The abbot reached for a bell-pull and rang. Brother Tashiin soon reappeared and escorted Arjan and Ryth down the tower stairs. Through the narrow, slotted windows the Prelate could see the rest of the monastery laid out below them, the walls dark shadows in the swirling snow.
"The male and female dormitories are kept separate," Brother Tashiin explained, "and each has its own guest rooms. We make exceptions for guests who are married couples or families, of course, but in this case I arranged for Priestess Ryth to be given rooms in the female dormitory. I trust this will not be inconvenient?"
Arjan shook his head.
"Not at all, and since we travel in different directions tomorrow, I suspect that it may even prove beneficial."
"Excellent. Your three escorts were given bedmats in your own suite, Your Grace. I suspect by now they're at dinner with the lay workers."
"Oh?" Ryth asked. "I'd thought that monasteries were self-sufficient."
Tashiin smiled thinly.
"It is common in smaller houses," he remarked, "but in one this size, it can be difficult. In addition, martial and spiritual training both take time and concentration, and cooking, scrubbing, and lighting fires, among other chores, take away from that. Hence, the lay servants. Azaana Monastery is as populous as a large waystation or small village."
"I see."
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tashiin summoned a nun to act as Ryth's escort. They went into a long east-west hall behind the tower and Ryth was led to the right while Arjan was taken left. They went through a short passage into a large block of rooms and corridors, then back up a flight of stairs to the upper level. The guest suite proved to be at the far northeast corner, the bedroom windows overlooking the monastery grounds rather than outside.
"I will send someone to guide you when it is time for dinner, Your Grace. It will not be for half an hour, though, should you need to refresh yourself from the journey." He once again bowed his head respectfully and made to leave. "If there is nothing else, Your Grace?"
"No, thank you," Arjan told him, and the monk withdrew, shutting the door behind him. Like everything else the Prelate had seen of the monastery's construction thus far, it was strong and solid, two inches thick and metal-banded. It was a reminder of the military side to monastic life; the white-robed orders were the heroes and champions of the Church and had been so since ancient times. They were the guardians who watched over the holiest treasures, including the Eclipse Torch itself, and there were numerous legends and stories of heroic quests undertaken by monks and nuns. Many of these tales had gone forgotten by the masses during the reign of the pai'tekkan's civil government, and at the recent conference the High Priestess had noted that it would be good to return some of these to the popular awareness. Arjan thought this smacked a bit of propaganda, but on the other hand it was not a bad idea to let the people know that the Church did have a long and positive history of standing for justice. Was it manipulative to spread the truth?
With a sigh he put these musings aside and inspected his surroundings; it seemed he could not rid himself of the habit of analyzing and second-guessing things over and over, even the most trivial minutiae. The guest suite was spartan, consisting only of a bedroom and antechamber. There was a bedstead, a table, two chairs, and a bowl and pitcher for washing. Three bedmats had been laid out in the antechamber, and the four men's baggage had been brought up. Colce had evidently taken the time to set out the Prelate's gear from that of the others before he and the hunters had gone to eat; the packs were laying on the bed. A padded basket containing a teapot sat on the table next to two stoneware cups; Arjan gratefully poured himself a cup of kej, the strong native infusion.
Warmed by the tea, he changed into the formal robe and kem'pallah he had worn during his stay at the conference. The Abbot was his equal in rank and it would be an insult, if a mild one, to attend him in travel-gear. When the monk arrived to guide him, he felt comfortable again, looking forward to a good talk with Abbot Kozil and ready to do justice to the food.
"I hope you will not think me presumptuous," the elderly monk said when Arjan arrived, "but judging that you would require fortification after your journey in this fierce weather, I have requested a meal that is somewhat less abstemious than our usual monastic fare."
Arjan smiled wryly at his host's dry wit and observed with relish the meal spread out before them, including a savory soup, crisp vegetables, and vonde-grain rolls stuffed with sliced meat and greens. Though he was not ordinarily a big eater, the Prelate accepted Kozil's invitation and wielded his suwiis enthusiastically.
"I must admit," the old man told him when they were drinking their after-dinner tea, "that your visit plays out to my advantage, Arjan."
"Oh?"
"Well, as the Abbot of a large monastery, I have to set a good example for my underlings. That means sticking to a monastic diet of nutritious but plain fare. With an eminent official of the hierarchy at my table, however, it would be rude of me to expect you to follow a regimen appropriate to vows you have not sworn, and if I ate my usual meal while you dined richly it could be taken as an insult, an attempt to emphasize that I held to monastic discipline while you did not."
"Then why tell me this now?" Arjan said, not without humor. "Wouldn't telling me that you're doing something to avoid insult be the same as offering the insult in the first place?"
"It would, but by now I've taken a bit of your measure and am fairly confident you would not have been insulted."
"True. We all have our roles to play as part of the Way of Heaven, as priest or monk, secluded contemplative or worldly administrator."
"Besides which, since I'm explaining the way in which your presence permits me to cleverly avoid that monastic regimen, it's hardly effective as a point of one-upmanship any more!" Kozil winked and took another drink of tea.
"But tell me," he went on, "what do you know of astrology, Arjan?"
Arjan cudgeled his brain, but could not come up with an adequate response.
"Very little, I'm afraid. I believe the Palmans have a system of twelve star-signs which are supposed to rule their fates, but my understanding is that it is only a popular superstition, not a religious creed. Since you used the -sej suffix, indicating that this was a sacred matter..."
"Not many people do know about it, and yet it is one of the guiding principles of this monastery. It is an obscure point which is tied to our system of holy magic, so perhaps it is not, in truth, entitled to be seen as sacred. This astrology does not concern itself with predicting people's futures or identifying lucky days. It is indeed perhaps more accurately described as a kind of astronomy, but one concerned with observing the mystic interactions between heavenly bodies rather than their physical properties."
"Ah, I think I begin to see what you mean."
"The positions of the heavenly bodies--most importantly, the three planets of the Algo Solar System--have a pronounced effect on the magical influences in our world. Most notably there are the thousand-year and hundred-year eclipse cycles which are so significant in our faith, but there are other factors. Part of this monastery's role is to chart and track these influences in advance, so that the Church can know the best time to perform a magical ritual--or to know when evil magic is favored so we can be prepared to counter it."
Arjan had once had to deal with the results of a disturbed soul dabbling in black magic; he certainly appreciated the point.
"It must be fascinating work. Has the destruction of Palma twenty-five years ago had any significant effect?"
Kozil nodded.
"Yes, and not for the better. The observations we've taken here have been carefully analyzed by our Church adepts in this field together with the assistance of the Palman Espers, and it has become clear that Palma's destruction has significantly unbalanced the nature of mystical forces throughout Algo, and not in a beneficial fashion. The powers of black magic and evil are on the ascendant; dark rituals are becoming easier and propitious days for their performance more common."
"It's fortunate, then, that strongholds of evil like Menobe and Nahar were utterly destroyed in the late thirteenth century."
"Yes, indeed. I myself was a colonel in the pai'tekkan's army when we attacked Nahar in 1296." He shook his head sadly. "It was a horrible time. Over half of us were killed in the counterstrike; the fiends overran the village of Renet, where we'd based our operations from, and we were forced to destroy it to keep an army of the living dead from our heels."
He shuddered convulsively, and there were deep shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Arjan was far more aware of the pressing cold and the shrill scream of the wind outside than he had been; the pleasant, relaxed atmosphere of a moment ago had all but vanished. The lurking presence of evil seemed to be everywhere.
Abbot Kozil seemed to realize what he had done, and he shook off the spell that seemed to have captured him.
"These things are in the past, though. The 'torture palaces,' the true sinkholes of evil, have been destroyed, and although the flux of mystic energies may favor darkness more often than light in these times, we need but be vigilant in our guard so that the minions of the Eternal Dark do not arise again."
Arjan drained a cup of kej and poured himself another, then graciously refilled his host's cup as well. The warming liquid seemed to dispel some of the chill that had fallen over his spirit.
"So, your observations are part of that vigilance. I suppose that the loss of Palman technology makes things more difficult?"
"Well, yes and no. I won't deny that their long-range sensor equipment and their computers would make precise measurements far easier, but even so, their systems were calibrated for astronomical observations. The interpretation of those observations would still require our traditional methods, unless we actually programmed the computers to make those calculations as well. That's not to say that technology hasn't benefitted us, though. The telescope I use on the observatory roof above us owes a good deal to Palmans. The lenses and reflectors used were created by their mechanized industry and are far superior in quality to what we could fashion today by hand."
"Above us?" Arjan asked. "I thought this was the highest level of the tower."
Kozil shook his head slowly.
"No, although the main stairs do stop at my landing. Since the observatory is, traditionally, the Abbot's duty, the staircase upwards is here in my chamber, behind that hanging." He gestured to a scroll bearing an elaborate painting of dancing flames in scarlet and gold. "The thick cloth helps to insulate against the cold that inevitably makes its way through the door. If the weather was not so severe I would show you the observatory and how the process works, but tonight we'd be able to see nothing but clouds."
"It's too bad; I'd have been interested, but the weather will be what it is."
"I, for one, am glad of it. Not that the Palmans' climate control technology was itself morally wrong, but I am frightened by the idea of human beings controlling such an enormous force. That sheer amount of power in human hands..."
Arjan, thinking of the asteroid ring that had once been Palma, could not disagree.
As if by mutual decision, the conversation turned to trivialities as the two men finished a last cup of tea. They bid each other good night, and Arjan returned to his suite. Colce was dicing at wolraa with the two hunters in the anteroom, all three in apparent high spirits, shouting lustily as they slapped down tiles and fell prey to the whims of good and bad fortune.
"Hey, boss!" Colce called as he entered. "For all these white-robes around, they keep a pretty decent kitchen here. The work may be hard, but at least a man can eat and drink his fill."
"All I need is a girl and my evening's made!" chimed in one of the hunters. The other one cuffed his partner on the back of his head.
"Snows, M'Britt, this is the Prelate you're talking to. We're sorry, Your Grace; he's had a little too much wine."
"Try to remember that this is a monastery, not an inn, and keep your voices down," Arjan said sternly. "Then you won't need to worry if you say the wrong thing."
"Yes, Your Grace," both hunters said.
"I'm going to bed now. Don't feel obliged to turn in as well, but make sure you're ready to leave in the morning. I want to make it to Ires Waystation tomorrow night, so we can be home in Vassha the day after."
"Yes, Your Grace."
As Arjan passed into the bedroom he heard Colce murmur to the amorous hunter, "Just remember, don't make passes at a nun, no matter how pretty she is. Only a complete fool flirts with a girl who has a vow of chastity and full combat training." The Prelate couldn't help but smile. Irreverent Colce might be, but he was also staunch and reliable, and his hard-nosed, practical approach kept Arjan's imagination from running off with him. The three men's earthy worldliness helped to dispel the last effects of the lurking fear from Arjan's mind; he drew the curtain between rooms, changed for bed, extinguished the lamp, and soon found himself in a sleep untroubled by dreams.
"Boss?"
He was jolted back to consciousness by the hand gripping his shoulder.
"Boss, wake up."
Another shake brought him fully awake.
"Colce? What is it?"
"It's that steward, Brother Tashiin. He says they need your help. There's been a death."
"Why would he come to me? Surely there are procedures for the Abbot to follow in case of a death."
"I'm sure there are. The problem is, it's Abbot Kozil who's dead."