Chapter Text
"This isn't how I envisioned the Mother's Temple."
"No?" Saber was checking the samovar he had just carried into the room. Steam drifted past his face. "It probably looked better before Rigel kicked down the doors."
"I'm not sure about that," Jesse said from the floor, where he was slowly practicing card tricks. "I don't think this place was ever clean." He lifted one knee to inspect the rug underneath him. "These are old water stains. Old. I bet the roof leaks."
"Perhaps the Mother does not value good housekeeping in her priestesses," Saber said as he began to pour water into a teapot.
Jesse snorted. "Not just housekeeping. What kind of temple manages to fuck up a celebratory feast so badly that they give the runs to the guests of honor?"
"You're looking at it." Saber nodded toward the sickly green vines that were climbing down the interior of one wall. "Perhaps it was just as well that the temple snubbed us. That was a blessing in disguise."
"Well, this is a different tune. I remember another reaction from you when the word came down yesterday. Just the four pilgrims from Novis, and not their hardworking and reliable bodyguards, because only advanced initiates are allowed inside the inner sanctum, blah blah blah. Not you, Saber, you're not permitted. No, Saber, I don't know why you care about being separated from us." His voice was rising into a mocking, girlish lilt. "After all, this Temple just crumbled like a dry biscuit before enemy soldiers, so I don't understand why you are so concerned about safety. And it's not like one of us was just revealed to be the secret princess of the realm, and everyone openly swore fealty to her, so I don't know why you're worried about assassination attempts now of all times."
Rolling his eyes, Saber set the teapot on top of the samovar. "Yeah, yeah. I was overruled. And it didn't matter in the end. I can defend them from swords and arrows. Not the flux."
"True," Jesse said. "Never thought I'd be so glad I missed a party. Besides, the little hamlet down there does some passable grub. That pickled lettuce that Leon charmed out of them? That tasted very nice on a bit of mash. And the beer was good. And they were suitably grateful that we'd liberated them from the Rigelians, unlike some people I could mention. I'd say we came out ahead."
"I've certainly had worse meals in my life. Though when Kamui started to sing..."
"Ah, we won't be seeing that lot for a day or two." Jesse shuffled his cards again. "Or three. I imagine they're just as indisposed as our little priestlings today, if for different reasons. Probably still sleeping it off in that innkeeper's back room."
"It was surprisingly easy to drink Valbar under the table," Saber said. "Those sweet infants."
"Those adorable children," Jesse agreed. The cards rustled in his hands. "Are you sure you don't fancy a game?"
"Very sure. I've lost too much money to you already. Why don't you go up to the main temple and try one of the priestesses there?"
Jesse made a face. "No, thank you. They wouldn't condescend to touch the same cards as the likes of me."
"Then go down to the village. I think they have fewer scruples."
"And leave you up here all alone, surrounded by the scornful clergy? I'd never abandon you like that, Saber."
"I'm touched."
Jesse continued to flip the cards in his hand back and forth, and Saber continued to watch the samovar. After a few minutes, he picked up the teapot and began to pour dark tea into three porcelain cups. Each cup was delicate and expensive, and each was chipped in a different spot. He had fetched them, along with the samovar, from the main temple that morning. He had stood in a room full of temple crockery, and he had seen shelves of the same thing over and over: gilded plates and glass bowls and priceless ceramics, and each one was scratched or cracked or dirty. Row after row of beautiful objects in a state of careless ruin.
Just like everything else in the Earth Mother's temple.
A noise from the open doorway made them both look up, and Jesse grinned at the girl standing there. "Oh ho, the triumphant hero! The single soul who passed through the temple's banquet of horrors! How did you do it, Genny? What fatal thing did the others eat or drink that you skipped?"
"Nothing," Genny said. "I always eat everything I'm offered. The sisters at the priory said I had a very healthy appetite."
Jesse gave an admiring whistle. "Genny, you've got the constitution of a horse."
"Thank you," she said. "Should I take that tea to the others, Saber?"
"I'll do it," Saber said, picking up a once-priceless tray that was now hopelessly gouged and dinged. He placed the three steaming cups on it. "You've done enough nurse-maiding this morning. I'll take over."
"Good," Genny said. "It is boring with Mae and Boey, and Celica is so difficult."
Jesse was eagerly shuffling through his deck. "Genny, my bright and bonny girl, fancy a hand of cards?"
Saber, passing behind Genny, gave the other man a hard look over the girl's head.
The other man sighed. "We'll...just play for penny stakes, Genny."
"All right," Genny said as Saber left the room. "How do you play cards?"
Balancing the tray on one hand, Saber walked down the passageway as the voices of Genny and Jesse faded behind him. Dust was everywhere, along with the fluttering wisps of old cobwebs in every corner. There were one or two instances of vulgar Rigelian graffiti, but the soldiers had not been here long enough to scratch much on the walls. Saber suspected they had not really bunked down in this particular outbuilding, so far down the hill from the main temple. If they had slept here, the grunts would have certainly cleaned away all the filth that still clung to every corner and crevice.
The Mother's faithful sure don't go for sweeping, Saber thought. Of course, he knew little enough about the secret mysteries of the goddess of abundance and love. Perhaps her clergy had other duties that consumed all their time and prevented them from wielding a broom or a mop. Perhaps their contemplative adoration of Mila was constant.
How exactly the clergy of the Mother spent their time was the subject of suggestive leers and ribald jokes across Zofia. Just last night, down in the village, Leon had gotten the inn's whole taproom singing along to a popular ditty about a pilgrim who did not understand why he kept stumbling across priestesses on their backs and priests on their knees. They had all been on their fourth or fifth round by that time. Valbar had already been snoring under the table.
Now that Saber had actually met the temple priestesses, he was newly skeptical about the popular innuendo. They were all reserved and distant, and they appeared to live in a general ambience of mildew and rot, destruction and decay. It was not a particularly erotic environment. None of them had given any intimation that they longed to engage in acts of sacred-but-unspeakable lust with anyone in Celica's retinue.
Of course, maybe they save that energy for other priestesses, Saber thought as he paused before a door in the hall and knocked gently. Maybe they had a private orgy at the banquet last night.
There was silence from beyond the door and then, very softly, a voice said, "Go away. We're dying."
Though it would have been a pretty miserable orgy, Saber thought as he opened the door. Unless you're into projectile vomiting and weeping.
Inside, two bodies stretched out across the floor. The only light in the room came from a small window, which Saber was glad to see Genny had left propped open, since the place smelled like the sickroom it was. In one corner of the room sat a sad bucket.
"Time to stop dying," Saber said. "I brought you some tea. Sit up and drink it."
One of the bodies, facing the wall, stirred slightly but did not respond.
The other body, sprawled across the center of the room, said, "No, Saber, no. I'm never drinking anything ever again."
"Yeah?" Saber said, crouching down and carefully setting the tray on the floor beside him. "Quite a bold promise, Mae."
"It's just the simple truth," she said. "There's no point. Everything I swallow just comes up again."
"Not this tea," Saber said comfortably. "Made it special. Just like my granny used to. You'll like it. Here, sit up, girl."
Mae grudgingly pushed herself up.
"Small sips are best," Saber said, patting her on the shoulder. "Take your time. Drink it slowly. That'll help keep it down."
Glaring at him, Mae lifted the cup to her mouth.
"That's a good girl," Saber said.
Mae swallowed. "That's the worst-tasting thing I've ever had."
"Sure is," Saber said. "Just like my granny used to make."
"Death," Mae said, taking another sip, "would be preferable to this tea."
"That's still a possibility," Saber said, rising to his feet. "You can die of thirst, even if you don't feel thirsty. I've seen it. Watched many a soldier come down with cramps and then literally shit himself to death."
Mae wrinkled her nose as she took another sip. "Well, that does sound worse than this tea tastes. C'mon, Boey, it's your turn. I'm not going to be the only person drinking this garbage."
The other person in the room shivered. With great difficulty, he rolled onto his back. "I can't. I can't."
"Yes, you can," Saber said briskly. "Unless you want me to feed you with a spoon? That'll be quite a sight, I imagine."
Mae snickered into her cup.
It was that snicker more than anything else that made Boey slowly push himself into a trembling sitting position. He glanced venomously in Mae's direction, but she did not look back.
"Good," Saber said, crouching beside the boy and pushing the second cup from the tray into his hands. "My orders for you are the same. Small, slow sips. Just get it all down. I want the two of you to drink as much as you can today. There'll be more where this came from. So much more."
"Ugh," Boey said, sipping at the tea.
"This is not how I saw the triumphant end of our pilgrimage," Mae said. "Not with us puking our guts out in a little bucket."
"It could be worse," Saber said. "Like I said, when I've seen this thing in marching armies, it's been coming out of both ends."
"Ugh," Boey said again.
"What did you all eat, anyway?"
There was a moment of silence as Mae and Boey pondered this question.
"It could have been the jellied eels," Mae said.
"It could have been the shrimp salad," Boey said.
"Or," they both said in unison, "it could have been all the raw oysters."
"You sweet morons. Drink that tea. I'll be back with another round after I check on your compatriot." Saber picked up the tray and its remaining cup.
"You should tell her to come here," Mae said quietly. "You should tell her there's enough room here for all three of us."
Now it was Boey's turn to snicker. "You know she won't, Mae. She doesn't want us to see her like..." With his free hand, he gestured to himself. "Well, like this. Like us."
Mae frowned, but she did not look away from Saber. "You'll ask her, right? She shouldn't be alone. We should all be together. It would be better."
"I'll ask her," Saber said. "But I don't think she'll come."
Mae slumped forward, cradling the cup carefully in her hand. "Aye. I know what she's like."
Saber left the two of them miserably sipping tea together as he stepped back into the passage with his tray and his lone remaining cup of tea.
At the end of the hall, there was another closed door. Saber knocked and, when there was no response, he opened it.
The room smelled of sweat and vomit, like Mae and Boey's room but stronger. The bucket to the side of the room bore every evidence of having been used recently.
In the middle of the room, Celica lay curled up in a pathetic heap. Someone, probably Genny, had found her a blanket. Celica was burrowed so deeply inside it that only the top of her head was visible.
Saber set his tray on the floor. "Celica."
The blanket did not stir.
"Celica," he said again, "wake up. I brought you tea."
There was the faintest shiver of movement, and then a voice, low and cracked and despairing, issued from its depths. "Go away."
"Nope," he said. "Come on. Your tea is getting cold."
The blanket did not bother to respond.
"I'm not leaving until I've seen you drink something," Saber said, leaning forward and taking hold of the blanket. He peeled it back to Celica's shoulders, uncovering her head, and she blinked blearily up at him. Her hair was a bedraggled mess. Her skin was dead-white. Her eyes were unfocused.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
"Clearly," he said. "Can you sit up?"
"Of course," she hissed, and to demonstrate her ability, she ineffectually wiggled on the ground for a moment.
Saber regarded her patiently. "Your Highness, pray forgive the liberties I am about to take with your person."
She grimaced at Your Highness, and she grimaced again when Saber knelt beside her and slid an arm under her shoulders. She was wearing something thin and satin-y beneath the blanket, and thus Saber could easily feel the jutting edge of her shoulder blades pressed against his forearm as he raised her into a sitting position.
When Saber tried experimentally pulling his arm back, he felt her body tremble and threaten to fall. He did not pull his arm back. Instead, he sat back on his heels and gently adjusted her so that she was leaning against his chest, the top of her head pressed against his neck while he kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders.
With his free hand, he felt around blindly behind him until he found the tray and its cup, the latter of which he retrieved as carefully as he could. Its contents sloshed around his fingertips as he brought it forward.
"Here," he said to the girl cradled against his chest, the girl who was so light and insubstantial in his arms that Saber felt a sense of real alarm for the first time. "Here, drink this. It will make you feel better."
She clumsily reached up. Saber wrapped her cold fingers around the cup, and then he wrapped his own fingers around hers and guided the cup to her mouth. He could feel her slow heartbeat from where she was pressed against him. After a moment, he could also feel the faint motion of her swallowing a mouthful of tea.
He had a suspicion of what would follow a split second before it happened, which is why he plucked the cup from Celica right before she shuddered and turned helplessly against his chest and began to retch.
He neatly placed the cup on the floor beside them, and then he brought his hand back to hold Celica in a secure embrace as she threw up on him.
When she's feeling better, she's going to be so angry with me for being here for this, he thought.
After a while, he felt the spasming motion of her shoulders subside. She lifted her head, a motion that brushed her sweat-drenched hair against the skin of his neck.
"Saber," she said miserably. "Saber, I--"
"Don't worry about it," Saber said, looking down at himself. He could see the dark stain on his padded jacket, and he could feel the beginnings of a wet warmth on his skin under the thinner fabric of his collar, which was soaked through. "This old kit has already been stained with every fluid known to man. Any sensible mercenary wears a wardrobe of browns and blacks, you know. And frankly, it's a honor to be blessed with your royal juices, Your Highness."
Had Celica been at full fighting strength, this was the moment when she would have uttered an exasperated sigh and a sharp retort.
In her current state, she could only close her eyes and gasp, "Don't mock me."
"Never."
"It's disgusting." Celica's voice was faint and helpless. "I'm disgusting."
"Hardly," Saber said. "You should see the other two. They're in far worse shape than you."
This was a lie, but it was a lie that Saber felt good about telling, especially after Celica cracked open one eye to squint at him.
"Are they?"
"Like limp rags," Saber said confidently. "Can barely lift their heads. Covered in sick. In a minute, I'm going to send Jesse and Genny to sponge them off."
"Those poor souls," Celica murmured, and even in the hollow whisper of her voice, there was a note of satisfaction--not at the idea of Boey and Mae in distress, Saber knew, but at the idea that at least Celica was not the most abjectly miserable of them all. "How awful."
"They want you to join them in their room," Saber said. "They are worried about you."
"They are sweet. But no. No, I would not disturb them now. There is no need for us to...to be together."
Saber nodded sagely. "Can you drink some more tea now, Celica?"
She sighed. "Why? I'll just...it will be a mess again."
"We have to try," Saber said firmly. "Just a very small sip. And then you have to do your best to keep it down."
"All right," she said helplessly. "As you wish."
Once again, Saber brought forth the cup, and once again he helped guide it to Celica's mouth, and once again she swallowed piteously.
They waited for a heartbeat, and then a second.
"All right?" Saber said.
"Yes," Celica said with a strained voice. "I...I think that will stay down."
"Good," Saber said. "In a minute, you're going to have some more."
"As you say," Celica said miserably.
"What are you wearing?" Saber asked curiously. He still had one hand around Celica's shoulders, and he rubbed his thumb curiously against the fabric. "This is the nicest nightgown I've ever seen. Did the temple give this to you?"
Celica mumbled something in response, and Saber dipped his ear closer to her mouth and said, "What was that, now?"
"They're ceremonial robes. I wore them to the banquet. Last night."
"Oh," Saber said, and then as he looked down at her, he said "oh" again in a different intonation, because now he saw the things he had missed before: the stains, the smears, the crusty dried remnants of the terrible previous night. These robes of the Mother's faithful were clearly made of the richest and most expensive fabrics--and like everything else in the Mother's dilapidated temple, now they were sodden, fetid, and spoiled.
"You poor thing. Do you want me to find you some fresh clothes? Get you cleaned up?"
Celica inhaled, a soft sound of surprise.
"Not me," Saber said with a snort. "I'd do anything for you, my lady, but there are limits. I'd send Genny to tend you."
"No," Celica said slowly. "I don't need Genny to...to do that for me."
They both perfectly understood what Celica meant: I don't need Genny to ever come back, to see me so weak and filthy again. I don't need anyone to see that.
"All right," Saber said gently. "I'll see clothes and a bucket of clean water and a sponge delivered to you, and you can take care of it yourself."
"Thank you."
"This isn't quite what I imagined when I imagined the Mother's Temple," he said. "Somehow I imagined it would be...cleaner."
"It was just attacked," Celica said, and beneath his supporting hand, Saber could feel her shoulder blades tensing in indignation. "This is not its natural state."
"Are you sure about that? Because this place seems like an abandoned ruin. It seems like it has been like this for a while. I don't think the mildew is from the north."
Celica thrust out her lower lip pugnaciously. "Well, perhaps...perhaps the faithful have grown somewhat lax in recent years. But you should not mistake the outer seeming for the inner essence."
"Oh yeah? What does the inner sanctum of the main temple look like? Sparkling clean? Nothing out of place?"
Celica averted her eyes. "It's...it's a little messy. But I'm sure that's from the attack. They have not yet had the chance to repair everything."
"Sure," Saber said. "But I can't help thinking that if everyone knew what this place was really like, there'd be way fewer jokes about it. Or, at least, the jokes would be pretty damn different."
There was a long pause, and then Celica said, "What jokes?"
"You know. That the Mother's priestesses are easy. That they worship Mila from their backs. That they'll lay any scruffy pilgrim who manages to climb the steps to the temple. Meanwhile, those actual steps are crumbling so badly that I'm surprised none of us broke our necks on them yesterday." He paused, because Celica was looking up at him with an unfamiliar expression. "You know those jokes, right?"
"No," Celica said. "Perhaps people do not tell those jokes to the Mother's priestesses."
"Huh," Saber said musingly. "You priestesses must be missing out on a world of comedy, then. I've heard some surprisingly obscene knock-knock jokes about the Mother's clergy."
Celica's voice was flat and cold. "Those insinuations are false."
"Sure, clearly," Saber said. "That's what I've been saying. I don't think anybody would want to be too naked in a place like this. Seems like you'd pick up a weird skin rash."
Celia's shoulder blades were sharp against his arm. "Any tales about temple prostitutes are lies. Blasphemous lies."
"All right, all right," Saber said soothingly. "I didn't mean to upset you. They're just stupid jokes. Every profession gets them. The terrible puns I've heard about mercenary swords, I tell you. There's no point in being offended about what the smallfolk find funny. Here, take another sip of tea. I want you to finish this whole cup before I leave."
Celica drank again, her lips curled grimly over the edge of the cup.
"At least you made it to the end of your pilgrimage."
"It was a failure," Celica said. "We failed."
"What?"
"The Mother was taken. The Mother is gone."
"Well, sure," Saber said slowly. "But at least you finished the pilgrimage itself. Or did I misunderstand why they were throwing you four that horrible banquet last night?"
Celica said something too faintly for Saber to hear.
"What was that?" He glanced down at her. "Here, more tea. Drink up."
She sipped at the cup he held to her mouth, and then she said, more clearly this time, "We have not finished. We still have one more thing to do."
"Huh? Don't tell me that the Earth Mother has a second temple we have to visit."
"No," Celica said. "It's here. It's just...past the temple. On the hill. It's the place where the Mother dwelled when she was...in her other form. We must go there and pray."
"What? You have to go pray to a goddess who has been stolen away?"
"We cannot abandon the Mother even--"
"And this has to happen...when?"
The word today was clearly on Celica's lips, but she glanced up at Saber's frown and visibly revised her intended answer. "...Tomorrow? We cannot delay too long. The proper forms must be carried out before we leave to rescue the Mother." Her mouth firmed into a determined line. "Saber. The proper forms must be carried out."
"It'll be a miracle if the three of you can stand on your feet by tomorrow," Saber said. "Couldn't you just send Genny as your representative? She's hale and hearty. Couldn't she pray on everyone's behalf?"
"It has to be me," Celica said stubbornly. "I have made it so far. I will finish the last step."
Saber groaned. "Fine. But the rest of us will be coming too." He thought for a moment, then said, "Well, at least I will be coming. Don't know if Mae and Boey are going to be up for it tomorrow. And I think the rest of our party is probably sleeping off a hangover down in the village. Don't know if we'll be seeing them tomorrow. But I'm coming, dammit."
"You cannot come, it is a sacred mystery reserved only for..."
"Oh yeah? If we don't come with you, you're not going. I'm not sending you off in your condition with only Genny to protect you."
"It's not dangerous," Celica said sullenly. "It's part of the Mother's territory. She would not permit any threat..."
Saber looked up at the black splotches of mold against the ceiling. "Yeah? Pardon the sacrilege, but I have my reservations about the Mother's diligence in these matters. If you're going, I'm going too. End of discussion. Now drink some more tea. I need you to finish all of it."
Celica drank tea with a mutinous expression, but she managed to reach the bottom of the cup without catastrophe.
"That's a good lass."
Celica sighed. "Maybe death would be better than this."
"I'll choose to ignore that ingratitude." He looked down at her: her sweat-darkened hair, her hollow cheeks, her nearly translucent skin. "I need to check on Mae and Boey again. Will you be all right for a little while?"
"Yes," she whispered, and she made an ineffectual move against his supporting arm. "I'll be fine." Her voice was a papery whisper. "You don't need to worry about me."
"I never do," Saber lied.
To Saber's relief, both Mae and Boey were still upright when he returned to them, though Boey was slumped against the wall with a distinctly queasy look on his face.
"Is it true," Saber said as he bent to collect their drained cups, "that you sweet idiots still have one more step left in your pilgrimage?"
Mae and Boey looked at each other with undisguised horror.
"Oh no. Does Celica think we need to go up to the nest?" Mae ran a hand through her hair. "Why?"
"The nest?" Saber repeated. "Fuck me, there's something around here called the nest?"
"Of course she thinks we have to go there," Boey said. "You know Celica, Mae. She does nothing by halves. And technically, the Mother's nest is supposed to be the final place of worship for the pilgrimage."
"Nobody goes up to the nest," Mae muttered. "I heard Celica asking the head priestess here about it last night, and the head priestess laughed. She thought Celica was joking. So did I! It's enough to make it to the temple! Nobody goes up to the nest! I've never met a pilgrim who went there."
"What are the odds of talking Celica out of this plan?" Saber asking.
"Zero," Boey said immediately.
"Zero," Mae agreed. "If she wants to go up there, she's going."
"What's in the nest?"
Mae and Boey looked at each other for a moment.
"Well," Boey said carefully, "we know what's supposed to be up there. It's the sacred Mother's historical resting place during those times of old when she...she took her other form."
"Was this form big?" Saber asked. "Scaly? Had a lotta wings?"
"Something like that," Boey muttered, "but it is not fitting for the laity to know too much about the Mother's other form. That is a mystery reserved for--"
"I used to imagine a place with a lot of pillows," Mae said. "When I was a kid and the priestesses were explaining things to me, I just imagined the place where the Mother slept. It seemed like it would be very cozy."
"But," Boey said, "given the state of the rest of the temple grounds..."
"...it's unlikely to be very cozy," Mae agreed. "The priests here don't even go up there anymore. The head priestess hasn't visited it in ten years."
"Will it be dangerous?"
Boey shrugged helplessly.
Saber sighed. "Why am I even asking? Of course it will be dangerous."
When Saber returned to the main room, he found Genny and Jesse still playing cards. Genny was wearing one of Jesse's gloves.
Saber raised an eyebrow, and Jesse gave him a sour look in response.
"You're back," Genny said. "Jesse has been showing me how to play this game. It seems very easy."
"Genny here had a real run of beginner's luck," Jesse said. "She hasn't lost a hand yet."
"Jesse ran out of pennies, so now he's betting with his personal possessions." Genny looked down at her gloved hand with satisfaction.
"I'm sure my luck will turn any minute," Jesse said. "How are our invalids doing?"
"They'll live," Saber said as he lifted the tea pot off the top of the samovar. "But I want them to keep drinking. They've lost a lot of water."
Genny glanced up at him. "You smell like them now."
"I got splashed a little, yes, but it was past time to give these duds a wash. Say, Genny, what would you say if I told you that Celica was insisting that we go to something called 'the nest' tomorrow?"
"That is the place where the Mother slept when she was too big to enter the main temple." Genny wrinkled her nose. "But since she is not here anymore, it's nothing at all."
"Are you telling me that this pilgrimage isn't over yet?" Jesse drew a card. "There's something else?"
"Yes," Saber said as he filled the cups. "For me and Celica, at least, though maybe we'll spare the rest of you this pointless fucking errand."
Genny leaned forward to inspect the cards that Jesse had just placed between them. "I win. Again."
"Genny," Jesse said, slapping one hand against his thigh, "maybe you want to help old Saber out? Bring that tea back to the sickly ones?"
"All right," Genny said, immediately rising.
Saber glanced at Jesse, but all he said was, "I'll let you take these cups to Mae and Boey. I'll take care of Celica."
"Oh, good," Genny said. "She doesn't want me to see her right now."
"Yeah, well, she doesn't want me to see her either, but we can't always get what we want. Here, make sure those two both drink everything. Thank you, Genny."
Jesse, mournfully shuffling cards from his seat on the floor, looked up as she left the room. "I've never seen anything like it, Saber. That girl is uncanny."
"Then stop playing against her."
"I can't. I've gotta win that glove back. I only have one pair!"
For the rest of the afternoon, Saber and Genny brought steaming cups of tea to the three sick pilgrims. Occasionally, they brought out the buckets from their rooms, which they dumped in the overgrown garden outside the building.
In between these visits, they played cards, and Saber was amused to find himself losing consistently to Genny.
"How are you doing that, Genny darling?" Jesse asked.
"I'm just playing according to the rules," Genny said, shrugging. "You told me what to do, and so I'm doing it."
"Yeah, Jesse," Saber said. "What could be simpler?"
"What indeed?" Jesse grumbled. "Genny, please, I absolutely cannot lose any more socks to you."
"If you want," Genny said. "But I don't think I'm going to lose."
"Maybe I could just play a round with Saber here," Jesse said pleadingly. "Give me a respite, Genny. Just a little break."
"All right," Genny said, wrapping her arms around her knees. "You two can play if you want."
"What will you bet me, Jesse? You've already lost almost everything of worth to Genny."
"Ugh," Jesse said. "How about if you lose, you have to give me your spare socks. And if I lose, I'll...I'll wash your clothes or something."
"Deal," Saber said immediately.
Five minutes later, Jesse was lying supine on the ground with his arm thrown dolefully across his face, and Saber was peeling off his stained jacket.
"Am I cursed? What kind of terrible luck am I having today?"
"Mind you treat it all gently," Saber said as he threw the jacket beside Jesse. "And you might consider throwing some crushed rose petals or lavender in the wash water. I do like to smell sweet."
"Mother, why have you forsaken me?"
Saber pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it atop the jacket. "I think I saw some soap up at the main temple. I'm sure they'd give you a little, if you explain why you need it."
Bare-chested, Saber reached for his belt--and paused as he looked down at Genny. "Begging your pardon. I'll finish...with the rest elsewhere."
"If you want," Genny said comfortably. "It's fine if you're naked. I've seen naked men before."
All of sudden, Jesse was sitting up again. "What, Genny? You?"
"Of course," Genny said. "At the priory, we all bathed together. Everyone was naked together."
"Oh," Jesse said, slumping in disappointment. "You've seen priests naked. Not the same thing, Genny. Not the same thing at all. Tell me true, did any priest in a bath look like our Saber here? Look at that chest hair! Look at that scar! Those muscles! Look at that—"
"Enough," Saber said gruffly even as Genny was saying, with great thoughtfulness, "Well, no, none of them looked quite like him."
"Saber, if Mila's faithful bathe together, men and women, do you think--"
"No," Saber said. "Though you're welcome to trot up to the temple and try your luck. In the meantime, you can get started on my jacket and shirt. I'll bring you my pants later. After I take my own bath." He paused and added, with a significant look at Genny, "Alone."
Genny shrugged. "I had a bath before the banquet last night. I'm good for another week."
"What a relief," Saber said, picking up his pack from the corner of the room.
He walked out the archway and into the temple garden. They were close to the chilly border of Rigel, but inside the domains of the Mother, you would never know that. It was warm, unnaturally warm, hot enough to make the sweat collect at the nape of one's neck and under one's armpits and against one's groin. The wind carried the smell of unseen fruit fermenting where it had fallen. The rest of Zofia was hard and sterile and dying, but here, in the last redoubt of the Mother, everything was green, fecund, decaying.
The Mother's faithful had tried to get the princess and her fellow pilgrims to stay in the temple proper, but when it became clear that this invitation did not include Saber and the others, Celica had refused. The tumbled outbuilding where they were staying was a compromise. It was close enough to the Temple to signal the appropriate degree of honor and respect to Princess Anthiese, daughter of one of Mila's most cherished priestesses. And it was far enough away from the Temple that filthy outsiders would not pollute the Mother's inner sanctum with their sustained presence.
Saber snorted at the idea that anyone could do anything to further contaminate this place of absolute rot, mold, and broken crockery.
Down here, close to the base of the hill, the temple grounds were near-wild. In one corner, nearly obscured by overhanging fronds, sat a small pond. There were other ponds in the garden, of course, but they were all covered with a skin of algae--all except this one, which must have been fed by a fresh spring, and which was unusually clear and clean by the standards of the temple grounds.
Saber pulled off his boots and unbuckled his belt and shucked off his trousers, and then he waded into the pond's waters, which were cold and sharp against his skin.
He performed the traditional ablutions, and then he ducked his head under the cold water briefly. His washing done, he climbed the bank and reclined against the tall grass. He folded his hands under his head. The sky overhead was streaked pink and orange from the setting sun, and the ground beneath him was firm and dry. Blades of grass wavered against his bare shoulders and flanks. There was even the faintest hint of a fresh breeze across his naked stomach. The Mother's Temple was a disgusting place, repellent in nearly every one of its particulars--but it had its little pockets of peace, Saber had to admit.
When he grabbed his cock with one hand and began to pull on it, he did so with the absent-minded efficiency of a veteran campaigner. He was well-used to traveling in perpetual company and thus well-trained to seize any fleeting opportunity to crank one out. He had learned this skill as a young soldier. It had stood him in good stead during any number of late-night sentry assignments and lone reconnaissance missions. It had been a particularly precious skill during the last few weeks, when he had been traveling alongside four wide-eyed priestlings. None of them could be left alone for any length of time, lest they stumble into mischief. In such circumstances, Saber had called upon every ounce of his skill and ingenuity in order to find the rare moments in which the four pilgrims from Novis were otherwise occupied and he might amble past some trees and frantically jerk off into the bushes.
They never seemed to feel such urges or perform such calculations themselves, as far as Saber could tell. Yet again, a disappointing gulf yawned between the salacious and lewd reputation of Mila's acolytes and the prim reality.
Saber's cock hardened, and his grip tightened as it rose. He was not thinking about anything in particular as he worked, which was, in his opinion, one of the necessities of being a quick-wank artist. Only fools wasted time with imagining past lovers or inventing intricately obscene scenarios. Even so, as he leaned against the bank and watched the sky overhead and rubbed the bare sole of his right foot slowly against the grass, an image appeared unbidden in his mind: Celica, sprawled in her nest of blankets, her unwashed hair fanned out around her, as helpless as a snail pulled out of its shell.
He flinched back from the mental image. Suddenly his cock was limp in his hand; suddenly his naked skin was cold and clammy in the dusk air.
He did not like to think about the four pilgrims when he jerked himself off. It was professional courtesy if nothing else: they were his clients. They were also ducklings so recently hatched that bits of eggshell still clung to them. He did not want to think about any of them naked, and he especially did not like to think about Celica, for reasons that he had never chosen to examine too closely. Besides, it was probably treasonous to think about a future queen when you whacked off.
But it was more than that, of course. He did not want to think about Celica as she was now: distressed, vulnerable, sad. If one wanted to fantasize about Celica (not that he did, of course), one would imagine her striding forward on some path, tough and strong, her hair flying like a banner behind her, her eyes flashing (not that he would fantasize about her, of course).
Within the loose clasp of his fingers, his cock began to rise again.
If one wanted to imagine Celica naked (never, he would never), one would not imagine her curled in distress, the ridges of her spine visible along the curve of her hunched back, her slumped shoulders, the squashed bulge of her breasts. No. One would imagine her (and his cock pulsed against his hand) standing straight and tall, her legs long, her ass firm, her hands on her magnificent hips. Yet, at the same time, even as he tried not to think of it (any of it, he should not be thinking of any of it, though the effort not to think of Celica kept reminding him of Celica) overlaying that image was the simultaneous memory of Celica in his arms, weak as a kitten, shrunken and sallow, grudgingly dependent on his strength and his care and his protection and his tender attentions--
His cock throbbed hot and red as he yanked on it.
He kept thinking about Celica, and each thought was a contradiction of the last. It was like one of those toys for children: a paper disc on a string, spinning around to reveal both sides at once, the bird and the cage, the vase and the flower, Celica rampant and Celica defeated. There was Celica, bright and confident and determined. And there was Celica, whimpering and wrung-out. There was Celica, issuing commands and making decisions and bargaining hard. And there was Celica, needing everything and complaining about everything and relying on him for everything. There was Celica, the long-lost princess. There was Celica, the worst patient in the world. There was Celica, looking down at him in the dim light of that portside tavern. And there was Celica, looking up at him as he held a teacup to her unresisting lips.
He could hear the wet slap of his hand on his cock. He could feel his balls tightening.
There was Celica.
Semen spurted between his fingers and landed on the green blades of grass around him. He sighed, feeling the usual waves of satisfaction and regret, and rubbed his hand dry on the ground. He said aloud to no one, "Here you go, Mother, an offering at your holy altar."
If the ground said anything back, he did not hear it.
When it began to get dark, he sat up and rooted through his pack until he found a second pair of trousers, which he pulled on, followed by his boots. He threw his filthy clothes over one bare shoulder, and he hoisted the pack over the other shoulder, and then he started climbing back to the outbuilding.
Ahead, some distance away, the Mother's Temple was lit by the last light of the setting sun, all orange and amber--and above its stately domes, the dark green top of the hill behind it was unremarkable in contrast.
"The nest," Saber said, looking up. "Fuck me. The nest."
When he got back to the main room, he found Jesse sitting with his head in his hands and Genny solemnly pulling on Jesse's boots.
"Oh, good," Saber said. "Done playing? Here's my pants, Jesse. Don't worry about pressing them after. I suspect I'll have an early start tomorrow."
The next morning, as Saber had predicted, Boey and Mae were in no shape to stand upright for any length of time--and Celica was dressed and ready to go as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon.
Pulling on his jacket in the main room, Saber gave her a critical once-over. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes," Celica said.
She was clean. She had even washed her hair, somehow. She was still pale, and a close observer might have noticed that she was a little unsteady on her feet and that her eyes held a peculiarly glassy look--but Saber noted the set of her jaw and forebore to mention these things.
"Fine," he said. "Let's go, then. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish. However, we will take frequent rests. I've got a canteen of tea in my pack."
A look of disgust crossed Celica's face. "Oh...that won't be necessary, Saber. Please. No...no more of the tea, please."
"It's not up for negotiation," Saber said. He nodded to Genny, who was yawning over the samovar. "Is Jesse up yet?"
"I don't know," Genny said. "I haven't seen him. He was up late washing your clothes."
Saber ostentatiously sniffed his own shoulder. "He did an amazing job. Be sure you tell him that."
"All right."
"I'm leaving you in charge, Genny. Make sure that Mae and Boey don't die on your watch."
"All right."
"Why are you wearing that coat, Genny?" Celica asked curiously. "Aren't you hot?"
With her right hand, Genny gave a satisfied stroke down the left sleeve of the coat she was wearing. It was enormous on her slight frame, dark and hulking, and its hem dragged on the ground behind her. "It's mine now. I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible."
"Maybe no more card games with Jesse today," Saber said.
Genny looked up at him with wide eyes. "No? But he said he would teach me how to throw dice today."
"Oh, in that case, never mind. Far be it from me to stand between a fool and his unerring sense of self-destruction. Enjoy the dice, Genny."
"Thank you," Genny said. "I think I will."