She pushed away from the stone wall and rubbed the heels of her hands under her cheeks, drying her tears. Whatever Sister Padal had planned, it would not be discovered in this empty hall. Rea turned to leave, but a metallic chime sounded, and golden light spilled over her shoulders, painting an outline of her silhouette on the floor.
“Reee-aaa.”
Rea’s heart rose into her throat. She struggled to breathe around her panic as she looked back toward the dining hall and found that the opening to the hidden room had returned. It was tucked beside the opposite pillar this time, but she could see the circular basin within, the gnarled staff suspended in molten sunlight this time.
“Daughter of Solurn. Come take what is yours.”
“Solurn?” The name was unfamiliar on Rea’s tongue, but it made her pause as she backed out of the passage. “No. You are mistaken,” she said to the disembodied voice.
“Take what is yours!”
Rea gasped and retreated another step. Then she bumped into someone and spun around, nearly loosing a scream until she realized it was only Armal.
“What are you doing wandering around out here?’ she hissed at Rea. “Sister Ellima is waiting in the kitchen.”
The golden light was gone, but Rea glanced over her shoulder anyway. Just as before, the secret opening had vanished. Her mind reeled with what it could mean. Was she coming undone? Had lack of sleep finally broken her?
A door somewhere in the temple slammed shut, and laughter filtered down the main hall.
“Come on,” Armal said under her breath. She took Rea by the arm and dragged her down toward the kitchen. “They mean to make you slaughter rock doves, but I know you don’t have the stomach for it. I’ll do it, but I expect you to at least pluck them.”
“You knew I would be sent to the kitchen today,” Rea said. It wasn’t a question. The strained smile and suggestion that she go to Magora for the more potent salve made sense now. Armal’s eyebrows drew together, and she released Rea’s arm, smoothing the crease she’d left in the sleeve of her robe.
“Sorry, sunshine.”
Rea lifted her chin and tried not to let her disappointment show. “The sisters reserve the most challenging trials for those in line to take holy stations.”
“Of course they do.” Some of the sympathy leached from Armal’s voice, giving way to cynicism.
Rea swallowed the urge to say more. It was cruel and arrogant to brag of sacred Callings to a Sister of the Hearth. Rea was neither of those things. Voicing the wishful explanation out loud was meant only to convince herself—a feat that was becoming more and more difficult to accomplish.
“Perhaps I should try to kill one of the birds.” Rea thought it was a horrid thing to expect of a potential priestess, but she would do what she must to earn the Moon’s favor.
“Don’t set your heart on the kitchen.” Armal stopped just shy of the entrance and placed both hands on Rea’s shoulders. “The new sisters always get the unpleasant tasks.”
“My heart isn’t set on the kitchen.” Rea bristled in anticipation of the lecture she’d received from the sister twice already in the past week. “You know that,” she said, shrugging out of Armal’s grasp before nudging past her and into the kitchen.
“Stubborn girl,” Armal grumbled under her breath as she followed closely behind.
A dozen sisters moved about the room. The hanging oil lamps burned brightly, and a fresh log had been placed in the hearth. The cauldron hanging over the fire boiled with leftover broth and millet from breakfast. Carrots and mutton would likely be added to make a stew for the midday meal.
Sister Ellima stood at the stone slab that ran the length of the kitchen, cutting up yams and onions with a bone knife. She was a short, stocky woman with twin braids that only reached the tops of her shoulders. Other than carrying a bit more weight than the other sisters, Rea could not see what defect had sentenced her to the Sisters of the Hearth. It was not a polite thing to ask of one’s elders, even if they were of the lowest sect.
Rea had worked in the kitchen only a few times. Meal duties were considered the most agreeable among the Sisters of the Hearth. Armal had waited five years to be added to the kitchen schedule. She was right about the tasks assigned to the newest sisters.
Rea had overheard the stories Armal shared with Magora about her first few months helping prepare temple meals. Rea didn’t intentionally eavesdrop, but voices carried in the bathing cavern.
The stone doves had to be fed daily and plucked every so often to keep them from flying off. Then their droppings were collected and taken to the temple garden. It was hearing about the neck-breaking and gutting that had curdled Rea’s stomach and sent her vomiting over the edge of the drying bluff, giving away her presence.
Magora had known she was there, of course. Still, the old sister scolded Rea for eavesdropping, and also for having such a weak constitution. Rea enjoyed the tender bird meat on special occasions as much as the next daughter. It was absurd that she should be squeamish about how it found its way to her plate.
“Come to pray with us, little sister?” Ellima glanced up from the stone slab and wiped her blade against the hem of her apron. Her words were not as sharp as Sister Padal’s, but the mockery in them still made Rea’s skin flush with an uncomfortable mixture of shame and resentment.
“What would you have me do?” Rea asked, ignoring the jab.
Ellima jerked her chin at a pair of nested baskets on the floor near the hearth. An empty linen sack lay inside the top one. “We did nine dozen birds yesterday, and we need at least another nine dozen today,” Ellima said. “Help Armal ready them for us.” She picked up a clay pot and held it under the lip of the slab, sweeping the spare bits she’d cut from the onions and carrots into it. “I want the heads and feet for stock. The quill feathers have already been plucked, but you can take the rest of the feathers and down to Vidra. She’s stuffing a new bedcover for the high priestess.”
“Yes, Sister,” Rea replied as Armal collected the baskets and sack.
“Chant a hymn while you’re at it,” Ellima added. “We’re doing the Mother’s bidding, after all.”
On that note, several of the women in the kitchen broke into song. It was a more playful ditty, one that new daughters learned from the older girls in the bathing cavern when the sisters weren’t watching. Rea had learned it from Armal, though she never sang it herself. It was too disrespectful and crass, and she feared a lashing if she were caught.
.
Here be an old crone
Crowned in moonstone
She speaks when the Moon shines full
Calls the best to ascend
Gives the rest her rear end
Stuffs all our heads full o’ wool
.
Armal grinned at Rea’s discomfort as they hurried from the kitchen and headed for the main entrance. The carved opening was at the end of a second passage that branched off between the dining hall and the priestesses’ quarters. It was wide enough for six daughters to pass through side by side. Two heavy, wooden doors sealed off the archway most of the time, but through the growing season, when the sisters were in and out of the garden, and the mothers delivered goods from the flatlands, the doors remained open.
Outside, a series of wide steps had been cut into the stone. The path they forged curled downward around the mountainside. Rea and Armal followed it to the temple garden.
The nook was smaller than the drying bluff, but the sisters made good use of the space. Terraced rows had been carved into the rocky incline that bordered the garden. Within them, leafy greens grew in tidy lines from the steps all the way to the steep wall of the mountain, where a web of hanging herb baskets dangled over lavender bushes. The stretch of garden that was open to the south, where it dropped off into shadowy crags, was contained by thick blackberry bushes and a waist-high rock wall.
The steps continued for some distance, all the way to the flatlands, but the daughters were not allowed to return until
they’d completed their second nine years and were seeded by the Moon. If they were chosen for sisterhood, they never returned at all.
Rea did not have many fond memories from the flatlands. Despite everything she’d endured, she felt most at home in the temple. From her very first year of studies, she’d never imagined returning to the mothers who had begrudgingly raised her—not even Nyna’s mother.
Armal cut a long path around the garden, taking the opposite side from the bushes where Nyna and several other daughters filled small baskets with berries. A Sister of the Quill stood watch, leading them in a hymn as they worked. The future mothers’ studies were not as intense as those destined for sisterhood, but they made up for it by tending to mild tasks around the temple.
As Armal neared the mouth of a cave set in the mountainside between the hanging herb baskets, Rea lingered a few steps behind. The sounds of disgruntled coos and flapping wings echoed loudly in warning.
Just inside the shadow of the cave hung a twine net wedged between rocks that lined the entrance. The rock doves wouldn’t make it far without their flight feathers, but if left to roam, they’d destroy the garden. So, the sisters confined them to the cave to do their roosting.
“Here.” Armal handed Rea the baskets and linen sack. “I’ll break their necks and toss them out. You pluck. Got it?”
Rea swallowed and nodded. She was suddenly glad for Armal’s company and patience.
The sleeves of her robe were still creased from where she’d rolled them back to slip undetected from the bathing cavern. She folded them once again, sending up a small prayer to the Moon that this would be the last time she had to do so.
Chapter Five
REA MISSED HER REMAINING lessons of the day. Even after Armal had finished slaughtering the birds and took up the gory task of dressing the ones Rea had plucked clean, it took them well into the afternoon. Long after the others had completed their tasks in the garden.
When they were done, Rea was covered in down. The feathers were mostly gray, except for the colorful patches that wrapped around their poor, broken necks. They stuck to Rea’s sweaty arms and face, and a gamey smell clung to her robe. She had been too mortified to join the other daughters in the dining hall for the last meal of the day, but the small feast of berries and raw dove eggs Armal shared with her in the shadow of the bird cave had been a surprising treat.
The female rock doves only laid a dozen eggs each per year. They were left to hatch unless the female had no mate. Those precious few eggs were poached and served to the priestesses.
Rea felt guilty for indulging with Armal, but they had worked hard, and she was nearly a priestess. Plus, Armal had threatened to drag her into the bird cave to be pecked raw if she told anyone. Rea decided that praying longer and harder that night before bed would absolve her guilt.
After they’d delivered their bounty, they went to the bathing cavern to wash up. Armal hadn’t fared much better than Rea. Her hands were stained from the wrists down, blood caked under her misshapen nails. There were reddish-brown stains on the apron she wore over her robe, too.
In the bathing cavern, the pool glowed with light reflected from the crystal passage. It was less intense at this hour, but bright enough that the oil lamps around the room had not yet been lit. And light enough that Rea could see Magora, waiting for them at the water’s edge. She didn’t dare go in alone. It was too dangerous with her poor sight.
Where the water neared the channel that fed it through the crystal passage and to the fall, a fierce current sucked along the limestone floor of the pool. If one misjudged the distance, they risked being ejected from the cavern and spit off the side of the mountain.
Upon seeing Magora, Rea’s back throbbed in anticipation of the healing salve. Though not as severe, her pain had returned, and with it the unpleasant memory of the lashing she’d received—as well as the secret room with the strange staff.
Her second encounter with the odd object was still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t dismiss it as a dream as she had tried to before. It had been troubling her for hours, even more so than the dozens of limp birds she’d stripped of their plumage.
“I can smell the yoke on your breaths,” Magora whispered as Rea and Armal neared the bathing pool. Her words held more mischief than reprimand.
Armal stole a quick glance around the cavern and then reached into the pocket of her apron, retrieving a pair of delicate eggs. She tucked them into Magora’s weathered hand.
“Quickly now, while we’re alone,” Armal said, keeping a watchful eye as the older sister devoured the eggs, shells and all. Magora sucked her fingers clean with a soft moan and then patted Armal’s arm.
“You’re a sweet girl,” she cooed. “Chew some of the mint leaves in my room before you go back to the kitchen. If anyone asks, complain of a toothache.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“You too, Rea,” Magora added. “Fate is only certain when you don’t test it.”
“Yes, Sister,” Rea echoed Armal.
Magora had said she’d seen the last of Tawndra’s whip, but Rea knew better than to squander her common sense. Her back was still tender, and it had grown increasingly so as the day progressed, but as she stripped out of her robe, Magora inhaled deeply.
“Much better,” she said. “I’ll fix you up again after we wash.”
She pulled a few lumps of lavender soap from her pockets and piled them into Rea’s hands before disrobing. Armal took a bit longer with her knotted apron strings, but soon enough, the three of them entered the pool and scrubbed until a hazy lather floated on the surface of the water. Soggy feathers and pink bubbles were sucked away through the channel to the fall, and the scent of herbal soap infused the steam that filled the cavern, chasing away the stench of bird and blood.
Rea took time to unknot her braids for a proper washing now that she could more easily roll her shoulders. Her fingers ached from the hours of plucking, but she worked them as best she could against her scalp. Then she lay back in the pool to rinse the soap from her hair, letting her body float on the surface.
The glow emitted from the water tapered near the cave’s ceiling, but just enough of it grazed the shiny bits of crystal embedded in the rock. If Rea let her eyes go soft and unfocused, it almost looked like the night sky when the Mother was resting, leaving only the stars to shine down on her Chosen.
When she finished bathing, Rea washed her robe. The others would be dry by now, and she suspected Magora had already collected them from the line for her. As feeble as the old sister appeared, she had enough strength to work with the heavy laundry stones and the priestesses’ thick robes and bedding—against the wind, no less.
Rea knew that Magora’s milky eyes and quivering fingers kept the other sisters from paying her too much attention. The elder sister enjoyed the peace humility afforded her. It was a lesson she had tried to instill in Rea, but it never took.
From the moment she’d arrived at the temple, Rea had wanted to prove herself worthy. She was well aware that drive was the root of her suffering, but she’d persisted, certain she could soften the sisters’ hearts in the wake of whatever awful thing her mother had done to harden them.
Armal helped Magora out of the pool, leading her to the steeper ledge where she could dangle her rough, old feet in the water closest to the hot spring. Her thin hair rose from her head like growing grass as it dried.
“I’m going to miss this,” Magora said, following the statement with a wistful sigh.
Armal’s brow creased, but she said nothing as she entered the water again to scrub the blood from her apron. Her hands worked awkwardly at the fabric, and Rea supposed it had as much to do with Magora’s gloomy musing as the bird butchering.
“Let me,” Rea said, taking the garment from Armal. It was the least she could do after all the sister had done to spare her with the rock doves.
As Rea washed the apron, Armal stood behind her, combing her fingers through Rea’s pale locks. She divided the hair
and began braiding. Rea’s back was healed well enough that she could have accomplished the task herself, but it was nice to be doted on from time to time. She couldn’t imagine any of the priestesses doing such a thing for her, and it made her heart ache to think of bathing elsewhere in the temple.
Like Magora, she would miss this.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to visit the prayer room,” Armal said as she knotted Rea’s hair. “But I was grateful for your help today.”
“I will see the inner sanctum after the Calling.”
“Of course you will.” Armal’s usual sarcasm was muted by sorrow. It wounded Rea more than she expected it to.
“Will you hate me after I’m Called?” Rea asked, sending a nervous glance over her shoulder.
“I could never hate you.” Armal wreathed the damp braids around Rea’s head and turned to face her in the pool.
“Promise that nothing will change between us,” Rea begged. Armal smiled and touched Rea’s cheek with her water-puckered fingers.
“Everything changes, sunshine,” Armal said softly. “I must return to the kitchen. There’s still much to be done before tomorrow night.” She nodded down at the apron in Rea’s hands. “Will you put that on the line for me?”
Rea nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
Armal exited the pool and tugged on her robe. She crossed the cavern and ducked inside Magora’s room, emerging a second later with a handful of mint leaves. She stuffed them into her mouth one at a time as she hurried for the tunnel to the main hall.
“Come, child.” Magora grunted as she stood and hobbled around the pool to collect her robe. Her shriveled skin looked as though it could use some more time in the open air to dry, but Rea refrained from voicing the suggestion.
“Shall I wash that for you?” Rea asked instead, nodding to the sister’s robe.
“No, no.” Magora waved her hand dismissively. “Just hang yours on the line and come to my room. I have a gift for you.”
Daughter of the War Page 4