The Grove(40)
“Your words are most wise, Holy Keeper,” the young man stated, giving her a formal bow. “We will keep your advice in mind.”
“Yes, we will,” his betrothed agreed, smiling warmly as she curtsied to Saleria. “May the Gods bless you with the kind of love we know, Your Holiness. The Keeper of the Sacred Marriage Grove should know a long and happy marriage, herself.”
Saleria chuckled and blushed, and gave them a brief bow in return, since she still wore her mostly white Keeper’s trousers and jacket; curtsying was for skirts or long robes. “Thank you for your kind thoughts and blessings. I am obliged to remind you that the Grove is closed to visitors, but our Prelate is skilled in marital ceremonies, and the town itself is more than ready to assist you with any other of your needs. May the Gods bless you, and may you enjoy your stay in Groveham.”
“And you,” they offered in parting.
Saleria moved past them, angling toward the slender blond man with the copper band girding his forehead. She drew near just in time to hear him loftily proclaim, “. . . keep my doors open to all who come, should I ever become the Keeper of the Grove.”
“Deacon Shanno,” Saleria stated, letting her tone in the use of his minor title show her reproof, “you have actual duties to attend to at the cathedral, do you not? Perhaps these kind people will allow you to do so.” Mindful of the watching eyes of visitors and townsfolk alike, she waited until most had drifted away, then spoke quietly, though kept her expression pleasant. “Shanno, why do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?” he asked innocently. Or rather, mock-innocently. She wasn’t fooled. Tossing his head, his golden, chest-length locks sliding over his white priest-robes, he shrugged. “I’d think you’d be happy to garner the attention of your fellow Katani. After all, they should have the right to bring their petitions to you directly, as the one priest in all of Katan who can speak directly to the Gods and be assured They will listen.”
“It is forbidden because there are too many people who want to touch the divine. I am mortal, not divine, but if I do not keep that distinction clear, they could run the risk of worshipping me.” She watched him roll his eyes, and sighed impatiently. “Did not your instructors at the temple schools teach you anything about what happened to Keepers who were mobbed by crowds of pilgrims?” she asked him. “Keeper Bareias, whose ribs were broken? Keeper Shantan, whose knee was ruined so badly, even the best of Healers had trouble putting it to rights? And the post-Shattering panics that lead to the death of Keeper Patia?”
The young deacon snorted and looked away. Saleria stared at him. This was why she didn’t like him, or at least part of it. Too young, too arrogant, too self-convinced he knows everything and everyone else knows nothing. Kata, Jinga, I hope You give him a solid lesson in wisdom and humility someday . . .
“When she died, Shanno, there wasn’t anyone on hand to contain the mutations in the Grove for weeks, and that led to the Vegetable Riots. Half the town wiped out because the crowds could not control themselves in their rush to ‘garner the attention’ of the Keeper!” Saleria asserted, lifting her hands toward him. “Think, Deacon, before you speak. There is no one here in Groveham, nor for a hundred miles around, who is strong enough to take care of the Grove should something happen to me.” Yet another reason why I keep asking for an assistant . . .
“I could,” the young man boasted.
She gave him a pitying look. “No, Shanno, you could not, or you would have been selected to be on the list of potential Keepers already. I have seen that list, and your name is not marked upon it. It took a manifestation of the Gods Themselves to get people to leave my predecessors alone. Please do not try to change the way things are. You have not that power, and you never will.”
“Well, maybe that’s because I’m not fully into my powers yet,” he countered, chin still lifted in his arrogance.
That wasn’t how she meant that last version of power, but she knew he wasn’t going to listen. For such a youthful stick, he was as stubborn and unyielding as steel sometimes. The deacon—appointed a bit too early to the rank, in her opinion—looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over, and Saleria couldn’t help but wonder if a bit of wind might catch the underside of his jaw like the sails on a fishing boat when he lifted it like that. If will alone were enough to manipulate magic, perhaps he could have been a possible candidate . . . but not before having that self-importance lurking in those blue eyes knocked out of him somehow.