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“YOU’LL DO WELL NOT to anger the high priestess,” Magora said as she and Armal led Rea down the long tunnel to the bathing cavern.
Several of the sisters who’d witnessed the outburst had lingered behind in the main hall to offer disapproving glares as Rea made the transition to the dormitory of her new sisterhood. Magora had not spoken until they were out of earshot, but Armal waited until they’d reached the bathing cavern before making herself heard.
“Defects?” she snapped at Rea. “Is that what you see in us?”
“Quiet now,” Magora grumbled. “Let her rest with her grief. She’ll think on her words later and make amends for them.”
“Will I?” Rea asked. Anger boiled within her chest and spread through her limbs, making her skin flush. “Have you seen it, wise sister? Is this part of the Moon’s great plans for me?”
The sting of Armal’s hand across Rea’s cheek sent her back a step. The sharp smack echoed through the bathing cavern, and it tore a sound from Rea’s lips, an utterance more pitiful than any Tawndra’s whip had produced.
“You’re a hateful girl,” Armal hissed. “You don’t deserve the Moon’s blessing.”
“Enough,” Magora barked, grasping them both by the arm.
The fire drained from Rea, seeping out through tears that flooded her eyes. She wiped them away with the palm of one hand and cupped her sore cheek.
“Forgive me,” she rasped in between sob-choked breaths. “I just...I just wanted to follow my mother, to know her the only way I can.”
“And you will,” Magora said, giving her arm a small shake. Rea was too disheartened to wonder at the meaning of the sister’s cryptic words. She had been so very wrong before.
“I’m sorry,” Rea said, disregarding Magora’s comment.
Armal sighed, and the scowl that pinched her face softened. “I know you are, sunshine.”
“Come.” Magora tugged Rea around the steaming pool and toward the crystal passage that led to the bluff. “A little busywork will ease your distress, and these bedsheets aren’t going to fold themselves.”
***
THE FARTHEST EDGE OF the drying cliff curled around to the northern side of the mountain. The mighty peaks of the West Ridge continued onward up the coast of LouMorah, but Rea had a clear view of the sea to the west, and the desert in the east.
The two looked eerily similar under the light of the full Moon, their flat expanses stretching to meet mirrored horizons. But every now and then, the wind would kiss the sea, and waves would crest and roll inland. Rea could hear them crashing the rocks, though the mountains hid the shore from view.
The east half of the mountain was aglow tonight, brighter than the soft blue of the Moon. Small bonfires dotted the flatlands, and the torches that bordered the stone steps to the temple had been lit for those making their way home.
Rea knew Nyna’s mother would be waiting halfway up the path with the others who had sent their children off nine years before. They would have wreaths of flowers to crown the new mothers with, and baskets full of berries and goat cheese.
Those seeded would tell the outcome of the Calling, delivering the news to the proud few mothers whose daughters were now sisters of the temple. Then together, they would follow the path back to the flatlands to have a celebration feast with all the mothers of the Moon’s Chosen.
Rea tried to be happy for Nyna instead of feeling sorry for herself. She thought of Armal and Magora, whom she would now spend all her days with. It was not such a terrible fate. She had to admit, sharing a damp room with Armal was far more appealing than being neighbors with Tawndra and Lady Cora.
Still, her heart longed to roam where Lyra had lived, where she’d prayed and slept. Rea wanted to understand why her mother had been seeded. Had she asked the Moon for the blessing without Lady Oleena’s consent? Had she wanted Rea so desperately that she’d risked the high priestess’s wrath and broke tradition? And why would the Moon grant such a bold request if the Mother did not have some special plan for Lyra’s daughter?
Rea had held onto that hope for so long. Now, it was fading away, leaving a hollow ache in her chest. Her cheeks felt gritty with salt from her dried tears. The wind beat at her face, pulling more moisture from her eyes as she folded sheets on the moonlit bluff. Winter would be even worse, Rea realized. Now that she shared in Magora’s laundry duties, Rea wondered how long it would be before she looked as weathered as the old sister.
A cheer from below confirmed that the new mothers had made it to the halfway point in the temple path. It would be a while longer before they reached the flatlands. Rea imagined she would still be out on the cliff, folding sheets in the stiff wind, the Moon mocking her as it disappeared in the sky.
Head stuffed full o’ wool, indeed, Rea thought bitterly.
She gathered up her full basket and hefted it around the corner toward the opening to the cavern. The lines on the west side of the cliff were now empty. They were mostly used by the daughters during the day when the sun was out, to quicken the drying process.
The churning of the waterfall drowned out the singing that echoed up from the mothers. But Rea heard neither.
Just inside the crystal passage stood a great white beast. Its long head was angled back, flat teeth nipping at a vine that grew over the rocky mouth of the opening.
Rea dropped her basket and stumbled back a step, her breath shuddering as the thing looked at her. It snorted softly as it chewed, regarding her with black eyes that were almost as wide as one of the closed fists Rea clutched to her chest.
“Great Mother,” she said, her voice hardly more than an exhaled breath.
“No time for dallying, girl.” Magora appeared in the passage, jerking Rea’s attention from the beast.
“Sister!” Rea waved her hands, trying to cut a shadow against the moonlight to warn Magora, though the creature did not move to harm her. The old sister stood but a few paces away, her wisps of hair dancing in the breeze—or perhaps due to the beast’s breath. The creature’s bobbing chin hovered over Magora’s head and gave her a disinterested sniff.
“Make haste.” Magora clapped her hands.
“But sister, there’s a...” Rea swallowed, unsure what to call it. “An overgrown goat?”
“Nonsense. They never stray this far up the mountain.” Magora cackled as Armal joined her in the passage.
“I’m done with the kitchen rags,” the younger sister said, drying her hands on her apron. She looked right past where the beast stood, not a hint of recognition or alarm. “Do you need help, Rea?”
Rea blinked at the women and then the beast again. First the staff, and now this. Perhaps her mind really had come undone. The fact that she’d carried the delusion of her fate for so long did not bode well for her sanity either.
“I’ll take this for you,” Armal said, fetching the basket from where it sat at Rea’s feet. When she turned to carry it through the passage, she nodded at Magora, completely oblivious of the creature that now lapped water from the pool behind the fall.
Rea couldn’t even summon her voice to thank the sister. She stood fixed to the same spot on the ledge, blinking as if the action might clear her vision of the thing that could not be there.
“Overgrown goat.” Magora snorted, and a grin broke across her wrinkled face. “Lyra would have loved that. Wait here, girl.” She hobbled off through the crystal passage.
Rea gaped after her, not wanting to be left alone with the beast, but also not wanting to invite more ridicule. If she were losing her mind, there was no need to help it along. But if she saw true, and was the only one doing so, then the creature must have found her with some purpose.
Rea pressed her back against the wall of the mountain and slowly moved toward the mouth of the passage, taking in the full size of the beast. Its color changed as the hide progressed toward the creature’s hindquarters, a soft gray dappling the white. A bulge of leather trimmed with gray fur was strapped to its back, and wide leather bags hung on either side of its flank, with more strips of leather dangling near its belly and long neck.
The beast watched Rea as she snuck closer, her startled face reflected in one of its glossy, black eyes. It impatiently stamped one of its hooves on the ledge and shook its head, tossing about the coarse, black hair that sprouted in a line down the back of its neck.
Rea froze in fear, worrying she’d spooked the creature, but then she caught a glimpse of parchment tucked under the bulky leather. She crept closer, holding her breath until she could snatch the fold of paper, quickly retreating to flatten herself against the face of the mountain after she’d done so.
It was a letter, and it appeared to be addressed to her.
.
Dearest Daughter of Lyra and Solurn,
I trust the Moon’s Chosen have raised you well. I promised your mother that I would send for you after your nine years at the sister’s temple, on the night of your Calling. The Moon and Sun have conspired to save the sacred realms of LouMorah. They Call upon you now, dear Rea.
This mare is my gift to you. Her name is Pooka, and she is under a cloaking enchantment that will prevent all but you from detecting her until sunrise. There is food and a waterskin in the saddle bags on her back.
I know you must have many questions. If you wish to have them answered, I am but a two days’ journey into the desert. Pooka knows the way.
Your Humble Servant,
Hoshnador of Solanya
.
Rea read the letter again and again. This Hoshnador had known her name and her mother’s, too. If they were keeping a promise to Lyra, that stood to reason that they liked her mother—a rare and auspicious find. But the mention of Solurn troubled Rea. This was the second time she’d heard that name.
The sisters’ brief lessons about their former trade partners had included a footnote about the elves’ breeding habits, how their offspring required two parents—one to produce seed, and another to carry it. Much like the birds and beasts of the flatlands.
Hoshnador must be mistaken.
As reviled as Lyra had been by so many of their people, enough of the mothers had witnessed Rea’s birth that it could not be denied. And Rea had felt the Moon move her as it had the other daughters during the Calling. She was one of them. No letter or singing staff could steal that truth from her.
And yet, Rea was eager to know what this stranger knew of her mother. So eager that she abandoned her fear of the mare and found herself inspecting the leather footholds that hung below the beast’s belly and searching the saddlebags for the food and water the letter had mentioned.
Rea thought of the dangers that might await in the desert, of the war that the sisters were not entirely certain had ended. The temple was safe, so long as she avoided Tawndra’s whip. She would never go without food or shelter. And she had Magora and Armal.
Still, getting answers from someone unafraid to speak of her mother was a tempting lure, and it wasn’t as though she would learn anything new if she remained at the temple. Besides, if the high priestess were as powerless as Rea suspected, perhaps the Moon did have a grander plan for Rea.
She fisted the hem of her robe, pulling it up and out of the way as she stepped into one of the footholds and then threw her opposite leg over the saddle. The momentum nearly propelled her off the mare’s opposite side and into the fall, but Rea clung tightly to the creature’s mane, drawing a snort from its large nostrils.
“I hope you’ve finished clearing the laundry from the north tip of the bluff,” Magora said as she reappeared in the mouth of the crystal passage. To Rea’s surprise, the old sister grasped the gnarled staff from the hidden room with both hands, leaning heavily on it as she caught her breath. It did not sing this time, but the dark handprint proved it was one and the same.
“Sister, I...” Rea didn’t know what to say—about the staff or her thoughts about leaving the temple.
Parting with Nyna had been difficult, but telling Magora and Armal goodbye would be even harder. Especially if they threatened to stop her or alert the other sisters.
There was also the question of how Rea would find her way out of the mountains. The desert trail was likely overgrown and enchanted to discourage intruders from the lowlands. But the mare had somehow made it all the way to the temple, and Hoshnador’s letter had stated that the beast knew the way through the desert.
“Come, child. There is precious little time until sunrise.” Magora hobbled ahead of the creature and clicked her tongue. The beast moved beneath Rea, following the old sister to the far end of the bluff.
A jolt of panic shot through Rea as Magora neared the edge, but then she stopped suddenly. The mare stopped, too, pitching Rea forward in the saddle. She sucked in a startled breath and grasped the leather reins at the beast’s neck. For a daunting moment, Rea feared that she wouldn’t make it off the cliff—let alone down the mountainside—without falling to her death.
Magora said nothing of the commotion. Her milky eyes sought out the Moon, and her lips moved in a hushed chant. The staff wobbled in her old hands, but she found the strength to lift it off the ground, striking the end against the stone ledge with a sharp clack-clack-clack that echoed in the night air.
The mountain shook, sending bits of rock raining down from the peak. Rea fell forward against the mare and wrapped her arms around its neck, holding on with all her might. The beast loosed a quivering whinny, but she did not bolt or stamp about.
Beneath the bluff, a second and then a third shelf of stone slid out. The rock formations continued, spitting out step after step that spiraled downward around the mountainside.
“Here, girl.” Magora held up the staff. It quivered in her old hand as Rea hesitated to take it. “Go on now. It’s yours.”
Rea’s fingers wrapped around the dark handprint scorched into the wood. The staff was lighter than she’d imagined, though it was still quite long. She searched for some way to strap it to the saddle but finding nothing, she settled for laying it across her lap.
“How I wish I had my sight, just this once to see you off,” Magora said. Then she huffed out a sad sigh. “Though I suppose Old Hosh knows charms well enough that you’re likely invisible while atop the horse anyway”—Magora chuckles—“your overgrown goat.”
A thousand questions filled Rea’s mind, but she chose to ask, “Will the sisters come to see what has woken the mountain?”
“Oh.” Magora gasped softly. “Poor girl. No, they will not come. I have cloaked the Moon’s Chosen from the break in the ridge. I should have known the spell would not work on you.”
“But...am I not the Moon’s Chosen?” Rea’s voice hitched as she neared the verge of tears.
“You are,” Magora assured her, pale eyes wandering through the dark as if she might somehow find Rea despite the disadvantages of nature and magic. “But you are also so much more.”
“I don’t understand.” Rea shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. “The Calling...Lady Cora said—”
“Lady Cora is a clever imitation of a high priestess,” Magora said flatly, speaking ill of the other woman for the first time. “But the Moon’s true Calling cannot be denied. You hear it now, don’t you, girl? Pumping through your veins as sure as your blood?”
Rea looked up at the Moon. She did feel something—a wild yearning to abandon the West Ridge in favor of whatever answers awaited her in the lowlands.
“Armal helped me make this,” Magora said, drawing Rea’s attention back to the ledge. “It’s our Calling gift to you.” Her knobby fingers held up a length of braided twine. A coarse column of crystal wrapped in silver filament dangled from the cord.
Rea leaned over the side of the mare and directed Magora’s hands to her head, letting the old woman adorn her with the necklace. When Magora finished, she tenderly cupped Rea’s cheek. This was farewell, and Rea was not prepared for it. She pressed her hand over Magora’s.
“I will miss you—and Armal.”
“We will miss you, too, child.” A sad smile tugged at Magora’s weathered face. “But now you must go. The sunrise will not wait, and you have a long journey ahead. Go quickly,” she whispered, pulling away from Rea and heading back toward the crystal passage.
Rea was torn, but Pooka was not.
The mare snorted and then tore off down the stone path that had sprouted from the mountainside. Rea could do nothing but cling to the beast’s mane with one hand and grasp the staff with her other as they descended.
Soon, Rea lost sight of the temple. The break in the ridge bypassed the flatlands, weaving through rocky chasms that the mothers avoided. But then they disappeared too, and something churned in Rea’s belly and made her heart flutter—a sickly yet exhilarating sensation.
Freedom.