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“I’ve been for a walk, reflecting on the future of the palace, and the Creator’s work. What with Prelate Annalina’s ashes hardly cold yet, I didn’t suspect the backbiting was to begin so soon.”
Sister Dulcinia leaned even closer, her penetrating blue eyes taking on a dangerous gleam. “Don’t you dare get impudent with us, Sister Verna, or you will quickly find yourself a novice again. Now that you have returned to life at the palace, you had better begin bethinking its ways, and start showing your superiors the proper respect.”
Sister Dulcinia returned her back to straight, as if retracting claws, now that the threat had been delivered. She expected no argument. Sister Maren, a stocky woman with muscles like a woodsman, and a tongue to match, smiled with satisfaction. Tall, dark, Sister Philippa, her prominent cheekbones and narrow jaw giving her an exotic look, kept her dark eyes on Sister Verna, watching from behind an expressionless mask.
“Superiors?” Sister Verna said. “We are all equal in the Creator’s eyes.”
“Equal!” Sister Maren sniffed irritably. “An interesting concept. If we were to call an assembly of review to consider the matter of your contentious attitude, you would find out just how equal you are, and would likely find yourself once again doing chores with the rest of my novices, only this time you wouldn’t have Richard here to intercede and get you out of it!”
“Really, Sister Maren?” Sister Verna lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so.” Warren inched behind her, into her shadow. “I seem to recall, and correct me if I’m mistaken, that the last time I ‘got out of it,’ you said it was because you had prayed to the Creator and it had come to you that I would best serve Him if I were returned to Sister. Now you say it was Richard’s doing. Am I mistaken in my recollection?”
“You would question me?” Sister Maren pressed her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “I was punishing insolent novices two hundred years before you were born! How dare you—”
“You’ve now told two versions of the same event. Since both can’t be true, that means that one would have to be untrue. Yes? It would seem you have been caught in a lie, Sister Maren. I would think that you, of all people, would work to keep herself from falling into the habit of lying. The Sisters of the Light hold honesty in high regard, and abhor lying—even more than they abhor irreverence. And what penance has my superior, the headmistress of the novices, prescribed for herself to make amends for lying?”
“My, my,” Sister Dulcinia said with a smirk. “Such boldness. Were I you, Sister Verna, and thinking of placing myself in contention for prelate, as you seem to be doing, I would get that presumptuous notion right out of my head. When Sister Leoma was through with you, there wouldn’t be enough left for her to pick her teeth with.”
Sister Verna returned the smirk. “So, Sister Dulcinia, you intend to back Sister Leoma, yes? Or are you just trying to conjure a task to get her out of your way while you seek the post?”
Sister Philippa spoke up in a quiet, authoritative voice. “Enough. We have more important matters to attend. Let’s get this sham over with so we can get on with the selection process.”
Sister Verna planted her fists on her hips. “And just what sham would that be?”
Sister Philippa turned gracefully toward the palace, her simple but elegant yellow robe flowing behind. “Follow us, Sister Verna. You have delayed us long enough. You are the last, and then we can be on with our business. We will take up the matter of your insolence at a another time.”
The other two Sisters fell in beside her as she glided off over the bridge. Sister Verna and Warren exchanged a questioning look, and then started after them.
Warren slowed his pace, letting the three Sisters lengthen their lead to a dozen paces. With a frown, he leaned close so he could whisper without them hearing.
“Sister Verna, I sometimes think you could make a sunny day angry with you! It’s been so peaceful around here for the last twenty years that I had forgotten how much trouble that tongue of yours could cause. Why do you do this? Do you just enjoy making trouble to no good end?”
He rolled his eyes at her withering scowl and changed the subject. “What do you suppose those three are doing together? I thought they would be adversaries.”
Sister Verna glanced to the three Sisters, to make sure they couldn’t hear. “If you want to put a knife in the back of your opponent, so to speak, you must first get close enough.”
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In the heart of the palace, before the thick walnut doors to the great hall, the three sisters came to such an abrupt halt that Sister Verna and Warren almost ran up onto their heels. The three turned. Sister Philippa put the fingertips of one hand to Warren’s chest and forced him back a step.
She lifted one, long, graceful finger to his face, letting it hover an inch from his nose as she fixed him with a cold glare. “This is Sister business.” She glanced to his bare neck. “And after the new prelate, whomever she may be, is installed, you will have to have a Rada’Han put back around your neck if you wish to remain at the Palace of the Prophets. We will not abide boys who cannot be properly controlled.”
Sister Verna anchored an unseen hand on the small of Warren’s back to keep him from retreating. “I took his collar off under my authority as a Sister of the Light. The commitment has been made on behalf of the palace; it will not be reversed.”
Sister Philippa’s dark gaze slid to her. “We will discuss this matter later, at an appropriate time.”
“Let’s be finished with this,” Sister Dulcinia said, “we need to be on with more important business.”
Sister Philippa nodded. “Come with us, Sister Verna.”
Warren stood hunched, looking lost, as one of the Sisters used her Han to cast open the heavy doors, allowing the three to march through. Not wanting to look like a scolded puppy following them in, Sister Verna quickened her pace to walk beside them instead. Sister Dulcinia let out a noisy breath. Sister Maren invoked one of her famous looks, with which unfortunate novices were so familiar, but she didn’t voice a protest. Sister Philippa showed the slightest hint of a smile. Anyone watching might have thought that it had been at her direction that Sister Verna walked beside them.
At the inner edge of the low ceiling, between white columns with gold capitals carved to portray curled oak leaves, they came to a halt where Sister Leoma waited with her back to them. She was about Sister Verna’s size; her shock of straight white hair, tied loosely with a single golden ribbon, hung halfway down her back. She wore a modest brown dress that cleared the floor by a scant inch.
Beyond, the great hall opened into a vast chamber capped with a huge vaulted ceiling. Stained-glass windows behind the upper balcony cast colored light across the ribbed dome painted with the figures of Sisters, attired in the old style of robes, surrounding a glowing figure meant to represent the Creator. His arms outstretched, he looked to be extending his affection to the Sisters, all of whom, in turn, had their arms extended tenderly toward him.
At the ornate stone railings of the two-tiered balconies ringing the room, Sisters and novices stood silently gazing down. Around the polished, zigzag-patterned floor stood Sisters: those, Sister Verna noted, mostly older and of higher status. Sporadic coughs echoed around the huge room,
but no one spoke.
In the center of the room, beneath the figure representing the Creator, stood a single, waist-high, white, fluted column bathed in a faint glow of light. The light had no apparent source. The ring of Sisters stood well back from the column and its obscure shroud of illumination, giving it as much room as possible, as well they should, if the glow was what Sister Verna suspected. A small object, she couldn’t tell what, sat atop the flat-topped column.
Sister Leoma turned. “Ah. Glad to have you join us, Sister.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Sister Verna asked.
A slight smile crooked the creases lining Sister Leoma’s face. “If you are thinking it’s a light web, then it is. Not half of us, I would venture, have the talent, or power, to spin one. Quite remarkable, don’t you think?”
Sister Verna squinted, trying to tell what sat on the column. “I’ve never seen that pedestal before, not in here anyway. What is it? Where did it come from?”
Sister Philippa stared at the white pillar in the center of the room. Her arrogant demeanor had vanished. “When we came back from the funeral, it was here, waiting.”
Sister Verna glanced back to the pedestal. “What’s atop it?”
Sister Leoma clasped her hands. “It’s the Prelate’s ring—her ring of office.”
“The Prelate’s ring! What in Creation is it doing there?”
Sister Philippa lifted an eyebrow. “What indeed.”
Sister Verna could just detect a hint of disquiet in those dark eyes. “Well what is—”
“Just go and try to pick it up,” Sister Dulcinia said. “Not that you will succeed, of course,” she added under her breath.
“We don’t know what it’s doing here,” Sister Leoma said, her voice taking on a more familiar, Sister-to-Sister, intonation. “When we came back, it was here. We’ve tried to examine it, but we can’t get close. In view of the peculiar nature of the shield, we reasoned that before we proceed, it would be wise to see if there are any of us who could get near, and maybe discern the purpose. We’ve all tried to approach, but none can. You are the last to endeavor to reach it.”
