The Grove(13)
“I, for one, am rather glad he is so competent,” Saleria admitted as they walked. A child skipped past, the young girl waving to Saleria before continuing on her way, an empty basket dangling from her other hand. On her way to market, no doubt. “I inherited him when I took over the position of Grove Keeper, and he has done an excellent job of managing my clerical needs.”
Her word choice made Aradin smile. At a curious glance from her, he explained. “The holy priests and priestesses of Mendhi, far to the west and north of here, are called clerics. That is where the word clerical comes from—and it is pronounced almost exactly the same in Darkhanan as it is in Mendhite and Katani. Then again, their Goddess is the Goddess of Writing, so it only makes sense for Her servants to be both scribe and priest.”
“I see. I did not know the word was from Mendhi,” Saleria confessed. She blushed slightly and shrugged, gesturing at the street while they walked. “But then I honestly don’t know much about the world beyond the boundaries of Katan. I think it’s one of the advantages of living in an empire which spans an entire continent. You never have to worry about anyone else causing problems along your borders—that is, not to sound callous,” she added quickly, and gestured at the Grove beyond her home, “but I have enough to worry about.”
“Are things really that bad in the Grove?” Aradin asked her, following her into her home.
Saleria gestured for him to shut the front door behind them. Once it was closed, Saleria glanced out the window set next to the door. No one had been near enough to hear his question, not even the little girl who had gone off on her errand. She nodded, looking at Aradin. He had a face . . . they had faces which inspired confidence, since the older, bearded version had looked equally trustworthy. And it wasn’t a secret, exactly, but she didn’t want stray gossip spreading through the town, raising everyone’s fears needlessly.
“Things are bad enough, yes,” she told him. “I keep asking the Arch Priest’s staff for an assistant, but they keep saying I’m doing fine. Yes, I’m doing fine, if all I’m supposed to do is contain the problem. But what I’d really like to do is figure out a way to solve the problem so that the Grove can be safe for visitors once more. That takes help. One to continue to contain everything while the other studies what’s wrong.”
(Oh dear,) Teral murmured. (She’s not going to like our request, then. Or be able to fulfill it when the time comes.)
(Unless we can get her an assistant, which might just as well be me.) The more tantalizing wisps of information he heard about the Grove behind this house, the more Aradin felt intrigued by what was really happening inside. (Everything we’ve heard so far suggests too much magic is warping the plants and animals in there. I may not be an expert on animals, but I do know how to control and manage the effects of magic on and in plants.)
(What do you . . . ? Oh! I see your point,) Teral said, following Aradin’s thoughts. The long-standing prohibition of one living being reading another living being’s thoughts did not apply to him, as Teral was technically dead. After several years of living within the younger man’s Doorway, Teral could follow his sub-thoughts with some ease. (Yes, that could work. If you can actually prove your worth in such a task.)
Aradin didn’t reply; Saleria had ushered him into her office and was gesturing at the seat he had occupied earlier. The green-clad cleric, Daranen, looked up briefly from his correspondence, but otherwise didn’t comment. Taking the seat across from Aradin, Saleria settled into the padded chair.
“Now, I believe you were going to ask me some questions?” she prompted Aradin.
“Yes . . . First, I should like to explain how I came to be here, why I am on this quest. It may help you to make up your mind,” Aradin told her. At her nod, he began. “Darkhanan Witches have a . . . hidden advantage over most priesthoods. As you may know, theologically, all religions agree that once a soul reaches the Afterlife, all questions shall be answered. Our greatest Witch calls it the ‘full knowing’ and says it occurs in an instantaneous flash of comprehension and understanding.”
“Which who?” Saleria asked, distracted by the odd aside.
“Forgive me. Not which as in to choose, but Witch as in a specific type of Darkhanan mage priest or priestess,” Aradin clarified, giving her a rueful, apologetic smile. “I wear a translation pendant which tells me what to say, but does not guarantee that I say it correctly. In your language, the word which,” he enunciated carefully, “is very similar to our word Witch. Forgive me for speaking sloppily.”