Free 2: Servants of the Crossed Arrows by Ginn Hale

Parfir’s face had been more delicately carved than the rest of him. His handsome countenance wore a benevolent smile.
    Oddly, the people who came in to pray didn’t look at Parfir. Instead they, like Pivan, bowed their heads before him. Many closed their eyes. John thought it was too bad that they didn’t look up. It might have reassured them to see that Parfir smiled over them.
    That handsome smile made him think of Ravishan.
    It had been two days since John had seen him. Today was the day that Ravishan had promised to bring medicine for Bill. Ravishan would be searching for them and they wouldn’t be there for him to find.
    A panicked feeling rushed through John as he tried to think of a way to send word to Ravishan. Nothing came to mind. He would just have to hope that Ravishan stayed sensible and didn’t get himself in trouble looking for them. If he could wait one more day then John would be there in Rathal’pesha with him.
    They continued repeating the prayers over and over until John’s throat was rough. Then, at last, Pivan decided that they had done enough.
    “Any more and I’ll begin to regret that I didn’t become a priest myself,” Pivan said. Seeing his expression, John didn’t think he was joking.
    After the long walk back, John gladly dropped down to his bed. When he closed his eyes, he thought he could still hear Pivan whispering prayers.
     

Chapter Fourteen
     
    The morning air was cold and the sky colorless as water. The sun had not risen high enough to burn away last night’s chill and frost still clung to ceremonial stones and iron statues like prickly white lichen.
    John flexed his fingers inside his fur-lined gloves to draw a little more feeling into them. He resituated the sheepskin of daru’sira that Pivan had given him, slinging it over his shoulder.
    The Thousand Steps to Heaven’s Door began at the highest point at the north end of the city. The steps themselves were unremarkable. Plain gray stone, they were only a little more narrow and tall than the steps leading up to the college library back at home. Each step taken alone was simple and unimpressive. But one look up the mountainside and their monumental scale became clear.
    Carved into the face of the mountain, the steps rose like an immense scar. John craned his neck back, following the straight line of the stairs up to where they were lost from sight in the white wisps of clouds. The two huge iron statues of Parfir standing at either side of the first step seemed tiny by comparison.
    “One thousand,” John muttered. His breath came out in white puffs.
    He glanced over to where Pivan stood. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were red from the cold but he didn’t seem to care. Pivan’s features were set in an expression of stern confidence. He gazed down the road behind them, only narrowing his eyes slightly as a distant group of men staggered drunkenly into his view.
    “Maybe we should go to the house—” John began but Pivan cut him off with a shake of his head.
    “You have to be here for him. Once the candidate arrives, he cannot wait. If you are not here for him, then he will have to go without you,” Pivan said. “And Gaunan   Fikiri’in’Bousim cannot make the climb without an attendant. Even I wouldn’t be callous enough to force that on him.”
    “Well, he can’t make the climb with an attendant if he’s not here,” John replied. “We’ve been waiting for an hour.” Despite the thick socks and new, heavy boots, his toes had gone numb.
    “These things take time.” Pivan sighed and turned to John. “You remember everything?”
    “The first and last step have to be his own. No food, only daru’sira to drink, and we have to be inside before the sun goes down.”
    “And the prayers?” Pivan asked.
    John gave Pivan a look of sheer disbelief. He had done nothing but repeat prayers for two solid days: prayers obviously crafted for easy recall. They had a catchy kind of rhythm that stuck in his head