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REA MISSED HER REMAINING lessons of the day. Even after Armal had finished slaughtering the birds and took up the gory task of dressing the ones Rea had plucked clean, it took them well into the afternoon. Long after the others had completed their tasks in the garden.
When they were done, Rea was covered in down. The feathers were mostly gray, except for the colorful patches that wrapped around their poor, broken necks. They stuck to Rea’s sweaty arms and face, and a gamey smell clung to her robe. She had been too mortified to join the other daughters in the dining hall for the last meal of the day, but the small feast of berries and raw dove eggs Armal shared with her in the shadow of the bird cave had been a surprising treat.
The female rock doves only laid a dozen eggs each per year. They were left to hatch unless the female had no mate. Those precious few eggs were poached and served to the priestesses.
Rea felt guilty for indulging with Armal, but they had worked hard, and she was nearly a priestess. Plus, Armal had threatened to drag her into the bird cave to be pecked raw if she told anyone. Rea decided that praying longer and harder that night before bed would absolve her guilt.
After they’d delivered their bounty, they went to the bathing cavern to wash up. Armal hadn’t fared much better than Rea. Her hands were stained from the wrists down, blood caked under her misshapen nails. There were reddish-brown stains on the apron she wore over her robe, too.
In the bathing cavern, the pool glowed with light reflected from the crystal passage. It was less intense at this hour, but bright enough that the oil lamps around the room had not yet been lit. And light enough that Rea could see Magora, waiting for them at the water’s edge. She didn’t dare go in alone. It was too dangerous with her poor sight.
Where the water neared the channel that fed it through the crystal passage and to the fall, a fierce current sucked along the limestone floor of the pool. If one misjudged the distance, they risked being ejected from the cavern and spit off the side of the mountain.
Upon seeing Magora, Rea’s back throbbed in anticipation of the healing salve. Though not as severe, her pain had returned, and with it the unpleasant memory of the lashing she’d received—as well as the secret room with the strange staff.
Her second encounter with the odd object was still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t dismiss it as a dream as she had tried to before. It had been troubling her for hours, even more so than the dozens of limp birds she’d stripped of their plumage.
“I can smell the yoke on your breaths,” Magora whispered as Rea and Armal neared the bathing pool. Her words held more mischief than reprimand.
Armal stole a quick glance around the cavern and then reached into the pocket of her apron, retrieving a pair of delicate eggs. She tucked them into Magora’s weathered hand.
“Quickly now, while we’re alone,” Armal said, keeping a watchful eye as the older sister devoured the eggs, shells and all. Magora sucked her fingers clean with a soft moan and then patted Armal’s arm.
“You’re a sweet girl,” she cooed. “Chew some of the mint leaves in my room before you go back to the kitchen. If anyone asks, complain of a toothache.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“You too, Rea,” Magora added. “Fate is only certain when you don’t test it.”
“Yes, Sister,” Rea echoed Armal.
Magora had said she’d seen the last of Tawndra’s whip, but Rea knew better than to squander her common sense. Her back was still tender, and it had grown increasingly so as the day progressed, but as she stripped out of her robe, Magora inhaled deeply.
“Much better,” she said. “I’ll fix you up again after we wash.”
She pulled a few lumps of lavender soap from her pockets and piled them into Rea’s hands before disrobing. Armal took a bit longer with her knotted apron strings, but soon enough, the three of them entered the pool and scrubbed until a hazy lather floated on the surface of the water. Soggy feathers and pink bubbles were sucked away through the channel to the fall, and the scent of herbal soap infused the steam that filled the cavern, chasing away the stench of bird and blood.
Rea took time to unknot her braids for a proper washing now that she could more easily roll her shoulders. Her fingers ached from the hours of plucking, but she worked them as best she could against her scalp. Then she lay back in the pool to rinse the soap from her hair, letting her body float on the surface.
The glow emitted from the water tapered near the cave’s ceiling, but just enough of it grazed the shiny bits of crystal embedded in the rock. If Rea let her eyes go soft and unfocused, it almost looked like the night sky when the Mother was resting, leaving only the stars to shine down on her Chosen.
When she finished bathing, Rea washed her robe. The others would be dry by now, and she suspected Magora had already collected them from the line for her. As feeble as the old sister appeared, she had enough strength to work with the heavy laundry stones and the priestesses’ thick robes and bedding—against the wind, no less.
Rea knew that Magora’s milky eyes and quivering fingers kept the other sisters from paying her too much attention. The elder sister enjoyed the peace humility afforded her. It was a lesson she had tried to instill in Rea, but it never took.
From the moment she’d arrived at the temple, Rea had wanted to prove herself worthy. She was well aware that drive was the root of her suffering, but she’d persisted, certain she could soften the sisters’ hearts in the wake of whatever awful thing her mother had done to harden them.
Armal helped Magora out of the pool, leading her to the steeper ledge where she could dangle her rough, old feet in the water closest to the hot spring. Her thin hair rose from her head like growing grass as it dried.
“I’m going to miss this,” Magora said, following the statement with a wistful sigh.
Armal’s brow creased, but she said nothing as she entered the water again to scrub the blood from her apron. Her hands worked awkwardly at the fabric, and Rea supposed it had as much to do with Magora’s gloomy musing as the bird butchering.
“Let me,” Rea said, taking the garment from Armal. It was the least she could do after all the sister had done to spare her with the rock doves.
As Rea washed the apron, Armal stood behind her, combing her fingers through Rea’s pale locks. She divided the hair and began braiding. Rea’s back was healed well enough that she could have accomplished the task herself, but it was nice to be doted on from time to time. She couldn’t imagine any of the priestesses doing such a thing for her, and it made her heart ache to think of bathing elsewhere in the temple.
Like Magora, she would miss this.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to visit the prayer room,” Armal said as she knotted Rea’s hair. “But I was grateful for your help today.”
“I will see the inner sanctum after the Calling.”
“Of course you will.” Armal’s usual sarcasm was muted by sorrow. It wounded Rea more than she expected it to.
“Will you hate me after I’m Called?” Rea asked, sending a nervous glance over her shoulder.
“I could never hate you.” Armal wreathed the damp braids around Rea’s head and turned to face her in the pool.
“Promise that nothing will change between us,” Rea begged. Armal smiled and touched Rea’s cheek with her water-puckered fingers.
“Everything changes, sunshine,” Armal said softly. “I must return to the kitchen. There’s still much to be done before tomorrow night.” She nodded down at the apron in Rea’s hands. “Will you put that on the line for me?”
Rea nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
Armal exited the pool and tugged on her robe. She crossed the cavern and ducked inside Magora’s room, emerging a second later with a handful of mint leaves. She stuffed them into her mouth one at a time as she hurried for the tunnel to the main hall.
“Come, child.” Magora grunted as she stood and hobbled around the pool to collect her robe. Her shriveled skin looked as though it could use some more time in the open air to dry, but Rea refrained from voicing the suggestion.
“Shall I wash that for you?” Rea asked instead, nodding to the sister’s robe.
“No, no.” Magora waved her hand dismissively. “Just hang yours on the line and come to my room. I have a gift for you.”
Rea dragged her robe and Armal’s apron from the water. She wrung them out before slipping through the crystal passage and stretching them on the line. Though the sun hung low in the sky, reflecting across the sea like spilled honey, the wind was still bitter. It sucked the water from Rea’s flesh and set her teeth to chattering as she pinned the garments with laundry stones. She quickly finished her task and retreated into the warmth of the cavern once more.
By the time she reached Magora’s room, the old sister was wrapped in a fresh robe and waiting with the bowl of dark salve. She sat on the edge of her bed, chin to her chest as Rea had found her earlier that morning, though she was fully awake this time.
“Sit, girl,” Magora said, patting the spot beside her. “Let’s take care of your back first.”
Rea did as she was told, though she craned her neck to take inventory of the room, seeking out her dry robes and the gift Magora had mentioned. After the stolen eggs and berries, she didn’t feel as though she deserved anything more, but she supposed that was Armal’s Calling gift to her.
Magora applied the salve to Rea’s back, and she again savored the numbing effect it had on her wounds. A bowl full of the concoction would be an exquisite gift, Rea thought, pondering other possibilities as she searched the apothecary on the crystal shelf in the corner.
“There we are.” Magora patted a piece of gauze over the salve and then pointed to a stack of fresh robes on an overturned basket in the corner. “Not that one,” she said as Rea selected the robe on the top of the stack. “That one’s for tomorrow night. A daughter marked for greatness should be dressed properly before the Moon on the night of her Calling.”
Rea gasped softly and held up the robe, letting it unfurl to its full length. It was bright white, as pristine as a priestess’s ritual mantle.
“How did you get the stains out?”
“I didn’t.” Magora cackled, and her weathered face broke into a wide grin. “It’s one I put aside for you. If anyone asks, it took hours with a boar brush.”
Rea held the robe to her chest and breathed in the fresh scent of the wool. For weeks, she’d been dreading the idea of attending the Calling in one of her tattered, bloodstained robes.
“Thank you, Sister Magora,” Rea said, returning to the bed to hug the woman. “You’re the only one who believes in me. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”
“Hush, child,” Magora gently scolded her. “I only do what I was Called to. Save your gratitude for the Moon.”
“I will pray long tonight.”
“But not too long.” Magora’s milky eyes squinted at Rea. “You will want to be well rested for the Calling. The Moon will ask far more of you than prayer tomorrow evening.”
Rea rubbed the wool of the new robe against her cheek and grinned. Pride was not something she was often allowed to enjoy. At least, not with the priestesses or Sisters of the Quill.
She refolded the gifted robe and dressed in another from the stack before gathering up the rest. As she went to leave, she paused in the threshold of the small room and turned to look back at Magora. The old sister had already tucked herself into bed, the thin cover pulled up to her chin.
“What is it, child?” Magora asked at the tail end of a yawn.
“Nothing.” Rea chewed her bottom lip for a moment but then smiled. “Sleep well, Sister.”
Magora made a soft noise in reply. Her eyes had already closed, and a gentle snore hummed through the room.
Rea hugged her clean robes to her chest as she crept through the bathing cavern. She could ask Magora about the secret room and the staff tomorrow.
Tonight was her last as a daughter, and she meant to end it in peaceful prayer.