Interlude: The Alley

I. South Bronx, New York: October 1993 AD

The alley was a dark and dirty place where stray cats prowled among rusty garbage cans and shadows slunk through filth and rubbish left there to rot by indifferent tenants. On warm summer evenings, a stale odor of things best forgotten pervaded the ominous silence, infesting obscure niches just below the surface of conscious thought until the cold winds of another bleak fall drove it out.

The street was a dead end. On three sides, brick walls towered over the narrow passage, smothering any hope of light from above and condemning the alley to perpetual shadow. At night, white and yellow bulbs cast their dim glow through grimy windows, creating ever-changing patterns of light and dark on the street and walls below. Only a muted hum penetrated the corridor from the city outside. To anyone stumbling into the close confines of this secluded world, it must have seemed a cheerless spot indeed.

But Jonathan wasn't interested in the dismal familiarity of his surroundings. Despite his fatigue, he crossed his thin arms in front of his chest and propped his narrow chin in one small hand. His brow creased in deep folds, the way he often saw his friend Mr. Denning stare at a table or chair before deciding where to move it. Not that Mr. Denning had much furniture in that damp, gloomy hole the landlord termed an apartment. Besides, Jonathan couldn't see what difference it made where a certain piece of furniture wound up. There had to be some baffling grown-up logic behind the man's constant urge to shift things around.

The thought faded, drawn into the cauldron of desultory images churning in Jonathan's mind. He often found it hard to concentrate, as if only scraps and impressions could breach the mantle of weariness enshrouding him. What drove him was the fierce desire that had seized his heart. It had never been this strong...luring him, drawing him, entangling him in the chaos of his own bewildering emotions. Should he dare to hope?

Jonathan didn't know why, but his longing focused on this single moment in time and space. He looked at his favorite toy, a tin woodsman he had put together from aluminum pots, metal tubes, and two crossed pieces of wood, with a funnel for a hat. At present, the puppet dangled from a nail next to Jonathan's wooden crate in a dim corner of the alley, but it seemed about to come alive as it peered back at him from the depths of its black button eyes.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes into slits, as if by concentrating hard enough he could penetrate the veil separating him from the invisible world around him. He couldn't say what was drawing him, but he knew he would recognize it when he saw it. He always did. Just before his mommy went away, she told him it was a gift, like the one his daddy had. Jonathan could sense things. Intuition, she had called it.

Jonathan's piercing gaze drilled into the tin woodsman. He had to know, he just had to! But the more he tried, the more his sight was clouded by an intangible, shimmering mist.

Suddenly he recoiled. Had the puppet turned its head? Were its fiery black eyes staring right at him, mesmerizing, compelling, challenging?

When will you take me down again, Jonathan?

His eyes opened wide at the eerie whisper echoing through the alley, but when his glance darted about in the hope of finding an escape, he no longer knew where he was. The luminous fog had engulfed him, and all he could see was the puppet.

Why won't you play with me? What are you afraid of?

Jonathan backed away. Could a puppet's gaze be so reproachful? He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to banish the puppet's clamoring thoughts from his mind.

I know you don't want to stay here. You want to go just as much as I do.

Jonathan shook his head. No, it wasn't time. Not yet. And he was sure a puppet couldn't raise its hand like that to point an accusing finger at him.

You're so cruel. Why won't you take me home? Don't you want to see your mommy again? The puppet tore at its strings and tried to get up. You can free us, Jonathan. Please. I'll show you the way.

Jonathan felt confused and frightened, but for some reason he also felt sorry for the tin woodsman. Or was his sorrow just a reflection of his own pining heart? The puppet did have a point. Jonathan's mommy had always told him to be honest, no matter how he felt.

The puppet's strings fell loose. All you have to do is follow the yellow brick road. There it is. Don't you see it? The puppet's eyes pleaded with him as it drifted closer. It pointed toward the shimmering path before them. Come on, let's go! I'll take you to the Emerald City. Or anywhere you want, as long as it's far, far away from this terrible place. Please come with me before it's too late!

The puppet stopped right in front of him, its eyes brimming. One of the tears spilled over. Jonathan watched it float downward, his lips parted in awe. The teardrop slowed as it fell, until it reached the space between their hearts, a tiny crystalline orb glistening in the clear light of this precious instant. There it lingered, as if frozen in time, while heaven held its breath.

What are you going to do, Jonathan?

The droplet splattered on Jonathan's bare foot.

His eyes snapped open. He shook his head to clear his mind, tossing his thick black hair. Something cold and wet dripped onto the back of his neck. His hand shot up and slapped it. When he examined his hand, he saw it was only water. He glanced up and an icy cold raindrop struck him in the face, making him blink. Another one hit his arm.

He gaped down at the tin woodsman, but all he saw was a lifeless puppet made of wood, metal, and string. A thick raindrop smacked into the pavement beside him, much like the one that had torn him from his daydream.

Jonathan sighed. His limbs seemed filled with lead and he felt miserable. He had been so close, he knew he had! Why couldn't he find out what was going on?

When he turned back to the puppet, he froze and his fingers tightened into fists. Was there a faint glimmer in the puppet's dark eyes?

Jonathan felt his skin crawling. He looked at his arm. Goose bumps.

2. Travista, Orisan Province, Chyoradan: Setanimata 1986 SV

For visitors descending from the heights of the Elitian Rise, the first view of Chyoradan's capital was a breathtaking experience. Set in the beautiful Orisan Valley, Travista, or "New Travis," was a jewel in a world already saturated with scenic splendor. The Orisan River flowed through the metropolis like a cerulean serpent, its lazy currents sparkling in the sun's rays while fluffy white clouds sailed across the azure sky of an unusually warm spring morning.

For Tamenisa, staying put on a sunny bench in the heart of the city was proving a difficult task. She struggled to concentrate on the immediate situation, but couldn't get her mind to focus. How could she have allowed anyone to trap her in this secluded alcove on such a wonderful day? It made her think of the countless tourists arriving at Lajuras Spaceport who were at liberty to enjoy the pleasant weather. But then again, she couldn't envy them or even sympathize with them, since they probably considered themselves fortunate to be here. Most people believed Chyoradan was preferable to the fear, grief, and misery prevalent on so many other worlds.

Tamenisa shuddered. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss. She hated knowing things weren't as they seemed.

She pushed the notion away and made another effort to listen, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the intimidating edifice rising up behind her. Every child in the Alliance recognized the Capitol Dome, which had been designed to dwarf the elegant structures in its proximity. The prominent assembly hall and administrative building of the Advisory Council was surrounded by vast grounds that now served as a refuge for Tamenisa and her two guests.

Even though the grounds were open to the public, Tamenisa was reasonably sure they wouldn't be disturbed. The gardens could swallow half the city's population without seeming crowded, so it would be quite a coincidence if someone stumbled upon them. Besides, the Council had convened earlier this morning and was now in session. She could only hope visitors would be engaged by the proceedings, despite the inviting weather.

Tamenisa would rather have enjoyed the beautiful surroundings with her friend, whom she hadn't seen in ages, but Melina had entreated her to hear Talas's appeal. Out of consideration for her friend, she tried again to concentrate on the man's palaver. But what held her attention was the insufferable humidity. It was stifling for this time of year.

As Talas expanded upon his oh-so-inspiring monologue, Tamenisa could hardly refrain from tugging at her collar. How humiliating! She had been trained for decades in the discipline of equanimity—and by the best in the field—but it was all she could do to keep from squirming on a park bench.

At times like this, she desperately missed Silana's gentle guidance. Despite any shortcomings she might have had, the former High Priestess, who had been Tamenisa's best friend and mentor, had been unrivaled when it came to the art of equanimity. Why had Tamenisa been so blind? Because of her selfish pursuit of accomplishments and recognition, she had learned much too late why Silana could always remain so calm.

At the memory of her friend, Tamenisa had to squelch another surge of anger toward the man in her presence. She cautiously relaxed her fingers and extinguished the embers she felt smoldering in her eyes. At least she could be near Silana's sister again, even if it was just for a short while. Melina was more proof of the fact that equanimity was not a matter of technique or training.

Tamenisa eyed the woman sitting beside her and pressed her lips together. How calm and composed her friend looked! No sign of the discomfort Tamenisa was feeling.

Contrary to Melina's dark green and burgundy gown, which was made of a light material ideally attuned to the weather, Tamenisa was wearing her robe of office. Granted, the sweeping, cream-colored summer dress of the Selanian Order was comfortable. But it was also high-necked to accommodate the two plain, button-like ornaments pinned to the left side of the robe's collar—one platinum, the other gold—designating her as the High Priestess. They should award a medal for enduring that collar! On the spot, she resolved to draft a bill to that effect as another bead of sweat trickled down her neck, forcing her to suppress a maddening urge to tear the accursed collar from her robe.

It didn't help that her friend had her hair pinned up in the style of the House of Tolares, which consisted of handsome loops braided from her thick, dark locks. This left Melina's neck free to revel in any cool breeze that deigned to favor them. As a distinguished representative of the Selanian Order, Tamenisa had to leave her long, dark hair unbound, so it reached to her hips. With the sun glaring down on them, she felt as if she had been locked in a sweatbox, simmering under the masses of her own thick mane. And it wasn't even setavelates! A'mada, why did the man have to prattle on so?

She took another deep breath, allowing the air to flow into her nose and expand her lungs, then escape in a gradual stream through an imperceptible gap between her lips. During the exercise, she kept her hands folded leisurely over her belly and assumed an erect yet relaxed posture. The drill gave her an air of intense focus, but was in fact a strategic deception. Whatever tiresome fool was wasting her time at the moment would invariably believe she was devoting her undivided attention to his affairs. In reality, she was only monitoring the steady rise and fall of her diaphragm. Not that she needed to. After so many years of endless instruction, breathing techniques had become second nature.

But it seemed Talas was at long last coming to an end. Since Melina was sitting between them, Tamenisa turned so she could get a better view as his concluding words washed over her. She had to admit, the man was well built, and he looked dashing in the light gray uniform that characterized him as an elite pilot of the military's primary strike force. Others considered him of moderate stature, although he was taller than the two women. He was clean shaven, a fashion that agreed with him.

But Tamenisa didn't judge people by their looks, and this man she knew only too well. She fixed him with a cold gaze. "So, what exactly do you expect of me, Tal?"

"All I ask for is an honest opinion."

Tamenisa pursed her lips. "Consider the responsibility you're loading on my shoulders with such a request."

Talas's jaw muscles tightened and he narrowed his eyes. "The responsibility is and remains ours."

"I can't believe you'd be so naive." She turned to Melina. "What's your view on the matter?"

Melina sighed. "It is very important to Tal."

"I'm well aware of Tal's inclination. Aren't you entitled to your own opinion?" She smothered an impulse to glare at Talas.

"Nisa, don't you think it would be worth the effort if it helped us to finally gain some peace of mind?"

"Us?"

The two women studied each other. Melina's eyes beseeched her.

"I can't understand how you can love him so," Tamenisa said, bending forward so only Melina could hear.

"He's my husband."

"That was your choice."

"Yes, and I don't regret it."

Talas's brow clouded over and his eyes darted from one woman to the other. "What's all this whispering?"

Tamenisa bristled at the dark look on his face, but she was just able to restrain her sharp response. Her jaw snapped shut, immobilizing her most lethal weapon: that ever-quick tongue of hers. She took a deep breath through her nose, holding the air in. Easy, Nisa, easy, she told herself. Slow down, girl. Te'linos, why did it have to be so hot?

She noticed Melina's anxious glance, but kept her eyes fixed on Talas. Even if it was only for her friend's sake, she would control herself.

"Nisa?" Melina's face was pale and her voice small and husky. She touched Tamenisa's arm and mouthed two words. "Ne votal; please don't."

Tamenisa looked her over. Yes, Melina knew her well enough to understand what she was capable of. Tamenisa released her breath in a drawn-out sigh. "Alright, you're both adults, and I have no right to patronize you. Besides, you're my friends, even if I don't agree with your plan."

Talas favored her with a bitter smile. "Is that what we are, Nisa? Your friends? I hadn't really noticed that in the past few years."

At the periphery of her vision, Tamenisa could see her friend's features wilt. Melina's shoulders sagged and she buried her head in her hand.

But Tamenisa no longer cared. The heat around her seemed to be feeding her rage, bringing her seething blood to a steady boil. The pounding in her ears surged to a deafening roar and her eyesight flared crimson. The sensation was exhilarating, liberating, drowning out the little voice in her head screaming for her to stop. She would have ignored it anyway.

Who did this guy think he was? She had been ordered here like some common laborer, submitted to his monotonous, mind-numbing oration, endured the agony of being broiled alive, and now he expected her to put up with his obnoxious sarcasm?

With a true killer instinct, Tamenisa reached out with her mind. It was the work of an instant to discover where her arrows would do the most harm. Her voice was soft, but the deliberate emphasis of her training ensured that every stinging word found its mark. "Oh, yes, Tal, by all means, make sure you know who your friends are. I suppose it's even more important than being one. Silana might still be with us if she had learned that valuable lesson sooner."

Talas gaped at her, his face ashen and his eyes wide. Tamenisa could hardly suppress a certain sense of gratification at the look on his face. It almost made her smile. But when she glanced at Melina, all spitefulness washed out of her. Her friend didn't say anything. She had her head down, her arms crossed, and one hand over her eyes. When Melina looked up, Tamenisa saw wet streaks glistening on her face, and her eyes looked so sad.

Tamenisa could feel the pressure in her veins drop abruptly. The blood drained from her face, the pounding in her ears diminished to an imperceptible throb, and she felt light-headed. A gentle breeze rippled her hair and cooled her feverish skin. She shuddered. Her voice was a mere breath. "Tev'anar! What have I done?"

NOTE: Read the rest of the interlude The Alley in The High Priestess, available in a bookstore near you.

Part 2: The High Priestess

1. The Lone Rider

Nova suppressed an amused smile. She leaned sideways, nudging Catyana with her shoulder. "There he is again. Do you see him?"

"Yes. I wonder what he's looking for. Oh, such a shame! That wagon's blocking my view."

"Don't worry. I doubt we've seen the last of him." Nova drew in a lungful of fresh air and looked into the deep blue, mid-afternoon sky of the second-to-last spring day of the year. It felt good to enjoy a few simple pleasures with her friend, even if just for a day. When they arrived in Tolares, she would have to resume her subtle dance with the advocates of power and intrigue. The thought dampened her mood, and she let her gaze wander past the column of vehicles trailing them. Despite the distance, she could see snow glistening on the peaks of the Tyenar Mountains.

For much of the way, dark conifer forests had beguiled them with the scent of fresh resin. But as they approached their destination, the countryside became less hilly. The forests retreated, and the valley opened up before them. Streams surged through lush meadows spotted with colorful flowers, the spring snowmelt from the Covasins splashing and foaming as it raced to meet its destiny. Just like me, Nova thought. The notion didn't help to raise her spirits.

Today was Velavides. There was less traffic and they had made good progress, as Catyana's father had predicted. The houses, cottages, and taverns lining the way were appearing ever more frequently, indicating they would reach Tolares within the hour. She wished her short sabbatical wouldn't end so soon.

Nova had to smile when an immense yawn erupted from Catyana. The young woman's hands shot up to cover her mouth and she looked at Nova with wide eyes. She flexed her arms and legs while attempting to return Nova's smile, but her glowing cheeks betrayed her. Nova couldn't resist. "Don't tell me you're tired."

"Terribly so! But I don't mean to complain. The Lady Utalya's carriages are exquisite, and even these back seats are unbelievably comfortable. I'm just not accustomed to sitting still for so many hours. And you know what little sleep I got last night."

"That was to be expected. It was your first night away from your family, knowing you wouldn't return home any time soon. You did well, Catyana." She squeezed her friend's hand.

Catyana smiled bashfully and turned her attention to the tailing cavalcade. She grabbed Nova's arm and leaned close to her ear. "Look! There he is again."

For the past half hour, they'd been observing a lone rider whose strange behavior had sparked their interest. Although it was a warm spring day, he had pulled the hood of his worn cloak down over his face and kept riding back and forth between the carriages and wagons on the road. He held his chyeves at a leisurely gait and was heading in their general direction, but he scrutinized each vehicle as he rode by. Now it seemed to be their turn, for he was gaining on them.

Nova could hardly contain her amusement. "Have you discovered his secret?"

"It's quite obvious."

"So you know who he is?"

"That's not difficult to guess."

"Good, then let's have some fun." They squeezed hands, and their mischievous grins foretold no good.

They were facing east, contrary to the direction they were traveling, and could easily monitor the rider's approach. He soon came abreast and turned his hood toward them, but immediately reined up. "Oh, you have golden hair!"

"And nolavelan mada to you, too, my friend," Nova replied cheerfully.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Nolavelan mada, my friends."

"Thank you for complimenting my friend's hair," Nova continued. "I'm sorry we can't return the praise, for all we see is your hood. You must be a very important official to be making this journey in such lowly attire."

Catyana coughed into her hand. Nova poked her in the ribs.

"I'm just a lonely traveler, nothing special."

Nova opened her eyes wide in mock surprise, but had to suppress an urge to snicker. "Oh, a Traveler!"

The hood almost slipped off the man's head. "No, no, you mistake my meaning."

"Oh? Then pray tell, what is your meaning?"

"That I'm not important enough for you to be taking my presence so seriously."

Nova gazed at him from what she hoped looked like large, innocent, solemn eyes. "Alright, I promise never to take you seriously."

"No, you don't under—"

Catyana burst out in unsuppressed laughter. Nova jabbed her, making her jump.

The man seemed to glare at them from under his hood. "Why are you mocking me?"

It took all of Nova's self-discipline not to laugh in his face. "Oh, come now, My Lord. How do you expect us not to make fun of you if you come to us dressed up in this fashion?"

The rider jerked upright in his saddle with his mouth agape. Then he reached up and threw back his hood. A handsome, clean-shaven young man with thick, black hair and dark eyes emerged. "How did you know?"

"Well..."

He nodded encouragement.

"If you wish to be taken for a poor, lonely voyager, you shouldn't be riding that particular chyeves. No underprivileged individual could afford a thoroughbred Tesalian mare. And it would help if your mare exhibited at least a bit of fatigue after such a long and strenuous journey. But if you really wish to pull off your masquerade, you shouldn't be traveling with an heirloom sword strapped to your side, nor your family ring on your finger."

He studied Nova, searching her face. "You're very perceptive. Are you priestesses?"

"Do we look like priestesses?"

"You're wearing the robes of the Order."

"Do you see any brooches pinned to our robes?"

"No, but that's inconsequential. The High Priestess would be traveling incognito."

"Oh, so that's who you're looking for."

The color rose to his face and he dropped his gaze. "Your carriage is the only one I've seen today carrying anyone from the Order."

"Then I suppose it's only fair to call your attention to the carriage directly ahead of us, which I believe is also carrying several young women in robes. Maybe you'll discover her there." She shot him an impish smile.

The young man pressed his lips together. "You're making fun of me."

"My Lord," Nova replied playfully, "if you insist on disregarding even the most elementary civilities, what would you have us do?"

His jaw dropped and he stared at Nova. Then he acknowledged her with a slight inclination of his head. "Indeed, I've neglected my duties most disgracefully, and I thank you for your edifying reprimand. My name is Chyardal of the House of Tolares, and I'm pleased to have made your acquaintance. Please excuse my discourteous behavior. I've kept mostly to myself of late, and I'm no longer accustomed to the formalities that should accompany polite mannerisms."

"Thank you, My Lord. Of course we quickly realized who you must be. Your father would never have stooped to such depths as to disguise himself on such an obscure errand. But it's kind of you to have introduced yourself formally."

The young man gaped at her. "You know my father?"

"I had the privilege of staying at His Excellency's residence, although it's been some years. My name is Novantina Satural, my friend here is Catyana Faeren, and we belong to the party of the Lady Utalya Revan."

"The Lady Utalya!"

"Yes. She's traveling in this carriage, although you couldn't have been aware of it because the top of the carriage is obstructing your view."

The young Lord studied Nova's face and nodded. "I remember now. You're the acolyte who was called Nova by her friends. I'm sorry. I should have recognized you earlier."

"Tezatal. I seem to pale beside my golden-haired friend here. Hardly anyone notices me anymore."

Catyana poked her in the ribs.

"Now you're teasing me again, but I gather I had it coming," the young Lord replied with a grin. "Would you do me the favor of calling me Chyardal? It would make me feel more comfortable."

"Gladly. And you may call me Nova."

"Thank you, Nova. Will you forgive my rude manners?"

"Yes, of course. Please forgive us for teasing you. Although I must admit, it was most diverting after this long journey."

"I would by no means wish to defer any pleasure of yours. Besides, it's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't try to curry favor after discovering who I am." He bowed his head in her direction and then turned to Catyana. "Your name is Catyana Faeren, if I heard correctly."

"Yes." Her answer was hardly audible. At first she returned his gaze, but the color rose to her cheeks and she looked down.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable by commenting on your hair. I know it's a poor excuse, but we don't often have the privilege of entertaining guests with your particular features, and your golden hair caught me off guard."

Catyana shot him a bittersweet smile. "I often get that reaction. It was especially unpleasant when I went into town in Nadil. Foreigners stared at me so. But your comment didn't make me feel uncomfortable. Please don't let it trouble you."

"You're both most gracious. It was a pleasure getting to know you, and I hope we'll be seeing more of each other. But if the Lady Utalya really is in this carriage, then you must excuse me, for I must attend to her immediately." He bowed and nudged his chyeves forward.

Catyana turned to her. "He's quite pleasant after he gets warmed up."

Nova stared into the distance, not really seeing. She realized an instant too late that an answer was required. "Oh, yes, of course, he is at that."

"You were amazing. I wish I could tease people the way you and your sister do. It was so amusing."

"I suppose so."

Catyana didn't reply. When Nova looked up, her friend was staring at her. Nova tried to shake the cobwebs out of her head. "I'm sorry, I was daydreaming. You were saying? Oh, yes, you wish you could tease people. Didn't you ever tease your siblings?" She bit her lip. She hadn't anticipated the effect seeing Chyardal again would have on her.

Catyana hesitated, peering at Nova from the side. "Of course we did. Mother always encouraged us to develop a sense of humor. She said if we couldn't learn to laugh at ourselves and one another, we would probably all go mad. But I was never able to apply it in such a spontaneous fashion. Nova, why are you—?"

Nova grabbed her arm. "Look!" She pointed at the buildings springing up on both sides. "We've reached the outskirts of the city. My, we have made good time. We covered the forty-seven leagues from Nadil to Tolares in less than eight hours. I remember when it took twice as long." Did her voice sound casual enough?

No, it didn't. Catyana shot her a sidelong glance. "I thought a coach could travel from Travis to Tolares in less than two days."

"Commercial coaches, yes. They have teams of six chyevi and change them every ten to fifteen leagues. They travel for sixteen hours a day and can cover 150 leagues in one day at this time of year."

Catyana sagged down in her seat as she looked around. "Is it true that Tolares has more than sixty thousand inhabitants?"

Nova nodded. "It's the largest city of the eastern provinces."

"I've never been to a place so huge. Actually, I've never been anywhere except Nadil, and that seemed large to me. This place makes me feel so...insignificant."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it soon enough. Although I don't know how often we'll be going into town. The assembly hall Lord Tolares built for the conference is near his private residence just south of town, so you won't have to exert yourself if you don't want to."

"I'd really like to get a look at the town, if it's alright with you. One of the reasons I joined the Order is so I could see things."

"I'd be happy to show you around. Oh, Catyana, it'll be so wonderful doing all these things with you." She squeezed her friend's hand.

Catyana linked arms with her and put her head on her shoulder. "I'm so glad we're together."

"Don't you miss your family?"

"Yes, dreadfully."

Nova put her arm around Catyana's shoulder. "It'll probably take a few weeks before you get used to the new situation."

"I know. But it was my decision, and even if it hurts, I don't believe I'll ever come to regret it. All I ask is to stay with you. You won't ever send me away, will you?"

Nova saw uncertainty in her eyes. "I'm not planning to let you get away from me. On the other hand, we never know what fate Anae has in store for us. I think it's dangerous if we set our hearts upon something too fixedly."

Catyana sat up and stared at her. "Whatever do you mean?"

Nova looked into her friend's eyes. "Simply that it would be arrogant to think we know what will happen tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Some people believe things will always happen the way they've planned them, but they're deceiving themselves."

Catyana's eyes were thoughtful. "You're right. That's why we're taught to say, 'Anae be willing.' But I don't know what I'd do if we were separated." She leaned against Nova and put her head on her shoulder.

Nova regretted having changed the subject on Catyana like that, but she didn't want to talk about her feelings for Chyardal right now. She needed to sort things out for herself first. There was still so much to do, so much to think about. What worried her most was the anxiety she sensed in Catyana, an anxiety that went deeper than mere disorientation. What was wrong and how could Nova help her?

Despite her disturbing thoughts, the buildings of the city caught her attention. She had seen them many times before but still found them fascinating. Although Tolares was quite large, it didn't seem crowded. As in Nadil, there was plenty of space between the shops and houses, and even more parks and fountains. The structures were exquisite and generously proportioned, for Tolares was quite prosperous. The paved road leading through the city was so broad four large wagons could pass abreast of one another with ease.

Nova blinked when Chyardal dropped back on his chyeves. His eyes wandered back and forth between the two women huddled together. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything." He said it politely enough, but his voice carried a hint of curiosity.

Nova smiled up at him. "It's quite alright. Catyana's just very tired. She's not accustomed to such long trips."

Catyana kept her head on Nova's shoulder, but awarded Chyardal a quick smile.

He lifted his chin in an understanding nod. "I'm sorry your journey's been so strenuous. But that will soon be remedied. Your party will be lodging at our residence, which is another reason I'm glad I stumbled upon you. You'll arrive there in half an hour. I assume you're aware of the other distinguished guests in this carriage?"

Nova decided she had teased the young Lord enough for one day. She swallowed the witty remark on her tongue but couldn't quite restrain an amused smile.

Chyardal returned her smile with a deliberate grin. "Alright, if that's how the matter stands. I'll ride on ahead and announce your arrival. Good-bye, my friends. I look forward to seeing you shortly."

Somewhere in her mind an alarm went off, and her tone became more formal. "Good-bye, Chyardal. It was a pleasure meeting you."

With a quick wave and a roguish grin, the young Lord nudged his chyeves and galloped away.

Why had he grinned like that? Had she been so transparent? Had a playful flicker in her eyes betrayed her? As she leaned toward Catyana, she resolved to be more careful. "Did you notice the gentleness with which he directed his mare?"

"Yes. It reminded me of what you told us the evening before last. Do you remember that terrible guard who was beating his poor chyeves?"

"How could I forget?"

"When we came upon him you said, 'If you want to know what a man is really like, observe the way he treats his wife or his animals.' I don't think I'll ever forget those words."

"The actual rule is, in fact, more general. As the Prophet says, 'Observe the malignant fool, for he cannot hide his malice. When he attends to those he believes are beneath him, he will not fail to reveal his true nature.' That should give you a good indication of anyone's character."

"Nova, why wouldn't you allow me to treat the poor beast? I felt so sorry for it."

"Yes, dearest, I know. But there are some things you need to understand. One is that we must never force our advice or talents upon others unless the situation absolutely requires it. There are enough people who feel an urge to impose their uninvited counsel upon others. Those guards knew who we were, and they knew we could treat the injury. If they had wanted our help, they would have asked. Do you understand?"

"I think so. It has to do with our freedom of choice, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Love means being able to let go and allowing others to make their own choices. It was our duty to ensure they stopped abusing the chyeves, because it was a sentient being and could feel pain. On the other hand, the chyeves was their property, and we couldn't impede upon their ownership."

"I understand."

"But there was another reason, one even more important to me than the chyeves's well-being, and that was your safety."

Catyana gaped at her. "My safety?"

Nova looked deeply into her eyes. She tried to make her words as gentle as possible. "There aren't many people who know about your abilities, dearest. And in these increasingly difficult times, I wouldn't want that information to fall into the wrong hands. Who knows what they might do to you, or your family."

Catyana shuddered. "I never thought of that."

"I'm glad you didn't. But you're with us now. Most people will think twice before attacking someone from the Order."

Nova's remark had clearly stunned Catyana, and she fell silent. Nova put her arm around her and pulled her close. She wanted to enjoy the view of the city and her friend's presence for a few more minutes. They wouldn't get that chance very often after they arrived at the residence.

She was soon lost in thought and hardly noticed when the carriage turned left into another broad street, or when they passed the southern outskirts of the city twenty minutes later.

© 2006 by Peter Krausche. All rights reserved.

Excerpted from The High Priestess by Peter Krausche. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author.