Just as I am about to whisper, “Get lost,”to the annoyance in my head, the air around me stills. Or maybe that’s just me holding my breath at the voices suddenly travelling down the long corridor.
“High Priestess Cardinal, I really think it’s imperative that any celebrations be moved away from the town proper with everything going on.” Oriole and the high priestess make their way down the hall that I’m fervently scrubbing.
Down on my hands and knees, I keep my scrubbing hand still, breathing in eucalyptus bubbles quietly to avoid detection. Closing my eyes, I wish for the invisibility barrier that sometimes overcomes people in my presence to take hold.
Unfortunately, it does not stick.
“Dove.” Cardinal stops inches from my soapy hands.
Leaning back on my heels, I look up at the robed body to find crystal blue spheres squinting expectantly back at me. I nod my head towards the floor in a show of respect.
From my downward view, I can see Oriole’s feet shuffling under her pink robes. As Cardinals right-hand priestess, I always find herquite frazzled—not what I would expect from a high-ranking priestess.Could that be why she chose Kestrel to wed Castor instead?
“I will require you to prepare my remedy for the moon ritual tonight,” the fluid words breeze from her.
Closing my eyes to the sound of her voice, my body gives a slight sway as I grip the sponge roughly in my hand, suds and water trickling down my skirts.
A wave of ice washes through my throbbing veins.
There it is. The summons I try to avoid each full moon. The one I can never truly avoid.
My neck tenses and an involuntary movement overcomes my whole head, bouncing it twice up and down.
Without another word, Cardinal’s red velvet rob swishes against my wet floor, and she continues on her way. At her retreating form, my heart decides to enter every orifice of my being, leaving my vision hazy.
Staying in my bowed spot, I think of only one thing that will calm the rage crashing and swelling in the depths of my soul.
A melody I have studied fiercely and now consume like air—the Goddess’s song.
Over the rotations, her song has become somewhat of a mantra, the strange words revolving on a loop in the recesses of my mind until I found time to practise each evening before sleep overcame me.
Singing her song is the only thing I look forward to in my movements anymore, excited to have something just for me, a purpose to my existence. And I, a mere servant, cracked the code of an ancient language. Though, to be honest, it is very similar to the language we speak currently.
On the third round of the chorus in my mind, my body jolts to life, and I scrub and scrub and scrub until my fingers are raw from the constant friction with the stone below.
These floors will be the death of me. These floors or the lady commanding me to her quarters this evening, that is.
I see that clearly now.
Each month, I hope for a reprieve. That she will choose someone else. In the beginning, I was confused, then honoured by the opportunity to please the high priestess and, in turn, the Goddess until my mind grew weary and complacent. A familiar darkness found me, and I descended into onyx crystals.
Even Wren retreats, running from the welling tides within. I cannot blame her. If I could run, I would go with her.
After my little visit from Cardinal and finishing up my turns chores, I find myself in the bathhouse.
I am here for two reasons. One, to cleanse my body for tonight’s ritual. And two, to collect the much-favoured goo the glow-worms leave behind.
The priestesses see the substance as an elixir of youth. It is not uncommon for servants to be down here collecting the slimy, clear goowhile the priestesses bathe. It’s also not uncommon to see priestesses slathering the stuff all over their bodies as they soak in the healing waters.
Personally, I do not see the appeal of putting worm excrement on my face. The priestesses all look the same to me, but they all swear by it, saying it has even reversed the signs of ageing.
My mother once told me it is a privilege to witness lines grow on your face. It represents your journey, wisdom, love and care. That I understand. That makes sense. I don’t quite understand everything the priestesses do, but it doesn’t stop the way my thoughts run when I remember what sits prominently on my neck—the scar that renders me not quite enough in the eyes of this world.
For that reason (and many others), I barely take the time to look in the mirror. The person looking back at me is not someone I recognise anymore, or someone I like.
After completing my goals, I make my way back to the greenhouse to add the next ingredient to the ritual remedy Cardinal requires.
Earlier, I picked the four fairy’s breath flowers, placing them in a small wooden box on my potting table waiting for my return.
