Glasswrights' Test by Mindy L Klasky Page A

filled with the taste of peach. The flavor surged across her tongue, coating her throat as if she had bitten into the ripest summer fruit. She caught her breath at the purity of the flavor, at the sheer force of the sensation. What god was this? She did not remember having felt his touch before, having swallowed his intoxicating nature.
    She reached inside her thoughts, calming the still, small place inside her, as Father Siritalanu had taught her to do. Taking a deep breath, she gathered in the essence of peach once again, rolled it across the back of her tongue. There. … Almost. … Nim! The god of wind.
    Berylina hastily spoke a prayer in her mind. Hail, Nim, god of wind. Greetings in this house dedicated to all the Thousand Gods.
    She scarcely hesitated as the power of the god enveloped her. Nim reached inside her thoughts, gathering up her prayer with his grasping fingers. He swirled through her awareness, wrapping her in the flavor of peach, in the overwhelming essence of summer fruit.
    Nim. The unbridled power of the winds that blew across the high plains of Liantine. The force that made the long, green grass lie down in rippling waves, like fold after fold of softest silk. … Nim, who had encircled the spiderguild in Liantine, who had cradled the stronghold in the grip of storm, in the flow of daily life. Nim, who would be the comfort of any member of the spiderguild, forever and always. Nim, who had watched a young apprentice grow up in the shelter of her family and her craftsmen, who had watched a young woman discover and create the meaning of her life.
    Berylina was barely aware of the crowd behind her as she stepped up to the dais. She edged past the Holy Father, skirting the king of all Morenia. She scarcely saw her hands passing between those of the green-clad caloyas, only vaguely realized that she was kneeling before the altar. Kneeling beside her queen.
    The flavor of peach was flooding her mouth, flowing through her body, commanding her heart and her lungs and her brain. “My lady,” she whispered. “You must take strength, Your Majesty.”
    â€œThere is no strength!”
    â€œThere is, my lady.” Berylina reached out one hand, settled her fingertips against the desperate woman’s lips. She felt the power of Nim flow through her, felt the touch of peach wash against Queen Mareka, as clearly as if nectar dripped onto the royal lips. “There is strength, my lady. Strength in Nim.”
    â€œNim. …”
    â€œThe god of wind, Your Majesty. He has watched you since you were a child.” Berylina heard the god inside her head, understood the words that he whispered. “He has seen you stand strong before. He knows your core. He knows that you can conquer this loss. You can rise up now. You can do what must be done.”
    The queen merely cried out in agony, devastation etching her face, her hands, every fiber of her body.
    Berylina closed her crossed eyes, drew her vision inside her mind. How often had she done this? How often had she closed out the distorted view of the world, the sights that passed unreliably through her skewed gaze? In the darkness of her inner sight, she could make out a child-Mareka huddled on a cot, a frightened girl, an apprentice away from her family for the first time. She saw the same child standing in the spiderguild’s riberry groves, afraid to climb a tree. She saw the girl reaching out to feed a hungry octolaris. At each of these tests, the girl-Mareka had been surrounded by the wind, bolstered by Nim, even if she had been unaware of the god’s presence.
    Berylina forced her voice to be strong, let her inner conviction harden her words more than she had ever dared before. She proclaimed, “Nim has been with you, my lady. In the guild, he stood beside you, from the first day that you took your apprentice oath. Think of the wind on the high plain. Think of the god’s touch as he smiled upon you.”
    Queen