This year, the closing act of the festival was supposed to be special, breaking the monotonous tradition of dancing and fighting. Grandam didn't let anything slip for weeks, teasing her occasionally with the smallest of clues. She had gotten loose-lipped in the past few years, often dropping involuntary hints about what was going on with the elders or the Saint.
Of course, Grandam caught herself spreading secrets multiple times, but nowadays she simply doesn't seem to care anymore. Marika took it as a show of trust. It made her feel warm, knowing that the old, grumpy teacher had accepted her as a valued companion. Some days, it felt even closer than that. Since the death of her last child, Marika has sometimes really felt like Grandam saw her as the only family left.
On those occasions, Grandam catching herself resulted in a few days of getting the cold shoulder. Marika thought it was unjust treatment since she herself was not at fault. Ignoring those days, she and her master got along swimmingly for half a decade now. A few bad lessons didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
Grandam's teachings on the theoretical aspects of hornsent society had also ceased. Their time was mostly spent training in the practical arts. She had struggled greatly with the priestly incantations, the golden spirals either flickering in and out of existence or being generally offending in their asymmetrical entwining.
That was a thing of the past, though. One day it was like she had regained long-lost memories or things simply fell into the right place, vastly improving her control and understanding of the Spiral Current. It all made sense; where seconds before there had been a multitude of riddles overlapping with each other, now it was just instructions being read from a scroll. Easy to follow, and even easier for her to change the recipe.
Consequently, Marika had breezed through the incantations of the inquisitors in record time, earning her one of Grandam's rare jokes.
"Must have been an idiot inquisitor in your past life, eh Marika?"
She had smiled and given a small chuckle, which would have been adequate under normal circumstances, had Grandam not broken into heaving laughter. It had put a damper on her recently growing confidence, especially since the coldest of shoulders followed as soon as her master calmed herself. Being excluded from something never felt good, even more so when exclusion might just have been her second name as she was growing up.
But recently, Marika was invited to more meetings than ever before, often standing behind Grandam like a golden shadow, soaking in every detail and every piece of unsaid information.
It was an open secret that the elders were very split when it came to her presence. They tried not to show it, but their true positions were not hidden at all. Elders Kradac and Theol had fallen into the habit of watching her practice, inviting themselves into the secluded training grounds. It was not unheard of the other elders coming for a visit, but when they began heaping praise upon her, Marika knew something was amiss.
It was servile flattery. Compliments given with ill intentions were no compliments at all. They were simply trying to have her dance to their tune, and as she could not deny them, Marika was not at all surprised it ended this way.
Although the strings pulling her along were almost splittingly taut this time, if only they were visible, then Marika imagined that she could pluck a fine tune on them. Strike the right chord and rip the puppetmaster from the heavens.
"You are going to perform in the closing ceremony this year." Grandam was never much for talking around an issue.
The idea was preposterous. While she was a perfectly passable dancer, having spent hours in the boredom of her chambers moving to imaginary instruments, she had no place on the theatre stage.
"What, am I to fight the newest sculpted keeper after he already beat three opponents? Hardly seems fair." She teased, getting a rise out of her teacher was always fair game.
"Shut it!" Grandam groused. "Sometimes I think I should have stayed in form so that I might cane you better!"
Lashing out with her staff and missing by a mile, she cursed under her breath.
"Theol pushed the notion, and the others agreed. You are tasked with showing your progress. Some of those small horned antiques doubt my capabilities in instructing you. They want to put you under another master, most likely themselves."
"So Theol wants to gaze at me undisturbed, is that it? It seems like a big risk to take if he wants to spend more time with me." It really was. Theol would never hear the last of it if Marika managed an adequate display. She would do more than adequate, of course. The elders would rue the day that they thought about separating her from her master.
She didn't suffer a decade of being treated like a servant to be set back now. If Marika was being honest, she had gotten too comfortable with her current situation, simply enjoying her practice and improving by the day. It would do her good to fight for it, to stave off the complacency. Only in the face of adversity could one show their true mettle, a core principle of the Tower Folk.
"He was always a fool. He thinks the crowd will leave you unnerved and the high stakes unrattled. He delayed the vote as long as he could to give you less time to prepare." Grandam gave her a toothy grin. "He doesn't know you. How creative you can be! How easily you can twist the form of an incantation. He expects some Spira, maybe some arcs, but you will do better."
Grandam's expectations of her were steadily reaching an unhealthy height. Soon she would expect her to become the first woman to become a sculpted keeper.
"I already have something in mind. The elders will not come between us!" Her resolve overshadowed her fear. She would not bear losing all of the freedoms she had earned with wit and sweat.
The grin she received was the most malicious thing Marika had ever seen. It was as if watching a sadistic taskmaster care for their whip, anticipation written on their face. At first, it looked out of place on Grandam's face, but then she noticed that some lines in her wrinkled visage stemmed from this very same ugly grimace.
"They will not. Unwitting as they are, they have given us an opportunity to elevate you in the eyes of the public. Make sure that you are adored by the crowd by the end of it. The other elders will be left in your shadow, not daring to ever look at you eclipsing the sun."
It would have been reassuring if it didn't sound too much like Theol's empty flattery mixed with Grandam's lofty expectations, but her doubts were swept away by the next sentence.
"Enir-Ilim awaits, Marika. Do not disappoint."
—
The golden spiral, the omnipresent symbol of worship and the base on which the Tower Folk based all of their incantations, was found, at least to Marika, lacking. She was able to twist that golden ribbon into any form she wanted, be it a sphere, a sword, or a dress. The issue lay in the blasphemy of doing so.
In her own quarters, her creativity was set free from the shackles of hornsent faith. Things she had never been able to enjoy lightened up the rooms in the form of a golden field, golden trees, and a golden horse trotting in their invisible shadows. They were the objects Marika yearned to perfect, but the festival forced her to spend all her time on spirals. Spirals, spirals, arcs, and more arcs. She was sick of it.
Out of spite, she had spent most of her preparation time thinking about how to achieve a slightly offending yet captivating result while using her limited means.
Marika had not been able to give it a true trial run. On a small scale, it worked just fine, but her display of skill had to be gigantic to leave the desired effect. Hoping that she could pull it off on the fly, she stewed in anticipation in her shadowy corner in the side entrance building of the theatre.
Only four horned warrior aspirants and a musician with a never-before-seen metallic flute were left with her. Another half hour of enduring the musician's stare, and Marika would lose her mind and lash out. He was obviously offended by her dress and general hornlessness. Marika had a feeling that he would fall from his high horse soon enough. The air of a doomed artist hung heavy around his tense shoulders.
While her dress was supposed to be provocative, she hoped that her closing act would change these looks to awe. It was a gamble, in truth, spending all of her saved-up allowance to put on a show, but it would be worth it. A new wardrobe for her first public performance was surely justified.
The dress was the colour of sand, sleeveless and cut open at the upper thighs, with a white sash wrapped from hip to neck. It was the colour scheme of priests, chosen deliberately to draw eyes to her body and not her head.
The usual golden bracelets had been replaced by a more impressive design, snaking along from wrist to elbow, with similar designs gracing her calves. Her twin golden braids reached her midsection, mirrors of one another in their golden embrace, resting on her chest. Grandam's advice rang true, symbols of worship wherever one might look.
Judging by the rather timid cheers, the leering musician had not been too impressive. His career was not looking very bright, having put on a subpar performance on the greatest stage. Smiling at her own true prediction for a moment, the humour quickly left her. Marika would share his fate if she could not pull through.
Deep breaths, calm mind.
She stretched her arms, adjusted her trinkets, and took her spot in front of the large metal doors. The warriors had just left, and already she could hear the clangs of fighting, the grunts of wounds suffered, and then the crowd's reaction to a winner being declared.
All too fast, her time came, the doors swinging open, leaving her overwhelmed for a moment, the light of the summer day and sounds of the audience crashing into her. A thousand times and more, Marika had gone through her performance in her mind, but she didn't expect to go through it half-blind.
Her arms spread wide in a gesture of welcome as she descended the stairs leading to the stage. Walking into its centre, she turned slowly so all could see her in her elaborate garb and be taken in by the splendour of her jewellery, shining brightly in the afternoon sun. With a deep bow to the elders, Marika began her ceremony.
Arms rising overhead, crossing at the elbow, hands clasped, she stood, eyes closed, to shut out the crowd. It was the signature pose of Spira, known to everyone in the audience. Her knees began to shake, but she managed to draw their attention elsewhere.
In a large languid circle, the first golden spiral sprang forth, almost scraping along the stands at each side, the commoners grasping at it from the roofs. The wider the circle, the higher the drain. It would probably have been enough to please most of the elders already, but this was to be a statement.
Marika gave her body a sharp twist, turning her body around completely, and a second spiral came forth, slightly offset from its precursor. A few calming breaths were all she could spare before she spun around again.
One after the other, each leaving a small space between them, they slowly began to close the open space around her. When Marika dared to open her eyes again, she saw that the crowd could not see her anymore.
The spirals had formed a pillar, now reaching higher than the largest tower, obscuring her from view. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell on her knees, arms still outstretched above her, her fingers biting into the back of her hands.
It was okay. It was alright. Marika took a few ragged breaths to calm herself. This was only the first part, the one that didn't border on heresy, the one that was more than enough to clear all doubts.
It was not enough for herself. Anyone she would meet in the streets, in their stores, or most of the audience looked down on her. For not having horns, for receiving special treatment, for proudly displaying her hair, and sometimes for simply being alive.
They would crane their necks to gaze at her creation in wonder, until Marika would take all that sense of wonder onto herself. She was the prodigy; she was the learned one who would make them acknowledge her, even if it took everything she had and then more.
The next time she dared to look up, the pillar had almost pierced the clouds, reaching even beyond Enir-Ilim. It was time for the next step.
Arcs, as used by the inquisitors, were simply little splinters of a greater spiral. One would not summon forth the whole thing, but just a small curve, a little slope, and throw it towards your enemy. While there was no enemy in the theatre with her, Marika had to make due with what resources were permitted to her.
At its apex, she began splitting apart the spirals, shooting hundreds of arcs in every direction, until the sky was lit up in a canopy of gold. Therein lay the small heresy.
While the Tower Folk beheld the visual representation of the crucible as the Divine Spiral Current, the order of crucible knights from lands afar pictured it as a tree, its roots reaching into every being living. Upon one's death, one would nourish the tree and be reborn from its boughs.
While Marika herself preferred the image of the tree, painting a clearer picture than the metaphysical concept of a melting pot for souls, the Tower Folk simply regarded all other views as simple and unenlightened.
In this case, it wasn't about making a theological statement. She simply needed a distraction that glued even the high elder's vision to the heavens.
When she had started the spectacle in the sky, her channelling of the spiral pillar ended, slowly leaving her visible again, as the pillar's base was raised upwards. With every eye bound to the sky, Marika got up on her feet again and took position. The last step was fast approaching.
The next time the audience saw her, she had grown horns. Golden, tangled, spiralling horns emerged from her forehead, antlers spreading wider than her spread out arms. A symbol of her spiritual superiority. A stern reminder that physical horns were no measure of how much of the crucible's power one could control.
There was a moment of deafening silence as the audience digested what they had just seen, what effort it must have taken, and who it was standing before them.
The commoners, missing the tree imagery completely, cheered for her spectacle.
The nobles, knowing the efforts to channel much smaller incantations, praised her for her ability.
The elders, stunned by the daring display of golden horns, lauded her audacity.
The high elders, measuring the sheer power required for such feats, looked at each other in fear. They talked to each other in low voices on their shadowed stands, sparing her not a single glance.
They were not looking at her.
After everything she had done!
They were not looking at her.
Grandam was not looking at her.
The elders had come between them, but from the other angle. It felt like years of progress had just evaporated. Where the look of proud superiority was supposed to be, there was doubt. Grandam was not doubting her skills; that much she had made clear, but it seemed even she underestimated Marika's skill. No, she had fallen in with her peers and sided against her pupil.
"What else should I do?!"
The crowd reacted to her with cheers, mistaking her outburst for a provocation. The interlude for another round of display of talent.
"Why won't you look at me?"
Everyone else looked at her, but it didn't matter. Striving all her life to meet the expectations of one person, surpassing them, and not getting her well-earned recognition left her hurting. Marika felt something in her break. Suddenly she felt the erratic need to strike something with her delicate fists, to run Theol through with a blade of golden light, to run away and hide from everyone. She did none of those things, for all she could do was think about the whys and hows.
Grandam had tasked her with eclipsing the sun.
The applauding audience simply could not fathom the sun, for they lived their days in eternal darkness. They had seen a radiant full moon shine light into their pitiful lives. Just how long had these people been deprived of its grace? It's unsurprising that they cry, pleading for more, for another glimpse.
Only the high elders stared straight into the sun. The gravity of the situation hit her hard, her arms slumping down, the strings cut. She had just eclipsed her destiny, forced upon her by the decrepit council. Whatever future had been looming behind Marika, whatever plans they had schemed, had been burned into their eyes, scarring them forever more.
They, who prided themselves on their far-sighted designs, stumbled about, grasping desperately with a blind hand for the reins, not noticing that their mare had escaped in the chaos. Marika would not carry them to greater heights; they would be left at the foot of the mountain path, while she would go at her own pace. Disoriented, they would be squabbling with each other on whether to turn back or not.
It left them unable to witness this pivotal moment because they were too busy licking their freshly wounded retinas.
The moment she decided to go on her own path, she broke free from her preordained orbit. Marika was celestial, and she would never again eclipse this sun. She would sooner suffocate its smouldering heat, first reduce it to embers, and then throw its ashes to the wind.
It too would nourish the great tree, be reborn, and then she would be waiting. Waiting to crush the reborn sun in its infancy, whatever form it might take.