At her rough, weary sigh, Shanno continued stubbornly. “Everyone knows that a male mage’s strength in magics continues to bloom well into his early twenties, and I am just now twenty, as of last turning of Sister Moon. I could turn out to be even more powerful than you, Jinga willing.”
Not knowing how to refute that politely—because it would take a miracle from Jinga, who might have the sense of humor for it, to give a weak mage like Shanno the sheer strength of both body and mind to withstand the needs of the Grove—Saleria gave up trying. Shanno was too young to believe anything she’d say about his physical and magical strength not being up to the task.
At twenty-six, she wasn’t that much older than him, but she, at least, had the sense to know her limitations. She also had the benefit of early combat training, thanks first to her warrior father, and then later to her combat-mage teachers. Shanno . . . she didn’t think he’d be able to win a wrestling match more than half the time with a non-ambulatory marigold, let alone a thettis/morning glory/bug vine.
“Just . . . please refrain from trying to draw attention to me again like that, Shanno. Be respectful of your rank as a deacon, which includes the responsibilities it entails, which means toward your fellow priests as well as to your parishioners. Have a good day,” she finished politely, before moving on, deeper into the Groveham marketplace.
Pushing him from her mind, Saleria moved toward one of the dairy farmer’s stalls. Maryam, the seller, offered her a sample from a platter of little brown-veined cubes, murmuring that they had been made with a locally brewed stout for extra flavor. Nibbling on the first piece, Saleria slowly nodded; the stout lent a nutty, sharp tang to the cheese. She reached for a second piece, debating how much to buy from the older woman . . . and heard a hushed exchange behind her.
“The Holy Keeper likes that cheese!”
“We should probably get some—the Gods must’ve blessed it!”
Closing her eyes, she sent up a brief prayer for patience, then managed a smile and turned, eyes seeking out the pair of speakers. It wasn’t the young couple who had approached her for a blessing and some advice, but it was a pair of visitors from among those who had thought to approach her after Shanno revealed her identity. Clearing her throat, Saleria spoke.
“I choose this cheese simply because I like the way Maryam, the maker, flavors it with stout. Other than that, it is just cheese—and like any other cheese, either you will like it, or you will not. There is nothing holy about it,” Saleria finished dryly.
Behind her, Maryam chuckled. “Not the stout-soaked, no, it’s quite solid . . . but the emmentha cheese has lots of holes in it!”
Caught off guard, Saleria broke down into a laugh. Catching her breath after a few moments, she grinned over her shoulder at the older woman. “That’s not quite the same sort of ‘holy’ . . . but you’re quite right, there are a lot of holes in that one. Tasty holes, too.” Looking back at the middle-aged couple, she addressed the visitors again. “I swear to you, at this moment I am just another woman enjoying the marketplace, the same as you, or her, or that elderly lady over there.”
The man merely frowned at her, but the woman craned her neck to look in the directions Saleria pointed. He persisted. “We came here to see the Sacred Grove. But everyone says we cannot go into the Grove, and that we must be content with being near it. If you are its Keeper, then you are Sacred as well. Why should we not worship you as the next-nearest thing?”
Saleria shook her head and tried not to damn the young deacon in her thoughts for this trouble. “I am just one servant in a long line of servants; my job is to tend the unruly plants within the Grove, and to pray on behalf of all the written petitions I receive, not to be worshipped. Worship Kata. Worship Jinga. They are worthy of your admiration, your faith, and your love for Them. You can go to the cathedral and go up to the viewing balcony, if you wish to see the Grove. But ever since the Shattering of Aiar, which warped the aethers and ruined the great Portals, the Grove has been too dangerous even for a moderately powered mage to enter, never mind gentle souls such as yourselves.
“Dealing with it is my task, and my holiness begins and ends within the walls of the Grove. Out here, I am simply another priestess, for all my fancy titles. Now, if you will excuse me, this perfectly ordinary priestess is hungry for perfectly ordinary cheese—”
“Oy!” Maryam protested, scowling at her. “It is not ordinary cheese! It is very fine cheese.”
Saleria smiled and rolled her eyes. “—and I am going to purchase her fine but otherwise perfectly ordinary cheese in order to sate a perfectly ordinary, normal sense of hunger. May the God and Goddess bless you, and I hope you enjoy your stay in Groveham.”