AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It’ll be fun.”
Chapter Eight:
Pietro
Funwasn’t the word at the top of Pietro’s mind the following day as he waited for Cody at the temple. It was an unexpectedly gloomy afternoon, the sun taking cover behind a towering bank of clouds, so the white walls did not glitter with their usual blinding shine. Still, the tall, graceful building was soaked with such accumulated light that it seemed to gleam beneath the pewter skies.
Pietro had arrived an hour early because he could not stay away. Since he had arrived in the city, he had felt the pull of this building, this entire complex; it had exerted a pressure on his body so strong that any time he walked within a half-mile of its boundaries he could feel his bones bending in that direction. He had, until today, managed to fight that urgent longing. He had traveled miles out of his way to avoid any route that would take him past this spot; he had eschewed the Quatrefoil altogether, forfeiting any chance to frequent its shops and restaurants.
But now here he was, just outside those familiar walls, and the insistent drag of desire had almost lifted him off his feet to carry him inside without his physical volition.
To distract himself, he made a game of studying the dozens of people who came and went through the temple doors. Those two men looked to be lovers who might be reserving a date for their marriage. That solitary woman, stooped and shuffling, could be coming to pray for her husband’s recovery from illness. The couple with the three children were clearly tourists, taking in the grandest sight the city had to offer.
It was easy to spot the priests, garbed in their robes of ivory and tan, with quatrefoil patterns embroidered along their collars and sleeves. Their heads were bare, their faces serene. Pietro had stayed some distance from the entrance, deep in the shadow of a nearby building, so that no one entering or leaving the temple was likely to notice him. But this meant he was too far away to see faces clearly. From this distance, he thought there were one or two priests he could identify by their silhouettes, by the features he could almost make out.
Anyone he recognized would surely recognize him.
He had taken some pains to appear anonymous. He had donned the trousers and rough cotton shirt that a working man would wear, and he’d put on a soft cap to cover his hair and shadow his face. Still, anyone who took a close look at him—anyone whoknewhim—would not find this much of a disguise.
But no one would be expecting to see him today. In the temple. In the city. And wasn’t expectation half the requirement for recognition? One day in the islands, Pietro had come across a merchant he’d known well back when he lived in the city. They’d stared at each other a good three minutes before either of them could recall the other’s name.
And Pietro didn’t plan to stare at anyone for even half that long. If he could manage it, he wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone.
“Here you are,” said Cody, stepping up beside him. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”
“No,” Pietro said. “This is something I need to see.”
“Then let’s go in.”
They crossed the wide flat apron of stone that fanned out from the open doors, passed under the tall lintel, and stepped inside. It was like color suddenly developed a voice and burst into song inside Pietro’s head. Every surface of the interior was alive with vibrant hues—worked into stone mosaics, crafted from heavy fabrics, painted on walls and screens and furniture and doors. It should have seemed like a wild cacophony, but instead it felt like a joyous symphony, with many disparate parts melded into a glorious harmonic whole.
Pietro had always thought the colors were shoutingSee how amazing the world can be. He had felt an instant uplift every time he walked into this whirling, chaotic, gorgeous place.
Cody was looking around with a more critical eye. “I always think I’d get a headache if I was here too long,” he remarked.
“You don’t like all the color?”
“I do—but there’s a lot of it.”
“You get used to it.”
Pietro paused long enough to glance around, simply enjoying the pleasing proportions of this grand space. Topping that distant ceiling was a cupola constructed almost entirely of stained glass, which admitted enough jeweled sunlight to paint gaudy patterns on the tiled floor. The roof was supported by a ring of grooved columns that formed a huge circle in the center of the round temple; each column was so thick it would take two or three people to put their arms around it, and each one was adorned with streamers of gold or crimson. Most of the activity of the temple occurred within that ring of columns, directly under that flamboyant glass. In one quadrant were rows of heavy wooden pews facing a central dais; no officiant was leading a service right now, but plenty of visitors were sitting on the benches, or talking to priests, or visiting with each other, or merely looking around. In another quadrant was a small fountain enclosed by a circular bench. As usual, half a dozen people bent over the low lip of the basin, scooping up water to sip from their hands or splash on their faces.
The rest of the central space was mostly open, except for the occasional slim statue or ornate candelabra—and the constant parade of people crossing it to peer at treasures scattered throughout the temple. Many of those could be found in the shadowed perimeter of the building that lay between the curved outer walls and the inset circle of pillars. They included more fountains, paintings on easels, carved and gold-leafed wooden cabinets, statuary of all sizes and materials, chairs so elaborate that no one had the nerve to sit on them, and ten-foot-high ornamental shrubs planted in pots the size of wine barrels. A visitor could spend a whole day here and not have time to examine each item in detail.
“That’s always been my favorite thing in the temple,” Cody said.
He was pointing toward the far wall, marked as off-limits by a discreet rope fence and a stern temple guard. The entire surface, floor to ceiling, consisted of some reflective metal incised with a complex landscape of ocean, mountain, forest, and sunset. None of the city’s learned scientists had ever been able to identify the metal used for the base; none of the contemporary artists understood the method that had been used to transfer the materials to the substrate. The temple records showed that the artwork had been in place since the building had been constructed a thousand years ago.
“Yes, that’s an impressive piece,” Pietro said. “The story goes that it was created by Cordelan himself. He mined the ore and smelted it by hand and spread the molten material over the wall and traced the designs with his fingertips. No one has been able to replicate any part of the installation, from the metal to the dyes.”
Cody eyed the huge mural with more respect and a bit of speculation. “How can that be?”
Pietro smiled. “He’s a god. He can do whatever he likes.”
Cody resettled his weight and did a slow, casual pivot. “The door we want,” he said in an undervoice, “is over there. Behind the pillar that’s closest to the statue of the kneeling woman. I’d say we should stroll around the whole place, pausing to look at paintings and sculptures, then spend a little time looking at the kneeling woman. When it seems like no one is watching, we’ll just step behind the pillar and open the door.”
Pietro nodded as if his heart wasn’t beating too fast for him to take a breath. “Let’s do it,” he said.
