CHAPTER FOUR
Close on sunset, they saw the first towers of an approaching city. The others wanted to put into the reeds at once, but Eloti smiled eagerly, took hold of the mast, and stood up for a better view.
"No reeds tonight," she announced, smiling. "We'll spend the night in those ruins."
"Ruins?" Zeren questioned. "A whole city? The Ancar would hardly leave it without some garrison, however small."
"Not if they never came near it, and I doubt they would, since the Sabisan troops would have given it a wide berth, as always."
"Eh? How wide? And why? A city, ruined or not—"
"It is the City of Ghosts. Itoma. Sukkti ruins."
"Oh." Zeren didn't say anything more. Even he had heard, during his years in Sabis, of the famous haunted ruins of Itoma.
"They say it's full of plagues, pitfalls, hideous mummies, walls that fall on you without warning, and plenty of angry ghosts to push them," Omis recalled. "No safe place to take the children."
Eloti laughed. "The last tenants indeed placed a number of pitfalls, and centuries of weather have done nothing to improve the buildings, but there are safe sections, if one knows where to find them."
Sulun gave her a measuring look. "You've been here often?" he asked. "You know your way about the ruins?"
"Oh, yes. My mother's side of the family came from there, originally. Unlike my brother, I never thought the old blood a taint or a social disadvantage."
Eloti peered toward the silhouetted towers on the south shore. "Indeed, there's much advantage in not fearing old Sukkti ghosts, bothering to visit one's old home city, exploring the ruins during long summer days. . . ." She sighed, then sat back down in the boat. "Steer there. You'll find that the third stone dock is quite usable."
The sun was slinking among the massive ruins when they pulled up to the third of a series of stone quays, reaching a good distance out into the river. On the upriver side were steps going down to the water, and even a few massive bronze tie rings still bolted to the stone. Yanados made fast the boat, but no one save Eloti was eager to go ashore. A broad, stone-paved avenue ran beside the river at the foot of the docks, and directly across it from their anchorage loomed a huge flat-roofed temple. The architecture looked wrong to everyone raised among Sabis's domes and arches.
Eloti marched up the water stairs, down the dock, and straight toward the temple.
"Wait!" Sulun yelled, floundering after her. "Wait until I can fetch a lamp, at least! Lady—"
"Just bring lamp oil," she chirped back at him, not breaking stride. "There are lamps enough within."
Sulun shook his head, scrabbled among the supplies for oil, tinder, and striker. He remembered to grab some string too, just in case Eloti's promised lamp needed a new wick. Then he ran up the stars and down the dock after her retreating form, and no one in the boat elected to go with him.
Sulun caught up to Eloti on the wide temple stairs, and they paced through the open dark doorway together.
"Hmm, plain slab lintels, and close-set columns to support them," Sulun noted, trying not to look at the darkness beyond the doorway. "Were these folk ignorant of the arch, then?"
"They learned it in later days, but this temple is very old." Eloti disappeared into the shadows, leaving Sulun to follow as best he could. "Ah, here. Just as I remembered. The lamp oil, please."
Sulun dutifully handed over the jug of oil, then the striker and tinder. Eloti didn't ask for a wick. He saw sparks strike, then the tinder's glow, finally a clear flame that grew large enough to show the immediate surroundings—and he gaped at what he saw.
Ranged around the walls, starting near the doors and reaching as far back as the light revealed, were great square-carved statues of every beast, bird, and fish known to man. Between their paws, or fins or talons, rested oil lamps carved from the same stone, and before these were carved depressions that must have been offering bowls. A litter of dried stalks showed that the common offering was flowers or grain. One third of the way in from the walls stood rows of columns, supporting the long stone beams that made up the ceiling. Between them lay a mosaic-tiled path depicting flowers, fruits, and leaves, more species of plants than he could recognize, forming a bright pathway down the wide central aisle. Eloti meandered down the length of the temple, filling and lighting occasional lamps—at the feet of a lion, a fish, an eagle, a bull, a stag—and gradually the shape at the far end of the central aisle emerged in the light.
Foremost stood a wide stone altar, carved and tiled with images of garlands. Behind that was another stone lamp, by far the largest Sulun had ever seen, and behind that a statue easily twelve cubits tall. Despite the rigidly formal archaic pose and unfamiliar attributes carved on her robes, she was unmistakable: Kula, in her Fruitful Mother aspect, crowned with grain and starflowers. Even in the ancient, simplified carving style, her characteristic smile was familiar.
Eloti sighed faintly and poured only a bit of oil into that huge lamp, lit it, genuflected, and stepped back. Sulun thought it wise to imitate the gesture. "So," he whispered, trying to sound respectful, "the Sukkti knew Kula also?"
"Indeed, and under that very name." Eloti sniffed. "The Sabirns took up her worship with no great changes, once they settled these lands and learned they would have to farm for a living. I believe they had worshipped only water, war, and weather gods before then,"
"Incredible. How many other deities, think you, were originally Sukkti?"
"Quite a number of them: any that had to do with farming, herding, or manufacturing. Quite often they kept the old names and rites intact."
"And . . ." Sulun felt a wild idea sprouting. "The priesthoods also?"
"The priesthoods also," Eloti smiled. "Especially those which were exclusively female."
"Family tradition!" Sulun almost laughed, staring at her.
"In my case, an exclusively female tradition." Eloti gestured another salute to the smiling statue.
"Did your brother ever know?"
"He didn't care to know."
"I see." Sulun looked up at the statue, studying it for some sign or omen, reading nothing but the encouraging smile. "Are there any other . . . little secrets of the priesthood that were passed on as tradition in the female line?"
"A few," Eloti chuckled. "Some small magics . . ."
"Toslagen!"
"A distant ancestress, reputed to be a mighty sorceress."
"Mighty enough that even her memorial chant has power?"
"More precisely, she was a poetess who discovered the uses, principles, and techniques of hypnotic chant."
"I see."
"Other things . . ." Eloti glanced around the dimly lit temple. "I know the location of certain discreet chambers where we may be assured of safe rest. There is also a temple garden—long since run wild, of course, but still quite lush—where we can safely pasture the mules for the night. No, no hidden ancient treasure, I'm afraid; that was taken away long ago and put to prudent use. The women of my family have always learned certain trades and possessed their own wealth, usually quite unknown to the men."
"Family tradition!" Sulun laughed, then took a second look at Eloti. "An excellent tradition. And . . . you are the last of the line?"
Eloti bowed her head. "Unless, at my age, I can win a husband and produce a daughter, yes, the tradition ends with me."
"That would be a great pity, Goodlady." Sulun thought of the glances he'd observed between Eloti and Zeren, and prudently held his tongue. Best let that grow without comment. Best change the subject, too. "But how did these buildings remain intact, unmolested so long? How did Itoma earn its fearsome reputation?"