Daghahen smiled, a genuine smile. “Bless you, lad.”
Chandran stalked closer, squeezing a hidden knife within his pocket. He would have enough time to stab one of them; it should probably be Daghahen to ensure he no longer foiled Chandran’s plans. This new man might be easier to kill later with the elf out of the way.
The mercy hood whipped off, throwing Daghahen’s secret into the open air. Chandran froze. The man who had lost the large gold coin had returned with the bouncer and grabbed Daghahen’s hood. The crowd began shouting and pointing.
“See? I knew it! It’s a damned bloody elf! He must’ve been cheating!”
The old elf’s thin hair couldn’t hide his large, pointed ears. Even after enjoying quite a thrilling game of dice, the crowd yelled and pelted bread ends and greasy bones at him.
“What’re you doing here, elf?” the bouncer demanded with a strong hand on his shoulder. Chandran and Bowaen both stayed back and watched.
Daghahen shifted his voice remarkably into that of a feeble old character. “Only what the rest of these good folk are here to do, sir.”
“I’m afraid you can’t stay here.” The bouncer yanked him away, dragging him through the bustle toward the cool night air outside the open door.
Chandran kept his feet planted and his eyes on Bowaen. Though Daghahen was a terrible nuisance, the sword was what he’d been sent to retrieve. Chandran was now tasked with finding a way to get it from its new owner by whatever means, sneaky or murderous.
Chapter 14
Her Vow
The dreams hadn’t stopped. Kalea took a walk through the forest in her chemise, without shoes. She walked until the soft light of dawn illuminated the mist and dew. The pine needles prickled her feet with a sensation all too real, along with the wet, shimmering walls passing over her in the low, drifting cloud.
She walked until she found Dorhen, huddled against a tree in a ball of somber misery. She placed her shaky hand on his shoulder. She must’ve broken his heart last night with her cruel stupidity.
His dull eyes acknowledged her. They didn’t catch the dim light like they usually did. He didn’t smile either. He didn’t speak. A frown drew his face long. His eyelid rims might’ve been reddened, but it was hard to tell for sure in the cloudy morning light.
She fell on him, her arms wrapping around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. He didn’t hug back.
“Why are you torturing me every night?”
She opened her mouth for a counterquestion and a sob burst out before the words, “Oh, Dorhen!”
She put her hand on his head. She knew the texture of his hair under her hand from the dreams alone. She’d never ventured to touch him on her own in the waking world, not even last night when he had given her the perfect opportunity.
“I…” She pulled back to look at his face.
His frown persisted. He scowled at her.
“I can’t do it.” She stroked the side of his face, handsome as ever, regardless of his anger. Especially while angry. As an elf, he didn’t have the ability to grow a beard, but he had hair resembling soft, smooth sideburns growing along his face in front of his ears. She couldn’t control her quivering lips, but she had important things to tell him. Maybe her body language could speak for her.
She kissed him. He didn’t kiss back.
“You don’t understand the struggle I have,” she said, forcing the words out. “I want to tell you…”
She kissed him again. He gradually gave in and kissed her back. And to the ground they went again like in the dreams. He lay on the ground and allowed her to lean over and pull his undershirt open to trail kisses down his neck and chest. The smell of his skin, she’d missed it.
“What do you want from me?” he asked in the same lifeless voice, willing to partake, yet playing a dead weight.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking her lips off his navel. “If we could talk…” She moved to resume her task but popped her head up again. Lying flat with his arms out to the sides, he stared at the tree canopy. “Do you not want to…?”
“It’s not about my wanting. I live to serve you. So take what you want.”
“Dorhen.” Her hand was poised on his codpiece laces, eager to rip them open like he had let her do in the dreams. The bulge under her hand hardened, which she had been fascinated to see in those dreams.
She took her hand away. Isn’t this what he wanted? The trees around them crumbled like sand sculptures. The light faded. Dorhen faded.
She woke up. Another dream? In fact, in the recent strange dreams, she awakened each time at the moment when something confused her, usually the real-yet-surreal feeling of the situation. As always, her blood roared and tingled with yearning. She would remember the dream and its acute sensory detail for a good long time, but like normal dreams they’d fade.
I have to talk to him.
She got out of bed, dressed, and put on her novice’s veil.
“Good morning, Kalea!” Joy said, walking by with some extra strength in her gait.
“Good morning.” Kalea gawked at her confident stroll out the door. Giving up her food to Joy at supper must’ve been paying off. Kalea’s balance and energy had also returned today…thanks to Dorhen, who’d been sweet enough to catch and cook that fish for her.
She beat her sisters to the kitchen for breakfast, like she had been doing for a few days, and grabbed her own bowl of oats before it could be served. She divided her portion between Joy and Rose’s bowls and washed her own. Skipping breakfast, she went straight outside to do the laundry.
At the stream, she scrubbed the garments, beat them with her bat, and frequently lifted her eyes to scan the forest for Dorhen. Would he bring another fish?
“Dorhen,” she said after an hour. “Are you there?” No answer. “Dorhen!” Her voice echoed a long way through the trees.
A new kind of nausea churned her stomach as she returned to her work. Her scrubbing became absentminded and her arm weakened while using the washing bat. The chore of scanning the stretch of thin forest for Dorhen distracted her from her real duty. He wasn’t there. No feelings of being watched either.
Back in the courtyard, she hung the laundry as Sister Gani chatted away about Kalea’s upcoming vow ceremony. With the old woman’s voice babbling on and on in the background, she watched the corners and shadows for signs of him.
“I’m gonna keep washing clothes,” she said when Sister Gani asked what her area of expertise would be as a full Sister of Sorrow. A lot of options would be laid before her. If she favored singing, she could join the full sisters’ choir group. Or she could teach reading, writing, and religion to the children in Tintilly. She could learn how to paint and add fantastic murals to their convent. “Washing is what I do best.”
She slogged off toward the study hall, where she practiced her writing. She sat at the long table amongst several full vestals who studied and wrote, and opened her prayer book beside her journal to copy the texts. She absentmindedly dipped her quill into the inkwell and failed to run the tip over the edge to eliminate excess ink. Terrible-looking pools of ink ran from the quill here and there, and some of the blotches ran together, obscuring the sentences into gibberish dancing around under her stare.
She blinked her eyes, and the movement stopped, leaving her with blotted shapes so wet they ran and mingled with each other until a face appeared, composed from the dark and light areas of the mess she’d made. The face smiled at her.
She slammed the book closed, splattering dots of ink onto the table. About twenty veiled heads popped up and stern old faces turned to glare at her.
“Sorry, sisters,” Kalea said, “my hand slipped.” The veiled heads bowed again over their own prayer books.
An hour later, she stood in the seamstress’s room getting measured for her official habit.
“I’ll do the best I can,” the sister who specialized in sewing said. “Your ceremony has been ordered at such short notice. No guarantees it’ll be finished in tim
e, but at least you’ll have it by the end of the…”
Kalea stared out the window with her arms held out to the sides. Dorhen had lain on the ground in the same pose in her dream this morning, his face so drawn and resigned.
Take what you want.
“Kalea!”
She jumped. “Yes?”
“Put your arms down.”
“Oh.” She dropped them.
“I also said there might be an extra habit in the closet you can take. I’m sure it’s too big, though. Put it on and I’ll pin it on you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She managed not to dream about him the next night. And when she rushed out to the stream with her loaded basket, calling for him, he didn’t show himself. He didn’t show in the courtyard either; he remained absent during all the long hours she spent alone. She went to supper, relinquished her food, prayed, and retired to bed.
No dreams. She woke up. Prayed. Relinquished her breakfast. Went to the stream with a light load against Sister Gani’s protests that there was no need, and spent the time alone. Dorhen didn’t come. She returned. Relinquished her supper—though she did take a bite because by now she felt faint off and on. Prayed. Fell asleep.
The third day since last seeing Dorhen. She awoke. Prayed. Washed clothes. Prayed. Gave up her supper. And then the time came to rehearse her rituals.
“Are you listening?” Father Liam asked.
“Hmm?”
“Are you listening, Kalea?”
“Sorry. Yes. What were you saying?”
He motioned to a cushion they’d set before the altar. “You’ll sit here all day tomorrow in contemplation, and the ceremony will happen at dusk. Let’s go over your speech…”
After rehearsal, Kalea crept down to the cellar to see if Dorhen lurked around there. Once again, she brought a candle swiped from the One Creator’s altar to see in the dense underground shadow. Her fish bones still littered the floor, pillaged by ants, some of which continued the feast, but he must’ve collected his glowing stone necklace before leaving, because she found no sign of it near the wall racks where it had skidded after she rudely batted it out of his hand.
“Dorhen,” she whispered. It was worth a try. She waited in the silence for his voice or any indication of movement. A breath, or clothing shifting.
Nothing. Nothing except her own heartbeat.
What have I done? He’s really gone this time. She put the candle down and stood by the barrel. The place where he kissed her. Their first kiss.
She hugged herself; she hadn’t thought to bring a cloak to cover her arms.
“Dorhen,” she whispered again, “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and kept them closed, as if he’d appear at her will whenever she opened them again. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to be a vestal… I want to be a woman.”
She opened her eyes again slowly. The illuminated floor around her stayed empty. No shadows to hint at someone joining her in her orb of light. No blue light appeared to merge with hers.
She pulled the veil off her head. “I mean it.” She untied her belt and dropped it to the floor, followed by her grey, open-sided novice tabard. “Would you like me to go further?”
She sat on the barrel and waited. She leaned back on her hands and opened her knees. “You’re a stubborn boy, you know that?” She closed her eyes again. “I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t positive you’d follow me…that you’ve been stalking me.”
She opened her eyes again. Still alone. She closed her mouth and listened. She listened as hard as she could.
Clack-clatter!
She jumped and shrieked. A rat ran along the wall in the faint outskirts of her candlelight. She huffed out the air she’d sucked in.
Back upstairs, Kalea sat in the bathtub and closed her eyes as a handful of other novices recited prayers over her in honor of her becoming a vestal. The bath had been prepared for this special occasion with spices like jasmine and clover, and dried rose petals floated on the water. Several extra candles lit the room, standing tall and stiff like the pine forest outside.
Sister Scupley led the ritual, reciting certain lines and periodically dipping a cup in a bowl of blessed water to pour over Kalea’s head. A shock of cold hit her scalp and separated into various cold streams on the way down, contrasting with the steamy water engulfing her body. Whenever needed, Kalea added her own words to the chanting, having memorized them for the last two days.
After the chanting, she stood up in the bath and allowed two other novices to rub fragrant, sacred oils all over her body: a cleansing ritual to prepare her for her symbolic marriage to the One Creator. During the oiling process, she recited more lines she’d practiced. The lines were in an ancient language. For the most part, she had no idea what she was saying except for a vague impression after reading a translation earlier. The words were still drivel spilling out of her mouth.
Her eyes kept flicking to the window: the one Dorhen had confessed to peeping through to watch her bathe last week. Glancing at the window turned to staring during her recital. The other novices’ hands slicked across her body, around her legs and over her breasts. The window. She settled her eyes there.
When they finished that portion of the ritual, she lowered back into the tub and dunked her head. The novices finished their chanting with an amen and a curtsey, then filed out of the room one by one. Sister Scupley left first, and Joy hung around last to help her dry off. Kalea didn’t speak to Joy after the chanting ended. Joy knew, like they all did, about this sacred ritual in which Kalea should be in deep contemplation. Better if they didn’t talk. On a normal evening, Joy would’ve sensed her mood, and Kalea might’ve spilled all of her pent-up thoughts and confusions at the other girl’s prodding.
As Joy rubbed her with the towel, Kalea focused on the window again. The black glass showed reflected candlelight and her own naked body in a foggy, warped abstraction; nonetheless, she pierced it with her eyes, trying to send a silent message to whoever might be looking through from the other side.
After the bathing ritual, she tucked herself into bed and spent a long while awake in the dark. Her last night in the novices’ dorm. Her last night as a novice. Her last night to change her mind. Where would she go if she did change her mind? Nowhere. She couldn’t go back to her parents—they were the ones who’d decided to put her in here. She was supposed to take the vows. Her destiny had been laid out for her.
She closed her eyes and couldn’t keep the images of Dorhen away. How casually he’d strolled into her life and wrecked everything. And now, on the night before her initiation, the One Creator turned out to be the last person she could focus on. If she concentrated hard enough, could she see Dorhen in another dream? The thought of trying made her stomach twist into knots. It was wrong. She owed the Creator quite a bloody lashing to her back for those lustful dreams.
She woke up at the first grey light of dawn through the window, before Sister Scupley entered with the bell that shouted her name. A light rain pattered on the windows. The other novices helped her dress in a white ceremonial gown with layers of robes. They combed her hair and put a lace veil over her head.
Enswathed in a sea of veils, all neat and pristine underneath, she and a handful of novices walked, procession-like, into the sanctum, where she took her place on the cushion. The novices stretched out a long, white, silken sheet and put it over her head; its mass engulfed her. Today, she’d sit underneath it all day long until the hour of her vows arrived.
Beyond the silken outer veil’s film, the novices split into two groups and proceeded down each side of the room, lighting all the candles in the sanctum. Afterward, they left her alone in there. They’d check on her regularly, but for today they moved all prayer and sermon sessions to another space.
Kalea sat alone with the rain sounds, waiting for her god. A cool grey light from the outside mingled with the warm orange glow of the candles. She had skipped breakfast and gone straight to preparing herself for the ceremony. At
least today, the cook would prepare a nice plate of food as a symbolic wedding meal she’d eat alone, in the spiritual presence of the Creator. Eating should rejuvenate her a bit. In the meantime, she’d sit here for ten hours, keeping as still and straight as possible. She could shift her position once in a while, but the trial would be murder on her joints and muscles nonetheless. The best way to handle it was to meditate, to lose track of time.
She closed her eyes and listened for Dorhen, like she had in the cellar last night. It was difficult to believe he’d left her, just like that… Could she blame him? Thinking about it made her choke up, so she thought about the pleasant dreams with him instead. Those thoughts made her body speak back.
She opened her eyes. In addition to listening, she could watch for a glimpse of him. Filling her eyes with other things might help to alleviate the erotic thoughts persisting on plaguing her mind.
An hour…or two hours passed before the side door clicked and opened. Soft footsteps tapped toward her.
Joy leaned into her sight and whispered, “Do you need any water?”
“No, thank you,” Kalea whispered back.
“All right. I’ll be back in another two hours. I’m jealous, I’ll have you know.” Kalea smiled in reaction to Joy’s giggle as she practically pranced away.
The rain pattered—the first rain in about two months. Maybe it would help alleviate the famine. The sanctum glowed with soft orange candlelight wavering against the blue morning haze from the windows. This place shriveled in comparison to the cathedral in Carridax she’d visited at age fourteen when Father Liam had taken the girls on a pilgrimage, but it boasted its own pleasant and simple charm. The thick wooden cruck beams holding up the ceiling were carved with clover-shaped holes, and the stained glass windows were colorful and happy on a sunny day. She used to think she could live the rest of her life here, visiting this room daily…in the past.
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