Read Online Glasswrights' Test by Mindy L Klasky - Free Book Online Page B

closed in honor of the day’s grim business, and many homes were draped with somber black banners.
    Berylina knew these Morenian passages well; she traveled back and forth to the cathedral several times each day. In fact, she had considered asking King Halaravilli to let her reside in the cathedral close, to live among the priests and their caloyas. She had not found the courage to make such a request, though. It would be easier after she had traveled to Brianta, after she had a stamped and sealed cavalcade to evidence the depth of her devotion.
    The square in front of the House of the Thousand Gods was filled with mourners— nobles, merchants, guildsmen, soldiers, even a few Touched on the edges of the crowd. The cathedral itself would already be filled with nobles and priests, members of the royal family’s own caste. Nevertheless, all the people of Moren felt their liege lord’s pain; all wished to express their sorrow with prayer, with chanting, with offerings to the gods.
    Berylina was not surprised when Siritalanu skirted the edge of the House, bringing her to the transept door. The crowds were thinner there, and people yielded to the power of their paired green robes. Berylina inclined her head in gratitude, keeping her eyes directed toward her feet. A flush spread across her cheeks as she thought of all the people who watched her. Suddenly, it was difficult to swallow. She fought the urge to clench her hands into fists, to shrink away to nothingness.
    Without asking, Father Siritalanu understood where Berylina would like to offer up her special funerary devotions. He guided her to the large side chapel that was dedicated to Nome. On an ordinary day, the god of children was greeted by thousands of worshipers; his altar was broad, and the ceiling of the chamber was opaque with soot from the candles that burned to his glory. Today, every inch of altar space was aflame with lit tapers.
    Berylina’s hand trembled as she selected her own candle to add, forfeiting a heavy gold coin in exchange. She waited for a trio of women to edge away from the altar, and she ignored the pitying stares that they cast upon her face. Instead, she moved forward to the empty space before the block of marble, dropping to her knees. She raised her candle to one that already burned, using the existing flame to kindle her own.
    The wick caught and flared high, drawing Berylina’s attention to the carved letters on the front of the altar. NOME. Each letter was carved deep, the marble rising into strong minims, curling into delicate horizontal strokes. As Berylina opened her mind to the god of children, she heard his name inside her thoughts, heard the jaunty piper’s air that was his unique signature.
    Of course, she could not hear all the gods. Some came to her as colors. Some were scents. A few were flavors, spread out across her tongue. Berylina knew that she was different, that her sensing the gods’ physical presences was strange and wonderful. She pitied the other worshipers, the ones who saw only marble and paint, only candle flames left by petitioners. They missed so much. They never knew the true nature of the beings they prayed to.
    â€œNome preserve us,” she thought as she settled onto her knees. “Nome keep us safe from harm.”
    That was a ridiculous prayer, though. She wasn’t in any danger. She did not need Nome to watch over her. No, she should have prayed to the god of children a fortnight ago. She should have appealed to him when he first played a few notes for her, on that sunny morning when she was walking to King Halaravilli’s new silk hall.
    She had heard Nome beside her then. She knew him well—he had come to her often when she still lived in Liantine. On the day of the silk auction, she had heard his piping air, like the songs that her nurses sang to her in her Liantine nursery when she was a young child. Nome had played urgently the day of the silk bidding, pushing