Page 72 of The King of Koraha
It was too easy. She’d missed something important. Besides the tables with the Callow monks, the rest of the dining area was empty. Shyla considered her next move. There were fifteen angles until the next call to the chapel. Monks prayed four times a sun jump. Attending all four sessions was not required; monks were encouraged to be at two. Since she’d professed her desire to seek the goddess, it would be strange for her to miss any of them. At least she could use the opportunity to get a sense of how many monks had fallen for Fellan’s sermon.
One angle before prayers, Shyla entered the chapel through the door near the altar. About to start the session, Neda stood behind the holy stone.
Shyla ducked her head as if embarrassed. “Sorry,” she muttered, pausing as if uncertain of her welcome.
The other monks were already at the kneelers with their heads bowed, wearing their robes. The garment was a sign of respect for the Sun Goddess. Shyla had to borrow one since she had “forgotten” to pack hers. Two sizes too big, the oversized robe could hide a gamelu.
“Go on, find a spot,” Neda urged.
When Shyla hurried to a kneeler, she tripped over the hem and fell with a loud thump. Every monk in the chapel glanced at her. Shyla quickly made eye contact with as many as she could, giving them all a sheepish clumsy-me look. A few gave her rueful grins, others frowned, but there was no mistaking Neda’s exasperated sigh. Shyla gathered the excessive material, scrambled to her feet, and knelt on an empty kneeler near the back.
Neda waited a moment and then launched into the standard benedictions. As the monks settled into the routine and performed their recitations, Shyla scanned their moods. Reading their souls while they prayed would be inappropriate. A number of the monks had found that peaceful meditative state, but a few were conflicted, questioning why they were wasting time praying when they could be helping others.
By the time the session concluded fifteen angles later, her knees and back ached. Exhaustion pulsed in her bones and she returned to her room. The cushion was comfortable, but she missed sharing it with Rendor.
She hoped he was being extra careful. He’d claimed he could blend in, but to her he shone as bright as the sky pillars.
Shyla showed up late to the angle zero prayer session. Her loud entrance interrupted Neda and caused everyone to glare at her in annoyance. She met their gazes with an apologetic wince as Neda lectured her that tardiness was not tolerated in the Lyons monastery. Appearing chastised, Shyla found an empty kneeler in the back. It was the last one—definitely a more popular time.
The mood for this gathering was more conflicted and less peaceful. A restlessness vibrated in the air. Even Neda seemed to pick up on it. There was a slightly quizzical crease in her forehead. Many of the monks also looked straight ahead instead of bowing their heads in respect.
The disquiet increased at the angle eighty session. Shyla arrived early and claimed her kneeler before anyone else arrived. As they filed in, she made eye contact with each one. Some nodded in approval that she had learned her lesson about being on time. During the service, she noted the rebellious displays turned from the passive actions of earlier to the more obvious. Some monks sat on their heels. Others muttered comments. And two stood up in disgust and left.
After eating a quick meal, she ascended to the growing cavern. It was located on level six, which was the perfect depth to be protected from the surface heat and warm enough during darkness for the vegetable plants to survive. The vibrant scent of living green mixed with moist soil enveloped her as she entered. Sunlight poured from the mirror pipes poking through the ceiling.
The space was tiny compared to the vast growing caverns in the cities. And the caretaker had filled every square meter except for a narrow path. Shyla followed it and found Walkur shoveling fertilizer. His tunic and the knees of his pants were stained black and he had a smear of dirt along his right cheek. His appearance matched his unruly hair.
He spotted her. “You made it!”
“You convinced me this is the place to be.”
He laughed. “Yep, nothing is more devout than shoveling sh—”
“Walkur!” a woman shouted from the depths of the cavern. “Cans are ready. Those potato plants aren’t going to water themselves.”
“Yes, sir.” Then he lowered his voice. “Elschen’s a bit gruff, but she can get anything to grow.” He pointed to his bushy hair. “I used to be bald.”
Shyla laughed.
“Come on.” Walkur went farther down the path and entered another room.
The rich scent of growing things was replaced by a harsh acidic stink. No doubt this was the area where the odorous contents of the collection station buckets were turned into nourishment for the plants. The gardener was a tiny woman with long white braids. Her skin matched the soil and she grunted, clearly unimpressed when Walkur introduced Shyla.
Elschen thrusted a can into Shyla’s arms. “Here, Walkur will show you what to do.”
Shyla followed him, carrying the heavy can. It had a spout and sloshing inside was a liquid that wasn’t quite water. It smelled a bit like spoiled milk mixed with sweat. Walkur poured his out on a row of short squat plants. He gestured to another row. Shyla got the hint. She “watered” the plants. Watching the liquid soak into the soil gave her a strange sense of satisfaction. They made repeated trips back to Elschen who took the empty cans and replaced them with full ones.
Shyla asked Walkur some general questions about the monastery. Then she worked the conversation around to the visiting monks. “I noticed none of the Callow monks attended prayers. Are they too busy with chores?”
Walkur straightened with a wince, rubbing his back. “No, they don’t think we should be spending all that time praying. We should bedoing.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead, leaving another black streak. “Except they don’t help with chores, so they’re not practicing what they preach, don’t you think?” Then he lowered his voice. “Lots of our monks agree with them. I’d rather be doing, which is why I’m always busy during prayer times.” He gave her an earnest look. “You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”
“No. I agree. There are many ways to honor the goddess.”
“Finally! Someone who understands.” Then he sobered. “I think things are going to get ugly around here and Neda is going to ask our Callow guests to leave despite the policy that all monks are welcome. It’s not going to be pleasant, don’t you think?”
Neda had the authority to kick the monks out, but Shyla worried it was too late. And her suspicions were confirmed at third meal. There was no need to read people’s thoughts and emotions. The room had a definite divide between those who aligned with Neda and the older monks, and those who had converted to Fellan’s philosophy. Unfortunately, Neda’s side was smaller.
Shyla was amazed how the atmosphere had changed in just one sun jump. Had her arrival caused Fellan to increase his efforts? She needed to “talk” to the monk and find a way to stop him from converting everyone.
