Chapter Six: Equinox

The Mid-autumn Festival was one of four throughout the year dedicated to the seasons and the gods, as the First Daughter explained at dinner one evening. In the morning, all the Convents and Monasteries emptied out into the streets to visit their patron gods' and goddesses' Temples in the City of the Gods. After the prayers had been said, the girls of the Goddess-on-Earth returned to prepare for a night of festivities in the Temple of Mithros, since summer and fall were designated as His seasons.

"And finally," the First Daughter clasped her hands together, soft candlelight shimmering on her golden robes, "you will all be required to don both formal dresses and your most cultured, gracious manners." She nodded once and waved them out after her customary dinner speech. "That is all, and may the Goddess smile down upon you this fine evening."

Excited chattering bubbled up from the rapidly congesting hallways; even the youngest girls had known of this event weeks before it was formally announced. Besides that it was the first of the rare celebrations in the Convent, they all jumped at the chance to flaunt their dresses to the others. The official game and competition among the noble girls involved a display of clothing, manners, and charm. Once they were sent to the palace to find husbands, the three areas of expertise became vitally important.

Yet the royal palace was probably the only place where such trivial skills mattered. In the manors of their husbands, the ladies wasted their time on more sewing and primping themselves for the next ball; afterwards, it was all forgotten. They lived lives without meaning and left no impact upon anyone except perhaps the families they were expected to raise. And after the initial shock, their husbands would often simply find another wife to replace the old.

Alceta sighed as the crowd of girls swept her along back to the dormitories. They wanted to be meaningless and empty-headed, and she desperately hoped their influence wasn't seeping into her.

* * * * *

The week passed in a flurry of activity. Eventually, the level of discord rose so high that most Daughters assigned "Critical Reading" at the beginning of a class to be elaborated upon during their next meetings. But in each class, the passages were identical and consisted of a few lines about the gods and goddesses of Tortall. The noble-bred girls invariably knew the information without cracking open a single book, so they gradually gravitated around a few desks to share party gossip. It was another cultivated skill, one that the youngest girls had already mastered.

At first, Alceta too had joined in the chattering. Soon, however, the topics began to repeat, centering around dresses and court life. By etiquette, she appeared no longer interested and remained at her own desk to extract more implied information about Tortallan history and society from the texts. They claimed to be impartial, but the author had obviously emphasized stability of ruling families and strength of warriors above all else.

That was all she gleaned from one chapter, and she nudged the book aside and reached for one with a much thinner spine. It was a journal by one of the royal children during the parents' reign and would provide an insider's account of court politics. Satisfied, Alceta flipped open the soft cover; inside, she found herself looking through the eyes of a Conté prince no older than herself.

Skirts rustled and slippers shuffled by her. A figure less slender than the nameless future "Lady" bent over her head and stared at the back of her neck, casting a long shadow over the pages of the book. She refused to give any sign of acknowledgement, instead pretending to be immersed in the story of how Prince Roald nearly chose magic over knighthood. The two girls waited in silence, both patient, neither willing to cross the invisible barrier.

Finally a husky, stiff voice spoke.

"Good afternoon, Lady Alceta."

A glimpse of carrot top curls and a creamy complexion lightly sprinkled with freckles as she turned nearly brought a mixture of relief and disappointment to her face. Attempting to apologize and ruining her plans.

Alceta quickly slapped on the cool benevolence she wore when officials visited the Academy's laboratories and stood. "My pleasure, and the same to you, Lady Carole," she replied mildly.

"Thank you kindly," smiled Carole. "How have you been as of late?" Her expression was genuinely concerned, but Alceta sensed more—was it jealousy, perhaps? Or irritation?

"Fine, as always, and you?"

Formalities, rules, and etiquette were seriously blocking any point Alceta wanted to make. Any moment now, she thought, and if there's no straight answer, I'll ask a straight question. She pulled her hair back and returned the smile; first, her acquaintance deserved a chance.

"The same." Carole waved a hand. "Well then, wonderful speaking to you, and I shall see you soon." Suppressing a snarl of frustration, Alceta looked on as she began to walk away. But she stopped in mid-step, and her sky blue eyes clouded over. "Why," she asked in a low, hurt whisper, "did you do that?"

She sounded like a little girl who wanted to know why animals were killed and why they were cut apart for the biology experiments. So the façade had been dropped and the real points addressed. Unable to immediately register the significance of her words, Alceta blinked rapidly and frowned. She ran through all of their encounters and experiences mentally. There was the first meeting, then classes, followed by the water incident—

That which is in plain sight is least obvious, she thought, raising a dark brow that appeared as a fine brushstroke across her pale features. Carole was simplistic and a bit naïve, but not stupid. She wanted to know the meanings of actions; she was willing to be petulant and irritating. A few days of tension were coming, and this time, she could not avoid the question.

Alceta sighed. As much as she would have liked, she found it nearly impossible to put on the pitied, weakling expression that would fool people. "Give me time, and I'll explain," she said quietly, averting her gaze from a pair of confused and saddened pale blue eyes.

"How much more time do you want?" Carole stomped on the ground and glared at Alceta. "It's been a week already!"

Fortunately, the Daughter had not yet noticed the commotion at the back of the room. Wary of causing any more trouble after the water and the reading incident, Alceta said pleadingly, "Just two more days. Surely you can wait?"

"Of course she can wait," Taria cut in sweetly. "We have to pick a dress for you tonight, don't we?" Then she turned to Carole. "As for you, I'm sure the Daughters have something that doesn't have a waist, either, like a feed sack from the stables, perhaps?" She grinned wickedly.

"Don't look at me like, Alceta dear! We're going to have a most wonderful time tomorrow night," exclaimed Taria, and her eyes widened with a dreamy anticipation.

* * * * *

 An orange sun cast its rays of light from the horizon, coloring the lowest clouds bold streaks of gray and rose and signaling the double columns of Convent girls to open the gates. Led by the First Daughter, robes reflecting the dawn as they gently swirled around her unyielding figure, they glided down the pathway to the Temple of Mithros. The Hag-Mother limped after the oldest girls; with her black garb and clawed hands, she was both the oldest and one of the most respected in the Convent, not to mention the one who frightened newcomers and adjusted residents alike. But that didn't stop anyone from mocking her from a distance.

As one, the girls knelt before the white marble altar and murmured their prayers for a happy season to come. Alceta followed her year mates but could not suppress a frown; she did not worship this Mithros. She refused to worship anyone at all, even as she bowed her head and silently mouthed the words.

"May Mithros grant Tortall a joyous autumn," chanted the head Priest and the First Daughter.

"May Mithros grant Tortall a joyous autumn," they repeated, a dull wave of voices spreading through the un-walled room.

And it continued in a similar fashion for a few hours, interrupted at times by the full, rich bugle of horns and once, a strum of a lute. Finally grapes, apples, and other fruits were brought to the priest and priestess's feet and arranged in a ring around them. They stood, faces shining, and continued without a trace of uncertainty, brilliant and strong.

"And bestow His blessings to the harvests,"

"And bestow His blessings to the harvests,"

"Giving strength to the warriors of Tortall."

"Giving strength to the warriors of Tortall."

The tall figures standing on the very steps of the raised platform inclined their heads simultaneously and smiled.

"Amen."

"Amen."

They remained silent until the Priest and Daughter stepped apart to reveal the sacrificial torch, elevated above the dais. Together, they turned away from the girls and subordinates and raised their hands to shoulder level. With what seemed to be an excruciating effort, they moved backward one step, and the fire was lit.

The flames burning bright on the torch, which was held by both Mithran Priest and Daughter of the Goddess, awakened the gathering, stirred them from their respectful trance. Once the torch had been planted in the center of the ring where man and woman had stood, they walked off the dais. In a white and golden sea the worshippers rose to their feet, divided only by the cleared aisle that separated the colors. The girls departed silently; as they exited the temple and the sunlight shone in her eyes, Alceta realized that the entire morning had passed.

It was funny how words could control. It was a lesson she had picked up from a ceremony to honor the god of war, not speech and trickery.

* * * * *

Back inside the Convent, Alceta immediately headed for her chamber, closing and locking the door after Taria entered. On the instruction of the more experienced girl, Alceta flipped open the lid of her trunk and began to lay the formal dresses on the bed. Though she herself brushed them by carelessly, they elicited envious squeals from Taria.

She unfolded a dress made of pale rose silk and held it up. "This is absolutely gorgeous," she remarked, her voice tinged with envy. "Try it on, will you?"

Alceta rolled her eyes at the puffy, laced sleeves that somehow looked too wide at the top and too tight to slip her arm into. Of all the stupidity…she shrugged mentally, resolving to improve the situation with the useless dress.

"You know, if you like it, do you want to have it?" she said kindly, and of course, falsely.

Taria smiled, a gentle upward curve of her lips. "Really?" Before Alceta could agree, she continued, "Oh, thank you ever so much! But now we've got to choose something for you, don't we?"

Together they shook out the dozen dresses that the Goddess had packed. Alceta was difficult to please; on every item she found a flaw. This one had too low a neckline, that one wouldn't fit, and so on she pushed them away. The ones that she accepted, Taria simply refused to allow her to wear, claiming that it "ruins your lovely figure". Finally, she suggested that perhaps she simply wouldn't attend the celebrations tonight…it wasn't worth the effort.

"What? You can't do that!" Shocked, Taria stared at her recent acquaintance, momentarily disregarding all rules of etiquette. "It's the first event of the year, and you can't just—"

"Of course I can," retorted Alceta, now visibly annoyed. She sighed and held another dress up. "How's this one, then?"

"Well, I suppose it's all right…"

"Then it's the one," she said firmly and shoved the other skirts back into her trunk before Taria could protest. "Ok, what else?"

"There's hair, but the older girls have face paint and jewelry too," she replied knowledgably, though she was not much older. "And if you want, we could borrow a better pair of shoes…"

Alceta shook her head. "No, hair's necessary of course, and my slippers are fine." Just like the natural color of my face, she added silently. "But could you help me pick a hair band? To go with the dress?"

"Of course…that's what I'm here for!"

"Then I'll see you once I organize all this again?"

There was a slightly embarrassed lull in the conversation, and Alceta and Taria both turned around. Taria returned to her chambers; after a few minutes, she rapped on the door to be allowed in.

"Yes?" Alceta slipped on her shoes and viewed herself critically.

Taria gasped. "You look beautiful, absolutely stunning, and would anyone ever have guessed?"

"Are you sure?"

"But of course! If you're going to keep staring at that mirror, why not look at yourself?"

In the mirror was the reflection of a skinny nine-year-old fitted in a dress of forest green velvet and silk, much too extravagant for such a plain-looking girl. The sleeves extended to her wrists, soft and sleek, and the single skirt puffed out a few inches from her feet. She wrinkled her pointed nose, turning to the right and left before finally nodding in consent.

"Now, what did I say?" said Taria triumphantly. "And as for head bands…" her slender hands brushed over the assortment of accessories on the desk, "I think the thin green one will do quite nicely. It matches your dress." She added that as an afterthought.

Pushing the ribbon up into her hair, Alceta smiled and adjusted the light so that the satin gleamed like a palm frond nestled in raven locks. "You look wonderful too in pink—did you manage that hair all by yourself?"

Taria tucked a dark chestnut curl behind her ear, careful to accent the way they fell on her shoulders and bounced lightly. Instead of answering, she gave Alceta a knowing look and practiced strolling around the room in exhibition fashion. One foot placed delicately before the other, again and again. Pivot on the leading foot. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders as she reached the end of the bed, inclining her head slightly at an imaginary figure waiting in front.

She was royalty for anyone who didn't know otherwise; Alceta was simply a noble girl trying to make her way in the world.

* * * * *

The Mithran priest led the room in an endless prayer, dedicating the feast to the gods with wildly waving arms and a baritone voice that alternated between a whisper and a roar. Between bowing his partly shaved head and shouting words of praise, he bobbed up and down on the dais, which seated the First Daughter as well as other important visitors who happened to be passing through. Taria and Elise, who had retained her bubbly nature, had to work hard to stifle high giggles, in turn making Alceta smirk inwardly at their empty heads. Clueless as always, and she would be cutting ties soon…much too soon for their liking. Then again, how much payback could anyone expect for advice on the dress?

Clapping his hands together before his chest, the priest ended his speech with an "Amen". Slowly, the silence evaporated and led to endless streams of chatter tinkling in many directions around the room. Again, he waved for quiet. The words stopped flowing.

The members of the high table raised their goblets, followed by the rest of the room. A hundred cups of burgundy and vermilion glowed in the dimming sunlight; then they sank to gently puckered lips. They drank to Mithros and a fruitful harvest, and the clink of glass upon wood was the only sound to so much as crack that moment of silence.

Little by little, the guests began to speak once more, though the volume was rather subdued. Alceta turned her attention to the platters of food sitting on the table and carefully took a slice of cheese and a few salad greens. Poking at her plate with a three-tined fork, she bit off tiny pieces of lettuce and chewed them slowly to make it last as long as possible. After another half hour or so, the fruit would be served, which she looked forward to. Even if the priests only served apples, it was better than…than this stuff.

"Have you tried the roast pork yet?" inquired Taria, gesturing towards a plate of sizzling meat.

Alceta blinked rapidly, stirred out of her reveries, and quickly replied, "No thank you, I don't generally eat meats. Salad and cheese is more than enough."

"Then m'lady," a nervous servant boy offered quietly, "there's some soups o'er there, and iff'n ye don't mind me sayin' so, the baked taters smell awf'ly good from down 'ere."

She gazed at his scrawny figure curiously, but within seconds, he had scurried back to the kitchens out of sight. Shaking her head, Alceta plucked a potato quarter and smeared it with a pat of yellow butter. It had been cooked to perfection, simple and light enough to almost melt in her mouth as she chewed. She resolved to give blessings upon the cook if ever she chanced to meet him.

Her stomach full and her mind drowsy from the constant din, she was vaguely aware of a small group of musicians rising from their seats near the back of the room. They broke into a few common tunes, each blending into the next until the music began to die away altogether. Applauding sleepily, the audience drank to them as well and then called up a soloist from the ranks of the priests.

Despite his unwillingness, the priest was a talented instrumentalist who knew just how to stroke the strings of his lute to draw out tunes that stirred and soothed something deep within the human heart. The wild, rustic melody cleared her head, shook her hazy mind awake. It flowed from sashaying rushes brushing past each other in a storm, to the groans of ancient oaks creaking with the weight of the centuries, to the howls and barks of wolf-dogs running through a field. Despite the knowledge that people were watching, Alceta rose from the bench and wove through the throngs of guests, walking closer and closer to the musician. There was something about the music—his very being, even—that drew her in, made logic irrelevant in comparison to instinct and belief.

He smiled patronizingly down at her, and imperceptibly, the middle-aged priest shifted forms into that of a tall warrior clad in shining metal armor and grasping the jeweled hilt of a sword.

"Can you not guess who I am?" he chuckled. "Foolish mortals…"

"Mithros," she breathed quietly after gazing into his blinding brightness for a period of time. "God of the sun, of fighters, and kings."

The god nodded. "You learn quickly for a foreigner, but some say not quickly enough."

"Who?" Her eyes flashed menacingly, daring someone to repeat it.

"Alas for that, I do not remember—we Immortals cannot trouble ourselves with your day-to-day matters, Alceta of Deimos Point."

Alceta clenched her hands into fists and relaxed them one by one, each finger resisting to be straightened to the end. "Gods forget too?" she asked coolly. "Then I suppose mortals must be allowed some leeway as well."

"Haharr!" The Graveyard Hag cackled gleefully and waggled a bony finger at Mithros, who glared at her withered form patronizingly. "You were right, sirree, she learns quick enough! Say, lass, would you like to make a deal with me, perhaps?"

The gaps between Alceta and the two gods quickly vanished as figure after figure appeared, some smiling, others frowning down at her. A few she recognized, but the majority of the gods were unknown. She ignored them and faced the hag.

"Since it seems that I have a deal running with the Mother Goddess, it would not be wise to take on another so soon. And as for you, Mithros," she rounded on the knight-god, "is there more you have to say? Or is this a trip to fool with your precious mortals?"

He hit the ground with the sword and bellowed, "I'll have no mortal trifling with me! And you'll miss out on the message as well, I'm afraid." A devious grin quite unlike his kingly face appeared. "So are you of like mind, to hear that for which I have been sent?"

Alceta nodded, a glower still apparent.

"The Mother Goddess sends her regards, as well as the words that 'You are destined for more than this life'. And that is all." Mithros sheathed his weapon and eyed her suspiciously. "Return to your seat now," he commanded, "before the others awaken."

And he and the other gods were gone.

Turning around for the first time since she had been summoned, she watched in wonder as the girls sat on the benches, not moving a single hair. "Frozen in place…" she whispered to herself and skittered back to the empty spot by Taria as quickly as she could in a wide dress that threatened to trip her by the ankles. As soon as her trembling hand touched the fork, the room returned to life. No one gave any mention that they had sat motionless for ten minutes at the very least.

"Hasn't the Festival been simply wonderful so far?" A high-pitched voice cut into Alceta's thoughts, ruthlessly breaking her moment of contemplation.

"Of course, Elise," she replied. "Would you mind if I left for a moment—just to get a breath of air?" Without waiting for a response, since the room had many openings and incomplete walls, she stood up and swung her legs over the bench. Avoiding them was more like it.

Alceta wandered toward the entrance of the hall, where the priest had been playing minutes ago. No one barred the way between Temple and grounds now, and she slipped outside. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving minute traces of its fiery presence behind. She ambled by the wall casually, focused on the silhouette of a bird in flight when a rough hand slammed into her mouth. At the same time, a tiny dagger whipped out against her neck.

"Don't you think about kicking or biting," growled a voice, "or you're going to the King right now."

AN: That was a nice long chapter to make up for my absence, though you shouldn't expect too much due to High Tech High School. Reviews, anyone? They would be rather nice too…