The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3) Page 174

Breschius laughed kindly. “God are tolerant, my child. So should we be. This is all Their creation. We are sent to this earth to learn about our own hearts, not to judge those of others.”

“You aren’t like most of the fraters I’ve ever met.” Then she flushed, thinking of Hugh. Beautiful Hugh.

Breschius chuckled, and she had a sudden feeling that he could read her heart well enough but was too humble a soul to judge her for what she knew was a foolish and sinful yearning. “Because we are none of us the same, we must each learn something different in our time on this world.”

“I had such a strange dream,” she said, to change the subject. “I dreamed I went inside the wagon of Prince Bayan’s mother, and that the young princess said that her luck had been born into my body.”

He stopped dead and his face blanched.

She felt suddenly as if a butterfly fluttered in her throat, captive, never to be free again.

“But it was only a dream. It had to be a dream. I could understand what they were saying.”

“Do not discount their power,” he said hoarsely. “Do not speak of it again, ever. They will know.”

“How can they know? What if I’m a thousand leagues away from them?” He shook his head stubbornly. Such a change had come over him, he had become so tense and troubled, that she, too, felt frightened. “Will you answer one question, then? What is a pura?”

He flushed. Sweat broke on his neck and forehead although it wasn’t warm. The camp swarmed with movement in front of them; behind, the river murmured over smooth rocks in the shallows and on the far bank a line of soldiers reached the ford and set out across.

“A pura,” he said in a hoarse voice, “is a word in the Kerayit tongue for a horse.”

“Then why would the Kerayit princess say in my dream that I would find the man who would become her pura?”

He shut his eyes as though to shut out—or to see more clearly—some dim and ancient memory. “A horse can be ridden. It can carry burdens. If it is male, it can be bred to mares. Its blood, drunk hot from a vein, can strengthen you. A fine, strong, elegant horse can be a source of pride and amusement to his owner. A pura means also a young and handsome man who serves any young Kerayit princess who has been called to become a shaman. The shaman women of the Kerayit tribe live in utter seclusion. Once they have touched their luck, they may never be seen in front of any person who is not their own kin, or who is not a slave, whom they do not count as people. Shamans do not marry, as do their sisters. Prince Bayan’s mother did so only because—well, I have spoken of that before. You do not take your luck as your pura. A pura is not a real person, but only a slave.”

“Then why do these women take a pura at all?”

He had recovered enough to look at her with amusement lighting his eyes. “You have sworn oaths as an Eagle, my child. But do you never look at young men with desire stirring in your heart? Even Prince Bayan’s mother was young once. A Kerayit woman chosen by their gods to become shaman is young, and her path is a difficult one. Not all survive it. Who would not want a horse on such a long road?”

His flush had subsided, and for the first time she really looked at him as a woman looks at a man. The ghost of his younger self still lived in his lineaments. Once he had been a young and handsome man, a bold frater walking east to convert the heathens. It was easy to imagine a Kerayit princess taking a fancy to such an exotic young man.

“And are puras set free,” she asked, “once their mistress no longer needs them?”

“Nay,” he said softly. “No shaman willingly gives up her pura.”

Had she misunderstood? “I beg your pardon, Brother. I thought by your words and expression that perhaps you had once been—” Now she was too embarrassed to go on. “I did not mean to wrong you. I can see you serve God faithfully.”

“You have not wronged me, Daughter.” He touched her fleetingly on the elbow. “She did not willingly give me up. She died. I was blamed for it because I was teaching her the magic of writing. It was her aunt, a queen of her people, who cut off my hand. Later, Prince Bayan came to hear of my captivity because that queen was his wife’s aunt’s cousin, and he asked for me as a present. That is how I came into his service. God forgave me for my disobedience, for the truth is I loved Sorgatani freely and would have remained in her service for the rest of my life. But it was not to be.” He smiled wryly, without anger. “So now I serve God’s agent, who is Prince Bayan, whatever his other faults. Do not think ill of him, child. He has a good heart.”