do accompany your father on this expedition of his, what shall your duties be?"
For a good part of it, probably nothing at all," Phostis answered, explaining, "We'll go by ship to Nakoleia, to reach the borders of the revolted province as quickly as we can. Then we march overland to Harasos, Rogmor, and Aptos; my father is arranging for supplies to be ingathered at each. From Aptos we'll strike toward Pityos. That's the leg of the journey where we'll most likely start real fighting."
In spite of his efforts to sound disapproving, he heard the
excitement in his own voice. War, to a young man who has never seen it face to face, owns a certain glamour. Krispos never talked about fighting, save to condemn it. To Phostis, that was but another reason to look forward to it.
The priest just shook his head. "How your grand cavalcade of those who love too well their riches shall progress concerns me not at all. I fear for your soul, lad, the only piece of you truly deserving of our care. Without a doubt you will abandon my teachings and return to your old corrupt ways, just as a moth seeks a flame or a fly, a cow turd."
"I'll do no such thing," Phostis said indignantly. "I've discovered a great deal from you, holy sir, and would not think of turning aside from your golden words."
"Ha!" Digenis said. "Do you see? Even your promises of piety betray the greed that remains yet in your heart. Golden words? To the ice with gold! Yet still it holds you in its honeyed grip, sticking you down so Skotos may seize you."
"I'm sorry," Phostis said, humble now. "It was only a figure of speech. I meant no harm by it."
"Ha!" Digenis repeated. "There are tests to see whether you have truly embraced piety or are but dissembling, perhaps even to yourself."
"Give me one of those tests, then," Phostis said. "By the lord with the great and good mind, holy sir, I'll show you what I'm made of."
"You are less easy to test than many might be. you know, lad," the priest said. At Phostis' puzzled look, he explained. "Another young man I might send past a chamber wherein lay some rich store of gold or gems. For those who came to man hood in hunger and want, such would be plenty to let me look into their hearts. But you? Gold and jewels have been your baubles since you were still pissing on your father's floor. You might easily remain ensnared in spiritual error and yet pass them by."
"So I might," Phostis admitted. Almost in despair, he cried out, "But I would prove myself to you, holy sir, if only I knew how."
Digenis smiled. He pointed to a curtained doorway in the rear wall of the dingy temple over which he presided. "Go through there, then, and it may be you shall learn something of yourself."
"By the good god, I will!" But when Phostis pulled aside the curtain, only blank blackness awaited him. He hesitat His guardsmen waited for him outside the temple, the great concession they would make. Assassins might await him in the darkness. He steadied himself: Digenis would not betray him so. Very conscious of the weight of the priest's gaze on his back, he plunged ahead.
The curtain fell back into place behind him. As soon as he turned a corner, the inside of the passage was so absolutely black that he whispered Phos' creed to hold away any supernatural evils that might dwell there. He took a step, then another. The passage sloped steeply down. To keep from breaking his neck, he put his arms out to either side and shifted this way and that until one outstretched finger brushed a wall.
That wall was rough brick. It scraped his fingertips, but he was glad to feel it, even so; without it, he would have groped around as helplessly as a blind man. In effect, he was a blind man here.
He walked slowly down the corridor. In the darkness, he could not be sure whether it was straight or followed a gently curving path. He was certain it ran under more buildings than just the temple to Phos. He wondered how old it was and why it had been built. He also wondered if even Digenis knew the answers to those questions.
His eyes imagined they saw shifting, swirling colored shapes, as if he had shut them and pressed knuckles hard against his eyelids. If any beings phantasmagorical did lurk down here, they could be upon him before he decided they were something more than figments of his imagination. He said the creed under his breath again.
He had gone—well, he didn't know how far he had gone, but it was a goodly way—when he saw a tiny bit of light that neither shifted nor swirled. It spilled out from under the bottom of a door and faintly illuminated the floor just in front of it. Had the tunnel been lit, he never would have noticed the glow. As things were, it shouted its presence like an imperial herald.
Phostis' fingers slid across planed boards. After so long scratching over brick, the smoothness was welcome. Whoever was on the other side of the door must have had unusually keen ears, for no sooner had his hand whispered over it than she called, "Enter in friendship, by the lord with the great and good mind."
He groped for a latch, found it, and lifted it. The door moved smoothly on its hinges. Though but a single lamp burned in the chamber, its glow seemed bright as the noonday sun to his light-starved eyes. What he saw, though, left him wondering if those eyes were playing tricks on him: a lovely young woman bare on a bed, her arms stretched his way in open invitation.
"Enter in friendship," she repeated, though he was already inside. Her voice was low and throaty. As he took an almost involuntary step toward her, the scent she wore reached him. Had it had a voice, that would have been low and throaty, too.
A second, longer look told him she was not quite bare after alclass="underline" a thin gold chain girded her slim waist. Its glint in the lamplight made him take another step toward the bed. She smiled and moved a little to make room beside her.
His foot was already uplifted for a third step—which would have been the last one he needed—when he caught himself, almost literally, by the scruff of the neck. He swayed off balance for a moment, but in the end that third step went back rather than ahead.
"You are the test against which Digenis warned me," he said, and felt himself turn red at how hoarse and eager he sounded.
"Well, what if I am?" The girl's slow shrug was a marvel to behold. So was the long, slow stretch that followed it. "The holy sir promised me you would be comely, and he told the truth. Do as you will with me: he shall never know, one way or the other."
"How not?" he demanded, his suspicions aroused now along with his lust. "If I have you here, of course you'll bear the tale back to the holy sir."
"By the lord with the great and good mind, I swear I will not," she said. Her tone carried conviction. He knew he should not believe her, but he did. She smiled, seeing she'd got through to him. "We're all alone, only the two of us down here. Whatever happens, happens, and no one else will ever be the wiser."
He thought about that, decided he believed her again. "What's your name?" he asked. It was not quite a question out of the blue.
The girl seemed to understand that. "Olyvria," she answered. Her smile grew broader. As if by their own will rather than hers, her legs parted a little.
When Phostis raised his left foot, he did not know whether he would go toward her or away. He turned, took two quick strides out of the chamber, and closed the door behind him. He knew that if he looked on her for even another heartbeat, he would take her.
As he leaned against the bricks of the passageway and tried to find a scrap of his composure, her voice pursued him: "Why do you flee from pleasure?"
Not until she asked him did he fully comprehend the answer. Digenis' test was marvelous in its simplicity: only his own conscience stood between himself and an act that, however sweet, went square against everything the priest had been telling him. Digenis' teaching must have had its effect, too: regardless of whether the priest learned what he'd been up to, Phostis knew he would always know. Since he found that reason enough to abstain, he supposed he had met the challenge.