"Actually," Ashyn cut in, "I think the more pressing question is: who is he?"
She pointed to the man beneath Ronan. He was rotund and at least in his fifth decade. She could not judge caste by his attire--it wasn't fine enough to be a merchant's, rough enough to be a farmer's, or elegant enough to be an artisan's, and he lacked a warrior's blades. His feet were bare, which was odd, given the chilly night, but more than that, the bottoms of his feet were blackened, the flesh burned and healed over.
"A penitent," Simeon murmured. "A fire walker."
Ashyn struggled against letting her distaste show. It was not the empire's practice to impose its faith on its people. Most religions, though, including this one, were still offshoots of their core beliefs.
It was commonly accepted that all living things had a spirit. The essence of life flowed endlessly around them. All spirits deserved their respect. Ancestral spirits deserved their devotion and in return, would protect and bless them. If negative spirits meant them harm, it was not through ill will but a misalignment of balance. They had been wronged--or felt themselves wronged--and lashed out in retaliation. Every effort should be made to correct the imbalance before resorting to banishment. The spirits needed care and kindness and respect. They did not, however, need fear or groveling or debasement.
Yet some religions felt that the spirits' anger was more terrible, their forgiveness more reserved. Enlightenment required suffering. That was certainly the view of the penitents. Some walked on hot coals. Others used flagellation, starvation, or isolation. While Ashyn had been raised to accept religious beliefs beyond her own, she struggled with the penitents. Even after all she'd seen, she did not believe the spirit world demanded human suffering. If anything, suffering seemed to dishonor them--rejecting the fullness of the world the spirits had created.
"Why did you come after us?" she asked.
"I came for you, my lady Ashyn, Seeker of Edgewood."
The man could not bow lying prone, so he pressed his face into the ground, hard enough to make her wince.
"Let him rise, please, Ronan."
Ronan did but kept his blade on the man, warning him not to approach the Seeker. Ashyn doubted the warning was necessary. The man fairly shook with servitude, his eyes pointed straight down, as if even gazing on her feet would be unseemly.
"You know me," she said.
"Of course, my lady. We know of all the Seekers and Keepers. By name and by description. To serve the world of the spirits? We can only dream of such glory. The emperor himself ought to bow--"
She cleared her throat in alarm. "We serve the empire, and the emperor is the physical embodiment of it."
"Well-spoken for one so young."
"It's past midnight," Ronan said. "We are a half day's walk from the nearest town. Perhaps you could save the flattery, and tell us why you're stalking the Seeker."
"I was not stalking her. We passed a caravan that spoke of your expedition. It was as if the ancestors themselves had answered our pleas. We rode back to search for the camp. The spirits guided me here, where I saw her." He lifted his gaze as far as Ashyn's knees. "We need your help, my lady. We have somehow angered the spirits. I suspect one of our order has been negligent in his penance."
"I very much doubt--"
"It is something, my lady," he said, lurching with the emphasis. "Something terrible. An omen. A portent. We do not know. But it is the work of evil spirits. Our caravan is just over that ridge. If you could please come and speak--"
"No, she cannot," Ronan said. "I don't know what trickery--"
"Trickery?" the man sputtered. "I am with the Order of Kushin."
He shot his arm out from his sleeve. It was covered with circular scars, so thick and ugly that Ashyn couldn't imagine what had made them . . . and would prefer not to try.
"Kushin are the most respected order of penitent monks," Simeon said. "We ought to aid them if we can."
"I don't care who they are," Ronan said. "I don't trust anyone who asks Ashyn to follow him into the night. Only a fool would suggest she obey."
"Fool?" Simeon bristled. "I am a scholar under Master--"
"A scholar? Well, that explains it." Ronan turned to Ashyn. "We'll let the scholar investigate. You need to get back to camp."
The monk pleaded. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. As for exactly what, he wouldn't say, only growing agitated and telling them he'd explain as they walked.
"I'll crest the ridge," she said. "If I see no caravan, this young man will escort you back to the prince to explain yourself."
TEN
"How much do you know of penitents, my lady?" the monk asked as they walked.