Whispers of Heaven

by Krista Rose

  “See to their needs, for the honor of the Goddess.” She gestured, dismissing us. “Return for the evening prayers.”

  Her stare was burning through my flesh, and I bowed again, dizzy and afraid I might fall. Melore gripped my elbow, her hands surprising strong despite their softness. Her skin shone like copper beneath the lanterns.

  We were led down a vast hallway, hidden behind the silk curtains of the atrium; the floors slanted down, so that we were soon beneath the earth, though the air did not grow cold, nor smell of musty cellars as I expected. Instead, it was warm and fragrant, filled with the light, sweet scent of citrus. I glanced at Melore, wondering. “What is that scent?”

  “Orange blossoms, my lady.” Her lips curved. “It is a sacred flower to our Goddess.”

  I took a deep breath. “Indeed.”

  She led me through a door off the hallway, away from my brothers and sisters, and into a sumptuous bedchamber. I worried for a moment about being separated from the others, but the sight of an extravagant, sunken tub dominating nearly half the room wiped the thought from my mind. Shelves filled with bottles and jars rose on the wall above it, glittering in the light cast by wrought-iron braziers. Thick pillows and cushioned benches were scattered across the floor, leading toward a massive curtained bed, half-hidden in the shadows at the back of the room.

  Two white-robed initiates, a boy and a girl, had been kneeling on the pillows before the door, and they rose gracefully as we entered, gazing at Melore expectantly.

  “A bath for our guest,” she instructed, gesturing to the tub. “And some refreshments, I think.”

  The initiates bowed, and the boy left the room as the girl walked to the wall beside the tub, and pulled a long chain. A hidden pipe appeared from beneath a cleverly swinging tile, steaming water gushing into the tub as she tucked her long, straw-blonde hair behind her ear. She smiled shyly at me as she waited, her eyes wide and blue and lovely behind her white mask.

  When the tub at last was full, she released the chain and began to add oils and powders to the water, stirring it with a long wooden stick.

  The boy at last returned with a small tray, laden with delicacies and a pitcher of red Valorian wine, as well as two goblets. Melore lounged on the couch beside the tub, smiling as the boy offered the tray to us, his eyes a vivid green behind his blank mask as he met my gaze. I swallowed, and looked down at the tray, not recognizing any of it.

  Melore lifted one, a red, teardrop-shaped fruit, and brought it to my lips. “Strawberry,” she murmured, the burnt gold of her eyes filling me with a strange ache.

  I bit into the fruit, and almost moaned at the sweetness.

  The girl came behind me and began to unlace my dress, and I nearly choked. I clutched my gown, blushing, intensely aware of the three sets of eyes upon me, blue, gold, and green, staring at me in amusement.

  “You cannot bathe in a dress,” Melore said gently, and my face burned even hotter.

  “I- I know, my lady.” I swallowed, pointedly not looking at the boy. “It’s just-”

  “We are servants of the Goddess, Mistress Lanya.” The boy’s voice was a deep, beautiful tenor, gliding along my skin like the brush of a finger. “To serve you is to serve Her.”

  I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. If it was the will of a Goddess, who was I to argue? I nodded, swallowing my modesty, and allowed them to undress me, until I stood naked and vulnerable beside the bath. My flush had crept down my throat, my embarrassment leaving me meek and tongue-tied.

  The girl led me into the tub, careful to prevent me from slipping, and lifted a silver ewer from a shelf as I was seated on the bench beneath the foaming water. The boy- he murmured that his name was Eilon, and the girl was called Iselin- lifted the ewer above me, and poured warm water over my head. I closed my eyes, sighing as the bliss of steaming water overwhelmed my shyness, and I at last relaxed as their gentle hands began to bathe me, cleaning dirt and grime from my skin with a soft cloth. My hair was soaped and my skin oiled, and water was poured over my head again and again until they at last decided I was clean, and drawn from the tub.

  Iselin toweled my dry, then motioned for me to lie flat on my stomach upon a low bench, set beside Melore’s couch. I did as commanded, and Eilon bent over me, his hands spreading across my back as he began to massage. Iselin rubbed lotion into the balls of my feet, and Melore fed me grapes and small bits of delicious cheese as I tried not to melt with pleasure.

  I must have fallen into a doze at some point, for Eilon was shaking my shoulder and murmuring for me to sit up. I did as he asked, yawning widely, too relaxed and content to be embarrassed any longer for my nudity.

  My hair was brushed and braided, Iselin’s clever fingers winding it into an intricate mass atop my head, cleverly pinned so that I had only to remove a golden hair comb to have it fall around my face. A lovely, silken gown in shades of dark violet was brought to me, and I felt both scandalous and liberated as they dressed me in it, wearing nothing beneath it. The soft fabric swirled around my bare feet as I walked.

  A gong sounded, somewhere far off in the temple, and Melore rose to take my arm. “It is time for evening prayers.”

  She led me from the room, and Iselin and Eilon trailed behind us back toward the atrium, their eyes downcast and hands neatly folded.

  Nephele was waiting for us, her dark eyes taking in my appearance with approval. Brannyn and Reyce had arrived before me, dressed in tunics and breeches the color of midnight, their arms and faces left bare. Reyce looked as relaxed as I felt, but Brannyn seemed uncomfortable, desire cloaking him like a shroud. Though I was grateful for any reprieve from his grief, I did not like to see him distressed, and so I subtly tried to ease his emotions, projecting some of my tranquility onto him.

  Melore led me to a couch and sat beside me, her gaze on the High Priestess as we lounged against soft cushions, listening to a priest play a delicate melody on a harp as quiet conversation rippled around us. Eilon and Iselin knelt on the floor before us, and we quietly waited for the others to arrive.

  Kylee and Alyxen arrived at last. Alyxen’s face was amused and filled with the same lethargy that the rest of us felt, but my sister’s was bright red, her eyes hot and angry as she glared around accusingly. I could tell by the shirt and breeches she still wore, as well as the smudge across her cheek, that she had refused the offered bath.

  They tried to take my clothes off! She was all but growling. What is wrong with these people? Why would they try to get me naked?

  It’s how they honor their Goddess, I explained patiently as she came near me, and my nose wrinkled. Honestly, you could have used the bath.

  The look she gave me would have set ice on fire. I’m not letting a bunch of strangers bathe me.

  Fine. I shrugged, not in the mood to argue. Have it your way. Just don’t stand too close to me, alright? You smell like the wrong end of a horse.

  Better a horse than a cheap whore, she sneered back, but I could sense her sudden embarrassment as she stalked away from me, hiding on the far side of Brannyn. He glanced at her, but if he said anything to her, I didn’t hear it.

  An initiate walked into the room, and bowed to Nephele before whispering in her ear. She nodded, and motioned him away with a flick of her fingertips. Her eyes turned to me. “Your sister will not wake,” she informed me. “Is she ill?”

  “A headache, Your Grace.” I hoped she wouldn’t question me further; I had a feeling that lying to the High Priestess would be impossible. “She’ll be fine.”

  She levelled me with a look, but didn’t pry. Instead, she rose from her couch with a grace I could not hope to imitate, and gestured to us with wave of long, slim fingers. I saw that her nails had been tipped with gold paint. “It is time for evening prayers. Come, join us.”

  The other priests and priestesses also rose, and we followed her amid the press of warm, oiled bodies through wrought-iron doors at the rear of the shadowy atrium, descending down a long flight of well-lit stairs. The
staircase emptied into a chamber well below ground, lit by hundreds of candles scattered across the floor. The walls were rough, unfinished stone, the ground beneath our feet unpaved and unpolished. Rising above us, three times as tall as a man, was a statue of a beautiful woman, clad only in cunning veils, her sensuality evident even in the carve of marble.

  I blushed, confused. Surely it was nearly blasphemy to depict a Goddess in such a state of undress. But the priests and priestesses gazed up at her with looks of rapture upon their faces, and I could sense only awe in them, a wonder and purity of devotion that made me ashamed for my thoughts.

  Nephele approached the statue’s feet, and sank to her knees, lifting her face as the others bowed around her. We knelt, watching as the High Priestess held up her arms, her gold bracelets catching the lights of the lanterns. “O, Goddess of Beauty, most lovely daughter of our Faith, bring blessings of joy to we your servants.”

  “Bless us,” the crowd murmured.

  “Open our eyes to the wonders of the world, the pleasures you have bestowed upon us. Keep us ever in your light, so that we do not grow cold and numbed to the glory of your gifts.”

  “Keep us in your light.”

  “We thank you, Our Lady Vanae, for the happiness you bring us, the desires of the world that you make possible. Let us forever treasure your presence in our lives, so that they may be all the fuller for it.”

  “We thank you.”

  She lowered her arms. “So mote it be.”

  “So mote it be.”

  I felt a brush against my mind, something vast and lovely and frightening- and suddenly I understood. There was no blasphemy here, no scandalous disregard for modesty in the presence of this Goddess. Rather, there was a profound, overwhelming respect, and a deep, encompassing love. Vanae was the Goddess of Beauty, and so her worshippers celebrated Her beauty. She was the Goddess of Pleasure, and so they delighted in Her pleasures. Anything less would have been blasphemy.

  My eyes burned as I gazed up at her lovely, marble face. When was the last time I had appreciated the beauty of the world around me? We had spent so much of our lives struggling to survive that we took the good in it for granted. We had ignored our Gods, neglecting our Faith. Vanae brought us pleasure and happiness. If there was no shame in seizing a piece of it, then why did we not honor Her for granting it to us?

  I bowed my head and formed a silent prayer. Gods of my Faith, forgive me. I will try harder to remember, and give You the honor You are due.

  I felt the warmth of a hand upon my cheek, and then it was gone, and I was being drawn to my feet. Melore’s burnt gold eyes were wide behind her mask, and she gazed at me with an expression of wonder. “We have been touched by the presence of our Goddess,” she murmured. “Blessed are we.”

  “Blessed,” I agreed, nearly as breathless.

  She leaned forward and brushed her lips to mine. “Divine light guide you.”

  I shuddered as she walked away, my mind wiped clean by her casual touch. My siblings were getting similar treatment, and they bore it with bewildered patience as the priests and priestesses gave each other both blessings and kisses with careless affection.

  Nephele appeared beside me, her dark eyes intent upon my face. “You are Chosen,” she murmured, her voice pitched so only I could hear.

  I did not think she expected an answer. “I do not know, Your Grace.”

  “It is a difficult thing, to be the Chosen of a God.” Her eyes were filled with secrets I did not understand, and was unsure I wanted to. “They use their servants hard, even if they are rewarded in the end. You have my pity.”

  I stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless.

  She smiled, her head tilting. “Come. A feast has been prepared, which is only fitting. Tonight, the handservants of a Goddess will toast the Chosen of the Gods.”

  She turned away, the gold paint of the symbols on her spine gleaming in the candlelight.

  I took a deep breath, and followed.

  ALYXEN

  25 Alune 578A.F.

  The feast thrown for us by the priesthood of Vanae was- to put it mildly- glorious. Plates of roasted chicken and duck, vegetables of every kind swimming in butter and seasonings, and sweet, juicy fruits I had no name for were served to us by white-robed initiates, who stared at us with open curiosity and no little envy, thinking that our travels made us adventurers. It was the first time in as long as I could remember that I had more than enough to eat, and I groaned as I reclined on my cushion, my stomach filled to bursting. My siblings and I were crowded in among the priests and priestesses, who laughed and joked with us as if they had known us for years.

  My siblings all but sparkled amid the crimson robes, their presence and personality causing them to shine out from among the casual sensuality that surrounded them. I wondered if Lanya knew that her cheeks were flushed with excitement at being the center of attention, sitting at the head of the table between Nephele and Melore. Brannyn didn’t seem to realize that his brooding had caught the attention of any number of women in the room, though they finally managed to draw him out of his melancholy after he downed several glasses of sweet Valorian wine. Even Kylee seemed cheerful, engaged in a deep conversation with an initiate over their love of horses, and after a while they vanished from the room, presumably to look in the stables at Nightking.

  Strangely, it was only Reyce who seemed to not be enjoying himself, surrounded at the far end of the table by a gaggle of young initiates and priestesses, who pestered him repeatedly for our tale. He frowned at them, and I could sense his discomfort at the idea of telling them our dark history.

  But I was a story-teller, and this seemed an excellent moment to flex my skills. I distracted them from my brother easily, launching into a highly imaginative retelling of our lives, turning our mundane horror into a terrifying fantasy.

  I became aware, around the time that the Crone had turned into a dragon and Lanya had been forced to slay her or else let Kryssa be eaten, that I had captured the attention of the entire room, and all were listening to my tale in rapt silence. Even Lanya and Brannyn were watching me with wide eyes, as if wondering how we could manage to escape from such a terrible beast.

  There are some things that are too horrible to speak of, so that the only way to speak of them is to hide the truth behind imagining, which is what I did. The Darkling Prince became a dark shade who befriended and then betrayed me; Marla became a tragic, enchanted wood nymph who was killed by the death of her tree. Brannyn’s eyes sparkled with tears, and he gulped more wine to hide them.

  I concluded my tale as we left the woods, smoke billowing in our wake from the destruction of the shade’s castle. All in all, the tale was my greatest work of blended nonsense and reality till that point, and I felt a sense of pride as I finished it, wondering when I would have an opportunity to write it down.

  The room burst into enthusiastic applause; even my siblings clapped.

  Well done. Brannyn’s eyes were overly bright, but I did not know if it was from tears or the wine.

  You made me a knight! Reyce beamed at me. I’ve always wanted to be a knight!

  “Vanae’s gifts are strong in this family,” Nephele said, once the cheering had died down, and she raised her glass to toast me. “Beauty, intellect, and a way with words.” Her golden mask glittered in the light of the lanterns as she glanced aside. “We must return the favor of such a well-told story. A story for a song, I think. Alailia?”

  A young woman rose, her dark hair almost stark against the porcelain of her skin. Her eyes were downcast beneath her black mask, and despite the brilliant color of her robe, I’d barely noticed her among the other priests and priestesses. But she straightened as she clasped her hands before her, and began to sing in a soft, aching soprano.

  “Dancing with the shadows

  That fall at your feet;

  I’ve always loved the shadows

  That hide us when we meet.

  I wear a cloak of starlight,

  A
nd you watch me as I pass,

  As I dream within the shadows,

  As I gleam upon the grass;

  As I shine upon the dew drops

  Before the day’s begun-

  The glory in the darkness

  Before the rising sun.

  I fade away at morning,

  When all the stars are gone;

  With all my lovely shadows,

  We vanish with the dawn.

  Oh, come and seek me

  When evening takes the light-

  We’ll dance upon the shadows

  And dream away the night.”

  I applauded with the rest, bowing my head in defeat. “Clearly, I’m outmatched, my lady. I can’t believe my humble story could have ever earned such loveliness.”

  She flushed, her eyes still downcast, but a smile played along her lips. “It is custom in the Hall of the Goddess that the loser of such games grants the winner a favor.”

  I swallowed at the playfulness of her tone, and prayed my voice did not break. “What favor would you ask, my lady?”

  She glanced at me shyly before looking away again. “A kiss, I think,” she murmured. “That would please the Goddess.”

  I flushed to the roots of my hair. I had never kissed a girl before; there were none my age in the Camp. But I could not decline without hurting her feelings and possibly angering her Goddess, and so I rose and went to her. It was startling to realize, despite the difference in our years, that I towered over her, so that she had to stand on tiptoe to brush her lips across mine. The others cheered, and I returned to my seat, dizzy and lightheaded, my lips tasting of honey.

  There was nothing for it then but that all the priests and priestesses wished to impress us. One priest juggled apples; another priestess showed us her skill at sleight-of-hand, making her wine glass vanish and then reappear, all the more impressive for her lack of sleeves. We clapped and cheered as they performed for us, and the initiates moved around us silently, refilling our wine glasses with unobtrusive grace.