1
THE AGING PRIESTESS stepped from one novice to the next, kissing each forehead as was the custom in the final class before a graduation ceremony. These twelve youths had been in her care for more than a year, and now the time had come for them to go out into the world and seek apprenticeship. She felt a pang of sadness each time her lips sealed into their hearts the blessing of the Goddess, but she also knew that it was important to let go when the time arrived. The time had come for them, so she performed the rites. She nodded in approval at the eleven bowed heads kneeling before her in the chamber.
The twelfth child was doing his best to make eye contact with his master, for he had a fiery temper to match the frown created of doubt and frustration painted on his face; he also knew that his glares were irritating. The priestess held on to her inner calm and acknowledged him in the same way she had her other students. It troubled her that he flinched when the blessing had been laid upon him, but she knew this the soul of this young man well. He would forever be haunted with his own demons; perhaps he should not have been raised to priest after all.
This time the student almost got the best of his master, for the mere thought of self-doubt was now penetrating her shell of calm. That would never do. The child could not learn if he was to be scorned by those around him. Becoming acquainted with the world outside Forrenwake could be just what was needed.
She leaned in to whisper into his ear. “If you wouldn’t mind staying behind after the others leave, I should like to have a word with you, Ondicar.”
He nodded, his eyebrows raised. Likely, he feared a final round of verbal retribution before being cast aside forever. If only he understood how his master cared for him—how she cared for all of them—perhaps he would be more receptive to her words. Alas, expecting Ondicar to respond well to kind advice was akin to squeezing juice from a turnip! If somehow he could control the resulting fits of anger that followed such kind suggestions from his elders, the child’s stubbornness could become a valuable asset; there was nothing foul about one being set in his or her ways, as long as those ways were born of careful consideration and awareness of the surrounding world.
Stepping back from her students, the priestess spoke the words that signified the end of class. The twelve younglings stood and slowly departed the alabaster room with the plain walls and marble pillars that had seemed almost a second home to them. After a few kind words and farewell handshakes, Ondicar was the only novice remaining. His angry glare had been replaced with a distant stare, seeming to go beyond the classroom in search of answers that would never come.
Perhaps if he stopped searching for them, he would realize that they were all around. What he sought could be gleaned in the tall green grass rising against the warm spring showers or hidden in the birdsongs heard in the forests beyond. Eventually Ondicar would come around, but for now, his emotions must be placated in the same way that a newborn babe suckles its mother for sustenance.
“I have an appointment and I wish for you to accompany me.”
Ondicar blinked, surprised. “Why me, Mother? Why not one of the other novices?”
“Because I ask you. Is this not reason enough, or would you deny Sheantris of Mirea the honor of your presence? I could demand it of you.”
“Then demand it,” Ondicar said. “I have never felt as though my choices ever mattered to anyone here. Why should I now?”
Sheantris reached out and smoothed Ondicar’s mouse-colored robes. It was a gesture she should have avoided, but ignoring someone in clear need of comfort sometimes proved to be difficult.
“I will do no such thing,” she said, almost whispering. “I shall meet with the child who requested my presence. You are free to follow along. Or not. You are released from my authority; the choice is yours to make.”
She turned and strode toward the exit, smiling just slightly as the soft clatter of footsteps sounded close behind.
She slowed her pace until the two of them were walking side-by-side. The streets of Forrenwake weren’t as crowded in the first hours of evening, but there were still people moving from one building to the next, negotiating with merchants and otherwise keeping busy. A fishmonger was packing up shop for the day while attempting to explain to an angry customer why the latest catch had not been up to the usual standards. An elderly man with graying whiskers and matted hair was resting against a massive wooden post that had an oil lamp hanging from it. Sheantris was far from pleased to see homeless citizens on the streets near Valathinea’s temple. The goddess of creation must never be represented by suffering or loss, though the priestess could not find the heart to send this poor man away.
“Come with me.” She pointed in his direction.
“What are you going to do?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she approached the sleeping man, refusing to allow her face to show disgust at the foul odor emanating from him. It was likely that he had not bathed or changed his clothes in some time—perhaps months—and that was of no fault of his own.
“Good sir,” Sheantris said, reaching down to lightly shake him awake. “Homeless are not allowed on the main road. Do you know this?”
He opened his eyes and blinked the sleep away. His eyes went wide at the sight of a priestess of Valathinea standing before him.
“I—I don’t know what... I’m sorry… I’ll move on—just so tired…”
“What is your name, old timer?”
“Hingar. Hingar Tsinji, to be exact, ma’am.”
“Please stand, Mr. Tsinji.”
The old man stumbled to his feet and did his best to straighten his moth-eaten tunic; before he could say anything, Sheantris of Mirea, High Priestess of Valathinea, reached out and took his hand into hers.
“The sores on your hands and face speak of one who has been through much sorrow. How long have you been without food or shelter?”
Hingar’s lips quivered as though he was trying his hardest to recall memories locked away for generations. “Don’t rightly know ma’am. Been wanderin’ for as long as I can remember—ever since my wife passed on, Goddess rest her soul. Got lost near the Forest of Souls and ended up here. I—I thought no one would mind me resting for a spell. Many apologies if I offended, m’lady.”
“No apologies needed, my child. You do not offend Valathinea, though your suffering breaks her heart. Do you see the white building just to the south? That is the temple. Go there, tell them Sheantris sent you. They will offer you a hot meal, a change of clothes, a place to sleep and a few pieces of silver for your future travels.”
“Ma’am—M’lady, you don’t have to—what I mean to say is—”
“There is no need to thank me. We are all children of Valathinea. Now off with you. There is much for me to do before I retire to my chambers for the evening.”
Hingar nodded his head and started for the temple, but paused mid-step. “Madam? May I ask something of you?”
Sheantris raised an eyebrow. “What is it, my son?”
“The sores. My body. I’m covered in them from head to toe. I fear it happened when I strayed too close to the cursed forest, but I don’t—I don’t exactly remember. They say that holy ones like yourselves can heal the sick. Is it true?”
The priestess sighed. She had feared this question and had hoped to avoid it. “I am afraid that I must conserve my energy for another unfortunate soul today, but perhaps my novice can see to your wounds.”
She motioned for Ondicar to step closer. He approached slowly, that glare of doubt ever present on his otherwise handsome face.
“As you already know, this man is in need of healing. Would you pray for his health?”
“But Mother! I have never before—”
“Then you shall today,” Sheantris interrupted. “We never ask questions of those in need of our gifts.”
Ondicar looked as though he might protest further. Instead, he approached Hingar and placed a hand on the man’s forehead. Sheantris watched as he closed his eyes and mumbled words learned during countless hours of studies and lessons. A halo of faint white light surrounded Ondicar, flowing down his arm until it enveloped both men. Hingar gasped and trembled under the power of the novice’s prayer. Just as soon as it appeared, the tiny glow vanished, leaving only the light of the moon and the lone oil lamp.
The young novice breathed in deeply and leaned against the wooden post for support. Healing the sick traveler had come at great cost, for not even the most experienced of priests could withstand the Goddess’ blessing for more than a handful of seconds; this child was no priest. Not yet. He still had many lessons to learn before he could fully comprehend what Valathinea offered her servants.
“Thank you m’lord,” Hingar said, still catching his breath. “Thank you so very much!”
Ondicar met his gaze. His dark eyes were somewhat glassy. “Your hands. I didn’t get them all. I failed you.”
“No,” he replied. “Some remain, but they no longer hurt! The pain has been unbearable, but now it is no more and for that, I owe you a debt of gratitude!”
Sheantris stepped forward and raised a hand to silence the men. “You owe us nothing, for our lives are dedicated to servitude. Now, I am afraid we have been held from our appointment for far too long. We must be going.”
The priestess bid the man farewell and extended an arm to help her weary student. He rejected her offer of support, forcing himself into a stiff standing position. She expected as much and let it go.
When the pair reached their destination, they found a young girl of no more than ten years of age cradling a sickly mutt. The animal’s breaths were labored, yet it somehow managed to gaze lovingly into its owner’s eyes. The child stroked her pet’s fur absently, not bothering to fight against the tears that streamed down her silken cheeks. Her mother knelt down to let her know that help had arrived.
“Ayra,” Sheantris whispered. “I received word that a member of your family had taken ill. Am I to presume that you meant your dog?”
“I must apologize on my daughter’s behalf,” said Ayra’s father, standing in the shadows of the poorly-lit receiving room. “She convinced a neighbor to carry the message to you. By the time I discovered what had transpired, you were no longer at the temple. If we have offended—”
“I am not,” she replied. “Every living thing, whether man or beast, is deserving of life. I will do what I can.”
The priestess knelt down and motioned for Ayra to hand over the suffering animal. She did so, reluctantly, and Sheantris cradled it with both arms. “What is his name?”
“Arrow,” the child said with a sniffle.
“A fine name for a faithful companion.”
She closed her eyes and mouthed silently a healing prayer. For a fleeting moment, energies from the realm of creation trickled into her, but forces unseen blocked the flood that would be needed to save the child’s beloved pet. She could see the white light in her mind’s eye, but a great wall, almost invisible save for an echo of black shadow, shoved against Valathinea’s gracious blessing, keeping it from her. She fought against the barrier but quickly grew tired and was forced to retreat. The priestess opened her eyes and saw that Arrow had passed on into the world of spirits.
“I did everything I could,” Sheantris whispered, gently placing the tiny body onto the stone floor. “Alas, it was not meant for this animal to suffer further. He now frolics in the great fields beyond our world.”
She reached out to take Ayra’s hand, but the child withdrew. She ran to her father, hugging him around the waist, sobbing into his brown tunic.
“It’s all right,” Ayra’s mother said. “They were only several days apart in age. She’s had him since he was a pup. We tried to tell her that he was old, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Sheantris frowned. “The poor dear. I wish I could have done something more. Perhaps I should have a word with her alone. I could try to comfort her.”
“We couldn’t ask more of you than you have already given us, Mother. We are honored that you took the time to help Ayra. It was foolish of her to ask and we can never repay you enough.”
“Nonsense. I am old, but not so ancient that I do not remember the love of a family pet. It is a strong bond between animal and man.”
The child’s mother thanked them for coming once again and showed them out. As teacher and novice stepped onto the main road, the overwhelming sense of silence seized them both. It was much later than she had anticipated; the sky was black and the streets barren. Forrenwake’s newly-instituted curfew was already in effect. Before she could whisper a prayer to ask for protection, a man dressed in crimson armor approached. He carried a short sword in his right hand; his free hand pointing toward the temple.
“You are supposed to be indoors!” His voice was deep and gravelly. “Just what are you doing in this part of town after hours?”
Sheantris of Mirea stepped forward defiantly. She refused to show this man fear. “We had legitimate business, but that is of no concern to you. If you will kindly step aside, my novice and I will trouble you no more.”
“Your tongue is sharp, but it won’t save you if I decide to tear your temple apart stone by stone.”
“You do not have the power or courage to do such a thing, Hagith.”
The bulky overseer sneered. “Maybe I don’t have the numbers to throw you out just yet, but I will soon enough. In case you haven’t forgotten, it is I who protect the people of this town, not you.”
His lips were massive and matched his disproportionate face. Sheantris wasn’t sure what race he belonged to, but she saw hints of goblin in his blood. It made its presence known though his strange voice, misshapen body, and worst of all, his hot temper.
“You steal coin from our coffers and enslave the citizens of Forrenwake. Most are too blind to see it, but not I. Your master’s rise to power was far less democratic than either of you would have us believe. Your power stretches only as far as his reach, which does not go beyond the walls of this place. Soon enough, the people will see through your lies and we shall prevail.”
Hagith’s beady eyes bulged. “I could report you to Master Rahbin for that and he would have you cast into the Pits of Ganai, in the name of the great Lord Darsheel. Is that what you want?”
Ondicar stepped between his master and the overseer. “Please, sir. We are both weary. She did not mean to insult you, and we were completely unaware of the time. If you would allow us to go just this once, we will make our way back to the temple as quickly as possible.”
Sheantris opened her mouth as if to speak, but thought twice about it. It was unlike Ondicar to give in so easily, but perhaps the half-man standing before them frightened him. Ever since Rahbin rode into town and promised to fend off the armies from the north—armies that did not truly exist, as far as Sheantris could tell—life had become progressively more difficult for followers of Valathinea. The weakened state of the priesthood did not make matters any better. Some denied that anything was wrong, but the great understanding between goddess and mankind was growing weaker by the year and there was no hiding it. Not anymore.
Hagith rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword. He glared at Sheantris for what seemed like minutes before he spoke again. “Does this whelp speak the truth? If you were to take back what you just said and consider providing me with a minor donation, I could be convinced to let you go.”
She was disgusted with the mere suggestion of paying this fool half-man a bribe, but the priestess also knew that her words would damn Ondicar right along with her; that would be completely unacceptable. The child had only begun to live his life.
“I am sorry, Hagith. My student is correct in saying that we are tired and should not have been out after hours.”
Sheantris reached into a small purse tied around her waist and withdrew three silver coins. She handed them over to Hagith, who snatched them up and bit each one to make sure they were real.
“I am a child of Valathinea,” Sheantris said. “There is no need for that. I, of all people, would be the last person to hand out counterfeit currency.”
The overseer laughed, or that’s what it sounded like. The sound was grating. “You can never be too sure these days. Now you two get out of my sight before I change my mind! If I catch either one of you out after dark, so help me I—”
“There is no need for threats,” Sheantris interrupted. “It will not happen again.”
“It better not,” Hagith belched. “I’ll run the both of you through next time.”
Before she could answer, the brute turned and marched to the east, heading for the heart of the town.
“I think we have had enough for one day,” Sheantris said, turning to face Ondicar. “You run along to your quarters and get some rest. I’ll find my way alone.”
“But Mother, Hagith—”
“I have dealt with men far worse than he,” she whispered. “I will be fine. I wish to be alone with my thoughts. You have much to prepare for in the morning and so you should rest. The Goddess will watch over me.”
Ondicar’s expression told her that he wanted to protest, but instead, he simply nodded and headed for the student dormitories. Sheantris watched until he was out of sight and then raised her eyes towards the moon. It was full and loomed overhead like a great shepherd keeping an eye on his flock.
“Valathinea,” She prayed. “Creator of Enichar and all of its inhabitants. What am I to do in a world where I am tasked with a job that I do not have the tools to perform? Show me the signs and I will follow them until my last breath.”
She watched the moon for a while longer and decided that it was best to return to the temple before Hagith thought twice about his choice. She was already planning a meeting with the church elders that probably would not end well.
Tomorrow would also be the Harvest Day festival, which meant that the newly imposed curfew would be lifted temporarily to allow the citizens of Forrenwake a chance to celebrate. Sheantris did not often make merry, but she had good reason on this occasion.
Some old friends were returning, and she wouldn’t miss seeing them for the world.