do.”
Raïtasha nodded. “All right. This is what we do. I’ll bunk you with some other twigs yet to become leaves. You stay out of trouble. Any trouble and I’ll knock yer head off. I’m in charge of you. I’m Leafmaster. You stay clean. Don’t rile the clerics. Look up to the Green Man, and one day you might even take my post.”
“Yes, Raïtasha.”
“You don’t leave the Shrine except on my business, or in my classes. You don’t talk about the un-men. And don’t mention where you come from.”
“I understand.”
“Chances are you’ll never leave Emeralddis again. You get used to that idea. It’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”
“Yes.”
“All right. Follow me.”
Raïtasha led Nuïy into the jumble of buildings and sheds that comprised the sector of the Shrine opposite his house. Nuïy saw many youths dressed in robes dyed various shades of green. Everybody wore a beard and moustache. Some looked with curiosity at him, others ignored him. An older man with a yellow hat Nuïy suspected to be a cleric. Away towards the north sector of the Shrine he could see imposing buildings, the tops of trees, and of course the central tower with its tree crown, while outside Emeralddis he glimpsed the lamps of Blissis, and on distant hills those of Novais. But around him the lichen-splashed granite walls seemed washed in evening gloom. His spirits sank.
Raïtasha led him into a single storey building that looked like a handful of sheds knocked together. Inside, he was confronted with an ill-lit dormitory smelling of leaves and damp earth. Six beds stood against one wall while at the other lay pitchers, piles of rags, a few old tables and a copper bath.
Five pairs of eyes stared at him.
Raïtasha spoke gruffly. “Pay attention, twigs. This is Nuïy. He’s going to become a leaf initiate tomorrow, like you. Molest him and I’ll be breaking fingers with my bare hands. Keep quiet, now. Tomorrow be ready an hour after dawn.”
He departed. Nuïy was left looking at his fellow hopefuls.
Two lads approached him while the others stared in an unfriendly manner. The pair were mismatched, one of middle height with a rounded belly and hair cropped so short he was almost bald, the other of similar height but stick thin, with a white face and deep, lucid eyes.
The thin youth said, “I’m Drowaïtash, and this is Eletela. Have you just come to the Shrine?”
“Yes.”
Drowaïtash reached out and grasped Nuïy’s arm, but Nuïy pulled away as if he had been electrically shocked. “Do not touch me.”
“I was just—”
“You do not understand. I am not touched.” Nuïy spoke with the intensity of one possessed; he could not help it. But he knew the effect it had on people. “All of you, never touch me. It grates against me.”
Drowaïtash stepped back a pace, while the others stared.
Eletela shrugged. “If you want.” He pointed to the bed nearest the door. “That’s yours.”
The atmosphere relaxed slowly as the other three returned to their game of dice, while Drowaïtash sat on his bed, which lay adjacent to Nuïy’s, and looked at him. Eventually he said, “So, Nuïy, we’re all going to become leaves tomorrow. What do you think of that?”
“I’m glad. It’s something for which I’ve prepared since last summer. Tell me, is Raïtasha a good man or a bad man?”
Drowaïtash shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Nuïy gestured at the gaming trio. “Who are those three?”
“It doesn’t matter. Fall in with us, we’ll show you the ropes.”
Nuïy realised that he had been chosen by the pair to make up numbers. Doubtless there were two gangs here, now equal in strength, for only one other youth was taller and stronger than himself. But he resolved to take no part in any childish games of warfare. He was here for the Green Man, not for pranks.
He heard a clock chime the eighth hour. Soon he would sleep, for he wanted to be as alert as possible in the morning. He intended outshining all the
Raïtasha nodded. “All right. This is what we do. I’ll bunk you with some other twigs yet to become leaves. You stay out of trouble. Any trouble and I’ll knock yer head off. I’m in charge of you. I’m Leafmaster. You stay clean. Don’t rile the clerics. Look up to the Green Man, and one day you might even take my post.”
“Yes, Raïtasha.”
“You don’t leave the Shrine except on my business, or in my classes. You don’t talk about the un-men. And don’t mention where you come from.”
“I understand.”
“Chances are you’ll never leave Emeralddis again. You get used to that idea. It’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”
“Yes.”
“All right. Follow me.”
Raïtasha led Nuïy into the jumble of buildings and sheds that comprised the sector of the Shrine opposite his house. Nuïy saw many youths dressed in robes dyed various shades of green. Everybody wore a beard and moustache. Some looked with curiosity at him, others ignored him. An older man with a yellow hat Nuïy suspected to be a cleric. Away towards the north sector of the Shrine he could see imposing buildings, the tops of trees, and of course the central tower with its tree crown, while outside Emeralddis he glimpsed the lamps of Blissis, and on distant hills those of Novais. But around him the lichen-splashed granite walls seemed washed in evening gloom. His spirits sank.
Raïtasha led him into a single storey building that looked like a handful of sheds knocked together. Inside, he was confronted with an ill-lit dormitory smelling of leaves and damp earth. Six beds stood against one wall while at the other lay pitchers, piles of rags, a few old tables and a copper bath.
Five pairs of eyes stared at him.
Raïtasha spoke gruffly. “Pay attention, twigs. This is Nuïy. He’s going to become a leaf initiate tomorrow, like you. Molest him and I’ll be breaking fingers with my bare hands. Keep quiet, now. Tomorrow be ready an hour after dawn.”
He departed. Nuïy was left looking at his fellow hopefuls.
Two lads approached him while the others stared in an unfriendly manner. The pair were mismatched, one of middle height with a rounded belly and hair cropped so short he was almost bald, the other of similar height but stick thin, with a white face and deep, lucid eyes.
The thin youth said, “I’m Drowaïtash, and this is Eletela. Have you just come to the Shrine?”
“Yes.”
Drowaïtash reached out and grasped Nuïy’s arm, but Nuïy pulled away as if he had been electrically shocked. “Do not touch me.”
“I was just—”
“You do not understand. I am not touched.” Nuïy spoke with the intensity of one possessed; he could not help it. But he knew the effect it had on people. “All of you, never touch me. It grates against me.”
Drowaïtash stepped back a pace, while the others stared.
Eletela shrugged. “If you want.” He pointed to the bed nearest the door. “That’s yours.”
The atmosphere relaxed slowly as the other three returned to their game of dice, while Drowaïtash sat on his bed, which lay adjacent to Nuïy’s, and looked at him. Eventually he said, “So, Nuïy, we’re all going to become leaves tomorrow. What do you think of that?”
“I’m glad. It’s something for which I’ve prepared since last summer. Tell me, is Raïtasha a good man or a bad man?”
Drowaïtash shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Nuïy gestured at the gaming trio. “Who are those three?”
“It doesn’t matter. Fall in with us, we’ll show you the ropes.”
Nuïy realised that he had been chosen by the pair to make up numbers. Doubtless there were two gangs here, now equal in strength, for only one other youth was taller and stronger than himself. But he resolved to take no part in any childish games of warfare. He was here for the Green Man, not for pranks.
He heard a clock chime the eighth hour. Soon he would sleep, for he wanted to be as alert as possible in the morning. He intended outshining all the
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