Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) by Jim Grimsley

far?”
     
    “Maybe. I think so. If I had stayed on the farm I would only have had to worry about the sheep.”
     
    He pulled a twig from a neighboring stand of cilidur, the glossy leaves spiraling round the tough black stem; one by one he stripped each leaf from its place, calmly gathering the leaves in his palm. I thought he meant to save them, since cilidur leaves when dried make a fragrant tea, but when he had done stripping the branch he proceeded to tear each leaf to bits. The dense smell floated in the air round both of us. At last he said, “Your life will always be full of new worries here, Jessex. You’ll never know the whole catalog. Even here alone with me you face danger of a kind, but of such a subtle kind you may not realize its presence.”
     
    He said this plainly, but there was something questioning in the directness of his gaze. I sat beside him on the fallen log, rearranging a fold of his cloak to make room. “The danger for me here would be that I might stay too long.”
     
    He let the bits of leaf flutter from his hands. The rich smell rose up in final fullness. “Yes,” he said, with a heaviness in his manner that made me wonder if he wanted to be alone.
     
    “Do you want me to leave? I’ll go away if you ask.”
     
    His answering smile was hard to read. “Perhaps you should.”
     
    He said nothing else. The peace of the night had passed beyond us both. I went back to the fire without a word, feeling only a little scalded, nothing more.
     

Chapter 3: CAMP
     
    1
     
    We arrived at camp the next day, in mid-afternoon.
     
    For me to reconstruct my first impression of the place would be both foolish and fruitless, since I brought with me only my ignorance, colored with bits of information garnered from the soldiers during our journey. Our party reported to the quartermaster tent where all the soldiers except Uncle Sivisal were dismissed. I remained too, mounted. I did not make much of the delay, my curiosity being focused on the duties that awaited me in the lamp-shrine.
     
    Soon Prince Imral signaled us to follow. Kirith Kirin was watching me solemnly, maybe to see my reaction to this unfamiliar city of tents. We rode toward high ground, a rise of land where the tents of the gentry had been pitched.
     
    So subtle are the colors of a Jisraegen weave that one could hardly see the airy pavilions behind the concealment of leaf and branch. I studied them as I was able but we were riding pretty fast, down a trail marked with slender wooden obelisks, each bearing aloft the charred remains of a torch. The torches looked pathetic and listless in the light of day.
     
    The path took a steep turn and we rode through forest, such a long time I thought we were heading for open woodland. But finally we reached a clearing where a many-chambered tent had been pitched among a grove of vuthloven trees, their gray trunks blended perfectly with the dreamy fabric of the tent. Two wide flaps were staked open, the inside of each blazoned with intertwined letters forming the name of YY-Mother, in the form of the eye-sign, she-who-sees-the-world. So this was the shrine tent.
     
    The others dismounted and Uncle Sivisal signaled I should do the same. Since this was the end of my journey, he directed me to untie my bundle of belongings from Nixva’s saddle. I followed through the broad flaps, gawking at the rich interior. The altar was fitted with brass lamps and adapted so that one could slide in an axle and bolt on wheels, otherwise no one would ever have moved it. Fine carpets were strewn underfoot, soft as a bed and far more fragrant than my straw mattress in the attic at home. On either side of the altar and by each side of the wide flaps, incense drifted upward from brass pots, pungent and sweet. I had never seen any god-place more elaborate than the wandering priest’s shrine which could be carried in a bundle the size of a saddlebag. Here was a beauty that brought the mind to YY — rich colors and