“No-one from our time may directly influence the past. In the first part, it is forbidden: things must happen as they did. In the second part, it is impossible: only one unfragmented soul, rooted in its birth-time, can change that time. No-one else will understand their own time so thouroughly, nor care enough to change it in the way that it must go.”
Proposals of Learan the Projector, before the Historians Guild, YE (Year of Ersada) 146,000
The dry leaves swept down the stone walkway in the garden, leaving their dusty remnants in the furrows between the stones. Sula’s sandaled feet crushed them into further deterioration as she walked idly down the path, fingers brushing the dry branches of the garden bushes.
The sunlight was watery and did little to warm the air. It would soon begin to turn cold, and a chill was already settling over the land during the day. It was the awkward period of autumn, when the winter flowers had not yet bloomed, and the summer plants had died weeks ago. There were few rituals she could now do in the moonlight hours, though she still spent a lect or two a night in the garden, studying the effect of different gestures and rituals when performed in the mixed light of the twin moons.
She sat down on the stone bench and folded her hands quietly in her lap. Her hair glistened in the sun; the heavy braids were well-oiled, and woven with strips of bright red fabric, in honor of the great feast of Sembala. The days prayer and rituals so far had been exhausting, and the hour she’d spent the previous night trying to coax power from the last of the winecups hadn’t helped much, either. She sighed deeply, and closed her eyes, turning her face to the sun, letting it warm her cheeks.
“You’re looking pale these days, priestess.” Sula did not open her eyes; she did not need to, to see that dark hair and piercing green eyes. “Too much time indoors, no doubt. You spend all your time at your studies. I thought you would be done after two years? Your formal entrance to the temple was over five months ago. Everyone knows that you know the rites as well as the most seasoned priestess. Why the study?”
She did not respond immediately, but sat in silence, absorbing the sound of the leaves rustling, the smell of the dessicated blossoms of the winecups, the taste of smoke in the air.
“You know, Serna. You know.” She lowered her face for a moment, then opened her eyes and smiled up at her friend. “I study so that I may explore by moonlight. So that I can work my will upon the material in my hands. So that I may change the world.” Sula stood and brushed off her fingers. Her studies in motion and space had not been wasted; every movement exuded confidence and power, every line of her body seemed drawn by a master artist. Her robes fell smoothly across the curves of her body, dropping in crimson folds from her hips, and trailing on the ground behind her.
“I thought that might be the way of it, but since I hardly see you outside the temple, I couldn’t be sure.” He picked up a dried leaf, and meditatively crushed it between his fingers. He lifted the fragments to his nose, and sniffed the dusty aroma. “I do not find it easy to get away at night anymore; they have asked me to assist with some of the new sacrifices.” His eyes darted to her momentarily, then flicked back to the leaf in his hand. “Some of the priests are beginning to do research similar to yours. I have seen things never dreamed of in the scrolls, nor thought of by the seers. I believe that we will soon be able to turn every corner of this world into a paradise.” He lowered his voice and whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the trickling of the fountain. “We think we have found something, something that will make everything else possible. They will need a priestess to channel the power safely. The first ritual will be performed on the 5th night from now; will you join us?”
Sula looked into his eyes, studying his face intently. It was a good face, she thought, solid and lined with the years of service in the temple. It was a pity, she thought, that his birth banned him from becoming a priest. The better part of his power would have lain dormant as an acolyte, had he not begun to practice the magics of his native land. His hair was long, and bound back with leather thongs in the style of the other acolytes; it contrasted sharply with his pale skin, so strange to her people with their rich honey-colored skin.
“I will come,” she said softly. “But will I be enough? Surely you have need of more than me?”
Serna shook his head. “We have many priests, and they will channel the power. We need a priestess for balance, and to harness the power of the earth. Your gender is more rooted in the soil than mine, and through you the power will flow out to all of Suktis, and then to all of Ersada.”
She did not respond, but stood looking at the stones beneath her feet. “In five nights the days of Sembala will have ended, and Temala will shine brightly in the sky. Is it propitious to perform such dangerous rites when the god of death is so strong?” A flock of birds soared overhead, calling loudly to each other. She raised her eyes and watched them until they had disappeared in the vast blue expanse. Something in their call tugged at her heart; she wished she could spread wings and escape into the sky.
“He is not god of death alone. You know this. He also rules over transitions and is the bestower of eternal life. That is why it must be done during his ascendance, and no later.” He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. “I know that these years have not been easy for you. You thought that being a full priestess would satisfy you, but it hasn’t. The priestesses are as petty as the novices, and many of them do not even believe in the gods, not in their hearts.” He stood next to her, and clasped her arm; leaning forward until his lips almost brushed her ears, he whispered, “But this will be real. You believe. I believe. The priests who have learned of the new powers believe.” He paused, and his next words were spoken so softly that no-one standing even a foot away could have heard, but they seemed to reverberate through every fiber of her being: “We will renew the world.”
She whirled to face him, twisting her arm free of his grasp. “And is it enough, then? There is a price for these new powers that you’ve found.” She held out her hands to him. “You see my hands? They were not so pale before, nor as weak as they are now. But two years of night magic, and they fade. I can heal the sick, and call down power, but I am no longer myself. I wonder sometimes if I shall fade away completely, and the power alone remain, a mere shadow of myself.” She began pacing rapidly, her sandals slapping against the stone. “You speak of renewal, and I believe you, but at what price? Will it devour us alive?” She paused, every muscle tensed for movement. Then slowly, she relaxed, and turned quietly. “Forgive me, friend, I am just worried. I have been so tired lately, and I’m afraid of what we are about to do.”
Serna nodded, though he still frowned. “Every possible precaution has been taken. Besides, we have ensured that the sacrifice is sufficient. The power will come from that, not from us. We will merely direct it.” He glanced over his shoulder at the great clock. “I must go. They will notice if I am not ready for the prayers at the right time.” With a short bow, he turned and walked away, disappearing among the aisles of the labyrinthine garden.
Sula sank back down onto the bench, and buried her face in her hands. She breathed deeply, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. She idly noticed that her hands still smelled like last night’s flowers; a chill breeze swept through the dry branches of the bushes, and she shivered.
“It’s a little chilly to be out here; shouldn’t you have worn something a little warmer?” Sula smiled, recognizing her friend’s voice.
“Hello, Magda. You’re probably right, you usually are.”
Magda’s smile seemed bright enough to revive the garden, as she sat down on the bench next to Sula. “Here, my shawl is pretty big, I think we can both get some warmth from it.” She wrapped a corner of the warm fabric around Sula’s shoulders. “Better?”
Sula nodded, and sat for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the shawl and the presence of her friend.
“You haven’t been feeling well lately, have you, Sula? You’ve been tired, late getting up in the morning, and I haven’t even seen you in the library in a few weeks. Is something wrong?” Magda spoke quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on the fountain across the way.
Sula sighed, then rested her head on Magda’s shoulder. “Yes, I’m tired. I wish I could tell you why, but…” Her voice trailed off, and they both sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I’m worried about you. I know that temple life hasn’t been absolutely everything you hoped for; but that disappointment will pass, it really will. “ Sula studied Magda’s face as she spoke. Her long ginger hair was pulled up in the usual braids, but little wisps of hair had escaped and shone in the sun like an aura. “We all go through that, I think. I know I did. No-one lived up to my expectations. I wanted everyone to be better than me, but they weren’t. They were annoying, and sometimes lazy, and even indifferent.” She traced designs in the dust with the toe of her sandal. “And then I realized that I annoy people, I’m often lazy, and there are some things about temple life that I just don’t care about, no matter how hard I try. We’re all the same, really, and we have to learn to get beyond that. The work we do is more important than any of us are as individuals.”
The strains of flute music blew through the garden, and Magda stood. “And now, just as I was making my moving conclusion, we have to go.” She smiled, and held a hand out to Sula. “Time to go.”
Sula linked her arm with Magda’s, and the two women walked swiftly towards the robing room.
No comments:
Post a Comment