chapter 4ish

Sula woke the next morning in a fever, tossing and turning upon her bed. Her distress was loud enough to wake the priestess in charge of the girls’ sleeping room, and she insisted that Sula stay in her bed until the afternoon. The prayers would be weaker without her, but a sick priestess was more dangerous in the circle than an absent one, and she agreed to stay. Shortly after the morning prayers, one of the women came in and pushed back Sula’s curtains. She carried a small jar of steaming water, with herbs steeping in it.

Sula sat up slowly, and gratefully accepted a cup of the hot water. The woman turned to go, but Sula spoke quietly. “Please, stay, if you can. I’ve been alone all morning, and would like some company.” The priestess smiled. “Yes, I can stay for a little while. I didn’t want to intrude, since you’re sick.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and placed a cool hand on Sula’s forehead. “You’re still a little feverish. I won’t stay long, I don’t want to tire you.” Sula sank back into her cushions.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name. I haven’t had much chance to get to know the women here yet; I’m only sixteen, and they won’t let me change sleeping rooms for another two years.”

“My name is Magda. I was here in this sleeping room when you first came, but was able to move a few months later. I do remember you, though. Most of the other girls were busy making friends, and figuring out their social status, but you were always so quiet. You never seemed to make any friends, but you never seemed to spend much time trying to be noticed, either.” She smiled, and brushed her long straight hair out of her face.

Sula sipped the tea for a few moments before replying. “I suppose that’s true enough. I was always more interested in being a priestess than in being popular. I guess that’s what happens when you’re raised in the temple, but I never really minded.” She paused again, then reached out and grabbed Magda’s arm. “Tell me, Magda, do you ever think that we do not do enough here? That if we could become more powerful, we could heal our sick, feed the poor, change our world?” Her eyes were bright and she looked so intent that Magda couldn’t help laughing a little. Her laugh was not the delicate tinkling laughter that most of the nobly born women affected, but a genuine chuckle that came right from her depths. “I wonder, sometimes. But power is a tricky thing. When we reach out for it, it has a funny way of taking hold of us instead. And anyway, I know that the priests are always trying new things, new rites, new gestures, anything that will help us.” She patted Sula’s hand, and gently disengaged her grip. “I need to go now; you look tired, and the tea will be making you sleepy soon.”

As she pulled the curtains across the entrance to Sula’s bed, Magda turned back, and smiled at her again. Her smile was like her laugh; not delicate and lovely, but heartfelt, authentic, and oddly comforting.

Sula sank back into the cushions and sipped the tea thoughtfully. Her long fingers wrapped delicately around the cup, enjoying its warmth.

The herbs swirling around the bottom of the cup drew her thoughts back to the magics of the previous night. She set the cup down hastily and ran her hands over her cheeks. Would anyone notice the difference? She didn’t think so; no-one took much notice of her before, and she didn’t think that would change.

And what of the green-eyed acolyte? She turned over on the bed, facing the rock wall; she knew that no-one could see her anyway, but she was blushing furiously at the memory of the flower that burned into her veins between their clasped hands.

She stretched her fingers, examining them in the dim light. Were these capable of calling forth the power she had felt last night under the moons? It didn’t seem possible, but there could be no deadweight in a ritual: she and Serna had worked together, and some of the power must have been hers. Even now, she could feel a residual tingle, a prickling of power that had not been there before.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to soothe away the prickle, and was startled as the curtain to her sleeping nook was drawn back. Three of the priestesses from the women’s quarters stood there; she recognized Magda who stood in the back of the little group, smiling. The other two women were older, and one she recognized as the priestess in charge of final training. Sula sat up quickly, hastily straightening her blankets.

“Good morning, Sula, we hope that you are feeling better.” The priestess spoke quietly and warmly, and Sula’s heart rose. “It has been much discussed among us of late: you are the most skilled among the girls, and you are more suited to the temple life even than the rest of those brought up here. Traditionally, we would wait another two years, but it has been decided—and the priests have agreed—that you should be brought into the women’s quarters, and begin your life as a fully-pledged servant of the gods.”

Sula’s face was blank with shock; had she heard correctly? Her eyes flicked from the face of the older priestess to Magda’s open countenance; Magda nodded, and grinned widely.

“Why…no, when do I get my final training?”

“You will move to the women’s quarters as soon as you feel well enough. I’m sorry, but there is no space for your shelf; you will have a small chest at the foot of your bed for a few small personal items. Your curtains and other linens will stay here; all such things will be provided for you. You will have two years of final training once you move to the women’s quarters—that was the only way the priests of the main temple would agree to it.” She smiled. “You’ll love it. No more slogging through daily rituals with girls who seem incapable of grasping the intricacies of the stances and prayers. No more plugging your ears while reading to drown out the inane chatter echoing off the walls. Yes, we can hear it, and we know how much it bothers you. You’ll even be given further training in the knowledge of herbs, animals, essences, and all other parts of our world that affect our powers.”

She extended a hand to Sula, who took it gingerly. “We welcome you. When you are ready to move, just pack the few things you want to bring with you, and come into the women’s quarters. We’ll be ready for you.”

She squeezed Sula’s hand briefly, then the curtain fell back into place, and the three were gone.

When evening came, Sula wandered through the stone corridors and out into the garden again. Lotha was already well above the treetops, and Lede was just peeking above the horizon. Sula held her head high as the cool breeze came through the garden, easing away her fever. She knelt swiftly by a bed of winecups, and plucked two blossoms. This early in the evening, they were still white, with only the faintest hint of pink at the center of the flower. She pressed the blooms to her cheeks, and whispered, “Goddesses, you have granted me the power to be a priestess; teach me to use this power, and I will use it for the good of all Suktis. By the love of the twins, the purity of the flower, and the power in my hands, let it be.” The flowers chilled, turned to ice, and slipped from her hands, shattering on the stone pavement. She stood, slowly, and walked back into the temple. In a few moments, her few important possessions were gathered, and she walked through the curtains for the last time. A hush fell over the room as she walked through, looking neither to the right nor to the left. As she passed behind the curtain to the bathing room, a rash of whispers broke out, but she ignored them. The steam curled through the air as usual, but the room was currently empty. The smell of the herbs hung heavy in the air; it was an intoxicating aroma, full of potency and promise. She reached the end of the chamber, and took a deep breath.

She inserted her hands between the heavy curtains and slowly pushed them aside.

The first thing she noticed was the smell: it was not the heavy perfume of the bathing room, nor the sweaty heat of the girls’ quarters. It was sharper, cleaner, almost like the smell of the casting room after a priest called down the lightning.

The priestesses stood before her; there were about fifty of them, all fully initiated into the temple life. From here, the only way to leave would be by death. She looked at the women standing in front of her, and a smile slowly spread across her face. The other women returned her smile, drawing back into two lines to let her pass through. As she walked between them, she could hear their robes rustle as they reached out to touch her, whisper an encouraging word in her ear, or simply lean forward to get a better view. As she reached the end of the row, Magda was waiting for her, her long ginger hair brilliant in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. “Welcome,” she whispered. “I’m so excited that you’re finally here!” She grabbed Sula’s elbow and steered her towards a small simple bed. “You’ll be sleeping here. You can put your things in that chest at the foot of the bed. Your training will begin tomorrow morning after the first prayers. You’ll keep teaching your class in the meantime, but most of your spare time will be spent learning. Oh, and you’ll like this part.” She leaned in closer to whisper in Sula’s ear. “You’re now allowed full access to the library. There’s a scroll under your pillow with the words to open the door. Memorize the words, and destroy the scroll; guard those words with your life. If an untrained person were to read one of those books, they could easily destroy the entire Temple.”

Sula sank down on the bed, suddenly exhausted. She could feel tears pricking at the back of her eyelids, and suddenly felt very young. Magda slipped an arm around her, and pulled her close. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “Even good changes are hard.” Sula buried her face in her friend’s shoulder, and cried like a child.