by Jeramy Goble
“Yes, mother. I am sorry! I remember. The link between a witch and the Gods, and the prospect of being visited, is weakened the more removed one is from the tree.”
Amala nodded with a slight return of approval.
“Oh!” Jularra blurted, pleased with herself that she knew the next few steps. “And whether it was the reliquary’s actual tree, or one selected by the one doing the blessing, we place the reliquary on the stump and recite the Prayer of Presentation.”
“Correct,” Amala said with enthusiasm. “What purpose does the Prayer serve?”
Jularra bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut as she thought. She was having so much fun in her perpetual state of awe and wonder at the enigmatic Gods. Though young and inexperienced, Jularra had an extreme appreciation for what she did not yet know. Her fascination made such topics as the Prayer easy for her to remember. Her eyes popped open.
“It is to let the Gods know that a new witch is coming to them. To show respect, to learn, and to offer a vessel to be visited through, to receive Credellions signifying that the reliquary owner has been confirmed to know a certain level of magical skill.”
“Well done,” her mother said kindly. “And what are the words to the Prayer?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Life of the forest, portion now given to death, please look kindly upon this reliquary that you have become. Let it age with me and guide me. See the Gifts of the Gods to me safely through it, should there be any. In return, I will serve you, your brother forests, your sister waters, your children flowers, and parents earth.”
Amala placed the candle back in the sconce and walked slowly over to Jularra. She wore a grin that made Jularra feel more loved than she could ever remember feeling.
“You rattled that off without thought or hesitation,” Amala said with a slightly muffled pride. “It’s because you’re interested in the most tangible parts of magic. The parts of the arts that bring you closest to the energy of the world. I can understand that.”
She knelt down until she was eye level with Jularra. She stroked her hair and spoke to her in words weighted with concern.
“But listen to me. You must regard every aspect of magic with the same passion, love, and respect. Every element is as important as the other. Any one part will diminish if the entirety of it is not treated equally. You must memorize the mundane, as well as the exciting. You must serve the tree stump as you might the Prayer—any prayer, any incantation, invocation, or spell. Embrace the night as you might the sun.”
Jularra stared into her mother’s eyes. Her words etched themselves into Jularra’s mind and soul.
“I have no doubt you would have learned this on your own,” Amala continued softly. “But I want to help you learn sooner rather than later. You and your skills will only benefit.”
Amala held her daughter’s eyes for a moment before standing up, grabbing her as she did so, and placing her back on her lap.
“Now,” she said. “What comes after the Prayer of Presentation?”
“The Representative will make the Request of Acceptance,” Jularra answered.
“Right,” her mother confirmed. “This is when the Representative asks the Gods to establish a bond with your reliquary, and use it to visit and deliver any Credellions you may earn.”
“And if they agree and establish a bond to the reliquary,” Jularra started, “the box will glow inside with light, and will seep through any seams or holes in the wood.”
“Precisely,” Amala said.
“That will be evidence that my first Credellion has been granted,” Jularra continued, “and their acknowledgement of my reliquary to confirm it as an official bond between me and the Gods.”
“Very good,” her mother said before kissing her forehead. “Very good. Just remember those beginning parts about felling the tree, the importance of doing it yourself, and the importance of remembering the location of the tree’s stump. All of that is as important as anything else.”
“Yes, Mother. I will.”
Amala kissed Jularra’s head again and gently set her off her lap. She stretched out her legs and looked out of the window towards the western sky. The dwindling light had passed well into dusk. The light from the room made it seem that much darker outside.
“We will visit Vylas tomorrow. He is a Representative, and we will ask him to bless your reliquary.”
Amala looked back to Jularra.
“As you go to sleep tonight, run through the steps in your mind. Memorize them. You have most of it, but don’t neglect the beginning. You must know the entire process flawlessly without hesitation or need for assistance. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother. I understand.”
“After we visit Vylas,” Amala continued, her voice growing distant and empty, “we will have another task.”
Amala’s abrasive shift in tone confused Jularra at the time, but the following day brought all clarity.
***
Jularra’s memory started out warm and beautiful, but ended stuck in the depressing mental grime she’d known ever since. She grew disgusted with herself for allowing her memory to play out to its conclusion; the festering reminder of the Vacant Grave once again turned to reality as she passed the Acorilinian guard at its entrance.
Year after year, Jularra returned to sink down into the pit of the mountain. Year after year, she passed by the forsaken tombs and deluded few who sought to glean some kind of power from the Voidwarden’s domain and its ancient conflict with the Nurudians. Year after year, she walked past piles of shit and puddles of piss to reach the true filth.
Jularra stormed off the last step into the Voidwarden’s chamber, already rolling up a sleeve to her elbow. Scars from previous years’ renewals glistened in the chamber’s torchlight. The lonely pool, already filled in anticipation of Jularra’s visit, taunted her as she approached. No spirits would emerge from their tombs for a simple renewal—but the Voidwarden usually enjoyed watching from a distance.
It was a fairly quick process. Jularra stomped over to the pool and, after reaching for her dagger, added yet another slice to her scar-filled arm. She would then fall to a knee, lean over, and dip her arm into the pool. She had learned early on that, for the renewal to take effect, she couldn’t simply dip her arm and be done. She had to submerge her arm, and wait.
She dropped her arm under the pool and held it. To an unfamiliar eye, one might think her silly for being in the massive cave by herself, holding her arm in a pool of blood. But shortly after, the actual ceremony would begin.
At first, it felt like small, tickling tugs at Jularra’s arm. A blunt nuisance to begin with. But soon after, the tugs became violent jerks that seemed to latch on to every thread of her blood. One by one, it felt as if billions of ropes latched onto her blood and ripped them from her body through the tear in her arm. After a moment, the sensation would slowly begin to reverse. The painful jerks subsided. The pressure released.
And then Jularra felt the sensation of her arm being slightly pushed back. The cut began to feel injected, stabbed, penetrated. Streams of fluid raced through her veins as a replenishment of imbued blood was circulated back through her body. The cycle would finally slow. Her vision darkened through crimson to black, before quickly clearing once more to her natural sight.
The renewal was complete.
Jularra took a moment to catch her breath. She pushed up off the ledge of the pool and stood before whipping her arm to shake off as much of the pool’s blood as she could. She looked at her arm’s latest slice. With shaky breaths through her nose, she then scanned the dark chamber. Her closed lips grimaced with hate.
Jularra turned and raged towards the stairs. But she only made it a few steps before the sound of sliding rocks stopped her. She turned back towards the pool.
On the face of the wall, far on the other side of the chamber, was the humongous, diseased smile of the Voidwarden, formed out of the rocks.
Jularra shivered with hate and fear
as the massive likeness of the Voidwarden’s mouth began to laugh, its volume matching its size.
“Congratulations… Mama.”
***
Jularra’s tears had dried by the time she reached Vylas’ home. The tears were those of fatigue—fatigue, and stress from the perversion of the Voidwarden. Even though she had found peace with her fate, and found pride in her duty to her people in the form of her growing baby, she couldn’t escape the burrowing dread that the Voidwarden smeared on the world. But it was just another renewal. Another one to forget for another year. She galloped up to Vylas’ home and swung off.
Vylas emerged from his doorway with a grin. In one hand he held a book, his thumb keeping his page.
“Well, look at this!” Vylas exclaimed. He leaned back in a stretch. “I can’t remember the last time you came in from the north!”
“Evening, Vylas.” She hopped off her horse and looped the reins around a nearby tree. “I'm just stopping by on my way back from Brinnock,” she added, reaching for a hug. She grabbed him with an added urgency, and held on longer than she normally did.
“Right,” he offered, slowly. “I heard about that.”
Jularra felt him staring at her.
“You did the right thing, Jularra. You provided for your people. You did something for those you love, and there is nothing more noble.”
“I know,” she said. “I know. I do, really.”
Vylas arched his eyebrows.
“No, I mean it,” she said, firm. “I just wish there had been other options.”
“Well, there weren’t.”
He looked at his book and creased the corner of his current page, freeing his thumb. He smiled at her.
“So, how long do you want to stay?” He gestured towards his home. “I can make up the spare bed in the loft—”
“No, no, I just wanted to stop through on my way back. Wind down and visit, and…”
Vylas leaned in, still smiling.
“I’m pregnant.”
The smile dropped away. Vylas froze, though his eyes darted around in thought. He centered back on Jularra.
“Pregnant,” he repeated in a whisper.
Jularra didn’t respond.
Vylas turned away and began to pace the area next to his fire pit. His feet shuffled along smoothly as he stared down at them. He eventually came to a stop and looked back at her.
“You’re going to go through with it, then?”
Jularra jumped right into her response, having been over it with Korden—and herself—numerous times.
“The reason this pact has lasted so long is because each queen has judged the future and safety of the Acorilinian people to be greater than any one person. One queen.”
Vylas nodded and looked back down to his feet.
“The Voidwarden knows,” she blurted out.
Vylas’ head flipped back up to face her.
“It was time for a renewal, anyway,” she added.
Vylas turned inside. “Come on in. I’ll make some tea.”
He waved Jularra over with his book, and they both wandered inside. Vylas placed his book on a chair on his way to the kitchen while Jularra slid out a bench and sat down.
Vylas started to fumble around with jars of leaves and herbs. The clinking of glass and hollow pops of uncorked lids instantly relaxed Jularra. Vylas’ tinkering in the kitchen was a sound that accompanied her best entrenched memories. Her eyes glazed over as she started to speak.
“I fought against this, pushed it away… denied it for so long, Vylas. I feel like I’ve been defeated. Maybe I’m confusing how I feel about this with how I feel about our victory in Brinnock.”
“That’s a possibility,” he said, still facing his stove. Countless jars crowded the shelves on the wall above it, and the open cupboards to each side. “But I can tell you your mother felt the same way.”
“Hmm?”
“Defeated. Even though, like you, she knew she was doing right by us. She felt like she had lost.”
A cast iron lid rattled reassuringly. Vylas turned around and set the teapot down before sitting next to Jularra. He grabbed her hand and patted it.
“Listen. You have not, and are not, lost.”
Jularra sniffed and cleared her throat as he continued.
“There is not another soul in this land that can do what you need to do to protect the realm.”
Jularra turned and looked at him, needing to look into his eyes, unashamed of her tears.
“I will help you, Jularra,” he offered. “I will help you and your child prepare.”
Jularra tried to wrestle back her tears, but then started to cry.
“Help her, Vylas,” she implored through gritted teeth. “Let me be the last queen that dies before her time.”
"You will be, Jularra. I promise."
Eleven
Jularra's saddle was drenched in blood.
Keleah and some of the others had tried to help her, but none of their skills could alter nature’s course and Jularra’s pain continued to build. Cramps gnarled her insides while waves of slamming agony hammered at her lower back as though trying to snap it. She'd tried a spell and a hastily-mixed elixir, but neither helped. Out of ideas and running out of time, she galloped towards Vylas, hoping he might be able to save the baby.
She grew weaker with each stride. The insides of her legs were wet and cold against the wind as she continued to bleed. Wanting to simultaneously die, save the baby, sleep, and get to Vylas, she struggled to hold her eyes open.
All of this, for nothing.
The horse tore up the path.
I’m going to die anyway.
She gripped the reins tighter in one hand. With her other hand, she reached down and grabbed the horse’s mane to keep from falling out of the saddle.
The baby’s gone. Acorilan will fall.
The horse’s powerful stride thundered against the ground and sent Vylas sprinting into the yard to meet her, alarmed by her posture and the chaos of her arrival.
“Jularra?” he gasped.
His eyes went straight to the blanket of blood under her. It had dripped down her leg, her boot, and her stirrups.
Jularra could only hazily entertain the notion of getting off the horse. She tipped sideways and slid down. Vylas caught her, bending his knees slightly while he confirmed he had her.
“The baby…” Jularra moaned. Her eyes were closed, her breathing labored. “I think I’m losing…”
She felt Vylas scramble. The sound of the creek grew louder. Vylas gasped, then swayed, trying to distribute her weight a bit more evenly. Jularra bounced in his arms as she felt him slide down to a knee. He brought his other knee down and set Jularra down gently in the creek.
The cold, racing water stung her body awake. Her eyes shot open as she sucked in air as quickly as she could. With the fresh air and the stimulation of the river, her body continued with its plan. She had to push. Her body told her to.
A fresh wave of pain sliced at her insides. She grunted through a scream and clamped down on Vylas’ arms.
“Vylas! Save it!”
“Hold on!” he said, trying to tear himself away from her. “Let me go and get…”
He looked down. She followed his gaze to see a fresh pool of red cloud the water. No! Jularra clenched her eyes shut. Vylas swallowed and hesitated, but not for long.
He fumbled past her skirt and grasped for the top of her breeches. He pulled them down before flapping her skirt back over her thighs. He shook his head, out of breath.
“I’m sorry, Jularra. I’m sorry.”
Her body convulsed. She shot up into another involuntary scream of. She pushed and grunted. Blood and tissue escaped down the stream.
Jularra choked in another chest full of air and immediately started to sob. She climbed over onto a bank of the small creek, her body finally giving her a reprieve.
Vylas slumped backwards onto his hands and watched as she clawed the soil. “It was too far along,” he p
anted. “I couldn’t…”
Jularra stirred as she continued to cry into the dirt. “It’s going to know…”
Vylas continued to gasp for breath.
“The Voidwarden’s going to know I lost it!”
Vylas rolled over and crawled to his feet. He raced into his house and quickly returned with various plants, compounds, and liquids, before slipping back down to his knees beside Jularra. Beyond exhausted, she managed to lean back onto her elbows.
“What are you doing?”
He leaned over and collected some of the bloody water in a small jar.
“Buying you some time,” he said.
He traced a circle in the dirt with his finger and, along with other elements, drew in symbols for life and motherhood. He placed the jar in the center of the circle.
“I think I can keep it from finding out,” he said. As he continued, he pinched bits of flower petals into the jar and dripped small splashes of various serums. “My hope is that this potion will make your body give off the impression that you’re still with child—at least until we come up with another plan.”
Vylas finished with his ingredients and slid them out of the way. He scooted closer to the magic circle and placed a hand on each side of it, palms down, touching the ground. He closed his eyes and relaxed.
Jularra’s breathing began to slow as she focused on what Vylas was doing. She watched as he worked to infuse the jar of her blood, mixed with various compounds, together with a magical essence. Within moments, the magic circle started to crackle. Like bacon in a frying pan, the etchings in the dirt seared the ground, and soon after, the area scarred by the circle began to glow like hot coals, bright red with hints of white. As Vylas started to speak, the magical carvings in the dirt grew brighter and hotter.
“Givers of life, creators of all mothers, please bless and imbue this humble potion. Let the signs of gestation remain, to allow her time to consider her future.”
Flames shot up around the circle as if a blacksmith had stoked a fire beneath the ground. Vylas flinched and instinctively held his arm up to his eyes. But soon after, the flame subsided, leaving nothing but Vylas’ original finger-drawn image in the ground. He reached quickly for the jar in the center and flicked it with his fingertips, then picked it up and handed it to Jularra.