Then Khadji came in and Safar cried, Look what I made, father!"

When Khadji saw the figures he thought his son was making the sexual motions and he stormed over and cuffed the boy.

"What filth is this? he shouted.

He snatched the dolls from Safar's hands and they became lifeless again. He shook them at the boy.

"How could you do something so disrespectful? he snarled. The gods blessed us with these pleasures. They are not to be mocked."

"But I wasn't mocking anything, father, Safar protested.

His father cuffed him again just as his mother came in to see what was happening.

"What is it, Khadji? she asked. What has our Safar done?"

Angrily he showed her the dolls. This dirty little boy has been making these obscene things, he snarled. Behaving like one of those depraved potters in the city instead of a gods-fearing Timura."

Safar's mother eyed the dolls, her expression mild. His father became embarrassed, threw them into a bucket and reared back to give the boy another cuff.

"That's enough, Khadji, Safar's mother warned. You've made your point. He won't do it again… will you, Safar?"

The boy was crying, more in humiliation than pain. His father hadn't hit him that hard. It was the act of being struck by someone Safar thought a hero that hurt worse.

"No, mother, he blubbered. I won't do it again. He turned to his father. I'm sorry, father, he said. I promise I won't be a dirty little boy anymore."

The elder Timura grumbled, but Safar saw him nod. The boy prayed to all that was holy his father was satisfied. He swore to himself he'd never again give him cause to be scornful of his son. Then Myrna led Safar away. She took him up to the kitchen where she put him to work scrubbing the hearth.

Safar bent to the task with a will, sobbing as he scoured the stone with all his little boy's strength. Eventually the sobbing stopped. He chanced a look at his mother and saw she was eyeing him. But she didn't look angry, or ashamed.

"They were very pretty, Safar, she murmured.

The boy said nothing.

"So pretty, I doubt you meant anything wrong. Is that true?"

Safar nodded. Another great sob threatened, but he fought and won control.

"Well, then, she said, if you meant nothing wrong, don't let it bother you. Just be careful from now on. Would you do that for me?"

She held out her arms and Safar ran into that warm harbor, escaping the emotional storm. But from that day on he associated magic with something shamefulan act performed by dirty little boys. And that shame grew along with his powers and his inability to stop committing such sins. He felt apart from others, the good people of Kyrania who had almond eyes and were properly small.

So when the crone cursed Safar as a blue-eyed devil, she'd unwittingly found a gaping wound for a target.

When Safar and his sisters reached the temple their priest, Gubadan, was already lining the children up for their exercises. He was a cheery little manwith that great knobby nose which had inspired Safar's earlier shame. The priest's ample belly stretched the material of his yellow robes and he had a habit of gripping the sides when he was talking and thumping it with his thumbs. He also had a shaven head and a long white beard he kept in immaculate condition.

As Safar joined the others in the slow, sacred motions and deep breathing Gubadan had taught them to rid their minds of trifles that hinder learning, he looked about for the new boy. He was disappointed when he didn't see him.

Gubadan noted his inattention and snarled: Put your spirit into it, Safar, or I'll take a switch to you."

The others laughed, which drew more threats of switchings. But that only made them giggle more for Gubadan was a gentle soul who'd no more beat them than he'd defile the altar of Felakia with an unclean offering. Although the exercises were the motions of warriors taught from the time of Alisarrian, Gubadan meant them to be soul cleansersa means to examine the inner self. Once a week all the boys would use those same exercises on the drilling field. There they were overseen by a fierce old soldier whose duty it was to train them to defend Kyrania in case of attack.

The laughter soon stopped and they all fell into the dreamy motions of the exercise.

When Gubadan was satisfied, he led them through the ancient portals, graced by etchings of Felakia in all her formsfrom graceful swan to gentle mother to the beautiful armored maid who protected Kyrania. The temple was a crumbling place that kept the village busy repairing it when the stormy season passed. The classroom was a small room next to the chamber where the incense was stored so it was always filled with godly odors that made even the most unruly child feel serious about his work.

Although Kyrania was remote and the people made their living by hard toil, they were not ignorant. They held learning to be a sacred duty and took pride in their ability to read weighty texts, figure complex sums and write a hand as fair as any taught at the best schools in Walaria. Kyranians were particularly proud of their ability with languages and all could speak half-a-dozen or more. The tradition of scholarship dated back to the legends of Alisarrian, who was reputed to be a learned man as well as a mighty warrior king. Legend had it that the first Kyranian school was founded by the Conqueror for the men he left behind. True or not, all those skills learned in at the temple school were not put to idle use. Kyranians required agile minds and an understanding of foreign tongues to deal with all the caravans that came through. Otherwise the shrewd traders would have skinned them of all their goods long before. Instead, the Kyranians were the ones who profited most from the hard bargaining sessions that always followed the llama trains into the valley.

That day, however, Safar couldn't keep his mind on scholarship. He earned several stern warnings from Gubadan and stumbled when he was called on to name the brightest constellation in the spring heavens. He knew it was the Tiger but when asked the answer fled his mind.

"Is this a game you are playing with old Gubadan, boy? the priest scolded. You are my best student. All know this. Your family pays me dearly to spend extra hours with you so you can learn even more. And yet you mock me, boy. And by mocking me, you mock the gods who gifted you. Do you think you are better than others, Safar Timura?"

"No, master, Safar said, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"Then why do you pretend ignorance of the obvious? the priest roared. Tell me that!"

"I honestly couldn't think of the answer, master, Safar said.

"Then you are lazy! the priest shouted. Which is a worse sin than mocking. Mocking I could excuse to high spirits. But laziness! Inattention! Unforgivable, boy. You should be setting an example to the others."

Safar wanted to say he couldn't help it, that his mind was fixed on the absent boy whose name was Protarusthe name of the king in his vision.

Instead he said, I'm sorry, master. I'll try to do better."

He did try, but the day progressed slowly and not well. Finally he was free and he dashed out, trying to ignore Gubadan's fierce looks in his direction.

Safar was relieved he had a task to perform for his father and didn't have to walk with his sisters and listen to them tease him about his performance in school. He headed immediately for the clay beds where his father had left buckets for him to fetch home a fresh load. His path took him beyond the temple through a fragrant wood, where he dawdled in the clean air and sighing breezes.

He was just emerging from the wood and turning toward the clay beds on the lake's edge when he heard angry voices. The voices had a familiar ring to them and he wasn't surprised when the angry words became shouts and then sounds of fighting erupted. He hurried up the hill to investigate.