The Burning Stone

“The heavens are.” He had one arm under her neck and she had to shift to get comfortable. “Imagine a wheel with many sparks fixed on it. Now curve that wheel into a dome and join the dome with another dome so that it becomes a sphere. Those sparks are fixed to the inner surface of the sphere, so they don’t move, but when the sphere moves, if it rotates in a uniform circular motion, then if you stand at the center of the sphere, the stars move because the sphere moves.”



“What are you standing on there in the center of your sphere?” He still seemed amused. The truth, as she had come to learn, was that he was curious but also skeptical and quick to get bored by such talk, and that sometimes irritated her.



“You’re standing on the earth, of course! The universe is a set of nested spheres, one inside the next with the earth at the center. Beyond the seventh sphere, which is the sphere of the fixed stars, lies the Chamber of Light—where our souls go after we die.”



“Has any scout walked up through these spheres and returned to report on what she saw?”



“A blasphemous thought.” Anne’s voice, cool and yet perhaps faintly amused, came out of the dark.



Liath sat up at once and moved slightly away from her husband.



Husband! The word still staggered her.



Yet something about Anne’s presence made her feel unclean for the physical feelings she had for Sanglant. It was frustrating to be newly wed while traveling with a woman who thought you ought to remain as pure as the angels, so frustrating that at times Liath toyed with heretical thoughts. God were male and female. Why should angels not be as well, and if they were, then where did infant angels come from? If God had joined in harmony to create the universe, why shouldn’t angels join as well? In which case, there ought to be no shame for humans to join so.



She could have asked Da. But she didn’t have the nerve to try out this argument in front of her mother.



Sanglant got to his feet to show respect. “Your knowledge is vast and impressive,” he said lightly. Anne didn’t daunt him. “But it makes no sense to me.”



“Nor should it. You have your place, Prince Sanglant, as we have ours. You need know only that God have created the universe we stand in. That which they wish to make known to you they will reveal to you, Liathano.” She turned away from him. “Come inside.”



Liath hesitated.



“Go on,” said Sanglant softly. “I must tend the dog.”



The old hut had a mosaic floor, river stones pieced cunningly together to make an image of partridges picking up seeds in a thicket. Magelight illuminated the floor, which was chipped and worn and, at the end where the roof no longer covered it, broken and coming to pieces. Anne sat on a canvas stool. A fire burned in a stone hearth, newly swept out, and their cook pot bubbled with a stew that smelled so good that Liath’s mouth watered. Along one wall, an insubstantial shape wavered, slipped like the antithesis of shadow toward the door, and vanished into the night. Anne frowned.



“They’re afraid of me.” Liath blurted it out, although she hadn’t meant to. Although it was the truth.



Anne regarded her evenly. “It is time to eat our supper.”



There were two bowls. Liath obediently dished out stew for Anne, then took some for herself and sat on a stack of bricks that served well enough as a bench. She blew on the broth to cool it. It had a savory odor, rabbit, leeks, herbs. They ate in silence, as always. It needed only a sister to read aloud from the Holy Verses for the atmosphere to match that of the convent.



When she was done, she went back to the cook pot to ladle out Sanglant’s portion.



“Nay, child,” said Anne softly. “We will talk first. You can bring him his supper later.”



Annoyed, Liath set bowl and spoon on a hearthstone to keep it warm, and sat down on the brick bench. She had learned caution. Anne was nothing like Da. She seemed more a force than a person, like the hand of God reaching below the moon to touch mortal spirits. One did not speak rashly to the hand of God.



“Your education in the basic knowledge necessary to the mathematicus is sound. I am pleased with the answers you have given me these past nights.”



“You said you would answer my questions when you had finished. May I ask them now?”



The fire had such a constant glare that Liath knew its flame rose from an unnatural source. Two logs lay within the stone hearth, but although fire licked them and curved around their sides, they were not consumed. Were those salamander eyes blinking in the depths of fire? Blue sparks winked and dazzled in the flames.



“You may.”