“Well . . . good,” Rexei agreed, seizing on that. “Because my Goddess does not want to go to war. We’ll stand ready to defend against it, but . . . but we’ll only take on those who want to join us. None of this forcing ourselves on others. That’s nonsense and does nothing to ensure that our Patron will be a strong one, capable of standing strong in the face of anything. The False God certainly wasn’t strong. We’ll accept only those cities who want Her, because we won’t be like Him.”
That half smile came back, this time more amused than wry. Marta lounged back against the talker-box desk. “He wasn’t very strong, was He? What made you think up that antiwar policy?”
“Because . . . well, because He was all about war and conquest, yet we’d not managed to make our borders budge any bigger,” Rexei said. “We’re lucky the Arbrans and the Aurulans and the Sundarans haven’t been interested in claiming a single inch more for their own lands. And we’re lucky the northeastern barbarians haven’t enough organization, magic, or militia to do more than hold their borders.”
Marta winced. “Please, that’s not the diplomatic way to address them. They’re hardly barbarians. They’re just small, clan-organized, city-sized kingdoms, each with a God or Goddess no more powerful than Mekha was. Now, what do you think about setting up a new capital city? Should we do it in the same place as the old one?”
“Where the Patriarch lives?” Rexei asked, quirking her brows. “Are you crazy? We’ll have enough problems from Archbishop Elcarei. The old capital is full of the Patriarch’s lackeys and yes-men. Besides, they only have five or seven or something Guild Masters. Heiastowne has twelve. The capital of Guildara should be located wherever the guilds are strongest, wouldn’t you think?”
Both corners of Marta’s mouth curled up, and her blue-gray eyes gleamed with good humor. It transformed her face from pleasant and full of character to actually beautiful. Rexei hoped the woman had never smiled like that around members of the priesthood.
“Heiastowne has thirteen Guild Masters,” the older woman corrected her. Not much older, not by more than a decade at most, and probably only her late twenties, if Rexei was any judge. “At least, while you reside in the Precinct. Oh, the leftenant sent his congratulations on your triple elevation,” she added. “Master Actor, Master Gearman, and Guild Master. Quite an achievement in just one night. Everyone will be expecting great things from you as a consequence.”
Those words wilted her. Abandoning the door, Rexei pulled out the other chair at the talker-box table and slumped into it. “I don’t know if I can handle this . . . I mean, I believe I’ve picked the right sort of Patron Deity for us—I truly do, and it’s quite obvious, or it was last night, but . . .” She tried to gather her thoughts instead of letting them ramble. “Miss Grenspun . . .”
“Marta, please,” the other woman said.
“Marta . . . I have no idea what I’m doing, beyond blind faith. Master Tall set me the task of writing out ideas, but . . . I’m just one person,” she confessed. “I’ve had training as a Gearman and as a Sub-Consul, I’ve seen the workings of literally dozens of guilds, and . . . Well, you’re asking me things I don’t know if I should be discussing! Mekha’s priesthood stuck their greedy, gouging fingers into everything. I don’t want my Holy Guild to be anything like that. They were political. I think the priesthood should stay out of politics, save to try to bring opposing sides to some sort of understanding, in the hopes of them reconciling through . . . through logic and calmed emotions. By remembering our similarities. That’s hardly the formula for creating a kingdom, I should think.”
“It’s a far better start than some,” Marta countered. Reaching for a bound notepad, she pulled it over and flipped through several pages of neatly written notes to the beginning. “Now, after listening to Gabria talking last night—ranting and wibbling, rather—I got up early this morning and wrote down several ideas I had. I like the idea of a new kingdom based on the faith we all have in the Guild System. There are many laws we should retain, and we’ll have to take some time to sort through all of them to see which ones were imposed by the priesthood for their own benefit rather than the benefit of all. But since you have the clearest idea—obviously—of what Guildra stands for, I was hoping to run a few preliminary ideas past you.
“If we—you and I and anyone else so inclined—all agree on what the differences should be, then we can start implementing them right away. I figured, since I am so good at organizing and thinking of little details, I could come and help you figure out all of the things that will need to be settled soon,” she explained. “So. First thought: What sort of cultural gesture or ritual should we use to invoke the thought, presence, or spirit of Guildra?”
“I . . . don’t know.” Rexei hadn’t given that any thought. Glancing down at her hands, which were knotted together, she spotted her thumb. Frowning softly, she lifted it, fingers curled in and thumb poked out sideways. “We used this symbol as a way to imagine a day when we wouldn’t have Mekha around. The thumb that we pricked our blood to sign all those petition books. Maybe we’ll keep this one? I mean, it wouldn’t do to forget where we came from, because if we forget what we suffered, we might find ourselves straying into the wrong paths again.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Marta agreed, bending over her notes to mark an additional comment with a couple of underlines. “What about invoking the Goddess by name? Any specific ideas for prayers? Benedictions? Blessings?”
“‘In the guilds we trust,’ perhaps?” Rexei offered, shrugging. “And, uh . . . ‘May Guildra guide you in your tasks’ . . . ?”
“Good! Short, to the point, and easily memorized. Okay, what about the role of women in this new society? Are you going to go with an all-female priesthood?” Marta asked next, lifting one brow.
That was an easy one to answer. Rexei shook her head. “Definitely not. That’d lead to the temptation of treating men the way the old priesthood treated women. It should be a mix of both. Equals all the way.
“We may have a Goddess, but anyone can serve Her if they believe—actually, I should change my ruling that an apprentice in my guild has to first serve in three others,” she added, sitting forward as she warmed to the subject. “Rather, to advance to the rank of journeyman of the Holy Guild, he or she should agree to co-serve in at least three guilds. To be an apprentice, they just have to serve in at least two guilds.
“And to be journeyman rank, their service should preferably be from at least two different types of guilds. From among those that design and inspire, those that craft and fix, those that tend and provide, and those that advance the quality and ease of our lives—the brush, the hammer, the scythe, and the gear,” she said. “And then those of master rank should serve in at least five guilds, with one in each of the four categories, and be of at least journeyman rank or higher in two of them. . . and grandmasters should have so many years and so many guilds, with such-and-such rank . . . Sorry, I’m getting off subject, aren’t I?”