burning. He fears what they would say if he was not there, but he did not say to send the girls to the hidden room,” she said, sinking down onto a pillow. “He hears what you say, brother, but he has lived in this town all his life. The temple priesthood is strong here. Until you came, the wandering priesthood was represented only by your letters and our own readings of the forbidden texts.”
“Should we go to the hidden room now?” asked my oldest cousin, her voice trembling. “I hate it, but if they come testing …”
“They would not dare, my treasure,” my aunt said. “They must not dare. Surely even they know that to burn the children of respectable citizens … There are reasons it has not been done for so long.”
“A girl,” my youngest cousin said, amazed. “A girl, dressing as a man. Why would anyone want to do that?”
“What of his companion?” asked my father. “Thestrange fellow, Qiom, did I hear his name was? Has anyone told him?”
“If he is wise, he has fled. Otherwise they will burn him,” said my aunt.
Since it was time to cook lunch, my father went to sit in the kitchen with us. My uncle found us there. He was ashen, as if he had seen his world unmade.
“It was the other one, the stranger Qiom,” my uncle said as he sat at the kitchen table. “He ripped the doors from the temple. He beat every man who tried to lay hands on him. He killed the priest by throwing him into the wall. Then he took Fadal, and he ran from the town before they could close the gates.” He mopped his face with the wet cloth my aunt brought for him. “No man can run so fast! No man could have ripped the temple doors from their hinges! It is a sign from the God in the Flame! A sign, that he sent this creature to save this woman!”
“But the god has never spoken in such a fashion before,” said my father gently. “Brother, compose yourself. Breathe with the quiet strength of your wife and daughters. See how they wait? They do not spend themselves in panic.”
My cousins and I rolled our eyes and my aunt smiled. My father’s idea of womanhood was idealized. He always forgot my mother was not above screaming if she saw a furred spider or panicking if a temple priest looked at her the wrong way.
Sometime after lunch the greatest piece of news came, brought by other men who shared readings in the forbidden texts with my uncle and aunt. The temple had burned down. Somehow wood had fallen into its great fire as Qiom rescuedFadal, setting the place ablaze. Now many of the people of Hartunjur asked each other if the god whose sole text was the Book of the Sword would have let his temple be destroyed by a creature who came to save a woman who had dressed as a man. Hearing that a wandering priest who taught the forbidden texts was in the town, they came to hear what the temple priests had not taught them.
My father talked to the men about what the temple priests left out of the Oracle’s writings. He taught them about the Oracle’s wise wife, who was his first councilor. He told my favorite story, one almost forgotten in the lands where the God in the Flame and the Oracle were supreme, of the Oracle’s oldest daughter, the general who had dressed in armor to defend her father’s temple city.
At last my father’s cough returned ferociously. As the healer brought him a cup of syrup, my father waved to me. “Teky, read to them,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Read to them from the Book of the Distaff.” He raised his voice to the men. “This is not in your copies of the Oracle’s Books,” he said, and coughed for long moments. He swallowed a mouthful of syrup, then continued, “It is this the temple priests do not want you to hear. Tekalimy will read to you.”
“A woman!” someone in the back of the room cried. “Reading!”
My father half-rose from his cushions. “Have you heard nothing of what I have said?” he demanded. His cheeks were flushed with his rising fever. I reached out to
“Should we go to the hidden room now?” asked my oldest cousin, her voice trembling. “I hate it, but if they come testing …”
“They would not dare, my treasure,” my aunt said. “They must not dare. Surely even they know that to burn the children of respectable citizens … There are reasons it has not been done for so long.”
“A girl,” my youngest cousin said, amazed. “A girl, dressing as a man. Why would anyone want to do that?”
“What of his companion?” asked my father. “Thestrange fellow, Qiom, did I hear his name was? Has anyone told him?”
“If he is wise, he has fled. Otherwise they will burn him,” said my aunt.
Since it was time to cook lunch, my father went to sit in the kitchen with us. My uncle found us there. He was ashen, as if he had seen his world unmade.
“It was the other one, the stranger Qiom,” my uncle said as he sat at the kitchen table. “He ripped the doors from the temple. He beat every man who tried to lay hands on him. He killed the priest by throwing him into the wall. Then he took Fadal, and he ran from the town before they could close the gates.” He mopped his face with the wet cloth my aunt brought for him. “No man can run so fast! No man could have ripped the temple doors from their hinges! It is a sign from the God in the Flame! A sign, that he sent this creature to save this woman!”
“But the god has never spoken in such a fashion before,” said my father gently. “Brother, compose yourself. Breathe with the quiet strength of your wife and daughters. See how they wait? They do not spend themselves in panic.”
My cousins and I rolled our eyes and my aunt smiled. My father’s idea of womanhood was idealized. He always forgot my mother was not above screaming if she saw a furred spider or panicking if a temple priest looked at her the wrong way.
Sometime after lunch the greatest piece of news came, brought by other men who shared readings in the forbidden texts with my uncle and aunt. The temple had burned down. Somehow wood had fallen into its great fire as Qiom rescuedFadal, setting the place ablaze. Now many of the people of Hartunjur asked each other if the god whose sole text was the Book of the Sword would have let his temple be destroyed by a creature who came to save a woman who had dressed as a man. Hearing that a wandering priest who taught the forbidden texts was in the town, they came to hear what the temple priests had not taught them.
My father talked to the men about what the temple priests left out of the Oracle’s writings. He taught them about the Oracle’s wise wife, who was his first councilor. He told my favorite story, one almost forgotten in the lands where the God in the Flame and the Oracle were supreme, of the Oracle’s oldest daughter, the general who had dressed in armor to defend her father’s temple city.
At last my father’s cough returned ferociously. As the healer brought him a cup of syrup, my father waved to me. “Teky, read to them,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Read to them from the Book of the Distaff.” He raised his voice to the men. “This is not in your copies of the Oracle’s Books,” he said, and coughed for long moments. He swallowed a mouthful of syrup, then continued, “It is this the temple priests do not want you to hear. Tekalimy will read to you.”
“A woman!” someone in the back of the room cried. “Reading!”
My father half-rose from his cushions. “Have you heard nothing of what I have said?” he demanded. His cheeks were flushed with his rising fever. I reached out to
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