It was after the first of those dreams that she encountered the first priestess—as opposed to priest—of Vkandis.
She had slept most of the day, knowing that there was another village to pass that night, and at sundown had worked her way down toward that village to keep watch until everyone was safely tucked up for the night. Right on schedule, a cowled and robed figure appeared from the rock-walled temple and assembled the villagers. She wondered idly if this village’s sunset service was going to be as dull as the other ones she’d overseen when the figure threw back its cowl to reveal a head of wild, scarlet curls and an unmistakably feminine face.
Shock held her in place; further shock kept her frozen for a moment, as the priestess raised her head and stared directly at the place where she lay concealed.
Only the sun saved her; there was a service to conduct, and Kero was under the impression that if there was an earthquake, battle-charge or erupting volcano in progress at sunset, the followers of Vkandis would still conduct their devotions to the last ray of light.
Halfway into the service, Kero managed to shake off her paralysis, and crawl back to where she’d left Hellsbane tethered. This time she did not wait until sunset; she mounted Hellsbane and rode farther eastward, giving the village a wide berth, and pulling every trick Tarma had ever taught her to confuse and conceal her trail.
Thereafter, following every one of those dreams, she’d encounter a female devotee of Vkandis. And every single one of them seemed able to detect either her, or the sword.
It was unnerving, not the least because she hadn’t known—nor had anyone else to her knowledge—that there were women placed so highly in Vkandis’ priesthood. Up until this time everyone she’d ever talked to had spoken of the cult as being exclusively male, and certainly the little anyone outside of Karse knew of it painted the credo as being thoroughly misogynistic.
Certainly the Karsites had very little use for women in general, and positively despised fighting women like the ones in the ranks of the Skybolts, reserving particularly gruesome treatment for them when caught.
And yet—the order of Vkandis was a militant order. Every one of the women Kero had seen had worn a sword. The order of Vkandis deplored the use of magic—yet she had felt magic searching for her, and these women seemed perfectly willing to employ something like enough to magic as to make no difference.
It appeared that whatever the outside world knew of Karse and the state religion, there were things going on within it that were not to be discovered until one penetrated into the country itself. What those things meant, Kero had no idea, except that she had better keep her head down and her behind well-hidden, or she wasn’t going to be telling anyone of her discoveries. Except, perhaps, an inquisitor.
I think I’ve been in hiding forever, she thought dispiritedly, from her concealment among the rocks above the road. Sundown would be soon, and then she could get on her way.
For all the good it does me.
Hoof beats signaled a Karsite patrol; she’d learned that the military were the only groups that traveled mounted. She watched yet another of those woman-priests riding by her, this one evidently in too much of a hurry to do more than raise her head in startlement as she passed Kero’s hiding place in the rocks above the road. And once again, she wondered what the presence of high-ranking women in the priesthood meant.
Maybe all that it means is that they haven’t much use for women except inside boundaries. Like it’s fine for women to do anything for the glory of the Sunlord, but outside the priesthood they’d better not even think of doing anything besides stay at home and breed more worshipers for the Sunlord....
Not for the first time, she wondered if she ought to abandon Need. She’d had half a dozen very narrow escapes so far, and she had the feeling that the only reason she hadn’t been caught was the blade’s belated realization that just because these were women, they were not friendly toward Need’s current bearer.
But if she did abandon it, the thing would only end up in the hands of some poor, ignorant child, who would very probably be dead the first time one of the male priests took advantage of his power and position to abuse one of his flock. Kero had long ago realized the same thing could have happened to her if Tarma hadn’t been playing guardian that night. The blade had no sense of proportion, and seemed to have a varying regard for the safety and health of its bearer.
Or worse, the thing could end up in the hands of one of these priestesses, and Kero couldn’t even guess what would happen then.
Anything, she reflected, brooding down on the now empty road. I think Need is a whole lot older than even Grandmother guessed. That probably accounts for a lot of the things it does. Anything that old has a set of priorities and plans that are a whole lot different from those of us who’re likely to die if someone puts a hole in us.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the easier it was to imagine some of the things it was likely to do.
Take over one of those priestesses and lead a religious crusade, for one thing. The Karsites tend to go in for that sort of amusement in a big way. Seems to me that was how the Sunlord ended up as the state religion in the first place. At least I think I remember one of those history books saying something like that; and that’s when the Karsites really got strange.
She snorted to herself. Figures. Make someone a devout, fanatical anything, and his brain turns to mulch. Well, I sure’s fire don’t want to be the cause of another crusade among the Karsites.
And there was no indication the sword would even let her go in the first place. If she tried to abandon it, she might end up in agony.
Dusk was falling, and it was time to be on her way. Over the past few days, the sparsely-forested hills had been giving way to pine groves, with mountains looming up in the distance. Kero had the feeling she was very near the Karse-Valdemar border; she was certainly far enough north.
She’d never expected to get up here in her lifetime.
I wish to hell I wasn’t here now.
She put her head down on her arms, and allowed herself a painful lump in her throat. I want home, I want out of here! she wailed inside her mind. I want to see the winter quarters, and Shallan, and Tre—I want cooked food and a real bed—I want a bath—I want to sleep without having to wake every few breaths because I think I hear something—
She was tired right down to the bone, and her nerves were like red-hot wire. She started out of sleep lately at the least little sound, but she knew if she didn’t keep herself at this kind of a pitch, she’d lie down one night and wake only with the point of a Karsite sword in her throat.
But worse than the rest was despair, the feeling that she’d never get back, never see familiar faces again, never see home, or what passed for it. And the loneliness. She’d thought she was cold, unfeeling—now she knew differently. She might not need people as desperately as Shallan did, but she needed them all the same.