Abandi’s earlier gruff voice softened considerably when she spoke. “Oh, well, that… that is bound to happen. Now go, join the others before High Priestess Iktai rains down Maan’s displeasure on your tardiness again.”
There was no chatter in the middle of the hall, merely the rustles of feet and cloths brushing against the flesh of their skin. The other Young Acolytes moved fluidly, as though controlled by the intense gaze of the High Priestess watching from the altar set high above in front of them. Though silent, the Young Acolytes were curiously fidgety. The High Priestess had called for a sudden Commune just an hour ago. Never had High Priestess Iktai done such a thing, often choosing to announce a day of Commune at least five days before they met.
High Priestess Iktai stood in her robes of white and green. The clothes, weaved by magic and cotton, changed its colors and design to Iktai’s whim. Her right hand held on to a staff which shone brilliantly at its spherical tip. With hawk-like eyes, she visually preened at the Young Acolytes arranging themselves in front of her. The symbol of the religious leader of Sedayval, the High Priestess’s power was only second to Queen Vahana IV in the matters of administration.
Shera immersed herself into the sea of white and blue, effortlessly gliding through the other Acolytes, who were already beginning to show an ecclesiastical inertia from their earlier movements. Only their white, flowing neck cloths flew to the trajectory of the night’s wind. The faces of the Young Acolytes were now painted with the glorification of their leader in front of them. Moving behind a row of Young Acolytes, Shera knew that they would not provide the best protection from Iktai’s strict eyes. Shera was easily one of the tallest Young Acolytes in Commune. But no voice of displeasure came from the pedestal high above.
Sighing with relief, Shera found her designated spot next to Iman. Immediately, a fresh wave of dislike washed over her. Iman, the red-haired, petite Young Acolyte was considered the pinnacle of perfection. At least that was what the other Priestesses said. Iman spoke only when she was spoken to, and she never questioned the teachings of Maan. It was not that she was a person without curiosity; it was just that Iman absorbed the teachings of Maan with an obsessive acceptance. To Iman, the only truth in the world was the truth flowing through the lips of High Priestess Iktai.
Another peal of bell rang through the prayer hall, signaling the beginning of Commune. Without being told, the Young Acolytes prostrated themselves in front of the High Priestess.
As her lips touched the cold, marble floor, Shera heard Iman whisper at her.
“Tardiness is the devil in the court of Maan.”
“Tardiness is just not arriving on time,” Shera replied quietly, her eyes an inch from the ground. “Stop being so dramatic.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Iman flinch at her irreverent retort. The red-haired acolyte’s eyes were tightly shut, as though Shera’s words felt like a hit knife twisting underneath her skin. No words came from Iman, and Shera breathed out a sigh of relief; she was not in the mood for another philosophical argument with a disciple who accepted everything and questioned nothing.
Iman used High Priestess Iktai’s favoritism over her as a tool of popularity, to spread nasty rumors about Shera. There was no doubt in Shera’s mind that Iman would inform the others of Shera’s earlier impoliteness. Knowing the Young Acolyte’s propensity for exaggeration, it would probably reach the High Priestess’ ears, too. Shera was already an abhorrent figure amongst the other Young Acolytes; it would not take much for Iman to convince them of Shera’s grating remarks. But, Shera did not care. It had been a rough night for her. The first anniversary of her mother’s death was still weighing heavily in her mind, reminded of the fact that it had been a year since she lost her greatest supporter.
When High Priestess Iktai spoke, the inflection of her voice was as soft and purposeful, like vines snaking up a tree. Her words reached the back most row Young Acolytes, losing no magnitude of emotion. As always, her sentences were punctuated with gratitude to the goddess, Maan.
“When the Goddess of Maan separated this land from Earth to create our floating city, Sedayval, she did it so that our city would not be exposed to the inflammatory actions of the nonbelievers on the Earth below, thanks to Maan.”
“Thanks to Maan,” chorused the wave of Young Acolytes.
“When there was only enmity and war and strife in this world, Maan took us from within that horrible land. She delivered us to safety, thanks to Maan,” High Priestess Iktai said again, waving a wizened hand at the disciples in front of her.
“Thanks to Maan,” the Young Acolytes sang out in unison.
Next to her, Iman practically screamed out her gratitude towards Maan. Unlike the other Young Acolytes who were comfortable in loudly exclaiming their gratitude towards the abstract deity, Shera often felt contrastively. Maan existed everywhere. Being too decadent in one’s reverence of the ubiquitously present goddess was redundant. Shera was comfortable with thanking Maan in her heart.
“Not giving proper gratitude is a devil in Maan’s court,” Iman said quietly as the High Priestess continued her speech.
“The loudest idiots are often the ones with the emptiest voices,” Shera replied, eyes closed, forehead still against the marble floor.
Before Iman could reply the High Priestess beckoned for the Young Acolytes to rise.
“Rise, Young Acolytes. Let our Goddess Maan see your faces through my eyes.”
The Young Acolytes lifted their foreheads from the cool, marble floors and sat, with their legs folded and hands rested on their laps. Shera took the opportunity to look around the prayer hall. At each column lining the perimeter stood a Priestess of Maan in their robes of blue and green, bodies facing the Young Acolytes. Her eyes rested upon her favorite Priestess, Hazpo, who stood the nearest to High Priestess Iktai, a symbol of her seniority.
Something about Hazpo’s face disturbed Shera. The often benevolent, calm patina on Hazpo’s face was replaced with a worrisome look tonight. It distressed Shera greatly to see the clear distress in Priestess Hazpo’s eyes. The smile that was always on her face during High Priestess Iktai’s address was missing. Something was clearly wrong, though Shera did not know why. She was resolved to approach Hazpo about after the Commune was over.
The elder Priestess was the only one who acknowledged Shera’s intense curiosity. In the court where inquisitiveness was often met with annoyance, Hazpo welcomed any questions Shera had about Maan. Shera’s often too observant nature sometimes got her into trouble. Her inquisitiveness towards the religion was met with discomfort by the other Young Acolytes. From a young age, they have been taught to accept the teachings of Maan without questioning it.
“… Praise to Maan,” the High Priestess’s voice sounded garbled in Shera’s ears.
Her attention dissipated from its current plane, traveling to random flights of fancy. She wondered if Andel would still be in the Academia, poring over his scrolls. Had father left for Enmei? Or would he wait for her to return from Commune first? Shera sighed inwardly, her hand reaching down to scratch at the itch on her ankle.
“Indulging in the needs of your physical body is the devil in Maan’s court,” Iman’s sharp lips whispered. “To scratch an itch while the High Priestess speaks is disrespectful. You should know better.”
Iman’s sharp and acrid words sliced its way through to the other Young Acolytes adjacent to their persons. Some even turned around in the most discreet manner to look at Shera in displeasure. The High Priestess, oblivious to the Young Acolytes’ arguments, ploughed on with her speech.
“An itch is merely an itch. Disturbing the High Priestess’ Commune is a devil in Maan’s court,” Shera whispered back.
“What is your point?” Iman countered.
“You, Iman. You are a devil in Maan’s court, preventing me from listening to the High Priestesses’ words.”
The gasp from Iman’s mouth was worth Shera’s retaliation. But she knew then, that she had gotten a bit
too far with her words. Already, a few of the Young Acolytes, in deference to their friendship with Iman, gave Shera looks of shock and disbelief.
“Praise to Maan, what is going on there? Why are those Young Acolytes not paying attention during Commune?” High Priestess Iktai suddenly said out, her voice now channeled in Shera and Iman’s direction.
Shera felt the weight of the entire Commune fall upon her. She was often the scapegoat of such situations. None of the eyes regarded Iman in annoyance; the only indulgence she received being that of sympathy and concern. Hazpo’s eyes however, were those that showed mere neutrality in situations such as these.
“Young Acolyte Shera, disturbing the Commune again, Praise to Maan…” High Priestess Iktai shook her head.
“Praise to Maan…”
Shera’s face burnt at being spoken to directly by the High Priestess. She had no choice but to settle her gaze on the small blot of pattern on the marbled floor, hoping that the berating would be over soon. Luck was unfortunately not on her side. To her right, Iman tried her best not to laugh out loud.
“My apologies, High Priestess Iktai, I was merely scratching an itch on my ankle,” Shera tried to explain.
The earlier curved lines around Iktai’s eyes now strained to accommodate the widening of her eyes.
“Indulging in an itch is the devil in Maan’s court,” she echoed Iman’s sentences. Though her tone was soft, its magnitude conveyed an explosive emotion, for the Priestesses looked around uneasily at each other.
As High Priestess Iktai continued to denounce Shera’s quality in front of many, the Young Acolyte merely focused on the runes on her hands. The wrists of her hands were imbibed in circular runes that snaked all the way up to the juncture of her elbows. It was the direct Runic translation of Maan’s words to the first Queen Vahana I when she descended from the heavens to aid in the Great War.
‘There are multiple forms of the truth, and they are people’s words. Live your truth and share them with others.’
If there were any of Maan’s teachings that Shera took to her heart, it was that. Sadly, none of her peers or seniors echoed her sentiments on the matter. Maan’s teachings to them, was what came out from the High Priestess’ lips. Iktai was the one who dispensed the knowledge of Maan, and her followers were forced to obsequiously follow it without batting an eyelid.
Iktai continued along this vein of Shera’s denouncement. The Young Acolytes took the opportunity to shoot Shera nasty glances. Shera was angry and tried to contain her emotions. Gripping at her wrist, she mentally repeated the first mantra of Maan.
And then she spoke out against High Priestess Iktai.
“Is it so, High Priestess Iktai?” Shera interrupted Iktai’s lecture, her voice tinged with innocence. “Is scratching an itch really that bad?”
Everyone in the Inner Sanctum gasped audibly. For the first time in history, Shera spoke back at the High Priestess. Shera, stubborn as she may be, was also intelligent in the art of conveying her thoughts. Anger and open defiance would be met with retribution by the High Priestess herself. If she addressed the question properly, perhaps she could emerge victorious in this battle.
“Praise to Maan, do you dare question the teachings of Maan? Help Maan maintain her rein on all of us.”
“Praise Maan, help Maan…” the others chanted around Shera. Some even clutched at their chests, others clapping their mouths in horror.
“If merely scratching an itch is unacceptable, surely something else as trivial as breathing, or even blinking our eyes are bigger devils in Maan’s court, for we do them all the time. I… I just thought that perhaps an itch paled in comparison to those other deeds.”
At the corner of her eye, Shera could see the Priestesses lining the perimeter of the wall look at each other.
“It is a devil! Scratching the itch makes you not pay attention to the words coming out of my lips!” the High Priestess continued. “Breathing and blinking the eyelids do not prevent you from listening, does it?”
Shera pondered at the absurdity of Iktai’s words. Having studied Maan words in its purest, original form, she knew that there were no such rules. Commune itself was a human conceptualization. And the rules of Commune were made by the High Priestess.
Maan could give a rat’s ass if someone were to scratch themselves.
But around the prayer hall, the Priestesses and Acolytes nodded fervently. Some were still too stunned by Shera’s audacity; their hands were planted firmly on the floor to prevent them from falling over at the sheer intensity of the drama. Shera wanted to scream at them, but knew that they were too glued to the High Priestess’s teachings.
“My apologies, High Priestess Iktai… I still don’t understand. Earlier when we bowed in prostration, a Young Acolyte let out a terrible fart,” Shera struggled to keep a straight face. “Do we have to denounce her just because her body chose to act in a natural way?”
Some of the Young Acolytes giggled, a small blame game starting around them. Most of the priestesses however looked like they were going to faint at Shera’s words. Iktai’s lips pursed intensely.
“Be quiet!” Iktai raised her voice, her staff glowing brightly as she waved it around. “Praise to Maan, she does not accept such remarks in the prayer hall!”
“Praise to Maan,” everyone chorused.
“But if the itch persists, and I don’t scratch it, I would not be paying attention to your words High Priestess Iktai. Surely Maan does not want that,” Shera asked, her voice slightly higher, emulating that of a child’s innocent curiosity.
At the foot of Iktai’s pedestal, Hazpo smiled discreetly. The High Priestess was ruffled by the manner in which Shera could answer her, and was silent for a moment. Then she spoke.
“If you are bothered by an itch during Commune, Maan deems you unworthy of her attention and blessing then, Young Acolyte Shera.”
The smile on Shera’s face vanished instantly. All around her, the Priestesses and Acolytes were shocked to hear the High Priestess openly denounce a disciple in such a manner. They had never seen Iktai speak with such malice, though it was also their first time seeing a Young Acolyte lob a question towards Iktai. This was unchartered territory for all of them.
Shera bit at her lip, hoping the hurt would blunt out the thoughts swirling in her head. She tried her best not to look at Hazpo, who was now slowly, but surely shaking her head at the High Priestess’ behavior.
Satisfied at putting Shera back in her place, Iktai looked everyone else in the prayer hall.
“Now… as I was saying, praise to Maan,” High Priestess Iktai continued her speech.
Shera was not listening anymore. The tears welled up at the edges of her eyes. Iktai had openly called her unworthy of Maan’s attention. Her hazy vision caught the expression on Hazpo’s face.
The older woman nodded towards Shera, a sign of support from a distance. Hazpo, though being a senior Priestess, could not openly announce her camaraderie towards the Young Acolyte. Hazpo was frustrated at the High Priestess’ tendencies in singling the Young Acolyte out of many. It was an unfair maneuver to make Shera the scapegoat.
Shera averted her gaze from Hazpo, unwilling to let the Priestess see her cry. The Young Acolyte knew then that she would not be accepted in this court, no matter how hard she tried.
The event that night revealed to Shera, that she may never be a full-fledged Priestess of Maan. The five years of studying the runes of Maan went up in smoke when she decided to speak up against the High Priestess. Glad that no one was paying her any more attention, Shera let the tears fall freely. Never had she felt so much shame.
“As we all know, the Festival of Providence will be upon us in two days,” Iktai continued as though she has not been interrupted. She paused and looked around the room. “This will be the three hundredth Festival of Providence, Praise to Maan.”
“Praise to Maan.”
“As Maan dictated through Queen Vahana I’s body after emerging victorious…” here Iktai
paused to adopt a more ethereal voice. “Though my enemies are defeated, they should no longer be called our enemies. That is the purpose of a war; to let peace bloom. Henceforth, this land that I claim will be Sedayval, which I will part from the Earth. It will be the pinnacle of Civilization. Sedayval will open its doors to those who fought against us, to allow them, for a week, to experience life in this floating city. It will be known as the Festival of Providence. O’ my Enmeit Brothers and Sisters from the North, my Xeraian Siblings from the South, my blood relations, Shandorians from the East, I beckon all of you to come to my home during the day of Providence. Let us put our differences aside.”
Iktai stopped to let out a small cough. Had Shera not been crying at Iktai’s cruel words earlier, she would have laughed at the High Priestess’s horrible impersonation of Maan’s voice.
“Every year, for the past two hundred and ninety-nine years, only the Enmeits and Xeraians had graced us with their presence during the Festival of Providence. The selfish Shandorians, bitter over their defeat, retreated beyond the eastern mountains, never to be heard of again… or so we thought.”
Sight of Love (A Rizer Pack Shifter Series Book 2) Page 26