I stagger when the strong winds buffet the sheer rock face, forcing salty air into my lungs. Looking towards the horizon, I’m struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu, and it takes a moment to remember why. It’s just like my daydream. The one where I’m watching as ominous black clouds of a gathering storm approach, flooding the skies. Only now, there’s no icy rain or screaming winds. Just the sun, burning away the blanket of night to gently wake the world. It occurs to me then that I haven’t slipped into one of those daydreams since I got here.
Probably too busy freaking the fuck out to daydream.
“It’s rather a long way down,” calls out a feminine voice, carried by the wind. I look back at the Temple and see a figurestanding in the doorway, waving and then retreating back inside. With on last longing glance towards the horizon, I trudge to the building, somewhat mollified from my earlier encounter.
As it looms above me, I realize the Temple is actually a pantheon. Yet another architectural wonder I’d only read about. My footsteps echo on the polished stone steps, and when I enter the main rotunda, the inlaid designs come to life in the early morning light shining through the oculus. Sweeping mosaics set into the floor catch my eye, spreading from the center of the expansive space. I find myself spinning in a circle, not knowing where to look at first, only that I want to see everything.
“Wow,” I whisper under my breath.
“Truly a marvel, isn’t it?” says the woman who appears behind me. She’s older, with a graying afro and bright eyes framed by crows feet, and when she smiles, deep lines appear in her cheeks. Her dark skin seems to soak up the dawn sun, radiating warmth and an ethereal glow.
“Yeah,” I croak, tearing my gaze away from her to look around the rotunda once more.
I can hear the smile in her voice when she responds. “Bit of a bitch to keep clean though.” She winks when I gape at her.
“Are you allowed to say that here?” I look over my shoulder to see if anyone else overheard what is certainly blasphemy, but hell if I know what’s allowed here.
“You won’t tell on me, will you?” she stage whispers, and my shoulders relax just a fraction.
“You’re fucking with me,” I state, giving up all pretense of propriety. She snorts an ungainly laugh, and my lips twitch as I try to smother a grin.
“Have to break up the monotony somehow.” She shrugs and begins walking around the perimeter of the intricate mosaic designs. I trail behind her after a moment, too curious to stay away.
“I don’t usually get visitors this early, but I’m glad you stopped by, Nyx.” I stop, wide-eyed and wary.
“How do you know my name?”
“Fate wove your arrival in the stars long ago,” she intones, suddenly somber. “And also, the Headmaster sent out an email to all of your professors.” She looks over her shoulder with a sly grin. I used to pride myself on being able to read people, but so far this woman is giving me nothing but whiplash.
“You’re not one of them, though.” I counter.
“But your Divinity class is taught by one of my acolytes. And like I said, the Headmaster sent out an email. It’s not often that students with your background enroll in Dreadhurst, but then again, I don’t suppose you’re a typical student, are you?” She quirks her head and purses her lips, and for the second time this morning I feel overexposed in front of someone who sees too much.
“Who are you?” I stop and stare her down, crossing my arms defensively.
“Oh right.” She offers her hand, “Esmé Cyriaque, High Priestess of this Temple.” I stare at her palm for a beat before returning the gesture.
“Am I supposed to call you ‘Your Holiness’ or something?”
“I actually prefer ‘Your Supreme Radiance’. Makes me feel young again.” She chuckles, turning to continue walking along the perimeter, and I follow as if pulled by a string.
“What have you learned in your first week of class so far?” she asks as she begins to break off melted wax from the candles sitting on a shallow shelf cut into the wall.
“That you guys seem to have a thing for the Ancient Greeks.” I murmur, looking more closely at the intricate mosaic flooring.
“You’re not wrong.” She finishes with one shelf and moves onto another. “While the divine and celestial forces have existed in perpetuity, and will continue to do so long after our names arenothing more than whispers among the stars, the sentient life on this planet has sought to derive meaning and purpose from their short lives. The names, methods of worship, language, and people have changed, but the universal forces remain constant. The sun rises, the moon sets, and the stars have watched over it all.
“The Sumerians, as far as we know, were the first to create and document a pantheon of divine beings to explain the various forces exerting their influence over the world. Eventually the Egyptians in Africa, the Greeks in the Mediterranean, the Chinese in Asia, the Norte Chico in Mesoamerica, to name a few, established their own pantheons. With each iteration of worship and the correlating cultural, technological, and scientific advancements, so too did the exploration of magic develop into the foundation of what we practice today. Not only did we have names for these divine forces, but through the harnessing of primordial magic, we could touch them.”
She smiles fondly, her gaze far away, just as lost as I am in her own story. “And despite the melding of other cultures and beliefs from around the world, languages and species over time, the Greek pantheon was the one that stuck. Add a bit of Roman Latin sprinkled here, a smidge of Alchemy there, with a dash of cross-species breeding, and here we are.” She finishes, and waits while I attempt to process.
“That’s a nice bedtime story, but you’re skipping over a few thousand years of world history,” I say eventually.
“I’ll save that for your next visit.” She winks and continues to remove melted wax as I trail behind her, working in relative silence as I consider what she’s said and at some point, I find myself also holding a handful of wax chips until we’ve made it all the way around the chamber.
“I don’t know if I can believe all that,” I say, following her through a heavy wooden door into some kind of office.
“It doesn’t really matter if you do.”
