"It is, I thank you, Spur Lazar," the woman said. Rather than holding out a hand, she opened a pocket, encouraging him to drop the coin into it, which he duly did.

The woman turned to the girl. "And this is for you, Ana." She handed the youngster an exquisitely sculpted gold owl.

Lazar took a sharp intake of breath. It was a tiny statue of Iridor. He could have sworn she had been selling a plain gold chain. Even to his untrained eye the statue looked as if it was worth more than forty karels. Something about her manner, however, prevented him from saying so.

"Are you sure you can bear to part with this sculpture of Iridor?" Ana asked, stunned by the bird's beauty.

"Oh yes, and particularly to you."

Ana smiled and the old woman reached out to hug her. Then she turned and tottered off. Lazar was still frowning, not only baffled by the gift itself, which had seemed to change shape before his eyes, but by Ana's knowledge of who it represented.

"I could have sworn she was selling a bracelet or necklace, not an ornament," he said.

"I agree." She hesitated briefly. "And I never gave her my name and yet she knew it."

Lazar swung around but the old woman had disappeared into the darkness of the alleys. "She knew my name too, although I suppose I'm known in the city." He frowned again. "Ana, how do you know the name of the bird that sculpture represents?"

"Everyone knows Iridor," she said casually.

"Not everyone. Certainly not people your age."

She shrugged as if to assure him it was of no importance, then added, "I've always known him."

He wanted to press further but Ana pushed the gold bird into his hand, taking him by surprise.

"It's yours," she said. "You paid for it."

"Keep it, Ana. It was you who paid for it. You are worth ten times as much."

She looked up at him, a tinge of regret in her soft smile. "They will not permit me to keep it, will they?"

Lazar shook his head. She was right, of course. "I suspect not. It will go into the palace coffers and probably never be seen again or, worse, melted down. Iridor isn't exactly a friend to our people."

"Pity he's seen that way," she said sadly. "He's always been our friend."

Lazar, taken aback by her words, couldn't respond. How could she know what he had always felt?

Ana filled the awkward pause. "No, you keep the statue for me. Let it remind you of me and of our friendship."

Lazar pushed the bird into his pocket and took her hand. "I shall keep it safe for you" was all he would risk saying. "Now, it's time I took you to your new home."

"Lazar, don't just keep it safe. Keep it near." She searched his face intently for confirmation. He nodded gravely and that seemed to satisfy her.

He hated every moment of the journey that brought them closer to the palace. With each step he felt that former sense of freedom, that release from the weight of his world, dissipate. With each stride he felt his shoulders hunch closer and his insides harden.

They arrived at the palace gates. He announced himself and his charge at the Moon Courtyard and it was made official. Ana had arrived and been registered by name at the palace. There was no turning away now.

She was palace property.

8.

Pez found Boaz alone in his chambers. Joreb had long ago given permission for the dwarf to have access to all areas of the palacea"he was the only person in the entire retinue who had absolute freedom. Thus the guards were used to seeing him come and go as he pleased, whether it be to the Zar's rooms or even to the harem. He was the only intact male permitted to visit the prized, most viciously protected place in the palace without forewarning, or any threat to his well-being.

"I thought I'd find you here," the jester said. "Would you prefer to be alone with your sorrow?"

"Do you know," Boaz said, "you're the only one who has even considered that I might be grieving for my father. Everyone else is treating me as though I should get over it and get on with taking on my new role. My mother's the worst. For her my grief is akin to a headache: something to sleep off with a mild soporific." The last few words were uttered with such disgust that Pez remained quiet. The boy was angry and entitled to be. "Don't they understand? My father has died! I loved him as any child loves his father."

Pez moved deeper into the room. "So how can we help you?"

"I just want to be left alone," Boaz replied, sullen now. He had seated himself at a window and was gazing out across the harbor.

Pez looked at the Zar and realized suddenly how tall his young friend was, and leana"as his father had been. But that was where the physical similarities ended. In looks, Boaz was all Herezah: dark hair and eyes, smooth olive skin. He possessed her strong, beautiful bone structure, and Pez imagined how hearts must already be fluttering in girls' breasts at the thought of their new Zar.

"You know that cannot happen, Boaz," Pez said gently. "One of the major attributes that everyone will be looking for in you is strength of charactera"" He held his hand up to stop the Zar. "I know you possess this but you need to show it to those who are waiting to pounce on your weaknesses and prey on them."

"I don't want to be happy yet," Boaz replied. His tone was haughty now. "It's obscene to think I should sing and dance with my father's body barely cold."

"I understand, truly I do, but you must demonstrate that you are strong. I don't suggest you make merry, Boaz, but you must participate in palace life. Don't withdraw. Be seen, be noticed. You don't have to smile or give pretense at happiness. In fact it will be all the more powerful if you are grave. It means you're taking your father's death seriously and that you're anything but a throne-hungry son. But let the palace see you around its halls and let the people know you are going about your duties stoically."

There was silence for a minute.

"You're right, as usual," Boaz said eventually. "I'll make an effort."

"I'm proud of you. Let your mother know you are equal to the task, and that this is your throne."

"And not hers?" Boaz finished, turning around to regard the dwarf.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

"I have no doubt that she can assist you immensely. But she can also undermine you." Pez changed the subject, his voice turning bright. "So, what have you been thinking about all alone in this grand new chamber?"

There was a silence and then Boaz sighed heavily. "I've been staring out to sea all evening, watching Beloch and Ezram."

"Oh yes?"

"Do you know, Pez, it's the first time I've ever really paid attention to them. They've always been there, so I suppose I didn't take much notice as I was growing up."

"I think most of the city folk suffer the same disease. One of Lazar's great gripes is that none of us appreciate the fine art all around us. Do you know their story?"

"Of the giants? No, I've never been taught the old legendsa"they think it's sacrilegious! Me, I want to learn the stories."

"Of course they would think this! The priests fear a return to the old ways of worshipping the Mother."

"You'll have to explain that, Pez," the boy said, crossing his legs, knowing he was about to be told a story.

"How about I pour some wine first?" Pez filled two cups with watered-down sweet wine and waddled over to the window seat, where he made himself comfortable and then cleared his throat.

Boaz gave a small grin, his first in days, and raised his glass. "To a lighter heart," he said. The two of them drank.

"Now, where to begin?"

"Tell me about the priestesses," the young Zar suggested as he settled back into cushions.

"All right. Centuries ago, Percheron followed the ways of the Great Goddess whom we know simply as Mother, and worshipped female deities. The temples were inhabited by holy women. They were silent places, which is why you'll see so many of the sculptures in our temples with fingers to their lips."

"What does it mean?"

"Silence represents the soundless womb that gave birth to the first gods. Some of the oldest writings teach that Silence was the mother to the Great Goddess herself."

"But now they're noisy places. I don't often enjoy a visit to the temple."

Pez nodded. "The priests changed everything. Now the temple is a gathering place. Prayer blends with socializing. Moneylenders, as you know, now set up their stalls outside the temples because these are places where lots of people meet."

"So temples were once quiet places of prayer and overseen by women?"

"Yes, indeed. The holiest of our people were women. Lots of the symbols you see around you, Boaz, have female connotations."

"Oh?"

"Over here." Pez pointed to a recurring motif on a painted frieze on one wall of the chamber. "You see this. What do we call it?"

"Wait," Boaz said, screwing his eyes tight and concentrating. "It's known as the universal life charm."

"Good, your scholars teach you well, even though they don't explain much. Did they teach you that it's also known as the Cross of Life and that it represents the union of the female and male?" Boaz shook his head. "The oval shape on the top of the cross is female. The cross itself is male. And there's more if you look for them." The dwarf paused and took a sip of wine. "Think of the decoration of the great feasting hall in the palace. What symbol comes to mind first?"

"Er, the one that looks like the shell you can hear the sea in."

Pez smiled. "Right again. That shell is called a cowrie."

"I know that."

"Do you know what it symbolizes, though?"

"No. Tell me."

"It's the female sex and was often used to represent the Goddess."

Boaz opened his mouth in wonder and Pez grinned. "But the cowrie symbol is everywhere in Percherona"in our homes, our paintings, on our porcelaina"

"Everywhere," Pez echoed. "This land celebrated women once; it prayed to the Mother Goddess and it revered its holy priestesses."

"Buta"

"But now they are nothing," Pez finished for him. "Yes, people have forgotten and your generation isn't even taught Percheron's spiritual history. It's the smug priests who run the temples, and the few remaining holy women are ridiculed."

Boaz looked out to sea and digested what he had heard. Minutes passed and Pez sat comfortably in the silence. Finally Boaz turned back to his friend. "So, in truth, the Zar's harem is a mockery of what we formerly worshipped and held dear. Women are no longer revered in the same way; they are slaves to men's needs and whims."

Pez had not expected the youngster to make this connection so swiftly. Perhaps there was hope for Percheron with this intelligent, perceptive young man so quickly growing into his throne.

"One might look at it that way, Boaz, yes. The women of the harem are powerless, and the luxury and decadence in their lives all but makes them useless. They have no role to play other than to serve men. The priests of yesteryear encouraged it for that reason and now in a twisted way the palace harem is all but sacred."

"When did this happen?" Boaz asked.

"Oh, a very long time ago. At some point the holy men became jealous of the power of their female counterparts and decided to do something about it. I simplify it, of course, but only to make it easier to understand. I hadn't planned on giving you a lecture in history tonight." He smiled crookedly.

"But it's all so fascinating. My father's women were happy, of course," the boy said. "Well, until the harem was disbanded."

"Were they happy, Boaz? Do you think they would choose their bored, decadent, sometimes debauched existence over freedom, the right to choose their mate and have children who wouldn't be slaughtered simply because they might threaten a throne?"

"I did not order that murder." The boy bristled.

"Nor did I say you did. We come full circle. Your mother did what was right for today's times. She did the only thing she could to protect the security of the Chosen's throne. Every one of the other women would have done the same and yet that doesn't make it sit any easier in the mind, does it?"

Boaz shook his head. "I have nightmares about it. I'm not just grieving for my father, Pez, I'm trying to come to terms with the loss of my brothersamy friends."

"I know, child, and we must respect that."

"Isn't the position of Valide Zara a contradiction, then, to the way you say we now live? Surely my mother's power harks back to the days of the Goddess when a woman was powerful?"

"Not really. You see, your mother is powerless without you, Boaz. Never overlook that. You are her power; your position nourishes her influence. She has none in her own right. If something were to happen to you she would be stripped of her title and cast onto the streets as she cast her rivals not so long ago."

Boaz frowned. "I've never looked at it like that."

Pez said no more. Enough seeds had been planted in the boy's mind tonight. "So now, Beloch and Ezram, our magnificent giants you asked me about."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten."

"Some people believe, myself included, that giants once roamed the land and that these two were the most powerful warriors amongst their race."

"This is a myth, surely?"

"No myth," Pez said gravely. "Beloch and Ezram worshipped the Goddess and it is said that the warlock Maliza"aided by the god Zaraba"founded the new movement to dislodge holy women from their pedestal. Through Maliz, Zarab fueled the jealousies, weaved magicks upon his followers to overthrow the priestesses and install the new era of the priest."

"The giants?"

"They were a threat to Maliz. Not only them but the rest of their kind. Also all the strange statues you see around the city. They were once beasts who revered the Goddess, who gave her power."

"So?"

"Maliz made a bargain with the god Zarab and turned them to stone."