Page 91 of The Source of Storms

I went over Byrgir’s face, again and again, in my mind. Every day I studied his image in my memories. Every day the pain of it was enough to bring me to tears, sometimes to deep, wracking sobs. It broke something in me, to miss him so helplessly. It undid me. But I would not forget him. I would not lose his face. I clung to it like a lifeline, like a rope tethered to shore as I was ripped and tossed on crushing, stormy seas. The only thing pulling me through the disorienting darkness of each day.

I didn’t hear the High Priestess’s words anymore. I didn’t feel the pain of her strikes when her frustration with me boiled over, when she forced me into a writhing mess on the floor. I didn’t taste the bland porridge that the Deacon brought, didn’t feel the grime building on my skin or the weak sunlight that passed through the window. I felt nothing.

I became an empty shell of myself. Another person entirely. Not even a person. A creature. I was a mindless, scrabbling creature, living in the husk of what had once been a fae woman. An Archfae woman. Someone who was supposed to hold more power than almost any other living being. Yet they had cracked me like a rotten egg. Shattered me like a dry, brittle bone. I’d been neutered. Tamed. Emptied.

∞∞∞

The lock turned, the door opened. The High Priestess’s heels cracked into the ground, then stopped. I squinted into the light shining through the door behind her.

“I’ll do it,” I croaked.

“Pardon?” She had heard me, but her surprise made her ask again.

“I’ll do it,” I said, a little more audibly.

“Splendid,” she replied. She sat on the cot beside me and rubbed my shoulder with insincere comfort. “I am proud of you, Halja. This is the first step to healing. The first step to truth. You will be a shining, brilliant example of the powers of our Lord of Light. From wretched darkness to His divine service.”

“Can I sleep?” I asked.

“Of course you can,” she said, and moved as if to leave. She had misunderstood.

“No, can he help me sleep?” I pleaded. “Can he drive away the dark? I am so tired.”

“He can. And He will. Once you pledge yourself to Him. I will make everything ready for you to take the rite and pass into His loving care.”

She left, locking the door behind her. I was left in my empty madness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They retrieved me at dawn and brought me to a simple bathing chamber. I washed myself in frigid water while two anchorites stood quietly nearby. They had no other option, as both of their mouths were locked shut with those same piercings and chains. I could feel their exhaustion and hunger.

I felt the same. Empty, depleted. Defeat riddled my body, making each movement an effort. Every muscle ached. My hips and shoulders were stiff and painful. As I scrubbed in that cold water I barely recognized myself, barely knew my own body. What once had been strong, muscled thighs were atrophied with inactivity. My arms were thinner from my confinement, from lack of use. My waist was smaller, my skin pale as ice.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as the anchorites helped me dress. My black eyes were hollow; heavy purple bags hung under them. I just wanted to sleep. Just wanted to rest. I would give anything for a full night of sleep. Deep, dreamless, restful sleep. I would give myself up to this new god if I must. Take the oath to Enos, if he would just let me sleep.

I dropped my gaze from my own reflection. I could not look at that stranger’s dead eyes.

The anchorites helped me into a gown of deep maroon with gold detailing. The ample skirt was layered with gold lace over the maroon fabric, trailing behind me in a long train. The fitted bodice rose tight over my breasts and then continued to rise intwo tapered spikes, pointing up from my chest at each side. The back of the stiff bodice rose in more of the same points so that my face was framed in spikes of maroon material, matching the design of the corners of the Temple walls I had seen on my first visit here.

My hair was braided into a single long plait. Pointed Archfae ears poked through, easily visible. Intentional, no doubt, so anyone witnessing my oath would clearly see a fae woman giving herself to Enos, devoting herself to the god of human civilization. Pledging herself to the mastermind of the destruction of her own people. I reached up and touched them gently. It had been weeks, months since I had seen my reflection. And these ears had been a recent change when I was taken. I didn’t remember them being so long. So sharp.

They lined my eyes in glittering gold and dark maroon powder, then black charcoal. Heavy gold earrings with dangling blazing suns were slid through my pierced lobes. Finally, a circlet matching that of the anchorites was placed on my head. I could barely recognize the gaudy, withered woman in the mirror. A far cry from the northern spirit I once was. Far from the sea spray, the harsh gull cry, the forest rain. I stared at myself long and hard in the mirror, and felt what was left of my weak heart break. Felt the woman I was die. Felt her lie down at last in her sleeplessness, her mania. Today I would trade my soul for survival. I would offer my very heart in exchange for the continuation of its beating.

The dramatic train of my dress swished behind me as we walked the dark stone hall. We climbed stairs and wound down another hallway as we turned through the maze of the Temple.

Suddenly, there was sunlight. It lanced through open windows and, farther down the hall, through an open set of double doors. I could smell it. Dry leaves on the breeze, dying grass and damp earth. I could feel it, warm on my cold skin, inflashes as we passed the windows. I quickened my pace. Despite my disciplined escort, I moved faster, my high heels––matching the preferred footwear of the High Priestess––clacking down the hall. Faster I trotted. The anchorites in their slippers moved quickly, pacing me, but could say nothing through their chained lips.

The outside world pulled me, beckoning to what was left of my human heart, no, my fae heart. My wild, living, beating heart. Still there, in my chest cavity, still longing for some semblance of what I once was. I needed to see the sun. Needed to stand in it, bathe in that glow. I heard the fountain as I neared the doors, and realized that beyond them was the front courtyard. The sacred spring bubbled there from that stone fountain. I felt it tug on my awareness. I slowed only to pull off the shoes I wore.

I was running then, bare heels kicking that ridiculous dress train up behind me, thudding on stone. I ran for those doors, for that glowing light, that burbling fountain. The anchorites raced behind me; I heard them exclaim helplessly through closed mouths.

I reached the open doorway and burst through it into the courtyard, taking two stumbling steps forward before I halted. The sun met my skin, warm and living, glowing and golden. And blinding, after so many weeks in that dark cell. I would have sunk to my knees and cried into the earth right then, but what I faced in the courtyard stopped me.

An audience. A crowd of onlookers. Men and women dressed in fine clothes. Dukes, duchesses, royal council perhaps. And Temple folk, Heralds and anchorites in their ceremonial robes. Everyone turned and stared. The crowd hushed. I blinked in the blazing sunlight.

A moment later, the two anchorites swung through the door beside me and grabbed my arms. I glanced at one and she flashed me a hateful, warning look.

The leaves of the ash trees were tinged with yellow. It was nearly fall. I had lost an entire season of my life.

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