Finally, they reached a tall stone building, whose summit was lost in the swirling mists of dreary weather.
"The Palace of Pilgrims," Violet said, pulling her hood around her face a little more. "A sanctuary for those poor souls with no coin to stay anywhere else, but who come seeking their god."
Fleabane made an odd snorting noise, which sounded very dismissive, but a scathing look from her mother kept her silent. It was strange to Amaranth, the relationship between the two other women; Fleabane did not seem to care for Violet much, but she obeyed her without question. Was that how mothers and daughters were supposed to be, or were they the exception? Amaranth certainly had no experience to pull from to make that judgment.
Violet however, obviously felt the place was safer than the inn or the boarding house, so they followed her lead. As they got nearer, Amaranth disliked it more and more. It was dreary, carved with terrifying figures wielding thunderbolts or dismembering vast crowds of people. If they were the population’s gods, then she wondered why they bothered showing devotion with a pilgrimage. She would have kept as far away from them as possible.
A surly man kept watch at the entrance, but he asked no questions, merely watched as they entered the building. Inside, the stone walls ran with water, and there was the sound of muffled crying. As they passed through long corridors, Amaranth could not help but stare at the pilgrims taking shelter here. It was immediately apparent they were the poorest of the poor. People in tattered clothes clutched religious icons and stared off into the distance. Family groups with elderly and afflicted on stretchers murmured to themselves. Mothers with fevered children sang to them in corners. Everywhere was illness and despair.
Ceelut and Cedejo sniffed about them, but thankfully did not get too near the already frightened people. Violet found them a relatively dry corner, and the three women huddled together there.
"The rich pilgrims give alms in the morning," she explained in a low voice. "Usually the scraps of their previous night’s dinner, but the poorest here might not live to see dinner in the morning. The bodies of the dead are thrown into the river around the same time."
Always the river. Amaranth still heard it in her head, even if she no longer could with her ears. In an effort to block it out, she turned to Violet. "You didn't finish your story. You came to Penance a pregnant priestess, so what happened to change your mind about your god?"
Violet shifted, wrapping her cloak tighter about her and pushing her blue hair from her face. "I was one of the witnesses to something terrible and beautiful that day, and it changed my life forever."
Amaranth did not know much about the temples, but she saw all about her signs of religious faith. Surely if a person was part of the clergy then it would run even stronger in them? What could possibly change a young priestess’ mind so radically?
"Go on," she choked out. The river sounds in her head were still there, and making thought difficult.
"Three sisters," Violet said, her hands clenching together. She was no longer looking at any of her companions, but off into the distance like so many others in the House of Pilgrims. "Three little girls were brought before the Congress of Temples."
Sisters. Amaranth sat up straight as if struck. All the aches of her wrecked body faded into nothing, and she saw a circle of old, hooded figures around her. Their eyes raked over her, but each of her hands was occupied by another hand just like hers. She didn't need to look right or left to know her sisters were there.
They were all afraid, but not in the way small children should have been.
"Don't stop," she whispered to Violet. She needed the story to be told, as it unraveled before her with every word.
"There was a struggle over them. Gentian wanted one. Another was going to be sent to the pits."
Amaranth felt her stomach tighten at those words—both the woman's and the destination's, but she managed to stumble out more words that gave Violet pause. "But there was a brave man in the crowd, one who stood up for the girls when no one else did. He tried to stop them."
Though she didn't look up, she heard his voice, smooth and strong, even the words were not yet clear, his intention was. He fought for the sisters, but it was his wife who died for them.
"The river," Amaranth choked out, wiping the back of her remaining hand over her eyes. "The river claimed one of them." She felt the water filling her throat even though it had not been her own throat, but her sister's. The panic the three of them shared, the grasp of death, and the wrenching loss.
"I was taken to the pits, my sister given to the woman called Gentian," Amaranth whispered, giving up entirely on trying to stop the tears running down her face.
"And the third?" It was Fleabane who asked, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with empathetic tears.
Amaranth paused and considered, feeling the water trying to take that third sister. Yet the woman's sacrifice had saved her. "Fished from the pool below us, and taken to safety by an old man." She shook her head. "This must all be a dream...I knew my mother...I remember her voice." When her gaze locked with Violet, the older woman communicated it all with a sad shake of her head. "Not my mother then,” Amaranth said, clenching her fist on her thigh, pressing it hard down into the muscle. "Just some woman I was given to."
It seemed the pit was not finished with taking things from her. Now the memories of Penance replaced even those scattered moments of maternal love, but could she trust these any more than those?
However, if they were to be believed she had to have some importance; clergy fought and died for her and her sisters, so they must have seen some strength there.
Strength. Immediately the feeling of her sisters' hands in hers filled her mind. Yes, when they were together there had been strength. She looked between Violet and Fleabane. "Where are they? Where are my sisters?"
Violet's eyes dipped away, and she let out a long ragged sigh. "One is within the temple of Serey, fostered by Gentian Stonekeeper. Even my daughter could not get into such a place. The other, we cannot tell."
"It's ridiculous," Amaranth murmured, "I didn't even remember my sisters until just now, but those words hurt. How is that possible?"
Violet touched her shoulder, just a flicker before jerking back her hand as if burned. "The bond between sisters, especially triplets, cannot be measured, and even if you cannot feel them, they have been with you all this time."
Suddenly Amaranth wondered if they felt the things done to her in the pits. Had they experienced the pain she endured when her arm and organs were taken from her? If they had, it must surely have been terrifying. So many questions crowded around her, but she knew there was little chance of getting answers to them tonight. Life in the pits had been measured a single day at a time, Amaranth knew the lessons of that terrible place could still be useful.
Pulling her cloak around her, she muttered, "I am quite tired, and this is a lot to take in. I would like to try and sleep now, if you please."
"Of course," Violet held her arm out, and Fleabane snuggled in against her, though Amaranth noticed she did not offer the same to her. Despite all her protestations of devotion to the one-armed girl from the pits, some part of her recoiled from any physical contact. Realizing that did not help Amaranth find peace.
She leaned against the rough stone wall and listened as mother and daughter found sleep quickly. Their regular breathing should have sounded soothing, but it only helped underscore the chaos boiling inside Amaranth. Sleep eluded her completely, and after trying to find a comfortable spot, or way to lay, she gave up on it. Her progeny dogs, also unable to sleep, watched her with their gold coin eyes, offering no relief.
Instead, Amaranth let her eye trail over the pilgrims around her, attempting to lose her own worries by observing theirs. The people huddled in the palace were the lowest of the low, and some of the injuries and afflictions she saw around her would have meant swift death in the pits. The drivers did strive to offer their clients quality merchandise, and at some point even they gave up
on certain flesh.
The weeping sores and broken limbs Amaranth saw around her would have not been tolerated in Damnation, but there in Penance they were apparently commonplace. Her curiosity was roused, and she quietly got to her feet. Violet and Fleabane did not stir, but her progeny dogs rose and followed at her heels. Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do after the attack outside the inn, but Amaranth's head was full of other concerns.
As she walked down the arched tunnels of the Palace and passed a child with a raging fever, her own skin grew hot and ran with sweat. An old man with a broken leg caused a sharp pain in Amaranth's. Still, she continued on, gathering all the misery and fear around her. Pilgrims watched her back, and their eyes widened.
The agony built in her body, but it was no worse than the pains she experienced in the pit. Indeed, it almost felt as though she was growing stronger with each torment she took on. She could read the pilgrims' relief in their widening eyes and shuddering gasps.
So much terrible human experience; every ache and worry a layer of other peoples’ lives. Amaranth experienced it, took it away, made it part of her. She knew she could do more. In those halls populated by pilgrims there were plenty of dead—Amaranth felt them.
Her fingers itched to take the needle—the one she still had tucked behind her ear—and do so much more for those who still lived. A mother holding her baby, one lying dead in a lonely corridor. It wouldn't take much to give the living the healthy lungs it needed from the dead.
In her mind's eye, she saw the whole process; the gentle cut of the knife, the pull of the needle that would make everything right. Amaranth smiled, and turned ready to do what she felt she'd been made to do.
It was Violet's hand on hers that stopped her, snapping her from the delightful mist her mind had strayed to.
"Not yet," Violet said, her fingers tightening to emphasize the point. "Remember what happened when you and your sisters were revealed too early. Not all eyes in this place can be trusted."
The urge to shake her off and do it anyway was strong, but the newly awakened memory of her childhood moments in Penance fell with a long shadow over everything. She glanced down at the place where Violet unconsciously touched her, skin to skin. She had been very careful, Amaranth suddenly understood, not to make that kind of contact, and now the younger woman understood why.
Standing in the center of Penance, her belly round with the child to come, Violet had been happy. Memories flooded over Amaranth, and she got to experience the full joy of pregnancy and the calm wonder of the faithful. Violet was a true and honest believer in her god, content and at peace as she stood in the crowd outside the finger temples. Then she saw it all; the sisters, the brave guardsman fighting a battle he could not win for them, and the final sacrifice of the priestess.
That was the moment when one of the sisters caught Violet's eye. In that instant all she was and believed in was ripped away from her. Faith was gone, plans for the future carried away, in a shared experience with a dirty little girl. Her own child kicked in her womb, twisting as she too felt it. That kind of transcendent moment Violet never experienced before. She was left gasping and altered in its wake.
Amaranth yanked her hand back and stared at the older woman with a terrified face. "I'm...I'm sorry," was all she could manage. She saw herself through another's eyes, and it was not a broken pit monster. She had been a creature of fiery beauty.
A faint haunt of a smile crossed Violet's lips even as she placed her hand back at her side. "Don't be. I could have spent all my life blindly following the false."
"What do you think I am?" Amaranth croaked the words out, afraid of the reply.
Violet however would not be drawn that easy. She shut those bright and beautiful green eyes. "That is for you to find the answer to...and tomorrow I know just the place."
Chapter Twenty-three
The Weakness of Desire
Wisdom felt a whisper of fear echo from inside him, but it was over-ridden by something just as primitive. He had always wanted Vervain. When he first found the Zoekers he'd been a broken young man with a dead mother and a father so deep in grief he seemed to have forgotten his son existed. In the House of the Flame, that son shed his old name and found himself a new one that encapsulated who he wanted to be.
He also found a young woman, strong, intelligent, and with the same fierce determination that burned inside him. The first time they spoke, he became entranced by Vervain's will and her eyes that seemed to see something worthwhile in him. Time only deepened the attraction he had for her. However, he'd been so afraid of being cast out he denied his affections, stuffing them away into the darkest recesses of his mind. He hoped that there they would wither and die away.
It had been a foolish hope. They hadn't. When he thought her dead and lost, those feelings surged back, and with her gone, there was no reason not to acknowledge them. He'd been able to examine them by the light of loss. Now, standing before her, they were exposed and raw. Wisdom couldn't ignore or deny those feelings any longer. He had lost her, and then had her returned. How many people could say they were as lucky as that?
When Vervain touched him it was as if all his barriers were undone. Akashanic power flowed between them and for a long blissful moment she was inside his brain. He experienced the memories she touched, even the painful ones back when he was a child. The agony of the day his mother died bloomed in his head, and while he tried to avoid it, Vervain played it out again. The panic of his boyhood self was relived, and the wounds were made fresh again.
Suddenly her nearness was not comforting. He wanted her out of his head, and though he thrashed around in blind panic, she did not go.
He was left gasping, blurting out a question he was afraid to have answered. "What are you?"
When she told him the gifts had been in her all along he was horrified. Had Setna known that was true? If so, how could he have let her into the House of Flame?
While he stood wrestling with confusion mingled with relief, Vervain touched him again. Instead of delving into his mind, she touched his skin, running her fingers along the top of his arm. It sent little shudders of delight through him. Just one silky touch and he was more aware of his body than he had been at any time since coming to the Zoekers.
"I am pleased to see you, Wisdom," Vervain whispered. "I can't think of anyone else I want to share this experience with." She looked up at him, her lips quirked upwards. She was...sensual in that moment, something he never saw Vervain attempt to be; intense, determined, brave, he'd seen before, but this was different.
Wisdom wondered what she was seeing and experiencing now. The world around him fought between the living world and the akashanic. The experience was heady; everything having a gleaming halo around it, the energy of life overlaid with what his own eyes were seeing. He knew he should make some reply, step back a little, and decide what Setna would do in that sort of situation.
Looking down into Vervain's gleaming eyes, observing her face alight with radiance, he knew it was not a moment their teacher would ever have had. It was a special moment between Vervain and himself.
He knew full well what his body wanted to do, and it should have been easy to deny it—after all he had been trained to do that as a Zoeker—but it was not at all simple. His flesh yearned for the touch and taste of her, but his mind did too. He loved her. Wisdom was finally able to admit that. By the light of the akasha, she was golden and lovely beyond the ability of words to describe.
He swayed between his two choices, rooted to the spot by his warring needs and his training. Finally, Vervain took the initiative, and kept her hands moving, up from his arms to his shoulders. "I wish you could see me as I see you," she whispered, lacing her fingers around his neck and giving a little tug.
Though he was taller and stronger, he could no more resist her than the beach could resist the ocean waves. With a little groan, he curved towards her until their lips touched. The effect was instantaneous, a jolt of energy that spread through his b
ody like a lightning strike and broke the last of his resistance. Training and the House of the Flame seemed a distant and childish memory as her soft mouth opened against his.
Suddenly he abandoned his name, forgetting everything but the skin of her body against his.
His arms came around Vervain without thought, and she arched up and against his body. Bright lights bloomed against his closed eyelids as flesh and akasha combined to destroy him.
It shouldn't be like this, a tiny remnant of his brain that still held onto Setna's words whispered. Lovers joined their flesh every moment in the world, some did it for love, some for revenge, and some did it merely to sate their desires on another. It was sensuous—Wisdom remembered that, since he had not gone to the Zoekers a virgin—but it was not this.
He cupped one hand around Vervain's breast, and she let out a soft murmur that seemed to be repeated in the forest all around them. It was impossible, but he felt as though the world fell silent just for them. It had to be an illusion brought on by the bliss of finding himself in that position after so many years.
Out of the corner of one eye, Wisdom registered the panther watching them from among some nearby undergrowth. The beast gleamed like Vervain; flickers of moving gold over the surface of the great cat, and also deeper.
In fact, everything shimmered. As his lips trailed down her neck, he saw so much more than just the panther. The whole forest around him was alive. He experienced the akasha when he first trained under Setna, but this...this was so much more than that.
Vervain's fingers raked up his spine, pulling him down with her as she wrapped her leg around his hips. That was heady enough, but with the life of the forest invading his senses as well, he was overwhelmed. For a moment he was lost in the sea of life around him.
He enjoyed sex in his earlier life on the flying city, but not since joining the Zoekers. Still, it had never been like this, and the sensation of losing himself was more disturbing than erotic. He jerked back from her and tried to find his focus again.
Immortal Progeny (Fragile Gods Book 1) Page 25