“Yes.”
“Then there are those that are afraid the gods will disapprove of them if they are motivated by ambition. They know to be a Servant of the gods one must put aside one’s self interest and work for their benefit, so they tell themselves they do not want the position when they actually do.”
“I thought it didn’t matter what the gods think. The Servants choose the First Voice from the Dedicated Servants who pass the tests of magical strength.”
Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Of course it matters. Imagine being chosen by the Servants, but rejected by the gods?”
Reivan grimaced. “Not a position I’d like to be in.”
“What position would you like to be in?” Imenja asked.
The question surprised Reivan. She spread her hands. “I just always wanted to be a Servant of the Gods.”
“Why?”
Reivan opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again. She had been about to say “to serve the gods,” but she was not sure if that was true. I’m no fanatic, she thought. I’m not sure I’d sacrifice my life without some explanation of why they wanted me to.
Then why did I harbor this dream for so long?
She had always admired Servants. Their dignity, their wisdom. Their magic.
Surely this isn’t just about magic. Becoming a Servant won’t give me stronger Skills. Ever.
It must be more than that. Having to leave the monastery she had grown up in because she could not become a Servant had seemed so unfair. She had wanted to stay. She had been so sure she belonged there.
“It is the way of life,” she said slowly. “We are guides and teachers. We are order in a chaotic world. Through ceremonies we mark the steps of people’s lives and so give them a sense of value and place.”
Imenja smiled, but there was no humor in it. “You speak like a village Servant. We also rule and extract taxes. We mete out justice. We lead men and women to war.”
Reivan shrugged. “We do a better job at it than the old kings did, from what I’ve read.”
The Voice laughed. “Yes. We do. If you have plans to become a village Servant, or work in a monastery, put them aside for your later years. I have other uses for you here, for now.”
Reivan felt a pang of trepidation. “Then I hope I prove as useful as you expect.”
“You will eventually, I’m sure. I want to make you my Companion.”
After a moment, Reivan realized she was staring at Imenja and averted her eyes. Me? A Voice’s Companion?
It meant she would have to advise and undertake errands for Imenja. Anyone who wanted to speak to the Second Voice would have to arrange it through Reivan. She would be replacing Thar, who had died in the war. Thar had been powerfully Skilled...
“I don’t have Skills,” she pointed out. “I’m only twenty-two.”
“You have intelligence. I like the way you think. You can keep to protocol, and speak other languages. You’ll do well. There is one obstacle, however. You must appear to earn the position. Few here witnessed your part in the army’s escape from the mines, or know how much they owe you. Those who remained here during the war do not feel your act justifies changing a rule that has been accepted for so long that it is almost a law.”
Though her heart was racing and her insides felt as if they had dropped somewhere below her feet, Reivan managed to nod. “Servants must be Skilled.”
“Don’t be disheartened. More here are willing to give you a chance than not, and not just because I wish it to be so. They will not protest if I take you to rituals and seek your advice, just as I would a Companion, but to make it official this soon...” She shook her head. “It could be many months before I can do so. I know you are more than able to convince them you are worthy, but do you feel up to the challenge?”
Reivan nodded slowly. “If I am to serve the gods well, then I had better put myself in a position where my abilities are useful.”
Imenja smiled. “Good answer. Ah. Just in time, too. Here’s Shar.”
As the Fifth Voice stepped onto the balcony, Reivan felt her heart skip a beat. He may have been the least powerful Voice, but he was the most beautiful. His skin was unusually pale, and long, sun-bleached blond hair spilled down his back. His emerald eyes moved from Imenja to her.
“Ladies,” he said, bowing.
“Do you mind if Reivan remains here to advise me?” Imenja asked him.
“Not at all.” He smiled and bowed politely. She felt her face warm.
“Thank you, holy one,” she replied, her voice coming out quieter than she had intended.
“Are we the last to arrive?” a new female voice asked.
They all turned as the other two Voices entered the balcony. Genza was as dark and sharp-featured as the birds she bred. Vervel, in contrast, was stocky and looked to be twenty years her senior. Both had been Servant-warriors during their mortal years, despite having powerful Skills.
“I’m afraid you are,” Shar told them.
Genza looked at Reivan and nodded. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, Reivan Reedcutter.”
Reivan felt her face grow even warmer. She murmured thanks. Two male Servants entered the room. She recognized Genza’s and Vervel’s Companions. The pair nodded to her respectfully, and she returned the gesture.
As the five new arrivals settled into woven reed chairs, Reivan felt her confidence wither. In the company of all the Voices and their powerful Companions, she felt unimportant and a little pathetic. She resolved to say as little as possible, and concentrate on listening. As if obliging her, the Voices began discussing the Dedicated Servants eligible to become First Voice.
To her surprise, they debated the merits and failings of each with an enthusiasm that was almost frightening. No aspect of any candidate’s nature was spared their uncompromising scrutiny. She quickly realized why this was important to them. Whoever was chosen would be their leader.
They might be working with that person for centuries, or even millennia.
I wonder why? Imenja can I change to First, she thought suddenly. She seems a good enough leader to me.
After some time two domestics arrived with a platter of dried fruits, nuts and other delicacies, and a jug of water. The conversation turned to minor matters. Reivan shivered as a cool breeze touched her skin. Looking over the balcony rail, she saw that the sun was near setting.
“There have been protests against holding the Rite of the Sun during a month of mourning,” Vervel said quietly, his expression neutral.
Imenja nodded. “I was expecting there to be. We can’t ask couples to wait another year for the next fertility ceremony. What is more healing to the heart than bringing new life into the world?”
The others nodded or shrugged. Imenja looked at each of them, then smiled.
“I think we have discussed enough for today. Shall we meet here again tomorrow, if the weather is pleasant?”
The other three Voices nodded.
Imenja rose and smoothed her robes. “I’ll see you all at dinner.” She looked down at Reivan. “Come with me, Reivan. We have much to discuss.”
As she stepped away, Reivan rose and followed. Imenja asked Reivan a few questions about her lessons as they walked. After a few minutes they arrived at the threshold of a large room. Reivan looked around, noting the simple but luxurious furnishings.
“These are my rooms,” Imenja said. “When you are my Companion you will be given your own private suite of rooms not far from here.”