Atlantis Rising Read Online Free Page B

a simple knife off the carver’s bench, leaving several more valuable blades behind. Quietly, the young man blended back into the crowd.
    This knife,
he thought as he tapped his sheath,
will be used for a good cause.
He nodded.
A very good cause.
    Promi slipped out of the market square and turned down a small street, passing a stable of horses so silently that they didn’t even bother to turn their heads in his direction. A moment later, he came to the area outside the temple gates. Hundreds of people thronged this place—the same people who had, not long before, witnessed his daring leap from the bell tower.
    He glanced up at the copper dome glittering in the sun. That had been a good escape, one of his best. But the one he was planning for later today would be even better.
Assuming,
he reminded himself,
I don’t get caught.
    As lightly as a breath of wind, he drifted into the crowd. Eager to celebrate Ho Kranahrum on the temple’s main courtyard, many of these people had started gathering the night before. In their arms, slings, and wagons, they carried prayer leaves inscribed with the names of loved ones, blankets, and flasks of fresh water and home-brewed ale. As well as hundreds of sacks and baskets bulging with food. For this particular holiday offered more than a reason to pray: It was a good excuse to eat like hungry goats.
    Ho Kranahrum was Ellegandia’s only religious holiday that was celebrated not just by monks and priestesses in the temple but by virtually everyone, even in the smallest villages far away from the City of Great Powers. Why? Because this holiday was all about giving thanks for Ellegandia’s vast bounty of foods provided by nature. And what better way to give thanks than to eat and drink your fill and then eat and drink some more?
    As he slid through the crowd, Promi casually reached into someone’s basket and took a honeycomb dripping with fresh clover honey. Then, having swallowed that, he grabbed a couple of filo dough pastries. And then a large homemade sausage spiced with cayenne pepper. He took a bite of the sausage, liking how the pepper blazed in his mouth.
    Not bad,
he thought, taking another bite of the sausage.
But I still prefer sweets.
    Just then, a pair of kindly-looking monks opened the temple gates. Like a river whose dam had burst, the villagers poured into the main courtyard. Paved with wide slabs of green marble, the courtyard offered plenty of space for people to sit down, stretch out their blankets, say prayers of gratitude to the spirits—and, above all, eat.
    Chewing thoughtfully, Promi walked across the courtyard and borrowed a flask of cold water from a devoted family who had just bowed their heads in prayer.
That’s what they get,
he said to himself,
for not paying attention.
    He crossed into the shaded archway at the far side of the courtyard and paused to study the nearest building. Ornately crafted with gilded beams, turquoise-blue tiles on the walls, at least a dozen balconies, many statues of immortal spirits, and tile mosaics featuring the images of gold turbans, the building could not be mistaken. Here was the Divine Monk’s personal residence—the place where, in about two hours, the Divine Monk himself would feast on his own grand meal to celebrate the holiday.
    Promi nodded.
He’ll have one more guest than he expects.
    Looking over at the faithful people who teemed in the courtyard, praying and chanting and eating and drinking, he shook his head, mystified. Enjoying all their good food he could certainly understand. Just as he could understand their gratitude for Ellegandia’s fabulous bounty of fruits and grains, meats and spices. But worshipping some invisible spirits who supposedly lived somewhere up in the sky or inhabited the Great Forest? That was impossible to comprehend.
    He took the last bite of his sausage and chewed slowly.
No, the only things I believe in are solid enough to be touched with my hand. Or,
he added with a pat of his