Once Was: Book One of the Asylum Trilogy

by Miya Kressin

  Before her departure for Sheelin, Asha had set aside all the necessary components for my sojourn into the realm between worlds. Small woven pouches lay snug inside the child’s size hide pack Cade had strapped to my hips with a firm look earlier. Each pouch contained an herb or resin I would need along with several medical salves he’d pilfered from a neighbor while they were out, leaving gold enough to purchase five times as much in their place.

  Storm-soaked leaves squelched beneath our feet, and his hand tightened on mine each step with an instinctual worry he would need to protect me from a would-be attacker. His reluctance to part with me burned like soap-maker’s lye, etching away my resolve. What I would give to be any other woman, a commoner who lived only to be happy and whole with no regard to a higher duty.

  Residential blocks gave way to the merchants’ larger stores along our path through the back roads and narrow alleys, and soon the marketplace stalls came into view. The rain and wind had forced many vendors to drop cloths from the top of the store overhangs to safe-keep their wares. With the store-owners settling their shops for the night and potential customers kept home due to the rain, there were fewer witnesses to our escape. Fewer witnesses lessened the chances of my lover coming to harm when his treachery to the Army of Righteousness was made known.

  “Do not worry for me, Lady.” The hum of his lips on my ear was jolting, and I stumbled, hanging to his arm to regain my balance. Unlike Aya, Cade did not lift me to carry me to my destination. If only he could.

  “Rogue,” I chastised, earning a playful grin that reminded me of our childhood. He was right; we were meant to be now that I had moved on from the past. He was the better fit for who I have become. He was a bastion in the storm of war, and I would be Madani’s lighthouse. Together, we offered Madani a glimpse of hope in the dark tide.

  The night’s chill was soaking into our bones through our cloaks and as we passed the last of the marketplace stalls, I took a look at Madani. I would protect my people, our faith, and our ways. The next generation will believe.

  “Where are the guards?” None were stationed at the gates.

  A thick finger tapped my décolletage. “The two left in Madani who weren’t so shocked in seeing you,” he paused to raise an eyebrow before continuing, “had to return the bodies to the nearest outpost and spread word that you have left for Aristeer, stowed aboard one of the supply ships.”

  His falsehood granted us several days for me to travel to Sheelin and back, if my return was allowed. Perhaps it would give me time to persuade him to leave the forge behind and make a new start or come to Sheelin as he had once offered so long ago.

  “There are the stairs.” I nodded in response to his words and clung to his hand in a sudden desperation. This was it. This was the turning point.

  “I’m answering the calling,” I said to myself more than him. “I am doing what I was chosen to do.”

  “Aye. And I will do what I was chosen to do, arm our people. I will pour my worry for you into the swords. We will be ready to fight when you return.”

  Thunderous waves crashed against the shores, sending spray higher than most homes. Magic crackled in the air the nearer we came to my sheltered cove. Both reacted to our presence, sensing our intent to put things right.

  Saying what I needed to, in case I did not come back, I gave the only farewell I could. “I do not want this life for you, Cade. I would give anything for you to be a normal man and above all this fighting. I fear you’ll be injured and there won’t be a husband for me to come home to.”

  Bringing our intertwined fingers to his lips, Cade brushed a soft kiss across them as he considered my words. “Then we shall meet in the next, and I will chase you until you give in to my advances, Lady. Besides, I have your knife’s big brother hidden in the forge and your plaited locks to protect me.”

  Rain and crashing lake water soaked us as we stared at one another beneath the full moon’s light when it came out from behind the clouds at long last. “Until next we meet, Roseen, be it this life or the next.” Cade’s strong fingers caught my chin and forced my face to tip upwards. His kiss was cold fire, the quenching of what was as we moved forward to fight what may be, cauterizing our personal desires.

  With a touch of my lips to his cheek in farewell, I left my mate on the last stair, then gave purpose to my stride as I entered my last safe haven for magic.

  Chapter Twelve

  The first time I set eyes upon Sheelin’s beauty, I fell down in prayer to Bas. That such a glorious land was here to grant me safety from those who feared my abilities—I thought She had brought me to the home of the Gods. When Aya brought one of His priests to Sheelin, together we forged a life as a family. We learned to love one another as we built the temple, and he fostered my daughter born just months after we met as if she were his own, like I did the infant son he had carried across the stones. Trust the Gods, my children. They called to you for a reason. Trust in Them as I have trust in you who are not yet born.

  The History of Sheelin, First Priestess and Oracle of Bas

  Crew members aboard a capsizing ship stood a better chance at keeping dry than I did clinging from boulder to boulder, attempting to keep out of the now knee-deep, frigid water the tide had brought in along where I had anticipated sand. The lake was rising, the tide was early, or perhaps my mind was just no longer calculating the time as it once had. To Madani, I was now an outsider.

  Across the dark waters, Sheelin loomed in my hidden sight. In the diffused glow of the moon, I could just pick out where it should be, if my home wanted to be seen. A pink gleam of the marble and gold temple cast the clouds in soft relief somewhere beyond the storm. My heart saw what magic hid from my eyes.

  The cove I sought was on higher ground; a surround of large boulders and carefully placed smaller stones gave protection from the lake, while the cliff’s overhang gave protection from the wind and rain. It was damp and cold but far better than soaked and frozen over. In the back, beneath brittle pine branches so old I was surprised to see them whole, kindling was piled in the neat stacks I had set out years ago in case a resting place was needed.

  Tonight, I would gain no rest in my sanctuary. My ritual fire would be a tool on my journey—one that granted heat to my soul while with each step, an icy, fluid death awaited if my steps faltered. As the striking stones set off sparks, my thoughts turned to Cade. If I did not return, he alone would have to fight off Liand. Once the ships docking in the Aristeer harbor were searched, the soldiers would fall upon Madani with a ruthlessness never before seen. One did not need to be an oracle to see such things; one must only know the vicious hearts of men who follow leaders with blind faith.

  Liand would have my neck for this; his duty to his people would claim that, no matter his misplaced desire for me. I still believe that had Liand a chance in the fires of Aya’s forges to convert me, he would have forced me to be his Queen. May Bas strike me down before that day arrives. Her claws squeezing the life from me would be a sweet death compared to a life with him.

  Crackling wood pulled my attention back to the present and my task. After a stack of larger branches caught fire, I added the few lumps of coal Cade had forced me to bring. Stubborn man. My stubborn man, I chided myself. Our binding was complete. In going to Sheelin, I could ask any priestess there for her blessing upon our said words, and so would it be. The High Priestess would take one look at me, then shake her head in amusement.

  Bruises of love-bites bloomed across my neck and shoulders, visible if my cloak hood fell back from my face. With his cuff upon my arm, there could be no doubts that I had been chosen again—first by Bas, then by Cade. I had chosen him, too, at long last.

  *

  “It took long enough, Child.” Aya chastised from a stone across the fire. “You need not a priestess’ blessing upon your marriage. I give it Myself. You are wed to My priest as I am to Bas. May your love inspire other hearts to beat in time with one another.” Aya’s fire-formed smile faltered. “Now, are
you prepared to test your faith in Us, Priestess?”

  From within the self-induced trance of my magic, I nodded. “Yes, Lord Smith. If my calling takes me far from Madani, if I return at all, I hope that my choice gives Cade some comfort.” I surrendered my hope by placing it in one person, only to find it grow in another. “If hope is all a man needs to survive, as Cade has told me, may we provide enough hope for our people.”

  The Wayland Smith nodded as He considered my words. “Hope is all We Gods need as well, Roseen. Where one spark of hope remains in the heart of Our clergy, so shall We flourish. Love Us, and We will never abandon you. May that faith keep you whole through the upcoming hours. May Her paw shelter you and My hammer protect you, Priestess.” Aya stepped into the flames and disappeared. “Go home, Daughter. Go home.” His voice was a rumble in the waters crashing onto the shore.

  I am home. The citizens of Madani may think me an outsider now, but I still feel that they are my home. I became a priestess because Bas knew that I could be something special for my people when my skills were honed. Now, I can give back to Her by caring for them. The Madani natives have given so many priestesses to the island; it is time a priestess gives something back to the people.

  “Focus, child. We need you.” The Oracle’s voice crashed over me with the next wave, and I looked up. The moon was rising higher. I had to move soon or wait another night and chance being too late.

  Frankincense tears and copal resin were warm from my shared body heat and pulsed in my hand. Setting them onto a stone near the fire, I crushed them into a fine powder with another rock. They crumbled beneath the roll of the gray stone. Each pounding of the rocks echoed my heartbeat.

  The fire’s light played upon the stone, casting shadows on my skin, and it reflected glimmers of building magic onto the dark waters. Flames flared up as I tossed the sweet, acrid powder into the sacred heat, orange licking at my fingers as if to ignite each grain of incense I offered.

  “These gifts I bring in hopes of safe passage.” The smoke and my words rose to the Gods of the sky and the Great Goddesses of the earth in offering for the wisdom They might offer if They were pleased with me. “Bas and Aya, I call upon You to bless my steps. Bring me home, please.” Strips of dried venison and a vial of home-brewed ale were given to the fire where the smoke traveled to the sky.

  “Sheelin, open your gates to your priestess. Let me come home in the ways of old. Sheelin, your priestess begs entrance. Bring me home,” I intoned.

  A ringing thump, that of a hammer hitting bare stone sounded from the dark depths. The steps of the lake were calling me. “Aya Wayland, a child of Bas asks You to summon the stones so that she might walk to the island of Your priests and priestesses.”

  Glancing outside the cove, I saw the moon showing me my path. Leaving my torq nestled into the leaves by my feet, a parting gift for Cade should I not return, I gave myself over to the rhythmic hammering.

  She comes.

  She comes.

  She comes.

  I heard Sheelin chanting with each precarious step I took in my descent to the water’s edge. The earth vibrated with ancient magic, making my knees weak with the urge to kneel upon the wet rocks.

  “The first knelt; so shall you.” Aya’s voice came from the stones and sand. “Give yourself to Me.”

  I crawled through the water, soaking myself in the surf. Wet sand sucked my fingers down then released them with a pop. Reaching forward, my nails met the edge of a flat rock—one just large enough for my feet. Rising up, I set my eyes on Sheelin, its ring of forests now visible across the dark path.

  “Walk, Priestess. Walk My path.”

  Charcoal gray stones had a dull gleam in the moonlight and rain; each span of my stride led me to another risen rock. If I fell, I knew I would have no other chances this night; if not this night, then no night would be good enough. The magic’s pulsing energy could not hide the urgency of the island’s call, of my sisters’ call. I was needed.

  Sheelin beckoned, and I made haste, picking my way across with whispered prayers to the Gods. My feet froze in the ankle deep water the stones had me traverse, and my face stung with the rain. Wind buffeted me, caught in my cloak, and tried to push me down into the black waves. Even with the Gods’ magic, it was an uncomfortable journey.

  I could smell the balefire before the rain stopped. Burning leaves gave off their sweet smoke, bearing with it the scent of hardwoods and something else I did not recognize. It was cloying and bordered on unpleasant. My nostrils widened, and my brow furrowed in response; it smelled like death.

  The repulsive haze grew with each step until my lungs ached with each breath. Ten stones became just three more, two, then one. With one last hop I would be upon the western edge of Sheelin. I would be on my other home, a home I longed to have Cade witness.

  Pure white sand shone in the now crescent moon of silver lighting my way. The golden full moon of Madani had given way to the curving, silver-dipped claw of Bas in the same space the rain stopped. Drumming, as loud and pounding as a smith at the forge, summoned me through the forest. I could almost hear the chanting around the fire if I listened with my heart. Smoke billowed above the tree canopy, obscuring my view of the temple.

  The last stone sank slightly beneath my weight as I stood upon it, readying myself for whatever lay in wait ahead. It was not time for rituals, no holy day for honoring, and had there been a passing or status rite to be held, Asha would have told me in the vision. No, something grave was occurring for the fires to be lit tonight. Had Liand made a move against Sheelin? How could any save Bas’ and Aya’s priests have made it through the magic mists surrounding the isle?

  Climbing through the undergrowth on my way to find answers, I fought my way past familiar bushes I had hidden in as a child when shirking my cleaning duties. Here I saw an old friend in the bark of an oak, there I saw the pain-bringing willow with its wands the high priest had switched me with for slipping fresh nettles into another initiate’s bedclothes. She had deserved it, and the welts left by the whipping were a cheap price for those she had all over her skin.

  She has arrived. She comes.

  The island trembled as I touched the first of the white birch trees leading to the Grove. “Yes, Sheelin; your priestess has come home.” Sending out the softest tendril of energy I could muster, I gave a silent thank you to Sheelin for welcoming me to her sacred ground.

  The drumming changed as I walked, and the chants of the priestess grew louder, more defined. Things were not right on Sheelin; I heard no male voices within the chant. If the Hallows’ rite had been moved to coincide with my return, there still should have been chanting priests singing the death lament of the old God and giving comfort to the Goddess.

  Hesitation stilled my steps; wariness filled my heart. Memories of my first aisling chilled me to the core. No longer did I hasten down the overgrown path. I crept tree to tree, crawling through cold mud, snagging my hair on branches, dirtying my clothing until I looked more nature spirit than woman. Perhaps this is what the first priestess looked like when she arrived on Sheelin, I mused. My hand dropped to my stomach, thinking of the gift granted to Sheelin by the first priestess.

  The clearing’s light loomed ahead of me, thick oaks blocking a direct view. Still creeping, I parted the leaves of a weeping willow and peered through to the other side, needing to get even closer for a better look. The vision was relived in each of my breaths. I came to a stop beneath the willow’s branches and let the horrific sight sink in.

  The High Priest’s absence in the song was now obvious.

  As in the dream, three men were chained to the Grove’s oldest and tallest trees. An ancient oak had seen the birth of the second priestess upon the isle and bore the natal strings of all those born here. It now held the body of our High Priest, cloaked in furs to shield him from the rain.

  I cannot begin to describe the horror he and the other priests possessed. Bale fire reflected upon their hideous bodies. Blood dripped from
their mouths and down their legs, red rivers of their pain. The furs they wore were matted with blood and had been for days; the stench was growing. My first vision . . . My scarred arms ached in remembered pain of the mirror’s shards as I tried to escape this very image now set before me.

  The High Priestess danced around the fire, naked save a cloak of black feathers. On her hands, she wore iron claws that tipped each of her fingers. She had gone to war.

  The old speech she chanted spoke of desecration and forsaken ways. A part of me rejoiced I had come too late to take part in this painful ritual. In the dirt below the trees, I could just make out the fabric sash of Liand’s priests. He had converted our priests—my brethren.

  The priestess danced by me, feet falling in time with the drummers who sat in the shadows near the stairs. She did not see me, so deep was she in the magic’s trance; the High Priestess was beyond this plane. As she turned to circle the fire again, I noticed the blood running down her arms. In her hands and at her feet I saw tongues and other bits of flesh.

  Fear that had immobilized me before, now gave speed to my feet as I shot across the tree line to the roughhewn stone steps leading to the temple. I would not sing and dance with her. I knew where that path would take me, and I refused to walk it. The drummers paid me no heed, lost to the beat of their instruments as they channeled divine magic through each resounding connection between hand and goat skin.

  Crumbling pebbles dug into my palms and feet as I scrambled up the stairs. I needed to get to the temple and ask the Oracle and other Grandmothers what was happening. This was not Sheelin. We were peaceful and just. No blood was shed outside of that decreed by the Gods; even then it was given freely by the priest or priestess, not taken by force. By the painful set of their faces, I knew the men had not gone of their free will.