46 Fashia's Fountain

With both Omra and Saan gone, Istar took her three daughters on their pilgrimage to Fashia's Fountain. The city of Olabar was stable, the five soldanates cowed by the soldan-shah's stern warning and his dismissal of the previous emissaries. Old Imir had already departed for the edge of the Great Desert, where he planned to hunt bandits with Soldan Xivir.

Istar looked forward to a quiet and meaningful trip with the girls. With an unobtrusive escort provided by Kel Rovic, they followed the best roads and carried plentiful supplies across Uraba to the Oceansea shore.

She was surprised, however, by the wave of emotions the trek awakened in her. Scars had covered her deep-seated pain, and she had tried to forget, tried to move on, first for the sake of her son… and then for other reasons. Just as watching Saan's departure on the ship had dredged up long-buried sorrows and memories, she once again found herself reliving terrors from her past life.

As they crossed the caravan road from Inner Wahilir to Outer Wahilir, how could she forget her similar journey a lifetime ago, as part of a group of Tierran prisoners dragged across unfamiliar Uraba? Still stunned after witnessing the murder of friends and family in Windcatch, the Aidenist prisoners had been forced to plod along for days, driven like livestock. She had been Adrea Vora then, pregnant with the son of her beloved Criston. To the rest of Tierra, the woman named Adrea had died on that journey.

Istar was another person entirely, with another life, and a wall around her heart that could not completely block out her regrets. The love letter in a bottle from Criston that she kept hidden in her chambers served as a private shrine to that past life and love. She hoped and prayed that Criston remained safe, although she had accepted that she could never return to him.

Her daughters knew nothing of her painful past, though. They were excited to visit a fabled shrine, and she had to play the good wife and mother….

Catching a small pilgrims' ship from Khenara, she and eleven other devotees dropped anchor off the coast and took a rowboat to the mouth of a rugged gorge nestled in the coastal cliffs where they were let off at a small, rickety dock.

High up in the narrow canyon, nestled amongst arid hills, a silvery spring bubbled from a crack in the rocks, pouring out in a thin waterfall to form a mirrorlike hanging lake. Pilgrims came to purify themselves in the frigid waters, and priestesses blessed them.

According to legend, Urec had anchored his Arkship here on the way to Ishalem. His crew, hungry and thirsty, desperately needed supplies of fresh water. Urec's childless wife Fashia led a group of sailors up into the narrow defile in search of water, but when they reached the end of the gorge, they stared in dismay, for the stone wall was bone dry. However, when Fashia called out to Ondun and struck the rock with the flat of her hand, water burst forth. Generations later, a group of devout sikaras built a shrine there and established a holy place, attended by a hundred priestesses.

Now, during the long uphill hike to the hanging lake, the group of pilgrims spread out, some rushing ahead, while others lagged far behind. Istar and the girls toiled up the hillside path together, one footstep after another. The way was steep and difficult, but none of them complained.

Though she was the most studious of the three girls, Istala needed no encouragement to keep going. When they paused for a brief rest, she pointed out, “A pilgrimage is supposed to be difficult. That's why you earn your reward when you reach the end.”

By contrast, the destination held no special anticipation for Adreala, who was more excited by the rugged scenery, so unlike the lands around Olabar. Gracious and obedient, Cithara was just pleased to have been included in the expedition.

Istar and her daughters felt great satisfaction as they climbed over the last headwall to see the beautiful lake, the feathery waterfall, and lush greenery all around. The first few pilgrims ahead of them had informed the white-robed sikaras that Omra's First Wife and three daughters were coming up the path.

The priestesses raised their hands in blessing and welcomed them with pitchers of water taken fresh from the spring. Having been raised as an Aidenist, Istar didn't entirely believe the legend of the shrine; nevertheless, she was glad for the refreshing draught. The three girls drank deeply.

Her youngest daughter looked all about her, awestruck. “I so wanted to see this place. I can't believe I'm here.” Istala went to the lake's edge and dipped her fingers into the cold water. “Thank you, Mother.” The sincere gratitude on the ten-year-old's face made every trudging mile and every uncomfortable day worthwhile.

The fountain priestesses lived in small rock dwellings that ringed the clear lake. They had laid out a path of interlocking white stones, tracing an unfurling spiral on the ground, at the center of which stood a brazier with smoldering coals. Farther from the sacred fountain and pool, pilgrims' quarters and changing rooms crowded together.

“You may cleanse yourself in the waters,” said the lead priestess, a thin old woman named Luaren. “I believe Soldan Vishkar will join you.”

Istar was surprised. “Vishkar is here?” He was the father of the original Istar, Omra's first wife, for whom he still felt a deep love, long after her death… so much so that he had asked her, Adrea, to take the same name.

“The soldan arrived three days ago, tired and troubled, overwhelmed by responsibilities. Now he has a new sense of clarity.” Luaren smiled. “That is what Fashia's Fountain does.”

“I hope it does the same for me.” Istar led the girls to the stone-walled structures, where white linen gowns awaited them. Few children made the arduous pilgrimage, and though her daughters searched for the smallest robes, the garments hung overlarge like tents on their shoulders.

Together, they walked barefoot out to the deep pool, where several pilgrims sat in the frigid water, their white robes soaked. Hot and tired, Adreala plunged in with enough of a splash that other visitors frowned at her rambunctiousness. With breathless anticipation, her sister Istala slid into the pool, dunked her head, and came up with water streaming down her hair; she gasped from the cold. Cithara held Istar's hand as they eased themselves into the lake.

Istar recognized Soldan Vishkar, who sat submerged up to his shoulders near the stream from the fountain itself. She hesitated as she considered the uneasy link between the two of them. She had been Omra's Istar for fourteen years, but this man could not help but be reminded of his daughter.

Vishkar saw her and moved closer, while she let the three girls amuse themselves in the water. “Lady Istar, I don't believe we have formally met.” He seemed a good-natured man, but his eyes held a shadow of pain. “I understand that you've brought great happiness to the soldan-shah. Omra must trust you, if he allows you to manage the court for him while he is at Ishalem.”

Though at a loss, she realized the most important thing Vishkar needed to hear. “I have done my best as First Wife, but I can never take the place of your daughter in his heart. Omra still talks about her often. He loved her greatly.”

“We all did.” Vishkar turned away, but not before she saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

Though the events were unrelated, the tragic death of the first Istar had come close upon the burning of Ishalem. Such shocks had wrought a fundamental change in Omra's personality, hardening him, sharpening his reactions. Those tragedies had made him into a much less tolerant man than Soldan-Shah Imir ever was. She contemplated sadly that if the first Istar had not died when she did—for reasons that had nothing to do with Aidenists—the war might not have continued with such viciousness. Maybe Omra wouldn't have inflicted senseless pain upon Tierra by raiding coastal villages… taking prisoners. Her own life might have been entirely different.

Vishkar sat in the water and stared at the mossy cliffs nearby. “Lady Istar, I have learned one thing in my years as a successful merchant, as a grieving father, and as a soldan. The days flow forward, not backward. We cannot live our lives in yesterdays. We must live in today.” He turned to smile at her. “And I am happy the soldan-shah found you.”

Omra had often spoken of how much he appreciated this man. “He's glad to have found you as well,” Istar said. “After Soldan Attar was poisoned, all of his other candidates were entangled in politics and schemes. You are a man he knows he can trust.”

Vishkar looked at his pruning fingertips. “Considering the responsibilities weighing on my shoulders, I'm not convinced that he did me a favor. The other soldans dislike me and see me as a power-hungry upstart, even though I never asked for the position. In order to become soldan, I was forced to surrender my business to my brother and nephews.”

“You would rather have stayed in Olabar? As a merchant?”

“Yes, I would. That new church is sure to bankrupt me! But I am a loyal Uraban, and I do as my soldan-shah asks. I'm happy enough. I am content. My sons are helping to manage our new estates in Outer Wahilir. My remaining daughters have gotten married—and now I hear that Hakri has just been appointed my own emissary to the palace!”

Istar nodded. “Yes, the paths of our lives take us to some very strange places.”

Later, after they had emerged from the small lake, young Istala asked the priestesses so many questions that the old head sikara finally took the girl under her wing and showed her around the site.

At the meager evening meal, at which pilgrims gathered for quiet conversation or silent meditation, Istala sat between her mother and Sikara Luaren. Summoning her courage, the girl broached a subject with her mother. “When I finish my training in the church, I'd like to be assigned here. Luaren says I can be one of the hundred priestesses.” She worked very hard to control the pleading tone in her voice. “Do you think that would be all right?”

The old sikara was full of pride and gratitude. “We would be glad to have the soldan-shah's daughter join us, my Lady. You can see that it is truly her heart's desire.”

Istar nodded slowly. “We will have to ask her father, but I don't believe he'll be averse to the idea.” She hugged her youngest daughter. “Someday, this will be your home.”