Mouse nodded.
“Now go about your duties, child,” the Speaker said, patting Mouse gently on the head. “Go about your duties even as I go about mine.”
With these words, the high priestess moved from her airy chamber, the train of her robes dragging behind her. Stoneye stepped from the shadows and followed, never sparing a glance Mouse’s way.
So Mouse did as she was bidden and fetched the tools of her second daily task, lighting all the braziers in the lower south hall so that incense flooded that section of the higher temple before sunrise. She hastened there now, a lighting stick in one hand, a bucket of coals in the other, and a bag of powdered incense tucked under one arm.
The passage was open to all elements, and Mouse, warm inside her black robe, welcomed the cool breath of morning as she worked. One at a time she lowered a brazier by its chain, lit the coals, and poured in a handful of incense, letting off a strong, sweet smell that disguised all the pleasant scents of coming dawn. “Fire burn,” Mouse whispered as she had been taught. “Fire purify.”
The crack of a whip startled her so that she nearly dropped her lighting stick. Mouse strode to the edge of the open hall and looked down. Below her all was rock, the foundation on which the Citadel and the Spire were built. On all other sides, the temple city covered this rock, but here it was exposed and looked red and hot even by predawn light.
Another crack . . . and a cry. Mouse shivered at the sound of a man’s voice. She had not heard a man speak since coming to the temple, and it seemed strange and terrible, especially laced with such pain. She saw torches now, approaching in a long line across the open countryside. Torches and shadows and the figures of men bound in chains being driven toward the Citadel. Their drivers, tall eunuchs in temple garb, urged them with whips, prodded them with spears.
So the procession made its way to the red rock beneath Mouse’s feet. Shivering, she watched them approach, unable to tear away her gaze. To her surprise, rather than circling the side of the temple to enter by the gates, the eunuch guards drove the bound men straight to the wall.
They disappeared inside.
Craning her neck, Mouse could not see from this angle any opening or door where they had gone. Afraid of falling from that unprotected height, she set aside her tools, got to her hands and knees, and strained her neck further, trying to see.
“They’ve gone to the Diggings.”
Mouse looked up, embarrassed to be caught in so undignified a pose. A tall girl, another acolyte, stood before Mouse. She was called Sparrow; Mouse did not know her true name. Each girl was given a new name upon entering service at the temple. Her true name was then forgotten, for only then could it be safe. So Mouse became Mouse, and this girl was Sparrow. She was older than Mouse and had been in temple service for three years.
“They’ve gone to the Diggings,” she repeated as Mouse scrambled to her feet. “To be lost.”
“Lost?” Mouse repeated.
Sparrow picked up the fallen lighting stick, which had gone out. “They are men from the mountains who have rebelled against the Flame. Their fate is to labor in her Diggings until they are lost.”
“You mean dead?” Mouse asked, her voice trembling.
Sparrow shook her head. “I mean lost,” she said. “Those who enter the Diggings beneath the temple without protection never come out again. In time all Diggers are lost.” She handed the stick to Mouse, her disapproving face half hidden beneath its hood. “You shouldn’t let your fire go out, you know.”
Humbly, Mouse relit the stick in the last brazier. “What is in the Diggings?” she asked.
“Diggers,” said Sparrow with a snort, looking back over Mouse’s work. It was her morning duty to make certain the young acolyte performed her tasks up to standard. “What else?”
“No, I mean,” Mouse said, “what do they dig for?”
“The chamber of Fireword.”
“What is Fireword?”
“The demon sword that twice slew our goddess.”
Mouse stared at the older girl. What blasphemy was this, spoken by an older sister, no less! For how could it be other than blasphemy? The goddess could not die! The Flame at Night was far too great to be extinguished by any sword!
“I . . . I don’t believe you,” Mouse said.
“What difference does it make what you believe?” Sparrow said sharply, turning from the brazier she was inspecting to fix Mouse with a stern glare. “The goddess was twice slain by Fireword, and she fears to be slain a third time. All this you will learn for yourself as you get older and are brought into deeper knowledge. Until then, know better than to speak back to your elders.”
Mouse cowered, sliding her hood up over her head like a shield.