Spin the Dawn(95)

“Should I bring you dinner?”

He managed a grin. “I’ll be out hunting. But I would be grateful if you left a window open for me.”

“Will you be able to find your way back?”

His grin widened, and I realized I’d shown him a sign that I still cared. “To you, always.”

His words made my heart unsteady, and I stiffened, then nodded and left.

Dinner consisted of boiled lettuce and carrots harvested from the garden, with a bowl of rice with sesame seeds. No one ate with me—the monks ate only in the morning, it appeared. But a few of the younger ones sat with me and sipped soy milk from wooden bowls.

When dinner was finished, I washed and dried my dish; then I sought out Ci’an. “You said I could take a bath once the sun had set.”

“There’s a spring past the washhouse you may use,” he told me. “Walk with me. I’ll take you there.” As I followed him out of the monastery, he said, “Your husband did not wish to partake of dinner?”

“He wanted to…to rest,” I said, staring at my hands. The guilt of lying to a monk made me unable to look him in the eye.

“I see,” Ci’an said. The elderly monk walked slowly, for it was dark and there were many steps in the garden.

“Monks are taught to seek peace,” Ci’an said, breaking the silence, “but even my brothers bicker with one another from time to time. Yet no matter how great their discord, they come to remember that harmony among them is greater.”

I swallowed. Ci’an must have sensed that Edan and I had quarreled.

“You care much for your husband,” he went on. “That is easy for anyone to see. But he cares for you more.”

I frowned. “That isn’t—”

“True love is selfless,” the old man interrupted. “And I can see you are very young.”

I kept quiet and watched my step. We had passed the washhouse, and the stone path we’d been following had disappeared.

“Your husband carries a heavy burden. I can see it in his eyes. He is not the first of his kind to pass through these walls.”

I inhaled sharply. “Sir?”

“This monastery is a thousand years old,” Ci’an said. “Many enchanters have come for the solitude and peace it offers, particularly before taking their oath. Your companion is the first I’ve met…the first to come here after taking his oath.”

“I thought monasteries did not welcome enchanters.”

The monk chuckled. “The rift between religion and magic has grown. But I was not always a monk, and I have seen many things the younger ones have not. Many things they will never see.

“In my time, we called the enchanters gatekeepers, because they guarded magic from the rest of us. It is a heavy responsibility. Respected even by men of religion. To this day, I still hold that respect.”

Ci’an took my arm to lead me. “One thing I have never seen is an enchanter in love. They aren’t supposed to love, you know. In some ways, they are taught to be like monks—compassionate and selfless. Only they love no one, and we love all. Your enchanter is different.”

A lump hardened in my throat. “He’s served a long time,” I said, staring at the ground.

“So he has,” Ci’an said. “Many wish for such power for themselves, but I do not envy his path. The toll is heavy.”

I said nothing. I didn’t want to talk about Edan. It hurt too much to think about his promise to Bandur, knowing there was nothing I could do about it.

Finally, we arrived at the spring. The young moon illuminated a clear pool before me, as well as three statues of Amana standing on the banks. Her eyes were closed in all, her hands clasped together and lifted toward the sky.

“Long ago, these waters were sacred to the priestesses of the mother goddess,” Ci’an explained. “Some still come once a year, on the ninth day of the ninth month, to see the stars form a bridge between the sun and moon. You’ve only just missed it.”

“I’m aware of that,” I whispered, staring at the statues. The two wearing the sun and moon glittered under the silver moonlight, but shadows eclipsed the statue wearing the blood of stars.

“As a seamstress, Amana’s dresses must fascinate you,” Ci’an said.

“I always thought they were a myth,” I replied, “as far from us as the gods were. But that was before I believed in magic. Now that I’ve seen what it can do, I’m no longer sure that the boundary between Heaven and earth is as solid as I believed.” I thought of Bandur and the ghosts. “What if there are no gods? What if there is only magic, only enchanters and demons and ghosts?”

“You must keep your faith,” said Ci’an. “The gods watch over us, but unlike the spirits of this realm, they do not interfere in our lives. Not unless we anger them greatly, or impress them.”

“Yes,” I murmured. “When Amana forgave the god of thieves, she returned light to the world, but only for half the day. She gave us night.”

“She was still angry with him,” Ci’an said. “Deservedly so. But you forget the tailor who actually made the dresses for the god of thieves. What few know is that Amana rewarded him with a gift.”

“What gift is that?”

“It’s said that she gave him a pair of scissors,” Ci’an replied. “Enchanted to imbue their owner with a piece of her power.”