The Grove(44)
“I may not be a Hortimancer, but even I can guess that much,” Saleria told him. “If these Nightfallers have Rung the Bell to demand Divine Patronage, and if they seek to reconvene the Convocation of Gods and Man . . . then the two events are probably tied together, which means they have less than a year and a day to do so,” she added. “That is far sooner than anything this Empire could put together, I am sure.”
“Possibly yes, possibly no . . . since with enough magic and effort, just about anything is possible . . . but probably they couldn’t,” Aradin agreed.
“Probably not, no. It would be far better for the whole world to have the Convocation of Gods and Man restored and resumed, regardless of who hosts it, than to let the world continue to suffer from its lack. And . . .” She hesitated, bit her bottom lip, then confessed with a touch of distress, “And my own prayers to Kata and Jinga about healing the Grove have gone unanswered all this time . . .
“Maybe, just maybe, if They appear in person at the Convocation, and if I can represent our people before Them, then maybe I can get a straight answer out of Them as to why they’ve let this place . . . fester!” Sweeping her arm out, she indicated the wilderness within the encircling walls. “That is far more important than who hosts the return of the Gods. All kingdoms will be welcome once it resumes, and that is all that matters.”
(I think now is not the time to point out that those kingdoms who misbehave toward the host kingdom can be excluded from the next one,) Teral murmured quietly.
(Ah, but not from the first one,) Aradin countered. (They all have to be represented at the first one, all the active kingdoms with duly manifested Patron Deities. I remember reading that in one of your scrolls on the matter, and it’s the reason why we have Witches lurking within reasonable snatching range of Mekhanan priests. . . . I do think she’s the one, Teral. Or an incredibly good actress, but I’ll bet it’s the former, not the latter.)
(I’ll verify it with the Dark, but I don’t believe she’s acting, either,) his Guide murmured. (Be careful with yourself while I’m gone. You won’t have me watching out of the corners of your eyes.)
“Right,” Aradin murmured, answering both his Guide and his hostess.
The feeling of Teral slipping out of his Doorway and into the Dark that lay behind it was like a cold winter draft in a fire-warmed room. He was used to the sensation, the way it prickled across his skin, but it always helped to have a distraction until the goose bumps went away. He gestured at the tool shed that contained her assortment of pruning and collecting staves.
“Shall we each grab a staff and head for the Bower, then? The sooner I learn how you tend the Grove, the sooner I can learn how to substitute for you when you go off to represent the people of Katan.”
Saleria nodded and opened the stout, weathered door.
FIVE
In reverse order of her morning treks, which usually ended with a visit to the northern tree, Saleria’s first destination at the end of her day was the southern locus. Today also involved a nasty mass of spiderwebs apparently grown by cloverleaf-covered . . . things . . . which scuttled this way and that, avoiding the slashings of their staves. Forced to use spell-summoned fire to bring the confrontation to an end, Saleria stared grimly at the charred section of wild-grown garden. It wasn’t large, not more than a couple strides in diameter, but it did make a black and ugly stain on an otherwise verdant view.
“I hate this part of my job,” she muttered quietly. Not with any force behind it, magical or emotional, but simply as an unpleasant fact. One which she was resigned to by now.
Aradin did not like the sound of that. He thought about it for a moment, then the blond priest-mage asked, “May I say something which could be construed as potentially sacrilegious? No offense is meant, of course, but as an outlander . . . sometimes we can see things more clearly. From a certain point of view.”
Saleria shrugged, her gaze still on the patch of scorched plants and earth. “Say what you will.”
Gently, Aradin asked her, “. . . Wouldn’t it be easier to burn all of it down and replant from scratch? Save the locus trees, of course. I mean, the land is what is holy, where your God and Goddess were wed. Somehow, I don’t think these unnatural amalgamations of plant and animal were what They intended for Their Keepers to maintain. Or for that sap to literally soak uncontrolled magics deep into the ground.”
He was right. His words were a sacrilege. Except Saleria could see his point all too well. “I would not advise suggesting that to anyone else, Witch-priest, or you would find yourself cursed and reviled. But . . . it isn’t something I haven’t already considered myself. That’s why I hate this part of my job. It would be easier just to remove all of this through scorching and burning and starting anew . . . though I hadn’t realized the magical sap was the source of the energies seeping into the land. But we’d just have the same problems in a few months or a few years.”