Rea found Magora sitting on the edge of her bed. The old sister’s chin hung to her chest, and a rattling wheeze blew past her lips as if she’d already nodded off. Her nest of gray hair stood out in every direction, windblown from the late hours on the drying bluff, and bags hung heavy under her closed eyes.
The younger sisters would have gladly taken over Magora’s responsibilities, but the woman would not hear of it. Of course, she’d had to relent when it came to the more taxing chores. There was only so much a body could endure when it reached a certain age, and for a Sister of the Hearth, that age arrived much earlier. For an initiate as dedicated to her Calling as Magora, even sooner yet.
Rea watched Magora from the entrance of the room, suddenly feeling selfish for bothering the elder sister with something that had been her fault, something that wasn’t so terribly serious that it couldn’t wait until late afternoon.
“Top ledge, wooden bowl,” Magora said, waking from her slumber with a start. She pointed a gnarled finger toward the corner where a series of yellowed, blocky crystals had been stacked to form a shelf for Magora’s apothecary. “Hindal burned herself in the kitchen last night, so it’s fresh. Grab a roll of that gauze there, too.”
Rea set her down basket just inside the doorway and draped her dry robe over it. She retrieved the bowl and gauze, careful not to disturb the assortment of herbs and oils clustered on the shelves. Magora was particular about the placement of things since she had so much trouble identifying them by sight.
“Bring it here. Sit beside me,” Magora said, directing Rea with her hands. The elder sister took the bowl from Rea and dug her fingers into the dark paste, making sure the ingredients were mixed well.
The ends of Magora’s sleeves were already rolled back to her elbows, the way most Sisters of the Hearth wore them as they worked in the temple. The Sisters of the Quill, but especially the Sisters of the Moon, were never seen with their sleeves rolled back. It was a style beneath them, a symbol reserved for the lower caste.
The daughters considered most eligible for sisterhood wore their sleeves long, too. Rea tried to do the same, but she was frequently burdened with hearth tasks that made rolled sleeves more suitable. Her dingy, stained robes did nothing to improve her status either.
Though Magora’s fingers were knotted and had a slight tremble to them, she was gentle as she smoothed a thick layer of the paste onto Rea’s back. The smell of tea tree and lavender soon filled the room, though it was laced with hints of garlic and onion. From the dark color and grit of the paste, kitchen coal had been used to thicken the oils and juices. Magora used all manner of things in her remedies.
“Thank you.” Rea sighed as a strange euphoria took up residence in the absence of her pain. Her flesh went numb, and her shoulders finally relaxed. The immediate relief dragged at her eyelids, reminding her of the too few hours she’d been sleeping lately.
“Come back and see me this afternoon,” Magora said as she patted the gauze in place over the mixture to keep it from mucking up Rea’s robe. “We’ll have you patched up before the Calling. You’re going to need your strength. The Moon has plans for you.”
“Really?” Rea asked, then sucked at her bottom lip. She wanted to ask what else the Moon had told Magora, but she knew the sister wouldn’t tell her. That would be a misuse of her gift.
Before either of them could speak again, a clamor of laughter and splashing echoed through the bathing cavern. The daughters were arriving, and they showed little care for the sisters sleeping in the nearby rooms.
“Thank you,” Rea said to Magora, reaching for her robe.
From the sound of it, there were maybe three or four girls, but that was still more than enough to set Rea’s teeth on edge. If she hurried, she might be able to slip through the shadows and up the tunnel to the main hall without encountering any of them.
Rea grunted as she attempted to tie the collar of the robe at the back of her neck. Though she was free of pain for the time being, full mobility had not returned to her shoulders after the hours spent scrubbing the floor outside the dining hall.
“Sit, sit,” Magora rasped under her breath, sensing Rea’s panic. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” Rea perched herself on the edge of the bed again, turning her back to Magora. Her face warmed with shame.
It was cowardice to avoid the other girls. She hoped that becoming a priestess would give her a better understanding of her mother, but beyond that, she also trusted it would endear her to the Moon’s Chosen. Or, at the very least, earn their respect.
Of course, she had hoped their childish cruelty would subside once they entered the temple, but it had only grown worse, and the sisters cared even less than the mothers of the flatlands had. During Rea’s second year, a group of older daughters had nearly drowned her in the bathing pool. She was in the oldest order now, but she still arrived early to tend to her needs before the other girls.
“There,” Magora said, knotting the cords in a bow beneath Rea’s looped braids. “Roll your sleeves back and stay close to the inner wall where the light hasn’t yet reached. You’ll be fine.”
Rea swallowed and nodded appreciatively at the sage advice. She rolled her sleeves back and took up her basket, but then hesitated at the opening of the room, listening intently to the squeals and splashing.
“Go on now.” Magora waved her off. “Let an old woman rest.”
“Sleep well, sister,” Rea said. Then she filled her lungs with a courageous breath and darted from the room.
There were only two girls in the bathing pool, though they made enough noise for twenty. Rea did as Magora had instructed and stuck close to the inner wall. From the bluish tint in the water, the sun had only just broken the horizon. It deepened the contrast of the shadows within the cave, providing a narrow swath of cover from Magora’s room to the mouth of the tunnel leading to the main hall.
Rea walked swiftly on the balls of her feet, only watching the girls from the corner of one eye. Their heads dipped under the surface in some game or another, and Rea quickened her pace, racing the light as it stretched farther inside the cavern.
Once she’d made it through the tunnel and back up the stairs, she released the breath she’d been holding. She took the second set of steps to the daughter’s dormitory and, to her relief, found the hallway mostly empty, save for a pair of girls toting baskets heaped with bedsheets. Rea ducked inside her room before they noticed her.
Nyna had already risen. She stood by the window, squinting out at the golden light that rose over the desert in the distance. The daughters’ dormitory was on the opposite side of the mountain from the drying bluff, and though the sisters taught them that the sea wrapped around the entire continent, it could only be seen from the west.
The mountain the temple sat upon was surrounded by shorter ranges and scraps of forest. The flatlands, rocky plateaus scattered farther down the West Ridge of LouMorah, were still quite high in elevation compared to the lowlands, though the views of the world below were vaster and more awe-inspiring from the temple.
“How is your back?” Nyna asked, dragging her eyes away from the window.
“Much better.” Rea stashed her empty basket in the corner beside her bed and folded her hands over her stomach. “Are you...going to the bathing cavern?”
Nyna pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m working in the garden today. What would be the point?”
While most of the temple’s food stores were supplied by the mothers of the flatlands, there was a garden a short way down the mountainside. Its meager bounty was reserved for the priestesses and special occasions. In addition to the few herbs the sisters used to make soaps and tinctures, there were blackberry bushes and rows of spinach and arugula.
Before the Calling, the sisters organized a feast for the daughters. It ran much later into the evening, allowing the girls to say goodbye to friends being Called away from them. Their usual spread of root vegetables, salted mutton, and millet bo
iled in broth was accompanied by glazed rock doves, fresh greens, and a tangy berry and millet porridge. Rea’s mouth watered just thinking of it, and her belly grumbled anxiously.
“You should have some breakfast before your first class,” Nyna said, worry drawing up her brows. “Sister Padal may be gentler than Lady Tawndra, but she knows nothing of leniency.”
Rea knew that better than most. She doubted any of the other daughters practiced blinking less while reciting their prayers.
“Are you going to the dining hall?” she asked, twining her fingers. “We could walk together—”
“I should get an early start in the garden,” Nyna said, offering an apologetic smile. “The sun is the brightest in the morning. Makes it easier to spot the ripe berries.”
“Of course.”
“But I’m sure I’ll see you for supper.”
Rea nodded and lifted her hand in a small wave as Nyna left their room. Rea wanted to be angry, but their time together was drawing to an end, and she couldn’t bear the thought of a bitter parting. She also didn’t wish any hardship on Nyna, which was almost certain for anyone showing kindness to Lyra’s daughter in the presence of the wrong sisters. Even Sister Rashal had been reprimanded for being too soft on Rea.
Two days, Rea thought.
In two days, she would be Called to join the most holy sisterhood, her reward for suffering through years of grueling trials. Even Magora had seen it.
The Moon has plans for you.
Chapter Four
REA DID NOT LINGER in the dining hall. She collected a bowl of millet and broth and gulped it down in a quiet corner, avoiding the few girls who wandered in behind her. Then she exited the hall and hurried off to Sister Padal’s classroom.
The first lesson of the day, at least for those who had passed the sisterhood assessment, included additional history and geography. It encompassed not only the Moon’s Chosen but also the realm of LouMorah—or what little the sisters knew of it.
From the peaks of the West Ridge, they could see for a great distance, but not all the way to the vale beyond the desert in the east, where the elven city of Belquar was located.
The Moon’s Chosen had dealt with the Belquarians before the War of Two Princes. The elves were skilled with metalwork. Though the sisters had no need or desire for swords or armor, they did covet the elves’ pots and cauldrons, rakes and shovels. Everyday tools that made life easier and more productive.
The elven magi had been happy to trade their wares for crystals and gems that were harder to come by in the smaller cluster of mountains they mined along the northeastern coast of LouMorah. It had been a tentative but friendly arrangement, wherein a group of sisters and mothers traveled a short distance into the desert to meet the Belquarians halfway.
When the war began, the journey became more dangerous. Barbaric warriors from the forest in the north cut across the desert. The elves traded with them as well—axes and swords for leather and fur. The sisters could no longer ignore the Belquarians’ inclination toward violence—certainly not when the elven magi called on the Moon’s Chosen to take up arms and join the fight against a foreign army engaged in civil war on LouMorah’s southern coast.
The Moon’s Chosen were not violent people. They were a sacred race. They lived simple, spiritual lives in LouMorah’s most inaccessible and undesirable region, made tolerable only to them by the Moon’s blessing. They had nothing any of the other tribes desperately needed or wanted—even the natural treasure they used as currency was not so rare that the elves cared to brave the West Ridge for it. There was no reason for the Moon’s Chosen to participate in the vicious battle over the lowlands.
Still, a small band of sisters had volunteered to assist on the battlefield in their own way, tending to the wounded. None returned to the mountain.
Shortly after that, Lady Oleena, the high priestess before Lady Cora, ended the trade arrangement, and the Moon’s Chosen were forbidden from leaving the safety of the West Ridge. For nearly two decades, not a single sister or mother had gone down into the lowlands.
The sisters didn’t seem to know whether the war had ended or if it were still raging on. Did the elves survive? Had the southern invaders moved farther inland? Rea had so many questions, but she did not dare draw attention to herself by asking. The war was a sore subject for many, and the Sisters of the Quill barely glazed over it in class.
With two days until the Calling, Sister Padal had moved away from history and geography in favor of practicing the chant the daughters were expected to recite during the ceremony.
Rea took her seat on a stone bench at the front of the classroom. She folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes, mouthing the words of the Calling hymn as she waited for the others to arrive.
There were thirty-eight daughters in their ninth year at the temple. It was a larger than average order, but the Moon had Called for additional mothers to be seeded after their losses in the war.
The Mother made the mountains tolerable but not easy to survive in, and there was only enough flatland to support so many. That was why the Moon’s Chosen had to live by a sacred creed that dictated duties and controlled their numbers. It’s what they were taught at the temple before the Moon Called on them to carry on the tradition.
Five of the thirty-eight ninth-year girls, including Rea, had passed the sisterhood assessment and were in Sister Padal’s class. They soon filled the room and took their places on the stone bench, giving Rea a wide berth. The dark braids wreathed around their heads filled Rea’s peripheral vision as they leaned around one another to stare and giggle at her.
It was then that she realized her sleeves were still rolled back.
Heat crawled up Rea’s neck as she hastily straightened the wool down to her wrists, but the joke was complete. The girls’ laughter crested but then cut off sharply as Sister Padal entered the room.
The woman was more pleasant to look upon than Lady Tawndra her soft, rounded face that held bright eyes and a pink mouth. Sister Padal’s gray-laced hair was braided and then knotted in a thick bun at the base of her neck. The first day in her class, Rea had made the mistake of thinking that Sister Padal’s gentle look would translate into a gentle nature.
“Recite,” the sister demanded.
The daughters stood, and in unison, they began. Subtle inflections hitched their words, giving the chant a musical lilt.
.
Born from the Mother’s dream
Risen within her light
Now we hear her Calling
And answer this dark night
.
Bathed by the hallowed Moon
Sworn true by tongue and blood
We give ourselves to her
In faith, duty, and love
.
Rea’s skin prickled, and the hairs on her arms rose as they chanted the hymn twice more. She again remembered Magora’s words. The Moon has plans for you.
Rea believed Magora with all her heart, and she couldn’t wait for the Calling. She often daydreamed of the night, imagining the other daughters cheering on her acceptance into the Sisters of the Moon, their resentment and cruelty falling away as if it had been a guise all along, and merely part of the Mother’s trials. If Rea’s thoughts were allowed to wander long enough, she envisioned her hair turning white, and Lady Cora anointing her as the next high priestess.
These private wishes kept Rea focused and renewed her determination when darkness tried to consume her—when the sisters brought suffering upon her body and spirit. A small voice deep within her heart urged her to carry on, promising better things to come if she endured.
So, she did. For eighteen years. And now, she was on the precipice of that hope, ready to make one final leap to claim her Calling.
“Very good,” Sister Padal said as soon as the girls finished the third repetition of the chant. “The high priestess has graciously granted access to her private prayer room. You will go two at a time. Do not dally or touch anything on the alta
r.”
She pointed to the first two daughters on the bench and then opened her hand toward the door, dismissing them. As they filed out of the room, Sister Padal addressed the next two, making eye contact with each of them in such a way that Rea understood that she was being disregarded.
“You will go next,” she told the girls. “Until your turn, you will continue practicing the Calling hymn.”
Before Sister Padal gave the command to begin reciting, Rea found the nerve to break her silence. “Shall I go after them?” she asked.
“You may go now,” Sister Padal said, her bright eyes locking on Rea. It was not a kind look, and Rea instantly regretted speaking. “Sister Ellima has prepared a special altar in the kitchen for impatient daughters.”
Rea felt her face warm again, and tears burned in the corners of her eyes. The other girls did not dare snicker at her, but the amusement on their faces was hard to deny.
Not all the daughters treated Rea with such contempt, but neither did they treat her with kindness or come to her defense. Even Nyna, whom she considered her only friend among the daughters, avoided being seen with her most of the time. It was times such as this that Rea understood they feared sharing her miserable fate.
“Go on now,” Sister Padal said, flicking her fingers in a shooing gesture at Rea’s hesitation.
“Yes, Sister.” Rea bowed her head and hurried from the room. The kitchen was only a short distance from the classroom, but she ducked into the passage that led to the dining hall and buried her face in her hands.
Sister Padal’s words had been prepared. Rea was used to being excluded from special lessons and privileges, but this close to the Calling, she had been looking forward to finally seeing Lady Cora’s private prayer room. It was considered a sacred rite for new Sisters of the Moon.
Was this another test? Rea wondered. Or was it one she’d already failed? Would her reward come from obeying Sister Padal and going to the kitchen altar as she’d been instructed? Rea always sought to divine the greater meaning in everything that happened to her.
Daughter of the War Page 3