The Temple
Half a year later, a young woman stumbled into the Goddess' Temple in Tyra and fell face first onto the flag stones. The first of the women to recover from her shock shouted for help as she rushed to the travel worn woman. Even unGifted as she was, the acolyte could tell that the woman was injured and dying. Waiting for the warrior maidens, she prayed to any listening gods that the woman might live and share her story. As if summoned by her prayer, the acolyte heard the pounding of the temple guardian's feet. The women stopped when they reached the unconscious stranger and, with a gentleness that seemed at odds with their strength, lifted the woman and bore her away. The High Priestess stepped forward and took the semi-stunned acolyte's arm, leading her away from the bloodied place where the stranger had fallen.
"My dear Mariah, tell me what happened," she said kindly, steering Mariah toward one of the many gardens created for relaxation.
"I was going to pray and ask the Goddess to send some word from home," the High Priestess nodded and they sat on a bench surrounded by fragrant lavender bushes. "She stumbled through the arch, dripping blood on the ground. It was awful! Her eyes locked on mine and even in that brief second, I felt a burden great enough to drive a person to the Black God's Option. Then she fainted.
"I was still reeling from the pain in her eyes when I heard a voice, terrible and great. It told me that the woman's time wasn't up, that I must help her. And I did," Mariah shuddered, "She was dying, I know it."
"Child, you have been blessed. Those who the Goddess chooses lead great lives and are well rewarded," the High Priestess smiled at the younger woman's confusion, "The Goddess' voice could make or break a person. Her approval bodes well for your future. This girl will be your responsibility."
"Thank you, Mother," Mariah hugged the elderly woman.
"Yes, yes. Now get!"
Mariah hurried to where the stranger would be kept. The plain wood door was guarded by two warriors, both for protection and confinement. They nodded and let her into the room. Like most of the novice dorms, this room was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. On the bed, the woman looked vulnerable in the soft green robes of the acolytes. The dirt had been washed from her skin and Mariah could see the extent of the damage. Her face was patterned with bruises and scabs, on her arms, white scars were surrounded by many other wounds. Several fingers seemed to be broken. More of the same covered her legs. Most of the recent looking cuts were an angry yellowish red. The feet broke Mariah's resolve not to cry. Even after being washed, the rocks were firmly implanted in the cuts on her soles. This woman had been battered beyond breaking and endured.
"Still your tears, Daughter," Mariah jumped and looked for the speaker. The Goddess stood before her. Mariah bowed to her Goddess, who had gone to the stranger's side. In a voice that conveyed more sadness than a thousand tears, the Goddess spoke, "My Chosen, what have you become?"
"Goddess! I cannot carry on," Mariah was drowning in violets, warm and deep as the stranger's voice sounded in her mind.
"You must. The pieces are set. Without you, your kingdom will fall."
"Can't you fix it? You are a god!"
"Dear heart, there are moments in time when even the gods must sit back and watch what happens."
"I've already burned up my Gift trying to heal myself."
The Goddess murmured something sounding like, "What can I do with you, Alanna of Trebond?"
Moving to the head of the narrow bed, the Goddess sighed and placed a hand on either side of the woman's head. Silver fire burned through her body, leaving healing in its wake. Mariah noticed that at least one scar stayed, on her right lower arm, the silver fire made it glow before passing through. When the Goddess' healing was done, the woman slept naturally.
"Be careful with her. She isn't at all what you think and she herself will wake with no knowledge of who she is or how she got here," the Goddess cautioned Mariah, "Neither will she or you know how many powerful friends she has. People in high places would take her pain away and kill those who gave it to her. Retribution would be chief on their minds if she was dead. There are just as many men who would kill her. For her safety and yours, tell her that she is Celia of Masbolle, in Tortall. You know no more than that.
"Well child, my time is up and others call for me. My brothers would like to see her, take word to their followers that she lives." And she was gone, replaced by a god dressed in a sari of the Copper Isles, jewelry dripping from his hands and neck. He lifted one corner of his mouth in a mischievous grin and vanished in a sparkling pop of sound. The next god to visit was Mithros. He held his shield in one hand and saluted her with the spear held in the other hand. He too disappeared in a blaze of light and the two mortals were alone again. Thinking quickly, Mariah slipped out of the room to request that a runner be sent to the kitchens for two meals. She slipped back inside and was closing the door softly when a knife appeared at her throat, held by Celia.
"I see you woke up."
"Who are you and why am I here?" Celia's voice was harsh, though whether with disuse or screaming was unknown to either woman.
"Your name is Celia of Masbolle, you walked about three steps into the courtyard before collapsing. The Great Mother Goddess healed you!" Awe was evident in Mariah's voice.
"I remember." Celia removed the knife and sat on the bed. For a few minutes, silence prevailed.
"Where am I?" Celia asked, looking around. Mariah answered, sighing when she realized that many more would follow.
Though she never regained any memory of whom she had been and her Gift never returned, Celia recovered quickly. Within one month, she was enrolled in the convent's school for the daughters of the nobility. Charming, witty and obedient, Celia rapidly gained friends. The sight of her and Crown Princess Elio of Tyra strolling through the gardens was a common one. For two years, Celia excelled at her classes, dance and riding most of all. Although she was short and nearly emaciated at first, soft living helped to create curves. Her chestnut hair and deep indigo eyes had many of the young men who visited often sighing over her. The year she turned 17, all young women of that age were invited to be presented at Court. She had three days to prepare.
Celia expressed her surprise and delight to Elio, "I just can't believe I'm going to be presented! The High Priestess says that my parents haven't sent for me yet, so this is my only chance."
"This isn't that bad. And Court isn't that much fun." Elio laughed.
"Are you being presented too?"
"'Reintroduced' is the proper term."
"Do you think it'd be bad to mention the times our shoes flew off during the more spirited dances to our partners, as a warning?"
If they can't handle flying footwear, they don't deserve to be knights," Elio joked.
"They should go through training! Include that in their studies," Celia said, breaking into giggles.
"I can just see them, bumbling over themselves in their haste to catch the slipper!" The hilarity of this picture had both girls convulsing in laughter.
Despite the nervous tingle in her belly, Celia descended the staircase perfectly, walked to the Royals' dais and curtsied perfectly before walking sedately to join the other maidens in their group. Among the pale yellows and muted pinks of her companion's dresses, Celia's ruby red dress stood to. A murmur had followed her and now many were sneaking furtive glances in her direction. When Elio appeared at the head of the staircase, the heads rippled back to stare in awe. In a shade of green that made her silver eyes glow and her normally brown hair show flashes of auburn, the willowy princess was beautiful. As she walked the strip of carpet leading to the dais, the nobility sunk as one into a deep bow, not rising until she reached the marbled platform holding her parent's thrones. Each of her parents kissed her forehead before turning her to face the people she would rule. The usually subtle courtiers broke out in a spontaneous cheer, making the Great Hall reverberate with sound. The monarchs signaled for silence as the orchestra began a stately waltz and the king led his daughter onto the floor. They spun gracefully for a few measures until the oldest prince led his mother onto the floor. At this signal, other couples began to take the floor.
As each of the other girls was asked to dance by a young man chosen by her family, Celia's good mood began to fade. She would have no partner. A middle-aged man dressed in Tortallan colors came up and bowed to her. She hid her surprise as she curtsied and allowed herself to be led into the ebb and flow of dancers. When the dance ended, he led her off the floor and to a set of chairs, placed so that the weary dancers could rest.
"You are Celia of Masbolle?" He inquired.
"I believe you have the advantage, sir, as I do not know who you are." Celia replied.
"I beg your pardon. I am Count Devin of Malories Peak and His Majesty's Ambassador. I have been sent here to bring you home."
Author's Note:
Hey! Its been a while. Bet you didn't see that coming! Haha. Only not. But anyway, I was originally going to have Elio go with her, but as I wrote, Elio stopped showing up after the first few pages... Oh well. I hope you enjoy it!
-Klehmenteen.