Page 67 of The Lost Reliquary
“Thank you.” Nolan starts to turn away, then pauses. He pulls out a few coins. “It’s a fine pendant. Would you consider selling it?”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this. Neither is the boy, but he’s not so young as to not realize he’s being offered a price well above the worth of the item. He eyes the money eagerly, then pulls the cord over his head. In an instant, the deal is struck, and Nolan and I are on our way again.
“Wow,” I say. “One day in Cyprene and you’re ready to join up with the Salt heretics?” The tightening of his jaw warns me this was the wrong joke to make so soon after the Goddess’s desecrated shrine. “I thought it was foolish to go around showing off our ignorance?”
“We need to take a few risks if we are going to learn anything.” Satisfied at throwing my own words back at me, he holds up the necklace. It’s the same white stone of the cliffs. “Marks of the Salt Goddess, made by their priests. Now we have a good idea who was buying the Renderers’ wares. And how far, on an island this size, do you think they are removed from the heretics who plotted against the Tempestra-Innara?”
“Not very,” I admit.
“The salt baths.” He palms the reverie and runs a thumb over the carved symbol. “This morning we had a clue. Now, we have a place to look.”
Twenty-nine
Within the waters, within the brine, their voice speaks, if one is quiet enough to listen, and hear.
—THE WORDS OF MARIS, PRIEST OF ASTRIS, THE SALT GODDESS
THE BATHS WOULD DRAWno more attention than any other building in Cyprene, if not for the marks carved above the doorway.Salt runes, the boy had called them. There’s a set of wavy lines that makes me think of water, but beyond that, they manage to keep their provincial significance to themselves. We spend almost an hour watching the entrance, tucked into a nearby alcove. A large building, it’s as white as the surrounding cliffs, with an arched doorway that’s opened a handful of times, including for a visit from one of the Caerula, who pocketed a fat purse. It’s still hard to believe, the unchecked heresy that’s as commonplace here as the worship of Tempestra-Innara is on the mainland. I suspect Nolan is thinking the same, the way he fiddles with the reverie he bought off the boy.
“What’s the plan?” I whisper.
His hand tightens around the stone once more before he slips it into the pocket of his jacket. “To let me do all the talking.”
“That can’t always be the plan!”
He ignores this and heads for the door, leaving me to catch up. I do, but only because he doesn’t give me the chance to argue before he starts knocking. It opens and a woman looks out.
“Welcome.” She’s older, hair white and bronze face weathered, but her voice holds a youthful lightness. “Have you come to commune with the waters, friends?”
Friends. Hah. Beside me, Nolan’s features are loose—nervous—eyes wide with hopefulness.
“I…” He hesitates, as if fumbling with his words. “Yes. I mean, yes, I think so. May we come in?”
The woman opens the door further. “Please. Be welcome.” There’s a warm dampness to the air inside, tinged with the scent of salt. “I am Marzela.”
Our host is dressed in a long, shapeless white robe, thin enough to give hints of a gaunt figure beneath, with a spiny choker of orange coral around her neck. As sparse as her uniform is, she has the air of a cleric. One of the Salt priests, without a doubt. “This way.”
She leads us through the hall, then down a set of stairs that opens into a long chamber with a bedrock floor. There, dozens of shallow pools are cut right into the stone, lining a walkway that runs down their center. People float within the pools, eyes covered with strips of white fabric that briefly summon the memory of Jeziah and the other dead laid out in Lumeris. Only wetter. Each wears the same loose garment as Marzela, the fabric swimming around their forms in a way that gives them an appearance of giant jellyfish. The atmosphere is solemn, reserved. I catch the occasional snippet of a whisper in the humid air, each carrying the weighty tone of prayer.
Marzela halts us in a side chamber filled with privacy screens and more of the robes neatly folded on shelves.
“You may change here.” The Salt priest begins to depart, but Nolan grabs her arm.
“Wait. Are you the priest here?”
Marzela gently extracts herself, a hint of suspicion appearing. “One of them, yes.”
“My name is Nolan. I have to confess, I didn’t come here to communewith the waters. This is my first time in Cyprene. Can we—is there somewhere more private we can talk?”
The anxious but hopeful eagerness is perfectly executed. Still, the priest’s eyes narrow. “About what, if I might ask?”
“There are… practices in Cyprene that one can’t find on the mainland.” Nolan licks his lips and looks around nervously. “I have… questions.”
The priest turns to me. “And you do as well?”
I shake my head. “I’m just here to make sure he stays in one piece.”
Marzela considers before gesturing for us to follow once more. We pass through the salt pools, then down another stair into a smaller, more austere chamber, with a simple table surrounded by wood stools. Nolan and Marzela sit. I remain standing.
