At the hour of moonrise, Lieu stood outside the hostelry. He stared at the marble statues, which shimmered with a ghostly light in the silver moonshine of Solinari. Zeboim had worn herself out, apparently, and taken her fit of pique elsewhere, for the storm had at last abated, the clouds gone, sulking off.
Lieu found the statues profoundly disturbing. He longed to touch one but feared there might still be people watching. He shivered, for the spring night was chill and damp, and looked around. Sounds of laughter and revelry reached him from the fair grounds. There was free ale and a pig roast at the fair grounds and most of the citizenry were attending the festivities. The hostelry was quiet.
Lleu stretched out his hand to touch one of the statues.
The door to the inn opened and he quickly snatched his hand back.
Mina stood in the entrance, a slender figure of darkness against a blaze of firelight.
“Come in,” she said. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”
She did not look like a high priestess. She had changed out of the flowing, tantalizing dress and removed her golden and black headdress. She wore a soft black gown that was open at the front, tied together at her waist with a belt of gold cord. Her auburn hair was simply braided and coiled around her head, held in place by a jeweled pin made of amber. The scent of myrrh hung in the air.
“I can’t stay,” said Lleu.
“Of course not,” Mina said in understanding tones. She stepped aside so that he could enter.
The common room was deserted. Mina turned away from Lleu and started to ascend the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Lleu demanded.
Mina turned to face him. “I have ordered a light supper. I’ve asked that it be served to me in my private room. Have you dined? Will you join me?”
Lleu flushed. “No, thank you. I think perhaps I will return to the temple. I have work to do …”
Mina walked over to him, rested her hand on his forearm, and smiled at him, a friendly smile, ingenuous. “What is your name?”
He hesitated, fearing that even giving her that much information might somehow entrap him.
Finally he answered, “I am Lleu Mason.”
“I am Mina, but you know that. You came here for a theological discussion, and the common room of an inn is hardly a suitable place to debate serious matters, do you think?”
Lieu Mason was a young man in his early twenties. He had blonde hair that he wore in the manner of Kiri-Jolith’s clerics shoulder length, with a central part and straight-cut bangs. His eyes were brown and intense with a restless, seeking look about them. He was well-built, with the muscles of a soldier, not a scholar, which was not surprising. Kiri-Jolith’s clerics trained alongside the knights they served and were notable among clerics in Ansalon for being skilled in the use of the long sword. His grandfather had been a mason, which is how he came by his name.
He looked at Mina. He looked around the inn, though he didn’t see much of it. He smiled faintly.
“No, not very suitable.” Lieu drew in a deep breath. “I will come upstairs with you.”
Mina walked again up the stairs. This time he followed after her. He was gravely courteous, moved to precede her down the hallway and opened the door to the room for her. This was a private dining chamber, with a table and chairs and a fire on the hearth. The table was laid. A servant stood obsequiously in the background. Lleu held Mina’s chair and then took his place across from her.
The meal was good, with roasted meats and bread followed by a sweet. They spoke little during the meal, for the servant was present. When they were finished, Mina dismissed him. They shared a jug of wine, neither drinking much, only sipping at it as they drew their chairs over to the fire.
They talked about Lieu’s family. His elder brother, now thirty-five, had become a master mason, joining his father in the family business. Lleu was the youngest and had no interest in masonry. He dreamed of becoming a soldier and had traveled to Solamnia for that purpose. Once there, he was introduced to the worship of Kiri-Jolith and realized that his true calling was to serve the god.
“You might say the church runs in our family,” he added with a smile. “My grandmother was a cleric of Paladine and my middle brother is a monk dedicated to the worship of Majere.”
“Indeed?” said Mina, interested. “What does your brother think of your becoming a cleric of Kiri-Jolith?”
“I have no idea. His monastery is located in some isolated place and the monks rarely leave it. We have neither seen nor heard from my brother in many years.”
“For many years.” Mina was puzzled. “How could that be? The gods, including Majere, returned to the world only a little over a year ago.”
Lieu shrugged. “According to what I am told, some of these monasteries are so isolated that the monks knew nothing of what was transpiring in the world. They maintained their lifestyle of meditation and prayer despite the fact that they had no god to pray to. Such a life would suit my brother. He was always dour and withdrawn, given to roaming the hills alone. He is ten years my senior, so I never knew him very well.”
Lleu, forgetting himself, had moved his chair nearer to her. He relaxed as the meal progressed, disarmed by Mina’s warmth and her interest in him. “But that is enough talk of me. Tell me of yourself, Mina. There was a time when the whole world talked of you.”
“I went in search of a god,” Mina replied, staring into the fire. “I found god. I kept my faith in my god until the end. There is not much more to be said.”
“Except that now you follow a new god,” said Lleu. “Not a new god. A very old one. Old as time.”
“But . Chemosh.” Lleu grimaced. As he gazed at her, he was consumed with admiration. “You are so young and so beautiful, Mina. I have never seen a woman as lovely. Chemosh is a god of rotting corpses and moldy old bones. Don’t shake your head. You cannot deny it.”
“I do deny it,” said Mina calmly. She reached out, took hold of his hand. Her touch made his blood burn. “Do you fear death, Lleu?”
“I … yes, I guess I do,” he answered. He did not want to think of death at this moment. He was thinking very much of life.
“A cleric of Kiri-Jolith is not supposed to fear death, are you?”
“No, we are not.” He grew uncomfortable and tried to withdraw from her touch.
Mina pressed his hand sympathetically, and almost unknowingly, he tightened his grip.
“What does your god tell you of death and the after-life?”
“That when we die, we embark upon the next part of our soul’s journey, that death is a door that leads to further knowledge of ourselves.”
“Do you believe this?”
“I want to,” he said. His hand clenched. “I really want to. I have wrestled with this question ever since I became a cleric. They tell me to have faith, but…”
He shook his head. He stared into the fire, brooding, still clasping her hand. He turned to her abruptly.
“You are not afraid of death.”
“I am not,” said Mina, smiling, “because I will never die. Chemosh has promised me life unending.”
Lleu stared at her. “How can he make such a promise? I don’t understand.”
“Chemosh is a god. His powers are limitless.”
“He is the Lord of Death. He goes to battlefields, raises up unburied bodies and forces them to do his bidding—”
“That was in the old days. Times have changed. This is the Age of Mortals. An age for the living. He has no use for skeletal remains. He wants followers who are like you and me, Lleu. Young and strong and full of life. Life that will never end. Life that brings pleasure such as this.”
She closed her eyes and leaned toward him. Her lips parted, inviting. He kissed her, tentatively at first, and then passion took him. She was soft and yielding, and before he knew what he was doing or quite how he was doing it, his hands were beneath her robes, fondling warm, naked flesh. He groaned softly, and his kisses hardened.