The dream seemed like ages ago now, as if it had happened in another life. This morning, I had been so certain that my dream about a man locked up in an infernal cage had been real, and not a figment of my imagination. Now, in the light of day, I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
The class dragged on, and I was glad when Ethel said we could open our eyes and get up. My legs were stiff, my arms hurt, and my back cracked when I stood up straight.
“Did anyone make a connection?” Ethel gave a hopeful smile, which quickly deflated as everyone shook their heads. “Better luck next time.”
The teacher reminded me of a mouse. She was small, her hair almost white, her face a map of wrinkles, and she stood slightly hunched over. Of all the Red Priests I had encountered so far; she was no doubt the oldest.
“You can now head to the common room for a break before dinner,” the old woman said. “And don’t despair. One day, you will be able to connect with the Red God. Once he deems you worthy.”
I shivered when she said that. The God of bloodshed and pain didn’t need to deem me worthy for anything, thank you very much.
With those words, Ethel ushered us outside. The other acolytes started heading further down the hallway, and I followed them, presuming they were going to the common room Ethel had spoken about.
After a small trek, we entered the common room, existing of a cozy sitting area with a large fireplace, comfortable couches, and a game area occupied by a chess table and a table for playing cards. While everyone spread out, I was left standing in the entrance. No one bothered to talk to me, no one asked if I wanted to join them. I had never felt so cast out before in my life.
Eventually, the half-Elven girl waved at me, gesturing for me to join her on the couch. Now I could take a closer look at more than her hair, I spotted her slightly pointy ears, heart-shaped face, pale blue eyes resembling a frozen lake in winter.
“Reslyn,” she introduced herself. “I’d shake your hand, but Tamrin warned me not to. You’re a mage.” She pointed at the rune on my forehead. “I knew quite a few mages back in Kilgon, where I grew up. You heard of it?”
Kilgon was one of the largest cities in the Western Kingdom, and I doubted there was anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who had not heard of it.
“Yes, I heard of it.”
Reslyn raised an eyebrow. “You’re wondering why I grew up in Kilgon, and not in the Elven Kingdoms.”
Could she read minds, or was the question just so obviously reflected on my features? “Well, yes,” I had no choice but to admit.
“Because my mother was a strong supporter of the Elven Queen, and the usurper threatened to kill my entire family. We had no choice but to flee.” Reslyn said it matter-of-factly, but the shadow passing over her pale blue eyes betrayed she was still scarred by the past. “My father had lived in Kilgon his entire life, so it seemed like a good option.”
An Elf, even a halfling, growing up in a crowded city, far away from the ancient trees circled by spiraling staircases, canopies of leaves and seas of grass that they called home. I felt her grief over that; it wrapped around her like a second skin, covering her like a blanket.
“And what brought you here?” I asked, stretching my legs. I was still stiff from the hours perched on the floor trying to meditate and failing horrendously.
Reslyn licked her lips. “I got attacked.” She didn’t offer anything else, and I was too shocked to pry.
The poor girl looked down at her sleeve, tugging it nervously. “Anyway, what about you? What brings a mage to the keep of the Red Priests?”
It felt wrong to lie to her, but I had no choice. I couldn’t risk blowing my cover. “A calling. Not that I can really explain it. I just knew I needed to go here.”
Reslyn nodded, as if my explanation made sense. “Most of the others here avoid me.” She glanced over her shoulder at six of the acolytes huddled around the chess table. The girl with the braided brown hair was playing against a guy whom I guessed to be in his early twenties, with straight black hair and shiny white teeth. “Because I’m a half-Elf. But it’s all right because I’ve got Tamrin.”
I looked around, wondering where the shapeshifter was, but I didn’t catch her anywhere. “Where is she, by the way?”
“Oh, she’s around.” Reslyn waved dismissively. “Anyway, you should be wary of the others. They don’t like anyone who’s not entirely like them. And that rune on your forehead works like a red cloth on a bull.”
“Unfortunately.” I sighed. “I feel like a fish out on dry land, to be honest.”
“You’ll feel better soon. The days are quite monotone here. Every night, we have the binding ritual, which is a fancy name but doesn’t mean that much. The High Priestess takes a drop of your blood, drops it on the Book of Blood, and then the Red God answers.”
“He answers?” I grimaced, already imagining a thundering voice roaring above our heads and shouting my betrayal for everyone to hear.
“He writes in the Book of Blood,” Reslyn replied, which sounded less threatening and somehow more ominous at the same time. “Usually it’s just to confirm what we all think, namely that we’re not ready. Every once in a while, he writes something else, says person X or Y is ready, or demands an audience with whoever he deems is ready.”
“So, he judges by our blood whether we’re ready or not?”
“Yes,” Reslyn said. “Something like that. I don’t pretend to know how exactly the Red God makes his choice, but that’s about the jest of it.”
“And then what happens?” I shoved in my seat, trying to find a position in which my legs didn’t hurt that much.
“Then, if he deems you worthy, there’s an initiation ritual. I have zero clues what happens during that, but afterwards, you get to shed the grey robe and put on a white robe, and your time of servitude begins. You have to cleanse yourself of your previous life, learn to serve the Red God’s demands, follow all his commands.”
“So, the Red God actually talks to the white robes?”
“Not exactly.” Reslyn shrugged. “He speaks through the High Priestess most of the time.”
“Ah.” I bit my lip. The next stage in this journey to becoming a Red Priest sounded more harrowing than the first. Having to obey Altheia’s every command when she obviously despised me? I shivered just thinking about it.
“I don’t know much about the stages beyond that. White is all about becoming pure, shedding your past life and sins. Black is all about embracing your own darkest desires. It’s a juxtaposition, if you ask me. Red is when you’ve managed to combine these parts of yourself.”
“That sounds complicated.” My frown deepened, and I worried how I would ever get past any of those stages, let alone become a fully-fledged Red Priest. But how could I uncover the order’s secrets if I didn’t get to join their ranks as a full member? Even now, they had already banned me from studying runecraft because they feared how I could use it against them.
“It takes years, sometimes decades,” Reslyn admitted.
Her answer prompted me to ask, “How long have you been here?”
The half-dwarven boy passed us by and took a seat in the lounge chair opposite of the couch we were sitting on. Behind him, dark purple carpets decorated the wood-framed walls. He put his feet on a stool and crossed his arms behind his neck.
“That’s Thor,” Reslyn whispered when she caught my gaze. “Not very bright nor friendly, I’m afraid.”
I chuckled, and turned back toward the halfling Elf, waiting for her to answer my question.
“Seven months now,” Reslyn replied. “And I’m still stuck in grey.”
Seven months. My mouth practically dropped to the floor. “How about the others? Have all the others been here that long?”
“A few. Thor’s been here twice that time, I heard.” Reslyn looked over her shoulder, at the group gathered around the chess table. “The girl with the brown hair, Freya. She’s been here for three months, and if gossip is to be believed, then she’ll be
the next one invited to the initiation ritual. Apparently, she heard the Red God speak.”
I looked at Freya, with her stern, haughty face and complicated hairdo. Three months. If that was the minimum time I would have to spend within these walls before the Blood God decided to pay me a visit, then I’d rather jump off a cliff into the Endless Sea, and be pulled down by the vortex leading straight to the underworld.
The door to the common room opened, and Ethel stood in the doorway. “It’s time.” She turned on her heel and waited for us to follow her.
I started to get a feel of the layout of this labyrinth. As Ethel led us from corridor to corridor, I realized we were walking back toward the main hall where we had lunch this afternoon. Reslyn stuck next to me but remained quiet.
As I suspected, we entered the main hall again, but then passed right through it, to a door in the back of the room. Crossing the double doors, we entered a room that looked like a church, with high, curved ceilings, benches spread throughout, and an altar in the back of the room.
Behind the altar stood Altheia, her hood covering her hair. An eerie chant erupted from the other priests seated in the room, a shrill hum that pierced my eardrums, a thousand times worse than the legendary mandrake’s shriek.
Candlelight illuminated the church, casting grotesque shadows on the walls, their effect heightened by the creepy chanting. Stone statues stood to the side, their faces grimacing as if in pain.
Ethel led us straight to the altar. Nerves churned in my stomach—I would’ve preferred to be seated like the others, not dragged to the front like a pig ready for slaughter.
“Tamrin,” Altheia said.
I narrowed my eyes, staring at the front of the line. Tamrin was standing in the front… But how? I hadn’t even seen her in the common room…
Altheia held up Tamrin’s hand and lifted a knife. The steel flashed in the eerie candlelight. The High Priestess brought down the knife and cut into Tamrin’s hand.
I gasped, and Reslyn grabbed my wrist, telling me to stay quiet.
Red liquid dropped from the shapeshifter’s hand, onto the altar. Seconds passed by; the air pregnant with anticipation.
Eventually, Altheia looked at Tamrin and shook her head. “Not ready.”
Tamrin bowed her head and moved to one of the empty seats in the front. One by one, the acolytes’ hands were cut, blood spilled on the altar, and one by one, the Red God told them ‘no.’ As we shuffled to the front of the line, it was eventually Reslyn’s turn, and then mine.
Swallowing hard, I held out my hand. As Altheia cut it with her already bloodied knife, I gritted my teeth not to cry out in pain.
The High Priestess turned my hand, so that blood dripped on the leather-bound tome lying on the altar. The Book of Blood, which Reslyn had told me about.
For a moment, I held my breath. Even though there was no reason for the Red God to say anything differently to me than to the others, nightmarish images haunted my mind of the book claiming me a traitor, a spy, and me being hauled out of the church by a hundred angry Red Priests.
After what seemed like an eternity, Altheia looked up at me, shaking her head. “Not ready.”
I breathed out in relief and sat down next to Reslyn.
Freya, the girl with the braided brown hair, was up after me.
After the High Priestess dropped some of Freya’s blood on the Book of Blood, Altheia beamed up, her eyes gleaming with pride.
“Ready,” she said.
Freya burst out in tears from joy, her smile so wide it was almost unnatural. “Our Master has called for me,” the young girl said while Altheia came from behind the altar to hug her. “I’m ready.” She seemed too stunned to believe it, overjoyed, as if this was the happiest day of her life.
“Come,” Altheia said while she guided Freya behind the altar. “You may drink from the cup now, and then, the Blood God will test you. You must be strong, Freya. The test will not be easy, but the Red God would not test you if he didn’t think you were strong enough.”
Freya moved behind the altar, guided by the High Priestess. Altheia handed her a golden cup, which Freya lifted to her lips and drank from.
“Blood,” Reslyn whispered from next to me.
Of course. Blood. Everything here always came down to blood.
Freya finished drinking, while the eerie chanting by the other disciples continued.
While Freya graduating from a grey to a white robe was technically a good thing, I couldn’t help but feel as if something terrible was about to happen. A worried feeling spread through my gut while I looked at Freya, a sense of foreboding nestling in my bones.
Altheia put a hand on Freya’s arm and led her to the back of the room. I hadn’t noticed yet that a large wooden door was situated behind the altar, marked with a golden doorknob.
Two Red Priests pushed the door open; one of them was Cullyn. His expression was grim, no doubt a reflection of my own.
Bile rose up in my throat, and my chest felt hollow.
“Will she be okay?” I asked Reslyn.
“Sure,” the half-Elf said. “Why not?”
I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, as Altheia and Freya vanished behind the gargantuan door. The door slammed shut behind them, and I could only guess where the High Priestess was taking the unsuspecting girl.
The Red Priests started getting up. I turned to Reslyn. “Where are they going?”
“To dinner.” Reslyn poked me in the ribs. “You didn’t think we’d sit here and wait? The initiation ritual usually takes all night.”
“Oh.” I blushed, feeling like an idiot for the millionth time that day.
In the usual order, the red robes walked out of the room first, followed by the black robes, then the white ones, and eventually us grey robes could get up and trace after them to the dining hall.
As Reslyn and I got up, I cast a glance over my shoulder, at that ominously looking door, guarded by Cullyn and another male Red Priest.
The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach refused to go away.
Chapter Four
After dinner, during which Reslyn sat next to me and Tamrin sat opposite of us, although the shapeshifter refused to do so much as glance in my direction, Cullyn came to escort me back to my room.
Reslyn had told me during dinner that the acolytes usually hung around in the common room afterwards, thus Cullyn’s presence meant that, apparently, I was still sentenced to spending the night in my cell, locked up. Maybe the Red Priests really feared I would roam around at night, looking for a book to teach me about runes, so I could remove the one blocking my magic. As if I would be stupid enough to do that.
When we were alone in the hallway, I asked Cullyn, “Who will guard the door now you’re here?”
“Someone else has taken over for a while,” he replied cryptically while he walked in front of me. “Why? You’re not getting behind that door, if that’s what you’re thinking, mage. For one, the Red God would skin you alive if you came in there uninvited. Secondly, you won’t get past the guards, trust me.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I’m not a complete fool. I wasn’t trying to get in; I was just curious.”
“Curiosity is a bad quality,” Cullyn said. Despite his remarks, he seemed less annoyed with me than he was this morning, or yesterday for that matter. Maybe I was starting to grow on him.
“I’ve always seen it as one of my best qualities,” I countered, as we rounded a corner into another hallway. If I was right, we would just need to cross one more hallway before we reached my room. “I heard the ritual will take all night? And then Freya will be one of the white robes?”
“If all goes well, yes.”
I frowned at him. “And what if all doesn’t go well?”
Cullyn didn’t respond right away.
Urged by the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, that had haunted me ever since the Red God had deemed Freya ready to join his ranks, I reached out and grabbed Cullyn�
�s arm, digging my nails into his skin. “What will happen if all doesn’t go well?”
The Red Priest stared at my hand, circled around his arm, but to my surprise, he didn’t snap at me to let go. Instead, he slowly levelled his gaze until his eyes met mine. “Then she’ll die.”
My mouth dropped open, and the pain in my gut intensified. Freya was going to die. I didn’t know my magic allowed me to have premonitions—I had never had one—but I was so confident Freya wouldn’t survive this night, that I was willing to bet my life on it.
Whatever happened during that initiation ritual, Freya wouldn’t live to see the next sunrise.
“We have to stop it,” I said, temporarily forgetting that I wasn’t supposed to have magic at all and that even the slightest hint of a presentiment could be interpreted as magic. “Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.”
Cullyn’s gaze darkened. “You’re just being dramatic.”
But he didn’t push me away. He didn’t yell at me. And that told me that he knew. He felt it too. Maybe they all did.
“Why didn’t you stop it?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Cullyn averted his gaze, staring at the floor. “Once the Red God has chosen, no one can stop him. No one can defy a God, Saleyna.”
Saleyna. He had used my name, rather than ‘mage.’ For the first time.
But knowing that my dreadful sense of foreboding would become reality, deprived me of all the happiness I might’ve felt over hearing Cullyn use my actual name for once.
“Come on.” Cullyn yanked his arm out of my grip, and instead pulled on my arm, dragging me along.
“You can’t just let this happen.” I didn’t raise my voice, but I tried to sound firm. “We can’t just do nothing. That we’re both feeling the same thing, that’s no coincidence, that’s…”
Cullyn stopped abruptly in his tracks. “That’s what?” He spoke the words on a venomous tone, his almost-kindness of seconds ago vanished like snow in the sun.
Wayward Magic Page 18
