Geim swirled the wine in his goblet. "I have never determined just how Struth knows which petitioners have useful information, and which do not. There is a great deal about her I don't know. She is subtle. Most people in this city have no idea how she selects her guests. They offer her money, and think it is her whim when she ignores them. A few who know the way of it have enjoyed these rooms more than once for the offering of a single copper erron."
"And you?"
"Struth saw that I was a resourceful person, and enlisted me. I have served her in various capacities ever since. When the time came to fetch you, it was obvious that sending a Vanihr would be helpful. I was the logical candidate." He sipped deeply. "I have, in fact, visited some of these rooms in the past few years, but only because a particular priestess took a liking to me. Whenever I have useful information, I render it freely, in consideration of the food, the shelter, the purpose Struth has given me."
"And does that purpose fulfill you?" Toren asked. As he spoke it startled him to realize how much he needed the answer.
Geim scratched his head, drank the last of his wine, and refilled the goblet. "As I said on the mountain, it is better than wandering. Struth plays the game of life at a level most beings are unaware of. To be part of it is always… interesting."
"Do you trust her?"
He frowned. "She protects her own, and she keeps her word. I know she will give you back your totem, as promised."
"When?"
"Probably today. She will probably summon you as soon as Deena finishes her report, and I give mine. No doubt she will return it to you then."
Toren was on his third goblet when they heard a light, tentative knock on the door. Geim gave permission to enter. It was Deena.
She said something to him. He nodded. "My turn," he said to Toren, and left. Deena stayed.
Toren gestured at the cask, and lifted his goblet, but she declined the offer. She stared at the tiles.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"The high priestess can be… intimidating." She smoothed out the cuffs of her riding breeches. She refused to meet Toren's eyes. "She sees things whether you want them seen or not."
"You were talking about me?"
"Of course. That was the point. She wanted to know a few details of the journey… and she wanted to know what I thought about you."
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth. As I said, she has a way of dragging it out."
"Apparently so do the other priestesses." Toren realized she was embarrassed, so he offered the chance to divert the topic.
"Did Geim tell you about them?"
"Yes."
"High Priestess Janna's methods are not so visceral," she said.
Toren raised his brows. "I didn't mean to imply that they were."
"You didn't. I just wanted to be clear." She raised one delicate eyebrow. "Do you have whores in the Far South?" Disdain tinged her voice when she uttered the term.
"They're rare, but the occupation exists. Geim told me something of your practices as we rode through the mountains. Our customs are more strict, because of our totems."
"How so?"
Toren gladly accepted the opportunity to compare cultures. It reminded him of their evenings of talk on the way through the Wood. "A boy must always know who his father is, in order to know which totem to receive. Married couples do not stray. Those who are not married have more choice, but a woman is not permitted to have more than one partner per month, so that if she conceives, she will know the sire. A woman must be infertile to be a prostitute; if a fertile woman is caught selling her body, she is sterilized."
Deena's eyes widened. "How?"
"I'm told it's not pleasant. Sometimes it is fatal."
She shuddered, poured herself some wine after all, and gulped it.
"I'm sorry," Toren said.
"It's not your fault. I asked you to tell me." She coughed. "What happens to an orphan? Who will pass on the totem?"
"Preferably a grandparent, so that the totem would be almost the same. If I do not return before my son comes of age, that's what will happen. Or if my father is dead by then, one of my brothers will take my place."
"What about the boy's mother?"
"Mothers give totems to daughters, fathers to sons. If a boy has no living male relative, he goes outside the family for adoption. It is better to receive any totem than none. Likewise, it is a great tragedy if a man never passes his on. His life experiences are lost. A man who has only daughters will pay very dearly to adopt a son of a man who has many boys. Fortunate is the man with many sons; not only can he pass on his totem many times, but he can make great bargains. My own father was a lucky one. I am his fourth son. I might have easily been given the totem of my father's friend, for whom I am named, but that Toren finally had a son shortly before I came of age."
"I would have thought that you'd be named after one of your ancestors," Deena said.
"It would be confusing, with all those generations in one's head, some of them with the same names. It happens anyway. No need to worsen it."
Deena toyed pensively with the tip of one of the glass octopus's tentacles. "You think about your son a great deal, don't you?"
"How can I not? I am a Vanihr. My son is my immortality."
There was another knock. Geim stepped in, accompanied by a tall, buxom, high-cheeked priestess in a diaphanous gown. The cloth rustled as she walked, a faint, alluring whisper that drew attention to her supple outlines, and to the hint of nipples pressing against the gauze. Toren smelled magic accentuating her seductiveness, but declined to interfere with the spellweaving. She spoke to him in a mellifluous voice. He did not understand the words.
"This is Yari," Geim translated. "She will take you to the high priestess." When Toren did not respond immediately, Deena jabbed him in the ribs.
He jumped up and followed Yari out, only vaguely aware of Deena's jealous observation.
Yari led him through sumptuous rooms and across an exquisite patio to the rear of the temple complex, his eyes locked on the supple twisting of her waist. It was as if he were being pulled with a tether like a pack beast. It was now easy for him to understand the allure of the priestesses of Struth.
They came to a dome, a pale, marble hemisphere three times the height of a man at the apex, featureless and unadorned, save for a doorway. Yari indicated he should step inside.
The interior was a single chamber containing only two semicircular divans. The latter faced each other, about three paces apart, plush and soft, the off-white upholstery matching the hue of the polished marble floor. A woman sat in one.
It seemed as though he had been transported into the midst of an ocean. Outside, visible through transparent walls, swam a bewildering array of fish. Strands of kelp wafted in the current. Elsewhere a sea turtle peered in. Echoes of waves and high-pitched songs of sea creatures filtered through at an almost subliminal level. The perfection of the illusion was broken only by the rectangle of the entrance.
Yari stopped at the threshold. She smiled and withdrew, closing the door. Once shut, it showed no seams, as if none had ever existed.
Toren turned to the woman on the divan. She rose. The top of her head crested no higher than his upper chest; she must have weighed less than half of what he did. She wore her hair in a neat bun. She wore a jacket, close-fitting leggings, and sandals-a handsome outfit, but not in the least suggestive. Yet, as she reached out a hand to him, she struck him as far more seductive than Yari, though as far as he could tell, she dispensed no sorcery to enhance her charm. The brilliant blue of her jacket, her black hair, and her tan flesh presented a vivid spot of color against the austere background.
"Deena was right. You are handsome. Come. Let me look at you more closely." She used Mirienese, Deena's language.
He walked forward, still marvelling at the ocean outside. "Deena said that?"