sent all the young women, so that there would be a temple for the goddess to come back to. His sister had never wanted Attavaia to go to the sisters anyway.
“Over the walls, wherever you can. Attalissa will come back. You know that. When she's able, she'll come back. And she'll need her women then.”
“The longer we hold here, the more time you have to get her away,” Meeray said. “Don't waste it. Go on.” She dropped to her knees, took the girl's hands. “Remember us.”
Attalissa gravely kissed her forehead, looked around at the other women.
“I bless you,” she said. Her voice trembled, and she scrubbed the back of a hand across her eyes. “Oto…”
He had to grit his teeth as he picked up the stone bowl. It was surprisingly light, but dank, like handling a dead thing. The water within seemed to move with its own life, against the expected balance as he crooked it in his arm.
“Keep her safe,” Meeray said, and the other women spoke too, reaching hands to touch the girl as she followed him, clinging tightly to his free hand, down the steep steps beneath the altar.
Ten steps down, and then the heavy altar ground over them again, cutting off all sound from above and plunging them into a darkness so absolute it was impossible to tell if his eyes were open or shut. Even the Blackdog was blind. But there were no wrong turns to take; the only danger was slipping on the unevenly carved steps.
Where are we going, dog? I can't leave the lake.
You're going to have to. We'll hide…somewhere…till you're grown and can drive the wizard out.
What about the sisters?
They'll follow, if they can.
Don't lie to me, dog.
He smelt the water before his foot splashed into it.
“What do I do with the bowl? I don't want to take it with us.” Wherever they were going.
“Set it in the water,” she said faintly. “Let the lake run into it. What it holds won't be harmed, won't mix with the lake water. Just so it's in the lake, and he can't see it.”
“What is it?” He was reluctant to ask. She was no demon, to keep her heart hidden, but it felt like…something heavy, with potential, with force.
“Something old and best forgotten,” she said. “Something from the earliest days of the temple. But I still have to keep it safe. Put the bowl down, dog. In the water.”
Otokas did so. He was just as glad to let it go. The rough stone seemed to burn, now, even through his heavy sleeve, even through the bronze armour. And he didn't like to hear the child's voice sounding so…ancient. She could not carry the full burden of the goddess yet, and should not have to.
“Let me go ahead.”
Attalissa hung back obediently as he went forward. The steps ended, but stone underfoot continued to slope steeply away, until he was waist-deep and could stretch out to swim. It was true, he could swim easily in armour. The goddess's waters held him, carried him. He could not drown, no more than could a fish. His reaching hand touched the lowering roof and he ducked under, let touch and ancient memory guide him down into the narrow, water-filled tunnel, which twisted and dropped and twisted again, following a tangle of jagged fissures and eroded natural tunnels, widened and made passable, cut by one of the earliest Blackdogs. It was standing water, refreshed when the lake rose up with spring flooding or autumn rains; it was the water of the Lissavakail nonetheless, and washed through him like the fires of life, burning out weariness and fear. No need to breathe.
They came up, having passed under half the holy islet, in a natural crack so narrow his shoulders scraped the sides, though the walls rose twenty yards overhead, narrowing to no more than six or eight inches wide. Attalissa followed close on his heels as they climbed over broken stone, dead shells crunching under their feet. A star or two shone down through the heath and bramble tangle that overgrew the fissure. Ahead, the crack broadened out, and the lake was a pale
“Over the walls, wherever you can. Attalissa will come back. You know that. When she's able, she'll come back. And she'll need her women then.”
“The longer we hold here, the more time you have to get her away,” Meeray said. “Don't waste it. Go on.” She dropped to her knees, took the girl's hands. “Remember us.”
Attalissa gravely kissed her forehead, looked around at the other women.
“I bless you,” she said. Her voice trembled, and she scrubbed the back of a hand across her eyes. “Oto…”
He had to grit his teeth as he picked up the stone bowl. It was surprisingly light, but dank, like handling a dead thing. The water within seemed to move with its own life, against the expected balance as he crooked it in his arm.
“Keep her safe,” Meeray said, and the other women spoke too, reaching hands to touch the girl as she followed him, clinging tightly to his free hand, down the steep steps beneath the altar.
Ten steps down, and then the heavy altar ground over them again, cutting off all sound from above and plunging them into a darkness so absolute it was impossible to tell if his eyes were open or shut. Even the Blackdog was blind. But there were no wrong turns to take; the only danger was slipping on the unevenly carved steps.
Where are we going, dog? I can't leave the lake.
You're going to have to. We'll hide…somewhere…till you're grown and can drive the wizard out.
What about the sisters?
They'll follow, if they can.
Don't lie to me, dog.
He smelt the water before his foot splashed into it.
“What do I do with the bowl? I don't want to take it with us.” Wherever they were going.
“Set it in the water,” she said faintly. “Let the lake run into it. What it holds won't be harmed, won't mix with the lake water. Just so it's in the lake, and he can't see it.”
“What is it?” He was reluctant to ask. She was no demon, to keep her heart hidden, but it felt like…something heavy, with potential, with force.
“Something old and best forgotten,” she said. “Something from the earliest days of the temple. But I still have to keep it safe. Put the bowl down, dog. In the water.”
Otokas did so. He was just as glad to let it go. The rough stone seemed to burn, now, even through his heavy sleeve, even through the bronze armour. And he didn't like to hear the child's voice sounding so…ancient. She could not carry the full burden of the goddess yet, and should not have to.
“Let me go ahead.”
Attalissa hung back obediently as he went forward. The steps ended, but stone underfoot continued to slope steeply away, until he was waist-deep and could stretch out to swim. It was true, he could swim easily in armour. The goddess's waters held him, carried him. He could not drown, no more than could a fish. His reaching hand touched the lowering roof and he ducked under, let touch and ancient memory guide him down into the narrow, water-filled tunnel, which twisted and dropped and twisted again, following a tangle of jagged fissures and eroded natural tunnels, widened and made passable, cut by one of the earliest Blackdogs. It was standing water, refreshed when the lake rose up with spring flooding or autumn rains; it was the water of the Lissavakail nonetheless, and washed through him like the fires of life, burning out weariness and fear. No need to breathe.
They came up, having passed under half the holy islet, in a natural crack so narrow his shoulders scraped the sides, though the walls rose twenty yards overhead, narrowing to no more than six or eight inches wide. Attalissa followed close on his heels as they climbed over broken stone, dead shells crunching under their feet. A star or two shone down through the heath and bramble tangle that overgrew the fissure. Ahead, the crack broadened out, and the lake was a pale
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