More than I want, she thought, but said only, "Some."
Simeon explained, "Penitents believe that the path to enlightenment lies through suffering--"
"We don't need a religion lesson," Ronan cut in. "We need to know what's over the ridge."
"Have you been to the shrine near Westerfox, my lady?" the monk asked.
"Until a fortnight ago, I had not left Edgewood since arriving before my first summer."
"Of course, because it guards the Forest of the Dead," the monk said. "There are many shrines, my lady. For pilgrims and those seeking spiritual guidance. The one near Westerfox is particularly sacred to penitents. That is where one might see our deepest, most holy form of penance. The mummies."
Simeon sucked in breath. "Yes, of course. The Order of Kushin--"
"Let the old man tell his story," Ronan said.
"Have you heard of our mummies, my lady?" the monk asked.
"No, but I understand the basic concept, as it is practiced in the desert regions. On death, the body is exposed, and the heat dries it."
"True, that is their custom. With us, as monks near the end of life, if they do not feel they are close enough to enlightenment, they begin refusing food. Then they start drinking a special tea, which slowly poisons them and preserves their body as it withers from lack of nourishment."
"They mummify themselves?" Ronan said. "While they're still alive?"
"When they are nearing the end, they are placed in a special box, dry and heated to create a desert-like environment. Inside is a bell that they ring several times a day. When the bell no longer rings, the box is sealed and transported to the shrine. If the spirits have shown favor, when the box is opened, the monk is mummified. He is then dressed in fine clothing and placed on display, so that pilgrims may reflect on his sacrifice."
"That is the stupidest--" Ronan began, but he was silenced by Ashyn stepping on his foot.
"That is the purpose of your journey, then?" she said. "You are transporting these . . . potential mummies?"
"To Westerfox, yes. It is a long and slow procession, but we do it each spring. This time, we bring four boxes."
His voice lifted, as if this were some great accomplishment, and Ashyn dutifully murmured her congratulations, while secretly agreeing with Ronan. To mummify oneself while still alive? Surely that could not h
onor the spirits.
The group crested the ridge. Below were two wagons--basic, open affairs, each bearing two coffin-like boxes. Two men huddled around a fire. Both were dressed like the monk--in simple clothing and no shoes. Their camp lay on open ground, with no trees or rocks nearby large enough to conceal attackers.
Ashyn started down the hill. Ronan prompted the monk again to explain the situation.
"It is . . . difficult," the monk said.
"Try."
"I do not mean that I am loath to do so, but that I know what I have to say will be difficult to believe. It would appear . . . that is to say . . ." He turned to Ashyn as they walked. "The bells have rung again."
"The bells . . . ?"
"Inside the boxes. The boxes were sealed and yet the bells ring. Even when the horses are at rest."
Dread crept into Ashyn's gut, but she forced it from her voice. "You say, then, that you believe the men within the boxes live."
"Yes, as impossible as that is."
"It's not impossible at all," Simeon said. "There are ailments that make the victim appear dead, unconscious sometimes for days. Coupled with the mediocre diagnostic skills of the average village healer, it is not surprising that many cultures have incorporated certain checks and balances in their funerary customs, such as laying out the corpse for three nights or--"
"Just say it's possible," Ronan said. "I'd like to get this over with before dawn."
"The young scholar is correct," the monk said. "That is why we do not seal the box as soon as the bell stops ringing. These are not men who perished a few days ago. The newest stopped ringing his bell a moon past. And the oldest stopped last summer."