Finding Destiny Read Online Free Page B

loss of twelve or so people didn’t seem like a lot, but he knew these villagers would feel the pinch at harvesttime.
    The temple lay in the center of the village. It had a small stable, empty save for the sheaves of hay in the low loft, a palm-leaf-sheltered courtyard four times as big as any of the others, and a building two stories higher than the rest. Most of the awnings drooped down from its upper edges, in fact, and the walls had been carefully painted in geometric patterns with repeating motifs of sun and water, palm trees and abstracts in bright shades of yellow, blue, green, and red. Other than that, it was built like the other buildings, with net-covered openings down low and netted windows placed up high, spaced for creating cooling drafts and enough light to see by while hopefully keeping out bugs, snakes, and other small pests.
    More netting hung as curtains over the doorways, not only into the temple itself but also to the four cistern sheds in the four corners of the courtyard. The storm doors and window shutters stood open, and someone had taken the time to sweep all the dust from the flagstones lining the ground. It was just as well; splotches of water had been dripped in a series of drying lines from one of the cistern sheds toward the nearest courtyard exit, proof that more than one person had come to fetch their supper water a few moments before. With people constantly coming to the village wells for water, a dusty courtyard would have quickly turned into a muddy courtyard.
    The temple building, Eduor knew from his reading, was divided into three segments. On the roof would be the rain-cistern funnels, which led down to the cisterns carved in the bedrock beneath the village. Whenever the seasonal rains came, the dyara ’s job was to mount the stairs to the roof and use his or her powers to funnel the precious water falling directly over the village into the collection tanks. If the storm was bad, the dyara diverted some of that water from over the whole oasis as well, since a heavy rainstorm too early in the growing season could wash away seeds and seedlings alike.
    The middle layer contained living quarters for the village priest or priestess and his or her family, and for the dyara and his or her immediate family, if the dyara wasn’t the holy representative for the village. Unlike Mandarite priests, who were forbidden to marry, the dyara were considered prime catches as potential mates. There could be several dyara in a village, too, allowing it to grow larger, though small ones like this rarely had more than one or two. Whatever space wasn’t needed by the priesthood and the water-callers was often given over to storage needs for the villagers, save for the occasional room kept ready for guests.
    The ground floor was always the same. The court hall stood on the right, far from the cistern sheds and their moisture so as to protect the storage room holding the tax records and other rulings. If there was a problem in the village, the elders and other influential persons would gather to discuss it and pass judgments if there were any problems. The long, open-air sanctuary sat in the middle, where the reflection pool and the eternal flame awaited the light of the midday sun for holy services. To the left, between the temple sanctuary and the courtyard, sat the bathing hall.
    Eduor longed for a bath. He had dust and sandy grit in places he didn’t want to think about. The facilities were built along the lines of Natallian-style showers, though every temple bathing hall also had its mikwahs , the purification pools where the villagers would go to soak away their sins once a week after confessing their wrongdoings and receiving their penance tasks from the priests.
    It’s not a bad system, he acknowledged, catching a glimpse of the blue-decorated tiles through the curtained bathing hall entrance. In such a hot, dry climate, if you want a cooling, refreshing soak, you confess your sins and promise to be a