Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
rubbing points that should have relaxed her into letting go but didn't. Her teeth
were chattering, her mouth full of the taste of the metal her hands held.
Ulanda tried to keep from shivering. Except for her attendants, the small bath
was deserted. A plain stone room with a pool, water trickled down the wall in
back of it instead of a fountain. A single reed drum, silent now although it had
sounded for the first part of this. Two torches, one at either side of the entrance,
the ceiling was lost in smoke, they'd be bathing in smoke as well as water if this
didn't speed up. Hiding her impatience, she stood quietly as the Camerat Salin
completed the ritual. Grasses tied together into a brush was used to flick water at
her. The water tickled as it rolled down her skin, leaving her cooled for the first
time since arriving on Camerat days ago.
Water and words. The woman chanted breathlessly, the sound hollow against
the stone around them. High formal, she recognized although she didn't
understand the language. And the occasional cough. The Salin's crest rose and
fell with the action. The crest was a rich cream blue but ragged at the ends as
though chewed. She must be old. She'd make a good brush in a large hand,
Ulanda thought and felt like giggling.
And managed to bow politely as the woman put the brush on the flat stone
beside her, the reed handle snapped in half so that it couldn't be used again. A tie
from her wrist went over it in a coil. Both would be burned. “I will take your
words into the spiral,” Ulanda said in the plain tongue she barely spoke, at the
last moment remembering the standard response. “My thanks.”
The Salin bowed and signed an attendant to do the robing. Very thin white
cotton, it stuck to the water on her skin but the other woman pulled it into the
proper shape before tying the girdle around. Then put her wet hair into a single
tail with a cord tie, wrapping it around to the end. The same braiding as the
girdle: opal colored silk with a narrow black turn. A cross section would resemble
a triple spiral - Altasimic Temple colors and braiding pattern. Ulanda licked her
dry lips nervously. Her colors if she lived.
“This is the way of our people,” the lead attendant said in as formal a way as
the prayer had been but in the simpler language. She offered a small tray taken
from the junior. “We give it to others as a sharing. If you wish I can make the
Camerat prayer signs. Hands, the palms and the ankles in a ring. The neck.” She
made a slight bow over the tray with the last word. Small jars of paste dye, the
lids off, the colors glowed in the flickering light. Ulanda thanked her but said no,
then included the junior aide in her thanks. The two had the same pattern of
colors around their necks as the Salin did. One family, she hadn't noticed before.
“I could use a sign for luck,” Ulanda whispered and the lead attendant blinked
as though startled, but turned away without responding. Ulanda took a deep
breath. Sweat beaded up on her skin, she hadn't stayed cool, or impatient.
Laurel Hickey www.2morrow.bc.ca