Aoz Roon looked furious while Laintal Ay spoke. Dathka sat rigid in silence. The old men of the council peered at each other under their eyebrows and muttered uneasily. Eline Tal laughed.
“What do you wish us to do to aid this academy?” Aoz Roon asked.
“The temple is empty. Give it to Shay Tal. Let her hold meetings there every afternoon at promenade time. Use it as a forum, where anyone can speak. The cold has gone, people are freer. Open the temple as an academy for all, for men, women, and children.”
His resounding words died into silence. Then Aoz Roon spoke.
“She cannot use the temple. We don’t want a new lot of priests. We keep pigs in the temple.”
“The temple is empty.”
“From now on, pigs are kept in the temple.”
“It’s a bad day when we put pigs above the community.”
The meeting eventually broke up in some disorder, as Aoz Roon marched out. Laintal Ay turned to Dathka, his cheeks flushed.
“Why didn’t you support me?”
Dathka grinned sheepishly, tugged his narrow beard, stared down at the table. “You could not win if all Oldorando supported you. He has already banned the academy. You waste your breath, my friend.”
As Laintal Ay was leaving the building, feeling disgusted with the world, Datnil Skar, master of the tawyers and tannerscorps, called to him and grasped his sleeve.
“You spoke well, young Laintal Ay, yet Aoz Roon was right in what he said. Or, if not right, not unreasonable. If Shay Tal spoke in the temple, she would become a priestess and be worshipped. We don’t want that—our ancestors got rid of the priests some generations ago.”
Laintal Ay knew Master Datnil for a kindly and modest man. Restraining his anger, he looked down at the worn face and asked, “Why tell me this?”
Master Datnil looked about to see that no one was listening.
“Worship arises from ignorance. Believing in one fixed thing is a mark of ignorance. I respect attempts to drum facts into peoples heads. I wanted to say that I am sorry you were defeated, though I don’t agree with your proposition. I would be willing to address Shay Tal’s academy if she will have me.”
He removed his fur hat and set it on the lichenous sill. He smoothed his sparse grey hair and cleared his dry throat. He looked about him and smiled nervously. Although he had known everyone in the room since he was born, he was unaccustomed to the role of speaker. His stiff clothes creaked as he shifted from one foot to another.
“Don’t be afraid of us, Master Datnil,” Shay Tal said.
He caught the note of impatience in her voice. “It’s only of your intolerance I’m afraid, ma’am,” he replied, and some of the women squatting on the floor hid smiles behind their hands.
“You know what we do in our corps, because some of you work for me,” Datnil Skar said. “Membership in the corps is for men only, of course, for the secrets of our profession are handed down from generation to generation. In particular, a master teaches all he knows to his personal novice or chief boy. When a master dies or retires, then the chief boy becomes master in his turn, as Raynil Layan will soon take over my position… .”
“A woman could do that just as well as any man,” said one of the women, Cheme Phar. “I’ve worked for you long enough, Datnil Skar. I know all the secrets of the brine pits. I could pickle myself, if need arose.”
“Ah, but we have to have order and continuity, Cheme Phar,” said the Master mildly.
“I could give the orders all right,” said Cheme Phar, and everyone laughed, then looked at Shay Tal.
“Tell us about the continuity,” the latter said. “We know, as Loilanun taught us, that some of us are descended from Yuli the Priest, who came from the north, from Pannoval and lake Dorzin. That’s one continuity. What about continuity within the corps, Master Datnil?”
“All members of our corps were born and bred in Embruddock, even before it was Oldorando. To many generations.”
“How many generations?”