2.a.

Every so often, on certain festivals, the Chosen was encouraged to select and deliver the reading for service. Colette dutifully did so whenever asked, even on the occasions when it really was an encouragement and not something just shy of an order, since she knew that the priests liked to see her take part. She also knew that most previous Chosens had taken on even more liturgical duties than she at the same age.

But such events never failed to make her nervous: nervous that the passage she chose wouldn't fit the festival, nervous that she would stutter during the reading, nervous that she would trip while going to or from the altar. She'd only tripped once, and she'd always been able to explain her choice of passage well enough in the summary, and the pastoress had said she was getting better about stuttering; but she still couldn't get past the acute discomfort of kneeling alone on the altar, with the eyes of nearly the entire village on her expecting something holy. It was the worst parts of the Chosen's life all distilled into a few super-concentrated and suffocating moments.

For once, however, the eyes of the villagers were not what she was dreading most about the upcoming feast day of Spiritua.

The pastoress dropped in on her one day towards the end of her lessons, startling Father Andrew as he left. "Chosen," she greeted. "Have you decided what you will be reading during the festival?"

"Yes, Pastoress," said Colette with a quick nod.

"Oh, good. What is it?"

"It's about the start of the hero Mithos' journey," said Colette, "and how Martel brought him to the palace city."

The pastoress nodded. Whether it was approving or not was hard to tell. She wasn't a very cold-looking woman – in fact, Colette found her round face and wrinkles reminiscent of her own grandmother – but she tended to hold herself distantly. "I see. How does this relate to the festival?"

"Because it's about the Chosen's journey," said Colette, who had anticipated this. "The...the Chosen's journey was established by Martel in honor of the journey Mithos took during the war. So not only does this passage show its origins, but the lesson is how Martel brings all those worthy through it."

"That lesson could be applied to all pilgrimages," said the pastoress.

"Yes," said Colette. "I might talk about that. As we, um, remember why Spiritua's pilgrimage was important, we need to remember why all pilgrimages are important in the first place."

The pastoress seemed satisfied. "Do you need any help with your translation?"

Colette hoped she didn't look nervous. "Actually, Mother Kallista has been helping me with the translation. But thank you for asking, Mother."

At the mention of Mother Kallista, the pastoress pressed her lips into a narrower line. But she didn't say anything about it. "So you've gotten a head start. Very good. I look forward to hearing it along with your summary."

"Thank you, Mother," said Colette again, and the pastoress left.

Her choice of reading had been more of a compulsion, having been decided after she reached a scene in the book last week that had struck her with so much emotion that she hadn't stopped thinking about it since. It was a passage in which Mithos, separated from Martel at the time, had witnessed the death of a girl who had been traveling as one of his followers. This wasn't a story Colette had read in scripture, but Mother Kallista had said it was written very similarly to other early passages describing Mithos' own death and Martel's greatest sorrow, which The Last Years of the Great War apparently omitted. It wasn't that Colette had been very attached to the girl who had died in the scene – she had been a new follower, and wasn't named – but that the words themselves, telling of Mithos' grief turned to anger, were powerful. Colette had been alone in the library at the time, and had found herself crying as much as when her own grandfather had died. She couldn't ever remember her father crying when he read novels, back when those were still allowed in her house, and she wondered if he had ever read something that affected him so much.

The day after, her conversation with Mother Kallista had been particularly in earnest. "Since you've nearly read it all, what's your favorite part so far?" Kallista asked. "I'm fond of the sequence where Mithos receives the holy sword, simply because of the language. 'I do not claim the 'art' of kings, but something greater: an 'art' earned, not inherited..." she quoted in angelic language.

"I'm sorry, Mother, but I don't know one of those words," said Colette, who held the book to her chest. "'Art'?"

Mother Kallista blinked. "Art, 'power.' It's fairly common, isn't it?"

Colette opened the book and began searching for that line. "Like arte? Ar-tay?" Immediately she clamped a hand over her mouth, "Mother, I'm sorry, I shouldn't – "

"Oh, so that's how it's pronounced?" exclaimed Kallista. "You can tell the last time I was asked to read, can't you?"

Colette took a moment to relax while Mother Kallista laughed. "A-anyway," said Colette, "I liked that part, but then I'm surprised Mithos hasn't used the sword."

"And he never does!" said Mother Kallista. "That's the point! A power greater than kings: the support of the spirits that gave it to him. That was all he needed. He wasn't going to end the war with more bloodshed."

"Oh, right, that makes sense," said Colette.

"So, Chosen," said Kallista, "I shared my favorite part. Yours?"

Colette smiled. "My favorite so far...is the first part of the journey, when Mithos and Martel are looking for shelter."

"No kidding! Even though that's fairly early on, isn't it?"

"It is," said Colette, allowing herself to speak enthusiastically. "But I really like the speech Martel has towards the end, and the line about prayer –"

Kallista nodded. "Oh, yes, that's a good one!"

"It's – I'd never thought about it that way before," said Colette, clasping her hands before her. "But it's true, isn't it? 'See, this is how prayers are answered.' They're in ordinary events, and if we can just realize them..."

"Right!" said Mother Kallista, still nodding. "Right. Exactly. That's a good summary."

"But the thing is, there are a lot of parts in scripture that seem to say the same thing, only not as clearly," said Colette, deflecting the praise. "And I didn't get them, but now that I've read this, they all make sense..."

And, at precisely that point, the conviction had fallen on her that she needed to share the story with others. Others besides Mother Kallista – people from the village who had never even heard of this version of the story before. Not merely that it might be nice to share it, or that others would like it, but that it suddenly seemed necessary to add it to their understanding of Martel and the world.

So it had been Colette's resolution, later that day when they reminded her of the festival of Spiritua, that she would read that passage from the book at service. Even Mother Kallista, as she agreed to help, asked if this particular passage was really the best idea.

The problem wasn't that the passage was from a book outside of scripture. Extra-canonical readings were allowed, and every so often the service reading would indeed be a piece of commentary, or a small piece attributed to a saint, or something similar; though this usually wouldn't happen in services that were open to the village.

Rather, the problem was twofold. First: priests, or Colette in this case, were heavily encouraged to only use simple, familiar readings for popular services. Second: every reading, scripture or not, was required to be doctrinal, agreeing with everything presented in scripture even if it sought to expand on the meaning.

Colette thought that the moral of her chosen reading was clear enough, given how quickly she herself had picked up on it. Even Mother Kallista had called it "blunt". However, the passage contained several elements which were missing or outright contradicted in the version found in scripture. The pastoress would never approve.

Which was why Colette was going to count on her good favor, go straight into the reading during service, and pray that nobody tried to remove her from the altar.

I know this is dishonest, she thought. But everybody needs to hear this. No...I really want everybody to hear this. And by the time it occurred to her that her wants had nothing to do with the situation, it was the day before the festival, and it was too late to start a new translation.

During service in the chapel at the House of Salvation the next morning, Colette knelt up in the first row alongside the priests. The pastoress gave the opening prayers. When she was done she rolled up the altarmat, as was proper when switching speakers, then stood and took her place towards the side. Now Colette went up. She had the book with her, and had been hiding it a bit beneath the pages of her translation. If any of the priests noticed what it was as she unrolled the mat for herself and knelt, none seemed to show it.

Kneeling, she was on the same level as the congregation. In larger churches they had benches, and the speaker stood. Colette wondered if it would be more or less intimidating for everybody to stare up at her instead. Casting her eyes down, she placed the book before her and opened to the bookmark where the passage began, before setting her translation back on top of the open pages. Every time a reading was given in secular language, the speaker translated it anew in accordance with their own language and understanding. The original text still had to be present, however. Some of the older priests could translate on the fly, no written preparation required; although Colette could read angelic language, she wasn't able to translate it so quickly. She had written out her translation in neat letters and given it twice to Mother Kallista to proofread, and now tried to push aside the fear that her tongue would still trip over the words.

She looked up.

"In honor of Spiritua, our first Chosen," she began, her voice shaking only slightly, "I am going to read an interpretive version of the – the beginning of the journey undertaken by the hero Mithos, in whose memory the quest of the Chosen was created."

Nobody acted as though anything was wrong. Did the pastoress' eyes narrow? She must have imagined it. Mother Kallista was in the front, trying to smile, but not quite making it.

Her father and grandmother were a row behind them. It looked like about half of Iselia was present.

It was a single reading from a book she had found within the House of Salvation. And she was already up on the altar.

So she started the tale.