Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
Ga'si'ti came with Yian, unarmed but bristling with threat. It stopped at the
entrance, waiting for orders where it hadn't in coming that far. Poss a'ltic let it
stay, but not to come any further in.
With the ti'Linn's entrance Ulanda had stood. “From Ge'on'ni's ti'ti'sinici,”
Cayse said, moving between the girl and the pale colored ti'Linn. “The chief part
of my Lady's personal security, but Ga'si'ti is a Master Salin as well as a Security
First. As I said, a closed Household.” He picked up the tea bowl she had dropped
and passed it to Yian, taking the fresh robe instead. “Things can remain the
same, year to year, century to century. You know the benefits for a Priest, the
reason behind the routine.”
Changes in the crystals in the stone were growing outwards again. Building
blocks, Lord Gennady had called them, the words spun from the spiral at the first
diamond point and records that the Overpriest of Forms had given him from the
world-altar on Lillisim just before they went through the overpattern tear. Anga's
building blocks, his records for the second part. From Oimit, they had what they
needed: forms that Ulanda would respond to, ones she wouldn't. And her, Poss
a'ltic wondered - what she would respond to? Those records had been discretely
withheld.
Would they all be trapped in what the loom-master built, Poss a'ltic wondered
again, almost idly as Cayse helped the woman out of her wet clothes. Ulanda
appeared comforted with Cayse helping her. And from what they knew of her
tastes, the robe should please. And distract. Of quilted silk, the transparent layers
were sewn together with silver in the thread. A moiré pattern grew out of the
crossing of the fabrics. A delicate choice, with pearl buttons down the front and
where the sleeves gathered at the wrist, another long row of pearl buttons,
usually left open for the overbraids to show. Cayse carefully looped all the sleeve
buttons, one at a time, covering most of the braids. Should she order silk cord to
match the white robe, Poss a'ltic wondered. The braiding would occupy time she
wanted filled.
She walked over. The two of them stood eye to eye. “Would you be what I
am?” she asked her.
“Do you mean be Empress?”
She could be, but of what kind of Empire? “An Empire Priest,” she corrected.
“I was. You're missing five days from my life. Is this more real than that was?”
The woman's arms were folded; the dark braid ends stark against the white silk.
“But you're still here.”
“I'm wherever I need to be. The girl we saw... we grew up together in the
Acolyte House. After the Opening, I dreamed about her. W'til flowers, the yellow
ones, you must know them...”
Poss a'ltic nodded. They grew wild around the farm; she had picked them for
bouquets. And scattered them over her mother's grave, the autumn brittle stems
Laurel Hickey www.2morrow.bc.ca