“I’m making a determination right now.” She gives my arm a warm squeeze, and something interesting zings between us.
Neither of us breathes. Her wide eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, wander over me while I gaze at her in turn.
Something adjacent to hunger unfurls within me, worming its way through my muddled emotions. Which makesnosensebecause I’ve put away nearly an entire bowl of stew and been dwelling on random acts of violence and my own suicidal urges for gods’ sakes.
I lift my chin with a sniffle. “But are you entertained? About the Elodie thing, I mean. The rest of it is pretty awful.”
“Very much so,” she snorts. She changes the subject, to my eternal gratitude, telling me about her time here so far.
She’s twenty-three and has been at the temple for ten days. She arrived with a large group of women but remembers none of it now. She tends to be an early riser and has trouble sitting still, to the extent that she’s been avidly exploring the temple grounds.
Today, she walked to something she calls “the orrery.”
“Sorry, but what is an orrery?”
Her excitement bubbles up. “It’s an enormous clockwork model of the solar system. It’sspectacular, Tiss. You have to see it as soon as possible. It’s inside a building at the base of a footpath that goes up to the Observatory. I haven’t been up there yet, but I plan to soon, if there’s enough time. Oh, that’s right.” She snaps her fingers. “If you weren’t at dinner, you missed the big announcement!” She sits up tall on her bench, pausing dramatically and watching my reaction.
Which is ultimately laughter. “Well? Are you going to tell me what it is?”
She tosses her head, letting out a delighted giggle that makes my heart glow. “The sisters announced all new initiates will begin orientation classes tomorrow. Well, and chores too,” she mutters with less enthusiasm before rushing on: “But the most exciting thing is the Ceremony of Induction will take place in four days!” She lets out a little squeal, clapping her hands.
Her glee is infectious, and I can’t help but smile, at least partially freed of the cares weighing me down.
After Sadrie and I part ways for the night, I go to bed with warmth pulsing in my veins.
For the first time since the ritual, I don’t cry myself to sleep. I don’t wake up screaming from half-remembered nightmares the following morning.
The next day is clear and cold. Birdsong fills the air.
A majestic clock tower stands between the bathhouse and Sanctuary Hall. I pass its 24-hour clock face to join the mass of initiates filtering into morning prayers.
Once past the foyer, I stop short, the same way I’ve done every day since waking up here.
Proud on her pedestal, a bronze statue of Eisha occupies an altar in the center of the room. Rows of benches fill the hall on either side, facing the goddess as she presides over her worshipers.
Once again, I puzzle through the motto emblazoned on the statue’s base:
Wife to Aodh and Queen of the Gods. Patron goddess of builders and craftsmen, in particular blacksmiths.But today, for the first time, something new sparks in my mind:
Mother of Destruction and Regeneration.
The ritual must have eliminated it before, because the inevitable headache starts up.
Someone calls my name, and I spot Sadrie on the end of a nearby bench. As soon as I slide in next to her, Sister Ailen sweeps inside, alongside another sister I haven’t yet met, who introduces herself as Delia. We are ordered to bow our heads so prayers can begin.
As worship drags on, the rock-hard bench beneath me grows uncomfortable. Like the other mornings spent in this hall, this feels unnatural, as if something is misaligned.
I keep glancing at the statue. Eisha holds the traditional yew branch in one hand and cradles a finch in the other. Slowly, more of her motto surfaces in my butchered brain:
Killer of … Maker of … and Giver of …
The rest of it remains frustratingly out of reach, drifting just beyond the blank shroud of amnesia.What the hell did they erase?
When we pour out of Sanctuary, we’re directed to an enormous tree.
The ancient thing sprouts from the center of the courtyard, its numerous trunks springing from the same origin point in the ground. Wild, gnarled branches shoot in all directions, the tallest reaching beyond the roof of our residence.
Vibrant red finches with black wingtips and tail feathers flit around, hopping from branch to branch.
