In the place where the passages diverged was an arched doorway.
Only shadows had concealed it for all the lonely years of the Diggers’ efforts. Only shadows more solid than any wall. When torchlight fell upon that spot, the shadows threw the light back and revealed none of their secrets. But when the starflower in the prisoner’s hair gleamed, it shone upon a richly carved doorpost.
“Fire burn,” the Speaker said. Then she leapt forward, ready to pass through the arch. But Stoneye put out his arm, preventing her. “Out of my way, man!” She spoke without malice, a dreamy haziness to her voice. “I must see it.” And she breathed the name like a prayer: “Fireword.”
Stoneye would not release her. He could not speak, but he indicated that she must let him go first. After all, who knew what lay beyond that doorway?
The high priestess stared up at him. For a moment, Mouse thought she would argue. But instead, she closed her eyes tightly, as though forcing her body to act against her own will. “Very well.” She snatched a torch from one of the other slaves and pressed it into his hands. “Take this. And hurry!”
Stoneye approached the doorway. The shadows within thirstily drank up the light from his torch. The big slave hesitated on the threshold. He lifted the torch to study carved images of a story he did not know, perhaps of two brothers, one with a lantern, one with a sword. And he saw the one with the sword kill the first. It was a terrible tale, even in that momentary glimpse. A tale of murder.
The Silent Lady placed a hand upon his arm. He startled as though bitten and turned to her with a snarl. But her face was gentle, her eyes strangely calm.
“I will enter first,” she said, taking the flower from her hair and cupping it in her hands. “Let me, please?”
The big man looked like a hungry dog ready to devour her. Then his face, cast harshly into relief by the glow of his torch, softened. He stepped back.
So the prisoner carried her little star into the chamber. It was a large chamber indeed, an enormous circular room with a domed ceiling. Unlike the tunnels and passages of the Diggings, it was well crafted, its smooth walls overlaid with fine encaustic tiles. The white light of the starflower revealed many colors of clay worked into delicate patterns in every tile, each one telling a different story. They were too many and too intricate for comprehension. The mind ached to see them, yet it was an ache of beauty not pain.
Centered in the room was a stone so ugly that it might have been chipped from the essence of darkness. More carefully carved was the likeness of a sword, hilt up, protruding from its top. A sword that was part of the stone itself.
“It’s there!” Without a thought the high priestess plunged into the chamber, her hands outstretched, striving against the shadows, her eyes wide and hungry, even desperate.
“Wait!” cried the Silent Lady.
Heedless, the priestess pushed past the glow of the starflower, her robes flowing behind her, reaching for the stone, reaching for the sword.
There was a clatter as Stoneye’s torch dropped and extinguished. The big slave caught the high priestess, lifted her off her feet, and dragged her back screaming and thrashing. It was the most horrible sight! Mouse wanted to cover her eyes, to avoid seeing her beautiful mistress so humiliated. Stoneye—a man who should not dare to breathe upon her—wrapped his strong arms around her rail-thin frame, holding her almost fiercely, his face full of fear.
The Silent Lady stepped forward, struggling to make herself heard above the inarticulate screams of the priestess. “Please!” she cried. “You mustn’t touch it!”
“It belongs to the goddess,” the high priestess shouted. “It is here beneath her temple, beneath the land she has made her own, and it is hers by right of conquest. I will, I must bring it to her.”
“No,” said the prophetess. “I have shown you the secret. I have led you to this place. Please trust me now when I say that you must not touch Etanun’s sword. You must not touch Halisa.”
The priestess became cold. Stoneye felt the resistance flow from her, and he set her down but kept hold of her shoulder. “Why not?” the Speaker demanded, her voice as black as that ugly stone.