Chapter 3

Time passes slowly in the Great Temple

Our lives move with its massive rhthyms

Prayers, practices, sacrifices, lives

We eat, pray, bathe, sleep, learn

Our actions call forth the life of Suktis

The sunlight from our prayers to Su

Our labor from our pleas to Sembala

The riches of the sea from our work for Nestrada

The harvests from our sacrifices to Ersada

Peace and victory from our gifts to Persala

Cunning from our rites of Servaka

A good death for our service to Temala

Lede dances with us, Lotha watches over us

And we move with the rythyms of the gods.

----Ode to the Great Temple, written by Selna Kai

Sula walked quietly through the garden, the hem of her robe whispering along the worn stones of the walkway. The twin moons of Ersada cast their varied lights on the garden: Lotha, shining from the west, shone blue and clear, and Lede in the north cast a warm golden light. The green leaves of the plants gleamed through the shadows of the garden, and Sula could see the first tinges of red in the petals of the winecups. The ledels were already blooming, and their exhilarating scent filled the stone enclosure.

There were few things she liked better than to wander the gardens by the light of the twin moons: the warm and cold lights seemed to blend in a way that made even ordinary things seem potent. As she turned the corner past a bed of Astaldak dolos, a shadow seemed to detach itself from the garden wall. Sula watched, heart pounding, as the figure stepped into the light, then breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Oh, it's you! I couldnt' see who it was for a moment." The man with green eyes smiled quietly, and Sula's heart slowed to a more normal beat. "Why are you in the gardens so late?"

"I might ask the same thing of you! But from what I saw before you notice dme, I'm assuming you like the light." He looked upward momentarily, eyes reflecting the twin moons in miniature.

Sula nodded. "I do. I've never seen anything to compare to this light. I know it happens every night, and everyone else is used to it, but I'm surprised by its beauty every night. I never get tired of it." She ran her thin finger along the edge of a moonlit leaf, as if trying to touch the light itself.

The man nodded contemplatively, the glow reflecting in his dark hair. “Yes, I know what you mean.” He looked at her cautiously, and added, “Did you know that there is a group of priests and priestesses who are beginning to study the magic inherent in this hour?”

Sula turned quickly, running her eyes over his face, eager to know more but afraid of being mocked. “Truly? But I thought no-one did magic at night: it is the time when Su is least powerful, and cannot protect us. It is not….safe,” she finished lamely.

He smiled, and the moonlight in his eyes made them burn with a green flame. “Safe? Perhaps not. But it is also the time when our own powers may wax greatest, uninhibited by…other influences.” He took a step closer and leaned towards her. “The twin goddesses are very powerfull in their own right, you know. Twins, opposites, crossing in the night.” He gestured upward. “This time is so short; only four hours a night when Lede dances in the presence of Lotha. She moves so quickly that she leaves her sister behind. Surely any magic performed in this time would be potent. And we know that neither of them wish us harm: surely they would guard us when Su cannot.”

Sula’s mind reeled; to do magics after dark was unthinkable. The first service of the day at sunrise was dedicated to Ersada, the fertile goddess who would make the day’s work productive. The next, at mid-morning, was Nestrada of the sea, for safety for sailors and bounty from the sea. The noon service was Su’s, at the height of his power, for embuing all Suktis with his light. The prayers at the end of the working day were given to Sembala, to bless the day’s work, and the final service at sunset was said to Temala, the death god, whose cold bright light could be seen in the star that hung above the horizon as the light of Su waned. The night belonged to Servaka, the trickster, who always sought to undo the work of Su; his presence was only mitigated by Lotha, bride of Su, and her sister Lede; their moons circled the earth, ensuring that none of Ersada was ever without light from Su. There was only one lect of complete darkness: in the early morning, when Lede had danced ahead and Lotha walked sedately below the horizon. This was the Lect of Servaka, and it was the evil hour. Mothers in labor held in their pain, so that their children might not be born at this time, and children so untimely born were routinely abandoned the next night at the same time, that the god of their birth might claim them.

“No,” she whispered, “it cannot be. They are not strong enough for such magics. Do the priests of Su know of this? Surely they can stop it.” She shivered; the night felt colder, and the moonlight not so golden.

“Let me show you a little. No, look, it is still three lects until Servaka holds sway, and the Twins are at their strength for another lect at least.” He held up his hand, palm facing her; the moonlight made his bare arm gleam like alabaster. She stood motionless for a long moment; her face half-hidden in shadow. Then, slowly, she looked up, and met his eyes. Her stare was powerful, with a surprising strength behind purple eyes that had formerly been so soft. The acolyte was momentarily taken aback, stunned by her quietly intense beauty; she looked like a temple pillar standing tall and pale in the moonlight. Then she turned, raised her hand, and placed it palm to palm with his.

“The third lect of night,” he intoned. “The time of friends and enemies, of love and hatred, joy and sorrow, past and present. Now, follow my lead. You will know what to say.”

Moving in perfect synchronization, they raised their hands, still palm to palm, up towards the sky.

“Lede, bring us your life and joy,” the man with green eyes intoned.

“Lotha, fill us with your solemnity and strength,” Sula responded. A surge of power tingled between their palms, and she shivered.

“Goddesses, guard us from the lying one.” They intoned together, the words of a child’s bedtime prayer.

The acolyte reached out and plucked a winecup from the nearest vine: its formerly white flowers had already turned blood red.

“We offer this token, goddesses, in return for your blessing.” He twined the flower and vine tendrils in a complicated knot around their fingers; they brought their other hands up to clasp around the flower and held on tightly. Had anyone else been in the garden that night, they might have mistaken the scene for a lover’s tryst, but what followed would have soon informed them otherwise.

Sula felt the energy between her and the stranger grow, pulsing between their joined palms, and into the fingers of her other hand. Suddenly, the flower glowed with a warm light, and burned their hands. She gasped, and pulled away, but the magic was done. The warmth from the flower flowed up her arm, and suffused her face with heat, which burned for a moment, then slowly faded away.

“What happened?” she asked, panting for breath. “something has changed, but…I do not know what it is.”

He smiled, and lead her gently to a quiet pool. “Look,” he said, and pushed away the water plants that lay on the surface of the water. She bent down to look at her reflection: she had not changed drastically, but her skin was slightly more pale, and her lips and cheeks just the faintest bit redder. She drew back, and looked back at the acolyte. He nodded.

“The flower didn’t disappear, it simply became part of you. Your skin took some of its whiteness, and your lips and cheeks some of its redness.” He leaned closer. “Think what sorts of healing could be done with this! You know what can be accomplished during the day with herbs and rituals; imagine what could be done with those same herbs at this time!”

“Who are you?” she whispered. “No Suktisian priest would have done this. Who are you?”

“I am no Suktisian, as you have guessed. My name is Serna. My mother was one of the women kept by the warrior priests of the land we call Temalta, and they call Sogersk. When she found that she was carrying me, she could bear her life no longer, and stole a small coracle from the priests. I was born while she was afloat on the sea, and she cut my cord herself. The boat landed three days later, and she carried me ashore; they say we both looked like skeletons. She died soon after; her masters had not been kind to her, and the voyage, combined with my birth, were simply too much. I was taken in by the priests here. When I was sixteen, they gave me a choice to leave and make my way in the world, or stay. I chose to stay.”

“But this magic, how did you come to know of it?”

He sat down on the low stone wall that encircled the pool. “My mother had taken one small bag with her when she ran. She was able to procure a few scrolls of the warrior priests, and they were the only thing she could give me, apart from birth. I studied them, as a child, and soon learned to read the language of both lands. Much of their power comes from knowledge that we do not pursue here, but I did learn a few things that have proven useful.”

He stood, and looked at Sula. “Do not turn away from power simply because you have been told that it is dangerous.” He paused, considering. “I know you love the stories that are told of the gods. Was it not dangerous for Lotha to wed Su? But she loved greatly, and greatly dared.”

Sula nodded slowly. “Yes, she loved greatly and dared greatly. And she died without knowing her husband’s touch.”

Serna leaned towards her slightly. “Yes, but she was sent into the heavens, and now protects us all. Isn’t that a very great good? Wouldn’t you do the same for all the girls under your care if you could?”

Redness crept up into Sula’s face, and she turned away. “I do not know anymore. Let me go now, I must think about all of this.” With a rustle of fabric, she swept out of the garden, and was lost to Serna’s sight.