Syltha pressed her forehead lightly against the woven reeds of the prayer mat and, after a breathless moment, sat upright. She raised the Tears of God, her Chinka beads, to her lips and kissed the next grey crystal before bowing to the deck again. The rolling sway of the boat's progression continued to make her ill, but these morning spiritual ablutions took precedence over her physical well-being. In with her prayers for the forgiveness of her impiety and her petitions for swift retribution against her peoples' enemies, Syltha added a prayer for an end to her river sickness. She raised the chain of grey beads until it dangled above her upturned face. With an ease born of repetition, she swallowed the lowermost tears and, as ritual demanded, yanked firmly, sending her sins to the winds and her heart's desires to the ears of God.
In the distance the mounds of God's Home rose above the sea-mists that had crept inland along the river. Glowing golden-tan in the morning sun, the hills rolled smoothly out of sight beneath the blanket of fog. Syltha imagined the earth there would be warm, soft, and resilient when touched like the flesh of a young lover.
She hoped that God did not think it petty of her to ask to be relieved of her discomfort. Syltha asked little or nothing of a personal nature of Him; as far back as she could remember, she had made that her practice. Her advisor, Acolyte Wirim, in fact, had expressed his conviction that this was one of four main points in her favor, one of the reasons she had been Chosen. Over a year ago as they sat in her chamber the day after the Council of Prelates had handed down God's decision, Acolyte Wirim, his face seeming distorted in her vision somewhat by the truth drug they had given her for the final round of interviews, said, “Most assuredly they chose you because of your beauty, chastity, and piety. But, I believe, the factor that made them certain that you were God's choice was your complete lack of pride, your belief that life is such a great gift that thankfulness to God precludes asking anything else of Him.” She had barely grasped the meaning in his words. She remembered smiling sweetly and nodding because when one's acolyte offered a complement, that was the correct response. The drug, however, had begun to hum in her head, and she had been unable to stifle a giggle as one of his eyes seemed to detach itself from his face and swim around the other. Acolyte Wirim had looked at her with great concern for a moment until she had lost consciousness and fallen to the floor.
Her prayers finished, Syltha rose unsteadily from the prayer mat and walked to the prow of the ship. The light breeze played about her pale face. It lingered over her pouting, coral-tinged lips for a moment and took up her hair in an undulant dance, letting it fall back around her cheeks and neck, only to pick it up again with the next gust.
She stared down the flow of the river at the mounds that seemed to exhale the mists like warm breath. Syltha felt a slight swelling in her breast. She could not deny her excitement, no matter how impious it seemed that her destination had finally come into sight. For an entire year, they had been sailing down the Sacred River with stops in every village along the way for a Praise Gathering over which she presided as the Holy Bride of God.
There were no villages this close to God's Home. In two days the boat would dock, and Syltha would meet the Holy Groom who had been with her all her life in her heart. Scripture said she would sit at His side for one hundred years making better known to Him the changing mind of man. This duty would be no trial, for she would have loved God had she spent her life as a Celibate Sister or a man's wife. Her selection as the next Century Wife placed her among those most holy women who had made this voyage before her. This duty was blessing and honor.
In her cupped hands, she held the Chinka beads that had risen as drops of liquid from the earth of God's Home. Exposure to air solidified the tears, and penitent heretics collected them to string them as beads on slender chains for use in the praying rituals of the faithful. Syltha held her Tears of God to her lips and breathed the cool, water-kissed air through the tangle of crystals and metal.
She said a short prayer of thankfulness when she realized that for the first time in two weeks, the roil in her stomach had vanished.
Later that day, Syltha shared the morning meal with Captain Galen in her chamber. It was not exactly a breech of protocol, but he had probably had to bribe Acolyte Wirim with a donation to the Church for the privilege.
Acolyte Wirim himself sat in a shadowed corner and watched quietly. Slate-colored smoke from his hemp pipe twisted and spiraled in the sun shining through the single window as the serving boys darted around the room disturbing the water-heavy air.
“Captain,” Acolyte Wirim said making no attempt to hide the tone in his voice that said he felt he was talking to a mere servant. “Please be sure to remind your men of the dangers of sleeping this close to God's Home.”
The pleasant smile that had graced Galen's round, ruddy face throughout the preparations for the meal disappeared. “My vessel was chosen for this journey because of the reverence of her crew. They all know the Law of God.” He turned his face to Syltha and smiled again. “Lady Bride, have you visited the Temple of the current Century Wife, Regina Thenta?”
Acolyte Wirim ostentatiously cleared his throat.
“That is not an improper question, Acolyte,” Captain Galen said without turning.
In his voice, Syltha detected an echo of Acolyte Wirim's tone.
Before her advisor could protest further, Syltha said, “No, Captain, but I did visit the ruins of the Temple of the one hundredth Century Wife, Regina Wilhila, in Rimsie. The building must have been beautiful in its time. It still soars above the surrounding town. She was surely a holy woman.” After a slight pause, she added demurely, “I have not traveled much. The temples we have visited along the river are the only others I have seen.” Syltha's novation as the 445th Century Wife had caused great celebration in her village. Celebration because, the Council of Prelates would hold their yearly communication with the general population in the village, and pilgrims would flock there for one hundred years or more to visit the birth place of one of the Wives of God. Syltha stopped herself, appalled at such improper thoughts; she was certain it was sinful to think of the Temple that would be built in her honor. Her honor was to be the Century Wife, and that was enough.
Reading her expression with frightening accuracy, Acolyte Wirim took his pipe into one hand, leaned his thin, sallow face into the light, and said, “Lady Bride, it is not sinful to think of the certainties of your honor, only to take foolish pride in them.”
She was about to thank him for soothing her mind when the sounds of a riot out on deck broke the near silence. Captain Galen dashed out the door before she could draw another breath. Acolyte Wirim followed in a flurry of grey robes. Syltha sat blinking in the smoke and sunlight. A moment later, she hurried after them.
In the sharp, mid-morning sunlight the boat's crew stood in a tight semi-circle with their backs to her. They cowered from one of their own, a man who stood shirtless with an expression of wild pain on his face. Syltha could hear the brittle air around his head crackle. He roared something unintelligible. As she shrank back toward the door, she caught sight of a body at the man's feet and stepped forward again. The corpse's blackened skin had peeled away in places from the meat, the veins, the bone. What was left gleamed lubriciously. It looked more wax than man. Despite the discoloration of the skin, Syltha could tell something had torn into the neck and shoulder of the corpse.
The mad man, who seemed to shine like burnished gold, drew her attention up from the deck. A drop of red formed at the corner of his mouth. It slid slowly downward caressing his chin before falling to the wooden planks.
With his back to her, Acolyte Wirim placed himself between the man and Syltha.
“Esthrair fell asleep,” yelled one of the men.
“He's killed Donon,” another shouted.
As a group, the men stepped back even further, pressing Acolyte Wirim and Syltha into the door that led below decks.
Captain Galen knocked a few of the men aside, grabbed a sword from one of them, and advanced on the shining man.
The man, Esthrair, roared again. In his cry, Syltha caught the words “torment” and “monstrous.” He stared directly at her. The sight of his eyes nearly caused her to faint. A ball of lightning seemed trapped behind them. She expected his gaze to ignite her clothes and hair.
Captain Galen swung the sword at Esthrair.
The shining man raised his arm to deflect the blow. He did not take his eyes off Syltha, did not seem worried by the sword.
The blade sparked and hissed as it cut into his forearm.
Acolyte Wirim spun her around and shielded her from the spectacle as Galen raised the sword again. The man continued to bellow. Syltha heard the hiss of the blade through his flesh twice more before Acolyte Wirim managed to bundle her through the door and close it behind her.
From the other side of the door she heard the man yell once more with the voice of a storm wind. Then all was silent save the creaking of the boards of the boat and the lap of the Sacred River at its sides.
Like the sea returning to an inlet long denied, a hundred voices filled the silence out on the deck. Acolyte Wirim's rose above them. “God loves all his children. He loves most those who follow his Law. We must always endeavor to be those who follow His words. This Esthrair fell asleep within sight of God’s Home. Whether it was on purpose or an accident matters not. It must not happen again. This close to God's Home, God's Law says we must not sleep. His Glory sits thick on the land. The mind unguarded in sleep foolishly drinks of that magnificence. The feeble minds of men cannot hope to contain the smallest fraction of God's Puissance. Praise God that Esthrair, in his madness, managed to kill only one of you. Praise God that Our Lady Bride was unharmed.”
Syltha attempted to take deep, slow breaths, but there was no air. She had seen the power of God take a man before at Praise Gatherings further away from God's Home, but never had it been so complete, so forceful and never had the outcome been so horrific.
The impiety of that thought shocked her. She staggered out of the way of the door, tore the Tears of God from around her neck, and fell to her knees. In her zeal, she knocked her forehead against the bare wooden floor. With shaking hands and throbbing head, she began to pray for forgiveness.
Acolyte Wirim found her half a watch later. He stood over her for a moment and then left her to finish her prayers.
Late that night Syltha stood on deck alone and stared into the luminous mist that moved like spirits caught in the cold air above the river. She'd spent the day on her prayer mat praying for the soul of the man who'd fallen asleep and beseeching God to remit what she saw as the unpardonable sin of thinking of His power as something horrifying instead of something glorious.
She did not pretend to know the mind of God; that was for the heretics. She did know that scripture said He could be loving and merciful even to those who broke His Law.
Captain Galen appeared out of the mist on deck. His head was bowed. “May I speak with you, Lady Bride?”
She stared at the bright, bald circle on the top of his head for a moment, smiled sweetly though he could not see her, and said, “Yes.”
“I wanted to apologize for what occurred this morning and beg your forgiveness. I could have prevented it.”
“Surely not,” she said quickly. And then more carefully, “It was an accident. And `accident` is merely our word for events we do not expect. There are no accidents in God's plan.”
Galen bowed his head and nodded. “I do not take issue with God’s Law. I've no doubt that it was in God's plan for Esthrair and innocent Donon to die the way they did.” Galen paused and looked up. “Still, I knew Esthrair's mind was full of doubts. I cannot help feeling that, had I put him to land in Skimse, none of this would have happened. But I did not think he was enough of a heretic to test God's Law and sleep so close to God's Home.”
“He meant to fall asleep?” Syltha's hand went to her beads.
“I do not know for certain.” Galen held up his hands to calm her. “I only know it was in his nature to question.” After a pause he said, “God has answered his questions.”
The two were silent for some moments. The river licked the wooden slats below the railing with a sound like an old man chewing his tongue. Out across the water the gant flies stirred up the mist.
“Lady Bride, I know of the Gates of God's Law in the center hill of God's Home. And I have had to pray for forgiveness of my sin of envy a hundred times since this journey began because you will know what lies beyond them.”
Syltha was uncertain how to respond. Finally, she said, “The center of God's being lies beyond the Gates. He fills the universe, but his center is there.”
Galen half-smiled. He stared at the shore and seemed to see through the shadowy wall of trees there. “Yes, so scripture says; but you will see Him, be with Him for a hundred years. Esthrair believed only the bones of the Century Wives waited on the other side; the Council makes the--” He choked off the flow of words mid-sentence. His eyes wide, he said, “Oh, Lady Bride--”
Syltha was already on her knees praying .
“I--I never should have said--I should have given him to the acolytes or the council. I--”
“Join her, Captain Galen.” Acolyte Wirim advanced from the shadows. “We will all pray God's forgiveness of your heresy.”
Galen turned on the taller man. “It was not my heresy, acolyte. God knows I honor him in all I do.”
“Obviously not all,” Acolyte Wirim said scornfully.
The two men knelt beside and behind their Lady Bride.
Syltha knew heresy in the ears seeded doubt in the heart. God had always dwelt within her. Her devotion was strong. She felt no doubts, only an unfocused sadness as the boat rocked onward against the current, borne by silent winds along its way toward God's Home.
The next evening as night began to steal heat and light from the world, Syltha sat in her chamber staring at the coalescing shadows. Lack of sleep had begun to take its toll on the crew. They had seen the results of breaking God's Law, and not one of them had so much as taken a seat in the last day and a half. Several fights had broken out between the men for no reason other than sheer exhaustion.
Every time Syltha allowed her mind to stray from thoughts of God and her duty to Him, the image of the shining man rose unbidden behind her eyes and sent her to her prayer mat which she had had moved down from the deck. She could not allow herself to think of him because if she began to question God's plan in any way, all they had worked for would be lost. Questioning was a prideful sin.
Those who questioned the Law of God were labeled heretics, and those who continually questioned were sentenced to become the wretched, sleepless penitents collecting the Tears of God at the foot of God's Home. She'd known a man named Coryl in her village who had asked an acolyte why, if God made man and the universe, He needed a Century Wife to make known the changing mind of man. Coryl had only asked once, but the next morning he had been gone.
Syltha knelt to pray a prayer of absolution again.
As she finished there was a quite knocking at her door.
Acolyte Wirim looked in. “Lady Bride, I would speak to you once more before we dock.” When she nodded and rose, he stepped inside. “The landing is in sight; we will be there within the hour. I would like to say that it has been an indescribable honor to be your advisor and acquaintance.”
Syltha started to return his sentiments, but Acolyte Wirim raised his hand. “Please come stand with me on the deck. Only the Blessed Wives of the past know what is to come for you after tonight. I would like your last hour among men to be a pleasant one.”
“I will come with you if I can elicit a promise from you,” she said with her head bowed. Acolyte Wirim and Captain Galen had spent the day avoiding each other and exchanging dark looks whenever they were on deck together. “Galen did not mean to do wrong. He is a good man, and he saved us all. I am unharmed. Please promise me you will forgive him and forget all that was said last night.”
Acolyte Wirim opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but stopped, cleared his throat, and said. “As you wish. I do so promise.”
She nodded and allowed him to take her hand and lead her out of the chamber and up on to the deck.The banks of the river were lined with orange light. The penitents had assembled with torches to light the boat's way. Their number stretched from the landing some distance ahead as far as she could see. As she and Acolyte Wirim approached the prow, Syltha saw the faces of the penitents with a chilling clarity. Their eyes seemed twin black holes in their faces. She did not know whether it was the harsh glow of their torches or their sleepless lives that made them appear so. They were chanting the prayer of blessing for a new Bride. She felt the power of God like a second skin and realized the air had not been water-heavy...but increasingly weighted with God's majesty. She focused her thoughts on duty and love of God as she stared at the landing that jutted out into the black water several boat lengths ahead.
The mooring lines were tied and a plank laid from the boat to the landing. The Council of Prelates stood with heads bowed at the foot of the plank. They had traveled over land to meet her here.
Out of habit, Syltha looked to Acolyte Wirim for guidance. He knelt at her feet, his forehead touching the deck. Galen and the crew knelt behind him. She laid one hand on the back of Wirim's neck. He looked up, took her hand as if he were starving and it were food, and kissed it once lightly. She felt there were words she ought to say, but they would not form on her tongue. She squeezed his hand once and descended the plank.
The Council surrounded her and ushered her off through the trees. Their fuchsia robes blended in with the night. It seemed she was being hurried along by a procession of bodiless, bowed heads, none would look at her.
Some distance inland, the Council stopped and formed a semi-circle behind her, propelling her onward. Before her, set into the side of hills of God's Home, was a gigantic golden arch with ebon doors. Carved into the stone of the doors was the Law of God. From behind her with one voice the Council said, “Creator, in accordance with your Law we bring to You your Chosen Bride, the 445th Century Wife, so that You may better know the changing mind of man. We present to you Regina Syltha, clad in fine linen bright and pure, whom You have chosen through us to sit at your side. We the people of this, Your world, serve You with glad hearts.”
“I serve you with a glad heart,” Syltha intoned according to the ritual. She took the entire chain of Chinka beads into her mouth and swallowed God's Tears. It felt as if they melted immediately and suffused her body with warmth and power. Blue sparks coruscated across the surface of the gate, and it opened before her. She walked through with her head bowed. God's power filled the air around her, and the doors closed.
Syltha stood in a maelstrom bright of silence and power where only the 444 Century Wives before her had been. She had no expectations beyond this point, for projecting the Mind of God was a sin.
“MINE CHILD,” said a million voices in her ear, in her head, in the air around her. “MINE BRIDE.” The voices were all noises and all silence at once. The bright shadow of God's power closed around her like a giant hand.
Syltha did not know what to do or not do, say or not say. The training and preparation of a lifetime had ended when she'd passed through those doors. She awaited God's instruction and avoided impious projections.
The hand squeezed tighter.
When she felt the teeth of God in her neck, Syltha thought it not impious to scream.