Okay, so this is my first attempt at fanfiction. I've had the idea for this story for a while, but it took being really bored in class one day to start writing.
Please read and review. I need to know if it is any good and if it is (hopefully) what needs work.
Hope you enjoy it.
It was a beautiful autumn day. There were few clouds in the sky and not a hint of rain. The trees had begun to dress themselves in their wide range of bright, fall colors. The temperature was warmer than usual, enough that many people brought their summer clothing back out. The harvest had begun, and all so far it looked to be a very good harvest. Hope and happiness seemed as abundant as the autumn leaves this year in Karse.
And the leaves were especially beautiful this year. Most of the green had already turned to brilliant reds and oranges, with large patches of yellows. The entire effect looked as perfect as if it had been painted by a very skilled artisan. The trees in the temple garden were particularly striking. When the sun hit the leaves just right, it seemed as though the trees were on fire. What could be a more fitting tribute to the Sunlord?
Noise drew her attention away from her contemplative thoughts. The late afternoon sun shone brightly, providing more than enough light to clearly see down to the courtyard below. The courtyard was crowded and people spilled out the sides. The novices were required to attend, all of them, regardless of age or other duties. What was unusual was that many of the higher class also turned out to attend. They were taking the opportunity to rub elbows with each other, to put on a pious show, and simply to observe the novelty. Nothing like this had occurred in many years.
They considered this to be entertainment.
The thought made her angry and nauseous at the same time. They did not think. They had all been trained not to think. It boggled her mind what people could be made to accept. They did not think, merely accepted what was handed to them, without questioning. They considered this perversion of fire to be entertaining. Fire was pure. The use of fire in this ceremony sullied that purity. They were all – every one of them! – blind to this blasphemy. The few who believed otherwise would never say so aloud. To do so would be to invite death. If anyone knew enough to know this was wrong, they also knew enough to keep quiet about what they knew. Those who did not, well, as a rule, they did not live long lives.
This was wrong. It was not holy. Nothing about this was cleansing. Murder should not be considered to be a social event. And no matter what fancy names they put on it, it was still murder. As far as they knew. Everyone here would watch the death of one innocent of wrong-doing. The victims never did anything to warrant this, their crime was one of inconvenience, independence, or curiosity. Those gathered here knew this was so, or they should. They would know, if they just thought about it, but they didn't think. They just swallowed their indoctrination and watched. This wasn't real to them. It didn't touch them. And that was the true crime of it all. Not just the death of an innocent, but the death of innocence, the death of compassion and rational thinking. No one even knew to mourn.
She knew, however. She thought. She knew this went against everything Vkandis stood for, knew that He was full of sorrow for the actions of His children. She also knew that He could do nothing. She studied the old texts in the library, the texts from before priesthood became a thing of corruption and destruction. Even a god faced constraints. The Sunlord would not be able to restore Karse to its former glory until conditions were met and circumstances were right. He could not interfere with the free will of his people, not unless the world itself was at stake. The people had turned away from the teachings of the Sunlord, though they knew it not. The Sunpriests knew. Or, at least, they had, once. She no longer knew if that was so. Maybe this had gone on long enough that the Sunpriests had begun to believe the false teachings of those who had come before them.
She knew enough not to ask.
Movement in the doorway caught her eye. She restrained her sigh with long practiced ability. It was time to begin. She turned and followed the others as they descended the ornate staircase, disturbing one of the temple's cats from its nap. The gilded banister, the hardwood floors, the fine pictures on the walls few ever saw – this is where the treasury funds went. The money wrenched from the people was used, not to benefit the people, but for the enjoyment of those who could well afford to pay for such things themselves. The Sunpriests were not shepherds, but wolves, preying upon the flock they should have been protecting.
She joined the others and they took their place in the courtyard. All talking ceased the moment they entered. The crowd knew it was time. A red-robed priest led the assembled masses in prayer.
Prayer. What a joke. Vkandis did not hear their prayers. No. In her heart she knew that was wrong. The Sunlord heard their prayers, but He did not answer. She loved the Sunlord with all her soul; she believed He watched over His wayward children still. He was there. He just could not help. Not yet. Not for far too long.
Too soon the prayer ended. As if the silence was a signal, the guard entered. She forced herself to remain as expressionless as one of the marble statues that adorned the Temple. She could do nothing to stop the proceedings. She could run shouting through the courtyard, through the kingdom even, screaming for people to open their eyes, to see the truth, and little would be accomplished. She would die, as would many who had heard her, whether they believed or not. Nothing would be accomplished. Watching this, though, it was a knife to the heart. It always was.
In the arms of the guards was a desperate man. The crowd drew back, their eyes wide. The man was obviously still in the clothing he had been captured in; the signs of the fight were clearly visible. His wrists were bound together and a gag prevented him from speaking. His ankles were loosely bound, enough that he could walk, but not far or fast. They probably could have forgone the ankles bindings, the northerner couldn't have gone anywhere fast; though it was hard to tell through his struggles, she had the sense that he was limping . He must have sustained injuries to his legs. Then again, the ankle restraints also prevented the prisoner from lashing out with his feet. That was a possibility in this case. He had the will to fight, and certainly the motivation. He knew what was coming. They all did.
He struggled vainly against the grip of his captors. Were he not injured, she doubted the guards would have been able to keep hold of him. Like all of the victims, he was not drugged. The Sunpriests had long ago decided that one must feel the flames to be Cleansed by them. Another thing about the proceedings that sickened her. It was just one more horrible thing in an entire process she believed to be sickening.
The man thrashed wildly, trying to get away. Without the injuries, the guards could never have held him, but then, without the injuries he would not have been captured in the first place. He was brought to the center of the courtyard. The place was already prepared. This ceremony had been performed many times in this same location. Far too many times.
His eyes were filled with panic and despair as they bound him to the stone pillar rising from the center of the courtyard. Bundles of dry wood were arranged around his feet. More bindings bound his legs to the pillar as well, preventing him from kicking at the wood with his feet. The man was helpless as the guards retreated. A priest in black robes stepped forward, a torch held in his hands.
The sight made her ill.
She forced herself to remain motionless as the Sunpriest touched the burning torch to the wood. The wood didn't catch. She watched the Black Robe Sunpriest touch the wood again with the torch. This time his hand twitched ever so slightly and the flame caught. Had she not known to watch his hand, she never would have noticed the tell-tale movement. She knew too well to watch his hand when the wood didn't catch, however. She had seen this happen all too often. The wood quickly fell to the flames. She pushed away her emotions and began.
She stared deep into the flames as they moved to consume their victim. She no longer paid any mind to the man's struggles, too focused on weaving her complex web of magic. She had woven this web so often it was nearly second nature, but it was intricate, and the smallest flaw could lead to failure – or discovery. She knew full well that if she was discovered at her work, she would join the man in the flames, but she did not intend to let that happen; she had been doing this for long enough to catch any flaws long before they contaminated her working. Though this was no frightened child, a willing recipient of her magic, she had enough experience to adapt her web to this new victim. And like the children she was used to working with, this man wanted very much to live, so on a subconscious level he too was willing to accept her power.
She built her web from the ground up, so to speak. She used the power within her, knowing that such a thing would not be noticeable. Only if she reached outside herself for power would anyone take notice, for only then did she cause enough of a disturbance to the currents of magic to be noticed. She had a great deal of practice in going unnoticed when she performed her magic. They knew she had magic, oh yes, but she saw no reason to broadcast her power. Those with great power often died prematurely in Karse. Especially here in Sunhame, capital of Karse, home to the Sun Temple and large numbers of congregated Sunpriests. It was never a good idea to be noticed by the Sunpriests. Those even among the ranks of the Sunpriests who were deemed too talented or too independent, they often met unpleasant ends if they weren't carful. And they were rarely careful enough. Not even the Sunpriests were safe from the predation of their fellows.
Her webs consisted of many intricate strands, which were carefully woven into the whole. Each strand was carefully chosen for its purpose. Her web needed to do much, for it was not a simple thing she did. It was a simple idea, but a very complicated process. She did not begrudge the intricacies, however, for she knew nothing worth doing was ever simple. She knew her web was needed. She had had a long time to work on her web and far too much practice once she got it working. She had had plenty of motivation to construct the web in the first place. She only wished she could have learned to construct it sooner. Even though part of her knew she was lucky to have gotten it working as young as she had. She had been forced to wait until she had come into her full powers before she could build her web, and she had done that rather young. She had planned it for years beforehand, though.
She completed the final twist of the web and released her power, not in an impressive show like the others were familiar with, but with the subtlety that had enabled her to remain undiscovered this long. Her web took effect immediately, and in good time it was, because the flames had already begun to blacken the man's white clothes. The man would not notice any difference now, nor would any of the others assembled here; it was a very good spell.
Her face remained smooth and calm through the whole process, allowing no hint of relief at the spell's completion, no sign of the furious spellcasting she had just been engaged in, and certainly no indication of anger at her associates gathered her with her. She knew better than to allow her feelings to betray her, even as bile rose in her throat in response to the spell of burning flesh.
She remained as she was in the crowd, watching the flames, critiquing the appearance of her working, searching for anything that didn't seem quite right, any tiny thing that might give her away. As usual she saw nothing. She knew she did good work, but she always had to check, ensuring there was no difference, no flaw, however small, that might reveal the truth and consign her to the flames.
These flames, however, had their own task. She found herself studying the prisoner as he vainly struggled against his bonds. She allowed herself a faint ghost of a smile as the flames gave the man's white garments the same black color as her own robes. The fear and agony reflected in the man's eyes above his gag, however, brought her back to her usual impassable expression, the one she used so frequently to mask her true feelings. She never liked this, not since she was a student here, forced to watch as one of the other girls burned. It had been the first one she had ever witnessed. She hadn't known her web then, she had only learned to construct it years later, after she had achieved mastery of her powers. She had formed her web in the desperate determination to never again stand idly by as innocents burned.
Nothing like her web had ever been constructed before, to her knowledge. Few in Karse had the necessary inclination to do something of this sort. Those with the ability to handle power as strong as what she could use were also in short supply. And with the organization of the country, it was nearly impossible for the two criteria to coincide. One might have said it was impossible, but there was her. She had retained her own thoughts and her own will through all those years of study. She had both the desire and the power to make it happen. It had taken a great many years of independent study and a great deal of practice, but she had managed to get her web to function as she wanted it to.
The man didn't notice the changes wrought by her web; that was the point. If the one in the flames noticed, then the others would as well, though she often wished she could do more to spare the chosen victims. She had heard it said that fire was one of the worst ways to die. She just needed to look at one of the victims to know this was true. She saw the terror in his eyes, the pain in his face as the fire ate at him, but she did nothing. It pained her to stand here and watch him writhe in pain, to watch any of them. It was worse to watch the children go through this, though. Children could not defend themselves, and every instinct screamed at her to protect them. Maternal instinct it was called. She had never been a mother and she doubted she ever would, but she wanted to protect these children all the same. This man was just as helpless as any of the children she had seen pass through these fires. She tried to ignore his panicked grunts and desperate jerking. Everything she could do had already been done. Now she could only watch and wait.
The crowd stood motionless, intently watching as the flames devoured the northerner. He had only been brought here yesterday, but they had wasted no time in giving him to the flames. She thought it was just as well, one day of warning was more than enough time for her to prepare her web, and it meant they hadn't taken the time to torture and break him. He had borne the signs of ill treatment, but he hadn't been tortured.
Technically.
She was grateful they had decided on a rapid execution. Then again, had they tried to interrogate him, he would not have survived to be sent to the flames, and they had wanted the public execution. It was something to distract the people, something to keep them occupied, to remind them of the power of the priesthood and of the Sunlord, and to remind them of their Enemy.
The web was almost finished now, the flames nearly done. The fire burned hot, as it always did. It was the responsibility of the Black Robe who lit the fire to ensure it remained strong. All traces of the prisoner were reduced to ash. As the flames burned down she let her web dissipate. She reabsorbed what power she could, and grounded and scattered the rest. She was very careful to remove any hint of her handiwork; this was not something she ever wanted anyone to discover.
Satisfied all traces of her interference were gone, Lillian gathered the folds of her black robe around her and joined her fellow Sunpriests in breaking formation.
Now that the Cleansing fire had finished, all of the gathered witnesses were released to return to their normal duties, although there wasn't much time until Sundescending. Lillian suspected that once the Sunpriests left to prepare for Sundescending, the others would stay to socialize, likely about the Cleansing death of the prisoner. The prisoner was not something anyone living in Sunhame had ever seen before, although they had all heard stories.
That was not her concern though; lesser priests had the chore of listening to idle chatter, so the Red- and Black-Robes would know how best to manipulate their "flock." Of course, she thought to herself, no one else really considers it manipulation. The priests are too arrogant, and such ideas have long been trained out of our citizens. It was a harsh thought. We are supposed to be protecting them, helping them, not using them, not burning them when we can't use them. Lillian hadn't come this far without knowing what not to do, and speaking her thoughts to any of the other priests would not accomplish anything except her death. So she kept her thoughts behind a tight shield and followed her fellows out of the courtyard, heading to her place for the Sundescent rituals.
Sundescending was a routine part of the lives of all of those who lived in Karse, more so for those in the priesthood. Every member of the Sun Temple was expected to attend the ceremony at the conclusion of every day, with exceptions being made for those who were ill. If you entered the Cloisters, you were also expected to attend Sun Rising and noon prayers daily as well. As you progressed in your studies and entered the priesthood, you began to be allowed to lead the services. Lillian had long ago thrown herself into her studies, so she had been leading services for many years, regardless of her young age. She was one of the younger Black Robes dedicated to Vkandis, and certainly the youngest such priestess, not that there were many Black Robe Sunpriestesses. It was always a simple matter for her to lead her convocation in the appropriate prayers and return to the Temple.
Every person living in Karse was expected to attend the sun ceremonies. They were not required at all of them, although such attendance was encouraged, but Sundescending was the most important of the daily prayers. Everyone was expected to attend Sundescending, unless they were ill, infirm, or very far from the temples. Those living farther out were still supposed to come on Sunsday, but it was difficult to enforce. Nearly everyone came, for if it was noted that someone was frequently absent from prayers – well, they tended to be visited by demons in the night. It wasn't always easy to identify the remains, for the night-demons did not leave much behind.
As a Black-robe, Lillian had the ability to summon and control the night-walkers. She was very grateful she had not been called to do it often. She hated the summoning even worse than the Cleansing. There was no respite for the victims of the demons. And although they were not called "demons," typically referred to as "Dark Servants" instead, she knew them for what they were. Each time she had been performed the summoning required by her Black Robe, she had returned feeling sick. Handling the things left her feeling dirty, as if something of the creatures had rubbed off, contaminated her by association. Not there was any evidence of something like that, and she had Looked plenty hard. It was just her conscience nipping at her, leaving her troubled. The demon-summoning made her feel just as sore at heart as the Fires of Cleansing.
Lillian saw the creatures as another telltale sign of the hypocrisy of the Sunpriests. If our Great Enemy in the North employs demons, and we do as well, why are the Valdemarans such a threat? No one noticed, no one wondered. They were all too afraid of the priests and the night-demons to say anything, even if, by some small chance, the thought occurred to them. Not that anyone thought anymore. Fear was a potent cure for curiosity.
She knew that wasn't fair. Out in the hills, the wilds, away from Sunhame, where the inhabitants weren't constantly under the thumb of so many powerful Sunpriests, there some people thought. Maybe. Perhaps even some living closer experienced some independent thoughts. Not enough, though. And whoever did think, would never say anything. It didn't matter. Independent thoughts were isolated events. They were rare occurrences, and unpredictable. It could, in theory, strike anyone, and there was no telling how the person in question would respond. Just look at me, she thought. Who could have guessed I would hide my convictions behind Black Robes? Or that I would learn to spin my web against the Fires of Cleansing? Cara knew. She had always known. The little girl who saw so much, she had seen what Lillian would become.
Lillian shoved her thoughts away, hard. Why is it that every time there is another Cleansing, my thoughts turn grim and melancholy? It was a rhetorical question. She knew the answer perfectly well. The Cleansing itself was grim and melancholy, and it never ceased to remind her why she did this, why she fought so hard, why she rebelled against the indoctrination that should have turned her into either a mindless drone or an arrogant, self-absorbed Sunpriest.
The Sundescending ritual was routine for her. It did not provide enough of a distraction from the earlier ceremony. She could not put the damned Cleansing out of her mind. She wished she could. Sundescending ended too soon, in her opinion. Lillian was not looking forward to returning to her quarters, oddly enough. She knew she had not planned for this properly. There was too much to do and not enough information. There was no telling the other's reactions, beyond the obvious "not well," which was unfortunate. She did not want this meeting to go badly, but she knew too well how likely it was to do so.
She put off her return as much as she could, trying to think of anything that might be helpful. She no longer had that luxury when she returned to her private quarters in the Temple. She hesitated once she reached her chambers, but after this long she knew that this was not something she could put off. The spell of sleep she wove into her working was brief and had already run its course. Under the circumstances, he would already have awakened, and would certainly have many questions. If she procrastinated it would only get more difficult. Lillian took a deep, fortifying breath and opened the door to the chamber in which she had put the Herald.