“He is very ugly,” Bashti said, mocking his bent carriage and his birdlike mannerisms.
“That is why I trust him,” Ghost said. “I learned long ago the physical form is simply a shell for all manner of evil. Master Ivo looks evil. But he isn’t.”
“The king is very handsome,” Elayne said, and her point was abundantly clear.
Master Ivo looked like a great, hunched vulture with talons and a beak of flesh. His black eyes and lips weren’t as alarming as they might have been had Dagmar not explained their significance. He gathered them together about a week after their arrival, on their first full day as “supplicants,” and answered as many questions as they had. Ghost sat with them too, though she knew far more than the daughters. It seemed that her questions had already been asked and answered.
“What is a supplicant?” Bashti asked. Elayne and Juliah seemed to know, but Ghisla was grateful for the direct question.
“Supplicants come from every clan,” Dagmar began, “but they must have the support of their chieftain, and the Highest Keeper must grant them entry. Supplicants—most of them—eventually become keepers after their training.”
“Will we be trained in all things?” Juliah asked, her eyes sharpening.
“You will be trained to read and write. You will learn history. You will learn philosophy. You will learn the language and the stories of the gods—not just the gods of Saylok but of many cultures and people, if only to better understand your own.”
Ghisla wondered if they would be instructed in the ways of the Songrs, but she said nothing.
“Will we learn to joust and fence? Will we learn to fight?” Juliah asked.
Dagmar pursed his lips, contemplating that for a moment. “Yes. I suppose you will. Master Ivo said you should be treated like supplicants. All keepers are taught the basics of defense. So you will learn those things as well.”
“Will we start today?” Juliah asked.
Dagmar smiled. “Soon. We will start soon. Mayhaps Bayr can teach you.”
“You told me about the runes. You must tell them too, Dagmar,” Ghost insisted, gently changing the subject.
“The runes are the language of the gods,” Dagmar replied.
The mere mention of runes had five sets of eyes widening.
“But the runes are forbidden,” Elayne whispered. She’d been raised in Saylok and seemed to have a grasp on things most of the other girls did not.
“You are supplicants now,” Dagmar said. “But we will go slowly. Very slowly.”
“But . . . don’t you have to have rune blood to power the runes?” Elayne persisted, chewing on her lip. “What if we do not have rune blood? How will I—how will we—be keepers, then?”
“All who have rune blood do not become keepers. And all supplicants do not become keepers either. There are other paths . . . other worthy pursuits,” Dagmar said.
“All the runes must be drawn in blood?” Ghisla said, her thoughts on the rune on her hand, the rune she had yet to use, though she thought of Hod every day.
“Yes. It is the blood that gives the rune its power.”
“So if someone does not have . . . rune blood . . . the rune itself will have no power?” she asked. Hod had told Arwin she had rune blood.
Dagmar nodded.
“So why guard the runes if they are of no use to powerless people?” Ghost asked, pulling Dagmar’s attention in yet another direction. There was too much to know, too much to learn.
“It is not the powerless people we must worry about. Just because a man or woman has rune blood does not mean they have a pure heart. Power tends to corrupt.”
“Does it corrupt . . . keepers?” Elayne asked. That was the question, after all. If keepers were no better than the clansmen, none of them were safe.
“Of course. Keepers are just men. But that is why we live here, without riches or reward, without the temptations that would make us susceptible to such corruption. It is a delicate balance. We don’t use the runes for power or dominion. We do not use them for gain or glory. We seek wisdom, understanding, and patience.”
“Bayr has rune blood. That is why . . . he is so strong,” Ghost said, and her eyes met Dagmar’s as if they shared a secret. The people in the temple were full of secrets. Ghisla didn’t trust any of them, but she listened to the conversation intently. Talk of the runes reminded her of Hod and crazy Arwin.
“Will Bayr become a keeper—or a supplicant—someday?” Bashti asked.
“He is a warrior!” Juliah scoffed, as though the idea of the Temple Boy wasting his strength was laughable. “Warriors do not become keepers. They fight. That is what I want to do.”
“Do girls have rune blood?” Elayne asked, still worrying her lip between her teeth.
“Of course. My sister . . . Bayr’s mother, had rune blood. There are many women who do.”
“So why aren’t there any keepers who are girls?” Juliah asked.
“Women are keepers of a different sort.”
“What do you mean?” Juliah frowned.
“Women are keepers of children. Keepers of the clans.” Ghost spoke again, like she was repeating something she’d heard.
Dagmar nodded. “Through the ages, women have been needed elsewhere. We men were more expendable. We are still more expendable.”
“What is expendable?” Dalys asked. At six, much of the conversation flowed over her head, but they were all beginners. None of them knew how to read. None of them knew how to write. So they would all be taught together, regardless of the difference in their ages.
“Expendable means not as . . . precious.”
“What is precious?” Dalys asked.
Dagmar smiled but Juliah groaned, impatient to ask her own questions.
“Precious means there are very few. Precious means special. You are all . . . precious.”
“Why did we have to cut our hair?” Elayne asked softly. Of everyone, she had not recovered from that loss.
“We shave our heads to show we are separate from the world, but we wear robes of the same hue to show we are one with each other,” Dagmar answered her, his eyes compassionate.
“Why do you put black around your eyes?” Juliah asked.
“It is symbolic.”
“Of what?”
“Of our own . . . lack of vision and understanding.”
“Master Ivo blackens his lips as well,” Juliah reminded. “But you don’t. None of the regular keepers do.”
“As the Highest Keeper he has great power, more power than any other man, but next to the gods and the Norns he is nothing. He is flesh. He is subject to fate and death and evil. So he blackens his lips to show his words are not the words of a god. He blackens his eyes to signify his sight is not omniscient.”
“What is aw-awm-ni-shunt?” Dalys asked, struggling over the word, and Dagmar stood, clasping his hands, signaling an end to the inquisition.
“It means all-knowing. None of us are all-knowing. Not the Highest Keeper. Certainly not me. There will be time for more questions tomorrow, and the day after that. For now, let us just try to get through the next few hours.”
Master Ivo slowly began including them in keeper life, molding the pattern of their days into a likeness of the brotherhood. They had their own quarters, and they played more and prayed less than the keepers. They did not go into the sanctum but were schooled in their own hall, often by a rotating gaggle of grumpy keepers who took turns instructing them in various dry subjects in unvaried, dry tones. Keeper Dagmar was their favorite, and he seemed to enjoy teaching them too, though Ghisla caught him watching Ghost sometimes, a peculiar expression on his face. It looked like fear and fondness, an odd combination. Mayhaps it was fear of fondness, which Ghisla understood. It was better to not get too attached; she’d learned that lesson well.