| |
REA WOKE BEFORE THE sun the next morning, stiff and feverish, but she pulled her covers away and gathered the basket of soiled robes. The slice of sky that peeked through her window was dark, but a faint wash of purple touched the horizon and backlit the swollen Moon as she dipped lower.
Rea thought of the secret room and the staff. The memory was hazy around the edges as if it had happened a very long time ago. Or maybe only in a dream. Perhaps she had fallen asleep as she scrubbed the floor outside the dining hall. It had been late, and she’d been very tired, especially after all the extra hours she’d spent studying and preparing for the Calling.
In two days, when the Moon reached her zenith, the high priestess would gather the eldest daughters in the sky basin for the fateful ceremony. Rea hoped her back would be healed well enough for Nyna to hug her goodbye. The only chance their paths had of crossing after the Calling would be when the mothers and daughters of the flatlands delivered their bounty or when they came to the temple for the First Moon that heralded the growing season. It was the only day of the year that all the Moon’s Chosen came together as one.
Rea held her breath as she tiptoed past Nyna’s bed, not wanting to disturb her friend. She slipped out into the corridor and followed it to the stairs that fed into the temple’s main passage. After descending the first set of steps, she turned sharply and took the stairs that led to the lower level.
A narrow tunnel waited at the bottom. Rea walked briskly, allowing gravity to pull her down the decline as she covered the distance that stretched beneath the entire length of the daughters’ dormitory. The sconces were fewer and farther between in this part of the temple, marking small openings spaced along the limestone walls that led to cellars full of provisions from the flatlands.
When Rea reached the mouth of the tunnel, it opened into a massive hollow within the ridge. Here, it was hard to tell where the temple ended and the mountain began.
A hot spring bubbled up from a depression in the cavern’s floor. It formed a large pool where the sisters had chiseled away the gypsum and limestone, creating a suitable place for washing duties and bathing. Steam rose from the water, swirling and dancing through the air before being sucked toward a narrow opening in the cave wall.
The Sisters of the Hearth lived in the damp, crowded dormitories carved from the rock that curled along the opposite side of the cavern. Most had already turned in for the day, having finished their nightly hearth chores, but a few remained at the water’s edge, wringing out bedding and robes that belonged to the elite sisters of the temple.
Large oil lamps lit the cavern, but once the sun rose, its rays would sneak past the opening in the side of the mountain and turn the water a blue so intense that the cavern would glow all on its own. That was when the daughters liked to bathe and wash their robes. Which meant the Sisters of the Hearth had to finish their washing and bathing by lamplight.
The priestesses had their own hot spring pool in their quarters at the opposite end of the temple. That fact relieved Rea to an embarrassing degree. Though she sought to join their ranks, just being in their presence seemed like a sin. In truth, there were not many of the Moon’s Chosen that Rea did not feel her very existence offended.
“Well, if it isn’t the Moon’s sunny cousin,” Armal, a Sister of the Hearth who had been Called after Rea’s first year, greeted her from the edge of the pool where she scrubbed and wrung out rags from the kitchen. The jab was playful, not like the taunts the temple daughters spat at Rea.
Armal knew what it was to be shunned. And she knew that being ignored was sometimes even worse than being pitied, though she detested both. The last two fingers on each of the sister’s hands were fused together. It was a defect Armal had been born with, one that was hardly any hindrance at all but still considered unacceptable by the high priestess.
Like Nyna, Armal had wanted to be a mother. But Lady Cora had said the Moon would not seed a flawed vessel. And when Armal’s mother had requested the blessing of a second daughter, she’d been rejected, too, out of fear that her womb would produce another less-than-perfect daughter.
Rea wondered what would become of the poor woman and Armal’s grandmother once they became too old to tend to their sheep. What would happen to their family home when they were gone? Who would remember them and carry on their sigil?
“Good morning,” Rea said as she stripped out of her robe and hung it from a jutting rock on the cavern wall. If she washed it with the others, she would have nothing dry in time for her first class, and she knew better than to be late again.
She knelt at the water’s edge beside Armal, and the sister handed her a lump of soap. They scrubbed and rinsed in silence, mindful of the weary sisters sleeping in the rooms at their backs. It was soothing work, breathing in the steam and herbal aroma that wafted from the suds on the surface of the pool.
When Rea finished, she twisted and squeezed the excess water from her robes. Then she tucked them back inside the wicker basket before migrating around to the shallower end of the pool for a quick dip to wash the dried sweat and blood from her skin.
The water burned in her wounds, but it felt nice on her aching muscles. She would have lingered longer if not for Armal’s scrutiny of her backside.
“That looks infected, sunshine.”
“I have ointment,” Rea said as she exited the pool. She reached for her robe, but then hesitated, noting the pinkish water running down her arms. It was sure to stain. The aftermath of a lashing was even more inconvenient than the initial agony.
“Best ask Magora for the good stuff,” Armal said, gathering up her basket of rags. She gave Rea a tight smile and headed for the tunnel to the main hall.
Even in summer, frigid winds embraced the highest peaks along the West Ridge of LouMorah. But the Moon’s Chosen were accustomed to such conditions. Still, Rea grimaced as she took up her basket of wet robes and slipped through the opening in the mountainside.
A short passage led to the outer face of the ridge. Its domed ceiling and walls were crusted with moonstone and crystals. Rea thought it was the most beautiful, serene spot in the entire temple, especially when the gems captured the sun’s light and welcomed it inside the cavern.
The pool drained through the same exit, steaming water rushing down a channel cut into one side of the walkway. Outside, it filled a shallow dip in the bluff before gushing off the mountain in a magnificent waterfall that spilled into the river far below.
Though the sky was slightly brighter now, the waterway that snaked past the mountain was hidden in the shadow of a thicket that lined the bank opposite the ridge. Rea could still hear the thunder of the fall, and she could see the ocean it eventually fed into in the distance, reflecting the thin morning light.
She could also see the robes and bedsheets strung up on the rocky ledge beside the brim of the fall. The sea of wool and linen whipped violently in the wind, even with the stones that weighed them down. The drying lines were as thick around as Rea’s thumb, and it took at least three pairs of tied stones to keep a single robe from ripping free.
Rea felt a stiff breeze tug her toward the edge and wondered if maybe she should weigh herself down, too. The stones used for securing laundry were piled in the corner where the ledge met the mountain. She squatted down to collect a few, stashing them in her basket on top of the damp robes.
As she stood, the stones over a nearby bedsheet slipped loose. Rea grasped for and missed the escaping fabric before realizing that the wind was not to blame.
“You smell like a slaughtered goat that’s been forgotten on the kitchen slab,” Magora said, rolling the bedsheet over one arm until it was bundled enough to tuck down into her basket. She placed the tangled laundry stones on top of the linen to keep the wind from claiming it.
“I just bathed.” Rea angled her nose down at the bend under her shoulder and sniffed. Then she held her basket up to smell her laundry.
“Blood and herbs.” Magora’s milky eyes narrowed on Rea as she breathed deeper. “And infection. You’ve taken another lashing.”
“It’s nothing,” Rea mumbled. “I was just too tired to wash before dressing it last night.”
“Take heart, child. Tawndra’s whip has seen its last of you.”
“It has?” Rea’s breath hitched hopefully. Magora did not make frivolous claims, but Rea had seen Tawndra deliver lashings to several first-year priestesses and at least one second-year priestess.
“It has,” Magora repeated. “Nevertheless, you’re going to need something stronger than Sister Rashal’s flower and honey concoction to fix that.” She waved her hand impatiently at the empty line above her hunched frame. “Hang your robes, then come see me. Make it quick. I’m old and need my rest.”
“Yes, Sister.” Rea stepped out of the way as Magora lugged the basket of bedding past her and through the opening in the mountain.
“And wear something next time you come out here,” the sister’s voice echoed from inside the crystal passage. “The buzzards will mistake you for carrion.”
Rea shot a nervous glance up at the sky as she set about stretching her robes on the line. She secured them with the laundry stones. Then she scooped up her basket and hurried inside, pausing to collect her dry robe before heading to Magora’s room.
Shortly after making the elder sister’s acquaintance, Rea had discovered that the Moon hadn’t taken Magora’s sight but rather redirected it. Her awareness stretched beyond the visible world and, occasionally, outside of the limitations of time. Though Magora chose to keep the Mother’s blessing to herself and those closest to her.
Rea was not sure when she had become one of the precious few, but she was proud to be among them. She was also puzzled by how the high priestess could not know that such a sacred gift had been misplaced amongst the Sisters of the Hearth.
Lady Cora was not the high priestess who’d announced Magora’s Calling, but surely the Moon had revealed the error to her by now. It felt like treason to even think ill of the high priestess, but Rea could see only two possible reasons for the oversight.
Either Lady Cora was intimidated by the power the Moon had given to Magora...or Lady Cora had no power at all and, therefore, no idea how gifted Magora was.
Neither explanation satisfied Rea, but she kept the question to herself. The answer was not worth the lashing that she was sure to receive for asking such a thing. Nor would it inspire the high priestess to welcome Rea into the fold of the Sisters of the Moon, if Cora were indeed making the decision on her own without divine guidance from the Mother. So, Rea tried to put it out of her mind.
Even in the lowest sect of sisters, being the eldest had its advantages. Magora was the only Sister of the Hearth with her own room. It was still damp and windowless, as were all the chambers in the lower level, but thanks to the hot spring in the cavern, it stayed warm even in winter.
Rea found Magora sitting on the edge of her bed. The old sister’s chin hung to her chest, and a rattling wheeze blew past her lips as if she’d already nodded off. Her nest of gray hair stood out in every direction, windblown from the late hours on the drying bluff, and bags hung heavy under her closed eyes.
The younger sisters would have gladly taken over Magora’s responsibilities, but the woman would not hear of it. Of course, she’d had to relent when it came to the more taxing chores. There was only so much a body could endure when it reached a certain age, and for a Sister of the Hearth, that age arrived much earlier. For an initiate as dedicated to her Calling as Magora, even sooner yet.
Rea watched Magora from the entrance of the room, suddenly feeling selfish for bothering the elder sister with something that had been her fault, something that wasn’t so terribly serious that it couldn’t wait until late afternoon.
“Top ledge, wooden bowl,” Magora said, waking from her slumber with a start. She pointed a gnarled finger toward the corner where a series of yellowed, blocky crystals had been stacked to form a shelf for Magora’s apothecary. “Hindal burned herself in the kitchen last night, so it’s fresh. Grab a roll of that gauze there, too.”
Rea set her down basket just inside the doorway and draped her dry robe over it. She retrieved the bowl and gauze, careful not to disturb the assortment of herbs and oils clustered on the shelves. Magora was particular about the placement of things since she had so much trouble identifying them by sight.
“Bring it here. Sit beside me,” Magora said, directing Rea with her hands. The elder sister took the bowl from Rea and dug her fingers into the dark paste, making sure the ingredients were mixed well.
The ends of Magora’s sleeves were already rolled back to her elbows, the way most Sisters of the Hearth wore them as they worked in the temple. The Sisters of the Quill, but especially the Sisters of the Moon, were never seen with their sleeves rolled back. It was a style beneath them, a symbol reserved for the lower caste.
The daughters considered most eligible for sisterhood wore their sleeves long, too. Rea tried to do the same, but she was frequently burdened with hearth tasks that made rolled sleeves more suitable. Her dingy, stained robes did nothing to improve her status either.
Though Magora’s fingers were knotted and had a slight tremble to them, she was gentle as she smoothed a thick layer of the paste onto Rea’s back. The smell of tea tree and lavender soon filled the room, though it was laced with hints of garlic and onion. From the dark color and grit of the paste, kitchen coal had been used to thicken the oils and juices. Magora used all manner of things in her remedies.
“Thank you.” Rea sighed as a strange euphoria took up residence in the absence of her pain. Her flesh went numb, and her shoulders finally relaxed. The immediate relief dragged at her eyelids, reminding her of the too few hours she’d been sleeping lately.
“Come back and see me this afternoon,” Magora said as she patted the gauze in place over the mixture to keep it from mucking up Rea’s robe. “We’ll have you patched up before the Calling. You’re going to need your strength. The Moon has plans for you.”
“Really?” Rea asked, then sucked at her bottom lip. She wanted to ask what else the Moon had told Magora, but she knew the sister wouldn’t tell her. That would be a misuse of her gift.
Before either of them could speak again, a clamor of laughter and splashing echoed through the bathing cavern. The daughters were arriving, and they showed little care for the sisters sleeping in the nearby rooms.
“Thank you,” Rea said to Magora, reaching for her robe.
From the sound of it, there were maybe three or four girls, but that was still more than enough to set Rea’s teeth on edge. If she hurried, she might be able to slip through the shadows and up the tunnel to the main hall without encountering any of them.
Rea grunted as she attempted to tie the collar of the robe at the back of her neck. Though she was free of pain for the time being, full mobility had not returned to her shoulders after the hours spent scrubbing the floor outside the dining hall.
“Sit, sit,” Magora rasped under her breath, sensing Rea’s panic. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” Rea perched herself on the edge of the bed again, turning her back to Magora. Her face warmed with shame.
It was cowardice to avoid the other girls. She hoped that becoming a priestess would give her a better understanding of her mother, but beyond that, she also trusted it would endear her to the Moon’s Chosen. Or, at the very least, earn their respect.
Of course, she had hoped their childish cruelty would subside once they entered the temple, but it had only grown worse, and the sisters cared even less than the mothers of the flatlands had. During Rea’s second year, a group of older daughters had nearly drowned her in the bathing pool. She was in the oldest order now, but she still arrived early to tend to her needs before the other girls.
“There,” Magora said, knotting the cords in a bow beneath Rea’s looped braids. “Roll your sleeves back and stay close to the inner wall where the light hasn’t yet reached. You’ll be fine.”
Rea swallowed and nodded appreciatively at the sage advice. She rolled her sleeves back and took up her basket, but then hesitated at the opening of the room, listening intently to the squeals and splashing.
“Go on now.” Magora waved her off. “Let an old woman rest.”
“Sleep well, sister,” Rea said. Then she filled her lungs with a courageous breath and darted from the room.
There were only two girls in the bathing pool, though they made enough noise for twenty. Rea did as Magora had instructed and stuck close to the inner wall. From the bluish tint in the water, the sun had only just broken the horizon. It deepened the contrast of the shadows within the cave, providing a narrow swath of cover from Magora’s room to the mouth of the tunnel leading to the main hall.
Rea walked swiftly on the balls of her feet, only watching the girls from the corner of one eye. Their heads dipped under the surface in some game or another, and Rea quickened her pace, racing the light as it stretched farther inside the cavern.
Once she’d made it through the tunnel and back up the stairs, she released the breath she’d been holding. She took the second set of steps to the daughter’s dormitory and, to her relief, found the hallway mostly empty, save for a pair of girls toting baskets heaped with bedsheets. Rea ducked inside her room before they noticed her.
Nyna had already risen. She stood by the window, squinting out at the golden light that rose over the desert in the distance. The daughters’ dormitory was on the opposite side of the mountain from the drying bluff, and though the sisters taught them that the sea wrapped around the entire continent, it could only be seen from the west.
The mountain the temple sat upon was surrounded by shorter ranges and scraps of forest. The flatlands, rocky plateaus scattered farther down the West Ridge of LouMorah, were still quite high in elevation compared to the lowlands, though the views of the world below were vaster and more awe-inspiring from the temple.
“How is your back?” Nyna asked, dragging her eyes away from the window.
“Much better.” Rea stashed her empty basket in the corner beside her bed and folded her hands over her stomach. “Are you...going to the bathing cavern?”
Nyna pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m working in the garden today. What would be the point?”
While most of the temple’s food stores were supplied by the mothers of the flatlands, there was a garden a short way down the mountainside. Its meager bounty was reserved for the priestesses and special occasions. In addition to the few herbs the sisters used to make soaps and tinctures, there were blackberry bushes and rows of spinach and arugula.
Before the Calling, the sisters organized a feast for the daughters. It ran much later into the evening, allowing the girls to say goodbye to friends being Called away from them. Their usual spread of root vegetables, salted mutton, and millet boiled in broth was accompanied by glazed rock doves, fresh greens, and a tangy berry and millet porridge. Rea’s mouth watered just thinking of it, and her belly grumbled anxiously.
“You should have some breakfast before your first class,” Nyna said, worry drawing up her brows. “Sister Padal may be gentler than Lady Tawndra, but she knows nothing of leniency.”
Rea knew that better than most. She doubted any of the other daughters practiced blinking less while reciting their prayers.
“Are you going to the dining hall?” she asked, twining her fingers. “We could walk together—”
“I should get an early start in the garden,” Nyna said, offering an apologetic smile. “The sun is the brightest in the morning. Makes it easier to spot the ripe berries.”
“Of course.”
“But I’m sure I’ll see you for supper.”
Rea nodded and lifted her hand in a small wave as Nyna left their room. Rea wanted to be angry, but their time together was drawing to an end, and she couldn’t bear the thought of a bitter parting. She also didn’t wish any hardship on Nyna, which was almost certain for anyone showing kindness to Lyra’s daughter in the presence of the wrong sisters. Even Sister Rashal had been reprimanded for being too soft on Rea.
Two days, Rea thought.
In two days, she would be Called to join the most holy sisterhood, her reward for suffering through years of grueling trials. Even Magora had seen it.
The Moon has plans for you.