I ran until I was sick and I ran some more, crossing what seemed like half the city and back again until in my turnings I reached the Temple of Endurance.
The temple was under construction on the grounds of the old minehead in the Velviere District. I’d run so hard and unthinking I’d spiraled around it twice before stopping at the modest gate that had been knocked into the ancient boundary wall. The minehead had originally been walled off without any entrance at all, in order to permanently block the site from the fine homes and buildings surrounding it. I knew the location, but when I’d left Copper Downs, they were still arguing over the size of the hole.
What I saw now as I panted out the hard knot in my gut was a pair of green lacquered pillars standing against the old stone of the protective wall, topped by a crossbar that looked more Hanchu than anything to me. Between the pillars tall oaken doors stood open. Wide enough to drive an oxcart through, I realized.
An older man-not Selistani-in an undyed linen robe of a simple cut sat on a chair before the gate, a walking stick across his lap. He looked at me incuriously as I stood bent with hands on my knees, gasping. My lungs burned as the air puffed away from me in thin, white shreds.
Finally I found my breath, straightened, and approached him.
“Been in a fight, have yer?”
I grimaced. “A master of the understatement, I see. Please, I seek admittance.”
“Temple’s open.” He didn’t shift his position or lay his stick aside. I could have stepped around the man easily enough, but this had the feel of a test.
“The temple is open, but I have not been invited to enter.”
A smile dawned upon his face. “Now, that is a different matter.”
“I am Green,” I told him. “Summoned by the god.”
“A silent god has spoken to you.” His words were flat but his eyes twinkled.
I’d already had this stupid argument, with Chowdry, and I knew the secret answer. “Endurance is mute, not silent.” I leaned closer. “Besides, he was my ox!”
The old man spun his staff so close to my face he might have taken a tooth out, then rose from his cane chair. “We know who you are, Mother Green. We are glad of your return.” A swift, mocking bow. “Welcome, and bid fair to enter.”
I walked past him a couple of strides, then turned. The man was gone, only his chair remaining. Stepping back, I ran my fingers across the fraying cane. Cool, and still beaded with the morning’s frost now dripping to water.
Another one of this city’s avatars, or possibly a ghost. Building a temple atop a minehead, when the local tulpas haunted the dangerous galleries and tunnels of Below, had not been the wisest judgment ever made. I tried to remember if this had been my idea.
Somehow I had the feeling that it was.
The last time I’d passed this way, the area within the walls had been a forest of brambles and broken machinery. Those were difficult days indeed. Now the lot was cleared. A low fence stood around the open shaft, apparently to keep people from wandering into it and breaking their necks. Though there was a ladder below, it would be a long, fatal fall for the inattentive or unlucky. Oddly, Chowdry and his acolytes had not blocked or guarded the opening, as I might have done in their place.
Most of the metalwork and timber baulks about the property had been taken down or hauled away. A hasty wooden structure about two rods square obviously serving as a temporary temple stood to the south of the shaft, while foundation stones and colored posts laid around the shaft showed where a more ambitious structure would someday rise.
The small building was set on piers, raised far enough above the ground that three steps led to the porch. Chowdry sat there with hands folded, watching my approach. Several faces peered from within.
“You have come,” he called in Seliu.
“I am here.”
“Would you like aid with those wounds?”
I staggered forward and sat beside him, my loosened bundle of belongings slipping to the ground. The time was not yet right for me to enter the god’s sanctuary. Though I served the Lily Goddess, Endurance was my god in the most literal sense. I still wasn’t prepared to face him just then.
“The blood on my mouth is not my own,” I said. “But if someone can see to my arm, I’d be obliged. Everything else will heal. Oh, and you had an avatar at the gate when I came in. Saucy old bastard.”
“You are being as a lamp to moths for the spirits of this place.” Then, in Petraean, over his shoulder, “Fetch Sister Gammage out here, with her needles and bandages.”
Chowdry held my hand as Sister Gammage-an older Stone Coast woman with a squint and not very many teeth, but a steady hand with a needle-cleaned and sewed my arm. I could almost forgive Chowdry for Little Baji being in the city, but was not prepared to ask the questions that rose from that unfortunate business.
After they were done I allowed myself to be led to a large tent among a stand of them behind the temple where hot water was being poured into an enormous copper bath. Chowdry brought my silk and leathers before excusing himself. Sister Gammage chased everyone else away, persuaded me to give up my knives for a little while, stripped my damaged robe from me, and helped me slip into the water. Once there she brought me a flowered tea I did not recognize-which is saying something, given my early training-and left me to soak in peace.
Soak I did until I slept. The water was so hot my muscles did not knot.
I rested two days in another tent, in truth sulking while people chattered, laughed, and labored outside. Sister Gammage or Chowdry brought me lentils and watered milk, for the baby. My gut would suddenly tolerate nothing else. Where had these food sicknesses come from?
Also at my request I’d been provided with boys’ clothing. The robe was a silly idea, proven pointless. I refused to return to the leathers, was all but ready to be shut of them completely; so brown corduroy breeches, canvas shirt, low sturdy workboots, and wide, flat cap seemed far more practical. There was even a quilted cotton jacket adequate at least to the autumn chill. I could run roofs, tumble through dirt, and, best of all, attract no attention whatsoever while dressed as an everyday youth of this city.
Well, except for my dark skin and the slashed scars upon my cheeks, but one thing at a time. Perhaps some profession here wore masks or veils I could adopt without causing comment. Beekeepers? Temple virgins?
In the meantime, I hid my leathers and my good fighting boots in a bundle beneath a pile of stones between the tent complex and the wall. I wrapped them carefully in waxed linen, then tent canvas, and scattered herbs within the folds to keep off the molder. I did not know how long I might need the Blade costume to wait in secret for me, but it required care much as anyone or anything else might.
Best of all, no one bothered me. Whoever was looking for me-the Interim Council, the Kalimpuri embassy-Chowdry and his people were having none of it. I had not yet been to see the ox god, but I was certainly under his protection. Much as I had been as a small child, and likewise down the years since.
This situation was not so restful as being at Ilona’s cottage had proven, but it was peace enough to be worth my while. Still, I knew events moved in the city. The ghost Erio had been worried about what might happen here soon. Regardless of my usual opinion of the ancient dead, that one had been lucid, focused, and afraid of something.
Mostly the baby needed me to rest. I tried to keep relatively still and calm, let my back ease up, my shoulder heal, all my bruises fade, and the stitches on my arm be reduced from weeping pink fluid to a horrid scratching that smelled faintly of the gin that Sister Gammage splashed on the wound every few hours.