Kushiel's Chosen

elder priestess lifted the sacrificial knife; bright-edged and tiny, with a curving blade. The lovely, shimmering veil hid her face, but her motions were serene. I had to look away as she brought down her arm. Even so, I heard the lamb bleat once, a strangled sound.
    And silence.
    I didn't know I was shaking until Severio put his hands on my shoulders to still me. "Phèdre," he said gently. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake. You needn't stay. Go back to the antechamber, and the acolyte will conduct you outside. I'll meet you in just a moment, I promise. But I cannot cheat Asherat, having brought her offering."
    "No," I said stubbornly, watching him blink in surprise. I don't think he knew, before that, how much will I had. I summoned a measure of composure. "I've come too, and one doesn't turn one's back on a goddess. I will go through with it."
    "As you wish," he said, bewildered.
    Eunuch attendants had removed the lamb's carcass-the Temple would dine on it that night, Severio told me later-but the altar still reeked of fresh blood as we approached and I could see, drawing near, traces of ancient blood blackened in the crevices. I held the honey-cake in my hands, gazing at the statue's face.
    Long ago, I knew, Asherat-of-the-Sea had another name, and a consort, too; El, who ruled the sun and skies as she ruled the earth and sea. So said the most ancient of Habiru myths, the ones the Rebbe pretended did not exist. But they quarreled, and divided, and took on different names and faces, as deities have done through the ages. El became the One God, Adonai of the Habiru; he begot a son named Yeshua.
    And Yeshua's blood and the tears of his mortal beloved mingled in the womb of the earth, the great Mother Goddess, who took their semidivine spark and nurtured to life Blessed Elua. If she wore in La Serenissima the face of Asherat-of-the Sea, 'twas not for me to turn away.
    "Gracious Lady of the Sea," I whispered in D'Angeline, my mother tongue. "Pray accept this gift from your many-times-removed daughter, and grant me your blessing." With trembling hands, I broke the honey-cake in half and laid it on the bloody altar.
    High above me, the face of the statue was unchanged, but I saw in it now somewhat different, a terrible and impassive mercy. Severio made his offering, murmuring a Caerdicci prayer. The priestesses nodded grave acceptance, and we turned to go.
    "Wait." It was the elder priestess, putting out a hand to stop me. Through her veil, I saw her eyes, dark and curious, searching mine. "Some god has laid his hand upon you, child. Will you not seek the counsel of the Oracle?"
    I glanced at Severio, who gave a faint shrug. "It is not wise to turn away the gifts of the goddess," he said neutrally.
    So it was that we were conducted by silent eunuchs into the left-hand chamber, beneath one of the two lesser domes. It was dark and smoky, and the walls were unadorned; indeed, the chamber held naught but a stool and a table, on which lay a large, deadly-looking cleaver that filled me with apprehension. Like the altar, the table was stained a dark red, though I could not detect the stench of blood, even with eyes closed. The eunuchs set about lighting tapers, and left us. The chamber brightened somewhat and presently an ancient priestess shuffled out, carrying a simple woven basket of pomegranates.
    "Some god-touched child, they say, and time to summon old Bianca," she said querulously, setting down her basket and lifting one crabbed hand toward my face. "Well, and why not, I've given counsel to a thousand and a thousand before, from altar and balcony alike, and never missed a day, except the one I had the grippe, when His Grace sought advice. Young Vesperia, she handled it well enough, they say, and why not, I trained her. Well, don't dawdle, child, let me see you!"
    Belatedly, I realized that her eyes behind the light-shot silver mesh of her veil were milky and blind, and bent my face to her searching hand. Crimson-stained fingertips soft with age drifted over my features, and old Bianca grunted with satisfaction.
    "D'Angeline, are you?" she asked. "No, don't tell me, I know it. Skin like a babe's arse, and the echo of a hundred fingers touched you before, men and women alike, kind and cruel, hard and soft. A rare beauty, yes? And marked, so plain even the blind can see it. Well and so; you don't belong to Asherat, but she takes an interest in all Her children, whether they like it or no. You have a question for the Gracious