What that might be, Quentin could only guess.

“Here you are,” said Yeseph. Quentin did not see him at first. He was gazing up at the sweeping lines of the temple’s narrow, finger-thin central tower. People, dressed in the same simple elegance as Mollena and Yeseph, streamed into the temple. “Follow me-I will lead us to our places.”

Quentin obeyed mutely. He was much too busy taking in all the sights and sounds-A chorus had begun singing as they entered the vestibule of the temple.

Yeseph led them along quickly. Quentin could see through the spaces between the great hanging tapestries they passed that the sanctuary of the temple was already mostly filled with worshippers. They moved around the semicircular auditorium and arrived at a side entrance where three men in long white robes waited with a half-dozen young men carrying large candlesticks of burnished gold.

One of the priests, for so Quentin took them, held out a white robe for Yeseph who slipped it on over his other garments. “Now,” he said, “we are ready. Quentin, you follow me and do as I instructed you earlier. Mollena, you and Toli may take your places in the front row. You may watch from there.”

The three priests, or elders, turned and formed a single line. Yeseph stepped into file behind them and Quentin behind him. The fire bearers stood on either side of them forming, Quentin thought, an impressive procession.

Then they were moving down a wide aisle toward a raised platform behind which hung a great golden tapestry which glittered bright as the sun in the light of hundreds of candles.

There were seats arranged in a semicircle on the platform behind a large stone altar. Upon reaching the final step the elders went to their seats and the fire bearers placed their candles in receptacles around the altar. Yeseph took a seat near the center of the circle and Quentin sat at his right hand.

“Listen carefully and do as I say,” the Elder Yeseph instructed. “There will be an invocation-a calling of the One to hear our prayers. Then Elder Themu will deliver a short message to our people. When that is done it will be our turn. We will enter into the holy place-I will lead, you will follow.”

Quentin nodded his understanding and the choir began a short verse which was followed by one of the elders ascending to the device Quentin had taken for an altar-it was a large stone cube set in the center of the platform with steps at the rear allowing the speaker to climb to the top. Around it in a circle burned the candles placed by the fire bearers.

“Mighty Peran Nim Perano, King of Kings, you who ever hear our prayers, hear us now…”

The invocation continued, and to Quentin it seemed somewhat similar, and yet very different from the invocations he had heard in the temple at Narramoor. Similar in the style of speech and the words used, but very different in the way in which it was delivered. There was no fear, no self-consciousness or ostentatious display of humility. The elder spoke simply and with assurance that his voice was heard by the god, as it was heard by the hundreds who filled the sanctuary. Quentin shifted nervously in his chair, a little unnerved by the idea that the god was actually listening to them, watching them.

Quentin imagined that he could actually feel the god’s presence and then surprised himself when a real surge of emotion welled up within him in response to his imaginings.

He puzzled on these things as the ceremony moved along its determined course.

Quentin started to his feet at Yeseph’s example, as the words of Elder Themu’s message died away in the vast hall. He had daydreamed through the entire speech-it seemed like only moments since he had been seated, and yet he had a vague recollection that there had been more singing and the reading of the sacred text. But it all ran together in his mind as one brief event. Now he was standing and moving toward the stone with Yeseph.

“My good friends,” said Yeseph to the congregation. Quentin looked out at the hundreds of bright eyes glittering in the light of the candles. All he saw were the eyes. “We have come tonight to confer upon this young man, a sojourner among us, the Blessing of the Ariga.” Nods of approval rippled through the auditorium. “Attend us now with your prayers.”

Yeseph signaled the fire bearers who came forward, each one carrying a candle in a shallow bowl.

The fire bearers filed to the rear of the platform followed by Yeseph and Quentin and then the remaining elders. As they approached the wonderful golden tapestry, two of the fire bearers stepped up and drew the tapestry aside and Quentin saw a narrow doorway.

Yeseph entered the doorway, darkened but for the flickering glow of the candles, and they passed through a short corridor and into an inner chamber.

The chamber was much like the inside of a tomb, thought Quentin. Bare. Cut out of smooth stone with a stone ledge running the length of the further wall. No symbols or ornaments were to be seen as the fire bearers silently began placing their candles about the room.

Quentin heard the gentle splash of water and saw at one end of the oblong room a small fountain playing peacefully in a hollow bowl set in the floor.

The elders took their places along the stone ledge and Yeseph drew Quentin toward the fountain. “Kneel, Quentin.”

Quentin knelt down before the fountain and felt the smooth stone cool against his legs. In the quiet he heard the breathing of the elders behind him and the burble of the fountain dancing in its bowl. Then Yeseph, standing over him, said, “This is a place of power, the center of the Ariga’s devotion, for in this room each young Ariga received a blessing when he came of age.”

“They received many blessings throughout life, but this was a special one, delivered not by the elder or priest, but by Whist Orren, the Most High God himself.”

“This special Blessing they carried throughout life, and it became a part of their life. They did not earn it, nor did it require a ritual of purification or obedience. The Blessing is the gift of the god. All that is required is a true heart and a desire to receive it.”

“Now, then, is there any reason why you should not receive the Blessing of the Ariga?” Quentin, his eyes focused on the fountain while Yeseph had been speaking, turned to look into the elder’s kindly eyes.

“No,” he said softly. “It is my desire to receive the Blessing.”

“Then so be it,” said Yeseph. Raising his hands above Quentin’s head, he began to speak. “Most High God, here is one who would be your follower. Speak to him now and out of your wisdom and truth, give him your blessing.”

Again Quentin was struck with the bare simplicity of the prayer-an unadorned request, spoken with calm assurance.

Yeseph stooped to the fountain and cupped his hands in the water. “Drink,” he commanded, offering Quentin the water.

Quentin took a sip and Yeseph then touched his forehead with damp fingertips. “Water is the symbol of life; all living things need water to live. And so it is the symbol of the Creator of Life, Whist Orren.”

“Close your eyes,” Yeseph instructed, and lifted his voice in an ancient song.

At first Quentin did not recognize the words; the elder’s quavering voice echoed strangely in his ears as it reverberated in the stone chamber. Yeseph’s song seemed to swell, filling the chamber, and Quentin realized the others were singing, too. It was a song about the god and his promise to walk among his people and guide them in his ways. Quentin found the song moving, and as the simple melody was repeated he recited the words to himself.

Gradually Yeseph’s song died away and Quentin heard a voice. Was it Yeseph’s or another’s? He could not tell-it could have been his own. The voice seemed to speak directly to his heart, to some part of him that he carried deep within. Quentin then entered a dream.