where they were going. She did note that Treia had donned what was apparently the garb of a priestess of Aelon, for all the other women walking the Temple grounds were dressed in the same long, white flowing gown, belted at the waist.
They reached the nunnery. Raegar gave Aylaen a smile and, taking her hand in his, squeezed it affectionately, and then left. Treia had noticed, Aylaen saw.
“You look as though you have been in a brawl,” said Treia, regarding her with disfavor. “And you need a bath.”
Treia took Aylaen to the small cell and made her lie down on her bed. Aylaen argued a little, but not much. She let her sister strip off her clothes and bathe her in cool water. Aylaen fell asleep during these ministrations and knew nothing more until she woke to find that it was night.
Light shone through the tiny window and she could see her sister quite clearly. Treia was seated in a chair beside the bed.
“You took a little nap. How are you feeling?” Treia asked solicitously.
“Sore,” said Aylaen, wincing at the pain in her lower back and her arms. “And hungry.”
Treia provided food—bread and honey, dried apples and olives.
“Sister,” Treia began.
“Don’t call me that,” said Aylaen, annoyed. She dipped the bread in the honey.
“Call you what?” Treia asked, startled.
“Sister. You only call me sister when you want something from me,” said Aylaen.
Treia flushed an ugly color and rose to her feet. She stalked over to the window, her back to her.
Aylaen was suddenly ashamed.
“Treia, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know what I’m saying or doing anymore. I’m so tired. I can’t sleep. And yet . . . I can’t seem to wake up either!”
Treia turned to her. She regarded her sister silently for a moment, then came to sit by her side. Treia’s eyes were wide and coated with a moist sheen that glimmered in the light. “I want to help, Aylaen. And so does Aelon. That’s why I needed to talk to you. The god wants to give you your heart’s desire.”
Aylaen regarded her sister in perplexity. “Aelon? He is the god of our enemies, Treia. Why are you praying to him?”
“Why not pray to him? Our gods took away my childhood. Our gods made me half-blind and made me a spinster for people to mock. Our gods bring nothing to our people but hardship and pain. Why should I worship them?”
She drew nearer, resting her cold hand on Aylaen’s.
“Why should you worship them, Aylaen? They let Garn die. . . .”
The thread is twisted and spun upon the wheel. Then I snip it and he dies. The little song ran through Aylaen’s head.
“Aelon wants to ease your pain, Aylaen. He wants to give you a gift.”
“Have you seen the tattoos on our menfolk? Your god inflicts pain. He does not ease it.”
Treia shook her