Storms of Destiny Read Online Free PDF Page B

public disgrace, but they tended to quietly vanish overnight, without farewells. Thia supposed the High Ones did it that way so as not to dampen the spirits of those who remained by exposing them to the sight of the ones who had failed to please Boq’urak … but she found it unsettling all the same. And she had no desire to be sent home.
    The novice could barely remember her home; she had been given to Boq’urak on her sixth birthday, nearly thir-teen years ago. Her parents had wanted a son, and they’d been willing to give their daughter to the god in the hope Boq’urak would heed their prayers.
    Thia could no longer picture their faces or recall her family name, but she still occasionally heard their voices in dreams. “Stay here with this man for a little while, Thia, while we shop,” Mother had said, her head bent so she seemed to study her dusty peasant shoes.
    “No, Mama!” the child Thia had wailed. “I don’t want to stay here!”
    “It’s only for a while, child,” her mother had said, still not looking up.
    “We’ll be back for you, daughter,” her father had added.
    But they’d been lying, of course. Thia had known it instantly. Ever since she could remember, she’d been able to tell when anyone was lying. It was nothing she did consciously; she simply knew , the way she knew she had two hands and eyes so dark the pupil could scarcely be discerned from the surrounding iris. It had been a surprise to discover that most people could not immediately discern truth from falsehood.
    So Thia had known instantly that they were not coming back, not ever. She would never forget the way she’d felt as she stood on the temple steps, her hand clamped in the huge
    hand of the elderly High Priest, watching as they walked away, melting into the throng of petitioners and worshipers until they were lost to view.
    Sometimes, just before she fell asleep, Thia wondered whether Boq’urak had ever granted their wish for a boy. She was as devout as most novices, but she had never been able to force herself to pray for that.
    The candle flame wavered in the night breeze, and she adjusted the wind guard, then began putting her work away.
    The next New Moon would mark her tenth year in the scriptorium, and she knew the routine well.
    She picked up the tiny vials of cobalt blue, scarlet, and leaf-green ink and placed them on a tray. The big inkwell held the deep purple writing ink, a hue so dark that it would dry nearly black. Thia twisted the stopper into its mouth with a quick jerk of her slender wrist. Carrying the tray, she scurried over to the cabinet and inserted each vial into its proper slot.
    Now for her horn-pens and brushes … her steps came faster as she cleaned and stowed her materials away. At last only the texts themselves and the tiny, precious vial of liquid gold remained. Thia scurried to put the gleaming vial in its correct place, then locked the small cabinet with the key she carried on her scarlet cord that girdled her gray, hooded robe. Her bare feet were soundless against the massive yellow sandstone blocks that formed the floor and walls of the scriptorium.
    As she examined the day’s work, automatically checking each page to make sure the inks were dry, and smoothing out any wrinkles, she forced herself to be careful. If she damaged a Sacred Text, that would be an even worse penance than being late for dinner.
    Thia had actually been in the scriptorium on the day that Ryleese had overturned her desk and spilled all her inks onto the text she’d been copying. It had been awful, hearing the other girl’s shrieks and wails for mercy as the scriptorians dragged her away. They said she’d been possessed by Outer Demons who had caused her clumsiness to punish her for sinning, and that under questioning she’d blasphemed.
    They said that Ryleese was fortunate that Boq’urak, in His mercy, had granted her the blessing of cleansing.
    All Thia knew for sure was that two days later Ryleese had been