Elesstar’s shrine was decorated with exquisite mosaics: water flowed in patterns of green and silver glass. And in the watery shadows stood Elesstar herself, a river-spirit arising from the darkness, one hand outstretched in blessing.

As Acir gazed he found himself drowning in the dream-memory again; watery reflections shimmered on the walls, like ripples on flowing riverwater…

Elesstar was leaning forward from the water-shadows, offering her hand to him, her glimmering eyes fixed directly on his –

No!

He stepped back, moving too suddenly, and felt a raw, red pain grate through his wounds. It brought him back to himself.

He must be light-headed, weak from fasting.

The elderly Priest who oversaw the lustral baths showed Acir where to disrobe. The crumbling stones lining the bath were stained green with age and mineral deposits. Steam gusted in little clouds from the cloudy waters. Acir hesitated on the edge, steeling himself – and then eased himself in, a step at a time. Warm water swirled around him. He gasped as the open weals stung… and then slowly let himself relax. Healing waters. He had come here to make penance – and the waters of the Goddess were soothing him, salving the self-inflicted injuries.

It was not at all what he had expected.

The Priest appeared on the rim of the lustral bath. He extended his hand until it gently touched Acir’s head. Acir understood; complete immersion was required. He took a breath and dived beneath the surface of the water.

For a moment he floated there, a moment out of time. Water green as verdigris embalmed him, lulled him into a sense of immense and timeless calm.

And then the need to breathe forced him upwards. Shaking the water from his hair, he burst the surface, blinking in the daylight. The old Priest nodded at him and mumbled a few words of benediction.

It was over. Acir climbed out, shivering in the cold, and dried himself with a coarse towel. He felt light, cleansed, shriven. He pressed coins into the venerable Priest’s hands and re-entered the Temple.

It was no longer empty. A trail of black-clad people was winding between the pillars, with movements solemn and slow. The women were veiled, the men bare-headed; all were carrying lotos candles in their cupped palms.

Curious to observe this unfamiliar religious rite, Acir drew nearer. The Priestess, also veiled, stood with a lighted taper beside the prayer-bells, making each candle blossom into flame.

A bier, borne by six men, was at the heart of the procession. The body lay on a curtained palanquin. The air filled with the milky smoke of perfumed wax.

Now he understood; a funeral procession. The Sulien way of death.

The mourners set the prayer-bells gently vibrating until the Temple filled with their bronze drone. He felt drawn to understand what the observance of the cult of Elesstar had come to mean to the people of Sulien.

The Priestess nodded to him as he approached.