35. Earth

A tad shocked at my own callousness, having only just thought this nearly a moon after the day of the invasion, I was startled when Cian came into my view.

“Oh, good morning, archpriest,”

I stuttered.

“Good morning, Edie.

And it’s Cian. Please.”

He stood next to my table looking down at me in his brown and green robes.

His face was pleasant, well proportioned.

His hair was similar in color to Mischa’s, that cornsilk blond, but his was straight and neat, combed away from his forehead, his eyes a bright, warm green.

I loved the color green, in all of its shades, the blue of a teal green, the purity of an emerald, the muted hue of sage.

I returned his smile.

“Are you finished? If not, I can sit with you.

The crab was excellent this morning.”

“Is that what these are? Crab?”

“Yes.

They scuttle along the rocks and beaches.

Odd animals.

But tasty.”

“Oh, very.

I have only ever heard of them.

I am done, thank you.”

I finished my tin cup of water and stacked it and my knife and fork on the plate.

“May I ask,”

I said, “is this what is done? Zinnia and Beryl never instructed us as to what to do with our plates.”

He waved for me to proceed before him towards one of the corridors.

“Yes.

Our kitchen staff is extensive.

The tables are cleared afterwards, just as they are laid out with our meals in advance.

I do not know what your previous life in Eccleston was like, but I have found it liberating to never worry about buying or preparing my own food.”

I turned to him, quizzically.

“Yes, it is a luxury.”

“Ah,”

he said, as we took a turn down our corridor, a shade of mortification in his manner, “someone has informed you of my lineage, Edie.”

I shook my head.

“Is my face so easy to read? I apologize.”

“I think you have, simply, a face that is easy to look at and therefore easier to know.”

I was grateful for the slight dimness of the hall.

We were between sconces and I felt my cheeks warm.

What had become of me? I never used to blush this much around men in Eccleston.

“So, despite your lineage,”

I said, taking some of the focus off of myself, “you purchased and prepared your own food?”

He continued, kindly nodding at those we passed.

“I did.

My father was the much younger brother of Hinnom’s father.

Both have passed on.

And both were men of austerity.

And my father, in particular.

I am grateful for the retrenched way I was raised.

It taught me much.

I do not need luxury, but I did not care for feeding myself.”

I found myself enjoying his company and with his confession, I offered up one of my own.

“I have no idea what magic I might have.

I am mystified by your claim.”

His voice became more intimate so that those around us could not hear.

“I will elaborate in my office, but, do you know, was there Tintarian blood in your family?”

“I had wondered at this after your words in the throne room.

My mother can trace her family far back in Perpatane history.

My father was given to an orphanage as a babe.”

“Then perhaps that explains it.

Only Tintarians on the continent have magic.

Perhaps all people once did in a more ancient time, but historical record only shows it in Tintarians.”

“So, my father was of some Tintarian descent?”

“Likely.

He had no idea of his parentage?”

“None.”

We had reached the antechamber type area that preceded the temple, all of the desks full of earth temple staff in discussions with citizens, some banal in nature and some already heated.

The narrow windows shed light on the inhabitants and I had another thought of hope that our clothes would soon be ready.

This black dress would need to be replaced with one of the thinner cloths we had been shown at the tailor’s for spring and summer.

Nods of deference were made to Cian as we passed, from both cleric and citizen.

“Might I ask, if you are so closely related to the royal family, are you owed a title or—”

“Edie,”

he interrupted and cut me off with a wave.

“It is a relief to have none of that.

I promise you.”

He gave a push on the double doors that led to the temple and we entered.

Inside, many were sitting in the numerous stone pews, heads bowed before the ornamental, wooden edifice of Mother Earth’s face.

“The devout,”

he said to me, hushed and solemn.

“There are nearly always a few praying in here, so I try to be quiet when I go to and from my inner chamber.

Unless there is a ceremony, I allow for people to come and pray to the goddess.

Your new husband is often among them.

It is all our temple.”

We walked down the aisle and stepped up to the altar with its silver bowl.

Cian turned to me.

“I would ask that you cast your eyes to a window or behind you.”

I looked to the nearest window, the one the sun had shone through onto Alric’s shield during our wedding, making his face backlit and unreadable.

I had the intrusive thought that he had looked fine in his polished Tintarian black.

I balked at this thought, actually jerking my head a little and caught, from the corner of my gaze, Cian’s hand wrapping around one of the wooden roots on the foliage side of the Mother Earth carving.

From where I stood to the side, I could see it, but the praying in the pews would have only seen the back of Cian’s robes.

The round carving split in two, somehow triggered by Cian’s touch, the human side and the wild side of the face swinging apart to reveal a doorless doorway.

“You can turn around, Edie,”

he directed over his shoulder, stepping through it.

I hurried to the opening as the two sides of the old woman’s face creaked close.

Inside, was a large office with a desk in a red wood.

Behind it was a high-backed chair and a wall of books.

One wall had another of the narrow windows, the sunlight and noises of Pikestully filtering in and the other sported a tapestry of the same old woman’s face, half human, half overrun with trees, roots, flowers, grasses, ferns, mushrooms, coneys, bears, wildcats, lizards, foxes, wolves and more.

“Books,”

I sighed like a man who had gone without water for days.

“You struck me as a reading woman,”

he said taking the high-backed chair and gesturing to a smaller one that had been pulled in under the desk across from him.

I sat in it.

It was smaller but upholstered and not uncomfortable.

The desk held several sheets of parchment, a long package wrapped in leather and a ledger cracked open and full of cramped writing.

A stone slate sat next to the ledger with etchings in it.

I blinked and looked at it twice to see not only were there etchings, but there were etchings being etched before my eyes as if from an invisible hand.

My face must have shown my awe.

Cian turned the slate over.

“An exciting way to share unexciting news.

Pay it no mind.”

“Someone else is writing those words?”

“Yes.

They have a second enchanted slate.

The slates mirror each other.

Whatever they etch, I see and so is the reverse.

But you have to sand off the previous message to begin again.”

I closed my mouth so as to not look like a fish.

Tintar was proving to be outlandish.

“Well,”

he began.

“You have much to learn, Edie Angler.”

It was vexing to hear my new name.

I nodded.

“I am nervous.”

“I meant you have much to learn, not just of Mother Earth and the rest of the Farthest Four, but of yourself.

We must determine your penchant.

A mere touch of my hands on yours will not tell me.

Together we will uncover how you have been blessed.”

“And I understand a penchant to be a specificity?”

“Yes.

Mine is dirt.”

I tried to turn my little, shocked laugh into a cough.

He shook his head.

“It was meant in jest, but yes, I do have a penchant for dirt.

All things soil and I am blessed in this general penchant.

Often, the more specific, the less powerful a penchant.

For instance, some of our farmers can grow barley time after time, an exceedingly bountiful crop.

But should they try their hand at another harvest, in the same soil, even with the best of weather, they will not have the same luck.

Or the boy who can tame a fox kit simply by speaking to it, cannot speak to any other animal.

Does that make any sense? Please tell me if it does not.

So much of this is fundamental.

Everyone who has ever come to our temples was a born and bred Tintarian.

This is all taught to children, all Tintarian children, even if they’ve no magic.”

I smiled.

“You are making perfect sense.

Continue speaking to me as if I am a child.”

He gave a short laugh.

“I knew I would like you.

Something about the way you handled my cousin in the throne room.

I admired you from the first.”

Hinnom had not treated him like family, I thought.

He continued.

“Perhaps that is why the captain spared you and your friends in that invasion.

Alric is devout to Mother Earth.

Maybe he sensed her blessing.”

I remained silent.

Alric had not instructed me which rumor I was to confirm, his falling for me or for my ruse.

I will not shame you and I hope you will not shame me.

“Ah!”

Cian sat up straighter.

“I am forgetful.

I have been so looking forward to meeting with you, once I had you all to myself, I forgot.”

He pulled a piece of parchment folded in four from under the ledger and handed it to me.

“Alric had to leave in a hurry for Sealmouth.

He wrote this in the temple antechamber and asked me to give it to you.”

I took the parchment from Cian and went to unfold it, but he had continued speaking.

“Where was I? Oh yes.

Your penchant.

We will discover this together.

And I will have you shadow me in my duties as archpriest as we do.

It is the best way to learn the nature of our goddess.

I will, as you are a literate woman, give you some books.

On loan.

They are scarce here.

And some of these tomes behind me, handwritten.”

“I will handle with care,”

I promised, my hands running over the parchment in them.

“I know you will.

I truly look forward to our discovering your blessing.

And once you have found your place in the order, you will have work in the temple.

The pay is little.

Our taxes only go to so many things.

You can see our king only cares for his shark skeletons.

He does not decorate his keep in finery.

His coin is in his coffers and his temples and armies.

We do not overtax our citizens.”

He stood and turned to the shelves behind him, his right hand running over the spines.

“Now, there are three that I am thinking will help you the most.”

I itched to open the letter.

This is girlish nonsense, I thought to myself.

I was about to learn about actual magic.

I should put this note out of my mind.

It was likely a grim and factual note as it was from a grim and factual man.

I shoved the note into my pocket, next to the hagstone.

I was confused at my own interest.

This marriage would be borne and maybe one day, border on something more than civility and be genial.

In our old age, we could even be friends.