by Ron Glick
I will go to see him! She scanned the room for where she might have cast her cloak. He may not have left town yet. Perhaps he has a room here at the inn. I'll go see him and apologize, and then he can hold me and... Her words dropped off, and her hand let go of the cloak she had just picked up, letting it fall to the floor.
“I am a priest of Imery,” she scolded herself aloud. “That would be an indignity, and would be improper for one of my rank. He should be the one to come to me!” Furtively, she cast her eyes now to the door, a great despair once again sweeping through her. So why has he not come for me?
Timidly, she moved herself before the mirror, a tear now visible streaking down her left cheek. What does he not see in me? she pleaded of her image. Am I not beautiful enough? Are my bosoms too petite or my waist too thin? Or perhaps not thin enough? She turned herself to let her see herself from behind, trying to find something to despise about herself, something about herself that she could make more appealing, more comely to this man. A thousand flaws came to her mind. Most she knew she could never disguise in short order without magic.
She stopped herself. Why change herself when she could just change him? Yes, she could bewitch him, ensnare his heart with magic she knew through her devotion. She had done so with other men before. Why had that thought not occurred to her before now?
Truly she was lovesick if so simple a remedy had escaped her so readily. She could have him. He would not, could not deny her then. She could act upon her threat and take him, make him want her more than she wanted him. She could make him grovel and beg for her pleasure, spurn him for a time as she demanded of him chastity and devotion. He would abandon that wench of a wife and leave her to raise the bratty children alone. He would plead with utter humility for even the smallest favor that in her mercy Brea could grant. And only when she could not hold back her own lust another instant would she couple with him, though she would never betray to the man how deeply she wanted him. He would belong to her heart and soul and she would make him feel small indeed for the indignity of forcing her to pine over him! Yes!
No! she almost screamed, falling to her knees. I want him to love me, not to enslave himself to me! How could she even think of doing such a thing to the man she... loved? Did she love him or was she only fooling herself to think she did? But why could she not bring herself to enthrall him as she had so many men before? Enchant his mind until she lost this absurd obsession for him? Then she could just send him off to wherever he wandered once her need was sated, without any concern nor regret.
Brea buried her face in her hands and wept. By the Goddess, I could never hurt him! And deep down, she knew that had she chosen to charm him, that once she had possessed him, she would never have been able to set him free...
She took a deep breath to calm herself again. What has become of me? she sobbed. What am I to do? Goddess, give me the strength to endure...
On her knees already, Brea at last turned to her faith fully. Clasping her hands in her lap, she lowered herself into her prayer posture, her heels beneath her, her head bowed. In choking sobs, she began to cant Imery's ritual form. “Blessed is the Goddess, for your name is Truth. Blessed are your words, for they are my bidding. May I seek your blessing in all that I do. Hear me now, Imery, for the words of your most devoted daughter are only for you...”
** *
The field stretched as far as could be seen, even by divine eyes. One could say the field of flowers, glittering with crystalline sparkles, stretched unto infinity, for in truth the physical appearance that the field took did not possess any boundary nor limit. It neither ended nor began. It existed as it was entered, without any kind of definition that could limit it in any way. And since only a God could enter the field of blossoms, it did not matter that it existed so.
This was the Field of Knowledge. It did not truly exist as it appeared, either, since each flower was, in fact, a piece of knowledge from the mortal realm, manifested in this place in a medium form that permitted easier manipulation by the Gods. Though a divine power could weave the barest threads of reality, it was the symbolism through which such acts were performed. Certainly, the plucking of a flower to quash an idea somewhere in this vast garden was not required to commit the act; an act of divine will could accomplish the same without ever setting foot here. But Gods were ruled by form, and symbolism of the act, as inspired by those that bound them to their duties, was everything. Without the imagery that mortals used to define their divine provinces, the poetic balance of the universe would fall to disordered chaos.
These thoughts did not touch the Goddess of Truth as she wandered aimlessly through the flowers. She was of the divine and could think of as many things as she could create forms to wander. A God existed not in a single form as mortals did, after all, but could replicate their forms as needed, imparting unto each a portion of their essence which served to bind each form as a collective whole. Thus could the Goddess serve many of her faithful at once or none at all, as the choices were needed. And all being part of the greater self, she was always aware of what each of her selves knew and experienced.
To Imery, it was not necessary to think on the nature of the Field of Knowledge to understand it. This was a basic element of the New Order, the Field itself a manifestation of their mutual will. Therefore, it existed as much a part of her as separate.
Imery cast her eyes upon the Field, knowing that each crystal flower in its individual brightness, each a replication in a slightly different way of an inconceivable number of multitudes of colors and forms, represented a different kind of knowledge, its state of bloom displaying its status within the mortal realm. A closed bud would be unknown, a flower in full bloom fully revealed, a wilted one a suppressed or hidden thing known to only a few perhaps. They all existed in so many different variations of bloom as to be beyond comprehension to any save divine.
Imery's attention was focused on flowers fully abloom, and of those only the ones in brightest shades. These were the Truths of existence that were known to mortals, and the sphere of influence over which she prevailed. The dark blooms were the deceptions, the lies, the falsehoods that mortals told themselves and to each other. Enough of the latter could smother the brighter flowers, and in many places they did. It pained Imery to see Truths overrun, but it was the order of things, and she had to accept it as so.
This day, Imery had come upon a curious part of the Field. Centuries ago, ten blooms had sprouted in this spot and throughout that entire time, the flowers had remained within their buds. The flowers would most likely resemble bright roses when they did finally blossom, yet what these flowers had actually represented had ever been a mystery to all the Gods of the New Order. The knowledge each bud concealed was undiscovered, even by the Gods themselves. Rare were such things upon the Field, and usually ended up representing some divine scheme when finally revealed, for only divine knowledge could be denied to another God.
In spite of mortals' beliefs that Gods were of infinite patience, the truth of the matter was that Gods were as children, fit to burst when they had a secret none others possessed. None had ever been able to keep their plots secret for long, as in the end, they wanted the adoration associated with revealing their plots. These buds defied that – and not one bud, but ten! No hidden knowledge had ever remained hidden as long as these.
Hidden, that is, until now.
No other flowers sprung amidst this host here, not even the darker flowers that might have answered why these Truths had remained hidden for so long. No lies had been told to hide them. The knowledge existed within the mortal realm, or the flowers would not exist here. Even if it simply represented a God moving through the mortal realm, such knowledge would manifest in the Field. Yet though the knowledge was there, it had lain hidden all this time.
Now though Imery cast her eyes upon the first change ever to be witnessed of these strange flowers. On the outer edge of the cluster, one of the dark green bud casings had cracked, revealing the first lavender leaf of
the flower within. Though the heart of knowledge was still concealed, this was a sign that someone somewhere had discovered the first secrets of this knowledge. Somewhere within the mortal realm, this Truth was awakening.
Still though the knowledge was denied to her, even the portion that had been already discovered. As inconceivable as it was, a mortal had glimpsed what the divine could not. Even stooping to look upon the sheathed bloom carefully wielded little save its scent...
Sharply, Imery stood. She knew that smell, though it had become less and less common over time. And even when it did appear in today's age, it was weaker, diluted. That... odor had lost its potency in the mortal realm long ago, barely surviving to linger as a passing wisp occasionally amongst the more powerful scents in the Field.
Here it was though, strong and potent. And unmistakable. The bloom reeked of the Old Gods' magic!
This alone was a powerful Truth. The Old Gods were behind this cluster of knowledge just now blooming in the mortal realm. That these buds had been here centuries suggested it was an old plot just now coming to fruition.
But what could it be? The Old Gods' influence had declined considerably within the last several mortal generations, almost a dead religion. How much power could there be in an age-old machination? Certainly not enough to threaten the New Order's domination! No matter what they were about, no matter the foundation laid so long ago, the magic to move this plot along would still be subject to the limitations of the Old Gods' current power, which was minimal. They simply lacked a great enough following of devoted. Without such, no member of that dying Pantheon could muster enough power to affect what the New Order now possessed.
Still... One thing about this troubled her: If the Old Gods had waned, where could the power to conceal this knowledge be coming from?
On a whim, Imery cast her eyes over the Field, searching for some other sign of the Old Gods' magic. There was enough of it scattered about to make the search all but fruitless. None was as strong or as focused as what lay in the cluster of ten, though. This area of the Field was unique in that respect.
Then, as she began to pull her senses back to herself, a dim awareness caught her attention. Not from without though where she had been seeking, but from within. Something in herself echoed the feel of the Old Gods' magic! How could Imery herself be so tainted?
Instantly, she set her awareness to the deed of seeking out this taint within her essence. However, before she actually delved deep into herself, she allowed herself a moment of apprehension for what the discovery could entail. The potential import of the rise of Old God magic, not just in the Field but now within herself was staggering. Yet she would by necessity have to seek out the Truth of this in order to learn from whence the root of the infection sprung.
As her search began, she quickly determined that it was not her physical form that was inflicted, as much as her divine form or forms could be considered physical, but within the body of her faithful instead. Specifically, within the body of one of her faithful! And that faithful was in communion even now, her taint flowing into the Goddess' very essence!
Imery's first reaction was to smite the unfaithful who dared to serve the Old Gods while swearing fealty to her. And a priest, as well, for only a priest could enter such a rapport as this with the Goddess. How long had this disease infected her while she was unaware that she had been so defiled? Twice in the day now she had endured the Old Gods' taint, and she could not now abide it within one who had been sworn to her service!
It was the thought of her other manifestations that stayed her hand. It was indeed odd enough for either, but for both within a span of moments? The flower of knowledge was denied her, and if she smote the traitor from her flock, she would be denied the source of that corruption, as well – especially if this errant priest had indeed cast his lot with the Old Gods, for her soul would even be beyond their ability to retrieve. And the two circumstances must be related...
* * *
“...Guide me, walk beside me and forever bless me, Oh, Imery,” continued Brea, “as I seek from you that which I need to lighten my path through this darkness that has consumed my soul.”
Brea smirked self-consciously. “Nay. I cannot in truth call it darkness, for though it blinds me, it is more from its brilliance that from anything else. I have never known such a passion, Oh, Goddess, as I feel for this man, Goodsmith. And though you have given unto me the strength and means to conquer him, I fear that I have become myself too weak to meet the challenge. I have failed you, my Goddess, yet I humbly implore you for your favor. Grant me the strength that I may look away from this temptation that tortures my soul, that I might better serve you and only you. Help me, Oh, Imery, I beg of thee...”
“If it is help thou require, my priestess,” came a voice rich in its own power, “then rise to answer the will of thine Goddess.”
Brea's voice caught in her throat, a half formed syllable partially uttered, forgotten even before the air forming it had completely escaped. Sweat formed on her brow and she shivered. She feared to open her eyes while at the same time feared not to.
Momentary doubt filled her mind. She needed quickly to decide on whether to take the words to heart for what they suggested or to stand and denounce some fool intending to mock her at her lowest point. Gods did not routinely appear during prayer, no matter how pious the worshiper. So more than common sense would have justified her doubt. But even as she thought this, she knew this was wrong. Perhaps it was her affinity for her Goddess from years of devotion or perhaps it was just fear of the consequences if she wrongly mocked a God. Whatever the reason, by the time she raised her eyes, Lady Brea knew she would be setting eyes upon the Goddess Imery herself.
Timidly, Brea raised herself from prayer, trying to stand as instructed while still trying to show devout reverence for her deity. She had never been taught how to hold herself in the actual presence of a God, except of course in the form of prayer, which was thought of as being in the presence of the divine, even when it was more symbolic than actual. She settled on a stooped shoulder stance, head bowed, eyes closed. She could not bring herself to face Imery as an equal.
“Would you pay homage to me in timidity, Lady Brea?” asked the divine voice.
Brea tentatively turned her head and squinted from below her still-bowed brow. “I – I would show you reverence, My Goddess,” Brea managed. “Only I do not know the form to show it...”
Imery walked forward and took Brea by the shoulders. “You do know, for it is in my word. How must you ever face the Truth?”
“B-boldly, with face forward and shoulders square,” Brea recited from rote. “Lest Truth think you afraid and unworthy to know it.”
Imery nodded. “Aye. And what is my name?”
“Imery,” Brea responded before thinking of what had been her Goddess' meaning. “Truth. Your name is Truth.” The very lines of the prayer she had uttered herself only minutes before...
“So how must you face me then?”
Brea clenched her jaw for fortitude and raised herself in the ascribed way. “Boldly, with face forward and shoulders square! Lest you think me afraid and unworthy to know you!” A warmth suffused her body as she accepted the true meaning of her prayers.
Imery released her hold and stepped back, not loosing the gaze she held with her priestess. “And are you worthy, Lady Brea?”
Brea began to answer in the positive, then remembered her words in prayer. “In truth,” she managed weakly, “I am uncertain. I am overcome, My Goddess. I do not know my own heart any longer...”
Imery smiled, though no warmth reflected in her eyes. “Because you have become smitten with a man? Is your faith in me so easily challenged?”
“No!” Brea started. “I- it's not like that, at all! I have been your devoted servant for many years, Oh, Imery, and in that time, I have never surrendered my heart, following your dictate that I keep love for you alone in my heart!
“But there is something in this Nathaniel Goodsmi
th that has broken me! Aye, I am broken! And he betrothed and with children! I should be able to set thoughts of such a one aside, and yet I cannot! He consumes me, Oh, Imery! And he knows it not at all, for he did not return my interest, devoted as he is to his wife and offspring...”
“He is only a man...” began Imery.
“No!” interrupted Brea without considering the implications. She did not notice the coals simmering below the surface of her Goddess' eyes before stumbling on, either. “I mean, yes, he is only a man, yet to me, he is so much more. I cannot explain it... I...” Brea's mind finally caught up to her actions as she suddenly realized that she had interrupted Imery, and her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wild with fright.
“Be at ease, child,” cooed Imery. Her tone beguiled the simmer she actually felt at the slight. “You are distraught and unaccustomed to speaking with a God. Well are you to remember your own proper place. Boldness does not justify disrespect, after all.”
“Forgive me,” muttered Brea.
“Already done,” spoke the Goddess evenly. “Yet another matter, and the true reason for my coming, is not so easily set aside.” Imery's voice now dripped with the menace she had until now concealed. “It is no wonder your faith is so easily unsettled when your love for me is corrupted under the taint of your faith in others.”
Brea was startled, uncertain what had prompted this change. “O- others, Goddess?”
“You are smothered in the taint of the Old Gods, Lady Brea.” The Goddess' smile was now one of wickedness. “Were you truly so brazen that you thought you could hide such treachery? That you could make such a pact without my learning of it? A priestess of my fold taken to collaboration with the old ways is not something I nor any of the New Order would sanction, as you should well know. Did they lure you with promises of protection, convince you they could mask your duplicity from me? Speak! Answer me! Your Goddess demands it!”