Page 20 of The Empty Throne

Like all temples, it had been built in themiddle of water, the foundation specially built to withstandcenturies of being submerged. More uniquely, though, this one wassituated in a natural pond, water lilies and lotus scattered acrossthe surface. During warmer parts of the year, frogs, turtles, andinsects would be all about. Only the koi were visible currently,swimming lazily around before going back down to where the warmestwaters were at the bottom of the pond.

Modern temples used bridges to get from landto temple, but this one of course had the traditional method:steppingstones. They were stupid and borderline cruel, since itmeant that only visitors capable of walking, and with balance andcoordination enough, could visit the temples. Otherwise, they hadto ring for a boat, which depending on the temple, could take mereminutes or hours, causing problems that didn't even need to exist.Hence, modern temples just went with the obvious solution of makinga damned bridge.

Bittersea moved deftly across the stones, hisboots made to grip sure on slick ice, and so did not struggle withmossy stones.

The boots rang hollowly as he hit the woodenlanding in front of the temple. Small bells, hanging on delicatechains from the doorframe of the entryway, rang softly overhead ashe stepped past them, the scent of incense and woodsmoke washingover him.

In the antechamber, he stripped down andpulled on the soft, loose pants that were all anyone was allowed towear into the temple, save for those with chests large enough toneed some manner of supportive binding to be comfortable. Sobekihad worn such bindings, until he'd finally had his breasts removed.Bittersea's mother had worn them as well.

The temple provided the garments for allcomers, but Bittersea always traveled with his own.

Most temples were decorated with brightshades of green, blue, yellow, orange, purple, or pink. Thistemple, though, all temples devoted to Takar and Tamar, was painteddark blue, with accents of black, dark red, and silvery-white. Inmore expensive areas, costlier black paint was used, with blue foraccents.

Dressed properly, a knife strapped to onethigh, hidden by the loose folds of the pants, he stepped into themain sanctuary. The floor was made of wood, smooth and worn, deepgold in cover, with dips and grooves that showed where people hadwalked over the centuries the temple had stood. Candles linedeither side of the stone walls, set in stone bowls atop woodentables as old as the floor, and beneath them were black and redrugs.

Another rug, red as fresh blood in fadingsunlight, ran up the center of the room right to the altar.

On the altar were two snakes, one carved fromblack stone, the other from gray stone that had been dyed deepestblue. The blue snake had a glittering ruby for an eye, the blacksnake a pearl. Takar, God of Death; and Tamar, God of Dreaming.Their lost eyes were the moons in the sky, and they were as dark asnight itself, silent and dangerous, never revealing their presenceuntil it was too late to save yourself.

At each end of the altar were a trio of tall,thick blue candles made of dyed beeswax, and fragrant incense thatsmelled of jasmine and medicinal herbs.

No priest had come out to greet him, but thatwas hardly surprising. Most of these temples didn't have a priestso much as a caretaker who came by every other day or so.

Approaching the altar, stepping carefullyover the cushions in front of it, he pressed his hands flat againsteach other, bowed his head, and recited the opening prayers. Whenhe'd finished, he picked up the knife set to the right of thesilver bowl placed in front of the entwined snakes. Pricking two ofhis fingertips, he let the blood drip into the bowl until thebottom was just barely covered.

To the left of the bowl was a silver pitcherand a small silver cup. Filling the cup with salted water from thepitcher, he dipped his wounded fingers in it to clean them, thenadded the water to the bowl.

Finished with that part, he knelt on therightmost cushion, pressed his hands together again, and resistedfurther prayers. Bittersea did not care much for most gods, but heidentified strongly with the Gods of Death and Dreaming, for Deathwas his way of life and sleep was not so far removed fromdeath.

The coming days would bring a great deal ofbloodshed, and he would much rather shed it with Takar and Tamar onhis side—as much as gods were ever on any human's side.

When he'd finished his prayers, Bittersearose, took a handful of white sand from the wooden bin beneath thealtar, and poured it in a trickling stream into the bowl, where itabsorbed the bloody water. Into that, he stuck a small candle, litfrom the larger candles framing each end of the table, beforefinally stepping back. Bowing low, he recited one last, briefprayer before turning to head back the way he'd come.

He drew up short at the figure standing inthe doorway, but relaxed slightly as he registered the blue,red-trimmed robes of a priest. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon." The priest stroked hisbeard as he stared intently at Bittersea's tattoos. "Beautifulwork. Must have been done by a master."

"Yes, I had that honor," Bittersea replied.The tattoos had been payment for getting rid of a few problemsaround the borough, mostly abusive parents, but also one man whodidn't like to be told no, and a woman who made her livingblackmailing people. It was the kind of work so pleasurable he wasalmost willing to do it for free. The tattoos were much better."You keep a beautiful temple, Priest, though it lacks a properbridge."

The man's mouth flattened. "I lack the funds,and the city will not grant them. More important things to pay forthan easier access to a temple of death."

"I see. May the tides shift in yourfavor."

"Thank you, and their Favor be upon you. Walkcarefully in Endless Night."

"And you, Priest."

Back in the antechamber, he dressed quicklyand headed out.

So early in the evening, there were plenty ofpeople still about, but no boats that would agree to take him toTilika, the fishing village that had always lived in the shadow ofthe House of Lindquist.

That meant he would have to find somewhere tosleep for the night, and sort out travel in the morning, when theboats had to go out anyway, and one wouldn't mind going all the wayto Tilika Island. Once, the Lindquist family had retained a ferrythat went regularly between islands, but that had faded alongsidethe family itself.

Faldisio was, thankfully, a large enough cityto find suitable accommodations, so Bittersea headed off into thedepths of the city, choosing a hot spring inn, paying extra for aroom all the way at the back where he'd be less bothered by otherguests and would more easily be able to tell if someone was payingan uninvited visit.

He'd only just set down his belongings whenhe felt a familiar, unwelcome chill across his neck, like someonehad stroked it with ice cold fingers.

In the very next breath, a soundless voicewhisperedBittersea.

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