Chapter 1
As night approached, the cool breezes retreated and pleasing warmth invaded every tower in the desert city of Thujwa. In the tallest tower, wisps of smoke from the acacia resin burned at the evening rituals wafted up the seemingly endless spiral of steps that stretched to the highest floor. Amagh paused to inhale the familiar scent. It was a short respite. He was in a hurry. The hierophant had never before sent a messenger bidding him with such urgency and so little explanation.
The old priest climbed the last flight of stairs, grateful for the forces in the steps that had facilitated even so brief an ascent. It was as though a ghost were pushing Amagh from behind and another pulling him forward and up. Though cossetted in this way he still reached out to run his hand along the curving inner wall as he stepped. Here, as everywhere in the city center, the bricks were tightly joined, with no mortar to break the wall's smooth surface.
From the last step, Amagh managed the short jump to the floating brickwork disk that served as the floor of the hierophant's quarters. It was a short distance to the holy man's door and he hurried but his ancient legs could not carry him much faster, or without shaking. A servant greeted him.
"What is the problem, that I should be called at this hour?" Amagh tried to catch his breath.
"The waters are black, sir."
"The pool?"
"Aye."
"How do you mean ‘black’?"
"Black as kiln smoke, sir."
Amagh smiled. "That is not a problem. It is only the night sky under a new moon. He should see the stars."
"Nay, sir. He bent over the water and viewed as near to its surface as he could. He does not see even the stars. That is why he sent for you."
The smile disappeared. Amagh's faith told him that the images came from Thujwun himself but the god was obscure in his portents and random in their expression. Even this close to the sky, where the deity was said to reside, and separated from the earth by the forces of the all-binding, the pool produced images that were not always clear in their import and only the hierophant among all men could be trusted to understand their meaning. But Amagh knew the pool had never darkened completely. There was either a problem with the function of the pool, he thought, or… No.
He watched as a door opened a short distance beyond the servant's shoulder. A figure in indigo robes appeared and seemed to gather air with his hand, beckoning the priest.
"Come along, Amagh. I wish to show you something." His voice was almost a whisper. He didn't look worried to Amagh.
"Aye, Your Holiness," said the priest. He turned to glare at the servant, then hobbled to the doorway.
"I need you to see this before it goes," the hierophant was insistent, excited. "I need you to tell me who this is."
The two stood at the edge of a shallow pool of water contained by a circular brick wall only a few hand-widths high. The surface was so still, like a sheet of glass, that an observer might feel compelled to touch it and watch the water ripple away in ever-widening circles. Amagh had tried that, years ago, and the rippling had subsided so unnaturally soon that he'd felt an odd flutter in his belly at the sight of it.
"There," said the hierophant, pointing to the image that floated on the pool's surface. "He is wearing a brickweaver's robe."
Amagh recognized the purple robe. There was no gold trim. Hands were grasping at it, some gently pulling on the fabric, and the hem was worn and frayed in places. Flowers the same color as the hierophant's raiment clung to the bottom of the robe by prickly stems. The man's face was unclear but his dark hair was wild and streaked with gray.
"I can tell he is a brickweaver, as you say," said Amagh. "A master. But he is not of high office. And he is not wealthy on any wise. I will inquire with my brother priests. One will know him."
The hierophant continued to stare at the pool as the image faded. There was no darkness now, just a flurry of luminous motes scattered haphazardly across the water's still surface. The sight made him grimace. "Whoever this man may be," he said. "I have a task for him. And I must meet with him on the morrow."
"Aye, Your Holiness," said the old priest. "But I have a question."
The hierophant turned away from the pool. "Of course."
"The servant told me the pool was black, Your Holiness. I told him you would see stars but he said that you did not. Is this true?"
"Aye. Until I sent for you, it was black." The hierophant spoke like he was issuing a command. "But do not let that concern you."
Amagh would have asked another question had a second been appropriate. What vision appeared before the darkness, he wondered. That would probably have led to a third question, though. And from that, a fourth. Best to leave these matters to his holiness. He hobbled back down the staircase, the brick steps emanating all-binding forces that cushioned his descent, forbidding even the worry of a fall. He felt buoyant and safe, as though his invisible god held him in an embrace.