Date: 2012-07-20T16:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: "Fear choked me as I slithered beneath another set of low-hanging branches. Dirt and rocks dug into my hands, filling the space beneath my fingernails while I crawled. Briars caught my hair, but all my attention was on the nemeton?my people?s sacred space?twenty feet beyond the willow that hid me. Speeding breaths disturbed the branches, steaming in the chilling air." Prophet of Bas and imbued with the strength and magic of her goddess, Roseen is a woman bound by faith and compelled by honor. When a powerful vision calls her back to Madani, her home, and Sheelin, the island where she first exp
Publisher: Exciting Press

Once Was

Book One of the Asylum Trilogy

a novella

Miya Kressin

Once Was: Book One of the Asylum Trilogy

An Exciting Novella

“Once Was: Book One of the Asylum Trilogy” (c) 2012 by Miya Kressin.

All rights reserved. Except under Fair Use, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner withot prior written permission from both the author and publisher.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Exciting Press, a division of Exciting Endeavors, LLC.

Cover images “Household Object of Desire: Gold Bowed Mirror” by Wonder Lane and “I’m Watching” by Alejandro Hernandez, licensed via Creative Commons via Flickr. Slgckgc does not endorse Once Was, Miya Kressin, or Exciting Press.

Cover design by Exciting Press.

Edited by Hannah Blum.

Goddess Touched

Fear choked me as I slithered beneath another set of low-hanging branches. Dirt and rocks dug into my hands, filling the space beneath my fingernails while I crawled. Briars caught my hair, but all my attention was on the nemeton—my people’s sacred space—twenty feet beyond the willow that hid me. Speeding breaths disturbed the branches, steaming in the chilling air.

Fire and blood ran red through the trees where there should have been life and incensed smoke. Drummers communed with the gods as magic brought their hands and taut goat skins together. I imagined the echoing drum beats as pained bleatings from silent throats, domestic creatures slain in holy sacrifice to make the sacred instruments. Shrill notes penetrated through the connecting pounds; pulsing power immobilized my fear. Staccato beats danced with the High Priestess’ mystic words, weaving magic to summon me. Left arm forward with right knee, then right arm and left knee. Tickling brushes of a willow’s spiraling leaves whispered along my face, begging me to turn back. If I could just close my eyes to what was ahead . . .

The spell’s woven fabric caught flame and beckoned. Fire called me forward from the forest’s protection, and soon screaming chants burned my throat as the priestess danced behind me, closing the path.

“Defiler! Destroyer! Desecrator!” Her words erupted from my lips, magic-dragged and beckoned to her cause. Taunting lashes cut deeper than the knives she whirled.

Familiar faces, torn and painted, pleaded from tongueless mouths. “Help,” the priests begged with silent lips.

I didn’t want to help them. She was right.

Stinging aches lacerated my hands. Magic wanted loose, demanded to be free. Feel me, Daughter, it crooned in my ear. Punish them. Dance with her. Save the rest.

The High Priestess twirled, blood-drenched blades circling above her head. “Come, Little Priestess.”

Thump.

Thump thump.

The drummers called. My swaying body lost its fear. A step to the trees became a step into the circle. Right foot, hop in time with the music. Left foot, leap aside. Thump thump. Hop again, back into the circle once more.

Cold air and warm fire communed on my skin. Raking nails tore my clothes before I knew they were my own.

Dance, Roseen. Dance their judgment.

Blood wasn’t enough. They stole too much. I did not know these priests any longer.

Thump thump.

Right foot, hop. The sky swirled as I turned, arms stretched out overhead. Darkness beyond the circle tightened, became oppressive. I could not leave now. I did not desire to leave now.

You must always finish what you start, Daughter, my Goddess trilled Her purring voice through my thoughts. Feel My magic. Make your choice. My choice had little to do with this circle of pain.

For Bas I could do this. A blade—whose blade was this?— appeared in my hand. Furs matted with blood slipped beneath my fingers, the ghosting of my touch not giving away my presence to the priest who turned his face to the sky in prayer to Aya. The Smith could not help him now.

Words choked me. “I’m sorry,” became “I hate all men,” and then simply a wordless wail as my hands reached for the bloodied pelt the priest before me wore about his hips. Hide and fur stuck to my fingers as I lifted the edge and slid the blade beneath to cut the source of desecration.

Our screams melded into horrific harmony above the rhythmic cacophony of the drums. The divine Mother’s heartbeat became running horses in the grotto, forcing my feet to stomp faster. Slivers of stone embedded in my feet, stings of pain I forgot as soon as they were felt. I was beyond them.

Unseen hands gave gentle warmth as I found myself wrapped in another man’s arms. “Is this how you would leave a priest of Mine to die?” Bas’ lover murmured in my ear, the smoke of His forge hot in my nose. I knew the God who held me. His seduction of my senses boiled my blood until I might never feel warm by comparison again. Aya’s breath teased along my neck, His lips almost giving a scorching kiss. Fire. He wanted fire.

“Nay, Wayland Smith. I would send him to You.” My captor abandoned me to reclaim His priests, the balefire now a forge blasting my back with dry heat. Outstretched hands, ones I did not immediately recognize as my own, struck back to pull flame from the bonfire, then directed it across the clearing to the grand oaks holding the three defilers. “Burn in the flames until you can be reworked into a new sword. Burn your souls clean.”

“Thank you, Priestess,” Aya spat out into the darkness before extinguishing the flames and claiming the souls drifting from their weakened mortal coils.

In the wake of His divine fire, I was bereft of the sanctity of Aya and Bas’ presence—left alone in the dark and blood-drenched clearing.

Pain and pleasure, twin sides of the same blade, ripped through me with a laugh that became a scream.

The sea gull’s answering cry became a song of mourning, smooth and rich with its dark cadence. So pure, so clean. It was not covered in blood.

What had I done? Three bodies twitched as they were cleansed by fire, magic holding back their pain just enough to keep them in true torment even as it locked their soulless flesh into a semblance of life until the rite ended. At my feet lay sanguine puddles of discarded flesh, stains coating my feet and hands in a manner that would never come clean.

My throat convulsed on the choking smoke and thick air. No drummers coaxed my feet to dance. No priestess glided through the sacred space—just my victims, the fire, and me. At my feet were dark braids, so soaked in the mire that they appeared to be bleeding. Looking down, I was holding the blade to my own neck, and a shallow slice was announcing its burning presence from throat to nape where my hair had been severed.

“No!” I refused to accept this reality.

The bloody grotto wavered, dim light muting my sight. Thump thump. The drums continued on, bringing back the nemeton and the pain.

Bas’ magic would not do this. I did not do this.

My blade fell, whistling like a bird’s call until it landed on the bloody braids.

I could not; I would not.

I closed my eyes, and She was there with Her glowing green eyes and scythes for claws. You would, Roseen. You would if it meant saving the old ways. And you will.

Open your eyes.

Chapter One

Her gifts are many, as should be of a Goddess. It is for Her wisdom and compassion, however, that we raise our hearts in prayer to Her. Bow before Her great paws and lift your voice in supplication.

Letters to the Initiate, Seventh Oracle of Bas

Metal sheets covered in paper and scraps of cloth protected my eyes from the sun as they opened, but the walls did nothing for the green glow staring at me from across the ramshackle shelter. She would choose to remind me of my first aisling and then appear before me when I was working with a patient. Too long had passed since I reached out to Bas’ magic to heal someone instead of relying upon my knowledge and skill. Too long had passed since I had been desperate enough to break my self-imposed exile from the Goddess.

Heat rose from the unwashed flesh, his fever-induced sweat black with the sickness I was pulling from my patient. It stuck to my fingers like the tar taken from swamps in the unmapped lands to the west. Begone! I ordered, shaking my hands as if to shed water.

I could not face my Goddess covered in magical refuse. The uninitiated were unable to see Her, but She could see us all.

My heart skipped, my breath hitching as if She were holding my life between Her paws, toying with the strings of fate binding me to the world. “Daughter,” She murmured. “You’ve been a naughty girl.” The chiding tone reminded me of my late mother as she scolded me for some undesired activity. Reaching out for such strong healing magics had granted Her access to me once more.

“You hid your mind from Me. I don’t like it when My priestesses avoid Me and My decrees. You vowed to serve Me, yet you shirked your duties.” Bas’ wide, green eyes sparkled with mischievous sagacity, Her playful control at odds with the ageless wisdom.

The dying man beneath my palms and his decrepit wife, huddled in the corner, were unaware of the holy presence before them. Bowing my head as if to delve back into his body and pull the putrid fluid from his lungs, I offered a half-meant apology. She knew my heart better than any words I could form.

“Bas, Great Lady of Light and the Shadows Within, I am Yours to do with as You will.” My lips vibrated, a tickling hum as I murmured my prayer.

Pushing back into the man’s body, his paper-thin flesh shook with restrained coughs. Age spots darkened most of his arms thanks to a life of sun and the lake’s harsh wind. The infection, what the new clerics were calling “pneumonia,” was spreading like wildfire in the wake of Liand’s armies.

If you converted to their religion, they would give you the new potions that could prevent this. Fion—my damned, beloved Fion—had helped the army create this anathema to the healing I believed in. While I studied magic, he learned the use of knives and herbs to remove what I could with a prayer and time. Gradually, he discovered new sciences. Together, we would have been unstoppable. He was the best in Aristeer and had been “drafted” into Liand’s army. I had seen him there before the Army of Righteousness mobilized its war against my kind.

“Yes, Daughter; remember what they put you through.” I could taste Bas’ disgust, foul blood and rotting flesh, a decaying mouse upon a refuse heap. It gagged me as much as the memory of my first aisling. She would show me that vision again as my penance. It would come true, in a fashion, eventually, unless I found a way to stop it.

I don’t want to remember, I thought as I sensed the vision pushing at the edges of my consciousness. My arms itched along faded scars where I had tried to escape the burning nemeton as a child and crashed into a large looking-glass. The screams of psychological pain merged with those of physical as shards as large as my fist embedded in my arms while I tried to escape the fire and blood behind my eyes.

“Remember! Do not deny the past if you wish to prevent the future. See and remember! This I demand.” Bas’ green-gold eyes flashed the red of a cat’s eyes caught in lantern light at night. Red crashed over me, filling my mouth and nose with blood, my eyes with explosions of light, and my body with the red dust of old roads through the country.

*

Grime slipped off the guard’s fingers as he grabbed my hair, forcing my head up even as I closed my eyes. Exhaustion from the chase left aches and weakness where I could afford none, and in shutting out the world, I could absorb small tendrils of energy from the earth. It would be enough to sustain me.

I focused on the twin breaths; of the two men, the one holding me was winded from a hard chase on horses as they followed me. The air was not reaching his muscles, likely due to a life spent in tobacco fields before the army collected him. With each wheezing breath, his fingers flexed and ruffled my hair.

His companion, a squadron leader based upon the sun-emblazoned torq he wore, paced while waiting on reinforcements. Even their mess hall chefs knew not to tackle a marked priestess without at least ten men to control her. While I was not angry enough to force nature to bend to my will, I could do worse—I could blind them with their own blood without touching. I just needed a few more minutes to regain power spent running beyond my natural capabilities.

My captor quivered, his anger coating my tongue as he breathed onto my upturned face. I could feel the screaming inside his skull as he barely restrained the urge to strike me. Liand would not allow him to mar my flesh more than necessary; I had seen the fliers for my capture posted in all the city gathering halls. My captor could not make me look at him from brute force. I would not give him the satisfaction of doing anything on their terms.

When his superior officer forced me to my knees, and both men gripped my hair, I cringed. The smell of the spirits on their breath was as rank as the dried sweat on their uniforms; days of marching followed by chasing me on horseback had not improved their scent or moods. There had been no denying my capture was coming; Liand would never have let me go uncaught for many more months. Hundreds of battalions had dispersed from their headquarters in Lorilindo, all to find me. If I had been any other priestess, I might have been flattered at how badly he wanted me destroyed. Instead, I was dismayed by my capture.

My disappointment stemmed from the desire for more years free beneath the open sky and the need to satisfy my curiosity. I had to find what had happened to Fion. More than that, I had to return to Madani at least once more, then go on to the temple in Sheelin. Existing beneath the banner of the Sun Lord within Liand’s prison was not the way I wished to retire from my missionary work. In the dark recesses of my heart, I have always known my retirement from the world would be spent in the Temple. Here in Silvatania, or worse—Lorilindo, was not where I wanted my path to divert from the Goddess-given road I walked. I wished to forge my own way and return to Her when I was ready.

“Look at me, Witch!” Spittle coated my cheeks and lashes, the wet heat cooling in the autumn breeze. “Open your blasted eyes and look at me!” Pain burned through my scalp as the leader’s hand tightened, breaking some strands of hair at the base of my braids.

Serenity filled me as I prepared to meet death. If I could push him just a little farther, it would all be over. Death was yet another surrender. As a priestess, I had no fear of leaving this life, though I had no desire to do so as of yet. There were far too many lives I could yet reach in Their service. There were far too many followers of the new religion for me to enrage in my own service.

Aye, that too.

With my lips curving up into a mocking smile of acquiescence, I opened my eyes, the green-tinged grey cold as I regarded my captors. “I’ve opened my eyes, kind sirs. How else may I assist you? Do you require healing?” A quick appraisal showed heavy limbs and soft flesh; neither would be able to catch me in a footrace should I gain my escape. “Nay. You saw my markings and need an oneira’s interpretation of your dreams.” The flash of anger in their eyes gave me hope. Angry men were careless men.

Pitching my voice into a low, sultry tone, I whispered, “Tell me your dreams. I can make them reality.” The magic to force their hearts to slow and minds to rest so that I could twist a dream into shape would overtax me, but I would still have enough energy to escape. “You have caught an oneira, what more do you want?” Despite the rough twine digging into my wrists, I spread my palms as wide as I could, my gaze changing to one of false-innocence.

Their smiles, when they came, were dirtier than their hands. “Hear how the little heretic sings when she wants to save her breakable neck?” Thick fingers moved to cup my chin, callouses scraping my skin. “So breakable,” he repeated.

An inch closer and I could bite. Bas, help Your daughter, I called out silently to my Goddess. Would She still answer me?

*

“And answer you I did, didn’t I, My daughter?” Bas pulled me out of the vision as quickly as She had thrust me into it.

My heart pounded like the drums of my first hidden sight, burning and cramping as it tried to give my body everything it needed to fight the men who had held me. It remembered the magic I had summoned to blind their eyes, cramp their hands, and allow me to run. True, I ran straight into another trap and was taken before Liand.

My body had never learned not to respond to visions. However, even lost to the whims of Bas’ power, I had done my healer duties to the man on his makeshift mattress of old clothes within a straw ticking sack. Black and green syrup ran down his body to puddle on the rocky ground. The fever had cooled to just above a normal temperature; Aya’s forge no longer ravaged his body as it tried to burn out the sickness. Labored lungs were now clear, though weak. He would need days of rest before they begged safe passage to the inner lands, fertile countries where the war had not yet taken root.

“Thank you, Lady.” Something in me, perhaps my soul, ached as the woman old enough to be my grandmother’s mother bent to touch her forehead to the ground. “May the Paw shelter you in your travels, Lady of the Moon Circlet.”

As if I had forgotten it, my fingers, still coated in the illness that could not touch me, rose to the simple metal band resting upon my brow. I had not always been burdened with the circlet of the Lady, nor had I been plagued with Her dreams my entire life; the first few years of my childhood were spent free. My eighth birth celebration had just passed when the walking nightmares began in earnest.

Waking from the dream of the nemeton ablaze, I was too young to seek the truth in what I beheld. I lacked the training to seek out the subtle nuance to determine the moments leading up to the glimpse of possibility She gave me. It was for me as it had been for all other priestesses.

When the burning vision did not end upon opening my eyes, I had tried to escape the burning Grove. Running from the horrific images painted behind my eyes, I smashed into a stately, bedside mirror my father had made for me. The worked silver frame had mocked me in tinkling silence as it shed its broken reflection still displaying my dream.

I have been escaping it ever since. Nay, that is not quite truth. I revel in the powers She and Aya have granted me in Their names. I have loved the intricate vines etched into my arms by the Oracle’s handmaidens as they marked me as an oneira—a dreamer—and a healer. Most initiates of the Goddess only had one school; She gave me two. Pale spirals of clouds and stars wrapped around trees and stylized hearts, dreams and lives entwined. No priestess had the same tattoos, but mine rivaled even the Oracle’s.

That distinction made me the source of envy. Women gossiped behind my back, darting looks as Sesha, the Oracle of Bas, summoned me to her chambers for an extra lesson in oneiromancy. I learned to dream walk before my menses had begun. What other priestesses struggled to harness even a rudimentary understanding of, I mastered by the time they could give me the clawed paw mark upon my brow.

The healer on the island had given me my lines too young, and they faded as I grew; the clawed mark became all but indistinguishable when the summer’s sun tanned my aging skin. The crescent moon—a claw of Bas—still displayed my allegiance to the old religion. The silver circlet was given to each priestess when she was deemed ready to spread Bas’ healing touch throughout the world. It was a sign of my missionary status, a weight to remind me of my devotions, a binding touch to hold me true to my path.

As if I could ever forget.

The band would do more for the old couple than it did for me. Pushing in and up, I freed the circlet from the skin it rested on, feeling its smooth warmth glide up my forehead until loose. “Sell it,” I ordered. The woman cried but offered outstretched hands, then snatched it to her chest. She was shrewd enough to realize she could sell it to the soldiers for weeks of food, safe passage past the Wall, and have enough remaining gold to purchase a few months of room and board in a refugee camp.

“Tell them you came across a woman named Asha if they ask. The priestess was sleeping and you used your husband’s hunting knife to slit her throat. She’s a fire-bearer. Her tattoos are of ships sailing in a sea of flames.” Asha never came this far north or west, but the soldiers and priests of Liand’s faith would not know that. A priestess dead meant a round of drinks around the fire that night.

I should have been happy Bas held off Her judgment until I left my patient to sleep off the after effects of my magic. She was even gracious in Her allowance of time for me to wash in the communal bath house. Closing Her out of my mind had been a conscious effort for more than eighteen months. Each cycling of the moon had grieved my heart. I could feel Her there, watching, waiting, praying for me to open to Her. She was a Goddess, and likely able to force me to Her will, but She had the patience of a mother. She knew that forcing me would gain my action but not my heart.

My hair, another of the symbols of my office, was long. It had gone uncut save minor trims for health in my twenty plus years of service. It hung to my knees when unbound, and brushed my waist when plaited in three long braids that I twined together. She waited as I oiled the strands, looking much like a cat feigning disinterest in its prey, Her golden hair shimmering in the fading sunlight. Outside of the too-wide eyes reminiscent of a feline’s, Bas showed me Her human form as She soaked in the steaming water. Any others coming to bathe might see a shadow near the water when She moved, not the form She created for me.

I dried my hair slowly, the woven cotton wicking the mint-scented water in which I had bathed. I pulled a comb through and replaited the lengths, a feat requiring minutes in what used to take hours. “I am ready, Mother,” I admitted at last as my linen shift settled over my hips.

“Shoes, Roseen. You will need them.” Bas stepped from the water, sheets of clear droplets running off ample curves a doxy would envy. A white robe of the sheerest silk covered Her already dry body. She watched in amusement as I laced the mid-calf high boots and smoothed the creases from the leather. They were a gift from my father the last time I passed through Bivii.

Bas did not allow me to stand upright before Her hand settled on my chest, a claw hooking beneath the skin to catch my breastbone. She tugged Her hand free, leaving no visible wound, but I could feel the string connecting Her deadly scythes to my heart.

“It’s time to come home, Roseen. You’ve been called.”

Chapter Two

Learn to love the land, Children. Your service to Bas will lead you outside the mapped boundaries and into the wild. Your feet and heart will be your only companions on days where you believe even the Mother has abandoned you. She is always there, if you reach out to Her. Remember that any forge will shelter you. All smiths belong to Aya and will give you a roof for a night. It is only right that devotees of the Goddess’ Consort protect Her priestesses.

Letters to the Initiate, Tenth Consort

Home. Did a nomadic priestess have one?

Madani, the town that expelled me as if I were a plague-ridden murderer when I was but a child, no longer welcomed me but was still my home. Before my forced education, I had thought Madani was the center of life for the entire world, not a mere harbor community in which I was a girl destined to be ostracized. Madani natives lived the way we always had, thatched roofs and sun-bleached wood walls. We were not poor, but we did lack the wealth of our sister city, Aristeer. Our people were happy and rich of heart if not of gold within our pockets.

The tides of our lake—what I thought then to be an ocean—brought life to our village in the forms of fish, shells, and trade, but the waters claimed a steep price. They also took our women away.

There is an island in the center of the lake where the women—and the rare men—who had aislings were taken. The Goddess Bas awakened their abilities, then called them to Sheelin for training in Her ways. Much like the hooking claw still tugging me home, Her paws swept up devoted priestesses and gathered them in Her service.

It was by some divine choice that Bas marked the women as special to Her, and in return they required education to handle their new abilities. It was to that magic isle of trainers I was sent in my eighth year when Bas’ mark appeared. The fine scars itched when I thought of those first days.

While my mother abandoned our partially made breakfast to pluck the glass shards from my skin, leaving mirrored red snakes running down my arms, father fetched the healer from her hut. In my darkest memories, those I have hidden along with those Bas makes me remember as punishment, echoes of Kira’s words call to me. “This will sting, Roseen, but less than Sheelin’s first sign must have.”

The island did not just bring pain; it ripped my family apart from my first dream. Father’s eyes shimmered in the morning light as Kira coaxed the remaining glass from my flesh. His jaw had been clenched as the healer bound my arms with a pungent, yellow paste reminiscent of the golden rod that harkens the start of summer. His face was far less stoic than it should have been.

I believe he knew this was coming. As a smith, Father was a priest of Aya, even though he worked without the official bands upon his wrists. He would have heard the divine whispers as he stoked the fires and hammered blades. The morning my sister, Sava, was made aware of her initiation into the priesthood, Father had come in with a torq for her. The simple copper braid ended in her favorite sunflowers, the centers of each metal blossom embossed with our family crest.

Father’s soot covered cheeks were tear-streaked upon his return. The clean tracks showed the pain he tried to hide. When he came in with the healer for my arms, the tears flowed without care. Mother was too busy acting as an apprentice to Kira to show me her fear, or perhaps she too had known that my feet were already upon the Goddess’ path.

I do not recall crying from the pain in my arms; in that respect I was an exemplary citizen of Madani. Youth there are taught in childhood to accept what comes with grace and move onto the next experience with the gained wisdom of the past. I suppose I must have cried; the scars are still upon my arms, unseen to all but the closest lover. Fion had mapped them out with a soft touch when we were together outside of Aristeer. Liand had traced them with the tip of a dagger, reopening the largest of the lines, when I was forced to be a willing courtesan of his attentions. The priests I had sometimes lain with on Sheelin never worried about the marks, claiming all priestesses bore scars. I was lucky enough to bear mine on the surface.

Others, like my sister, never survived to receive scars and ink upon their skin. Girls who lacked the ability to master a school were stripped of their magic and sent to another building upon Sheelin. There, they worked from sunrise to sunset on making life easier for those who had passed Bas’ tests. As the Fates would have it, in all my years upon Sheelin’s blessed banks, I was the last put through the trials and ordeals to become a priestess. No others had passed the test to even cross the waters.

Sheelin had found no others worthy of her secrets. Whether I was Bas’ last Chosen out of necessity to the people who no longer gave their trust to the priesthood, or from a lack of those open to Her numinous presence, I do not know. I am only aware that She chose me, and (despite my determination to be free beneath the stars) that I strive daily to deserve Her divine gift.

To earn my way onto the boat that would take me to Sheelin, I had been sent with Kira. She was our fire-keeper, the one who lit the ritual blaze that summoned a boat from the sacred isle, as well as Madani’s healer. Her small, earthen hut was deep in the woods far to the south of our small city. Within its warmth, she kept her bed, a hearth and table, numerous shelves for the salves she made, and a hidden door leading to a tunneled entrance to the temple.

Any who asked Kira were told the distance gave her space to reflect upon her duties to Bas. In retrospective wisdom, I believe her isolation gave Kira the space she needed to be an impartial judge of talent; despite having brought her spare sweets when we had them, there had been no ease to my test. From the moment she heard of my vision, Kira assumed her position as priestess and Fire Bearer.

It was the same for me as it had been for all women since the start of the first priestess. It was the beginning of a lifetime of difficult encounters.

*

Darkness closed in on me, dirt rubbing off the ceiling when I lifted onto my knees. The tunnel from Kira’s cottage to the temple in the woods was warmer than I anticipated, but darker than I imagined the womb being. Shuffling knees and grasping hands brought back nothing but more darkness. Fear draped me, a cobweb shawl threatening to close its tendrils around my chest. My heart pounded in response, fighting to keep me alive in the face of my fears. I wanted to turn back into the sunlight.

Turn back.

Could I have turned around? Was I lost?

Worms slid beneath my fingers, teasing me with their innate knowledge of up from down and which way to go. Why had Kira abandoned me here? Was I to fail even in this?

“Please,” I begged.

I crawled even as roots tangled in my hair, the boy-short waves coming free with a tug where longer tresses would have knotted. “Bas, if it is Your desire for me to—” No, She wanted me. This task was for me to prove my desire.

Forward. I had to move forward.

Dirt kicked up from my hands and burned my lungs. Kira had to be just a little further ahead. She told me it would be no longer than the walk from the forge to Fion’s house had been.

That wound was still sharp in my stomach. With effort, I forced those thoughts to the back of my mind, then focused on the musty earth holding me close. Humble. I was to lose the preconceived notions of who I was in this journey. I was to humble myself before Bas’ eyes and let Her rebirth me as an initiate.

“I am yours, Lady.” I gave up crawling and rested my head upon my hands in the dirt. Imagining myself beneath Her paws, I gave myself to the dark.

Power.

Throbbing power.

Tree roots reaching down, branches going to the sky. Water soaked dirt bearing nutrients of life.

“Take me,” I whispered to all of them.

I choked on earth as it swallowed me. Cold stones and warm earth cocooned me, eating me whole and dragging me with it like the worms within the soil. It spat me out with a thundering shudder of power. “Tree child of the stars,” it cried. “Not a stone-worker.”

The darkness lifted. It was still black and my sight was of no use, but I knew that She was ahead of me. Velvet brushed my muddied skin, the new coat cracking, stinging, as a hint of fresh air caressed my face.

Like a babe reaching for its mother, I reached through the parting fabric, and was blind.

Kira laughed as I fumbled, ground giving way to white wooden flooring. “We are all unseeing until She shows us the right path, Roseen. Follow my voice.”

Kira cleansed me, running cool water over my face and limbs. I drank sugared water as if it would give me new life. Perhaps it did. I closed my eyes against the blinding white that stung my thoughts, scourging my soul against the black of night, and when again I opened them, I saw all the colors.

There was black and white, but in between there was . . . everything. Colors I have no name for danced with familiar rainbows. Faded and cracked, white-washed walls were studded with imported glass from a factory in Aristeer. They drew the eye upwards to the spectral blessing that had caught my attention. A brightly tiled ceiling faded from the vivid to the exotic; shimmering deep shades I have never seen were a night-time dream of color. Fion, Cade, and I had watched one of the boats come from Sheelin bearing boxes of tiles. The priest who had born the burden of carrying them had smiled fondly at Cade before walking down the path.

“Lie down, Child.” Kira’s wrinkled face was tanned from a life spent toiling in her garden and traversing the waters between Madani and Sheelin. Despite calluses and scars, the touch of her hands was soothing as she pressed upon my shoulders. It was a grandmother’s touch, one full of fond affection and the promise of sweet fruit breads after.

The reed mat beneath me scratched through my clothing, and the scarlet pillow supporting my head and neck was too soft and smelled of sour herbs used to put a fussy child to sleep. How she expected me to be comfortable enough to let those visions come, I was unsure.

Then, I saw Her. In the center of the ceiling were eyes like those of a cat, though these held a celestial glow visible even in the bright light surrounding me. I felt Her staring at me while I reclined upon the floor in the temple. The magic held in that glazed ceramic went beyond my comprehension.

“Open.” A cloying sweetness filled my nose as Kira held a wine-steeped cloth above my mouth and squeezed. Raining drops of burgundy coated my tongue and ran down to my throat, requiring no action. They knew where they were going, just as the incense she had started burning choked my throat as it swam into my nose and open mouth. “Don’t fight it, daughter of Bas. Let the smoke in; breathe deeply and open your mind.”

If I had thought of fighting, the possibility vanished. The green eyes above bore the priestess’ words into me, and I let the smoke wash through my body, giving myself over to that needy, loving stare.

“What do you see, Roseen, if anything?”

I stared through the smoke, pushing past the images my childish mind latched onto. She had to test whether my visions were powerful truths or fanciful dreams. So, for her and our Goddess, I relived the dreams and blood-filled terrors I wished to forget. Visions of bloodshed had no place in an eight year old’s mind, yet they were there without regard to what should have been.

Before my eyes, the smoke and mosaic faded, leaving me in a haze upon the ocean’s waves. Beneath me, a small raft woven of green reeds buoyed me atop the water. We dipped down, then crested, becoming part of the ocean’s waves. I turned as if treading water, though I floated above it, and saw a brilliant star—one not larger than a cabbage rose—drifting near the shore.

“I see a star upon the waves. There is ice around it,” I said, though I felt no cold. I simply knew there was ice.

Kira tried to coax more from me, but I ignored her questions, wanting to get closer and trying to see what it meant. “No, Child. Do not fight it. See what She wills. Let the visions come and go as guests She has sent. You cannot force them or they will fade.” The scratch of her quill upon the parchment told me she was recording what I saw. “Tell me more, Bas willing.”

Drifting back into the coalescing fog, I spun around, feeling thousands of faces longing to tell me their hidden stories. In one corner I saw my father carving a memorial stone and turned away, not wanting to see the name he etched. In another, I saw Carek taking off his shoe, and with it his foot. “The butcher is taking off his shoes repeatedly. One foot is coming with it, Kira,” I said, incredulous to the sight before me. It just was not possible. I turned around in the mists, waving it away with my arms, trying to see more. “He’s sitting along the shore in his winter garb; the snow dunes are as high as his shoulders.” I stood up on my rolling raft, trying to find Carek as he danced away.

“That’s enough, Child.” A breeze tickled my senses, clearing the fog as Kira fanned it away with giant feathers from some far away land.

I mourned the loss of palpable magic. My chest ached with grief, tears burned my eyes, and my hands pulsed in an attempt to pull the smoke back to me.

Bas wasn’t finished with me yet.

The fog vanished, and with its loss came rushing waters that pulled me down even as they lifted me up and absorbed me. I gurgled in the banks, feeling sluggish, frigid water bubble below me, the sun warming my upper flows. Tree roots taller than the sky had clear spaces, and I was hungry for them. They fell to the power of my current, but I was so ravenous I continued to swallow them all, as if I hadn’t eaten since last spring. Small twigs fought against me, splashing and flailing before succumbing to my strength, air bubbles popping on my surface as they sank.

The vision faded and took my strength with it. “No! Come back!” I clawed at the receding waters, trying to become one with the rushing river again. Never before had I felt such raw power.

Kira was kneeling over me, her pale blue eyes kind as she stroked a cool cloth over my forehead.

“There’s . . . water . . . coming,” I panted out. “A flood. The river will breach its banks.” My human mind assimilated the images of the vision. “The lower quadrant—it will be gone.”

In a surprising act of kindness, Kira kissed my forehead and smoothed my sweat-plastered hair back. “Shush now, Child. We are merely the mediums through which She speaks, not the interpreters. When I take you to Sheelin, the Dream-teller will decipher your visions.” So, I had been chosen. “The Oneira won’t know what to do with you, though. You’re much too young. Twelve is as young as we’ve claimed before. You’re something special, Little Rose.”

*

I stumbled down the dark road alone, the small sack upon my shoulders mostly empty. There had been no time to refill my supplies. The calling, a magical summons, was too strong. In turning around just once, I had fallen to the ground. Burning glass cut my feet, venomous snakes attacked my legs, and it all refused to subside until I dragged my pain-riddled lower half towards Madani.

My knees trembled, knocking together beneath the starry sky as I took another step down the well-worn path. No, I would not turn around again. I knew the time of the blazing vision was coming to fruition. My destiny would be met with open arms, and I would reconcile what might be with what will be.

Despite all of Kira’s soothing words when I was a child, her pitiful attempts to assuage my fears, my visions have always come true. The winter following my departure to Sheelin, Carek was tending his livestock outside the city gates and was injured by a fall. By the time his sons found him, the cold had claimed the wounded flesh.

Disregarding my foretelling and Kira’s warning, no one had prepared for the harsh winter. They did not listen when I sent word of the recurring vision two spring thaws later, either. Already, the new religion of the Sun Lord had begun to spread its poison. Even without its warrior priest taking the helm of battle, the Sun Faith had divided my people.

The flood ruined the lower quadrant of the city as the lake and river became one large entity for days. Dirt-smudged children who lived on the streets were forced into better districts and orphanages, parents were pushed out of their squalor and into new jobs and homes, and the few businesses remaining along the lake’s edge moved out to other cities. The people who had been in Madani for generations knew not to live in the flood plain. We knew what happened when you tested the Goddess too far.

The natives knew that prayers were answered. The same winter as Carek’s accident, frigid temperatures closed the shores of Madani and Sheelin, but my vision told the people where to find open ice so a ship could be launched for Aristeer to the south. When Madani had no access to the outside world due to dangerously deep snow across the trade routes, Kira reminded them of the hidden sight she had coaxed from me during my test. A small star became a crack in the ice they could open.

Few had believed, but—at that point in our recent history—they could not defy a direct order of a priestess. They did send prayers of thanks when supplies were obtained in Aristeer. We saw the billowing murk from Kira’s ritual fire and accepted the smoke clouds in solemn grief for the lives lost to the winter winds.

Now, prayers from the uninitiated are far and few between and often equally laden with curses; the words of our priesthood hold little meaning in this modish world.

“Do not fear, Priestess. We still hear their prayers.” Aya’s thick fingers cupped my chin and His coal-black eyes glittered with the sky’s stars as a man’s body—thick of arm, shoulder and chest, lean of waist and hips—came into being before me. “The road is clear this night, Little Rose. My smiths keep their forges lit to see you safely home. Walk with Me, Child of Bas.”

The Wayland’s hand was fevered delight as it caught mine and brought it to His lips. “What fears keep you from your home, Roseen?”

“I’m hiding from the ghosts of my past.” I knew He was plucking images from my thoughts as soon as they came. Avoiding his own priest, Cade, discovering whatever task Bas had set for me, the inevitable boat ride to Sheelin, crossing Liand’s Divide, finding what state Madani was left in, and then assuming the position in the priesthood expected of me. It was Cade, however, I was the most scared of.

“My priest is set on you the same way I am upon the Lady.” A warm chuckle lit fire in my belly and tripped my feet. “If you cannot keep up with a god, Priestess, then I shall carry you.” Strong arms lifted me without giving a chance for complaint, until I was held in arms that were equal parts paternal comfort and confusing sensuality. The duality of Aya’s worship was no longer lost to me. I felt the burn of His magic consuming me.

“Do not fear my son, Daughter. His fire will never burn you more than you desire. He will temper the metal in your soul.” Aya smiled and kissed my hair. “Sleep, Daughter. I shall take you to where My Lady desires you to be. We shall cross the blighted lands of My little brother’s followers together.” With a brush of lips across my tattooed brow, I fell asleep within His arms.

Chapter Three

My daughters; my sisters; and yes, even my brothers; I beg of you to use caution in this coming new era. I sense change trembling in the foundations of this world. Her claws are extended, ready to protect us, but only if we first arm ourselves in the shared sagacity of the elders and the insight of the young.

Letters to the Initiate, Twenty Third Oracle of Bas

I suppose it was the smells that roused me from my slumber. The scent of water mingled with the aromatics of an awakening town, each earning a hungered rumble from my body. It had been days since I counted more than a few mouthfuls of food as a meal thanks to my work as a healer and Bas’ rushing me out of the city towards home. It would have been many more nights of bartering work for food and shelter if not for Aya carrying me.

He brought me three, if not four, days of traveling in a single evening as I slept within His massive arms. I vaguely recall Aya kneeling in the sand to warm it before setting me onto a warm bed of my sweater bundled beneath my cheek. A murmured prayer earned me a fond stroking along my arm before He covered me with my cloak. This side of the Smith was rarely seen, but I would forever remember His kindness. My body would recall His touch.

Despite His orders that I sleep until dawn, I had crept to the city’s edge not twelve heartbeats after His departure. Already past moon rise, the gates in the city were secured with no way in short of scaling a steep wall. This barrier was new to me, at least in physicality. So much had changed since my last visit, and I had not yet been inside the gates. What more would I find?

In this changing world that was slowly overtaking the familiar, physical walls were traversed with considerable ease in comparison to those of social and emotional connections. Those walls had been erected years ago, and it was one of my jobs to break them down. The mere presence of a priestess was often enough to instill hope in hearts that had known only apathy for years.

Though I had known Liand’s men patrolled the region in search of new priestesses, I had not thought Liand’s Wall would have reached this far so soon, yet his soldiers patrolled the outskirts of the city as if they were Madani citizens guarding against marauders. They were easy to dodge in the darkness; it was the stone divide keeping me from my home. The stacked blocks made a wall easily as tall as two men; even during my years of childhood brashness I would not have attempted such a feat as scaling that wall. Well, perhaps I would have for a good enough reason; I was a head-strong child. A head-strong child who developed into a stubborn and determined woman.

Unable to enter Madani until first light, I had opted to bed down on the beach where Aya had set me down, using my arms and still-warm sweater to cushion my head. The early autumn weather was fair enough to be comfortable, and my safety for the night was ensured. He would not have left me unguarded otherwise. While Madani did border Liand’s Divide, the crime rate was low. My people were non-violent, regardless of the war surrounding them. It was part of why Liand had waited so long to set his sights on my people; he did not believe they would put up a fight when it came time to clench his iron fist around our harbor.

Sleeping beside the sacred lake was no worse than I had fared in previous years of travel and far better than some nights in larger cities where undisturbed slumber was a precious commodity. A peaceful night of dreamless rest had been a divine gift; I might have continued sleeping until a curious bird chose to obtain a closer look at the body curled over a small dune, but the growing aromas reached out to me.

The sand, which had been warm when I first lay down, held a pleasant chill from the night’s shade. Brushing stray grains from my skirt, I pulled my sweater close around my arms as I walked from my shelter to the just waking town. My cloak hung loosely from its clasp, the gray-green wool too warm to wrap about me. It felt good to be home even if it was from the calling. I had been running from my roots too long.

Emerging from the rocks separating the lake from the city, my heart ached at the sight awaiting me. Stone walls surrounded the city as far as my eyes could see, having replaced the wooden fences and blockades once used as defense. We were a city ready for a siege. Where once a town elder would rest, ready to welcome newcomers and share gossip with those returning, now a guard sat sleepily upon a stool by the open gate.

Heavy lidded eyes and a drunken smile settled on me before he fell back asleep. Perhaps this was a last gift from the deity who had seen me home in safety.

Sucking in a breath until my lungs burned, I made my way through as if I belonged upon the road. I did belong there. I was born there. It was my home. I knew each building I saw as if we were old friends. If I kept telling myself these statements, I might feel them to be truth instead of wishes.

With the sun having just risen, the marketplace shook off the torpor gained of hiding shady dealings beneath the stars, and shop owners set out their wares. The rich, yeasty fragrance of the baker’s just-baked loaves beckoned me as he pulled trays from the oven and set warm bread out on display. Farmers set out their harvests on tables, meats and vegetables ready to be purchased, their earthy sweetness carried on the wind. From the lake came the smells and sounds of the fishermen bearing their catch-laden nets. Each breeze wafted the scent over to me, reaffirming that I had reached home at last.

Step by step I picked my way over new cobblestones and old dirt that ran together along the shop fronts. Here a footprint and there a horseshoe left their impressions in dried mud from a recent rainfall. Too early for most townsfolk, I was free to watch my city awaken without much fear of what might be. Bas’ claw still hooked within my breast no longer pulled me, but tethered me to the city. I was needed here for a while. Where She took me was at Her whim. For now, She was content to let me be in Madani upon my own two feet.

Barrels of wheat stood outside the baker’s storefront as always, the red grains glowing in the diffused morning light. They reminded me of the sandalwood powder I had encountered in warmer climates to our south. The scent, however, was far richer than the spice. It was the true essence of my world.

I could not deny myself the pleasure and reached both hands into the open barrel. The crimson wheat berries were warm and flowed through my fingers like sand, childhood delights never ceasing to amuse my tactile memories. From hand to hand they fell, an hourglass of memories tumbling palm to palm. With each grain, long-unused magic words awakened on my tongue.

“Good morning, Avarin, baker of Madani’s finest bread,” I said with my sweetest smile upon my face. The moments I had spent in this precise spot with the ritually dictated exchange, long ago written between the baker and any small child in need of breakfast, astounded me. It had been over twenty years since I last took part, but the words found their way from my heart to lips as if it were yesterday. I required no looking-glass to see my reflection; I knew my eyes sparkled with a long-absent youthful exuberance built from nostalgia.

“Good day, my lady,” he said, his voice enriched with a hint of amusement at someone my age playing a child’s game. This was sadly where my nostalgic comfort ended. Avarin’s mud-brown eyes narrowed as he peered beneath my hood. “Sister Roseen?” As I nodded, his face twisted into a rueful caricature of what it had been moments before. “What ill news follows in your shadow this day? A plague upon the children? The harvest to fall into ruin unless we send more children to that damnable island? Or are you here to fill girls’ heads with dreams so that the new fire-bearer will spirit them away?” His hands wove over the breads as if he were driving away small flies, not a woman who had more than enough common sense to tell when she was not wanted. Upon each hand he bore a branding scar of the Sun Lord. Even the merchants had been claimed.

Whether it was anger at his new faith or with the words he had spoken, if Avarin thought he could speak to me in such a manner, the baker would find my tongue no less sharp than it had ever been. “Avarin, if you remember, I was once one of those girls. My return here is for reasons yet unknown to me. I felt the simple need to come home thanks to the calling.” His mouth pursed in disgust at my vague mention of magic; I saw no reason to say Bas Herself had pulled me home and Her Consort had carried me.

Summoning forth the ire I so desperately attempted to keep in check, I loosed my temper in the only way I could, my words. “If any dedicants are made known while I am here, it is through Bas’ grace that they have a Sister present to help with the transition, not through any making of my own.”

Looking at my hands, I saw I was still holding a small palmful of crimson grains. The same grains that Avarin would no doubt later have hauled to the mill so Madani’s famous red bread could be made and then delivered to local port cities neighboring our own. How small these grains were when removed from the chaff, as small to me as we are to the world.

The wind would carry the grains to make new groundings elsewhere, and their presence in Madani would be unknown by the time our history was written. If Liand had his way, my presence would be similarly eradicated. I was a healer of the spirit—and sometimes the flesh—in Bas’ name, something Liand and his beloved God could not tolerate.

Being naught but a shade of life was how I walked in and out of cities wavering in their loyalty to the Gods or the Righteous Way. Bitterness towards those of the Sisterhood had been growing in the outside world for many years, thanks to Liand’s efforts, and it seemed to have found root in Madani while I was away learning about the world and avoiding further responsibilities on Sheelin. I held to a slim shred of hope that my time of penance in Madani would be short before the day of travel to Sheelin arrived. I longed to hold the city of my memories to my heart, not this bitter echo.

Given the current attitude to those of my status, I doubted I would find myself welcome to supper at any table. My meager funds would not provide much of a meal, and I hated to rely upon pity from those who knew me as a child. A guilt-given meal tasted as sour on the tongue as ones had while I was in Liand’s employ.

Oh, how I longed for the carefree days when the proper exchange would have been made. Avarin would be flattered by the child’s praise and take a moment from his work to ask how the child’s parents were faring. After answering that they were much too busy that morning to make a proper breakfast, the good baker would glance up and down the row of shops, check that his wife was not watching from the oven room, and take out a small loaf; “damaged” or “didn’t rise properly,” he would say, with a twinkle in his eye and a small grin upon his face, before slipping it across to the hungry child. There would be no free breakfast this morning for me, at least not one given out of kindness.

With a heavy heart, I pulled two coins out of my waist pouch, and Avarin’s eyes widened in response, knowing he had failed me. It was a minute glimpse into who he was before such hardship reached our once fair town. Setting them onto the counter was painful to me, as scourging as the hunger eating at my bones. I had walked the past two days sustained by a minimal amount of water and small lumps of dried beef. My esurience was easily ignored, however, as my hope and pride in my home city took a devastating blow. The ache in my chest threatened to consume me faster than my hunger.

“May Bas bring many customers to your door, Avarin, and may She bring warmth to all of our hearts again.” They were sharp words, ones meant to cut and bring hope at the same time. When I accepted the purchased loaf, I felt a weariness deep in my soul that no amount of happy remembrances could remove. The bread was good but not nearly as appetizing as a loaf freely given.

Other shop owners, some familiar and others new, kept their eyes down, not wanting to look at me. Whispers between a husband and wife over the “witch-woman” reached my ears and colored my cheeks a delicate pink. I was immune to such painful gossip when traveling, but here at home, I wanted to be Roseen, not a priestess of the Goddess. The reaction of my people hollowed out a cavern in my striated heart. In my grief I was so lost I did not notice the speaker until his words wrapped around me.

“You haven’t, have you?” A conspiratorial whisper tugged at my ears from the shadows along the way. My eyes sought out the speaker, and I found an elder curled up like a cat, burn scars covering where there were once tattoos marking him as a priest of the old ways. “You haven’t found that you walk a lost path, little girl. Don’t fret, Sister.” On his lips, the title sounded less a sneer, and more a pitiful gift.

A clawed hand beckoned me nearer, and I saw white eyes, milky with age and some advanced illness, look through me. “Her death was a painless one, as will befall all those who bow now. Bas is dead; all Her priestesses will fall soon enough. The Blacksmith still fights, but He will until His last priest drops his sword upon the battlefield.” A rosary of gold and black stones soon spun through his fingers, murmured prayers dropping from his lips so quiet I could not hear them when close enough to smell the rotting breath of one who drank from the moment of waking until passing out.

I smiled and broke off half my breakfast, settling the loaf into his open palm where the sundisk with its black, equilateral cross stared up at me. “A Goddess never dies, Brother.” I hated to use that term for a fallen priest, but I was determined to return the social niceties he had attempted. “Bas may go silent as She weeps for the darkness sweeping over our lands, but She never dies.” Bas certainly did not look dead when She summoned me home.

Sightless eyes filled with tears as he lifted the bread to lips still vibrating with his orison. “I will pray for you, Sister.”

“I’d rather die than accept a prayer made in the Sun Lord’s name. Pray instead that the people come to their senses and this war is stopped before more lives are lost. May Her paw shelter you from the sun, and His hammer not fall upon you. Be well, Brother.”

I sped away from the street prophet before he could recover from my verbal parry. If my city was now a refuge for the Sun Lord’s priests, even those who were new converts, was this a safe place for me? With the army’s mania having reached Madani, future visits were no longer guaranteed. My safety was at stake with each breath I made inside its walls. Was I able to call this city my home still? I was gone from Madani for ten years for my forced studies, home for just one harvest to refresh my mind, and then gone another ten while I made my way in the world spreading the healing touch of Bas. I had returned for two brief visits in those ten, one to bury my mother and a second when I was on my way to Sheelin to choose the next Fire-Bearer after Kira had passed.

*

With my father gone from Madani, I had no reason to set down new roots. Years ago, my father moved away from the coast to warmer lands, working in the forges to earn a roof and food as needed. I crossed through his city often, a convenience offered to few priestesses. His new home lay at the crux of two major thoroughfares of the explored world. I could look upon Father’s scar-crossed yet smiling face at least once per year.

No family held me here in Madani, yet this city would always be the roots supporting my life. Its heartbeat, made audible by the forge built by my grandfather for the then blacksmith, rang out for me, pulling me by Bas’ summons.

Chapter Four

The priesthood will give you the tools to control your abilities, but it is your heart and soul that give you strength. Do not fear the paths of which you are uncertain, for the Mother walks with you always, Priestess of Bas. She is always a hand’s breadth away to catch you should you stumble.

Letters to the Initiate, Thirty Fifth Oracle of Bas

The walk to my old home was familiar; my steps followed the path well-worn into my heart despite the scenery’s changes. On my last visit, white-washed buildings ringed packed-earth pathways. Now, small factories and workshops were dwarfed by grand gates hiding homes nestled into forested glades. Each rang of the wealth of Aristeer; families looking for a quiet life, I would expect. Many of the black iron gates bore shining gold and bronze sun sigils as though great branding of the power of the army. Wealth was already synonymous with religious strength.

Liand and his power sickened me. The crimson bread turned to ash upon my tongue, forcing me to spit it out onto the ground. So starved were the mice hovering near the factories that two scuttled out for the moistened crumbs. Tossing them the rest, I brushed my hands clean of the baked goods. Liand’s poison leaked from my soul and into my mouth and memories, washing everything in its bleak undertow.

His touch had spread the disease to the deepest recesses of my heart. For months, Liand had the entire countryside scoured for priestesses of Bas and Aya. Many a night was spent on the run, and days curled up in the branches of a tree, just so that I could avoid capture. When the two men finally caught me, at first I had tried denying who I was.

Having knowledge of my abilities, their leader wanted me at any cost. It was not the first time my healing talents had earned me a place in dark gossip, and I fear I have not yet attained the last. Through several cities I had heard that the Army of Righteousness was detaining women bearing the marks of a priestess. Each woman was given a simple choice: summon Roseen of Madani, the then-twenty-two year old healer, and if not, be prepared to die. When he finally found one willing to compromise one of the sacred tenets of our faith, to never misuse the calling even when facing dire circumstances, Liand leapt at the chance to capture me.

With my heart open to Bas’ magic, my sister’s call latched onto me. While the direct summons from the Goddess gave no chance of disobedience, one from another priestess was a gentle pull. It let one know she was needed and where she needed to be.

Where I needed to be was not within a holding cell as I waited for Liand to finish his latest doctor’s round of treatment. I fumed during the first days, unable to do anything but rail at the Gods and the sisterhood who had shackled me to this place as surely as the witch who bound me from harming the others or myself. She came the first day and several times after—a woman with flowing locks and delicate features; she simply had to circle her fingers around my neck for a moment after entering my cell to bind my magic. It held for a few hours at best, but I fought the guards who held me for her to do it each time. Without true earth beneath me or sky above, I had no connection to the elements or way to recharge myself outside of awaiting my body’s natural recovery. My powers were going to heal the small wounds I sustained in the three day journey to Lorilindo and keep me alive me on the meager water and stale bread ration I was grudgingly gifted. While the worked stone surrounding me would have given strength to a devotee of the Smith, to me it felt like a tomb.

The priestess responsible for summoning me toward this mausoleum of the spirit was killed by a guard when I arrived in Lorilindo, a fate far better than the one I wished to exact upon her. With only remnants of Linaia’s bloody ghost as a companion, I sat in the dark room where I made friends with a small spider in a corner near the door. It had made its web in the diffused light coming through the grate across the door, scuttling into the darkness when the guards approached with heavy footfalls.

When I was eventually “invited” to the Sun Lord’s private receiving chamber, I was surprised to see a rather pale, drawn looking man reclining on a veritable mountain of cushions atop an imposing bed. Liand looked little like the leader of an army on a crusade and more the dying heir to a great fortune. Dark blond hair was curled in a ponce’s tied ringlets, or perhaps just sweat-soaked and dried into such an arrangement.

A lazy eye drifted out as Liand stared at me, willing me to feel his lagging strength. His beauty, that which I had seen on numerous sheaves of parchment in larger cities, had fallen into a sickly pallor. For the first time ever in my work as a healer, I had contemplated denying my patient, or worse yet, misusing my gifts to end his life.

When Liand spoke of a recurring growth that even his medic’s surgical removal had not cured, I had rejoiced until he discussed how he’d sought any answer he could. He thought I was his answer, even though the sudden death I felt within the room was more for me than him. The sun cross behind him, a huge symbol dominating the dark wooden wall, had caused me more fear than the soldiers with swords drawn, ready to spill my blood over the tapestry-covered floor. To die there, beneath their god’s symbol, a sigil that had caused so much pain, would have been to die in vain. To die there, not defying their new regime, would have been to die a coward.

What they did to me was nothing in comparison to the atrocities his men had committed upon my sisters, those who were not healers. Liand had desired my talents, despite the “heretical” nature of my gifts. What the doctors of Lorilindo could not do, I could due to Bas’ divine grace. I had refused him, and the pain that exploded through my skull as the pommel connected with the top of my head was still there when I awoke sometime after dark, Fion’s light eyes staring softly at me as he wiped crusted blood from my forehead.

The sun cross on display here in Madani helped push me back into the world of dark dreams while my heart and feet traversed the back streets to familiar buildings that had changed little in my years away. Reaching a part of the city visually untouched by the new religion, I felt myself relax. My hood dropped back a bit, my sleeves were shoved up to allow the sun to warm my arms, and I felt a smile grow upon my lips. Some things, like a little girl seeing her home for the first time after an absence, never change.

Mother’s shop sign had long since faded into the background, the word “Weaver” now a smudge of illegible purple shadows in the morning’s clear light. My parents’ storefront had been opened up into the house before Father moved, wanting more space and less work once my mother had died. Father’s successor used it as storage, leaving the living area of the home to me. One of Mother’s apprentices purchased the larger looms and took over her clients, giving my father the small nest-egg he used to eventually relocate.

The ringing of the hammer and roar of the fire next door brought back memories of watching Father in the forge as he made tools, decorations, commissioned pieces, and the torq which to this day rests around my neck. The worked iron and copper braid was tipped in reflective pieces of gold. They had tarnished through the years, but the message my father had wrapped into them remained. I was his most precious treasure, and my powers were still malleable. He had made one for my sister, just as fine, but the High Priestess had not seen fit to return it upon Sava’s death. It had been during a time of leadership where lives before the aisling were considered gone. Once you were initiated, your prior family was dead to you. As such, “Sheelin’s business” was not shared with the families, and spells ensured missionaries and fire-bearers were unable to do so without permission from the High Priestess or Oracle.

I think my parents knew Sava had perished but never spoke of it to me. I did not become aware of her demise until after I was well into developing my abilities and pulled the thought from the Abbess, the woman who led the building for women who did not pass the tests to become a priestess. Sava, upon learning her abilities were not strong enough for Bas to grant her the claw mark, had climbed to the old stone circle that was no longer used and dove from the top of the cliffs. Her body was never recovered from the current, though her blood had washed along the stones for days, caught in the pull of Sheelin’s magic, so I was told.

Life as an initiate was hard enough, let alone being told you were not good enough to the Gods to be tattooed in the ways of the priesthood. Even in the darkest nightmare I had upon Sheelin, as dreams of all the blood and fire I was meant to prevent inundated me, I knew that Bas wanted me. Sava did not have that while she was on the island. She was just special enough to be unsafe upon the mainland, but not desired enough by the Gods to wear Their circlet or bracers. Where we would have had a life as ever-so-slightly comfortable merchants, she would have had to work from sunrise to sunset in whichever task the Abbess would have assigned her; Sava was too proud for that.

I am not certain what would have happened to me had I not passed the tests upon Sheelin. I would like to think Bas would have taken pity and somehow let me escape the island. Madani might have reclaimed me as a mistaken initiate. Before the clawed mark was etched into my forehead I had been a much loved part of the community. Perhaps I would have gone on to Aristeer when I reached adulthood, found Fion, and prayed we could rekindle what had been there as children.

He and his family lived not far from ours during my childhood. His mother was a wildcrafter who could find medicinal herbs wherever she went and grew what she could not. Fion’s father was a medic. He took his wife’s herbs and made potions and poultices to do what magic did not give him the abilities to. When their daughter was marked for Sheelin, I cried the entire night of her first vision.

My soul ripped in two that day; I knew his parents would leave and take him with them. Six young years were all that I had walked in this life, but I knew as certain as my belief in Bas that he and I were meant to be together. Fion was my best friend, along with Cade, and I still consider him to be my soulmate despite years of separation and loss. While still children, we had demanded to be bound in anticipation of one day being hand-fasted, and Fion expected us to be wed when our turn came.

Our turn did not come.

I had to content myself with memories. At an age where boys ran in the dunes, played with wooden swords as they fought imaginary foes far less threatening than those on a religious crusade, and tangled in the fishermen’s net, Fion chose to help me in Mother’s workshop. We spun the wheel, helped fill shuttles on the looms, gathered more wool from the marketplace, helped father in the forge, and supplemented our chores with laughter and snitching food from the kitchen. Nay, it was not just the two of us doing that. Despite my heart’s remembrances of it being just Fion, I know Cade was there with us each laughing step of the way.

The only child of a widow thanks to marauders from the far shores across the lake, Cade was quiet. He preferred to let his actions speak for him. When I left for Sheelin, Cade became an official apprentice to my father. It was a repeat of my father’s own cycle, part of the reason my father asked of Cade, or shared his letters anytime I stayed for a few days in his new forge before moving on.

My father had been an apprentice in the very forge I now stood before. The wooden barn doors stood open, a few wooden plank tables had been put out beneath the roof’s overhang displaying his wares. The sight was no different than it had ever been. Father had taken it over when the prior smith retired out of the trade with no son to pass it on to. As his apprentice, Father had leapt at the chance. Now, with no working heir of his own, he sold the forge to Cade but left the home to me so I would always have a place to return to. It was likely a paternal nudging to have me behave as he desired, to settle down with Cade.

It was not unheard of for a priestess to marry, but not one who was given my gifts. No oneira turned down the mantle of Oracle when offered. Instead of refusing, I threw myself into my missionary work. I spent years lying to myself and Bas about my intentions. Her claw twisted in my chest, a reminder of what it had cost both of us and would cost my people.

Returning to the forge took me back twenty-five years. With each stroke of the blacksmith’s arm, the metal crooned a morning song, the same beat that had awoken me for eight years. Standing at the anvil that was older than I, Cade was no longer the dark-haired youth full of enthusiasm I last saw at my Mother’s funeral and the days following. His face and hands had weathered and toughened into the skin I recall touching so lovingly on my father. The falls upon the anvil were much more rhythmic than those of the last time I awoke to his work. I had snuck out of the house without being seen that day, only to return just now. Then, I feared disappointing him. Now, I feared facing him.

I would have attempted to slip by the forge unseen, but Aya’s words to me were coupled with the fact I was certain the gossip that his tenant had returned would reach him soon. To see the responding hurt in his eyes that I had tried to find my way into my home without letting him know I was safe would crumple me. I had caused him enough pain.

It was far easier to admit Cade was right, that I would return despite my prior convictions, than to see the accusations in his face when he forced me to face the truths I have long since hidden. Cade will make me look into that shadowed path of misery, I know it.

I stood there, watching the blacksmith work and listening to the clang, my heart beating in time with the hammer’s fall upon the anvil. The heat of the fire reached out to me as an old friend, making sweat begin to bead upon my forehead and beneath my hair along my neck. For comfort’s sake, as well as knowing this was the one place I would be perfectly safe, I slipped my sweater’s hood from my head as I walked into the forge for the first time in many seasons.

Dark, wavy hair curled around the blacksmith’s ears where it needed to be trimmed. Small scars, the earned tattoos of his trade, were visible on Cade’s arms. A larger one marred the back of his hand, one I would see lessened—if I could not remove it completely—before leaving.

Cade was engrossed in his work, only his broad back and a hint of his profile visible to me, and the rhythm of his strikes reverberated within my bones as I stepped inside. That I passed this far into town without too much notice was a blessing; he and I could meet on our own terms. “Good morrow, Cade, I give thanks to Bas for sending me the sounds of your anvil ringing in the day to guide my steps home.”

He looked up at me before returning his eyes to his craft. That he did not grunt or wave me off was a good sign, so I made myself comfortable sitting atop a saw horse until he finished hammering the sword. Watching his muscles contract and extend in measured swings, I almost did not see the few smiles that threatened to grow upon his lips before he forced them away. Our years of friendship were so ingrained in Cade’s heart that his annoyance with me was easy to set aside. After my city’s master blacksmith finished his task, I stood to greet him, dusting off the sawdust and metal shavings I had picked up.

“It is Aya Wayland you should be thanking, my Lady. I trust you are wearied from travel. Shall I get the key for you?” Not once did he turn to look at me, all hints of smiles gone from the part of his face I could see.

Aya had been wrong. I already felt the burn, though not from his passion.

Chapter Five

The Lady’s gifts are as numerous as the stars. Among them, the highest praised are those of the dream-walkers. Should you find yourself to be one of the blessed oneira, prepare yourself for a life of hard work. She only gifts this task on those of extreme strength and talent.

The First Lessons: The Path Ahead

When the blacksmith refrained from meeting my gaze, I crossed the distance to his side and rested a hand upon his work-strengthened arm. He was warm beneath my touch from his work and the fire. Cade chanced a brief glance at my dirt-smudged face, and I saw a faint blush spread across his cheeks. It took away all the years since I last saw him. Unlike our last encounter, I had the words of Cade’s patron God running through my veins, encouraging me to stoke the fires between us despite my uncertainty of my own emotions. The divine forge had burned away any true fear of what was contained within Cade’s heart.

“Is everything alright, Master Smith? I would not have you fall ill on my watch.” After growing up together and so many years apart, I desired to force my way into his arms like the old friends we were, but hard times were upon us all. I was not welcome in this city, maybe not in my own home. Cade was too important to me to endanger his life because I longed for a soft bed and a warm welcome.

His lips pulled up into a half-smile, one that was tight with worry. When he spoke, it was a whisper of sound that danced between the crackling chunks of hardwood set among sizzling embers of the forge’s fire. “I am just glad to see you home safe, my Lady. Two of your Sisters were interred just days ago. Asha refused to answer any questions. She contacted their former families and had the bodies transported. She left alone, taking Sheelin’s ferryboat with her.”

Locked on his prior statement, I felt my rage coming to the fore of my thoughts. “What do you mean, former families?” It had always been a painful pride to bear a priestess. Looking back upon the street priest, Avarin’s welcome speech, and the whispers, my anger gave way to curiosity of how far the poison had spread. Was not even Sheelin to be spared? “Cade, what has happened here?”

He made a deliberate motion of pulling my hood up, his sun-darkened skin carrying a salty musk that filled my senses as he walked me through the courtyard joining our two properties.

“The war, Roseen. It has reached our shores at long last. I’ve been fearing for your life with each announcement made by the soldiers inside Madani. There are four in the city at any time, one at the gate, one patrolling, and two ready to relieve them on the next shift. There is a full squadron stationed an hour’s hike to the south supervising the construction of the true wall.”

Despite sensing that I would regret hearing the next words he spoke, I opened my heart to receive them. Cade’s already dark eyes carried the depth of a hopeless night as they bore into mine. “We have been forced to turn out any children with visions to the waters. Under orders of the army, I’ve had to hold back fathers as they watch their daughters drown in the evening tide.”

The anvil floating on the water in my aisling; Cade held them down even if it was not his hand that forced the children’s faces beneath the waves. I shook my head to clear the memory of the vision. I had thought I would return to find him gone, not one of the harbingers of death. I did not require Cade to explain what had occurred; my abilities as an oneira showed me the hidden truth. The girls intended to be initiates had been drugged with potions before being cast over the edge of the rowboat. Cade’s arm caught me around the waist to hurry me before releasing, and in that moment I was inundated with all the pain washing through Cade’s heart like the dark tide.

It ebbed around the shelter I offered for a moment as we stepped between the forge and my parents’ abandoned home. The roses between our properties had become overgrown in my extended absence. Though no roses still bloomed upon them, leaves and stems formed a bower of green. Despite care, the trellis-lined path to Mother’s dye garden caught my cloak as we walked. A thorn found itself ensnared within the surplus fabric of my hood and twisted into the threads. No sooner had I reached to lower my sweater’s hood and release the snag, Cade grasped my arm with a painful squeeze.

“I beg of you, Lady. Do not show yourself here. I would not desire you to be taken by the soldiers. Your kind are not welcome any longer. Asha left for your blasted island after burying her sisters. She told me you would return and that she left you a message.”

The call. She had felt it, too, or perhaps she had been the one to send it. When I ignored the first twinges of it, Bas had then come to me, demanding my return. Either way, I shrugged, feeling insolent. I did not appreciate being told what I would do. “You told me yourself that I’d return.” At my words, I caught the faintest red grace his cheeks again.

“Aye.” My eyes fell onto his chin as he rubbed at the unshaven shadow growing there. “Well, I thought you would listen to the other things I said also, Roseen.” He still harbored a flame for me in his heart after all these years. I had thought, or hoped, he would have found a bride while I was away. This could not end well for either of us, despite Aya Wayland’s intentions. Cade’s life was here in Madani with the forge I would never ask him to abandon, and my life was beneath the stars while a part of me still longed for the binding of my youth.

“You knew when you asked that my heart was not my own to give.” Cade had been one of the witnesses at my lakeside impromptu binding to Fion. As a child, I did not realize how cruel that was to him.

Cade opened my door for me and ushered me inside, barring the door shut with his broad back propped against the aged wood. “I knew that then, and I know it now.” His crossed arms and the pout of his full lips gave him the look of a stubborn child. “I also know that you’re harboring hope where there is none.” Closing my eyes and turning away from him did not stop the words from coming.

“Aristeer fell last year. Any unmarried men were forced into the army. Fion was not one of those who marched on our town. He’s either married or dead, Roseen.” His voice was hard as he told me what I knew to be truth.

I knew that the binding between Fion and I had been severed two years ago; my constant sense of his well-being snapped through me like a loom’s warp thread stretched to its limit before breaking. Before that day, its presence was strong enough to lead me to him upon a direct path across the shortest distance. At the time of my awareness I was not free to determine the meaning. It was after our stolen days within Liand’s camp and my subsequent escape, and I was on the other end of the mapped lands.

Knowing in my soul that he was lost to me in this life was different than hearing it, and I felt tears welling up unbidden. My friend’s words brought hidden truths to light, sending a cascade of broken dreams over my cheeks. I brushed at the tears with my sleeve, my tattoos showing in the dim light.

Cade’s footfalls creaked on the old boards as he crossed the room and pulled me back against his chest. I could smell the wood smoke and his sweat, as well as the tang the iron left on the skin of its worker after so many years. His arms went around me, resting just beneath my breasts, as he gave me the only comfort he could. Cade pressed a kiss into my hair, and just that simple action reminded me of all the hurt I had seen in his eyes when I left last time. The same hurt that pushed me to escape Madani without saying good-bye.

*

“Don’t go. Stay here, with me. We can be wed. I’ll be a good husband to you.”

A younger version of myself, one only slightly less hard, looked up into his brown eyes. “I can’t stay. My soul is pulling me to the road, Cade.” I wasn’t ready to stay in just one city yet; my work was undone and harder tasks awaited me if I returned to Sheelin. “My heart is not here.”

He nodded and stroked my face, imparting a dismal sadness with his touch. “Your heart is in Aristeer, I know. But you have mine; you always have. If you must travel, do it, but come home to me in between. We can make this work.” He meant that he would make it work no matter what I did.

“But, Fion—” I tried to make Cade see reason, to see that I loved Fion, but he interrupted me with strong words I knew he meant.

“If you come across him in your travels, I won’t begrudge you a night in his arms. It would hurt, but I would know that I’m the one you come home to. I’ll keep you safe from the war. We can move to the inner lands where the people care not which religion you follow. Or if I must, I’ll leave this life behind and go to Sheelin with you. They no doubt could use a smithy on site.” I didn’t stop his planned words to explain that any men on the island are smiths. “I will share you with our Goddess, and with Fion if I must, but please, Roseen, let me walk this life with you.” Cade’s large hand cupped my chin and tilted me up into his kiss. Strong hands held my face as if he thought I would break like a fragile egg, and his lips commanded mine to answer his in resounding passion. The heat of the forge was nothing compared to that within his veins.

I broke away, breathless. The love I felt for him was not that of romance, not yet. “Cade, as long as my heart harbors hope, it cannot be given elsewhere.”

He nodded and turned from me, but not before I saw his soul shattering before my eyes.

*

The Cade of my memories and the one holding me now merged into one. Aching comfort melted through my clothes at his touch, the strength leeching out of his body and into mine. I felt his warm breath on my ear as he whispered, “My offer still stands, Rose.” Cade released me and set about opening the shutters on the side of my house that bordered his forge and the small cottage he had built for himself out back. “I break for dinner at dusk. If you wish to dine with me, there will be enough for two.”

I had never felt more alone in my life as I did when he walked out the door.

*

Empty though it stood, the building with its assorted dust-covered furniture was still mine. Even now, I can smell the old, bound books I sent to my parents on my travels—some of my own making and others I purchased with the meager funds I earned as a healer.

Turning to face the front of the home, I remembered Mother’s first loom and the great wheel she kept in “the display,” what she called the front window of her shop. That section had been opened up into the house by Father and was used by Cade as storage for the forge. Dust now swirled around my feet, my boots requiring new soles before I left if I could inconvenience Cade to take them to the cobbler.

Some part of me, the one that knew what awaited me on Sheelin if I allowed the High Priestess and Oracle their way, wanted to return to the island in the guise of acceptance. Long days of traveling and healing had left my body in need of pampering to restore my spirit. Having another healer purge my energy of any lingering illness from patients would be a decadent delight to my senses. To be waited upon by an attendant from the abbey bearing creams and oils to soften weathered flesh could only be seen as pure luxury.

Lying to the women who run Sheelin in Bas’ stead, even considering it, was enough to make my chest clench. I had become the queen of omission and word twisting but denied myself the true telling of falsehoods, even to save my own skin. Perhaps a day or two resting in my old home before I allowed Bas to pull me onward again would heal my nostalgia for the past and remove the longing from my heart.

Despite my desires, my first action had to be attending to whatever had called me home. That specific longing, now a dull ache from Bas’ claw, would not end until my task was complete. If Asha had left a message of explanation for me, it was time I reach out for it. Bas would not look with favor upon me if I denied Her ways again. She gave me powers and could take them away if I did not behave in accordance to my vows as Her priestess. My way of life is with thanks to Her.

Dreams are the realm in which I am a demi-god. No physical walls can stop me from the unseen world. Mental walls, however, can stop me from accessing my own thoughts. Taking them down would be as simple as going to sleep in a familiar bed.

Walking to the room that had once upon a time been mine, I was unsurprised to find the cloth draped mattress dusty from lack of use. Cade had left the house undisturbed since my last visit.

Making a path of footsteps to the small room that I was conditioned to feel like a child upon entering, I stepped into the pale gold room belonging to my parents. Mother’s tapestries still covered the walls, their bed stripped down so that a handful of old sheets covered the wooden slats and fraying rope that would have suspended a mattress filled with unusable wool from the wheel, straw, and herbs to drive away moths and any vermin from our neighbors.

My eyes fell upon the rustic comfort of my parents’ mingled efforts. An iron rack stood upon the frame of a broken spinning wheel, the distaff stoic in its disuse, a faded quilt of old wool and cotton tufts wrapped in an oiled cloth to protect it. It was the only one left, it had been one of the three Mother had made. Father took his with him to Bivii, and mine had been bartered for a month’s lodging and food in a small village outside of Aristeer shortly after the Wall was erected around it.

Important cities to the spread of Liand’s poison were enclosed behind a physical barrier of brick and mortar; others, like Madani, have been merely protected by his soldiers as materials are gathered to extend the Wall. Whether Liand’s Divide, as it is known, is meant to keep priestesses from leaving Sheelin and accessing possible initiates, or simply to denote which cities the army has conquered, I am unsure. When I was under Liand’s employ, he was not one for idle chatter. He inquired of my day before dismissing my response, poured me a glass of wine as he ate dinner, fed me small pieces as if I were a child or pet, then motioned me to his private sleeping quarters.

Our mornings had their own patterns. Healing treatments, a bath, breakfast with the soldiers in which I was seated between Liand and his hussy of a sister, Kayade. May she burn in a special level of the Smith’s forges for a long portion of eternity. The damned golden thread she wove into my hair after I clawed her following another binding kept me from doing anything but my full healing abilities and limited dream viewing. Liand’s command that I wear it or die was the only thing that kept it in my hair.

My hair.

I unbound the waves and could still feel the scorched scars where the thread had bound me. With my hair down, I shed my clothing until I was only in a sweat-stained chemise that would have to make do until I had rested. I could rummage through the storage chest for Mother’s old shifts later.

Twisting my hair into a loose bun until I was comfortable enough upon the dusty mattress and covered with the blanket, I stared at the ceiling. Cade had resumed his work, I heard the first blows of the hammer, a pause as he inspected his work, reheating or cooling as necessary, then more hammering. He was up to something; that much I did know. The short swords on display for sale did not gleam like my father’s nor the earlier work of Cade’s I had seen. The one blade I touched felt fragile somehow, and I was certain it was unbalanced. Disappointment would have filled me to see my father’s soul, his forge, used on sub-par creations, but I knew Cade well enough to see that he was putting up a facade.

Yes: he had his part to do, whatever it may be, as I had mine to do—a part that began with me attempting to sleep. I closed my eyes, letting the sunlight filter through my eyelids as it made me see glowing red from the blood within the small veins there.

*

Deep breath in, held for two heart beats, then out.

“Asha,” I whispered.

I reached out across the water I had woken beside this morning, and let the magic carry me.

“Share your message.”

I felt the cold depth carrying me across cool waters, the sun warming my face. It was peaceful as I floated, the temperate dichotomy sandwiching me in between their layers as Bas’ claws pulled me to where I was needed in this dream realm. With a choking gasp, the claws ripped through me like swords and threw me onto the shore. Blood dripped onto the sand, and I knew my physical body was likewise damaged.

“Someone, anyone, help me!” I begged with blood foaming on my dream-self’s lips.

Chapter Six

I dreamt all of you long before you come to my island. One day, you will dream all my dreams and those to come after me. Dream well, my sisters. Dream of a beautiful world.

From the First to the Last, a Book of Wishes

Asha stood over me, her hands running across my wounds as she sucked on a green leaf. She reminded me so much of Kira, or even Sesha, that she blurred from one form to another. Even so close to me that we were touching, she was out of focus, as if I had put on smudged spectacles or were looking through multiple mirrors to see what was going on outside of my sight. “I saw that you would come home, Child, but you answered my call too late. Now you have no home to come home to.” I felt my injuries begin to close under her touch, the cold itch of Asha’s magic healing me from the inside out. My head ached as I tried to look around, forcing myself to see what was happening on Sheelin. The magic holding me there was not strong enough. It was a broken memory placed there for me to witness.

“I took the last boat. You must find your own way home to us.” The image flickered, showing me in perfect health though sore, beside her in the main temple. The large statue of Bas in the reliquary stared down Her feline nose at me. Asha’s voice fluctuated in volume, as if she was having a hard time maintaining the vision to me.

“You know the way; are you strong enough to take it?” Her eyes widened, and she turned aside with her mouth open in alarm. A man came up behind her, one too out of focus for me to identify. The vision darkened, setting me back into the icy waters before the light surrounded me again.

Asha’s voice came back, a whisper this time. “Sister-child, the way of the road is in your heart, and to it you will return. The Oneira has seen it; so shall it be.” A glimmer of fire scorched me in Asha’s gaze, making me hold my tongue when I desired to say where Sesha could shove her vision.

“Do not let the anvil stay your course. You are needed, else I would not have called you to Sheelin. I will see you on the mainland’s full moon. I am hopeful it will not be too late to say good-bye. Bas’ blessings on your journey, my dear, sweet child. Bas’ blessings for us all.” As her lips closed, darkness closed in on Asha, leaving me adrift in moonlight on the water, alone.

“Too late,” she called. “Too late. Save the rest. Save yourself. Too late.”

*

I was shoved outside the aisling as quickly as Bas had pulled me to it. Too late? I was surprised Asha had left my message of sorts on the astral, waiting for me to search for her. As it was, my connection to her had been limited. No other faces had been recognizable to my imperfect sight. It had been days, if not more than a week, since she had left the vision for me to find; the time had degraded the quality. Asha knew the bulk of my reasons for leaving Sheelin, that she left this message to chance worried me. If it was as important as this, she would have been far better to have any of the oneira project herself into my dreams. Perhaps I would have come faster. Perhaps not given the other oneiras’ opinion of me.

Bright sunlight, that of the afternoon sun, shone through my bedroom window, blinding me. It was still a shock to have glass windows inside wood and stone walls where oil-clothed curtains were once suspended within a thatched cottage. When Sheelin released me to become a missionary, I had returned to Madani to find a small house where the cottage in the way of our ancestors had once stood in pride. If not for its proximity to the forge and Mother’s sign in front, I would not have known it to be my home.

The sun shining onto my face through the window above my bed was a treasured sensation. Most places I stayed had long since been overrun with industry, and smog filled the once clear skies. A bath, bed, and sun were luxuries not often afforded by a priestess. My nap, which to my mind had felt like mere moments had been hours, still left me tired and aching. Pulling back the blanket, I cried.

Crimson stains faded out into the dirty bronze color of drying blood, coating my clothing, the mattress, and the underside of the extra quilt. My ribcage and stomach ached from bone deep rakings of claws through me; sitting up made my head swim. Despite Asha’s healing magic, I had lost too much blood.

Laying back down, I angled myself into the largest patch of sunlight and tried to be calm. “Sun above me, source of Aya’s fires, heal me.” The golden glow warmed my skin, the heat seeping into my tender flesh. “Earth beneath me,” I paused as I felt down beneath the wooden floorboards to the fertile earth. “Rich earth, Bas’ hunting ground, heal me.”

Gold and dark green lights converged upon my body, communing in a sacred dance of their patrons. Bas and Aya bowed before one another as They waltzed through my body, healing me.

“You were right, Lady,” Aya murmured against the Goddess’ slender throat. “She does call to You with all her heart. Perhaps We can still use her.”

A throaty purr warmed me far more than the sun as Bas laughed against Her lover’s cheek. “She’s My priestess, Consort. She’ll use her own claws to rip out Your throat if You force her. Coax her as I have.”

Even I knew better than to announce that I was there and had my full consciousness. It did not do one good to interrupt the Gods as They determined the fate of a priestess. They spoke in words I both did and did not understand. Their magic was a bright force as it healed wounds I did not know existed.

“This, My Lady. This is Our brother’s work.” Aya’s voice held a reverence I did not know. “Why have You not cleaned it out of her?” The paternal side was winning out over His position as Her lover.

“You are questioning Me?” Bas took offense. I held still as a corpse, my eyes closed to Their brilliance. “I cannot do everything, Wayland Smith. They would not learn if We coddled them too greatly. I do not like My children to be My pets. I must loosen the leash if I am to be loved as I crave.”

Lulled by Bas’ words, I drifted in contentment. The verdant sunlight beckoned me with pulsing medicine for my soul.

Then came bone-shattering pain.

I convulsed upwards, newly knit wounds tearing open as molten metal poured through me, scouring the hidden parts of me. Fire followed in its wake, burning away the blackness. “Sleep, Little Priestess. Let Me clean you.” Aya’s voice softened as He forced me into a pain-free realm of unconsciousness.

*

It was almost dinner time when I awoke again. The sky was softening to a warm reddish glow through the windows, a gentle awakening compared to the bright pain of before. Pain? The pain. Was it all a dream?

Seeking fingers slid over silken skin, finding no scars across my sides, even the one gained years ago from falling into a thicket of berry bushes and cutting myself on a dagger. Looking down, I saw pale skin against the tanned flesh marking out two large hand prints on my abdomen. Aya had healed me.

Praise to the Lord and Lady. I gave the prayer in my head, too scared to voice my thanks and break whatever spell I was under.

Their magic still throbbed under my skin. Would it be enough to see me to Sheelin?

The full moon was when I would find if my own magic held; I had little time to learn if I could walk upon the water as the first priestess had done when she was led to Sheelin by Bas. The woman was heavy with child as she made the treacherous path, stumbling to the shores that welcomed her as a parent welcomes home a child.

I knew that I would not truly walk upon the water, but that my presence and magic would call forth stones from the depths of the lake, stones that bore the footprints of every priestess to walk before me, as they would bear mine if any came after. To be that priestess, to fully acknowledge that my magic was more than healing abilities, I would have to find the strength inside of me to accept my path. Summoning that internal fortitude would be harder than reaching those stones. I had left Sheelin in defiance. Now, I must return in a fashion of the most pious. My faith was being tested; once I used those gifts, I could not be a simple, wandering healer again. Calling upon the Goddess like that would change me.

Becoming a Sister had been a transformation from girl to something divine. The change I undertook in the walk to Sheelin would be something greater. While nothing could compete with the first aislings I endured and the moments that followed, to harness that much raw power, holding wild magic inside me for that walk to (and hopefully from) Sheelin, I would go through a form of metamorphosis greater than what I bore in my initiation. If I was to survive my time in this new world I would have to change. While I would not lie about my faith, even the Oracles of generations past have stated we must learn to blend in with the modern world.

I sat watching the changing world from my bedroom window until the sun began to set and Cade abandoned his forge to prepare our fare. My stomach voiced its complaint of only having had a few bites of bread. “Soon,” I promised. Cade began cooking for my parents when he was only eight. It gave them more time to work and him a way to earn his keep after his mother passed away from a life of drink and prostitution.

The languor of my second rest fell away as I stretched in the dying light. No blood remained on my dress or the quilt, though it stained the bed as proof it was not entirely a dream. Reaching deep inside, I could no longer feel Liand’s tainting touch. Aya had burned me free of the past, akin to farmers’ use of controlled fires to reclaim fields that had gone to weed or filled with diseased crops. A little loss could give an impressive gain if done with care.

It was with careful loss and necessary change filling my thoughts that I reversed my earlier steps and slipped out into the rose path. I could still hear Cade’s voice in my head, an echo of the words shared in our last encounter before I left. “Until you accept me, I will plant two rose bushes each thaw. One for you along the road and one for me from the back garden. When they meet in the middle, I will finally set my dream free.”

I walked down the path, feeling the ghosts of our young adulthood selves standing there as I examined the different rosehips still hanging upon trellised vines. There were but three paces left open between the sets of roses. Cade was due an answer before that time. In truth, I owed it to him once I determined the nature of the calling.

No man deserved to wait for a woman who did not love him to the same depth as he loved her. My heart belonged to Fion.

Does it, Lady? Aya’s whisper ran through my blood until my heart beat in time with His hammer. You’ve felt a Smith’s touch now, and I have felt your heart. There is a soft space there for Cade, one you hide behind a promise broken by another. A heated stroke of strong fingers down my sides became a firm grasping of my hips as Aya pulled me back against His body. Steel and restrained fire shifted against me as He tried to hold a human form. If I told you you were free to love another, would you deny My priest a chance?

Ignoring Aya and His dark laughter as much as ignoring a God was possible, I broke free the moment I felt His grasp loosen. I sought refuge from Aya Wayland within His own holy space—the forge. The building was set up as my father had left it; what I needed could be found in my sleep. Here, in a place of familiarity, I would find my necessary change. I released my hair from its pins, the long braids continuing to hold the strands hostage. I wove them together in a single braid, then grabbed another hair band from my pouch’s inner pocket and tied it at the base of my neck. The scissors I chose were iron, ones sharpened to a fine edge.

How fitting that you’d use a symbol of My priesthood to hide one of My Lady’s. Aya’s laugh was a soft caress within the fire behind me.

I had watched my father create the scissors over twenty years ago. I was only four or five then, quite a ways from me now as I near thirty. Father had once scolded me for cutting my hair with them as a child. I had not wanted to waste time with it going into rag curls like the other girls. I wanted to run and play with Fion and Cade, when he would join us. With the blade held near my scalp, I felt my old life fall away from me as the braid came off into my hand.

“You left the door open, so I knew it would be you.” Cade’s voice held a gentle reprimand as he observed my actions. “I was not expecting to see you shearing off your own hair. Give me those; I’ll fix your hair out back so you do not look like a startled sheep.” Cade’s broad shoulders shook with his silent laughter, and I found myself having to fight the urge to smile. It felt like the “old times” we would have shared had I been a normal girl.

A shimmer of the meddling God disturbed the air outside the forge door; Aya smiled upon us like a proud father as Cade led me to a tree trunk out back. I heard His chuckle echo in Cade’s as I fumbled in trying to climb onto the hip height stump. The Smith’s arms were as strong as I could ever remember as he lifted me up onto it. Cade studied me from side to side with a false appraising look, then set about evening my cuts, so I had a simple chin-length straight style all the way around. A quick slice across the front gave brow-skimming locks that covered Bas’ mark. Cade fingered one of the raven waves and looked at me, his eyes heavy with a wistful stare.

“I shall miss your braids, but this suits you. You look like the Roseen I knew as a child.” His fingers moved to my face and I found myself leaning into the warmth of his palm. It soothed away some of the ache from acknowledging the loss of my first love. Cade’s affection—nay, his love for me—was palpable. If I could not have Fion, could I find happiness with his best friend, my best friend? Was Aya correct that my friendly love could grow to more?

“The sun really has bleached out your hair. You will be blonde by the time your travels are finished.” He sounded displeased to admit I would leave again.

“If the tidings of the Oracle are dire as Asha has led me to believe, my travels may be finished, Cadey-cat.”

He smiled as I used a childhood nickname to soften what he knew was my possible death sentence. “You’ve returned thrice in twenty years, four months total, and each time you come back stronger. Sheelin is in your soul; you are the heart of our people’s magic.” Cade’s rough palm rubbed up and down my cheek and then tucked my hair behind my ear. “Your strength will see us through what the armies of Liand have done to us. We need you here with us.”

I heard his silent plea for me to be here with him.

“Fight against them. I’ve seen what your magic can do, Roseen. Combine your magic with my iron, and we can protect Madani.”

I smiled up at him and wished for all the world that it was that simple. “Cade, you know my abilities do not work by wishes and parlor tricks. I cannot imbue your blades with anything but hope.”

He lifted the scissors and took another swipe at my hair in the back. “Hope is all a man needs to continue in this world.” Cade spoke of more than the battles ahead. “Enough talk of the war. There is time enough for that tomorrow. The stew should be hot and filling. The vegetables come from your garden; I’ve kept it tended throughout the years, putting some up for harder winters. The meat . . . well, I’m not proud of its source, but it keeps my belly full and my fire lit.”

I turned on the makeshift stool to look up at his tall form. He was making swords for the army. Cade nodded as if he read my thoughts. “Aye. I do not take pride in my deeds, but for every five swords I make, Liand’s generals claim one, and they provide gold. It’s gold our town sorely needs. I spend more than I should in the marketplace and give my excess foodstuffs to the poorhouse and orphanage.”

Seeing the hard glimmer in his eyes as his pride give way to self-loathing, I climbed down off the tree trunk and took his hands in mine, being mindful of the shears. “Cade Alexis! You are a good man. You work at cost without receiving anything for your time and effort. I’d rather see you selling four out of five swords to Liand’s army if it means they let you keep your arm. I’ve seen apprentice and journeyman smiths having to take over a forge when the master found his arms useless after meeting with Liand’s guards for refusing to supply the army.”

Thinking back to what I had seen in the forge, I continued on my lecture, my voice as soft as a mother soothing a colicky babe. “I also can tell from the blades on your wall that you are expecting a visit from Liand’s men soon. They are not of your usual caliber. Where are the good blades?” My husky whisper was meant for his ears alone; a priestess would be hard-pressed to hear me when I did not wish to be.

Cade’s lips turned up at the edges, the barest hint of a smile, as his gaze crept over to the cold cellar and curing house. “I know not of which you speak, my Lady. Surely a good man who wishes to better the world would not hold back from the Army of Righteousness. Come: let’s eat before it burns on the cook-stove.” I let him take my arm and walk me across the yard, his eyes flitting once again on the curing house.

Cade’s voice was a breath in my ear as he spoke again. “Beneath the pickling salt cask, there is a door. I have been careful. Should the city be surrounded and I am taken by the other side, you must see that Madani is protected. Within two dark tides, there will be a sword for every capable man and woman who still walks.”

By next month’s dark moon, Madani would be at war. Not only did I have to answer my calling, I needed to support my people despite having been shunned. “If Liand attacks before then, there’s room enough for the two of us if we can hide in time.” The hand he rested upon my arm clenched until pain shot along my bones. “I will keep you safe, Roseen.”

How could I tell him I did not want a man to keep me safe? I did not desire anyone to do that for me. I am a priestess and can protect them! Him, though, he would not take that answer if I voiced it. “Thank you, Cade, dinner would be lovely,” I responded in a loud voice. No other response could be given.

Cade nodded and flashed me a rakish smile as I passed beneath his arm into the cottage. Roses—our roses—were on every possible surface despite their being no sign of them having been along the path in weeks, and a candle was lit upon the dining table. He had not given up on me at all.

Chapter Seven

I am but the first speaker of hopefully many. Welcome, children of Bas and Aya. May the paw shelter you and the hammer protect you in your journeys. The Oracle watches, and you do. It is your tasks that are the true service of our Lady. My prayers are with each of you who walk this world. May your feet never grow tired and the light of your heart never dim. In Her loving service, always.

Letters to the Initiate, First Oracle of Bas

The clanging of the forge was the most unpleasant method of waking I could have imagined, considering the bottle of old mead Cade and I polished off following dinner. We had spoken of the war, of patients I’ve aided, of the artistry he’s taken his work to after building upon my father’s lessons. It was as if I was truly speaking to another priest—so comfortable were we together. Once I had walked into his home, my thoughts were not disturbed by the Gods, but I found myself constantly questioning my feelings of comfort with Cade. Falling in love with him would have been easy.

Listening to the sounds of him at work, perhaps not quite that easy. If that din was the worst way of waking me, finding myself in an unfamiliar bed came in at a close second. Lavender scented sheets covered me, and lifting the fabric I saw that I was still in the clothing I had worn to Cade’s for dinner. Relieved by the knowledge he had been a gentleman despite the spirits we’d imbibed, I let my eyes adjust to the dim light. Here a shell, there a hint of color, all displayed on a set of shelves with rough clothing that finally organized my memories until I recognized the bedroom as Cade’s. A heavy curtain separated his private space from the kitchen and dining area, and as I sat up, I could smell remnants of his breakfast.

Not desiring to leave Cade a mess, I straightened the bed linens that bore the creases and valleys of having had two bodies sleep upon them. Aya’s voice stirred within my heart, divine murmurs of what it could be like to wake in this bed daily. His tone turned to one of chiding, A priestess being domestic? when I went out to wash the dishes. However, I found all save a plate covered in a serving bowl had been cleaned and placed onto a towel to dry. Lifting the bowl, I found a hard-boiled egg, a thick slab of ham that looked to have been boiled in the stew last night, and a chunk of bread. My stomach threatened to rebel, heaves shook my body as I doubled over. An empty wine bottle sat beside the fireplace with its glowing embers, and just thinking of more herb-accented mead made my head ache anew.

With Cade outside at the forge, I had time to fortify my system before eating while I enjoyed the sights of his cottage, or “snooped” as he would put it. There were no doubts in my mind as to his classification of my close examination of his physical memories. Among his belongings were small paintings of the beach, a framed sketch I had done by memory in charcoal of him at the bellows when he was learning from my father, a collection of shells he had asked me for in my travels, and then a long, thin, raven braid he made last night. That I remembered clearly despite the spirits we had imbibed.

*

“I’ll burn the hair, a little at a time in the forge, so that the smell does not draw attention.” Cade held up my cut braids; the joined plait was as thick as his wrist, if not even wider. It wrapped around his hand like a snake.

Not desiring him to be caught and harmed, I sighed as I reached for my hair. “I could take it to Sheelin with me, bury it there as an offering to Bas.” With my hands outstretched, I waited for him to press the braid into them.

His fingers closed around my wrists before bringing my fingers to wine-dampened lips for a soft kiss. “Let me take care of this, Roseen. I have my own offering to make to Bas for seeing you safely back. While She may not see Her priestess’s hair as much of an offering, She will understand the sacrifice behind it.”

My lips parted, a question burning on my tongue, but it went unasked as Cade’s God appeared in the looking-glass upon the wall, one soot-blackened finger held to His lips. Within my thoughts, I heard Him. My priest only asks to take care of this little thing for you, Daughter. As a gift to Me, won’t you let him? A wicked grin became one of paternal care as I saw Cade through an outsider’s eyes. He would make a good husband to a woman who could be devoted. While not possessed of the type of beauty found in men of rich families, Cade has a rugged yet handsome nature to his looks. He is rough on the edges, but only as a source of protection for the tender crystal inside. I have seen it broken before and would rather keep it whole as it is now.

Cade unbound the braided length of my hair into six lengths and re-plaited them. Chuckling at my astonishment, he grinned. “Dexterity is more important than strength in my profession, Rose.”

It was his strength, however, that drew my eyes to the lines of muscle along his back and shoulders, then down the lean sides of his hips to legs that seemed to never tire. I was still watching as Cade set a single plait atop the fireplace mantle, wrapped around the base of a crystal vase. “This one, I shall keep as a bit of magic to bind you to your home.” Work-worn fingers brushed over it in a loving manner. “May you always come back to the home of your heart, Roseen. Madani is in your blood and soul. Keep it as your secret home, even when traveling.” His request, or perhaps it was a prayer, echoed his question from years ago. He was willing to sacrifice everything just to have my heart.

“Is that a prayer, Cade?” Even in our hushed voices amid crackling logs on the hearth, I could hear the alcohol-induced brazen tone.

“You’ll hurt in the morning, Rose; but nay, that is not my prayer. My prayer is that you are happy. Wherever you may roam to, I wish you every happiness.”

“With you?” I questioned.

“Aye . . . Nay.” He paused to swig mead from the bottle, then wiped his lips upon the back of his wrist. “If you were happy at my side, my delight would be felt for several days’ walk from here. But, I must say nay because I want your happiness above my own. I’m selfish enough to desire you to be with me, but I have a martyr’s heart and am willing to love you even if you cannot return that.”

*

I was unsettled.

Tumultuous and treacherous emotions cavorted through my heart with no regards to the desires I’d felt just two days before. They symbolized the metamorphosis overtaking all that described me as a priestess and as a woman. In moving away from the woman who would follow her own heart regardless of the repercussions to others, I was becoming someone I wanted to be.

My spirit analyzed my decisions and allowed my brain its chance to voice a complaint as I learned to follow not just my heart, but also my conscience. No longer could I blame Liand’s poison for the things I chose to avoid. I could not say I was a priestess yet run from its responsibilities. That one was the hardest to stomach as I ate the breakfast Cade left for me.

I washed my plate as I finished chewing on the crust of the loaf. Wishing for a small cup of tea, I checked the hot water kettle that sat among the embers of the fire and was pleased to find it still full of hot water. My pleasure ebbed as I recognized the battered metal. The copper bottomed pot had been swiped from my kitchen. We would discuss that later.

Cade was still hammering away at another sword or filling an order as I closed up his one-room cottage and slipped into my parents’ home to change my clothing into something more appropriate for Madani. The tea warmed my stomach with each sip, contrasting the cold morning breeze that had ruffled my hair during my short walk. I felt naked without my long hair; the weight lifted from my soul as well as my head.

I dug through two wooden chests of clothes before finding something that would fit me. The cotton shift of my mother’s was snug in the bust but loose everywhere else; it would suffice. An old dress I had left behind on a prior trip gave me the look of belonging in the city. With the cut hair, bangs covering the faint marking on my forehead, and the long gathered sleeves, I could almost pass as an uninitiated.

Those who knew me well would recognize me for who and what I am, but the new faces would look over me as a widow or daughter seeking asylum from the war. They don’t know me, but they will. I will not seek asylum; I will bring it. I will free them from this shadow. Bas’ priestess has taken up Her battle claws. I will fight for them.

Lost in my thoughts of what I must do after answering my calling on Sheelin, I did not notice the absence of sound coming from the forge. I was up to my elbows in a box of discarded stockings in an attempt to find ones with less holes, when a throat cleared behind me.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view, Roseen, but I think the townsfolk might have a problem if you go out with your skirt up about your waist in back. Your knickers are clean though.” Cade’s smirk was as infuriating as it was warm while I fussed at righting my clothing. “I hadn’t heard you up and about, so I went to check on what was keeping the early bird in bed.”

With a look at my green face, Cade chuckled. “The mead was a bit strong, yeah? Do you remember your mother’s cure when—” His face fell into pained shadows. “Sorry. It is hard to remember what you were here for.”

“The answer is ‘not much,’ Cade. Sheelin claimed my childhood. I was marked by Bas earlier than any priestess there had thought possible. My youth was as much a stigma there as my aislings were here.” Any attempt to keep my tone light failed. The biting words brought forth the frozen mask of a priestess who did not desire her feelings to be discovered. I spoke the rest of my thoughts knowing he deserved a better explanation if there was one I could give: “I missed a lot here and there in my duties as a priestess. I belong to Bas; that is all that matters.”

If I was frozen inside, Cade had enough fire for both of us. “Blast it to the deepest realms of Liand’s black heart!” Iron bands of flesh pinioned my arms against my sides. “That is not all that matters, Roseen. You have a father who loves you. Fion, wherever that bastard is, loved you if he does not still. If nothing else, I love you enough for everyone in the world.” His face went ashen, as if some long untold secret was finally set free despite years of asking for my heart. Those words had never been used in such a direct fashion.

The crystalline shattering of my mask sounded throughout the room, an almost-audible sound of my withheld emotions coming to the fore. Fire filled me, surrounded me, but I underwent no burning. I danced within the flames as they warmed the icy reaches of my heart.

Fabric resisted the stretch as I lifted my arms to rest one hand upon his cheek. “I know you do, Cade. I would like to think that one day I might be deserving of your love.”

“Does this mean you are accepting—” he began to ask, before I hushed him with a finger upon his lips.

“Nay. Not yet, Cade. I do not know what awaits me on Sheelin. But, if the Gods see fit to return me to this land whole of body and mind, I will grant you my answer then.”

His eyes shone with hope. “I will wait forever.”

My sad laughter brought a deep crevasse to either side of Cade’s mouth as he frowned. “Cade, if I do not come back from the island, you will not wait for me. Do you understand? If I am not back in one, perhaps two moons, it is possible that I may not return. If I am detained longer but have hope of becoming free, I will appear to you in your dreams to say as such. With what tasks my Goddess, sisters, and brethren may have set before me, I cannot be certain what fate awaits me. You cannot wait for someone who may be naught but a shade.”

Cade’s hands relaxed their grip on my shoulders, and I thought he was going to turn away. Instead, he came nearer until his brown eyes grew large as the moon to my sight. “Then I shall cross over after you, Roseen. I give this life to you, whether it be as your wedded husband, a companion, or a friend. I swear it to Bas, Aya, to any of the Gods who will listen. Too many years have been spent loving you for me to stop now.”

His thumb carried the smoldering heat of the forge in a simple touch that seared my lips as if he had kissed me. “I will wait, and you shall decide. For now though, Roseen, you should make yourself scarce or hide within our homes. Liand’s men will patrol before the weekly gathering begins.”

Still in shock from his fingertip’s caress, I nodded. “There are things I must do today in preparation.”

*

I made my way through back alleyways and residential cobblestone streets, skirting the town’s central square where Cade said the citizens of Madani would be gathered beneath its pavilion to pay lip service to the Sun Lord. Even the sight of Bas’ paw upon a silver moon failed to assuage my building anger. The marked home belonged to a gentleman who was tending his autumn harvest as I passed.

“Priestess,” he greeted.

“Blessed be those protected by the paw.” My heart wished to mean the words falling from my lips, to take time to offer a proper blessing, to do anything but hurry my feet on my way to my first destination.

“And may the hammer smite the enemies of those sheltered by Her. Welcome home, Priestess. May you find hope where you think there is none.” A red apple fell from his fingers without effort, then rolled to a stop at my feet. “A gift of the harvest from one who could not pass the test but knew enough to stay out of sight.” His fingers twisted into a clawed formation then opened in a burst, pulling down an illusion over the paw print I saw. Orykelon’s Orchard had a Sun Cross within each O. “A little magic never hurt those pure of heart. Remember you have friends, Lady. We need you and will support you. Where there is an apple, there is Her star.”

In my hands, the apple split in two horizontally, producing a five-armed star. “Aye, it does. Thank you for your shared wisdom. It will not be—” I looked up, and he was gone. “Forgotten,” I finished.

*

Metal gates hung open in awkward positions from broken hinges as I reached my destination. Breezes whispered along the rusted scroll work and sang a mournful tune that covered the sounds of me slipping through a gap between the stone wall and metal bars. Silent stones stood amidst overgrown grasses and wildflowers that had gone to seed several times without care. No longer were the gentle hills and valleys of the burial grounds kept in good repair; they looked abandoned.

Much as I had traversed the town’s streets in a mindless fashion, so I crossed the grassy plain to the small fern-draped trees that ringed my family’s plot. Green lace draperies diffused the light, giving my mother’s resting place a divine glow. As I approached, expecting to find peace and tranquility, I found rage and despair. Flames of anger sped through my veins, burning me from the inside out. On my last visit, when I brought gifts of dried flowers from distant shores, a headstone engraved by my father’s hand had marked her grave.

Moira Corela, beloved wife, mother, and artisan. May the Gods hold you gently as you rest.

My tears became a river of pain as I looked at what remained. Her name and “wife” were the last parts legible; the rest had been chiseled away, cracking the once beautiful pink stone my father had chosen. Red paint spelled out H-E-R-E-T-I-C. Liand’s men had come here, knowing she was the mother of a priestess. They would pay; they would all pay—including the Madani citizens who stood by and let a good woman’s resting place be defiled over a religious war.

Night-chilled stone bloodied my fingertips as I scratched at the paint, dulled my fingernails, and left my own red marks behind. Magic, aid me. Power of elements was not my gift, and relief flooded me as it answered my call. Stone rippled beneath my touch, shaking off the flakes of paint that marred its surface. Sweat poured from me at the effort to do more than mask the dye, and the stone pulled energy from me as it tried to heal the deeper cracks. I freed my life force, granting the stone increased flow; my fingers felt out the weak points in the marbled surface. Heat melted small fissures and burned my fingers, fusing my cuts closed as well. I lacked the nature-focused priests’ and priestesses’ ability to re-carve what had been removed, but I did save the stone from being destroyed in a winter storm.

Sleep beckoned from the other side of my overexertion, and I let it buoy me on my journey to the world of dreams. My unconscious painted a beautiful realm, one full of love, life, laughter, and people whose hearts bore no weariness from war. Sun, air, and earth wrapped around me, replenishing my spent energy. I awakened too late, so lost in the thrall of deep magic, and did not hear the footsteps until a sword point pressed into the back my neck.

“Come with me, Witch.”

Chapter Eight

You are not omnipotent, my child, despite the enthusiastic powers of your youth. The gods have granted you gifts; use them wisely. Do not stray often from your talent, or you will weaken beyond measure. They do not make you a God, merely a tool through which They can work. Healers do not battle, scientists are not Oracles, and visionaries have not the healing touch. Be not what you wish to be but an exemplary form of what you are.

The First Lessons: Deciphering Your Gift

My chest constricted in pain as I came to full awareness with a sword scratching my skin. That I had been followed here, to a burial ground, made me as angry as it did fearful for my life. There was so much I left undone. I would not be able to answer the calling. I would not be allowed a last proper prayer to Bas, just one hastily offered. I could not tell Cade good-bye. I owed him a good-bye, no matter how rushed it had to be given. Perhaps if my death was an act of torture I could retreat to the dream realm to leave a good-bye for him. The Gods would surely grant me a few seconds to do that.

Every muscle tensed; my body sought a way out from under the blade, one not ending with all my blood spilt upon the ground. The shadow thrown over me was enough to see my would-be captor was considerably larger than I was. I would have to rely on speed and luck, not strength. Turning to face him, I bore grand hopes that I would see a weakness, but the smile greeting me earned a scream of rage.

“What in the blasted fires of—”

A hand covered my mouth, preventing me from letting loose an expletive-rich curse, and my captor broke into a fit of laughter. His sword discarded, Cade dropped down to straddle me, his body shaking with his amusement, amusement garnered at my expense.

“I am so glad I could enrich your day, Cade.” The venom lacing my tone was not missed; his handsome face sobered quickly. He tried to hide one last smile, and I returned the favor of his lesson with body-wracking pain. My knee connected with the tender flesh between his thighs, making Cade collapse onto me as he cried out.

A bit of retribution delivered, I waited until he stopped rocking atop me before letting my minor magics seep into him, reducing the discomfort. “You deserved it,” was my only verbal response.

His broad chest pushed into me, his normal scent somewhat diluted by that of a shaving oil. Really looking at him, he was out of his working leathers and in regular garb with a leather vest that covered the bulk of his broad chest and a sword sheath strapped to his back.

He was a very handsome man, if not made of the same aristocratic beauty of Fion. Strong bones were pleasing to the eye, ones that rose into high cheekbones often displaying a mirthful blush whenever I was around. Brown eyes framed in the darkest lashes maintained a child-like innocence despite all he has seen. His lips, however, have always been his best feature. The full curves appear as if he has bitten into an overripe plum. When those decadent-looking lips parted to allow speech, my eyes were locked onto them. My mind filled with curses to Aya for having planted the seeds of affection there.

“Aye. I’d do it again, too. You shouldn’t sleep unguarded, Roseen. If anyone else had come upon you here, you’d be dead or trussed up, heading to Aristeer, awaiting shipment to Lorilindo. If you’re going to get yourself killed, wait until I have armed the city. It isn’t befitting for a follower of the Wayland Smith to bloody the forge with an order incomplete. You wouldn’t want to have me die with my conscience muddied, would you, Roseen?”

Feeling the chilled ground beneath us, I fought to keep the mirth and confusion I felt out of my voice. “The only thing being muddied is my dress, thank you so very much, Blacksmith.”

When Cade looked down at me, he was not seeing the girl he had spent his childhood running after, nor did he see the priestess, just the womanly Roseen. The hunger in his eyes made my thighs part to cradle his body, my breasts swell, and I felt like the ripe berries that drip with juice when plucked from the vine. It had been years since I had been with anyone, years since I had felt such desire for anyone outside of my memories.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Lady. It isn’t safe.” Corded muscle rippled beneath his flesh as Cade pushed up onto his hands, his pain forgotten.

Shoving him off me, I laughed and rolled away, gaining my feet in a swift, well-practiced motion even as he scurried after to loom over me. “As if you’d hurt me, Cadey-cat.”

Painful bliss shooting through me coaxed a heated whimper as Cade surprised me with a series of bites down my neck, his body a fiery shadow of my own. “I’d never do you harm, Rose, but that doesn’t mean I won’t leave marks.” I jerked away as his hands gripped my ribs. “Roseen, you can’t deny the burning between us. I’ve seen your soul. There’s room there if you open the door.”

We began a game of cat and mouse. I stepped back, and he followed, keeping me just within his grasp should he try to reach me. “Afraid, Rose?” That hungry look claimed his face again; his lips parted, and I could see the tip of his tongue moisten the center of the bottom curve.

“N-n-no.” My back hit the tree as he advanced, and I could go no further without darting away, which I wasn’t certain I wanted to do.

“You don’t, Lady,” Aya whispered into my ear.

I was startled by Aya’s words, so much so that I found my eyes glued to the deeply tanned flesh Cade unveiled inch by inch. His fingers unbuttoned his shirt and vest with rapid movements I could not follow for fear of looking away from his skin. My question of what he was doing died on my lips as a scatter of dark hair was revealed. His cocky smile held the arrogance of a man who was comfortable in his own skin. What beautiful skin it was.

“The wind is picking up, and you’re going to freeze when that muddy water soaks in. Take it off. I’ll be fine in my undershirt and vest.”

I turned away from Cade, determined to not be told what I would and would not do, and strode but three steps before my feet were swept out from under me. “Dammit, Roseen, I will not let you get sick with all the work ahead of you.” Indignation and pure stubbornness made me kick and pinch, struggling to get away. “You are a demon when you do not get your way.” Steel bands wrapped in skin tightened; his sheer strength far outweighed my determination. “I’ll carry you home now, or you can change while I turn my back. Your choice, Roseen.” It did not seem like much of a choice.

The purely male scent that clung to his shirt draped me in more warmth than the cotton and wool offered. After I wriggled out of my wet dress, Cade’s garb hung to my knees, and the sleeves were far too long even when cuffed. My back stiffened at the sound of ripping fabric.

Holding up a hand to stave off my tirade, Cade was already attempting to get out of trouble. “I’ll buy you a new skirt in the market tomorrow. You need a belt, Lady.” With a pale floral sash about my waist, and one tying up the sleeves from shoulder to wrist hem on each side, I could move about unhampered. If I was pleased by how it felt to wear Cade’s shirt, he was doubly so. His eyes had taken on that craving gleam again. “It may be the man in me, but I sure like how you look in that.”

“Because it’s yours?” I questioned, backing towards the forgotten sword.

His mischievous grin gave me pause as I recalled a seven-year-old Cade giving that look to my mother as he showed her a nail he had made. It was bent and far too long for normal use, but my father had hung it up on the wall with a sense of pride I saw him give few other things.

“Well, that is rather endearing, but I was considering more the fact that you look like a regular woman, one who belongs here. Your hair is different, your clothes are new, and other than your well-worn shoes, you look little like the weary woman who collapsed onto her bed yesterday. You look like you but rested. I know for a fact you slept well within the warmth of my bed last night, Roseen. You fell asleep with your head upon my chest and my fingers playing in your hair.”

Feeling his blade against the toe of my shoe, I slid my foot under it and kicked the sword up into my hand in a manner that would make my combat instructors pleased. All priestesses were given some form of training in self-protection. I preferred the sword to a staff in honor of my father’s trade. If Cade thought sweet words would erase my fright, he did not know me well at all.

“I do not favor being scared, Blacksmith.” I pointed his own sword at his chest, the blade shimmering in the rapidly fading daylight. The tip nestled in the gap left between the front panels of the vest, and I could have split the laces open with little effort. “Where’s the other blade? I know there’s bound to be one more.”

With a look of mock-surprise, Cade reached down the sides of his legs and pulled a shortsword that wasn’t much more than a good hunting dagger from each boot. “You always did know my best tricks, Witch-woman.”

My whole body became a fluid form as I advanced. Clanging steel danced in our hands as our words sang with unmeant insults, each earning a hearty laugh. He was stronger; I was faster. We were a match unlike any other. His strengths were my weaknesses, as mine were his.

“Are we playing until one of us tires, or shall we call it here, Lady?” He lowered both wrists, though I knew by honed instincts that he could still best me if I let my guard drop.

With a step back, I saw the path beside me and took off at a sprint. “You’ll have to catch me to find out, Cade!” The blade fell from my fingers with a whisper of a thud as it landed in the sand of the beach we had neared, and I propelled myself further out to begin climbing a dune. My legs tangled in the length of his shirt and my mother’s chemise, each step becoming harder as I tried to go higher.

Soon, the sand and scrub brush became my sky and the clouds my ground as I lost my footing and fell backwards. Before I could hit the rockier sand at the bottom, those same arms from earlier caught me, one about my chest, the other sliding to my knees as quick as he could from his first grasp at my bottom. “This is not quite what I thought you meant in catching you, Roseen.”

The husky rasp to his voice brought about my own, as did the warmth of his chest against me. “What are you going to do with me now that you’ve caught me, Cade?”

The heat was tempered now, but I could see the embers in his eyes. So easy it would be, so easy if I were a different woman. Full lips parted, and an escaping breath carried with it the heat of a summer plain scorching to create a wildfire. “This,” he hissed. The embers caught the kindling in my soul, and I felt flames burning me alive as our heads neared one another, mine tipping back and up while his lowered. The warmth of Cade’s lips was just out of reach, then he kissed the tip of my nose and dropped me to the ground while I complained.

“I told you, Rose; hope is all a man needs.” By the whistle I could hear as he disappeared down the path to town, he had found his blasted hope.

Cade left me there in the sand, my hips aching from the drop to the ground, my pride hurting from his dismissal. If his parents still lived, I would be standing on their doorstep demanding they rein in his demeanor. He’s the one who attacked me while I slept. He’s the one who then stretched out over me. And he’s the blasted fool who almost kissed me.

I stomped all the way to the hut where Kira had tested me all those years ago. Cade was turning me into a pouting child, and I did not have time for . . . this. Even as I groused in my own head, my arms were flailing in my silent argument with myself. I am a priestess. A deep breath did nothing to calm my mind. I must be above earthly pleasures. The only image I had then was of Cade beneath me, our bodies indulging in such earthly pleasures. Thoughts of when I held Fion like that were fading from my inner sight. The larger frame of the blacksmith had taken his place.

“I am sorry, Fion, wherever you may be.” The last time I had seen him, I thought it was a sign we were meant to be.

*

“How did you end up here?” The warm cloth was rough as Fion rubbed the contusion covering my forehead. His eyes were filled with as much relief as they were fear. “You should be an hour’s crow flight from here, Priestess.” His whisper frigid, words squeezed out as he tried to feign indifference to me. “Liand will kill you when you’ve finished with him.” With a stricken look, he added, “You’ll heal my Lord, won’t you, Roseen?”

Nodding made the room spin, and I laid back down into the nest of pillows I had been resting in while unconscious. “Where am I, Fion?”

His lithe form bent in half at the waist, one hand going over his heart. “Welcome to God’s City, the grand Lorilindo, my love. We are at the center of Liand’s enlightened lands, away from the barbaric customs of the coast.” The entire length of my body shivered at his words. “Calm yourself, Roseen. I know your vows make you bristle to hear such things, but you must see how wrong the old ways were. We are moving the world into one of peace.”

“By giving our people the choice of forsaking their faith, the faith of their families back as far as history remembers, or dying upon the swords of Liand’s soldiers. And why? Why must we die? It wasn’t like this before Aristeer fell. What has caused Liand’s hatred for my brethren?”

The sad shake of his dusty blond curls was accompanied by the pouting of unnaturally red lips. Turning my head, slowly, I saw a bowl of fresh berries on the tray. “You never could resist a berry patch.”

“Liand has realized that your teachers, your so-called prophets, are nothing more than morally-bankrupt instillers of corruption. He wishes to see no more families ripped apart by the deception caused by others of your spiritual kin.” Fion scuttled back several feet as a heavy wooden door creaked open. “Kaya, I thought you were with His Majesty this afternoon?”

A young woman—she could not have been more than my twenty-two—bristled as she looked between Fion and me. “My apologies, Fion. My brother said you were tending to a patient. I expected you to be in the infirmary, not private quarters.” Another glare from her set me on edge. My mind painted a ritual scarf over her hair, and exchanged her modest robe for one of a nicer cut. The binder.

Sensing my growing unease, Fion held out a hand to each of us. “Roseen, may I present Lady Kayade, sister of Lord Liand, High Lady of Lorilindo and a Minister of the Sun Lord. Kaya, may I present Sister Roseen of the priesthood of Bas, a daughter of Sheelin and a childhood friend of mine. Outside of one visit two years ago, we have not seen one another since she was initiated.”

Sneered words chilled the air. “Don’t get too friendly with the enemy, Fion. My brother will have her executed like the others.” Dark hair swung in an arc, and the lingering scent of her perfumed oil hung long after she left.

“She acts as my assistant medic. Having a patient here unsettled Kayade. She likes things to be as they always have been. You are mine, though, Roseen. I won’t let them hurt you, even if it means sneaking you out in the early hours while all are in prayer.” His lips sealed to mine then, reawakening the binding we had done.

“Handfast with me, Fion,” was my soft plea as he slid beneath the covers. “Make us permanent.”

“Leave the Priesthood, and we’ll have the ceremony by nightfall.”

*

Despite what turned into a screaming match, Fion and I had spent three days in his bed, only leaving to fetch food and exchange dirty linens. When his assistant came daily to see if Fion was willing to see other patients in the clinic, he had chased her off with sweet promises to help as soon as his “childhood friend was back on her feet.” The glares she shot me turned to smiles once ordered to bind my powers again. All the pain Kayade inflicted was tempered by memories of the bliss I accepted in Fion’s bed and the luxuries with which he pampered me. Due to his status in Lorilindo, he had a private bathing chamber, including a brass tub set over a fire so heated water was no luxury to him. The water let out onto the fields, irrigating the crops with the remnants of our frequent baths.

If I had not seen the tincture to stop conception upon his desk in the infirmary, I might have mourned our lack of child-making. There was so much I needed to do that his silent deception was a blessing despite my anger regarding his lack of forthcoming. No words were spoken; I had to honor his decision to do what was best for our situation. It was better to have no chance for pain than worry what Liand would do should he discover what Fion and I had done.

It was my own fault for having taught Fion the recipe. After our first night outside Aristeer, I’d kissed away his fears that I might “catch,” as he’d called it, then showed him the herbal tincture all priestesses carried for fear of forced interludes with the army. Now, with our bond ended, I wished that I had some part of him to cling to beyond the translucent ghost of his memory. Dead or married, he was lost to me.

I would be a whore to no man, despite what Liand had done once Fion could no longer declare I was his patient. My healing abilities were not all he demanded, and in exchange for releasing five of my sisters still in captivity, I gave myself willingly for the three moons I treated his tumors. Despite declaring my abilities heretical, Liand had no issues with allowing me to pray to Aya for a sharp blade to remove the exterior tumors, and Bas to heal what I could not remove physically. I slept in his bed, healing every ailment until his own faith-healers and medics found him in perfect health once again. It was due to his fondness for Fion that I was granted a chance to escape, but I knew should I be caught again, I would not be treated to such liberties.

The rueful thoughts that had accompanied me through the woods followed me into the home that had belonged to Kira and then Asha and to the back wall where all my hopes for the future rested. The latest tenant’s departure was so hasty that remnants of her supper still sat in the pot over the dead hearth, the contents burnt to a dry crisp. Her bed was destroyed; scraps of fabric and dried grasses covered open chests that once held clothes. My luck held, however, and the hidden door to the temple remained undisturbed. The clay covered walls were cool to my touch as I tried to remember where Kira had opened the door for me before taking a short cut to the sacred space.

Could I find the short cut?

Nay, I had to take the proper path to the temple. My nails caught upon two cracks in the plaster, one leading to the right crevice to spring the latch. The door whispered open, fabric on the other side sliding over the earthen floor.

Sunlight filtered ahead in the temple, giving a soft ending to the darkness awaiting. The tunnel seemed much shorter than my last trip. I stripped off my shoes and set them atop a small woven basket before pushing the door closed, leaving me in the womb-like space. With my hands on either wall, I soon had to drop to my knees and crawl as the earthen walkway returned me to my beginnings. Cade’s shirt was covered in mud by the time I reached the temple. The mosaic tiles humbled me in their singularly awe-inspiring way.

“Mother Bas.” I called to the Divine Mother, and the green eyes in the mosaic tile pulsed with light. “I am lost. I heal, but I feel no magic. Help Your child return to Your path.”

Reclaiming my past, my back stung as old reed dug into my skin. The pillow was no longer scented with herbs, and the incense was long gone, but the sanctity of the space remained. Opening to Her flooded me with cold warmth that was reminiscent of the ache received when placing winter-chilled hands too close to the fire.

“You are never lost, Daughter of Old.” The mists claimed me. “Your path has left the road paved by others, but you are not lost. Come to Me. Come Home. All is not lost; do not lose your hope.”

My mind swam, trying to form a response. Only one word came to me and escaped on a sigh. “How?”

“The same way The First did. Would I set you a task too hard, Child? Believe. If you believe, the magic will come.”

Chapter Nine

We offer and walk beneath the protection of the paw; this is truth. It is the claw, however, for which we are remembered.

The First Lessons: The Path Ahead

The storm cloud of my emotions followed me out of the temple and through the woods towards town. Birds fluttered out of my sight, afraid I might throw a rock to knock them from their perches. They were right to fear me; I feared my own response to Bas’ words. My lips twisted in crude mockery, and my voice rose several octaves as I muttered to myself. “If you believe, the magic will come.” My grumbles of the Goddess’ advice scared a raven sitting on an oak branch, and I yelled the phrase again for good measure. “If I believed I had a chance of doing it, I would not have asked for Her guidance.”

I wanted a sister to whine to, someone who would stroke my hair back from my face as I cried out my frustrations. You could do that with the blacksmith, my secret inner voice called. I no longer needed Aya’s presence to sell my heart to Cade. My thoughts had already betrayed me. Well, that part of me—the one that had decided I would accept Cade’s offer of marriage—could just forget it. Nothing was more important than getting to Sheelin, Cade and my damnable lust included.

I would eat those words not five turns of the road later.

Entering the city, I found no one on the roads. The orchard’s paw print sign from before could only be seen as the sun crossed letters. Madani was too quiet, as if it were waiting for something. My steps grew faster until at last I reached my forlorn district. The pounding beat of my heart stilled, and the muscle caught in my throat as I rounded the building and saw the forge’s ample space filled to the brim with soldiers. From wall to wall they crowded around Cade. Each wore the crimson sash of Liand’s army and was so close I could smell the stink of horses still on them.

Cade’s face was bloodied where he lay forced down to the ground, hands pinned by two men’s boots. Defiance shone in his eyes despite the pain, perhaps from it, and he wrested one hand free before the guard stepped down again. I knew they were using care not to hurt him, not if they wanted his swords that badly, but the position broke something in me.

They would not hurt him; I would not allow it.

“Again I ask, where’s the witch?” A plumed soldier pulled Cade’s head off the ground by his hair. “She was seen in the marketplace yesterday morning, and a concerned citizen reported she lives next door. A bed’s been slept in there recently.”

Cade’s lips dripped blood as he groaned out his response, his anger barely kept at a simmer when it wanted to burn like the flames in the forge. My own surged unchecked. “Aye, the priestess was here, and she’s already left. My fiancée made her unwelcome, I suspect. They did not trust one another. I don’t anticipate she’ll be back too soon with you Crimson Crusaders marching around like you own this town. Take your swords and go.”

The soldier’s foot dropped into the middle of Cade’s shoulders, and I fought back tears as my blacksmith was smashed into the ground. The splinters of wood and metal would work their ways into his skin, requiring hours of cleaning. “If you’re found harboring a fugitive of the army, one Liand has marked as the leader of the heretics, your entire town will pay.” The leader? But Liand knew I was not the Oracle or High Priestess!

“Shall we have you watch as we kill all the children using blades you have made? You’re no better than the boarding house women along the docks who trade their souls for a little pleasure and gold. You want our gold and our protection, but don’t want to be seen with us. For a heretical blacksmith, you are lucky to be alive.” Cade’s captor smirked and stepped back. “I think Lord Liand needs to revisit this desperate hovel in the near future. Yes, we shall inform him that a routine viewing of this city,” he spat in distaste, “is necessary.”

If I was known for being protective of Madani, Cade’s guardianship was more than double mine. He breathed to see the citizens safe. Other than a single visit to my father and a spring trek to the bazaar located between Aristeer and Madani, Cade had never even peeked outside our home city. The yearly trips to trade for more raw materials did not count. Even those were for Madani, not himself.

He was everything right about our shared town. Anger bristled through him; I could feel Aya’s fury pulsing in the forge. Never before had I wished Cade walked the spiritual path. Magic could have protected him today. If he wore the bracers of the priesthood, his lessons in magic would have granted the ability to pull the flames and twist them into a weapon. A hammer made of fire instead of stone could smash and burn in one fell blow.

He couldn’t wield magic, but I could. My talents lay not in evocation but in healing; for Cade, however, I would learn. Cade was big enough to hold his own against one or two, not against that entire squadron surrounding him. The sight rang with injustice when not colored with emotional bias.

I had to even the score. “Bas, answer Your daughter’s need.” My voice was carried to the sky by birds, incense formed of my intent. If She wanted me to find my faith, I would start here. She owed me a show of faith.

No sooner had the words left my lips than wind whipped in from the lake, bringing with it the scent of fish and fresh water, and made my hair stand straight out around my face. Clouds followed in the sky, covering us in their shade before they unleashed the first drops. Stones that had been gray with dust now had a pink cast as the water dampened them. The tang of metal working filled the air as lightning began to arc from cloud to cloud. Thunder shook us, answering my rage. It was not enough.

“The Witch-Woman! Take her!”

I begged Cade to stay down, a quick look that held a thousand conversations. Each began with “I’ll say yes if you live through this,” and ended with “I’m sorry, but the magic is consuming me.” My heart filled with hope for Cade’s survival, and I opened my arms to the powers above. My hands tingled as if I had just woken from a long slumber. I felt ready to play. In this, I was a kitten with a weaver’s spool of yarn, and the soldiers were the threads my claws would snap.

“Sleep,” I intoned. A wave of calm washed out from me in a tide. Wide-spread hands forced them to hold back. The men’s knees buckled under the onslaught as the world of dreams wrapped around them, beguiling them to rest with promises of sweet dreams and soft flesh to welcome them. Three came under my sway, and I ignored the enraged screams of their companions.

Three hearts beat in time with mine. “Slow.” Magic from the dreams crept into their chests. I felt the moment the muscles cramped to a stop, followed by their chests rise and fall in a final breath. Those who resisted me advanced, leaving my would-be protector forgotten for the moment.

Magic drums throbbed inside; they echoed the thunder as my heart shot out lightning to mimic the sky’s delight. I could mold the arcs—this I knew from that same dark place from which an oneira proclaims the future. “Aya, Lord of Man’s creation, strike Your hammer down on those who would destroy he who is Yours.” I pointed to the fire’s glow from the forge with my left hand and with my other raised to the sky, I brought both palms down. My body burned with the lightning and distilled fire that rained down.

I screamed from the painful bliss of watching bolt after bolt of purple, red, white, and blue lightning connect ground and sky. Each bright line weakened me as my strength fed the magic. My eyes knew not to look at the lives I claimed. I could feel no remorse in saving Cade, myself, or our people. Instead, I watched Cade’s chest, ensuring that he still breathed within the sudden darkness. With a last clap of thunder and subsequent cough from Cade, the breeze stopped, and the sun shone through drifting clouds.

I smiled, knowing Cade was alright, then swayed on my feet. Too much magic, I tried to say. I was burned inside, scorched from holding Aya and Bas’ power for too long. A soft cry of my name was the last thing I heard as darkness claimed me.

Chapter Ten

Grace, my sisters, is what sets you apart from the priests. While we protect, you inspire and heal. Share your grace with us, daughters of the Goddess. Teach us to walk as lightly as you do. In this, no matter our status in the temple, you are the teacher and we the eternal-student. May you bless the world with your grace always.

Letters to the Initiate, Fifth High Priest of Bas and Son of Aya

A thousand horses trod across my head as I stirred to wakefulness. Each jabbed a poorly shod hoof into my temple as it passed. I hated them with a passion only rivaled by that I held for the mead I’d imbibed with Cade. Summoned by my thoughts, an echo of a laugh bounced around my skull and forced me to bury my face further into my pillow. As if in a rogue’s devilish trap, my body was snared, and I found a heavy weight wrapping around me.

“Careful there. You might knock off the poultice I put on the knot above your brow.” I recognized the voice and grimaced. He would not let me live down whatever I had done to cause this pain. Everything since the temple seemed fuzzy until I remembered the brilliant lightning, and I groaned as memories came back in a burst of fresh pain.

Cade’s arms tightened around me, pulling me closer to the warmth his body offered as he brushed my hair away from whatever he had applied. I could not find it in myself to blame my comfort on the head injury I had sustained. “It’s just mud and those green leaves from out back you like. The ones you’d lick and stick to a mosquito bite when we were little more than babes, Roseen. Your mom used to put it on me when I’d take a tumble.” His voice drifted like the mist leaving my thoughts.

I opened my eyes to see the sun rising up into the visible sky, giving the world a pale plum glow before it crested the lake. Unwilling to leave the selfish safety of Cade’s bed, I let my body steal some of his warmth to save for my memories. No matter what I wanted, the priesthood came first, my duty came first. I was a priestess before I was a woman, and I would not share a falsehood of my intentions with him. Regardless what I may be feeling—be it lust, a form of love, or acceptance of his need—I would not abandon the streets of Madani leaving him a widower. Unless I knew that I could give him everything of me, I would give him nothing. He had his hope, and that was dangerous enough.

“What are you thinking, Rose?” His words were the hushed whisper of a lover.

“My head hurts,” I croaked out with a scowl. “How long did I sleep?”

With a look out the window, he shrugged, the motion pulling me fully onto his bare chest. “You collapsed as if the lightning had struck you; your body jolted and then collapsed. I still had to fight a few sentinels who had not been with the contingent you obliterated. What was that, Roseen?” he asked with a heavy sense of awe in his tone.

He saw that I would refuse to answer him about my magic and continued, “By the time I reached your body, I thought you were dead. Your forehead was split open and bleeding like the butcher’s fresh kills. You soaked through your shirt and mine with blood before I could close it up with mud and get you in here. I couldn’t chance calling for a healer, so I had to take care of you myself, figuring if you came to, you could use more of your Goddess-granted gifts and heal yourself.” Shifting himself over onto his back, Cade tucked an arm under his head. “So, heal yourself, Lady, and then make me some breakfast. You slept all through yesterday and the night.”

Hitting him would have taken more energy than I was willing to expend. “I saved you using Bas’ gifts. I’m not that sort of priestess; it was too much for me.” Shudders wracked my body as I remembered the energy pulled from me as divine fuel. “I heal and can be a diviner of dreams; that is all. I asked Bas for a sign that I could get to Sheelin, asked for Her aid in finding my faith.” My shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “She answered.”

Outside of the thin linen knickers covering me from waist to mid-thigh, I could feel the sheets and Cade’s body pressing against me. “I understand why you stripped me, because of the blood, but why aren’t you wearing anything?” My words came out rough, an almost-accusatory whisper.

“My extra clothes were out on the line,” he replied in the same whisper. “I didn’t want you to be alone longer than the time it took me to report that you had come into town for a last set of supplies, saw the guards, killed them and injured my fiancée and me, and said you were stowing away on a ship to Aristeer.” When I tried to mumble a complaint about his deception, he silenced me with a finger across my lips. I could smell my blood upon his flesh.

“I’ll die to protect you, the same as you showed you would do for me. A lie is little when faced with that reality; don’t you agree?” I nodded, which made the world spin, and covered my face with the blanket as he laughed. “I cannot protect you from your own magic, but I will do anything within my mundane powers to keep you safe, Roseen. I always have.”

Beneath his words, I heard the I love you he didn’t say. “Love is best spoken in actions, Cade,” I murmured into the blanket. “Even if you never said it, I know your heart. You are my greatest supporter. I need your strength,” I admitted.

The heat of his body slammed into mine as he pulled me onto his chest and tucked the blanket back around us so no flesh was seen. “You have it, always, Rose.”

“That’s not strength.” I knew better than to rock my hips against his morning arousal, but it didn’t stop me from teasing him.

“I may not have lain with a woman, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know I’d be a strong lover.” Seeing the question in my eyes when I lifted my head, he nodded. “Aye, woman. I figured that would get your attention. I have not. I poured all my frustrations into the metal I forged instead of wooing a woman into my bed. The ones who showed interest weren’t you. I tried once,” he sighed, “but it felt like betrayal and forced me to stop.”

The storm in his eyes burned me more intensely than the one I’d summoned outside, forcing me to look away. He saw too much in me. “I’m not innocent, Cade. I’m not some pure priestess who has been saving herself for a perfect bower on her wedding night.” The muscles beneath me tensed and released as he breathed, fighting however he wanted to respond. “I was taken by a priest during a spring rite when I was old enough to ask to be part of the chosen ones.”

The scattered hair of his chest scratched my cheek, and I found myself petting Cade as if he were one of the temple cats. “During my first missionary work, I found Fion in Aristeer. We spent several nights together after he finished his schooling each day with the medics.” I knew Cade was aware of those days; he and Fion had kept some contact when younger.

“Who else?” he growled. “I know you aren’t telling me everything.”

Nightmares walked the room with us. Pain filled my heart and womb as I tried to hide the memories from myself. “Don’t, Cade.” He kept pushing me, without words, without even trying. I felt his mind melding into mine in the way of the High Priest at Sheelin. “I did it so I could survive.” I released the hold on my thoughts and let him walk around in my darkness.

“No.” I felt the distaste on his tongue as he spoke.

Memories of Liand waking me in the middle of the night moved between our thoughts. I saw the pain in Cade’s heart as he felt me wrapping my arms around Liand’s tanned shoulders. A keening wail erupted in his mind, if not his throat, as he rocked in his grief.

“How long?”

I showed him the moon’s cycle three times and Liand’s returning health. “Until he was healed of the spreading tumors. He kept me there an additional week while Fion bartered for my life. I was allowed to escape during a changing of the guard with only one water skin and days of travel before I could reach the nearest village not occupied by his men.”

“They expected you to die.” His whole body shivered with restrained rage. “He forced you—”

I interrupted, ending his train of thought. “I gave myself willingly in exchange for my freedom and that of the other priestesses. He would have taken me anyway, Cade. At least I could keep my dignity in choosing how I would be taken. Was it right? No. Neither can I acknowledge that I would desire his companionship in other circumstances. I gave in to his demands and was not physically hurt. The other healer . . . ” I closed my eyes and my mind to avoid those images. “She was not so lucky.”

“But you’re scarred to your soul from it, Roseen. I can feel your pain, the same way I can feel the reverberations up my hammer when I shape a blade. I can feel the fragile splinters you try to hide.” Warmth spread down my back as his fingers mapped out my skin, learning the space between shoulder and waist as he forced the sheet lower. “I can feel you.” The healing balm of his touch moved lower to the dip in my back.

His fingers abandoned my body and clenched the sheets, his whole body going rigid. “And Fion let him! I’d snap his mortal coil if it wouldn’t hurt you so badly. That he’d claim to love you and let another man take you to his bed! I—”

Cade’s cheeks were rough with stubble, his face darkened with the short bristles, yet my fingers ghosted over them as if they were the finest imported silk. “Aye; I know. Yet, you love me and would let me be with Fion given the chance.” Chagrined by my words, he ducked his head. “You cannot fight my battles, Cadey-Cat. I am a grown woman and a priestess. With the markings come responsibilities and consequences I cannot shove aside because a man has asked me to.”

Scooting up so that my face was over his, our gazes locked and I continued. “No matter what awaits me on Sheelin, my duty to Bas is not complete. She may send me to another temple, if one remains, or command me to stay there as a trainee to the Oracle.” I closed my mind to the path those thoughts wandered. “There are no more oneira, Cade. Bas says no more oneira will be born to this generation. The current Dreamweaver is ancient beyond my comprehension. They wanted me to take her place when I was ready. They expected that I would be ready years ago.” Making sure I had his full attention, I mouthed the words I knew would seal the coffin of any love we might share. “The Oracle and her handmaidens are celibate, Cade. She is the human lover of the divine. It is ritual, not affection, that passes between the Oracle and her counterpart.”

“If you are celibate, then so shall I be, Roseen; you or no one.” The reverence in his words touched something inside me unreached by anyone else.

I could not give him a life without love. I could not make him face a world without knowing that carnal love, a love he only sought with me. I could give him one memory, a single day of being his, in case She called me to a higher duty. “We have today, Cade.” My decision was made. I chose him. “I must leave at nightfall.” Rolling off him momentarily to remove my knickers before climbing back to straddle his body, I watched his awe-stricken face. “I give you today for all that could be.”

For as bright as I knew him to be, Cade’s look was that belonging to one of the brain-addled, homeless nomads who lived off charity near the docks. “You’re giving me a day?” he questioned, his eyes not daring to look below my neck.

“A day for loving.”

I gave him no further chance to question my intentions. He laid there dumbfounded by my actions as I sat up, his eyes finally dropping to my bare chest. “Rose—”

“I know, Cade. Just love me.” Good-bye, Fion. In doing this, I was cementing my future to be with Cade, no matter whom I came across. “I choose you,” I told him and the Gods.

Settling my hands upon Cade’s chest, I rocked back, aligning our heated flesh until he pushed insistently against me. He sought to slow me, his hands dropping to my hips and kneading the flesh until his fingers left marks, even as he groaned and bucked upwards. The rumbling of a growl started beneath my fingertips and traveled up to his mouth where it became a warning. “Woman, if you are playing a trick on me—”

I stopped all speech by sliding back onto the solid heat, sheathing him. Echoes of passion-filled cries drowned out everything but the feel of him inside me. Delicious pressure, that ache of being stretched to the limit that is like no other, and the sweet smell of two bodies coming together to make a third scent: all I knew. Those and the growing love I had for the man beneath me.

“Gods, Roseen,” he choked out. Cade swelled inside me, his manhood slightly moving of its own volition as our muscles rippled, seeking to dance. His eyes glassed over with tears, fluid pooled slightly before dripping out the corner of each eyelid. I leaned forward to kiss them away . . . The angle shifted us, and he brushed against a spot that took my breath away. At my gasp, his lips curled into a smile.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, his fingers scratching up my back to my hair. Blissful pain burned through me as he pulled me flat onto his chest by my hair, our lips meeting roughly. He claimed me in that kiss, more than our married flesh had done. My mouth was seared from the outside in. I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough. I needed him akin to the air we took in on almost painful gasps between smashing teeth and tugs of hair.

Cade grazed my back with his nails, scoring me with his lust. The sting of the scratches was as much a necessary balm to our lovemaking as the blaze in his eyes when mine opened. He was staring at me still, even as teasing nips of teeth on swollen lips spurred our tongues to taste, to lick, to thrust.

“Years,” he whispered against me. “Years I’ve wanted this.” Another tug of my shortened locks had my neck stretching. Open-mouthed, hungry kisses rained down my flesh as he pushed me down his body, making my back arch. “I’ve dreamt of tasting you.” In time with his words, he lifted his hips, burying his shaft deeper inside me. “I never dreamt it could feel this . . . everything. ‘Good’ isn’t enough.”

The room spun without my moving as he flipped us, my legs going up around his hips by instinct. The friction as he rocked made me cry out, and I returned the marks he had given me threefold. Clinging to his shoulders, I held myself up as he experimented in a slow withdrawal. “Need you,” I whimpered.

“Always,” was his answer. An even slower thrust returned our bodies to how they were meant to be. “Gods!”

Gentleness was abandoned. Calloused palms and fingers pawed at me in alternating turns as he tried to keep himself up over me. All I saw were his dark curls as he leaned down to capture a nipple and suckle. The coil in my belly tightened to the bursting point, and I needed more. I wanted all of him.

“Mine now, Roseen. You’re mine as much as I’m yours.” He spoke in that calm, melodic tone, and my brain agreed even as I tried to understand the words.

“Yours.” I lifted to him.

He loomed over me in the span of a hastily taken breath, his forge-strengthened body dwarfing me. The war in his eyes was the same as mine. Slow or fast? He asked without words. There was time for slow after, plenty to learn each other and tease out unending crescendos of our desire. Now was for sating the driving need that was turning our insides out.

With a last lick along my neck, Cade helped me kick free of the sheets and turn over. I could feel the heavy weight of his gaze as I drew my legs up under me, raising my body to his like a cat in heat. “Hands on the window ledge.” His voice was low and rough, a rumble of a command as he grabbed my waist and hauled me upright.

In a desperate grab, I stretched upwards and caught the edge of the brick and mortar beneath the glass. My thighs parted, my knees going wide to steady myself, but it was no use. He was on me, his chest sealing to my back as he bit my neck, leaving his mark. “Mine,” he claimed. I would leave my own later.

He was awkward, yes, as he positioned us back together, but the moment he was inside me, his hesitance fell away. The thunder of our bodies colliding in our passion repeated outside in peals as lightning lit the sky. Rain pounded the roof and became the sweat we shed.

Searching hands palmed my breasts until one slid up to cup my head, the other down to my sex. He turned my face into his kiss with a flexing of his fingers. The other hand sought the hidden flesh that would make me cry his name.

Each thrust of his hips and touch of his fingers took me further from myself and closer to the joining of our souls I desired. I wanted to soar with him. He took me higher and higher, the spiral inside pushing us tighter as he lost control. Hard, deep thrusts became shallow ones with no rhythm; Cade pulled my shoulders each time, pleasured grunts and moans interspersed with melodic whispers and mewlings of my name.

I wanted more, needed more, and when it was finally enough, I bayed like a wolf to the moon as heated pleasure spiraled through me and stole thoughts and words. Cade gave me everything; his energy flew through my veins as he went silent and shook behind me, his arms banding around me to support him.

Still coupled, we crumpled onto the sticky sheets, his weight a pleasant crush on my skin. Slowly withdrawing as his body relaxed from spending, he kissed the nape of my neck before collapsing beside me. “You truly are a witch, Roseen.”

Chapter Eleven

She called me to You, Great Island. Green eyes of divine beauty led me to the shores across Your waters. Wayland, our holy smith, hammered rocks up to meet my feet. Together, They led me to Your blessed shores. I gave to You the child within my womb to be the second priestess. May our line be fostered in Your magic.

Book of Ages, the first priestess of Sheelin

I was scared. Bone-deep—nay, soul-deep—terror flooded me as I watched Cade open the wooden chest my grandfather had carved for my parents as a wedding gift. The latch had been replaced recently; no longer did a rusted loop hold a bar in an equal state of disrepair. On oiled hinges it opened with the softest complaint, layers of blue fabric hiding the contents from my view. The last time I had poked around in the chest, it contained my mother’s lace bridal shawl, jewelry, polished plates that were as reflective as the best mirrors, and a set of carefully designed silverware my father made from a childhood sketching. It was to be part of my own wedding gift should I ever wed anyone besides the Priesthood.

“What-what are you doing?” I could not stop stuttering when trying to speak. The words stuck on my tongue, a tongue I could still taste him on from the numerous occasions we’d taken one another in bed, on the floor, against the wall, and even on the ground of the forge when we had tried to recover our senses an hour ago. Breakfast had been rushed bits of stale bread and cheese with over-steeped coffee after Cade and I christened the warm bricks surrounding his hearth. After our hours together, my walk to the island would be made with the proof of our lovemaking upon my skin. No bath could remove all traces given the number of times we had come together.

“I have something for you. It was to wait for after you came home at long last, but this is as good a time as any.” When Cade stood from his hunched position, his unbleached shirt was tinged copper in spaces from dried blood lingering after my scratches. Knowing I was watching, he let out a deep breath as he turned to face me. “I made this for you when I was an apprentice. I was going to ask for your hand when you finished your lessons.”

Searching my memories brought forth shame as I remembered that trip; afterward, I'd gushed to him about wanting to go to Aristeer. Cade did not allow me to wallow in my self-inflicted pain and stepped forward so that I could feel his body heat brushing against my skin.

“Galen said it was the best piece I had made. My work has improved since then, but it’s still beautiful and all yours.”

Scarred hands that had brought me to numerous heights opened with such care it was as if he were holding a hummingbird. The parting fingers showed a cradled cuff of metal; a hand’s width band had reinforced hooks and holes, giving the appearance of the bone and linen stays of the upper class women.

It was exquisite, something I could only dream of—if I ever allowed myself such a fanciful musing. This cuff had been worked with such intricate details and care that it must have taken days of labor, if not weeks. On it, amid glorious knotwork, were woven the hammer of Aya Wayland and the paw of Bas. Putting aside the rose garden, our lovemaking, and shared words in his home, I knew that Cade was holding a representation of his heart in his outstretched hands. This meant more to him than the ceremonial words of binding we’d exchanged inside. “Will you wear it, Lady?”

This was more than an arm band; it was a demarcation of intent. If I dug to the basest instinct, it was a public show of claiming me to be his. No matter how much I wanted to be angered by such an act, I could find nothing but amusement. I prayed he could not discern my emotions through the new bond.

“Most men give rings.” Tugging muscles coerced my lips into forming a smile as pure impishness warmed my veins. I would accept it if it was a barely worked lump of scraps my father left behind.

“I’m not most men, and you are certainly not most women.” His eyes absorbed me, sweeping over me from head to toe and back again, before he smiled. Cade knew me now inside and out; I kept nothing held back from him inside.

“Since you can take nothing but what you can easily carry, I thought better than to send you with the roses I’ve since made.” Accepting my lack of refusal as acquiescence, Cade fastened the cuff around my upper arm. His fingers moved as if he had done this a thousand times in practice before he tugged my robe’s sleeve over the armband. Jubilation and love sparred for the majority of his expression, then shifted to self-pride as he pulled out exquisite curving blooms that were in more shades of metal than I have ever seen in all my travels.

“I have taken your father’s experiments to a new level, Roseen. I can add different powders to the flames and use various metals to obtain more than the standard three and sometimes four colors of other forges.” He fingered a gold and pink rose then reached to caress the armband through the fabric of my sleeve.

“It’s why Liand wants me in Lorilindo. He wants me to make a sun-sword, a blade that looks like burnished gold but is as sharp as any steel wielded by his opposition.”

I could not step foot in that vast area again. Lorilindo was the seat of Liand’s power. What had started as a small military base became a city and then country over five short years. Thinking of Cade being behind walls I could not traverse gave steel to my spirit. I would accomplish this task and beg wisdom from the Oracle on how best to stop the Army of Righteousness.

With my heart lying leaden in my stomach, Cade discarded the roses in the chest and withdrew a hunting dagger still encased in a dull gray scabbard. “I made many mistakes, Roseen, as I forged metal and magic. This was not one of them.” A black blade, as dark as night without the glitter of stars and moon, lay dully in his hand except for the deadly sharp edge. A triple moon and flower were embossed in the simple stripe of silver about the pommel.

“It will cut through my best iron and even the steel I bartered for in Aristeer to work with. Ye know I’m no priest, but Aya knows His workers. When I asked His help, I moved without thought.” His voice took on the smooth, dream-like manner I knew from experience was that of recalling a divine vision. “I was the only smith that night. No other blacksmith who speaks Aya’s name worked in his forge that night. I started at sundown and only as the sun crested did I finish.”

Cade’s eyes grew unfocused as he looked at the quenching barrel. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Lady. It was white as the silver full moon when I pulled it from the quenching barrel. I heard Him still forging behind me, heard you singing that little song about the spring bluebirds. Even though I knew you were days away by the fastest horse, your arms wrapped around me and grasped it with me. Together we sliced across my arm, and the blade glowed red, then turned black. The blade became something else, Roseen.” A tremor went through him as he clenched his hand around the blade and then opened, showing a pool of blood beneath the blade but no cut. “It will not give unintended harm to the bonded bearer but is sharp enough to cut through bone without effort.”

A red glow traveled through the blade to the hilt where it faded at his touch. “I give this blade to you, Roseen. May it protect you where I cannot follow.” A bloodied horn handle was set into my outstretched palm and his reddened fingers closed my hand. The stain of his blood was nothing compared to the sting of ancient magic welding the blade to my hand. I knew it could not be taken from me. Cade’s blood, his own magic, would be a shield. Whether it was there to protect me from others or from myself was yet to be seen. “Cade—”

A soft kiss stopped me from further words, bloodied fingers fluttered around my face as he longed to cup my cheeks. “Lady, the hour grows late, and the moon is cresting beyond the storm clouds. If you refuse to stay here with me, you must go. We both have work to do for our people.” His words were a cruel barb, though not made with the intention to hurt; we had fought mercilessly between our couplings, enough that I knew his jibe was made from his own pain and worry.

*

Eyes as dark as winter tree branches glittered their dangerous intent. Lips swollen from passion-filled kisses parted and closed before opening once more. “Roseen,” he started. With a shake of his head and stubborn set to his shoulders, he looked like a man ready to bully his way into getting what he desired. “Ye aren’t going.”

“Dropping into the old speech now instead of the one spread by Liand’s men? Thinking a familiar tongue will sway my heart from what I must do?” Still naked, my breasts went from bare to his gaze to covered by crossed arms. “They need me; I’m going.”

“Nay, you’re not. I won’t lose you, not now. We need you here. I need you here. You need to finish healing; your skin is still split from the fall. Besides, you know I can stop you if I try.” Cade crossed the space and grabbed a pair of his breeches before turning back to me, ignoring my building rage. “Rose, if you do whatever that was out there again, we can destroy half the stationed army in mere minutes.”

I exploded; this was too much. “I am not a weapon, Cade! I will not murder men just because I can. That would make me no better than those savages crusading under the banner of a God.”

He propped himself up against the wall at my words, one leg bent at the knee. He was the perfect image of male sensuality. “You cannot use sex to get me back into bed so I do not go. I am not a woman free to follow her whims; I am a priestess! That means Bas comes first—always. If I had the slightest inkling you would do this, I would never have given you today, Cade.”

“Yes you would have.” The anger and bitterness were replaced by amusement as quickly as his mood had sprung upon us. “This has been building for decades. You see that, don’t you?” It made sense—in some barbaric, entirely too-male way—for him to want to keep me close after loving me so long.

I could not stay, even if I wanted to. Cade desired me, magic and all, so he would get me. Bas, forgive me for using Your gifts in this manner, I prayed. “You love me, aye?” I questioned. When he nodded, his expression morphing into one of schooled boredom, I set my trap. “You would have me love you as well, more than I already do?” The feline grace of my patroness emerged from some hidden reserve of Her magics, granting a nimble flow to my limbs as I sauntered toward Cade.

“Aye. I want that more than anything. You’re all I have dreamed of, Roseen. I love ye, witch-powers and all.”

“And what is it you love about me?” My question was a rumbling purr as I leaned into his body, my lips at his ear. “Is it that I am meek like the girls in town?”

Violent tremors accompanied the shaking of his head. “Nay, I like that you’re strong, and I usually like it when you get so pigheaded I could spit. Not now.” His eyes were dark and his smile mocking.

“Cade, would you have a woman who sat about, getting into your business? Would you want me if I was just a regular woman who could not wield a sword or be your equal?”

Knowing I had sealed the coffin on the discussion, I leaned back in and licked the corded muscles of his shoulders, enjoying the tension of his fisting hands as he tried to come up with a feasible argument. “Cade, I have no desire for a mate who is not my equal. My equal would expect no less from me than to do my best. That includes me leaving for Sheelin and the potential of not coming back.”

If I was to give him hope only to tear it away from his grasp, I had to leave something else in its place. The idea that came to me was unplanned, but I knew it was the right course. Reaching for both his hands and setting them onto my chest, I nestled the warm flesh between my breasts and watched awe overtake his face as understanding dawned. Tears built in both our eyes as I spoke the words I had only said in theory to one other, and those were used in childhood. “Cade Alexis, you are in my heart; you have been given all that I have to give.” Setting my hands over his heart, I smiled while looking up into his eyes. To him alone I spoke the words I had not yet uttered to anyone. “I give this lifetime to you, Cade.”

His fingers clenched, and I could feel his touch reach all the way through to my spine, gifting strength to our private rite. “And I to you, Lady. This life and any other you choose me; my life is yours, my heart is yours, every breath is done to honor you.”

*

“I still don’t like it,” he groused. “But, I know you must, so I will send you with every blessing I can.” Loving hands rose to cover his heart. “May the anvil and hammer protect you, may the paw and its claws guide you, and may your heart and magic see you safely there. And home to me,” he added with haste. After straightening my cloak, he gave me a small formal bow, and then crumbled to his knees, dew drops of pain trailing down his cheeks.

With his stoic facade shattered, I watched him pick up the pieces of his soul from my feet. “Let me . . . I need . . . ” Loving eyes caught mine and begged for my acquiescence. “Roseen, let me walk you there; let me see you safely to the grotto. I have to do something besides just send you off with words and wishes.”

We walked in silence, his hand in mine and my pack of supplies slung across his shoulders despite my earlier protests. Together we slunk through shadows as deep as a moonless night, rain soaking us to the bone. My pouches had been refilled at Asha’s and from Cade’s own stores. I had food enough for several days of meager meals, though he would say I had but three meals provided. It was the ritual preparations, however, that were my true treasure.

Before her departure for Sheelin, Asha had set aside all the necessary components for my sojourn into the realm between worlds. Small woven pouches lay snug inside the child’s size hide pack Cade had strapped to my hips with a firm look earlier. Each pouch contained an herb or resin I would need along with several medical salves he’d pilfered from a neighbor while they were out, leaving gold enough to purchase five times as much in their place.

Storm-soaked leaves squelched beneath our feet, and his hand tightened on mine each step with an instinctual worry he would need to protect me from a would-be attacker. His reluctance to part with me burned like soap-maker’s lye, etching away my resolve. What I would give to be any other woman, a commoner who lived only to be happy and whole with no regard to a higher duty.

Residential blocks gave way to the merchants’ larger stores along our path through the back roads and narrow alleys, and soon the marketplace stalls came into view. The rain and wind had forced many vendors to drop cloths from the top of the store overhangs to safe-keep their wares. With the store-owners settling their shops for the night and potential customers kept home due to the rain, there were fewer witnesses to our escape. Fewer witnesses lessened the chances of my lover coming to harm when his treachery to the Army of Righteousness was made known.

“Do not worry for me, Lady.” The hum of his lips on my ear was jolting, and I stumbled, hanging to his arm to regain my balance. Unlike Aya, Cade did not lift me to carry me to my destination. If only he could.

“Rogue,” I chastised, earning a playful grin that reminded me of our childhood. He was right; we were meant to be now that I had moved on from the past. He was the better fit for who I have become. He was a bastion in the storm of war, and I would be Madani’s lighthouse. Together, we offered Madani a glimpse of hope in the dark tide.

The night’s chill was soaking into our bones through our cloaks and as we passed the last of the marketplace stalls, I took a look at Madani. I would protect my people, our faith, and our ways. The next generation will believe.

“Where are the guards?” None were stationed at the gates.

A thick finger tapped my décolletage. “The two left in Madani who weren’t so shocked in seeing you,” he paused to raise an eyebrow before continuing, “had to return the bodies to the nearest outpost and spread word that you have left for Aristeer, stowed aboard one of the supply ships.”

His falsehood granted us several days for me to travel to Sheelin and back, if my return was allowed. Perhaps it would give me time to persuade him to leave the forge behind and make a new start or come to Sheelin as he had once offered so long ago.

“There are the stairs.” I nodded in response to his words and clung to his hand in a sudden desperation. This was it. This was the turning point.

“I’m answering the calling,” I said to myself more than him. “I am doing what I was chosen to do.”

“Aye. And I will do what I was chosen to do, arm our people. I will pour my worry for you into the swords. We will be ready to fight when you return.”

Thunderous waves crashed against the shores, sending spray higher than most homes. Magic crackled in the air the nearer we came to my sheltered cove. Both reacted to our presence, sensing our intent to put things right.

Saying what I needed to, in case I did not come back, I gave the only farewell I could. “I do not want this life for you, Cade. I would give anything for you to be a normal man and above all this fighting. I fear you’ll be injured and there won’t be a husband for me to come home to.”

Bringing our intertwined fingers to his lips, Cade brushed a soft kiss across them as he considered my words. “Then we shall meet in the next, and I will chase you until you give in to my advances, Lady. Besides, I have your knife’s big brother hidden in the forge and your plaited locks to protect me.”

Rain and crashing lake water soaked us as we stared at one another beneath the full moon’s light when it came out from behind the clouds at long last. “Until next we meet, Roseen, be it this life or the next.” Cade’s strong fingers caught my chin and forced my face to tip upwards. His kiss was cold fire, the quenching of what was as we moved forward to fight what may be, cauterizing our personal desires.

With a touch of my lips to his cheek in farewell, I left my mate on the last stair, then gave purpose to my stride as I entered my last safe haven for magic.

Chapter Twelve

The first time I set eyes upon Sheelin’s beauty, I fell down in prayer to Bas. That such a glorious land was here to grant me safety from those who feared my abilities—I thought She had brought me to the home of the Gods. When Aya brought one of His priests to Sheelin, together we forged a life as a family. We learned to love one another as we built the temple, and he fostered my daughter born just months after we met as if she were his own, like I did the infant son he had carried across the stones. Trust the Gods, my children. They called to you for a reason. Trust in Them as I have trust in you who are not yet born.

The History of Sheelin, First Priestess and Oracle of Bas

Crew members aboard a capsizing ship stood a better chance at keeping dry than I did clinging from boulder to boulder, attempting to keep out of the now knee-deep, frigid water the tide had brought in along where I had anticipated sand. The lake was rising, the tide was early, or perhaps my mind was just no longer calculating the time as it once had. To Madani, I was now an outsider.

Across the dark waters, Sheelin loomed in my hidden sight. In the diffused glow of the moon, I could just pick out where it should be, if my home wanted to be seen. A pink gleam of the marble and gold temple cast the clouds in soft relief somewhere beyond the storm. My heart saw what magic hid from my eyes.

The cove I sought was on higher ground; a surround of large boulders and carefully placed smaller stones gave protection from the lake, while the cliff’s overhang gave protection from the wind and rain. It was damp and cold but far better than soaked and frozen over. In the back, beneath brittle pine branches so old I was surprised to see them whole, kindling was piled in the neat stacks I had set out years ago in case a resting place was needed.

Tonight, I would gain no rest in my sanctuary. My ritual fire would be a tool on my journey—one that granted heat to my soul while with each step, an icy, fluid death awaited if my steps faltered. As the striking stones set off sparks, my thoughts turned to Cade. If I did not return, he alone would have to fight off Liand. Once the ships docking in the Aristeer harbor were searched, the soldiers would fall upon Madani with a ruthlessness never before seen. One did not need to be an oracle to see such things; one must only know the vicious hearts of men who follow leaders with blind faith.

Liand would have my neck for this; his duty to his people would claim that, no matter his misplaced desire for me. I still believe that had Liand a chance in the fires of Aya’s forges to convert me, he would have forced me to be his Queen. May Bas strike me down before that day arrives. Her claws squeezing the life from me would be a sweet death compared to a life with him.

Crackling wood pulled my attention back to the present and my task. After a stack of larger branches caught fire, I added the few lumps of coal Cade had forced me to bring. Stubborn man. My stubborn man, I chided myself. Our binding was complete. In going to Sheelin, I could ask any priestess there for her blessing upon our said words, and so would it be. The High Priestess would take one look at me, then shake her head in amusement.

Bruises of love-bites bloomed across my neck and shoulders, visible if my cloak hood fell back from my face. With his cuff upon my arm, there could be no doubts that I had been chosen again—first by Bas, then by Cade. I had chosen him, too, at long last.

*

“It took long enough, Child.” Aya chastised from a stone across the fire. “You need not a priestess’ blessing upon your marriage. I give it Myself. You are wed to My priest as I am to Bas. May your love inspire other hearts to beat in time with one another.” Aya’s fire-formed smile faltered. “Now, are you prepared to test your faith in Us, Priestess?”

From within the self-induced trance of my magic, I nodded. “Yes, Lord Smith. If my calling takes me far from Madani, if I return at all, I hope that my choice gives Cade some comfort.” I surrendered my hope by placing it in one person, only to find it grow in another. “If hope is all a man needs to survive, as Cade has told me, may we provide enough hope for our people.”

The Wayland Smith nodded as He considered my words. “Hope is all We Gods need as well, Roseen. Where one spark of hope remains in the heart of Our clergy, so shall We flourish. Love Us, and We will never abandon you. May that faith keep you whole through the upcoming hours. May Her paw shelter you and My hammer protect you, Priestess.” Aya stepped into the flames and disappeared. “Go home, Daughter. Go home.” His voice was a rumble in the waters crashing onto the shore.

I am home. The citizens of Madani may think me an outsider now, but I still feel that they are my home. I became a priestess because Bas knew that I could be something special for my people when my skills were honed. Now, I can give back to Her by caring for them. The Madani natives have given so many priestesses to the island; it is time a priestess gives something back to the people.

“Focus, child. We need you.” The Oracle’s voice crashed over me with the next wave, and I looked up. The moon was rising higher. I had to move soon or wait another night and chance being too late.

Frankincense tears and copal resin were warm from my shared body heat and pulsed in my hand. Setting them onto a stone near the fire, I crushed them into a fine powder with another rock. They crumbled beneath the roll of the gray stone. Each pounding of the rocks echoed my heartbeat.

The fire’s light played upon the stone, casting shadows on my skin, and it reflected glimmers of building magic onto the dark waters. Flames flared up as I tossed the sweet, acrid powder into the sacred heat, orange licking at my fingers as if to ignite each grain of incense I offered.

“These gifts I bring in hopes of safe passage.” The smoke and my words rose to the Gods of the sky and the Great Goddesses of the earth in offering for the wisdom They might offer if They were pleased with me. “Bas and Aya, I call upon You to bless my steps. Bring me home, please.” Strips of dried venison and a vial of home-brewed ale were given to the fire where the smoke traveled to the sky.

“Sheelin, open your gates to your priestess. Let me come home in the ways of old. Sheelin, your priestess begs entrance. Bring me home,” I intoned.

A ringing thump, that of a hammer hitting bare stone sounded from the dark depths. The steps of the lake were calling me. “Aya Wayland, a child of Bas asks You to summon the stones so that she might walk to the island of Your priests and priestesses.”

Glancing outside the cove, I saw the moon showing me my path. Leaving my torq nestled into the leaves by my feet, a parting gift for Cade should I not return, I gave myself over to the rhythmic hammering.

She comes.

She comes.

She comes.

I heard Sheelin chanting with each precarious step I took in my descent to the water’s edge. The earth vibrated with ancient magic, making my knees weak with the urge to kneel upon the wet rocks.

“The first knelt; so shall you.” Aya’s voice came from the stones and sand. “Give yourself to Me.”

I crawled through the water, soaking myself in the surf. Wet sand sucked my fingers down then released them with a pop. Reaching forward, my nails met the edge of a flat rock—one just large enough for my feet. Rising up, I set my eyes on Sheelin, its ring of forests now visible across the dark path.

“Walk, Priestess. Walk My path.”

Charcoal gray stones had a dull gleam in the moonlight and rain; each span of my stride led me to another risen rock. If I fell, I knew I would have no other chances this night; if not this night, then no night would be good enough. The magic’s pulsing energy could not hide the urgency of the island’s call, of my sisters’ call. I was needed.

Sheelin beckoned, and I made haste, picking my way across with whispered prayers to the Gods. My feet froze in the ankle deep water the stones had me traverse, and my face stung with the rain. Wind buffeted me, caught in my cloak, and tried to push me down into the black waves. Even with the Gods’ magic, it was an uncomfortable journey.

I could smell the balefire before the rain stopped. Burning leaves gave off their sweet smoke, bearing with it the scent of hardwoods and something else I did not recognize. It was cloying and bordered on unpleasant. My nostrils widened, and my brow furrowed in response; it smelled like death.

The repulsive haze grew with each step until my lungs ached with each breath. Ten stones became just three more, two, then one. With one last hop I would be upon the western edge of Sheelin. I would be on my other home, a home I longed to have Cade witness.

Pure white sand shone in the now crescent moon of silver lighting my way. The golden full moon of Madani had given way to the curving, silver-dipped claw of Bas in the same space the rain stopped. Drumming, as loud and pounding as a smith at the forge, summoned me through the forest. I could almost hear the chanting around the fire if I listened with my heart. Smoke billowed above the tree canopy, obscuring my view of the temple.

The last stone sank slightly beneath my weight as I stood upon it, readying myself for whatever lay in wait ahead. It was not time for rituals, no holy day for honoring, and had there been a passing or status rite to be held, Asha would have told me in the vision. No, something grave was occurring for the fires to be lit tonight. Had Liand made a move against Sheelin? How could any save Bas’ and Aya’s priests have made it through the magic mists surrounding the isle?

Climbing through the undergrowth on my way to find answers, I fought my way past familiar bushes I had hidden in as a child when shirking my cleaning duties. Here I saw an old friend in the bark of an oak, there I saw the pain-bringing willow with its wands the high priest had switched me with for slipping fresh nettles into another initiate’s bedclothes. She had deserved it, and the welts left by the whipping were a cheap price for those she had all over her skin.

She has arrived. She comes.

The island trembled as I touched the first of the white birch trees leading to the Grove. “Yes, Sheelin; your priestess has come home.” Sending out the softest tendril of energy I could muster, I gave a silent thank you to Sheelin for welcoming me to her sacred ground.

The drumming changed as I walked, and the chants of the priestess grew louder, more defined. Things were not right on Sheelin; I heard no male voices within the chant. If the Hallows’ rite had been moved to coincide with my return, there still should have been chanting priests singing the death lament of the old God and giving comfort to the Goddess.

Hesitation stilled my steps; wariness filled my heart. Memories of my first aisling chilled me to the core. No longer did I hasten down the overgrown path. I crept tree to tree, crawling through cold mud, snagging my hair on branches, dirtying my clothing until I looked more nature spirit than woman. Perhaps this is what the first priestess looked like when she arrived on Sheelin, I mused. My hand dropped to my stomach, thinking of the gift granted to Sheelin by the first priestess.

The clearing’s light loomed ahead of me, thick oaks blocking a direct view. Still creeping, I parted the leaves of a weeping willow and peered through to the other side, needing to get even closer for a better look. The vision was relived in each of my breaths. I came to a stop beneath the willow’s branches and let the horrific sight sink in.

The High Priest’s absence in the song was now obvious.

As in the dream, three men were chained to the Grove’s oldest and tallest trees. An ancient oak had seen the birth of the second priestess upon the isle and bore the natal strings of all those born here. It now held the body of our High Priest, cloaked in furs to shield him from the rain.

I cannot begin to describe the horror he and the other priests possessed. Bale fire reflected upon their hideous bodies. Blood dripped from their mouths and down their legs, red rivers of their pain. The furs they wore were matted with blood and had been for days; the stench was growing. My first vision . . . My scarred arms ached in remembered pain of the mirror’s shards as I tried to escape this very image now set before me.

The High Priestess danced around the fire, naked save a cloak of black feathers. On her hands, she wore iron claws that tipped each of her fingers. She had gone to war.

The old speech she chanted spoke of desecration and forsaken ways. A part of me rejoiced I had come too late to take part in this painful ritual. In the dirt below the trees, I could just make out the fabric sash of Liand’s priests. He had converted our priests—my brethren.

The priestess danced by me, feet falling in time with the drummers who sat in the shadows near the stairs. She did not see me, so deep was she in the magic’s trance; the High Priestess was beyond this plane. As she turned to circle the fire again, I noticed the blood running down her arms. In her hands and at her feet I saw tongues and other bits of flesh.

Fear that had immobilized me before, now gave speed to my feet as I shot across the tree line to the roughhewn stone steps leading to the temple. I would not sing and dance with her. I knew where that path would take me, and I refused to walk it. The drummers paid me no heed, lost to the beat of their instruments as they channeled divine magic through each resounding connection between hand and goat skin.

Crumbling pebbles dug into my palms and feet as I scrambled up the stairs. I needed to get to the temple and ask the Oracle and other Grandmothers what was happening. This was not Sheelin. We were peaceful and just. No blood was shed outside of that decreed by the Gods; even then it was given freely by the priest or priestess, not taken by force. By the painful set of their faces, I knew the men had not gone of their free will.

The moon drifted behind a cloud, leaving me to find my way up the stairs in darkness. With the trees blocking the Grotto and its balefire’s glow behind me, and the temple with its braziers still far ahead of me, I was left to the dim starlight and my horror as my only companions on this journey.

Reaching the gardens, I tried to climb to my feet but kept catching on briars. My mind raced, panic filling me. Briars never grew here before; this had been a land of soft passage and gentle plants. Unfastening the clasp upon my cloak, I threw the familiar and worn gray-green wool behind me, letting it land amid the thorns. It could no longer safeguard my spirit, much like my hair and tattoos, nor could it guard my body; its usefulness had been expended.

Fumbling to find the stairs across the garden, I could feel blood welling up in burning scratches as my fingers landed on the polished marble. My hide boots would protect my legs from the sharp vines, and the rest of my skin would heal quickly enough to be forgotten soon after the injury was given. Tentative steps became a race as the warm glow of the fire light in the guarding braziers softened the darkness. Running, climbing, taking two steps at a time where I could, my body throbbed with the urgency of the call. The want for me was increasing.

My foot caught on the top of the stairs, sending me sprawling across the pink marble. Something had tripped me. Struggling forward, I felt something—no someone—ahead of me. Reaching to my belt pouch, I struck one of the remaining matches.

I wish I hadn’t.

The face of the Divine Consort, the priests of Aya’s equivalent of our Oracle, stared blankly back at me. He had been—I cannot say what had happened to him—only that the men in the grotto must have been better off. A look of horror and pain had been etched onto his death mask in permanent marking of what injustice had been perpetrated against him. In his hands, he clung to the small hammer he wore about his neck. The cord was snapped. I grabbed the pendant and tucked it into my pouch, not wanting it to be lost.

Whispering a prayer that Aya Wayland welcomed His son into the eternal forge, I left Stevanis behind. There was nothing I could do for him now. Coated in the Consort’s blood from landing upon his still-cooling corpse, I reached the gates of the temple.

Chapter Thirteen

So much pain. The balance has been ruptured. The Holy Ones’ brother has spread his disease to our sacred lands. Bas and Aya, save us! Do not turn a blind eye upon Your children! This we solemnly pray.

Grimoire of the Goddess, Forty-Seventh Oracle of Bas

Where gold and bronze gates once stood as a decorative barrier to the opulent marble floors beyond, blackened flakes over iron smoldered from fires set beneath them and stared back at me from crooked hinges. Glass baubles nestled among the embers glowed like miniature, melted suns. My chest squeezed tight as memories of the first time I had seen the gate played behind my tear-coated eyelids.

*

“This, little dreamer, is Bas’ great temple of Sheelin. Here is where you will study and worship. If Kira was right about you, you will also live here in the small dormitory for others of your abilities. Most live in the dormitory beside the Abbey. That’s up to the Oneira, though. She chooses whom she will train. Best be on your better behavior. None of that screeching like you set loose on Malleuk and Stevanis for saying you were too young.” Both boys were barely into their teens yet looked down on me because I was the age of their little sisters.

Recina’s warning was forgotten as I touched the magical gate. It was a beautiful work of fancy and imagination. Winged creatures bloomed in the curving metal and danced across ivy and climbing rose vines that glinted in an unnatural gold. Here and there, a flower bloomed into an iridescent glass ball the size of my fist.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Long, ebony curls shone as she bent down to my level. “These are the gates to Bas’ palace, as made by the first priest of the Wayland Smith to set foot upon Sheelin.” As I reached out to run one finger along a sea-foam shaded, clear orb, Recina slapped my hand away. “Touch the metal all ye want, girl, but do not leave prints upon the glass. If you smudge the glass, you’ll spend hours cleaning every gate in the temple. If you break one, you’ll spend weeks as an apprentice in the smithy as penance for the High Priest replacing the glass bubble.”

*

I broke only one of those damned bubbles in all my years there, and that was intentional. The Oracle had given me a task—one I disagreed with at first—and in a fit of temper, I had slammed through the gates. The gates’ recoil against the marble wall shattered one of the large glass pieces. Even now, the remembered sound of the tinkling glass lessened my fear of what has occurred.

I never was one to take my fate lying down. Now, I am certain, would not be the time to begin such a tradition. Nay, I would learn, and after, I would fight. Bas’ priestesses will pick up the sword once more and fight for our freedom. Liand’s armies would fall if it took the last breath within my body to bring such a goal to fruition.

The metal’s heat threatened to scorch my skin, and the one spot where I was forced to brush against the gate to slip through, charred gold-plating flaked off as it burned me. Pain was a small price to pay for the lives that had been lost. Regardless of what ill-will Liand may have planted here in the fallen priests’ hearts, they were still my brethren.

Liand would pay.

Yes, Priestess. Come. Feel. Learn. The island’s voice was an echo in my heart and mind. After you learn, you must go forth and teach. I cannot hold back the tides much longer. Hurry! It was not the first time I had heard Sheelin’s secret voice, but never before had she spoken in such an urgent manner.

The white and pink fountain rose up unblemished by the bloodshed outside. Backlit by three sconces, it was a lighthouse of sanity amid chaos. Years of training instilled a sense of calm within me as I stepped to the water’s edge.

My boots fell away beneath my fingers as I unlaced them with no care. Even in fear, the temple rules must be followed; my Goddess would strike me dead for defiling Her temple, no matter my reason. Blood swirled away from me in the slowly cycling water. My hands, face, then feet were cleaned on the surface, though I could feel the stain of death seeping through my pores. I would never wash the priest’s blood from my soul.

As clean as I could make myself, I presented myself to the statue of Bas in the main hall. The creamy gray stone rose up over my head, humbling me as I knelt and pressed my forehead to the space between Her paws. “Great Lady,” I whispered. Rising and pressing a kiss to the polished pink sapphire inset into Her nose, I reached without looking for the incense sticks a novice would have left on the table. Finding one, I centered myself, shutting out the world for a moment.

There—a flame inside me, fueled by the fire of my temper. Come, I beckoned. Heat singed my fingers where I touched the rose-scented stick, willing it to catch flame so that the smoke would rise up to Bas and call Her divine sight to the children who need Her guidance.

With a soft hiss of pain, I shook out my fingers after placing the incense within the holder. “Goddess, Lady of Light and the Shadows Within, guide my steps so that I might walk in Your service.” Cleansing smoke stilled my mind, focusing me on the task set before me. I must answer the calling.

Cold marble chilled my feet with each step behind the statue. Polished flooring was smooth as glass from countless priestesses wearing a path from the common room to the class room, private quarters for the Oracle and Her handmaidens, and to the smaller temple room.

Here, the sconces were extinguished, leaving my memories to guide my steps. On my fifth turn, I avoided the crack from the tree roots pushing up the ground. As I passed the first of the elder’s private rooms, I turned down the half-hidden hallway to those of the training dream-walkers. The oak boards forming each egress were identical; it was the energetical signatures and wards that proclaimed the owner. Experience told one which entries would burn you for so much as touching them or those that would open to a friend’s presence without a knock. Mine, however, was overlaid with so many spells that I doubted even Cade, whom the Gods saw as my bonded mate, could bypass the ward without being fatally burned.

Layer upon layer of my precautions fell away under my touch, a spider’s intricate web of promised death to those I’ve barred entry to and a sweet promise of pain for those simply unwelcome. The ticking away of a clock fell through my memories as each spell recognized me as the proper occupant. Not so much as a remembered warning traced through the echoes; my door remained locked with my magics—no one had entered since my last presence. With a hum of approval, the wood opened in a grand sweep of admittance, then closed behind me in a silent offer of privacy.

A charmed window allowed fresh air to circulate but denied harsh weather or birds their entry. Moonlight filtered in and concentrated upon the lamp’s candle wick, forming a warm glow to welcome me. The room’s simplicity reminded me of mine at home; I had never been one for decorations. Other than a bed, desk, and a small basket for the assortment of collections I made during my years on Sheelin, it was empty. No wardrobe covered the wall; my two changes of robes were dust-covered upon my bed, and the rose and star emblazoned circlet with its matching bracelet of my position as the next Oneira still glittered upon the navy velvet pillow on the window ledge.

A simple change of bracelet had changed my path. I went from being an apprentice dream-interpreter and full-time healer to a wandering healer in my avoidance of this piece of worked metal. The Roseen of my memories claimed that she was heeding the demands of Bas. It is human nature to paint ourselves in flattering shades when we pen our own history.

I ran away from my duties. Sesha, the grand Oracle, our Great Mother, the speaker for Bas, had chosen me to be her successor. I shirked those duties, claiming Bas wanted me to see more of Her people before taking on the mantle of duty. My selfish pride was damaged in Sesha’s choice. I wanted to be High Priestess, not Oracle. I wanted to lead our people in rituals, not sit in a temple and wait for Bas to speak. What fool would want to experience nightmare after nightmare like those I grew up with? So, I ran. I ran from city to city, speaking the ways of the old religion, fighting back Liand’s poison with the only magic I truly had. I spread hope.

I helped rebuild temples, healed the sick, divined dreams, and closed my mind to Bas except when healing others. If She could not give me my own dreams, I could not be guilted into returning. Now, knowing what fate I had left my fellow priests and priestesses to, guilt tried to cripple me. Guilt, however, would not see us through the mess. Guilt did not change things, nor was this my fault. Whatever had happened very likely would have occurred with my presence. Had I been here earlier, I may have been lost within the magic’s thrall in the grove with the High Priestess.

The black robe I chose to wear ghosted down my arms and legs in simplistic swirls. The white was embroidered, a painful lesson in patience, whereas the black was plain except for a moon and paw print stitched across the bodice. It was far from elegant, but it suited the purpose. I could not go further in wet and stained clothing. Here, more than anywhere in the world, I needed to look the part of a priestess. On Sheelin, the political games among the sisters vying for a position with the handmaidens could drive many a woman to cloister herself away in the abbey.

Had my sister not killed herself, she would have been offered a place in the abbey where they work at providing the island’s inhabitants with their needs. Tending the gardens, spinning, weaving, cleaning . . . All such tasks were done by the nuns save the metalworking; that belonged in the hands of Aya’s priests. Had Sava been alive, she would have been a comfort, one I might have stayed on Sheelin for.

I crept down the back hall to the temple room where soft echoes of voices in prayer could be heard. The last of the chambers, Sesha’s private room, glowed with an amber light. A furtive glance showed no one inside, and I breathed a sigh of relief. A private chastisement would be far worse than one in public.

Keening wails joined the sung prayer. The echoes rang out like a funerary cry among the burial mounds. Twice before had I heard such a sound, one was at the death of the prior High Priestess when she succumbed to pneumonia, and the other was from my own lips the day my bond with Fion snapped.

The soul-cry hastened my steps until I ran the length of remaining hallway, then brought me to my knees at the entrance to the temple room. None may enter Sesha’s presence on foot; as Goddess-voice she deserves our respect, even that grudgingly given.

Upon her white cushion sat the Oracle, draped in black robes. Across her lap was the source of their wails. A priestess of the healing school was nude, her face locked in a visage of painful torment. Dried blood stained her thighs and ran down a slice from her neck to bruised breasts. She had been desecrated.

I crawled to her on knees and hands, head bent in supplication. Sesha’s once-gray hair was now snow white and shortly curled about her face. Silver edged spectacles sat upon her nose, and the patient smile she bore for so many years had etched deep lines around her mouth.

“Rise, Child, and claim your seat.” She did not mean around the room with the other women. It was time for me to grow up.

My eyelashes remained pressed upon my cheeks, eyes closed while I regained my feet and stepped behind Sesha to the pale purple cushion for her successor. Not until I sat did I open my eyes, and I saw pain. The carnage outside was printed across their faces, invisible blood splattered over foreheads and cheeks in the fashion of war paint.

The priestesses had gone to war.

A war they lost, Daughter. Bas’ voice was a sweet blessing in my skull before settling into my bones like an elder’s wintery aches.

“Sister Roseen has returned at the right time, my children. All hope is not lost.” The Oracle turned to the side, her wrinkled flesh undulating with the motion. “Cloreen, take Lenai to the burial ground. We cannot take her to the city now. Everyone else, go wash yourselves. Judgment has been rendered by Bas. Offer up prayers in private, then you may return for our penance.” She clapped her hands sharply twice and barked, “Go!”

I knew I was not included in the dismissal, else I would not have been granted my seat. I waited. Cries outside continued, chants lingering in the halls like wayward ghosts, and my mind wandered with them as I awaited both knowledge and punishment.

“You have come at the right time, my daughter. Sheelin has been reclaimed by the Goddess,” she told me. Sesha’s voice held a reverent tone of limitless wisdom. I knew if I waited, she would tell me everything. “Four, Roseen. Four of your sisters have been slain. Two when Asha called, then two again this early morn before the sun shook off its slumber.”

My eyes closed, teeth quivering in my body’s confusion of if I wanted to bite down until my jaw creaked or let my jaw fall open in shock, and I cried. Warm tears crested my cheeks before falling into my lap, splashing upon my fingers. “Why?” was my only question.

Turning upon her cushion to face me, Sesha held out a handkerchief. “Stevanis went to trade knowledge with the Madani smith. He was captured by guards bearing the crimson sash; they held Stevanis for more than two moons. We were so thankful when the Consort returned to us that we ignored any oddness about him, more than happy to claim it was due to the torturous ordeal he sustained. Few have survived a stay in Lorilindo.”

I had, something I would not share with her ever. Those memories were for Bas and myself alone. She had granted me that gift, not sharing it with other oneira, as a reward for my sacrifice. The sisters I had saved did not know I was there when Liand cast them out onto the wilds. Not even Cade would hear the whole of my stay. “The townsfolk live in fear of being sent to Liand’s capital city,” I acknowledged.

“Stevanis was changed, obviously. Others were subjugated to his will. Liand poisoned the Divine Escort and sent him back as bait. With beautiful words, he wove his way into the hearts of three priests, including the High Priest. They, in turn, desecrated the temple. They,” she paused to regain control of her voice, “They defiled their bodies, Roseen.”

I knew what the blood meant and shuddered. Each woman is an incarnation of Bas. Fertility and carnal enjoyment should be of her own decision and will, not something stolen by force.

Holding out her hands in prayer, I gave in to Sesha’s request and let her hold them, knowing full well what would happen. I sank into her memories, seeing through Sesha’s eyes and hearing her thoughts.

*

“No, Stevanis—you mustn’t!” I watched from behind a tree; Asha’s white waves stood out around her face as the wind whipped with her anger. My mate’s hands rested upon her shoulders, his intent glittering like blood rubies upon her.

“I’ve had two of them, Witch.” I closed my eyes to think of him doing that to my daughters. They were not mine in blood, but in heart and spirit I was their mother. “If they hadn’t fought me, perhaps the Sun Lord would have honored them with a position in Lorilindo beside me when I return. When you’re all dead, Lord Liand has offered me a place in his church. My bride shall become the Abbess of any women who turn their faces upon the righteous path.” He wounded my pride by not coming to me to be his bride, yet I knew my position as his mate was only by the gods’ decree that the Oracle and Escort be wed as Bas and Aya are.

He spat in Asha’s face even as he shoved her to the ground. “Don’t you get it, Asha? They’re dead! Aya, Bas . . . They don’t care about us; They never have. They’re dead. The Sun Lord is here, and He rewards those who turn to His light.” His sword—a ceremonial knife made by the first priest—was covered in blood as he stepped back, smug satisfaction covering his face as he watched the priestess fade.

Having witnessed my younger partner destroy our child, I stepped from behind the tree that hid me. “Your light is that of a dying star, fallen son of Aya. Forgive me.” I had no choice; Bas gave me no choice. The blade I held within my hands was released with a prayer. A summoned gust of air propelled the shining dagger across the clearing into his chest, and lightning arced from the sky to the pommel, exploding through his body. “Your poison has burned us all,” I whispered while taking slow steps to Stevanis as he fell. I leaned over his dying form and kissed the bloodied lips that still tingled with the electricity I summoned. I closed his hands around the symbol of his office and offered one last prayer. “Sleep well, my Consort.”

*

“No,” I murmured, coming out of Sesha’s memory.

“Yes. The Oracle cannot let her whims rule her actions. I loved him as Bas loves Aya, but I could not let him get away with his deeds. My Consort raped,” a wayward tear rolled down her cheek, “three women we were to care for. Asha was prevented that injustice, only to lose her life. Two sisters were killed by the priests who believed that vitriol he spewed. Asha took them to the mainland to be buried before bringing the last boat here.”

Looking down at the blood covering the ground and her lap, Sesha shook her head. “Lenai, the third priestess, turned a blade onto herself and crawled to the main temple before expiring. As you came through the Grotto to arrive, I know you saw what our High Priestess has done. She would not heed Bas’ orders, and to save face I said what I must. In response, we are all dying, Daughter.”

I watched dumfounded as the Oracle removed her silver circlet and handed it to me. “Great Mother—” I started before she stopped me with a bloodied finger upon my lips.

“Men’s lust took four priestesses from this world. In our false confidence we took all the men on the island. Yes, all,” she added as I gulped. “We let desire for revenge color an aisling in shades of rage. She demanded justice; we declared retribution. That which defiled our maidens, both in speech and physicality, was removed.”

Her words invoked memories of the bloodied men in the Grove, their tongues and manhoods cut from their bodies. “And now, Sesha?” I braved a question in the brightly lit chamber.

“Their ignorance and our pride have destroyed our magic. We have lost balance, Child. Bas and Aya have abandoned us, Roseen. They remain in the hearts of believers on the main land. She says we’ve destroyed ourselves, and we have. My blindness to my own heart allowed me to slaughter my sons and daughters, even if was not my hand that held the blade.”

Her hands folded over my heart, the coldness of her fingers shocking me. “She is still in you, Roseen. She keeps you as Her priestess still. You are not bloodied like we are.” If only she knew. “Our time has ended. Sheelin is fading from your realm. The last of our magic is taking us out of existence. You, though, my little dreamer, can carry on our works. You can begin again all that the first tried to.”

She gave me my tasks over the next several minutes, and in a final act of love, dry, velvety lips brushed across my forehead. “I give to you the knowledge of those who wore this crown before you. May you temper it with the wisdom you were born with and that you have gained in the world.” Sesha reached down beside her for the black leather book that belonged to every Oracle to walk Sheelin’s shores. “Bas, if You will hear my final prayer, I give to You the next Oracle. My service has ended.”

With a heavy heart and mind, I ran from Sesha. When she told me Sheelin was falling apart, she meant it. The throbbing I’d felt, the heartbeat of my home, was dying. Its heart was cramped with the black blood in which it had been drenched.

“Reinstate the Goddess,” she’d charged me with. The priestess I had been when I left here before groused at being given such a task. For Sheelin, for Bas, and for all the sisters who had raised me, I would bring back the priesthood. In Bas’ name I would find a way to live side by side with ministers of the new regime, or sway them to give us a peaceful refuge to worship in solitude. Pity the man, even Cade, who tries to stop me.

Sheelin was crumbling apart beneath my feet as I reached the Grove. The priestess continued her chants, her voice hoarse as she now gave magic to hold the land together long enough for me to flee.

“May Annwn bring you peace, Lady,” I called in hopes my words would reach the High Priestess within her prayers.

Thorny vines wrapped tight around the trees as I passed them, barring the way behind me. When I left, I could not return, even if Sheelin were visible to all who searched. Cresting the last ridge before commencing my descent to the beach, my heart stopped. Smoke rose from Madani. Even across the vast waters, I could see the fire rising.

Chapter Fourteen

If only I had been faster, Bas; if only I had answered the calling faster, perhaps I could have saved them. There are no words, Lady of the Shadows, for the darkness in my heart this day. To You and Aya I lift my voice in prayer for guidance.

Show me the way.

Grimoire of the Goddess, Forty-Eighth and possibly final Oracle of Bas

My ink smudged across the page from my tears. I refused to believe that I could be the final Oracle. I would start a new temple. I could do it. Cade, as a smith, could take on the mantle of a priest. We could do this together.

Liand would not win. I denied him.

“I deny you!” I yelled to the dark sky. My grief was still raw, and the misty rain stung where it touched.

While my heart and soul blazed with flames reaching the sky, my ritual fire’s embers were naught but cold ashes. My time on Sheelin had taken two, if not three days in Madani. While I was away, Liand’s men marched on my people.

Liand’s Divide was no more.

The last city standing against the new regime had fallen. Five days travel by horse cart would take me to the first village outside his control. Those Madani natives loyal to the old ways could restart there.

No! Bas cried within me. Save them here where their blood has been shed. This is their home. Your home. Do not run, Oracle. Heed My voice. I speak through you now. You are Goddess-voice, and the Goddess says Madani will rise again under the old banner.

I would resurrect my people like the mythical phoenix from its ashes. The ashes of Aya’s forge would nestle the ember of our heart’s fire for years. My sweat, tears, and blood would bring new life to their veins. Together, we would purge Madani of the intruders.

I just had to get to Cade first.

My mind was still reeling from watching Sheelin simultaneously dissolve into sea foam and sink beneath the waves, a shimmer of its magic catching in the moonlight. In Heartspace, that place one sees the world from when wishing, I could still feel Sheelin’s thrum of magic. She was still there but gone all the same.

Not gone, however, were the whispers. “I do not recall that rock.” “Feel the real sun.” “The best time to attack is at moonset.” The moment I reached my cove, needing to catch my breath before attempting to infiltrate the military controlled town, Sesha’s memories overwhelmed me. I saw everyone’s lives. It was as if the Oracles compressed the entire holy library into one living compendium. My brain was full and had to somehow recompartmentalize my own memories, ones that were now trivial in comparison to the knowledge and wisdom I held.

Forty-seven women’s combined memories called out in greeting as I snuck to the edge of town. Old conceptions blurred as they were overlaid with what my eyes took in, like a map being rewritten. Where a line of oaks and ash once stood, a stone wall crumbled and smoldered from war. I was the librarian of vast tomes of knowledge, and my books needed new scribes to correct passages no longer valid. I was the first Oracle to leave Sheelin once crowned.

“Can you feel my fire?” Tristynce cooed in the back of my head. She was a priestess of both Aya and Bas, doubly marked. I knew her from the histories. “I know you’ve called down my fire before. Now do it with my knowledge.”

Her daughter, her true flesh and blood, sung in my veins. “New Oracle, feel us. I walked the other realm unlike any other. Let us show you. Open your thoughts to us.”

I opened and a new world appeared. Shades of black and white overtook my vision. Black space where I could not walk, gray where I could, white for sleeping minds. If I focused, I could see inside their thoughts. Awake people showed in shades of pink, the healthy shade of a baby’s cheeks. Their thoughts were harder to perceive, but with a moment of intent I could bypass their protections.

It was a skill long forgotten by the clergy, but dreamwalkers had been able to do it before, and now I knew how. No pink lights flared within my mind, and I used the emptiness to walk into the city unafraid of what awaited. No living person could surprise me now as I walked the realm between both worlds.

I was rounding the marketplace when my heart broke. The breadmaker’s wife lay across the display table, loaves of bread bloodied beneath her. Avarin, beside her on the ground, held a sack of wheat to his chest, blood frothing upon his lips. A white mind turned to the softest pink glow; he had not long in this world. Seeing me, his eyes went wide with relief.

Lips parted, trying to speak, and I slid between the two tables to kneel beside him. Prying off the sack, I saw his front was covered in blood. Too much had been broken.

“Rest, and I can heal you.” I was not sure I could, but I had to try.

“No, little Rose. Too late. Just make it stop hurting.” Our tears mingled on his bloody cheeks as his cold fingers tightened on mine. “I-I-was wrong. Save us.”

I focused on his words as I reached inside him with my magic. His heart labored to keep his chest rising and falling with fresh blood. “Rest well, Avarin, baker of Madani’s finest bread.” I closed off his ability to feel any pain.

“Not rising properly, Little Rose.” His hand fell away from mine, leaving the two coins I had given for my breakfast just days ago. “Live well, Priestess.”

I sat there as his eyes closed, held onto his arm long after he stopped breathing and had chilled to my touch. When I could finally drag myself from Avarin’s side, I was numb with terror. If they could do this to the breadmaker, what would I find when I arrived at the forge?

Step by step, I dodged down streets where no one walked. I felt out the empty spaces and stayed to them. Finding no awake mind near the forge, I was unsurprised to find it empty. Praying he had been selfish, I ran for the curing house and pried open the cold cellar door. Swords lined the walls surrounding the ladder, and a note sat upon the table beside a metal rose and handful of wilted petals.

*

They’re coming, Roseen. Liand has ordered me to be taken to Lorilindo to make the sun sword. Save Madani. If anyone can, it’s you. Until we meet again, in this life or in the next.

Yours,

Cade

My scream was inhuman. I felt Bas calling out for Her fallen priestesses, Aya for His priests, and the world crying for the deaths about to occur. Lightning crackled in response to my pain. Dead. I wanted any of Liand’s men inside Madani dead.

“For your mate, Daughter.” Bas’ voice mingled with that of Tristynce’s.

Seventeen bolts of lightning dropped from the clouds, brilliant purple light filling my sight as seventeen minds stopped existing. I would rain destruction down on any who stopped me.

I was going to win this war, and they would need asylum from me.