Two rows of priestesses flanked the steps ascending upward to the topmost platform where the Vice Premier and the Avatheos waited, Golden Blade in hand. As Mother mounted the stairs, her long train dragged behind her, rippling like molten gold. Brazier light reflected off the thousands of small reflective stars sewn into the fabric, and light ricocheted across the temple’s façade. Gasps and whispered prayers followed as the crowd pushed in, tears pouring from their eyes. For those who’d never been to the city before, it must have seemed like looking upon Cyra herself.
Each movement and gesture was planned down to the most minute detail to enrapture the people. At midday, during the ceremony’s apex, Mother would glitter and dazzle even more, as if Cyra had stepped down from the heavens to walk among mortals. But before that, there were hours of prayer and ritual to get through. Maybe Heinrich would interrupt the ceremony and spare her a long and arduous litany of prayers. She could only hope…
As her mother drew nearer, the Avatheos held out the Golden Blade for her to take, and her mother knelt with hands outstretched in offering. It was said Cyra forged the blade from the fire of stars and used it to sever night from day and bring life and light to the world. Mother would use it in the ceremony. As Cyra’s representative on earth and in spirit, she would banish the dark. She’d seen the same ritual performed a thousand times before, every year but one: the year the fevers had started, she’d been stricken and confined to bed.
Liane closed her eyes, pushing back the memory. But a phantom heat crawled over her skin, spreading outward like a rash across her body, or maybe it was the after-effects of yesterday’s fever. Sweat rolled down her brow, and she resisted the urge to reach under her veil to wipe it away. She needed to focus. Heinrich and Father were standing at the bottom of the steps; they’d followed at the back of the procession. Liane’s eyes narrowed on Heinrich, waiting for the slightest twitch of his hand or some signal he would give to his hidden allies in the crowd.
Nothing stood out to her as abnormal. Mother had the sword, and the Avatheos stepped aside. For a moment, she felt his gaze upon her as he stood near Mother. Had he noticed her inattention and was displeased? Liane’s stomach twisted, as if a live fish were inside her gut doing summersaults. Mother lifted the sword skyward, and sunlight glinted off its surface, bursting outward in a dramatic display and blinding Liane. As she closed her eyes to block it out, it got brighter and brighter. It felt like direct noonday sun was on her skin, and she felt hot and itchy as if she were crawling with ants.
Beating wings echoed in her ears as a tingling sensation spread out across her skin, leaving her feeling lightheaded and uneasy. The fever hadn’t left her. It was coming back with a vengeance as she feared, and she swayed on her feet.
But it wasn’t like the usual fever; it felt more intense: less of a burn and more a warm feeling that somehow detached her from herself as if she were floating away from her body. Was she hallucinating again? A giant raven, the size of a man, sat atop a nearby rooftop and swiveled its head from side to side as it regarded her, blinking a single, bright golden eye.
“Today, on this longest day, we greet the sun which banishes the darkness,” the Avatheos intoned, his voice slicing through the silence and sending a jolt down her spine. In fact, it felt as if someone had dragged a knife down the middle of her back.
The nauseous feeling intensified, and the burning intensified as a buzzing sound rang in her ears. The warmth that pulsed through her began growing stronger and stronger. The raven opened its mouth to caw.I can’t be sick; I have to stop Heinrich.
“It begins!” the raven croaked before taking to the sky.
Gasping, she bit down to stifle a cry of pain as the Avatheos continued his litany.
“I invoke the goddess who severed the darkness bringing us light,” the Avatheos said.
“With this blade, I vanquish the darkness and rebuke the Nameless Goddess and those who serve her,”Mother replied.
A pulse and the knife dug deeper. Liane whimpered, wrapping her arms around her body, instinctively curling inward to try to protect her organs.
“I call upon the stars that guide us.”
“I answer her call and promise to guide my people into the light.”
A beat of drums echoed in her head over and over. It drowned out the sound of everything but the Avatheos, who was glowing a bright, brilliant light that burned her eyes but from which she couldn’t look away either.
“I entrust myself to the goddess’ power which guides me.” The Avatheos’ voice rang in her ears as if a bell had been struck. But the sound did not fade; it grew louder and louder and felt as if it would split her open down the middle.
“Cyra, we thank you for the gift of sunlight, we praise you for delivering us from darkness, we give ourselves to your power,” Mother replied.
Everything burned. She was being roasted from the inside. Suddenly she felt a whoosh and a pop, and something exploded out of her. And the pain stopped.
Liane opened her eyes and found herself enveloped in soft, glowing light. She blinked a few times, her brain struggling to comprehend its source. Because it was coming from her, from her skin, she was glowing. Horrified and mesmerized, she overturned her hands, examining them with mild horror and fascination. She’d never had a hallucination quite like this before.
Then she turned to look at the crowd, and all eyes were on her. The ceremony had stopped, and Mother held the blade loosely at her side. Before she could try and comprehend, they began to fade, ripple, and distort as if she were looking at them through water. Blinking didn’t improve the vision; it only warped more until she was kneeling beside a pool of water, and when she looked up, the two-tone stag was staring at her with his dark and light eyes.
“The end is the beginning and the beginning is the end,” the same echoing voice which spoke to her in the woods said.
“What does that mean?”
“It begins and ends with you,” he said.
Then everything seemed to whoosh around her; the light retreated, pulling back and slamming into her chest and leaving her breathless. The temple steps came back into focus, and the stag and pool were gone.
Liane toppled over, head cracking on the temple steps, and through the fog of light around her, she thought the world looked dimmer as if she’d absorbed the morning light around her. There were no clouds in the sky, but the rising sun seemed diminished somehow. The glowing skin was gone, and so was the pain, even the pain in her back, which ached even on good days. Footsteps rushed toward her, and shouts surrounded her.
Mother’s face swam in her vision as she cried out her name.
“Liane! Liane!” But it sounded a thousand miles away, as if she were calling out to her from somewhere else. Someone lifted her up into their arms and carried her past the threshold of the temple steps.
This couldn’t be happening. She tried to protest, but her tongue was thick in her mouth, and she couldn’t form words. They carried her through the pews of the chapel and past the statue of Cyra, whose cold, impassive stare looked down at her from her pedestal, but there was a brilliant glow behind her head, as if it were a halo of light. Liane blinked as Cyra’s face transformed into that of her mother’s, brows pinched with worry.
