Page 6 of Threaded

There were even two girls who’d been … gifted. Except unlike their male counterparts, who had received great celebrations and pride from their families, they had quietly disappeared from town, shipped away to temples to Qhohena placed all around Onita, forced to give up their past lives and enter a new role as servants of the Goddess.

Mariah wanted out of that town more than anything. Wanted to run as far away from its disgusting lord as she could. But to have to leave like that, entrapped into a role she hadn’t chosen for herself, a role that would last a lifetime … that would’ve been far, far worse than having to stay in Andburgh forever. So, when she began to mature, when her cycles began and her body started to change and there wasn’t a single hint of anything supernatural in her veins, she couldn’t have been happier.

Sure, she was always afraid that perhaps she was a late bloomer. That one day she would wake up and suddenly be like her brother, able to manipulate flames to her will. But that day never came, and now, finally, she was mere hours away from being considered an adult, from turning an age at which the shackles of her society would fall from her wrists.

“Oi!” This time, it was Mariah’s father who cut through the haze of her thoughts, his deep voice calling out from where he stood a bit away beside their small, quaint cottage. “Ellan, why don’t you come help me finish prepping the elk steaks? And also help with the potatoes, they should be nearly boiled—”

Ellan sighed and tossed the stick he’d been fiddling with into the fire, much like how he’d tossed his little fireball a few moments earlier. “Coming,” he said glumly, rising to his feet and sauntering off towards their father as only a nineteen-year-old boy could. Mariah watched him go, amused at the way he was still clearly upset about the comments made about his beard—or rather, the lack thereof—until her mother’s voice pulled her back to that raging fire.

“Mariah, why don’t you come sit closer to me. And bring that bottle of whiskey with you; I could use a refill.”

Grinning, Mariah snatched up the glass decanter leaning against her left foot, still holding her own glass in her right hand, before rising and moving to sit beside her mother. She set her whiskey glass down on the bench beside her as she uncorked the decanter and poured two fingers of the rich, golden liquid into her mother’s glass. She topped her own glass off and put the cap back on the decanter, setting it back on the ground beside her feet. Twisting to face her mother, she lifted her glass up, clinking it softly against Lisabel’s. “Cheers,” she said, her voice warm from the liquor already beginning to settle in her belly.

It wasn’t often she was cheerful, but it was quite difficult for her to be upset with a glass of smooth whiskey in her hand.

Her mother smiled lightly, but it didn’t meet her eyes. Those same eyes also didn’t lift to look at Mariah, remaining fixed instead on the flickering of the red-gold flames.

A wave of nervousness at her mother’s expression had Mariah’s stomach lurching. She took a generous sip from her glass, the burn washing through her, preparing herself for Lisabel’s next words.

“We need to talk about your plans to leave—”

“I’m still planning to leave after tomorrow—”

Lisabel and Mariah spoke at once, and Mariah couldn’t help the half-drunk giggle that spilled from her lips. She looked again at her mother.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Lisabel finally pulled her gaze from the fire, that same light smile on her lips. Her golden-brown eyes danced with a mother’s amusement and something else Mariah couldn’t quite place. Something guarded, and wary, and uneasy.

“I said, we need to talk about your plans to leave. Whenever that exact date might be.”

Mariah’s mouth popped open. She’d half-expected her mother to make at least one attempt tonight to ask that she stay, just for one more year, just until Ellan turned twenty-one, just until he found a wife and married, just until he had his first child. But Mariah knew there would always be one more milestone, one more event she would be asked to stay for, and if she said yes now, she would keep saying yes, and before she knew it her life would be wasted in this sorry, miserable place beneath the thumb of a sorry, miserable man.

Lisabel quietly took a sip from her glass of whiskey before setting the glass down and reaching into her coat. Mariah watched as her mother withdrew a dark, rectangular object, her eyes unable to identify what exactly it was in the flickering light of the fire, herallumelamp left forgotten on the bench on the other side of the blaze. Her mother turned back to Mariah, shifting further into the light, finally allowing Mariah to get her first good glance at what was clutched between Lisabel’s delicate, healer hands.

It was a book.

In the firelight, Mariah could only tell the binding was dark, either black or a dark blue. The light flickered and reflected off of delicate, curling inscriptions, a beautiful design that looked like nothing at all … and yet, so incredibly familiar. When Mariah finally lifted her attention from the book back to her mother, she found Lisabel’s eyes glistening in the red-gold light, tears barely clinging to her lashes. With a blink, the first one fell, and Mariah watched with soft fascination as it tracked a line down her mother’s cheek.

“I am sure you thought I would use tonight to try to get you to stay. But, Mariah, I want you to understand—that could not be farther from the truth.” Another tear fell, but Lisabel’s voice didn’t waiver. “I want you to leave. This place … it is not for you. It has never been for you. The moment you came into this world, I knew you were destined for something so much more. I want you to see the world, to experience everything your soul craves. But I can’t have you losing yourself in your search for freedom.”

Mariah’s skin prickled as Lisabel dropped her gaze to the book she held in her hands. Gently, she reached out, handing the book to her daughter. Mariah took it, setting her own glass of whiskey down so she could run her fingers over the soft leather binding. It felt so delicate, so worn, as if a thousand hands had touched it before hers, but the pages were still a crisp cream, not showing a single sign of aging as she fanned them through the air. Mariah flipped the book over, and noticed a single, delicate word inscribed on the back:

Ginnelevé. It was an unfamiliar word; clearly Onitan, but not one she recognized.

“This … this book,” Lisabel started, tripping slightly over her words for the first time that night. “It holds much wisdom between its pages. Wisdom that has been accumulated over many generations, and has served me well at many times during my life. If—when—you ever feel lost, truly lost, when you need a reminder of who you are and what you are capable of…that book will tell you everything you need to know.”

The ice flooding Mariah’s veins chased away any remaining warmth from both the whiskey and the fire. She stared at the book, and then at her mother, her world tilting slightly off-kilter as something that could only be dread twisted through her gut.

“I don’t … I don’t understand …” Mariah’s words trailed off as she floundered, fully unsettled as she gripped that soft leather binding between her fingers. Her mother reached out, placing a gentle hand on her daughter's arm.

“I know. It is okay. You do not have to understand. But one day, you will. And I believe that on that day, when you realize everything you were ever meant to be, you will change the world.” Another sad smile on Lisabel’s lips. Another tear falling silently down her cheek. Another soft squeeze on Mariah’s forearm.

They sat like that for a long moment, Mariah feeling the pressure of her mother’s touch bring her slowly back to the earth. Finally, she twisted away, picked up her glass of whiskey, and drank the rest of its contents in a single, deep swallow. Mariah set the book down on her lap, picked up the decanter, and refilled her glass before settling herself back onto the log bench. She took a sip, staring at the flames, when her mother spoke again.

“There’s something else. Something I need you to do before you go.” Lisabel’s voice was harder than it had been, thick emotion replaced with an unrecognizable coldness. Mariah whipped her attention back to her mother, surprised.

“What is it?”

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