Jay Lake - Endurance

Samma stumbled out of the house behind them, her face sick with what might have been regret. Or perhaps just nausea, given where I’d kicked her.

“I believe I am ready to depart,” I told Kohlmann in my most even voice.

The guards looked to the protocol master- not to Mother Vajpai, I noticed-who nodded wearily. I turned back to face my old teacher. The vicious glint in her eye nearly sent me away without speaking, but I could not just let loose of this.

“Had you asked me as an equal,” I said softly, “you might have heard a different answer.”

Her reply came as I reached for my scattered knives, abandoned leathers, and belled silk, voice pitched so soft and low that only I could hear it. “I am sorry.”

Walking away from her, Kohlmann kept his body between me and the house. Looking past him, I saw why. The Bittern Court woman-no, Surali . Surali stood in the doorway with an expression that could have curdled kava.

She was the key to this drama. What threat had the Bittern Court held over the Temple of the Silver Lily to force all that must have unfolded?

Moot now. I could not afford to care. Not even bothering to meet Samma’s eye, I walked down the path with Kohlmann.

“They will not shoot us down,” he said.

That did not deserve any answer whatsoever, so I gave it none. As we passed the gate, he fired the crossbow’s next bolt into the trees, then handed the empty weapon to the peacock-guard. Mother Argai gave me a strange look indeed, one that after a moment I deciphered as grudging respect.

“Green,” Kohlmann said as we walked easily back down Richard Avenue. By the goddess, this man was a coolheaded one. “We must speak of this as soon as possible. You very nearly launched a war back there.”

“Councilor,” I began as we turned the corner onto Knightspark Street. Out of sight of Mother Argai, I put every ounce of my strength into running. I let the pains in my back and the open wound in my arm and the ache in my shoulder and roiling of the baby and the dissolution of my stomach all pour into the pavement, feet slamming one after the other as the loosened silk jingled. He shouted once, but did not give chase.

I did not care. All I wanted was to be free for a while. Even Below would have been too limiting. So I ran. I ran as if the wind were at my heels. I ran as if I were the wind. I ran as if my very life depended on it, though blood slicked and stinging, my arms and my back threatened to collapse like poorly handled souffle.

I ran until I was sick and I ran some more, crossing what seemed like half the city and back again until in my turnings I reached the Temple of Endurance.

The temple was under construction on the grounds of the old minehead in the Velviere District. I’d run so hard and unthinking I’d spiraled around it twice before stopping at the modest gate that had been knocked into the ancient boundary wall. The minehead had originally been walled off without any entrance at all, in order to permanently block the site from the fine homes and buildings surrounding it. I knew the location, but when I’d left Copper Downs, they were still arguing over the size of the hole.

What I saw now as I panted out the hard knot in my gut was a pair of green lacquered pillars standing against the old stone of the protective wall, topped by a crossbar that looked more Hanchu than anything to me. Between the pillars tall oaken doors stood open. Wide enough to drive an oxcart through, I realized.

An older man-not Selistani-in an undyed linen robe of a simple cut sat on a chair before the gate, a walking stick across his lap. He looked at me incuriously as I stood bent with hands on my knees, gasping. My lungs burned as the air puffed away from me in thin, white shreds.

Finally I found my breath, straightened, and approached him.

“Been in a fight, have yer?”

I grimaced. “A master of the understatement, I see. Please, I seek admittance.”

“Temple’s open.” He didn’t shift his position or lay his stick aside. I could have stepped around the man easily enough, but this had the feel of a test.

“The temple is open, but I have not been invited to enter.”

A smile dawned upon his face. “Now, that is a different matter.”

“I am Green,” I told him. “Summoned by the god.”

“A silent god has spoken to you.” His words were flat but his eyes twinkled.

I’d already had this stupid argument, with Chowdry, and I knew the secret answer. “Endurance is mute, not silent.” I leaned closer. “Besides, he was my ox!”

The old man spun his staff so close to my face he might have taken a tooth out, then rose from his cane chair. “We know who you are, Mother Green. We are glad of your return.” A swift, mocking bow. “Welcome, and bid fair to enter.”

I walked past him a couple of strides, then turned. The man was gone, only his chair remaining. Stepping back, I ran my fingers across the fraying cane. Cool, and still beaded with the morning’s frost now dripping to water.

Another one of this city’s avatars, or possibly a ghost. Building a temple atop a minehead, when the local tulpas haunted the dangerous galleries and tunnels of Below, had not been the wisest judgment ever made. I tried to remember if this had been my idea.

Somehow I had the feeling that it was.

The last time I’d passed this way, the area within the walls had been a forest of brambles and broken machinery. Those were difficult days indeed. Now the lot was cleared. A low fence stood around the open shaft, apparently to keep people from wandering into it and breaking their necks. Though there was a ladder below, it would be a long, fatal fall for the inattentive or unlucky. Oddly, Chowdry and his acolytes had not blocked or guarded the opening, as I might have done in their place.

Most of the metalwork and timber baulks about the property had been taken down or hauled away. A hasty wooden structure about two rods square obviously serving as a temporary temple stood to the south of the shaft, while foundation stones and colored posts laid around the shaft showed where a more ambitious structure would someday rise.

The small building was set on piers, raised far enough above the ground that three steps led to the porch. Chowdry sat there with hands folded, watching my approach. Several faces peered from within.

“You have come,” he called in Seliu.

“I am here.”

“Would you like aid with those wounds?”

I staggered forward and sat beside him, my loosened bundle of belongings slipping to the ground. The time was not yet right for me to enter the god’s sanctuary. Though I served the Lily Goddess, Endurance was my god in the most literal sense. I still wasn’t prepared to face him just then.

“The blood on my mouth is not my own,” I said. “But if someone can see to my arm, I’d be obliged. Everything else will heal. Oh, and you had an avatar at the gate when I came in. Saucy old bastard.”

“You are being as a lamp to moths for the spirits of this place.” Then, in Petraean, over his shoulder, “Fetch Sister Gammage out here, with her needles and bandages.”

Chowdry held my hand as Sister Gammage-an older Stone Coast woman with a squint and not very many teeth, but a steady hand with a needle-cleaned and sewed my arm. I could almost forgive Chowdry for Little Baji being in the city, but was not prepared to ask the questions that rose from that unfortunate business.

After they were done I allowed myself to be led to a large tent among a stand of them behind the temple where hot water was being poured into an enormous copper bath. Chowdry brought my silk and leathers before excusing himself. Sister Gammage chased everyone else away, persuaded me to give up my knives for a little while, stripped my damaged robe from me, and helped me slip into the water. Once there she brought me a flowered tea I did not recognize-which is saying something, given my early training-and left me to soak in peace.