Page 19 of Minor Works of Meda

Rovileis, if it were stripped of life, would be a city of beige and bone. Buildings of limestone, marble, and sun-bleached wood lined every street.

But the city was full of life, and with life came color. Dyed flags draped from awnings and washing lines fluttered like banners between windows high above the streets. The wooden carts were painted in mosaic patterns, big wooden wheels rattling down the stone-paved streets of the capital. Nearly every doorway bore a heavy coat of paint, some peeling in the sea air to reveal old colors beneath.

I hesitated at the edge of the dock. Sailors charged past me, coming down from the gangplank with heavy chests and bags and crates. Before me the city stretched so wide it seemed to comprise the whole isle. Above it all, on a hill overlooking the madness, the Cachian Temple gleamed in pillared white marble. There was the head of the Protectorate, the unifying force between the royal courts. Between me and my future lay only the broad maze of an unfamiliar city.

“First time?” asked a burly woman at the end of the dock. She sat on a crate, leaning back on her elbows. “Need a map? Tour? Bodyguard?” The words sounded long and rolling in her mouth; a different way of speaking than we had on Nis.

I shook my head and started towards the road right in front of me, which pointed straight in the direction of the Temple.

In the little towns of Nis-Illous, you couldn't get truly lost. Not so in Rovileis, I quickly learned. Streets twisted and split, following no logic I could discern. More than once I found myself facing a dead end, staring at a row of windows and a little garden where I had expected more road. Twice I was forced to take turns I didn’t want, because an inexplicable need to flee overcame me: a stranger watching me too closely, then a crowd of eerily silent boys who might only have been walking the same way or might have been trailing me.

I crossed a broad city square with a fountain in the center. Despite the noise made by the crowd there, I paused to marvel at the water bubbling from the curling stone leaf-work. It looked like magic, except I could tell it wasn’t—in fact, I’d felt only dull flickers of heat since entering the city. Turning, I saw a man on stilts juggling flaming torches. I covered my ears to dull the noise as I watched, baffled by the sight. It was a strange land I’d come to.

A man knocked into me from behind. I stumbled forward, bumping my head against the shoulder of the woman in front of me. She turned to give me a nasty look, and I decided it was time to move on. It was getting late in the day anyways. I gripped my bag tighter and lengthened my stride.

From the harbor I’d been sure it would only be a half hour’s walk to the Temple, but it took me the entirety of the afternoon. I was footsore and hungry when I at last arrived at the compound walls, built from long panels of wrought iron. The iron made my head feel itchy and unpleasant. How did the Cachian witches stand it? I could feel large amounts of heat on the other side from all the Order’s casters.

The Temple compound was big enough to house a village. Two massive ravens circled overhead, but my attention was focused in front of me, on the shut gate. Two guards stood in front of it wearing the white shroud of the Nameless over their faces, sheer enough that they could see out but I could see only smudges of features. The veils marked them in service of the holy mysteries. Both wore curving swords on their belts and buffed bronze armor that gleamed dark.

I took a deep breath, trying to commit the moment to memory.

“Hello,” I said to the one nearest me, stopping a respectful distance away. “I’m here to join the Order.”

She shifted. I had the strangest sense of being watched by somebody whose eyes I couldn’t see.

“Temple service begins at sunup.”

“I’m not here for service. I’m a witch. I came all the way from Nis-Illous.”

“That’s nice,” she said. “I can’t let you in.”

“But I had a recommendation. They’ll be expecting me.” I frowned.

“Temple service begins at sunup. The gates open then.”

My head was beginning to buzz unpleasantly. The iron felt terrible. The faceless guard was more frustrating than a tangle of knots. This was not how it was supposed to go. I jammed my fist against the side of my face and took a deep breath, focusing on the press of my knuckles instead of the ragged edges of my thoughts.

“But I’m not here for service. I was a student of the seer, Mistress Eudoria,” I said as calmly as I could manage. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Eudoria had taught me a few things, even though I’d only been an assistant.

“Good for you. Temple service—”

“Foreigners,” I heard the other guard mutter.

“But Eudoria—” I started.

“What is this?” A tall man paused on the far side of the gate, power like Eudoria’s coiling around him. “Are you from the seer?”

“Yes.”

“Let her in.” He was as fair skinned as anyone I’d ever seen, with a hooked nose and pale brown hair. It was impossible to guess his age. Maybe fifty. Maybe a hundred.

The guards opened the gate slowly and stood aside. I could still feel them watching me. I stalked through the opening and came face to face with the pale man, who crossed his arms and studied me. Around us were ornate buildings, stone carved in high relief. Small potted trees lined the narrow branching footpaths. They’d covered the pottery with woven, dyed rope; nothing like Nis-Illous where glazed clay reigned supreme.

I could tell there was more iron inside, not just the gate. I’d read in a book once that the Temple compound had whole buildings lined with iron. Safety from long-gone days, and a reminder that the Order were servants of the Protectorate, and not its leaders. This was a seat of politics even more than it was magic.

“We’ve been trying to contact her for days. What news?”

“Oh. She’s…” The words dried up on my tongue. “When the Ward… she was…”

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