She wasn’t even a year old when her Godskill became obvious. It is rumored that her father cried when he first saw a butterfly spring from her fingers and finally understood that the insects weren’t merely attracted to her, but were actually being born from her. He knew right away that her skill was useless, and she would have to fight to remain in the citadel once she came of age. Few are like Elina, blessed with a Godskill that grants them immediate Ascension.
I’m about to challenge her misguided comment when someone taps my shoulder. I turn to find one of my many cousins staring up at me. Her name is Flora and she’s not quite four years old yet, so she still sits at the Esmeralda table.
“Godleader Helena wishes you to join us,” she says with care, as if afraid to get the words wrong.
“Thank you, Flora,” I say. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Flora backs away and leaves.
“What an honor,” I say under my breath.
I want to decline, but I’m not in the mood for the lashes that would follow. Potentials are to obey their parents, Godmasters and Godleaders without question. At least this saves me from a potentially nasty and useless argument with Hali.
“Sorry, Bia.” Elina says meekly. She knows how much I dislike eating with my family.
I walk across the hall that divides the Godline tables from those assigned to the Potentials. The leather soles of my sandals echo through the expansive hall as many people grow quiet. I feel everyone’s attention on me. They know Mother and I don’t see eye to eye.
Godleader Helena d’Esmeralda sits at the head of one of the massive tables reserved for our family.
“Sit, Bia.” She indicates an empty chair to her left. An honor indeed. The sigil in her left palm catches my eye. Something else only true Gods and Goddesses have, an emblem that marks them as a permanent resident of Joya d’Diosa, and all Potentials wish to possess.
I incline my head with learned respect and take a seat. A full plate already lies before me. The food is nothing like what I left behind. The cuts of meat are bigger and better prepared. There is more variety and even elaborate desserts that make my mouth water.
“How do you fare?” Mother asks.
“Well, Mother. Thank you.”
My eyes flick to her face, then down again. Pink colors her creamy cheeks. Her light brown hair is bound in a loose bun at the back. She wears a green crown around her head. Individual emeralds shaped like leaves weave together to imitate a laurel crown. Godmaster Calandra honed it, for sure. She’s the most skilled amongst the jewel makers and she belongs to our Godline.
Mother and I look nothing alike. I surely take after my human-seed, whoever he is. My sisters, on the other hand, take after Mother, or their respective seeds. We all have different fathers. Mother has said that much, though not much else.
Amela, the oldest, sits to my left, and Rozana to the right. They look at me down their pointed noses. Their faces express their contempt for me as if they’ve practiced for synchronicity in front of a looking glass.
“She will not touch her food . . . again,” Rozana says, making use of her skill to look ahead in time. “I don’t know why we bother to have a plate readied for her.”
“Because surely that was a lot of work,” I say.
The food is prepared and served by Joyans with particular skills that are useful for kitchen work such as heating, for obvious reasons; duplicating, useful for making thousands of identical morsels; appearing and disappearing, necessary to transfer all the dishes between the dining hall and kitchens. It’s all a well-coordinated effort that appears to happen magically, like most things in the citadel. Everyone has a job and performs it dutiful for their right to remain.
“Not that you would know what it takes,” Amela pipes in, “as Skillbarren as you are.”
I want to jump across the table and scratch the beasts’ eyes out, but I stay put, hoping that one day I can repay all their cruelty.
Instead, I just say, “Go lash yourselves!”
They seem about to jump into a tirade, but as I knew she would, Mother puts a stop to it.
“Enough.” She waves a hand over her plate, as if to dissipate the toxicity my interaction with her precious daughters always creates.
Turning her attention to me Mother asks, “Any . . . changes?”
Always the same question.
“No, Mother. No changes,” I respond.
I don’t bother looking at her. I know she’s lost interest already. She won’t even ask me to fight. It is understood that I will. It’s always been. No daughter of hers would ever Descend.
Death at the arena is preferable to that. She’s made sure I understand that much.
Chapter 4
Elina is resplendent. Tiny rubies of her own creation adorn the hem of her tunic and the straps of her sandals. Her hair is pulled back and held by crimson pins which reflect the thousands of candles that light the Ascension hall. Her smile is ample. Mine is the same, unencumbered by jealousy or sadness of any kind. This is her day, pure and simple and perfect—same as her.
She was born with a jewel in her hand, a small ruby that her mother wears proudly around her neck.
“Red from the beginning,” her mother always says, as fond of her talented daughter as my mother is disappointed in me. I shun the thought as soon as it enters my mind. I refuse to let Elina see anything but happiness in my expression.
Only two others will Ascend today. They are from the Topacio and Zafira Godlines. One of them makes jewels, like Elina. The other one breathes life into rocks and turns them into animals of any kind.
They walk down the center aisle while the audience sits on Albasino benches to either side. Pristine, white columns support the tall ceiling where the miracle of creation is depicted in a mosaic of jewels. A star made of Diamond is shown exploding, sending glittering bits in every direction. In one corner of the ceiling, life sprouts green and blue. It is subtle and minimal compared to the vast darkness between the many stars. It represents our fertile planet.
Each ascendant carries a silken cloth draped over their extended arms. On the cloth rests the small jewel the Godmaker will use to hone their sigils. The palm of my left hand itches for its own sigil, one I will never get.
Romer, Delfos and I sit behind Elina’s family, her Godline. Many of them are here, more than for the other two. She’s well-liked and a very promising jewel maker. She might one day surpass Godmaster Calandra of the Esmeralda Godline. Mother would hate that, but I hope it happens.
The Thirteen Godleaders wait at the end of the aisle, standing on the dais in the ceremonial golden robes that forsake their Godline colors. Mother is amongst them, looking bored.
A fourteenth person stands with them: The Godmaker.
He occupies the middle position, wearing a robe woven with every Godline color. His identity is hidden by a loose-fitting hood and a reflective mask honed from many jewels. He makes an appearance only twice a year. This is one of them.
Elina is the first to climb the steps and stand before the Godmaker. She bows her head, respectfully, and extends her hands. The Godmaker takes the small ruby from the silken cloth. Elina drapes the cloth over her neck and puts out her left hand.
The Godmaker takes Elina’s hand, palm up, and puts the ruby there.
“Goddess Elina,” he says in a deep, distorted voice, “we are honored to keep you amongst us. You Ascended the day of your birth, a true joy to your Godline. Today, your sigil represents but a formality of what we already know, you belong in Joya d’Diosa now and forever.”
I swallow hard. I long to hear those words, long to stay and live in the citadel with my kind. Elina has always known this would be her fate, but the sigil couldn’t be given until after her 18th birthday. Those are the rules.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at Romer. He’s intent on Elina, a dazzling smile on his face. I bet he’s thinking of his own Ascension ceremony, and those same words spoken just for him.
Maybe I sh
ould be happy one of my friends will be the champion and will inhabit Joya d’Diosa until the end of Chaos, but the closer the trial gets, the more selfish I feel. I’d much prefer it to be me. In spite of our agreement.
The Godmaker puts his hand on top of Elina’s. The ruby rests between their pressed palms.
A reverential hush falls over the assembly for this most sacred moment when a new member melds into the blood of her appointed Godline and permanently joins Joya d’Diosa.
I feel like crying, yet again. Though, this time, it’s for joy. I am happy for Elina, and certainly glad I don’t have to fight her for my Ascension. Beside me, Delfos sniffles and wipes at his face.
Red light flashes between their joined hands, dazzling the eye. I imagine a small sun burning itself out, expanding into chaos, into eternal life. It moves outward in all directions until it gets too faint for the eye to see, though it’s still there, ever growing.
After the light has extinguished itself, Elina turns toward the assembly, and lifts her left hand high above her head.
A red sigil still burns on her palm, bright as ruby dust. It’s round, encircling her entire palm. Her name, Godline, and year of Ascension are etched in an indelible mark around Joya d’Diosa’s seal.
She lowers her hand and presses it to her chest, then steps down, fighting a smile. When she descends the last step, the members of her Godline explode into applause. Her smile comes to full life as she walks into her mother’s arms.
I, too, applaud and smile, managing to keep my tears back. Over her mother’s shoulder, Elina searches the crowd. At first, I think she’s looking for Romer, but she passes him over and locks gazes with me.
Bringing my hands together, I touch my forefingers to my lips and bow slightly. Our citadel’s formal greeting. Her eyes shine. I think she might start crying but, instead, she presses her lips into a tight, stubborn line. She’s been acting strange since this afternoon. I guess the ceremony has made her anxious, after all, even if she has tried to deny it.
She sits next to her mother. It hurts a little to see her do that. Romer and I exchange a glance. In the end, he shrugs and applauds some more. He’ll be sitting with them soon, so why worry?
We witness the next two Ascensions. Gratefully, they’re only two and short. I could not endure more than that. My jealousy might eat me alive.
After we exit the Ascension hall, Romer, Delfos and I wait off to the side. The moon shines high and clear, casting shadows. The Albasino walls reflect its rays, almost making the Godfire street orbs useless.
Elina excuses herself to her relatives and comes to us.
“Show me, show me!” Romer asks for her hand and examines it closely. “But your sigil is in the shape of a goat!” he says in surprise.
Elina pulls her hand away and slaps him.
“Um,” she hesitates, “I’m sorry, but I can’t come with you tonight.”
“What? Why?” Delfos asks, his face falling with disappointment.
“Uh, it’s my mother . . . she . . . uh . . . wants me to come with her, says there’s a small celebration.”
“Really?” Romer scratches his head.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I have to go.” She gestures toward her family, then joins them as they leave.
“That was a bit strange,” Romer says as we watch her go. “I guess she felt bad about leaving us.”
Elina is never unsure about things, if anything she’s too decisive, and there was nothing decisive about her just now. Maybe she does feel bad about leaving us, though I’m not sure that’s it. If I had to guess, I would say she was lying. Ascension celebrations are common, but they are unusual for people who have been celebrated their entire lives, like her.
I briefly wonder what she could be lying about, but decide to push the bothersome thought out of my mind. It probably has something to do with her apprenticeship, which means she can’t talk about it, even if she’d like to. She will be learning from Godmaster Calandra, as all jewel makers do.
“Well, I guess we should welcome the extra rest,” Romer says.
Delfos huffs.
We weren’t planning to stay out too late with Elina, but a couple of extra hours of sleep cannot hurt. Romer and Delfos begin to walk toward the Seventeenth hall, the one that belongs to our Tier.
“You go on without me. I think I’ll go for a walk,” I say.
Used to my nighttime excursions, they just wave backward.
“That’s fine,” Romer says. “I may find Luzia. She might be up for a bit of fun.”
“I’m just going to bed.” Delfos moves on, his head hanging low.
Shaking my head, I go in the opposite direction, looking for solitude while Romer looks for pleasure. He has fun with many girls. Elina just happens to be his favorite. There is attraction between them and love, too—though not of the romantic sort. That kind of love isn’t common amongst our kind. I guess it’s hard to remain with only one person, the way humans do. Eternity is too long for monogamy. Maybe the fact that our children come from human-seed also contributes to this. We must find a mate elsewhere, after all. I, for my part, remain free of even the most casual of physical attachments. Another curse for the Skillbarren. Something else to long for.
I walk past the Creation fountain. The Original Mother, Godhoned from solid diamond, looks down on her children. Her hands extend out in blessing while thirteen spouts spray water upward, each in a different color that represents each Godline. Above her floats a large, perfect diamond, the symbol of our citadel. It is perpetually elevated by a force whose source most Joya d’Diosa inhabitants ignore. Some must be privy to the name of that God or Goddess, but I’m not one of them.
The Sacred Diamond presides over the citadel like some watchful eye. But it’s really no more than a symbol of the importance jewels hold for us.
Several citadel residents sit on the grassy areas that surround the fountain. Some read, others talk, others simply recline and enjoy the beautiful night, while starlight causes the multifaceted diamond to sparkle.
I move past them and keep going until I reach the south end of the citadel. There, I climb up the wall with practiced ease. I know where the few handholds are. I found them many years ago.
Throwing my leg over the wall, I mount it and climb down the other side. I maneuver down with care. Cold wind blows my hair over my eyes. I shiver and push it away.
At the bottom of the wall, a few skips over jagged boulders lead me to a flat, small clearing.
I sit at the edge, feet dangling over the side of the cliff, and look toward the horizon where Cima lies. A thick blanket of trees separates us, no more than a day on horseback.
Fires glow in the distance, flickering and easily extinguishable, unlike Godfire. They shine through the windows of their flimsy houses, where they prepare meals that lack both substance and flavor. Gray smoke billows from holes on the tops of their roofs, dirtying the air.
I’ve been to Cima once in my life, and I swore to myself I would never go back.
Behind a rock to my right, I find my flute and play a short melody that tangles with the wind and gets carried away, not to Cima, but further away, to the ocean perhaps. Without finishing the tune, I put the flute down, too disgusted to play more than those few notes.
Hali’s words echo inside my mind for some reason.
Sometimes it takes more courage to live than to die.
Hali and all the others who have chosen to Descend will see the Godmaker tomorrow morning, before the trials begin at midday. He will strip away their useless skills, if they have any, then will usher them out of Joya d’Diosa to live amongst humans. They will carry enough gold to last them a human lifetime and will never be allowed to return. I could go with them and try to lose myself in the throngs of a dirty human city, but how far would I get?
It takes more courage to live.
Yes, you need courage to live the way humans do, but it takes even more courage to fight in the trials, especially against your own friends. If I had a G
odskill, the battle could come down to Romer and me. And if that happened, what amount of courage would I need to kill him? More than Hali will ever need to say goodbye to her butterflies. For sure.
She thinks she’s brave, but she might change her mind if she understood what it takes to go into battle, pretending to have a fair chance, when in reality you march willingly to your own death. She simply has no idea.
I stay for another moment, watching and cursing Cima and its human inhabitants. They live by the useless thousands while most of us die by our own damnable rules and traditions.
Before I disgrace myself by jumping off the cliff, I leave. There’s someone I wouldn’t mind saying goodbye to today, and I’d like to think he’s waiting for me to visit him.
Chapter 5
When I enter the Seventeenth hall, everything is unusually quiet. The Godfire orbs on the walls shine dimly, and no one roams the corridors. I tiptoe past the common rooms and bedrooms. Though few are light sleepers, I don’t want to wake them.
Godmaster Neo’s chambers are at the end of the hall. I knock lightly.
“Come in, Bia,” he says.
I smile, my chest filling with warmth.
“How did you know?” I ask as I enter.
“Who else would come and visit me on this night?”
I have no answer for his question. I think everyone should visit him. He has been nothing but kind through the years, and I’ve found solace in his presence more than I care to admit. But I don’t know if any of the others feel the same way. None of them seem to have the problems I have.
“What are you reading?” I ask, sitting opposite him in a comfortable chair made of deer skin. His chamber is a harmonious combination of Godhoned and human-crafted items, like the chairs we sit on.
Godfire burns in his Albasino hearth, giving light and warmth to the entire room. His bed stands at the other end, next to his expansive worktable. Healing implements fill the many shelves that line his walls: salves, clean bandages, tinctures and more.
Godmaker (Jeweled Goddess Book 1) Page 3