73 Olabar, Main Urecari Church

As the swollen orange sun set to the west of the capital city, Istar accompanied Kuari, the newly designated emissary from Inner Wahilir, to the main church of Urec. The First Wife of Soldan Huttan was a pragmatic woman, and Istar enjoyed her company.

The two high-ranking women attended sunset services accompanied by guards and attendants. Despite their status, though, they moved through the crowds like any other supplicants, inching their way around the processional spiral, pressed close to everyone else.

Traditionally, the soldan-shah's retinue had a special right-of-way and separate passages and balconies inside the church, but Ur-Sikara Erima had recently decreed that Ondun considered all of His people equal, that no one should receive special privileges. Such a pronouncement was enforced only when Istar attended services, however.

She refused to take offense at the obvious insult. She might wear gowns and jewels, but she had been born in a small fishing village in Tierra. She never forgot where she came from. She thought wistfully about walking up the dirt path to the small kirk on the hill above Windcatch, listening to Prester Fennan read from the Book of Aiden. Being snubbed by these officious priestesses in the huge church of Urec meant little to her.

Entering the main worship chamber, Kuari walked beside her, shoulders back, chin held high. She wore a gown of maroon silk and a gold chain belt around her waist. “Never before have I had to wait with the crowds. It seems you have few friends in the church, my Lady.”

Istar was surprised by her own sharp retort. “The sikaras consider themselves more important than they really are. Much of their arrogant attitude is to keep the people from looking at them too closely.”

Kuari responded with a scandalized chuckle. “You are very perceptive, my Lady! I was trained among the sikaras for years before I realized that.”

“I've had to be perceptive, in order to survive all these years among enemies.”

Though she had been in Uraba for two decades and did what was expected of her, Istar had never wholeheartedly embraced the rival faith. She had seen enough zealous violence to taint her view of the followers of Urec.

True to his word, Soldan-Shah Omra had genuinely cared for Saan, kept him safe, given him a good life… but Omra also condoned and committed atrocities that she found unforgivable. Nevertheless, she could not deny her appreciation, her respect, even her affection for him. Her heart was like a boat in heavy seas, rocking back and forth, always in danger of being capsized. Was there such a thing as a beloved enemy?

This was her life now.

She glanced around the chamber, hoping for a glimpse of her two acolyte daughters, but apparently Istala and Cithara did not participate in the major services. Or perhaps, knowing that Istar herself would be attending the ceremony, the stern sikaras had kept the girls away out of petty spite….

When the two women completed their spiral journey, they moved to a front row, from which they would be able to hear the ur-sikara speak. Before the service started, Istar leaned over and whispered to Kuari, “So you were raised as a sikara, but you became a soldan's wife?”

The other woman was not terribly interested in the ceremony. “I can't say which was the greater ordeal, or the most eye-opening experience.” She smiled. “I do know, however, that anyone who truly follows the path of goodness described in Urec's Log is at a distinct disadvantage among the priestesses.”

“How did you discover that?”

“Early in my training, I saw two of my friends, the most devout acolytes in our entire group, ignored in favor of far more ambitious young women. When I saw what was happening, it was like a bright lamp being lit in a dark room. That was the beginning of understanding for me.” Kuari raised her eyebrows. “Once I grasped the politics, I realized I could have made quite a career in the church for myself—if I played that game.”

“But you didn't.”

Kuari shrugged. “I found it tedious. After I finished my training, I was a good marriage prospect. My father was a wealthy merchant, and he arranged for me to marry a soldan.” She smiled. “But that hasn't been so glorious either.”

“Maybe you've found your true calling as emissary to the Olabar court,” Istar said. “You're certainly preferable to Ambassador Ualfor.”

Kuari made a moue of displeasure. “You place me on a high pedestal indeed!”

Istar wanted to laugh but stopped herself. Still, Kuari's words worried her. Just what were her daughters learning behind these impenetrable stone walls? Maybe it was a good thing that Adreala had not entered the church after all.

Walking with a slow, ponderous tread, Ur-Sikara Erima emerged from the gilded doors behind the altar. The woman from Lahjar appeared to have been carved from dark wood. She stood, haughty, imposing, shielded from all distractions, the center of the universe—and the attendants in the church treated her as such.

Erima carried a heavy, ornate amulet cast from gold. It had age-softened edges, details blurred from exposure to tremendous heat in the burning of the main church in Ishalem so many years before. The ur-sikara lifted the Amulet of Urec, kissed its back, and placed the sacred relic on the altar behind her.

When Erima finished a brief homily, she lifted a large tome and set it upon the podium from which she preached. Istar's attention centered on the book, knowing what it was. This was why she endured the demeaning behavior of the sikaras.

“We have received another message written by Sikara Fyiri aboard the Al-Orizin. Hear now what she tells us.” Erima opened the book, flipped past several of the torn pages, then read aloud, “As Urec watches over us, we have had continued smooth sailing. Each sunset, I lead the crew in prayers and I keep them on the proper path. We voyage for the glory of Ondun. We shall find the Key to Creation. I have faith in the crew. Pray with me.”

Fyiri's log entry described weather patterns and strange fish, even a glimpse of sea serpents far away, but the distant sikara's message was bland and said little. Although Istar hung on every word, she felt empty and disappointed when the ur-sikara finished reading. “She does not mention my son,” she muttered, “not once.”

Kuari touched her arm. “And that surprises you? It is very intentional. Fyiri would only mention Saan by name if she had worked some victory or found some complaint. Take heart that she has found no way to use him.”

Istar considered this. As the rest of the congregation began a shared prayer of benediction, she smiled as she mouthed the words, content with the subtle inference that Saan was all right.