The Stone by the Stream (Part 15)

It was the priestess. Though her face was half-veiled in a black cloak, nonetheless her bright eyes and golden hair shone faintly in the light of the crescent moon. She stood beside Cynthia’s open window, so close that Cynthia could hardly believe she hadn’t spotted her when she’d slipped out.

“What are you doing here?” Cynthia asked, surprised enough to meet the priestess that she couldn’t think of anything more diplomatic to say.

“Just out on a little moonlight stroll, same as you,” the priestess said. The conspiratorial warmth in her voice disarmed Cynthia immediately. Just as in the Temple that morning, she felt an enormous desire to trust this woman in spite of all her suspicions. So kind, so gentle, so understanding — with none of Agatha’s veiled cruelty or biting wit.

In Cynthia’s memory the priestess had seemed so threatening, but face to face with her, she felt nothing but goodwill radiating from the woman.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The priestess smiled. “I’ll admit I’m not surprised to see you here, Cynthia. You’re a curious young woman, and the Temple has been — a bit heavy-handed in working with you. It’s no wonder you’re a little suspicious of us.”

“A little suspicious.”

“Agatha’s visit this afternoon can’t have done much to fill you with confidence. I keep telling my colleagues it’s best to use a light touch with oracles, but — well, some of them think the stakes are too high to wait for you to come around on your own.”

“So you decided spying on me would be better?”

“Let’s just say I wanted to walk with you in the moonlight. Let’s go, Cynthia — you can find your way to the clearing in the dark, can’t you?”

The priestess ducked away from the window and headed for the road, so that Cynthia had to scramble to catch up with her. The crescent moon bobbed up and down with their footsteps as they headed down the dirt path. A wolf howled in the distance. Soon they were in and among the trees, the branches still and silent in the calm night. Though Cynthia glanced up at the priestess more than once, trying to catch her gaze, the cloaked woman kept her eyes squarely ahead.

“I thought you said I wasn’t to go to the clearing,” Cynthia said.

“Oh Cynthia,” the priestess said, squeezing the younger woman’s shoulder affectionately, “I did say that, didn’t I? But we both know where you were headed when you slipped out that window.”

“But we’re headed there right now?”

“I told you this morning that the Temple is not your enemy — although some of my colleagues seem determined to prove me wrong about that. So I thought I’d let you in on a few secrets that might help you see things from our point of view.”

“Secrets about the stone?”

“Possibly, Cynthia. But first, I need you to swear by the Huntress not to reveal any of what you hear.”

“Is it that important?”

“Under normal circumstances only Initiates are allowed to hear what I’m about to tell you. And some of it is limited to acolytes… or even priestesses.”

This surprised Cynthia, who decided to play along. “I swear by the Huntress. No one will hear a word of what you tell me.”

“Good,” the priestess said. “In that case let’s start with something you already know: Silas did not drown himself after getting drunk last night.”

Cynthia doubled over and roared with laughter. “Some secret that is! You’d do better to tell me why the Temple is trying to hide how he died.”

“We’ll get to that, Cynthia. For now let’s just say the Temple has to contend with forces it’s better the world not be burdened with — and sometimes that means we have to give up the luxury of a superstitious attachment to matters of fact.”

“You lie, in other words.”

Mid-step, the priestess stopped short. Cynthia met her expressive gaze in the darkness and, with a pang in her heart, regretted her dismissive tone. An owl hooted from somewhere nearby and a shadow passed overhead. When the priestess spoke the words came slowly, measured: “I only ask you to consider the possibility that it would be worse for the world to know what happened to Silas.”

“What right does the Temple have to hide the truth?”

“That’s a fair question, Cynthia. But let me ask you something: has it crossed your mind to wonder why the naiad killed Silas last night?”

A quaver came into Cynthia’s voice as she said, “… no…”

“I thought not.”

“I thought it was just something that happens, like the way lone travelers get attacked by wolves or bears sometimes.”

“A naiad is no wolf or bear, Cynthia. They may not be human, but the naiads have minds and wills of their own. Beyond our comprehension, more than human, really — much more.”

“So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying what happened last night in the clearing was no accident, nor was it a simple mauling. It was murder.”

“But… why?”

“Among other reasons,” the priestess said, “maybe it was the will of the Goddess?”

Cynthia gasped.

They had reached the edge of the clearing. The stream ran glistening in the moonlight. The trees stood silhouetted and looming like giants. And in the center there gleamed the stone with its eerie light.

“Remember, Cynthia: the Temple is not your enemy.”