There comes a time when a mother must choose between turning her children away and telling them to go and live their own lives, or putting her own needs aside and living for her children. I chose the second path. My farewell from the temple was heart breaking. I cried as I told Ursa and Glassere that I had to go away. But family is family. Then I left.
I was greeted at Zenko by an interview with Lord Kabul and his lady, I'm sorry, I foget her name. I hadn't expected any such honor. They'd clearly heard of me, and tried hard to impress. I was just feeling uprooted, stunned. Moving home is never an easy thing for me. I excused myself as soon as I was able.
Zenko was a constant temptation for me. Aside from the black stone tower that dominated the island, the whole place was made of rice paper, bamboo, and grass mats. Rice paper is a delicious confection that melts on your tongue. Bamboo is a kind of grass, giant chewy grass. Grass mats are yummy. It was like living in a gingerbread house, I had to exercise constant self control. In I the yard there were these straw men that the soldiers used to hit with sticks and blades. They called them dummies. I called them dessert: they were old armor stuffed with prime quality straw, well dried and aged. At the end of my time there people were commenting how thin they were starting to look.
I confined myself as much as possible to old and worn out straw matting, there was a storeroom full of it. Maybe a few bamboo and rice paper screens looked a little bit nibbled around the edges. I don't think anyone noticed.
My time at Zenko was a lonely one. Ashara was away more and more, learning magic, she said, including healing. She didn't really need me at all. I was left alone. The monks and warriors had no time for me. I would sit in the courtyard for hours and watch them exercise, and look down at my hooves. I was pregnant, babies growing in my belly, it was easy to sit and dream, and when I got bored with that I'd go and make a pot of tea, drink it, and then sit some more.
The monastery was abuzz about something. It had been founded originally, centuries ago, to keep some kind of a gate closed. I'd never fully understood what that meant: it was variously described to me as a sacred fire, or a pool, or a shimmering portal. In truth I don't think anyone living had ever seen it, it was buried under that tower of black stone. Now the magic users were talking about a prophecy from their Goddess, a way of using the portal safely. I don't think they meant to talk about it in front of me, but I was quiet and they'd gotten used to be being there, part of the furniture, and deer have excellent hearing.
Still, I didn't know what to make of what I was hearing, they were all excited by the direction Lord Dartun's investigations were taking. Nobody spoke of danger, there wasn't even a note of caution, it was all wide eyed wonder at the possibilities. I know nothing about magic, and for the most part magical beings ignore me as beneath their notice, and I believe that is the safest way to be. I had no idea of the consequences that were about to unfold for Lord Dartun, and the whole island. Even if I had I don't know what I could have done about it: he was the great magician, I was just a deer.
It started with an earthquake, a low, low groaning deep in the ground that made me leap to my feet and prepare to run. There was nowhere to run to, the gates were closed, they had been for days. I had been sitting in the courtyard, thinking nothing, hardly present at when it began. The ground trembled, then shook. I clung to a tree and waited for it to end, but it didn't end, it just got worse and worse. The ground began to roll like waves. There were cracking sounds and one of the buildings just folded up on itself and collapsed. Then I ran, even though there was nowhere to run to I ran anyway. Other people were running too, they were running towards the tower. I ran away.
When I reached the gates I had to stop. They were solid wood and iron and even through they now leaned at a crazy angle they blocked my path. Stones were tumbling down the walls and thudding into the dirt, and still the waves in the ground rolled on and on. I turned and looked at the tower, and it was falling, it was leaning over towards me, reaching for me, and pieces were breaking off as it fell. It seemed to happen very slowly. Then pieces of stone were raining down all around me and I ran. I ran for the broken walls, even though they were broken to bits and the tumbed rubble was no refuge. Something hit me hard, like a lion, I went sprawllng onto the rocks and there was an enormous crash, and then it got very dark and very quiet and the only sound was the clinking and sliding of settling rock.
I tried to move, and agony shot through my leg. I was jammed into the rocks and I couldn't move enough to even feel what was wrong or how bad it was. It just hurt and it kept on hurting. It was black under the rocks. I realized that I had been buried alive. I called and called, but there was no answer. I think I slept.