Page 52 of Of Blood & Stone

Thump.

Thump.

A heartbeat. She’d heard of this before, how Aretta’s life continued to live on through the soil.

The dirt between her hands shook. Crumbling earth sifted this way and that until a tiny green sprout broke in between her fingers. Eyes wide, Sylzenya leaned forward. The sprout grew rapidly, the golden power of her goddess wrapping itself around what had become a thick tree trunk. Taller it grew untilit towered over her. Bright excitement tingled her hands as tree limbs unfurled from the soft brown trunk, leaves blooming like crowded grapes on a vine. The willow tree cast a cool blanket of shade over her heated skin.

“Careful, child,” a commanding voice ushered from behind. “That’s enough for today.”

Sylzenya meant to obey the command, but then a gray and white feathered bird landed on one of the willow’s branches. Its bright eyes found hers, an unfathomable blue that pierced deeper than the cut spanning her back. Something about it seemed… familiar. The golden light tightened around her arms, squeezing as the bird continued its unruly stare.

“Sylzenya,” her mother’s voice called.

All in one breath, Sylzenya released her hands from the dirt and fell back, elbows sinking into wet earth. Her goddess’ power retreated into the dirt in one quick blink. Head tilting back, she searched the newly created branches for the bird.

But it was gone.

“You have a gifted child,” the High One announced.

He approached the willow, his white hair drifting in the breeze with his white robes. His warm yellow gaze found hers. He brushed the back of his hand against the bark, surprise lighting his face. She’d only seen the High One once before, and she’d been just as intrigued by his ageless face then as she was now.

He smiled. “She will make a powerful acolyte in the years to come.”

A loud shout of praise to their goddess rang through the ancient Willow Grove. Sylzenya gathered herself as she peered at the all the women lined side by side. Each was draped in shining white robes that wrapped around their bodies in intricate designs, accentuating their curves and exposing part of their chest, stomach, and legs to the warm sunshine overhead.

The Kreenas of Aretta’s Temple.

But then she found the gaze of her parents. Her father’s dark blue eyes matched his tunic while her mother’s ash-colored hair blended in with her white linen dress.

Both wore a sense of pride shadowed by sadness; it felt as if vines twisted around Sylzenya’s throat, choking her.

“You may have your final words with her,” the High One said.

Just as Sylzenya refused to succumb to the pain, so she refused to shed the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes. Her mother whispered her name, the familiar grip of her father’s calloused hand resting on her shoulder. Sylzenya willed herself to breathe.

“It’s beautiful, my flower bud,” her mother whispered as she crouched next to her, “Your power is greater than we could’ve hoped for.”

Clenching her jaw, Sylzenya shut her eyes tight. “It is.”

“Darling, you need not fear,” her father voiced, his hand squeezing gently, “I know you worry for us, but we’ll be taken care of, as will you. It’s best this way.”

Her knuckles turned white as her fingernails dug into her palms. Their lives had been difficult. Her father was a lowly guard with such limited power from their goddess that most places of occupation dismissed him after a month or two. And her mother’s power only allowed her to keep their naturally grown produce fresh for a single day, unlike most women who could do so for three or four. They didn’t make much of a living, but they did it together, relying on their own hands to feed themselves.

But now that she’d proven her affinity to Aretta’s power, all of that would change. She would become an apprentice to a Kreena, living in the temple until her dying days while her parents watched from afar. At least they would have access tothe temple’s plentiful foods, the same kind Sylzenya would be producing for her people in the years to come.

She should be grateful; this day meant her parents would toil less and live more.

And yet, sadness filled her heart.

“Not a day will pass where we won’t be thinking of you,” her mother spoke, “You understand why this must happen, don’t you?”

“I do,” Sylzenya whispered.

They’d discussed it extensively. If Sylzenya held great enough power, then she would be needed to keep her kingdom safe. She’d agreed to it then, but now everything felt different.

It felt real.

“Let us see your stone,” her father said.

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