Were these men before her guilty of such evil deeds? She eyed them dubiously. Making criminals slaves of the Sanctuary was supposed to be better than imprisoning them in jails. All Servants were Skilled, therefore capable of defending themselves should a slave make trouble.
Except me, she thought. I hope my fellow Servants remember that - or that my supporters do and my enemies don’t.
Imenja’s litter reached the Temple doorway and disappeared inside. The moments before Reivan stepped out of the baking sunlight felt endless. Finally she was walking in cool shadows through a wide arched corridor. A delicious breeze cooled her. She looked ahead and drew in a breath in wonder.
Lush greenness lay beyond the end of the corridor. Two doors at the end had been opened to reveal a wide circle of grass and plants. A pool sparkled at the center and low garden beds and trees edged the grass. The roof was open to the sky, yet fountains kept the air moist. It was like an oasis in the middle of the desert.
Reaching the end of the corridor, she followed the slaves along a path that circled the garden, sheltered by a long, curved veranda. Open doors broke the inner wall of the Temple at regular intervals. She estimated that there were more than fifty of them.
The four litters were carried to the far side of the garden, where they were lowered onto the ground before a raised platform. A Dedicated Servant stepped forward to welcome the Voices.
As Reivan recognized the man she felt a thrill of pleasure. It was Nekaun, the Dedicated Servant who had welcomed her after she had become a Servant-novice. Only yesterday she had learned that he was among the Dedicated Servants still eligible for the position of First Voice after having their magical strength tested. She watched as he greeted the four Voices and invited them to sit. Four benches were brought for the Voices by Servants. As the other Companions sat on the edge of the platform, Reivan followed suit.
“Let the Rite of the Sun begin,” Imenja said.
Nekaun inclined his head then turned to face the garden. He clapped his hands, and from a side door Servants began to file out. As they did they began singing. It was a tune both solemn and joyous, and Reivan made out phrases about love and children. Reivan guessed these were the Servant-guides who would attend to the couples participating in the rite.
Next came the couples. They all wore the same plain white clothing provided by the Temple and their feet were bare. Entering the garden, they walked out onto the grass and waited there. Some looked excited, others nervous. Their ages varied considerably. Some had barely reached adulthood. Others were middle-aged. Reivan noted some strange matches obviously made for money or position. Older men with younger women, ugly with attractive. Even an older woman with a young man - though both looked pleased with the situation.
I don’t envy the Servant-guides their duties, Reivan thought.
The song ended. Nekaun stepped onto the grass.
“The Rite of the Sun is an ancient one,” he told the participants, “begun by Hrun many thousands of years ago. Its aim is to teach the arts of pleasure, the skills of harmonious living, and aid in the creation of new life. Today it is taking place in temples all over Southern Ithania, and even in parts of Northern Ithania where our people are still welcome.
“For a month you will remain with us. You will feast so that the fire within the woman burns hot, and drink so the well within the man fills with the water of new life.”
Reivan found herself scowling and quickly smoothed her face. Some of the great Thinkers of the last century had declared the old traditional belief that man was the source of new life and the woman literally an oven to warm it in - the hotter the better - was nonsense. Dissecting the bodies of dead women they had found no evidence of fire. No flame, no ash, no scorching. Fire needed fuel and air. There was no evidence that either existed within a woman’s body.
By examining the internal organs of both fertile and infertile men and women, they had concluded that the woman grew seeds within her body and the man provided only nutrients. It was not a popular idea and only a few Thinkers had accepted it - not even when it was suggested that the more nutrients a man supplied, the stronger and more robust the child.
Nekaun was still addressing the crowd, speaking about exploration and learning, of challenges and rewards. She found her attention drifting.
I suppose, as a Servant, I’ll be expected to support the flame and water idea, when I’m more inclined, from reading and listening to those who have performed experiments and made dissections, to believe the seed and nutrient idea.
But... surely the gods would not allow their Servants to teach something that is wrong?
Nekaun had finished speaking. He clapped his hands and from out of a side door came a stream of domestics carrying either pitchers or trays laden with small ceramic goblets. Two approached the dais, pouring drinks for the Voices, the Companions and Reivan, and finally Nekaun. The rest offered refreshments to the Servants around the garden.
The Servants took three goblets each, filled them, then moved into the grassed area to choose a couple. Reivan noted that the couples with an older participant tended to be chosen by older Servants. When all pairs had become trios, Nekaun lifted his goblet high.
“Let us drink to Hrun, Giver of Life.”
“Hrun,” all chanted.
As Nekaun lowered the goblet to his lips, the Voices, Companions and participants did the same. The drink was a surprisingly strong alcoholic brew full of the flavors of fruits, nuts and spices.
“Let us drink to Sheyr, King of Gods.”
“Sheyr.”
This was not the only ritual in which the first of the gods was mentioned after a lesser god. In the many rites of the Servant-warriors, Alor was recognized first. Nekaun now spoke that god’s name.
“Let us drink to Alor, the Warrior.”
“Alor.”
Three mouthfuls had warmed Reivan’s stomach. The drink was delicious. Pity the goblet is so small.
“Let us drink to Ranah, Goddess of the Moon.”
“Ranah.”
Now she felt the alcohol beginning to heat her blood. She regarded the dregs of it in dismay.
“Let us drink to Sruul, the Soul Trader.”
“Sruul.”
Swallowing the last mouthful, Reivan regarded the empty goblet wistfully. She wondered what this drink was called, and if it was sacred to the Temple of Hrun or could be purchased elsewhere.
“That’s not part of the rite,” Vervel murmured.
Reivan looked up to see that Nekaun was now moving among the couples, welcoming them personally.
“No,” Imenja agreed. “The Head Servants of the Temple of Hrun have always been free to embellish the ceremony.”
“I like what he’s doing,” Genza said, watching Nekaun. “It’s reassuring them.” She turned to regard Imenja. “What do you think, then?”
Imenja smiled crookedly. “Of him being First Voice? I think he would grow to fit the role.”
Shar chuckled. “Rapidly, I imagine.”
“He’s popular,” Genza said, turning to watch Nekaun again.
“Among the Servants. What about the people?” Vervel asked.
“They have no reason to dislike him,” Shar replied. “It’s hard to offend anyone when you’re Head Servant of the Temple of Hrun.”
“A role which he has performed well,” Imenja added. She narrowed her eyes at Nekaun. “He is one of my preferred candidates. The others may be more experienced, but they are less...”