Besides, the tomatoes hadn’t done real damage to their windows. If the only good that came out of the hour she’d spent following the boys was that they left Hope alone in the future, she would count it a victory.
At least that’s what Venviel told herself until she saw smoke rise from her childhood home and flames lick its exterior.
Betrayal
The day’s last sunlight caressed the temple’s giant pillars, though shadows had fallen over most of Lho Allanar. Hope climbed the steep, grassy hill with a dozen of her fellow disciples. They returned at different hours of the day, so some might still linger in the city, and others might already sit in the main hall. About a hundred disciples were trained at any one time, but not everyone would become priestesses. Those who didn’t would instead work as missionaries or inquisitors.
Statues of the goddess of love adorned the hill. They depicted a woman with elven features, exaggerated curves, and had been strewn about in a random pattern. The high priestess claimed the statues had been positioned like they had to honour Fate. An ally of the goddess of love.
Hope didn’t know if it was true, or if someone had kind of dropped the statues, watched them roll downhill, and erected them where they’d stopped to save themselves the trouble of trying to carry them uphill twice. She’d not dared suggest it as a theory.
She exhaled in relief alongside the others when they reached the top. The high priestess would scold her for being late, but what difference did it make? Keerla would always find a reason to scold her, if she wished to. Hope could do nothing to prevent it.
At least she’d avoided her tormentors today by taking the long way around. The boys had likely assumed she’d go straight to the temple, so they would have taken the quickest route, but she had not. She’d wandered for a bit.
And it had made her late, but she pretended like she wasn’t aware of the fact as she strode up the wide staircase and entered the goddess’s home.
The temple did not have a door, because no door would fit in such a broad and tall entrance. Disciples and priestesses ate their simple meals, seated by tables along the walls, while talking with each other.
Hope would have liked to sneak off to the sleeping areas, since they lay deserted at this hour, but Keerla herself guarded the door to that corridor. The high priestess must have suspected that she would skip her meal in an attempt to avoid confrontation.
Keerla gritted her teeth, approached Hope with confident steps. Her pink, golden robe caused her to stand out. It was the only garment anyone in the temple wore that could be sold for a profit. The woman claimed she’d lived for millenniums, long before Lho Allanar had been rebuilt, and Hope didn’t doubt it. No one could develop such a terrible demeanour on purpose without serious life experience. Keerla must have had a lot of hatred in her heart before the goddess of love picked her to lead them.
“You’re late, Hope,” Keerla said and folded her arms behind her back. “Excuses?”
“I only seek forgiveness.” Hope bowed.
“You’re learning.” Keerla turned on her heel and waved for Hope to walk with her. “Excuses shirk responsibility.”
“Yes, High Priestess.”
Hope expected them to visit a punishment chamber, as usual, but Keerla guided her towards her office at the opposite end of the main hall. She did not like how the disciples who noticed where they were headed started to whisper amongst themselves. Couldn’t they show her a little support, even if they thought of her as monstrous?
Keerla unlocked her office, pointed for Hope to step inside, and shut the door behind them. Hope heard her tails thump the stone floor, too hard, too loud, so she raised them to her side and held them in her hands.
Keerla’s office lacked windows. It had a desk someone had donated to the temple, a couple of wooden chairs, and three bookcases with visible cracks in them. The Amiciers’ library exhibited great luxury by comparison.
“You’ve failed in your duties, but I’m willing to give you a second chance.” Keerla took her seat behind the desk. “Will you accept it?”
“H-how have I failed, High Priestess?”
“Don’t question me.” Keerla snarled. “I gave you a simple duty, which you chose to neglect and never report upon, even though I was aware of the family’s transgressions long before I sent you there. Do you think you’d be the first disciple I’d send to a family as esteemed as the Amiciers? Hope, you were their last chance.”
Hope clutched the tips of her tails. “What could I have done…“
“I’ll hear no more on this subject from you,” Kerla said. “Will you accept your second chance? You’re free to leave the temple, but I’m required to extend a second and third chance to everyone. Love doesn’t give up on its disciples, even when they’re like you.”
“Yes, High Priestess.” Hope bowed deep, so she wouldn’t have to look at Keerla. What could she have done to save the Amiciers? What did Keerla mean when she said she’d been their last chance?
“Splendid. Go, leave, find a suitable chamber in the reformation corridor. I’ll send someone to remind you of the goddess’ teachings in a moment.”
Hope backed out of the office and had to steel her heart as she walked through the main hall, lest someone see her cry. She made it into the dreary reformation corridor, found an empty cell, or a punishment chamber as disciples called it, and stopped trying to hold back her tears.
Strangely, tears did not come. She curled up on a bench in the corner, shuddered as woe gripped her heart, and a heavy lump appeared in her stomach, and prayed for someone to do something for the Amiciers. If the goddess was actually real, she had much to explain. Hope could not believe in her unless she justified the actions of her high priestess.
“Prayers born of a broken heart are the literal worst.” A woman appeared next to her on the bench, cricked her neck, and groaned. She was taller than most and looked odd with her horns, purple skin, and wings.
“Who are…” Hope trailed off, a distant memory came to her out of nowhere. They’d met before. She couldn’t recall when or where, but she knew it with certainty. She’d seen this woman’s face somewhere. Years ago.
“Long story short, I’m Furore.” Furore put her back against the wall. “And I may, or may not have, lost control over this place.”
“You’re my mother…”
“Woooah, kid.” Furore threw her hands up. “Slow down. I may have pulled you out of whatever your mother was, but I’m not her. If anything, I’d be your father. I don’t have a… a womb.”
“Where did you come from?”
“We don’t have the time, I’m afraid.” Furore winked. “What’s her name?”
“Her name?” Hope grabbed her tails again, stroked them for comfort.
“The woman your heart needs me to save to stop it from shattering?”
“Oh…” Hope didn’t want to confess how badly she’d failed to this stranger. Yet if there was a chance Furore could save the Amiciers from whatever Keerla had planned, no matter how slim it may be, Hope should get on her knees and beg.
She slid off the bench, onto the floor, and bowed. “Venviel, Tha—“
“Got it.” Furore shot her a tired smile and vanished.
“You didn’t let me finish…” Hope felt sick to her stomach. “You didn’t…” She didn’t vomit, she banged her fists against the bench and wailed. “Come back! Let me finish their names!”
Loss of Life
Venviel burst into her burning home. She didn’t listen to the loud protests of the neighbours who’d gathered in the street. They could fetch water to extinguish the fire, if they thought it important, but her priority couldn’t be the building. She hadn’t seen her parents among the onlookers.
“Mother! Father!” She shouted, pushed through the smoke in the hallway, yet got no response.
Her throat stung. She covered her mouth, coughed, and tried to extend her breaths to suffocate slower.
“Thalia! Corym!”
No response
.
If Venviel met Hope again, if her parents didn’t make it out of the mansion unscathed, she would demonstrate to the traitor that she could be twenty times as bad as the worst bully. She’d scar Hope for life. Every single day.
Venviel checked the dining hall, found it empty, and tried the door to the office, but it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t seem locked. The door just wouldn’t open inwards, as if someone had blocked it on purpose.
“Mother!” She threw herself against the door, heard the wood creak, but it didn’t break. “Father…”
With each breath, it became harder and harder to breathe. She’d inhaled too much smoke, had to gasp for air, but it couldn’t affect her efforts.
Venviel pressed her back against the door of the office, tried to lower herself under the smoke, and pushed with every bit of strength she possessed. Her feet struggled to find footholds on the flat surface beneath them.
The door budged when she wedged the heels of her boots into a large crack between two floorboards. It didn’t move anywhere near as fast as it needed to, but it moved. She would get it open, discover her parents safe inside, and save the day.
Smoke invaded and subjugated her airways. It was like being underwater for far too long, except she had no surface to swim towards.
The temple had transformed her home into a prison of ash. She wheezed and managed to force the door open before she fainted.
Only fire and intense heat awaited her in the office. She couldn’t see or hear anyone beyond the flames. Venviel crawled along the floor to escape her doom, but couldn’t close the door once she’d gotten it open, and couldn’t rise to her feet and run.
If she ran, she’d leave her parents to their fates, and she wouldn’t get far before she collapsed. Somehow, she had to scale the stairs and get to the second floor. Thalia and Corym had to be in their bedroom.
The ceiling collapsed and wrecked the railings of the staircase. She’d never get to slide down them again. That guilty pleasure was destroyed along with the mansion, just like she would be if she didn’t escape.
Hope would pay dearly for betraying them. Venviel swore it on her life.
The edges of her vision blackened. Her foot got caught on something, but she couldn’t lift her limbs, move, or fight off death. The gods claimed her for themselves.
She would return like a vengeful spirit bent on the destruction of a single disciple.
A bright light materialized ahead of her to reveal a horned silhouette. They dragged her by the foot, but she couldn’t tell where. She died.
And awakened again, gods knew how many hours later, on a white, sandy beach. The sound of waves echoed around her while seagulls soared and squawked far above.
“Don’t like my experiment, do you?” The horned silhouette asked. “Never thought she’d inspire such hatred in someone she adores. I know her life hasn’t been the easiest, but no one has sworn to haunt her for eternity before.”
Venviel blinked, and breathed, and blinked. Her vision cleared enough for her to get a good glimpse of the woman who’d brought her to the beach. She resembled Hope far too much with her horns and purple skin for Venviel to be filled with anything besides contempt.
“I’ll kill her for…” Venviel paused and inhaled air like a greedy human. “Betraying me. Betraying us.”
“Sure.” The horned woman nodded. “You could do that. Absolutely. Or you could thank her for saving the life you planned to throw on a holy pyre.”
“Who are you to lecture me?” Venviel coughed, her lungs burnt. Someone must have stuffed them full of cinders.
“Furore, goddess of love, creator of the theocracy that’s corrupted Lho Allanar.” Furore sighed and stared out across the ocean.
Venviel laughed to quell the grief. “You would claim me, after killing my parents… I never believed in you before, so I must do it now.”
“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Venviel.” Furore ran a hand over her chest and dropped glowing sparks through the remains of her burnt clothes. The ache in her lungs eased. “I made mistakes when I created my temple. I didn’t show due respect to the other gods. But I’m not alone, never was. And no, I won’t demand you believe in me.”
“Screw your mistakes. I want my mother and father.”
“The temple, and the inhabitants of Lho Allanar, will go on without you and yours,” Furore said. “They’ve gone on without me, more or less. We’re yesterday’s mistakes, unless you’d like to alter your fate.”
Venviel should hold Furore accountable for her parents’ demise, not listen to nonsense, yet she knew she couldn’t fight a goddess. She was far too weak, too unsure if she’d died or lived. She should feel healthier, whole, if this beach was part of the afterlife.
“How?” She asked.
“I have suggestions, but you best lay low, start slow. It’s going to take time.” Furore squeezed her shoulder and observed her with blood-red irises. “Someone’s watching us.”
Five Years Later
“Inquisitor Hope.” Keerla watched her with pride for the first time ever.
“High Priestess, you sent for me.” Hope held her head high. She’d grown somewhat taller while serving the temple as a disciple.
“I did.” Keerla grabbed a scroll on top of the desk and extended it towards Hope. “I have your first mission. I believe it may suit your inclinations.”
Hope took the scroll and unrolled it. She’d expected more information, but only two words were written on the parchment. Orchid Brave. It seemed a waste for the temple to write something so cryptic on a scroll. Keerla could have whispered it in her ear, if it had to remain a secret.
Hope rolled the scroll up and attached it to the belt around her waist. She no longer wore a dress. She’d had to discard it when it had started to fall apart at the seams, and after she’d been recognized as an inquisitor, they’d given her the kind of thick, protective blue coat every inquisitor wore.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow, High Priestess.”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Inquisitor.” Keerla feigned a smile. “I trust that won’t remain the case for long, however. This Orchid Brave, be they a person, organization, or myth, need to be found and brought before me. Before the temple and the goddess.”
“My mission is to uncover the truth behind the name.” Hope nodded. “I’ll do my best, High Priestess. Do you have anything more to go on?”
“We don’t.” Keerla shook her head and a familiar scowl appeared on her face. “Whoever they are, they know Lho Allanar well. They’ve stayed hidden for years. It’s only now that they’ve gotten braver, as it were, and risen to fame. They’re an unknown in most worthwhile circles, and it needs to stay that way, but the lower class… Those unfortunate souls who have filled their hearts with hatred, practically worship this Orchid Brave.”
“That gives me an idea of where to start.” Hope bowed. “May I excuse myself?”
“You may.”
Hope strode out of Keerla’s office. The main hall hadn’t changed since her days as a disciple, but the reactions she drew from younger disciples and priestesses had. They no longer whispered about her publicly. They shut their mouths whenever she got close.
Hope may not fit in after she’d become an inquisitor, but she’d gotten used to being an outsider. She understood she would never belong anywhere, accepted it, and in a sense, it was what made her perfect for her role. Once, no one had trusted her because of her looks. Today, no one trusted her because she was an inquisitor. Everyone expected her to report them to Keerla.
If they blasphemed or broke the rules, she would. Too many years had flown by in desolation for her to think they deserved less. If she stepped on someone’s toes, it would only be fair. They hadn’t showed her sympathy.
Hope exited the temple, took a deep breath, and gazed down at Lho Allanar. The sun had set on the city, lamps were being lit in the streets. She didn’t have to stay at the temple as an inquisitor, not when she had a mission. She would achieve f
aster results if she blended in with the commoners.
She descended the hill, with careful steps, and glanced towards the mansions in the quarter of the city where she’d once worked for the Amiciers. The mansion with the cozy library and its gentle inhabitants no longer existed. It had been replaced by another.
She had no idea what had happened to Thalia, Corym, or Venviel. At a certain point, a year or so after the fire, she’d acknowledged she would never get the answers she sought. If no one had saved the Amiciers, she’d betrayed the rare type of people who respected her, and she would never learn their fates.
Regardless of others’ opinions of her, Hope would always hate herself more than anyone else could. She’d become a genuine monster when she’d donned the coat of an inquisitor.
Orchid Brave
Venviel sat at her usual table on the second floor of the Spicy Tankard. From her seat, she had a clear view of the rowdy, drunk patrons below. They drank, cheered, bragged about their exploits, and laughed. The majority of them were seafaring elves, but she did spot a human here and there.
Humans rarely lived in Lho Allanar, or stayed longer than days, but since trade had blossomed between the city, Algora, and Xenthien in recent decades, human sailors and merchants had become common.
“I have it on good authority they’ve sent someone after you.” Furore appeared next to her, while the beginning of a bar fight distracted the drunkards. The goddess preferred to look like a dark-skinned female elf wearing sailor’s clothes among people. “Someone you know, and who I think will make a fine addition to the thing you’re doing.”
“Mhmm.” Venviel raised her glass of awakened wine and sipped on it. The wine tasted bitter, bubbled in her throat.
“You are doing the thing, right? You didn’t stop while I was busy spying?” Furore placed her elbows on the sticky table and rested her chin on the back of her hands. “Would be such a shame if I found out what’s going on, and you stopped doing the thing, you know.”
Never Enough Page 3
