by Jena Rey
Lauret laughed and saluted the big man. “Indeed.” She took a big swallow of the ale and set the mug down with a satisfied sound. “So, what are we talking about?”
“Ephema.” Darian jerked a thumb toward Alloyna. “She and Alloyna had a bit of a chat earlier.”
“Oh, I hoped you would.” Lauret leaned in and continued, “I hadn’t told her that you were looking for ways to follow her Goddess, but I thought you’d have a lot to discuss.”
“Yes. Well, you could say that.” Alloyna shot a knowing look at Darian. “I’m still trying to piece through everything she said. Especially that first bit. She said, ‘and you are two’ when she first met me. That’s got me thinking…”
Lauret’s brows rose. “No. She didn’t!” She pulled the ale mug out of Alloyna’s hands, setting it next to her own. “Between you and that husband of yours, we’ll never run out of new recruits! Though you shouldn’t feel like you have to repopulate the world all on your own.”
Alloyna blinked and glanced at the purloined mug, looking confused for another instant before realization flooded her expression. She pressed her hand to her flat stomach. “But, I’m not late.”
Darian shrugged, taking his sister’s mug from his mother and draining it. “Do you want to argue that point with a Daughter of the Goddess of Life? She could hear people’s heartbeats in here. If I was a betting man, I’d put my coin on Ephema being right on the mark, and start thinking of names.”
“I…” Alloyna rubbed the middle of her forehead. “I told Oerin that I had a surprise for him. This was not what I meant. Though I don’t think he’ll be unhappy.” She smiled widely as the anticipation of the future set in. “Oh, I hope it’s a boy! He’s always wanted another son.”
A soft squeak came from the floorboards as Ephema descended the stairs. While she had rested for nearly an hour, she still appeared tired to Darian. He jumped up, pulling out a stool for her. Once she was seated, he retook his seat and said, “Feeling any better?” Darian motioned toward Karlton. “Need me to order you anything to eat or drink? The food here is fantastic, even the stuff my sister cooks, honest.”
Alloyna swatted Darian’s head. “You stop that, or I’ll have you on dish duty for a week.”
“Oh no, not dishes.” Darian pantomimed fear with his hands near his head. “I’ve faced the undead and pirates, even the Sisters, but not the dishes! You evil woman, you.”
Ephema leaned heavily against the counter, shaking her head as she watched the interplay of the siblings. “Food. Yes. Food would be welcome. If there is bread, I would like that.” She rubbed her eyes, giving herself a shake. “It has been an odd day.”
“I’ll get you something.” Alloyna squeezed Ephema’s hand and, after a final mock glare at Darian, disappeared into the back kitchen.
Lauret took a large draw of the ale. “Mmm. I’ve missed that burn. So, Ephema, what are your plans now? I know you want to speak to the High Priest again, and that he has words for you.”
“I do not know. There are things I wish to talk about, yes, but…” She ran her fingers along the table, watching the way the light moved on the polished wood. “I cannot stay here. I did not leave my home merely to find a new one, but because Tabor was convinced that I was needed here. I need to figure out why.”
“That makes sense. But you will be here for a few days, yes?” When she nodded, Lauret smiled. “Good. There’s something you’ll want to observe tomorrow. On the same note, Darian, the High Priest has a very important matter he’d like to discuss with you this evening.”
“There is?” Darian pulled his attention away from Ephema. “If it’s about the scroll I don’t know that I have much more to say. I gave them my report and turned the scroll over to Fressin. I’m sure he’s working on deciphering it as we speak. I doubt I’ll be much help there. That’s always been his expertise, not mine.”
“It is about the scroll, but it’s also about many other things. And I shall say nothing else except that I am very proud of you.” Lauret’s smile brightened, and she lifted her mug in salute.
Darian’s mind spun, latching onto the possibility he almost didn’t dare hope for despite the assurances he’d received from Ianel and Tabor. Was it possible his days as a Journeyman of Osephetin were finally at an end?
Ephema sat on the narrow cot in her borrowed room, leaning her head against the wall and listening to the silence of the Temple. Alloyna had offered her a room at the inn, but Ephema had chosen to return to the High Temple with Darian. Alloyna was a very kind woman, however, the inn was so full of noise and people that even walls didn’t cut the din enough. The way the woman looked at Ephema was also more than a little embarrassing. It was as though she expected the Goddess to speak again at any moment, or for Ephema to do something amazing, and Ephema didn’t have anything to offer. She didn’t know how the first amazing thing had happened.
As nice as it was, it was also strange to be surrounded by so much silence. It didn’t feel like there had been many moments of peace since she’d first found Darian outside her cave. He and his fellow Knights had changed her life. She was mostly certain this was a good thing, despite the moments which had been frightening or difficult. One thing for certain, she knew she couldn’t ever go back.
The bells in the tower chimed, the sound distant though they were housed in the Temple too. She counted under her breath. Six bells. It was still very early. She should be sleeping, but sleep eluded her, and she didn’t know why.
She’d been able to speak to High Priest Calinin for a moment before he’d taken Darian into his chambers, but it hadn’t been enough. He had promised he would make more time to talk to her about her parents and, more importantly in Ephema’s mind, about what she should do next. He must have something in mind, but there hadn’t been an opportunity to spend more than a moment with the man. If he sent her away somewhere would Darian and Tabor come with her? Or would she go alone? Would there be someone else entirely to work with? And what would they have her do anyway? She didn’t know how such things were arranged, and she didn’t want to travel with strangers. But she felt too restless to just stay at the High Temple.
She slipped off the cot and paced the small room. She wished she had a better understanding of what was happening in the world, and her place in it. It felt like she was walking while blindfolded, and while she’d been glad enough to keep moving toward Tabor’s goal of the High Temple, but now that they were here, she wasn’t satisfied with stumbling along. She just didn’t know how to change it.
A soft knock came at the door, and Ephema stopped pacing, surprised. “Yes?”
The door opened, and Priestess Sian entered with another younger woman in tow. She smiled gently at Ephema. “Good morning, Ephema. This is Priestess Kadama. Did you sleep well last night?”
Ephema nodded to both of the women, wondering why they were here so early. “Good morning. I think so. The beds are very nice.” She cocked her head to the side, maybe the High Priest had time to speak to her. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn he rose early. “Is there a reason you are here? That is…I was not expecting anyone.”
“Not expecting.” Sian blinked, touching her fingers to her lips. “Oh, my dear, did no one tell you what was happening today?”
“No. What is happening?”
“It is Journeyman Darian’s Knighting ceremony, and you are among the few invited to attend. I thought Knight Proctor Lauret would have told you.”
“I haven’t seen her since last night. She said there was something I should see, but nothing more.” Ephema rubbed her hands together, not sure whether to be worried or excited. Darian, Tabor, and Ianel had spoken about him being knighted, but never gone into detail about what that meant or exactly when it would happen.
Kadama settled on the bed with a deep sigh. She peered out from underneath her crimson hair, which fell over her eyes, and grimaced. “I don’t like watching these things, myself. They’re creepy. Are you sure I can’t return to the library and help
Fressin instead? That scroll he’s working on is the most important thing the High Priest has asked of us. I should be there instead of at another knighting.”
Sian sighed, and Ephema decided they had been having this argument all morning. “No, Kadama, it’s important we attend. We are there as witnesses of Lord Osephetin’s will, and to support the Knight Proctor in her son’s ascension to a Knight. You know this.”
“Just in case. I know.”
Ephema’s brow creased at the interplay, confusion welling up in her. “In case of what? It is just a ceremony, yes? The High Priest will ask questions. Darian will answer, and he will be given his armor and Knighted.”
Kadama laughed, and the look of contempt on her face made Ephema decide she didn’t like the woman. “A bit of an innocent, are you? We serve the God of the Dead, little girl.” She stood and sighed, wringing her hands. “Lord Osephetin is a just god, but do not let that deceive you into thinking he is a nice god. Those that tread on His path know that His will is both that of Justice and Vengeance.”
She glanced at Ephema. “I’m guessing that you’ve never even heard about the Knighting Ceremony. Journeymen that go into the ceremony with the proper respect, preparation, and dedication become Knights. Journeymen that go into the ceremony that are not true to the path go on to meet Osephetin himself to answer for their failures.”
The woman’s tone struck at Ephema’s heart, drawing not fear, but a protective anger she had only felt during the battle with the Sisters. She stepped up to Kadama until they were very nearly touching. “Then it is a good thing Journeyman Darian is well prepared. And a better thing that you have no need to be there.” Her gaze darted to Sian. “She should return to the library if that is what she wants. I will serve in whatever way might be needed.”
Sian’s smile turned sharp. Ephema thought she was enjoying the shocked look on Kadama’s face. “Much as it would please me to let my sister go play with the books, her presence is required as much by tradition as by necessity. The Ceremony will draw from all of the Faithful present, and though she might squawk, I assure you Priestess Kadama’s faith is unshakable.”
She gently took Ephema’s hand. “Your presence there will be a remarkable one, but your invitation is extended as a guest, not as a participant. It would be inappropriate to involve you further, and I have to warn you that you will not be allowed to interfere.” Her long fingers squeezed Ephema’s. “I know the Knight Proctor’s son very well, and any that know him don’t have any doubts about today’s ceremony. Some people simply would do well to spend time with members of the Knight Proctor’s family beyond Fressin.”
Ephema pulled her hands away, not ready to be mollified. The sense of disturbance in her grew, and it took effort to beat back anger and impatience. She took a few steps away, closing her eyes and wrapping her hand around the globe that hung at her neck. She breathed in and out, seeking calm. She knew she would be of little good to Darian if she stood at his Knighting filled with anger. A whispered prayer passed her lips and warmth filled her body. She opened her eyes and inclined her head to the Priestesses of the Death God. “Lead the way.”
“Enter, Journeyman Darian!” The voices echoed and roared, heard almost from within the mind and not from outside, though they touched his ears too. Wordlessly, Darian walked down the short hallway, his new armor gleaming in the flicker of torchlight. The fitted plates clung to him, though their weight and flexibility was still as yet unfamiliar. This armor was not the armor of a trainee; this was the intricate, jointed armor of a full-fledged Knight of Osephetin, though no bone yet adorned the dark plates. His mace was strapped firmly to his waist, the runes sparking faintly in the low light. He entered the ceremonial chamber and walked through the ankle-deep sand to the center of the room, where a single dark stone pedestal shot through with silver veins stood raised to chest height, waiting for him.
On top of the stone, a single finger bone lay on a square of black velvet, glowing faintly blue with eldritch energy and pulsating with magical life. The voice continued, “Journeyman Darian, you wish to become a Knight of Osephetin, to swear yourself to his service until your bones return to the dust from whence they came?”
“I do.” The response wasn’t necessary, but Darian spoke anyway. He’d spent the morning in meditation and cleansing, using every second since the High Priest had told him it was time to begin.
“Are you prepared to be judged in body and soul?”
“I am.” Darian’s voice, calm and firm, echoed through the enormous chamber. He’d been preparing for this day for years, and the events of the last few weeks had only strengthened his resolve. There was so much evil in the world. He wanted to fight it, and he needed the additional strength and power of being a full Knight. He had never been more ready than he was now.
Dark shadows crept through the open arena, setting the high torches to flickering, their golden light dimming to echo the blue of Oesphetin’s divine power. A Knight, shrouded in armor that showed nothing of his or her skin or eyes, strode from the tunnel, approaching with steady steps. Darian swallowed hard and drew the mace from its place at his waist, flexing his fingers around the shaft as it vibrated in his hand.
The Knight didn’t speak, but swung a thick baton studded with metal bits, warming up. Darian turned away from the pillar with a silent prayer, facing the Knight who would test his skills. He had no chance of winning this spar, that wasn’t the point. It was a test to see what he’d learned, not to see if he would win.
There were no words, no taunting, or elaborate explanation or instruction. The Knight attacked with full force and power, his baton slamming into Darian’s mace and bouncing off his armor with each punishing strike. Like any good teacher, the Knight knew all of Darian’s strengths and weaknesses. He highlighted the former and punished the latter, driving Darian around the chamber without mercy. Darian struck back as often as he could, but in general it was all he could do to keep himself from taking too much damage, each impact painful. The baton didn’t rip and slice like a sword, but it jarred bones, bruised flesh, and put dents into the armor which had been new just minutes ago.
Darian didn’t know how long the fight went on, caught in the rhythm of dodge, parry, and attack. He felt like he was at least holding his own until a misstep opened his stance, and the Knight swept Darian’s feet out from under him. He landed badly one arm trapped beneath his body. He tried to swing with the other, but the Knight knocked his mace aside and swung at Darian’s face.
Darian braced himself from the pain he knew was coming, but didn’t look away.
The blow stopped a fraction of an inch from his head as the voice filled the chamber again.
“Enough! The applicant has been found: Worthy.”
His opponent stepped back, bowing before offering Darian a hand and pulling him to his feet. Darian wished he could tell who was behind the armor and the eye veil, but it was forbidden to ask or even attempt to find out. The Knight left as he had come, leaving Darian alone in the chamber.
He took a moment to catch his breath before again approaching the pillar. Everything hurt, but he did his best not to show it. He couldn’t stop now, even though his legs shook from pain and exertion. If he asked to stop, his trial would be over. He would fail.
As he approached, seven matching pedestals rose soundlessly from the sands around him, surrounding him in a perfect circle. Upon each stone lay another single finger bone, and each bone pulsed with the same divine energy.
Once all eight pedestals had ceased moving, the voice spoke again. “What is your place in this world?”
The question boomed through his ears and mind. The answer was standard, but the test wasn’t about the words he spoke, but the path they opened into his heart. Without hesitation, he barked, “To give my life in servitude to Osephetin, our Lord of Death, that I may be his hands in the struggle for balance between life and death in this world of chaos. So I might be his scythe, his hammer, his hand, and his shield in this time of
need, and when I die, to carry on his fight in the afterlife at his side for eternity.”
“So it has been spoke, so you will be judged.” The voice dropped low, and before Darian, the eight finger bones moved. Each bone shook violently until, with a snarl of magic, they snapped in two. A gust of wind picked up, pulling a cloud of dust off of the floor and obscuring the stones. It only lasted a few seconds and when the wind died, there were now two complete finger bones on each velvet drape, glowing more brightly than before.
The voice returned. “You are found: Honest. What do you stand for in this world?”
Again, a common question. He knew the answer. Darian replied in the same tone as before, fighting down the butterflies that wanted to escape his stomach. He could not doubt, or he would fail. “I stand for the people. I stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. I give voice to those that cannot or will not speak for themselves. I will be the oasis, the refuge, the last to fall, the first to rise. I am the candle in the dark to lead the people back into the light. I stand for the Will of Osephetin.”
An electric burst of power and pain shot up from the ground through his feet all the way to his head. He stumbled, but forced iron into his legs and spine so he wouldn’t fall.
“So you are judged.” As before, the finger bones trembled, more violently this time. When they shattered, they fragmented into thousands of pieces, scattering off of the stones and into the sand below. The wind returned, lifting the sand into the air, obscuring his vision completely.
Darian fought to breathe, squinting against the stinging sand as it abraded the skin on his face. When the wind abated, eight fully-formed skeletal knights stood in a circle around Darian, their pedestals gone.
Each knight wore the soul armor of the Knights of Osephetin that they’d worn in life, grasping soul weapons in their hands. A circle of the past, come to judge the future. They stood silently, dark magic with flickering sparks of brighter blue dripping from their eye sockets and vanishing as they fell. The silence drew out and finally the voice intoned, “You are judged: Committed. What is your motivation?”