others, especially the quiet trio. With no personal equipment to check he spent the next hours tidying his bed and the few items around it, until he decided it was time to sleep. He washed his face, checking his stubble in a fragment of mirror while the others stared, then took off his green robe and wrapped himself in blankets.
He dozed. Though in an unfamiliar place, the day had fatigued him.
He awoke to the sound of splashing water and clanking metal. Dawn had arrived and passed. He sniffed the air. There was a strong smell of manure. He got up, to find that during the night his robe had been smeared with dung. The quiet trio glanced at him, and smiled. Nuïy looked at Eletela, who shrugged and turned away.
Nuïy asked Drowaïtash, “How long until Raïtasha arrives?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
Nuïy took his robe and dunked it in a bucket of water, squeezing and kneading until the dung was washed out. Drowaïtash said, “You’ll never dry that in time. You can’t wear it, you’ll freeze in this weather. Look, there’s ice on the windows.”
Nuïy began to squeeze out the freezing water. “No matter,” he replied. “I do not feel the cold like normal people.”
The big youth in the other group laughed to himself, but apart from that there was no comment. Nuïy finished squeezing the robe and put it on, before checking his hair in the mirror and pulling on the socks and leather ankle boots that had been supplied for him.
Raïtasha arrived, carrying a pail of hot water, soap and razors. He clicked his fingers at Drowaïtash and when the boy sat on a stool began to soap him ready for shaving. Nuïy frowned. This could not happen to him. Without a word he took a razor and some soap, and in front of the mirror fragment began to shave himself.
Raïtasha glanced at him, but said nothing. The youths of the quiet trio stared at him, anger in their eyes.
At last all were ready. They stood in a line by the door while Raïtasha inspected them. Stopping at Nuïy he said, “Yer robe is wet, twig. Why?”
Nuïy replied, “I wanted it to be spotless before the gaze of the Green Man.”
Raïtasha nodded, struggling to keep a grin from his face. “All right. Follow me. And no noise.”
Raïtasha led them into the western sector and through a maze of buildings, until they struck a paved path leading between two sprawling complexes of stone. Nuïy heard drumming to his left, and his hyper-sensitive ears picked up complex rhythms that he was able to store into his memory as a sequence of facts. The drums were tri-tonal. He knew already what they would look like. He grinned, knowing his skill at counting and memorising would be useful here.
They approached the central tower, crossing into it by way of an arched stone bridge that spanned a deep chasm. Raïtasha stopped them just as they were about to enter, saying, “This is the Inner Sanctum. Do not enter without permission. Even with permission, you won’t be allowed to enter without a cleric at yer side. When you’re a branch of the Green Man, like the clerics, you may come here. Is that clear?”
They nodded. Raïtasha led them past two guards and along a corridor, before turning left into a chamber.
Nuïy appraised the room before him. It was large, granite pillars against the walls like butresses in the form of trees. The outer wall was pierced with holes through which birds hopped. Nuïy saw nests. In the rafters, he spotted a barn owl. At the far end of the chamber sat a single man on a throne of oak decorated with garlands of twigs and leaves. He was small, of middle years, with a lined face and hair close cropped like Eletela’s. He wore wire-framed spectacles with thick lenses, so that his pale eyes seemed to stare like that of a lunatic. But his clothes were as rich as any Nuïy had seen, particularly a green and gold cloak lined with white fur and set with golden leaves. He wore gloves of brown leather over which gold rings had been
He dozed. Though in an unfamiliar place, the day had fatigued him.
He awoke to the sound of splashing water and clanking metal. Dawn had arrived and passed. He sniffed the air. There was a strong smell of manure. He got up, to find that during the night his robe had been smeared with dung. The quiet trio glanced at him, and smiled. Nuïy looked at Eletela, who shrugged and turned away.
Nuïy asked Drowaïtash, “How long until Raïtasha arrives?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
Nuïy took his robe and dunked it in a bucket of water, squeezing and kneading until the dung was washed out. Drowaïtash said, “You’ll never dry that in time. You can’t wear it, you’ll freeze in this weather. Look, there’s ice on the windows.”
Nuïy began to squeeze out the freezing water. “No matter,” he replied. “I do not feel the cold like normal people.”
The big youth in the other group laughed to himself, but apart from that there was no comment. Nuïy finished squeezing the robe and put it on, before checking his hair in the mirror and pulling on the socks and leather ankle boots that had been supplied for him.
Raïtasha arrived, carrying a pail of hot water, soap and razors. He clicked his fingers at Drowaïtash and when the boy sat on a stool began to soap him ready for shaving. Nuïy frowned. This could not happen to him. Without a word he took a razor and some soap, and in front of the mirror fragment began to shave himself.
Raïtasha glanced at him, but said nothing. The youths of the quiet trio stared at him, anger in their eyes.
At last all were ready. They stood in a line by the door while Raïtasha inspected them. Stopping at Nuïy he said, “Yer robe is wet, twig. Why?”
Nuïy replied, “I wanted it to be spotless before the gaze of the Green Man.”
Raïtasha nodded, struggling to keep a grin from his face. “All right. Follow me. And no noise.”
Raïtasha led them into the western sector and through a maze of buildings, until they struck a paved path leading between two sprawling complexes of stone. Nuïy heard drumming to his left, and his hyper-sensitive ears picked up complex rhythms that he was able to store into his memory as a sequence of facts. The drums were tri-tonal. He knew already what they would look like. He grinned, knowing his skill at counting and memorising would be useful here.
They approached the central tower, crossing into it by way of an arched stone bridge that spanned a deep chasm. Raïtasha stopped them just as they were about to enter, saying, “This is the Inner Sanctum. Do not enter without permission. Even with permission, you won’t be allowed to enter without a cleric at yer side. When you’re a branch of the Green Man, like the clerics, you may come here. Is that clear?”
They nodded. Raïtasha led them past two guards and along a corridor, before turning left into a chamber.
Nuïy appraised the room before him. It was large, granite pillars against the walls like butresses in the form of trees. The outer wall was pierced with holes through which birds hopped. Nuïy saw nests. In the rafters, he spotted a barn owl. At the far end of the chamber sat a single man on a throne of oak decorated with garlands of twigs and leaves. He was small, of middle years, with a lined face and hair close cropped like Eletela’s. He wore wire-framed spectacles with thick lenses, so that his pale eyes seemed to stare like that of a lunatic. But his clothes were as rich as any Nuïy had seen, particularly a green and gold cloak lined with white fur and set with golden leaves. He wore gloves of brown leather over which gold rings had been
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