The Cydonian Pyramid Read Online Free PDF Page A

— and realized that the end of his life might be near as well.
    “I am sorry,” she said.
    “For what? For asking questions? Fah! You have nothing to be sorry for, Dear One. It is I who should beg your forgiveness, and I do so now.”
    “For what am I to forgive you?”
    Pike reached out a spotted, veiny hand and laid it upon her forearm.
    “Let us simply forgive each other, child, and ask not the reasons why.” He gave Lia’s arm a gentle squeeze. “The things I tell you may not be true. Remember always, the stories in
The Book of September
are simply the words of men.”
    The Lait Pike stood, his ancient knees cracking, and hobbled out of the room.
    The Pure Girls socialized little. They were encouraged to spend their hours in contemplation and learning, but the palace was finite, and they would see each other in passing or hear mention of one another from the Sisters, who were less discreet than they might have been.
    After the Lait Pike left her study, Lia ventured into the east garden, hoping to calm the storm of thoughts in her head. Pike had said the stories in the Book were “the words of men.” Was he suggesting that some of the stories in
The Book of September
were lies? If so, which ones? And if the Book was not true, then what about the other stories she had been told?
    A young red-haired woman was sitting beside the fountain in the shade of a lemon tree, watching ripples in the water. Lia stood watching her, puzzled. The girl looked too old to be a Pure Girl. Lia sat beside her on the fountain lip. Neither of them spoke at first. They watched the water and listened to the cooing of the pigeons atop the crenellations lining the garden wall. After what she considered a polite interval, Lia asked the girl her name.
    The girl turned her wide blue-green eyes on Lia. Such eyes were rare among the Lah Sept. She would have been made a Pure Girl for that reason alone.
    “I used to live here,” she said, half smiling.
    “You were a Pure Girl?”
    The girl nodded.
    “Where do you live now?”
    “I am a temple girl.” She looked away.
    “You live with the
priests
?” Lia tried but failed to keep the distaste out of her voice. She had heard whispers that occasionally a girl would be sent to the temple, never to return.
    “It is not so bad,” said the girl. “Brother Tamm treats me kindly.” She gazed at Lia appraisingly. “You are a bit on the thin side, else you might make a good temple girl yourself.”
    “I would refuse!” Lia said.
    “You would have no choice. In any case, your blood moon cannot be far off.”
    “It is not.”
    “I am sorry.” The girl pushed herself off the lip of the fountain. “I should not be here.” She walked out of the garden, leaving Lia alone with her fears.

L AH L IA CONSIDERED Y AR S ONG TO BE HER MOST difficult tutor, yet she always looked forward to their sessions.
    Yar Song had once had the dark hair and chocolate eyes common to the Lah Sept, but the years had turned her hair to gray, and her right eyelid was sewn shut. On the lid of that eye was tattooed a pale blue iris with a dark pinprick of a pupil, an eye that never opened yet never closed. Her mouth was flat, wide, and framed by deep creases. Her arms and back were crisscrossed with ropy scars. Although Song was no taller or heavier than Lia, her thin skin rippled with muscle and sinew. She wore a sleeveless black tunic, black cotton leggings, and nothing on her calloused feet.
    Despite her forbidding appearance, Yar Song remained, always, utterly composed and respectful to her students — or as respectful as it was possible to be while lifting them into the air and slamming them onto the hard woven straw mats of the dojo.
    Yar Song was Lah Lia’s self-defense tutor.
    On the morning after her encounter with the green caterpillar, Lia was summoned to Yar Song’s dojo for training. When she arrived, she found her tutor in the “warrior” pose: standing on her right leg, body parallel to the floor,