I heard a man humming to himself and followed the sound, moving slowly so I could take in the décor. The windows here were not colored, but a fascinating mobile hung in the north aisle, depicting the heavens with geometric renditions of Sun, moon, Earth, and stars. One wall boasted a remarkable old tapestry that spanned a good twenty feet, detailing some obscure battle I’d never heard of. I walked around the atrium, finding a man who had to be Father Meely sitting at a small desk in the apse, copying text from one book into another, his handwriting tight and neat, the side of his hand stained with black ink.
I did not want to startle him and have him miss a stroke, so I let my shoes fall a little heavier as I approached. He glanced up and saw me, then adjusted the crooked spectacles on his nose. “Is that you, Alna?”
“My name is Ceris Wenden.”
“Oh, I see.” He set down his pen and stood. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be unless something is right in front of . . . Did you say Ceris Wenden?”
I nodded, but not sure if he could see it, I added, “Yes.”
He froze. “Of Endwever?”
“I am the star mother the pilgrims spoke of.”
His lip quivered as he came around the desk, squinting at me. “My goodness, is it really you?” He bowed, winced, and straightened. He looked to be in his late sixties.
I grasped his shoulders to help him balance. “Please, there is no need to do so on my behalf. I’ve merely come for the night on my journey. I do not wish to be known. Marda asked me to see you.”
“Yes, yes! But you must stay so we might capture your likeness—”
“I must leave in the morning to go to Nediah.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned my destination, but the kind father bobbed his head in understanding, and I didn’t think it would be a problem. If he tried to capture me the way Father Aedan had, I was certain I could steal away again, especially with Ristriel’s help.
“But of course. If you would . . . If you would write of your journey, or bless the water, or leave a print of your hand . . . I would be ever grateful.”
I frowned. I didn’t think I could bless anything. “I would be happy to.”
This thrilled him, and he returned to his desk to sort through his limited supplies. I followed him, glimpsing the book he’d been working on, grateful my father had been literate and taught me to read. It took a few lines for me to understand what was written, and I ogled the page. “This is the gods’ language.”
“Oh yes, yes. Tarnos is entrusted with much of it.” Tarnos must be the name of the village—Ristriel hadn’t mentioned it. “It is an incomplete guide, of course, but it is our charge to remember what we can and pass it down. That is the third copy I’ve made, and I’m nearly finished.”
I marveled at it, tracing my hand along the edges. “May I?”
“Oh! Of course.” He turned the finished copy toward me and again adjusted his spectacles. “You might know a few words yourself.”
I didn’t, though I had occasionally heard the language spoken in Sun’s palace. The book was open to the Ts, and I carefully flipped back through the pages, watching the words fly by. Sarn. Pon. Niana. Li. Lamen. Garalus.
I paused, catching sight of El at the top of a page. It was a common sound in godly names. Beside it was written, Of the; one who is.
Curious, I flipped back to the Rs, scanning down the page. Sure enough, near the middle was the word Ristri. My breath stuck when I read its entry.
Chains, chained. To be bound.
I pulled my hand away from the book as though it had grown claws. Ristriel . . . one who is chained?
That was the meaning of his name?
I escaped.
What kind of place had Ristriel left, if he was named after his own captivity?
“My dear woman, what is wrong?”
Father Meely had tilted his face very close to mine so he could better see me. Rubbing a chill from my arms, I said, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long journey, and I find I am very tired. Might there be somewhere I can rest?”
“Of course!” He took me by the hand and led me toward the ambulatory. “I have a room here in this cathedral you may stay in. And do not fret over me; my son is in the village and will take me in for the night.”
I swallowed. “Will he wonder why you’re not here?”
“I’ll promise to tell him tomorrow.” He winked at me, and it wrinkled his face in such a way I laughed. “Make yourself at home. I’ll see something warm brought to you.”