The Truth in Lies: A TALE OF MANN
Page 1
The Truth in Lies
A TALE OF MANN
By:
Amelia Wilson
Contents:
Copyright
Intro to Sedayval
Chapter1: Commune
Chapter 2: The Rumor
Chapter 3: Family
Chapter 4: Festival
Chapter 5: The Truth
Chapter 6: Confrontation
Chapter 7: Chaos
Chapter 8: Reveal
Chapter 9: Epilogue
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BONUS 1
Copyright
Introduction
Chapter-1
Chapter-2
Chapter-3
Chapter-4
Chapter-5
Chapter-6
Chapter-7
Chapter-8
Chapter-9
Chapter-10
BONUS 2
Copyright
Description
Chapter-1
Chapter-2
Chapter-3
Chapter-4
Chapter-5
Chapter-6
Chapter-7
Chapter-8
Chapter-9
Chapter-10
Copyright 2016 by Amelia Wilson
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Intro to Sedayval
The Legend says that Maan herself came from the heavens, to partake in the war. She used Queen Vahana I’s body as a vessel, as the emissary to the people. With Queen Vahana’s union to the goddess Maan, they entered the war. Emerging victorious, she banished the Dragon Knights of Shando to the East, and dispersed the rest of her enemies into the Enmei province in the North, and the Xera continent in the South. To further remind her enemies of the greatness of her power, Maan carved out a huge piece of land from the earth, and brought it into the sky.
Thus, the modern floating city of Sedayval was created.
Maan herself ascended once more into the heavens and left behind a fragment of her heart, the Jewel of Maan, to ensure Sedayval continued to prosper in her absence.
The Festival of Providence was created in Maan’s honor, to remind her enemies of her greatness. Maan did not believe in imposing her beliefs upon others. But, she was adequately shrewd, and in her words to the first High Priestess of Maan, she had said:
“Let my enemies into the city I have created, for they must see what the believers of Maan are capable of. Show neither hate nor candor to them, for they need to see what these negative human emotions are capable of rendering within the human race. Greet the enemy as you greet a friend, and in doing so, they will understand the true nature of Maan.”
And that was how the Festival of Providence came to be.
The people of Enmei and Xera, ever since, were amiable towards the city of Sedayval, having economic relations with its people for hundreds of years. Though the foundation of the relationship was built on war, the past seemed to have been put behind them. The Dragons Knights of Shando however, kept to themselves for three centuries, never to be heard of again. Rumors over the years came with whispers that they were plotting for another war, but even those were discarded, until recently.
The most distressing news of all, was their sudden interest in coming into Sedayval for the Festival of Providence.
Chapter1: Commune
The floating orbs of light illuminated the sides of the street with an unwavering intensity that outshone the full moon in the sky. Halfway through its journey across the black canvas of space, the white moon was the brightest it would be for the year, heralding the Festival of Providence.
Shera quickened her pace. She had to hurry. The Priestesses of Maan did not take kindly to tardiness.
She made a left turn at the junction, almost colliding head first into an old man.
“Watch it!” he shouted at her.
“Sorry about that!” Shera exclaimed, already more than ten feet away from the dazed old man.
Her long, flowing white cloth trailed behind her like curtained wisps. Those who saw her approaching from the high street nudged each other, amused at the unseemly sight of the Young Acolyte of Maan. The sight of her hands lifting at the hems of her heavy skirt, feet stomping through the clean pavements, the earlier coiffed hair now weighing heavily at the back of the head, made them smirk.
Shera could not care less.
“Out of the way!” she barked at the small group of people occupying the middle of the street. Just beyond them was the dome shaped Temple of Maan. The gatherers gave a startled jump and parted to make way for her trajectory.
“Late again, Shera?” an old street peddler cackled as the Acolyte rushed past. “Better have an excuse this time!”
“Oh, shut up!” she rasped, too breathless to throw the merchant an angrier retort.
Reaching the entrance of the temple, she straightened her ruffled dress and wound the white, wispy cloth around her neck. Catching her reflection in the reflective surface of the Temple doors, Shera was horrified to see beads of sweat spattered on her forehead, some already flowing in perfect rivulets at the side of her head. She hoped that the High Priestess would not notice her harried features from where she stood.
Two peals of the bell rang, signaling the beginning of Commune.
“Maan’s tits!” Shera cursed under her breath. Wiping her feet at the cloth in front of the temple, she stepped into the marble blue structure, her bare feet producing a streak of dirt on the earlier white footcloth.
Hands clasped like the upturned shell of a crab’s, she recited the entrance prayer of the temple.
“Invoke, Lead, Disperse,” Shera said under her breath. The runes on her forearms glowed, and she touched the tip of her index fingers against the bronzed entrance door.
The mechanisms in the door and walls began to turn, its metallic hands clicking against one another. Reacting to her latent powers, the blue glow of her index finger spread along the grooves on the door. Rune symbols appeared on the door just as Shera had intoned. After a few seconds of heavy cogwheels turning, the door opened with a metallic sigh and Shera entered quietly.
Her exposed soles prickled against the cold temple floor. The paintings of Queen Vahana I on the blue walls seemed to judge her every step. Keeping her head down, Shera could not help but feel
that she was being watched by the first vessel of Maan.
Priestesses and Acolytes were already at the center of the hall. Commune was just about to begin. The Young Acolytes, clad in robes of white and blue, were converging to the middle of the wide hall. Shera stepped off the ledge of the steps leading to the prayer hall. The marbled columns lining the perimeter of the hall were sturdy and they glowed in a lifelike manner, almost mimicking that of a heartbeat. The lined, gaped palisades held the sturdy ceiling over them. Beyond the columns, Shera could appreciate the pristine, naked night sky, without the hint of clouds.
“Young Acolyte Shera!” a voice barked from her right.
Shera gave out a startled jump and found herself facing a tall, middle-aged Priestess, Abandi.
“Late again!” Abandi said, snapping her fingers for Shera to join the other Young Acolytes in the middle of the hall.
The Young Acolyte bowed and extended her hands, palms upwards in a diamond formation, a sign of her apology. “Beg your pardon, Priestess Abandi. It is the anniversary of my mother’s death. My father insisted that we visited her resting place tonight.”
Abandi’s earlier gruff voice softened considerably when she spoke. “Oh, well, that… that is bound to happen. Now go, join the others before High Priestess Iktai rains down Maan’s displeasure on your tardiness again.”
There was no chatter in the middle of the hall, merely the rustles of feet and cloths brushing against the flesh of their skin. The other Young Acolytes moved fluidly, as though controlled by the intense gaze of the High Priestess watching from the altar set high above in front of them. Though silent, the Young Acolytes were curiously fidgety. The High Priestess had called for a sudden Commune just an hour ago. Never had High Priestess Iktai done such a thing, often choosing to announce a day of Commune at least five days before they met.
High Priestess Iktai stood in her robes of white and green. The clothes, weaved by magic and cotton, changed its colors and design to Iktai’s whim. Her right hand held on to a staff which shone brilliantly at its spherical tip. With hawk-like eyes, she visually preened at the Young Acolytes arranging themselves in front of her. The symbol of the religious leader of Sedayval, the High Priestess’s power was only second to Queen Vahana IV in the matters of administration.
Shera immersed herself into the sea of white and blue, effortlessly gliding through the other Acolytes, who were already beginning to show an ecclesiastical inertia from their earlier movements. Only their white, flowing neck cloths flew to the trajectory of the night’s wind. The faces of the Young Acolytes were now painted with the glorification of their leader in front of them. Moving behind a row of Young Acolytes, Shera knew that they would not provide the best protection from Iktai’s strict eyes. Shera was easily one of the tallest Young Acolytes in Commune. But no voice of displeasure came from the pedestal high above.
Sighing with relief, Shera found her designated spot next to Iman. Immediately, a fresh wave of dislike washed over her. Iman, the red-haired, petite Young Acolyte was considered the pinnacle of perfection. At least that was what the other Priestesses said. Iman spoke only when she was spoken to, and she never questioned the teachings of Maan. It was not that she was a person without curiosity; it was just that Iman absorbed the teachings of Maan with an obsessive acceptance. To Iman, the only truth in the world was the truth flowing through the lips of High Priestess Iktai.
Another peal of bell rang through the prayer hall, signaling the beginning of Commune. Without being told, the Young Acolytes prostrated themselves in front of the High Priestess.
As her lips touched the cold, marble floor, Shera heard Iman whisper at her.
“Tardiness is the devil in the court of Maan.”
“Tardiness is just not arriving on time,” Shera replied quietly, her eyes an inch from the ground. “Stop being so dramatic.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Iman flinch at her irreverent retort. The red-haired acolyte’s eyes were tightly shut, as though Shera’s words felt like a hit knife twisting underneath her skin. No words came from Iman, and Shera breathed out a sigh of relief; she was not in the mood for another philosophical argument with a disciple who accepted everything and questioned nothing.
Iman used High Priestess Iktai’s favoritism over her as a tool of popularity, to spread nasty rumors about Shera. There was no doubt in Shera’s mind that Iman would inform the others of Shera’s earlier impoliteness. Knowing the Young Acolyte’s propensity for exaggeration, it would probably reach the High Priestess’ ears, too. Shera was already an abhorrent figure amongst the other Young Acolytes; it would not take much for Iman to convince them of Shera’s grating remarks. But, Shera did not care. It had been a rough night for her. The first anniversary of her mother’s death was still weighing heavily in her mind, reminded of the fact that it had been a year since she lost her greatest supporter.
When High Priestess Iktai spoke, the inflection of her voice was as soft and purposeful, like vines snaking up a tree. Her words reached the back most row Young Acolytes, losing no magnitude of emotion. As always, her sentences were punctuated with gratitude to the goddess, Maan.
“When the Goddess of Maan separated this land from Earth to create our floating city, Sedayval, she did it so that our city would not be exposed to the inflammatory actions of the nonbelievers on the Earth below, thanks to Maan.”
“Thanks to Maan,” chorused the wave of Young Acolytes.
“When there was only enmity and war and strife in this world, Maan took us from within that horrible land. She delivered us to safety, thanks to Maan,” High Priestess Iktai said again, waving a wizened hand at the disciples in front of her.
“Thanks to Maan,” the Young Acolytes sang out in unison.
Next to her, Iman practically screamed out her gratitude towards Maan. Unlike the other Young Acolytes who were comfortable in loudly exclaiming their gratitude towards the abstract deity, Shera often felt contrastively. Maan existed everywhere. Being too decadent in one’s reverence of the ubiquitously present goddess was redundant. Shera was comfortable with thanking Maan in her heart.
“Not giving proper gratitude is a devil in Maan’s court,” Iman said quietly as the High Priestess continued her speech.
“The loudest idiots are often the ones with the emptiest voices,” Shera replied, eyes closed, forehead still against the marble floor.
Before Iman could reply the High Priestess beckoned for the Young Acolytes to rise.
“Rise, Young Acolytes. Let our Goddess Maan see your faces through my eyes.”
The Young Acolytes lifted their foreheads from the cool, marble floors and sat, with their legs folded and hands rested on their laps. Shera took the opportunity to look around the prayer hall. At each column lining the perimeter stood a Priestess of Maan in their robes of blue and green, bodies facing the Young Acolytes. Her eyes rested upon her favorite Priestess, Hazpo, who stood the nearest to High Priestess Iktai, a symbol of her seniority.
Something about Hazpo’s face disturbed Shera. The often benevolent, calm patina on Hazpo’s face was replaced with a worrisome look tonight. It distressed Shera greatly to see the clear distress in Priestess Hazpo’s eyes. The smile that was always on her face during High Priestess Iktai’s address was missing. Something was clearly wrong, though Shera did not know why. She was resolved to approach Hazpo about after the Commune was over.
The elder Priestess was the only one who acknowledged Shera’s intense curiosity. In the court where inquisitiveness was often met with annoyance, Hazpo welcomed any questions Shera had about Maan. Shera’s often too observant nature sometimes got her into trouble. Her inquisitiveness towards the religion was met with discomfort by the other Young Acolytes. From a young age, they have been taught to accept the teachings of Maan without questioning it.
“… Praise to Maan,” the High Priestess’s voice sounded garbled in Shera’s ears.
Her attention dissipated from its current plane, traveling to random flights of
fancy. She wondered if Andel would still be in the Academia, poring over his scrolls. Had father left for Enmei? Or would he wait for her to return from Commune first? Shera sighed inwardly, her hand reaching down to scratch at the itch on her ankle.
“Indulging in the needs of your physical body is the devil in Maan’s court,” Iman’s sharp lips whispered. “To scratch an itch while the High Priestess speaks is disrespectful. You should know better.”
Iman’s sharp and acrid words sliced its way through to the other Young Acolytes adjacent to their persons. Some even turned around in the most discreet manner to look at Shera in displeasure. The High Priestess, oblivious to the Young Acolytes’ arguments, ploughed on with her speech.
“An itch is merely an itch. Disturbing the High Priestess’ Commune is a devil in Maan’s court,” Shera whispered back.
“What is your point?” Iman countered.
“You, Iman. You are a devil in Maan’s court, preventing me from listening to the High Priestesses’ words.”