CHAPTER 1

The wild wind swept through the large silk curtains at the cave entrance, inflating the dark cloths and making them dance eerily against the pale blue sky. The leafless branches of the trees growing on the slope in ancient crevices clashed into one another, disturbing the silence. Maka inhaled deeply, gripping the edge of the stone railing with both hands as her loose hair fluttered around her face and whipped at her cold reddened cheeks.

Behind her, the Temple was slowly coming to life for another day. The blonde could catch sight of several figures – Brothers and Sisters – walking around, preparing for their daily tasks, but she ignored them. Not yet, she told herself, enjoying a few more minutes of light and fresh air before the stale darkness of the caves would engulf her again.

The Brothers and Sisters never talked. Only the Older One would give short, muttered orders which she'd learned she had better obey and carry out without any comment, but that was it, all the rest was suffocating, stubborn silence. Maka would have liked to have someone to talk to, from time to time. It was a human thing to do, the young servant thought, a human need even, but this was the place where human needs were suppressed, denied, crushed even if necessary. Life itself was barely tolerated as it was, for this was the realm of Death. The people coming to the Temple never talked either. 'The dead don't speak', Maka had been told and everyone who walked past the gates of the Temple was considered to be already dead.

Today she had woken up with a start, brusquely awoken from a dream which she was, as usual, unable to remember. It had been something about her father though, because she had been silently mouthing his name when her eyes had opened to the suffocating obscurity of her small room. Papa… Aside from her own name and age, her father's image was very likely the only thing still lingering in her confused mind that had to do with her past life. Other than that, she remembered nothing else. Every time she tried to search deeper, she would find nothing but a thick fog and a sharp fear.

Shivering a bit, the girl had pulled on the gray, rough cloth which was now her only garment and had hurried to leave her room. The blonde had grown so used to the dark corridor leading from the habitation area to the kitchen and the common dining hall that she no longer needed to grope blindly onto the damp stone walls. The blonde had grabbed a clean bowl and had silently gone to receive the meager daily breakfast – a piece of dark bread and a few spoonfuls of stew.

One thing was for sure, she had not lived all her life at the Temple, quite on the contrary, the blonde was sure she hadn't been here more than a few months, for her oldest memory of the place was of the few trees surrounding the ensemble bearing fresh green leaves and tiny white flowers. But now the flowers and leaves were gone, the branches bare and blackened, swinging in the harsh winter wind. And the other thing Maka was sure of was that she would never leave this place, neither dead nor alive.

The Brothers and Sisters, whose will seemed strangely subdued, were ever watchful of her and she did not dream of disobeying them. Maka had heard of servants of the Temple who had paid for the smallest faults with their eyesight or crippled arms or legs, or with some horrid sickness and she had every reason to believe them. Was this how death was like? To be all alone, forced into perpetual silence and darkness? No, probably not. Death was soothing, at any rate. Eventually she had stopped thinking about why people came to the Temple, seeking to be thus soothed.

Like most mornings, she had walked briskly, crossing the stone yard wet with rain and shielding herself from the biting wind as best as she could, just to see the dawning sun casting a pale gleam onto the narrow, winding pathway leading down into the valley. It was early still for any 'pilgrims' to have arrived yet and it wasn't her job to guide them anyway. No, Maka's job was far more sinister.

Hidden in her garments she carried a few small pieces of dry bread she'd collected from the kitchen. The old woman was there, the ragged cloth covering her from head to toe damp for she had spent the night outside. She was the only one who spoke, but her mind was gone. Maka didn't know where the beggar had come from, or why she was allowed to remain on the Temple grounds despite the fact that sometimes she would go mad and yell blasphemies and curses against them all – the poor, unfortunate 'pilgrims', the Brothers and Sisters and the Death God who had stolen her soul.

But all too soon it was time for Maka to begin her duties and she made her way inside, under the arches. The whole Temple ensemble, aside from the yard was carved directly into the steep mountain slope, like a system of caves. There was barely any light and the walls were cold, but now in wintertime it was slightly better than outside.

A Sister was there, next to the black basin, waiting motionless with a tray of cups, but Maka wouldn't go anywhere near her. The only torches in the large hall were placed in the immediate proximity of the basin, the flickering flames reflecting ominously onto the dark surface. Maka went and sat on the floor, crouched down next to the entrance of the last stone alcove in the back.

She didn't want to see the pilgrims come, or the Death Gods. The pilgrims were too terrible a sight and the Death Gods were not supposed to be looked upon by anyone other than those receiving their embrace. So Maka kept her eyes down as she waited for her work to begin. Lurking in the dark for so long, she had become incredibly adept at knowing sounds when she heard them, so that now she barely needed her eyes. The flutter of garments, fine wool or wavy silk, but also rough cloth scraping against bare skin alerted her of the arrival of those damned by their own volition. Some of them were being guided to the alcoves by a Brother or Sister, whose dragged steps were clearly distinguishable. Sometimes Maka imagined that they were trying to talk with their feet, since they were forbidden to use their lips. But that was just one of the many stories the young servant would tell herself just to take her mind off things while she worked.

The only ones she could not hear were the Death Gods. Their steps were light as if they were no more than gliding shadows and the black robes shrouding their figures seemed to be made of smoke. But they did speak – if only when giving someone their embrace, and by their words Maka knew when their job was over and hers would start.

It was a while before her turn came and even then the blonde waited a bit, just to make sure everything was over. Picking up her basket and the unlit candle, she stepped under the alcove and struck a match. Placing the candle by the bed, Maka glanced down at the white haired woman lying on it, seemingly asleep. Despite the fine clothing, she did not have much on herself other than a simple iron ring on her crooked finger. Maka struggled a bit to pull it off, then deposited it in the basket together with all the woman's garments. The body was then rolled off the bed into a crevice below, from where it was going to be collected and burnt.

Whether it was a long or short day that day, the blonde didn't know, since there was no telling how the hours passed. The cave had no windows and there was no horologe around. Only the Older One knew when it was time for the Brothers and Sisters to close and seal the large wooden doors before retiring to the habitation area. When the signal came, Maka was almost taken by surprise, caught as she was, as usual, in thinking about anything else than what she was actually doing. But the work wasn't done until she checked one more time whether all the alcoves had been emptied of the pilgrims' bodies.

It was a task she'd do quickly before dinner, expecting no surprises since she'd been paying attention so far. Throwing a rapid glance in each of the alcoves, Maka had almost felt relieved when a dark figure lying onto one of the beds caught her attention. Sighing, she gripped the now empty basket and searched her pocket for matches.

On the bed was lying a boy not older than herself, one pale hand resting onto his chest, while the other still had two fingers hooked around the handle of a empty cup. His skin did not have the yellowy shade of a corpse but was simply porcelain white, without any hint of color. It contrasted strangely with his raven black hair, which bore a few white strands on the side, in the shape of three half circles. Odd, Maka thought, observing the rest of him. He wore a simple black suit, but the large skull shaped brooch adorning his shirt collar was somewhat striking, and so were the two similarly shaped silver rings he wore on the middle finger of each hand.

The blonde realised that she was standing there staring at him, unable to move. How was she supposed to touch him? She'd never seen someone that young giving themselves to the Death Gods' embrace. Why? Why has he done it? she cried inwardly, feeling the protective layer of numbness around her heart suddenly breaking.

Maka's fingers ghosted over the pale hand, gently taking away the empty cup. Any absurd hope she'd entertained for a moment vanished – his hand was cold as ice, he was dead. She turned around, setting the cup onto the small table next to the bed and taking a deep breath. The young servant squeezed her eyes shut, crushing a few unshed tears while bracing herself for what she had to do next. But when she eventually gathered up the courage to turn around and face the bed again, it was empty. The blonde gasped and blinked in utter confusion, then even patted the rough sheets as if to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. But the boy was gone. Shaking her head as after a bad dream, Maka picked up her basket and candle and rushed outside, still panting a bit.

The blonde walked to dinner ignoring everything else around her as she struggled to understand what had just happened. She did not believe in ghosts, nor had she heard anyone speak of them at the Temple, so who or what was that boy? He surely couldn't have been a 'pilgrim', for their bodies did not vanish into thin air like this. His jewels must have had some significance, but he was simply too well dressed to be a Brother, not to mention she knew almost all of them. And there couldn't have been anyone else in the Temple, aside from the Death Gods, but they had no faces. Maka had only caught sight once of a bone white, skull shaped mask completing the tasseled black cloak one of them was wearing. Now that she thought of it, that mask had been oddly similar to the boy's brooch and rings, but still… Did that mean he was a Death God? And if yes, what on earth was he doing there, lying in that bed and without the ceremonial attire? Taking a break?

Maka sat down next to the other Sisters on the hard wooden bench, focusing on her bowl of stew. She was curious about something for the first time in a long while, but there was no one to ask. Even if she had been allowed to speak, the Brothers and Sisters would have probably been angry with her and in the worst case the Older One would have even punished her for seeing something she wasn't supposed to. The blonde hurried to finish her food, eager to get away from them.

"Maka Albarn," the Older One spoke suddenly as she'd stood up and the young servant froze, eyes cast to the ground. Did he know already what had happened? No, there's no way he knows anything! It can't be! His voice was severe as always, such that there was no telling how bad things were as she stood there in horror of the tall, solid man with dark eyes and parchment-like skin.

"You will come of age soon," he said. "And when you do, you will become a full Sister. Do you know what that means?" The blonde had no idea, other than she was soon going to turn sixteen. Shyly, she shook her head no. At any rate, the news of her becoming a 'full Sister' was by no means a happy prospect as it was unlikely to mean anything good.

"The Brothers and Sisters live here as a family. The Sisters are wives to the Brothers and treated as such. When you come of age, you will be a wife too. "

Maka's head shot up in horror, feeling her knees go weak as she scanned frantically the rough faces around the table. He couldn't mean it, it wasn't possible!

"Whose wife…?"

"It doesn't matter, here we share everything," the Older One replied in the same even tone, "I simply expect you to be prepared and behave accordingly"

"But-"

The Older One frowned slightly and waved his hand in dismissal, leaving no room for further discussion. Maka nearly ran to her room, tears trickling down her cheeks. Just how much more horrible was that place going to get? Wife? What were they saying, she was still… much too young for this. And the thought of being married to any of the Brothers and suffer their proximity even more than she was already… The blonde threw herself onto the makeshift bed, burying her face into the ragged blanket.

From the little she remembered, there were about three more months until she would turn sixteen. She had three months in which to figure a way to escape that place or die trying. There was no way in hell – Maka swore to herself – that she would marry a Brother. She'd rather drink a cup of the Black water and let one of the Death Gods give her their embrace. Then the Brothers and Sisters would be able to do nothing more than to burn her body, but at least her soul would be free.

To be continued