The spring water is so cold on my scrubbed, raw skin, it burns through every nerve end. Each barb on the bone comb that the veiled sister runs through my wet hair scrapes my scalp, and I am half convinced I am on fire. Every sensation is visceral and overwhelming.
When I am cleaned to their satisfaction, I am wrapped in a silken fur and sat by the fire. The flames have died to embers, but the coals are a hotbed of glowing red. I seek their warmth in my limbs, and after a time, the chill of the cold pool leaves my bones.
When I am sufficiently dry, rich, scented oils are rubbed into my skin. Hands move over my arms and legs like a deafening balm to my senses. My muscles tentatively ease from the torture of the day.
Someone, perhaps Vestera, braids two small strands of hair to the back of my neck and pins them there. The rest of my long, jet black hair trails down my back to the space where my waist narrows. I breathe steadily in and out with intent, hoping to release the tension that has built up in every part of my body this day. I am ready. Physically.Mentally? Emotionally?I am a tempest.
After I am dressed in a thin cream tunic, I relax back into the fur nest and continue to try to control my breathing. Any moment, the veiled sisters will return and walk me to the Rite. I try to maintain my composure, breathing deeply into my belly and holding it there, one beat, two, three…I try to breathe out, but the air remains caught in my chest, sputtering out of me in short jagged exhalations.
I am here for an eternity, adrift between consciousness and the chaos of my body. Images dance across the ceiling of the cavern. My dreams, the visions in the mirror, the eyes, both blue and brown, that have plagued my thoughts these last weeks. When the sisters come, they arrive on the beats of a drum just beyond the stone walls.
…
I must walkthe winding path up to the shrine by feel, because when the attendants arrive, they cover my eyes with a silken cloth and tie it tight behind my head. Their presence remains beside me and their hands at my elbows steady me. More than that, I have an intuition that many sisters have walked this path before me, and my mind is quieted. The drums beat in time with my heart. Heavy and resonant strikes alter our consciousness.
The excited whispers draw nearer, and a slight pressure on my shoulders instructs me to my knees. I rest back onto my bare feet behind me, hands clasped at the small of my back as the drums slow.
Those gathered have quieted, too. Elated whispers ebb to a quiet murmur as the energy melts from excitement to anticipation.
The sound of footfalls from the left and right of where I am kneeling grows closer. The drum shifts again, a crescendo with their approach.Them.My heartbeat quickens, but I remain still. They kneel in front of me, facing inward but not close enough that we are touching. The heat of the pyre and scent of smoke and incense wafting to us makes me heady.
The ascent of the drums grows and breaks. The silence they leave behind is deafening. If not for the two warm bodies in front of me, I could believe I am completely alone here. Time passes, but I have no concept of how much in the darkness.
The Lady speaks. Her voice projects through the shrine and straight into my mind. She tells the same story she told me that first day in the sanctuary, but now the images that appear behind my eyelids are clear.
I am witness to the beginning of everything. Naedra, Caelestis, and Nerine kneel between tall standing stones, a sacred circle. A holy clearing.
“The Land below us,” Naedra speaks, her voice earthen and low. “No lies between us.” They respond in unison.
“The sea before us”
“No betrayal among us.”
“The sky above us”
“No division between three.”
“For Elemyr, We are One.”
The lightthat shines between the sovereign Three is blinding and ethereal. Someone unties the blindfold, but I do not see anything through the haze of smoke and incense. We are each lifted to our feet, and we rise unsteadily as the drums begin again.
When my vision returns, it is distorted and mercurial. The Lady is near, and she places our hands together, one atop another. One set soft and tentative, a hand formed of clay. The other is calloused and steady, stronger than I expect. The smells of the sea and the forest waft to me, mixing with the fragrant air of the ritual space.
Bindings wrap each of my wrists now, twining between us and pinning our hands together. They are tight, but the effect is comforting. Warmth creeps through me, and the effect is sublime. The hand in my right grows clammy and warm, but I do not mind it.
The men in front of me come into focus. To the left, sandy brown hair and soft features, eyes like the sea. To the right, loamy and like liquid amber at the center. I see dark hair and a firmly set jaw. They both face me with expressions of composed serenity.
When the Lady speaks again, her tone contains gravity, the authority of the Gods.
“The Trinity stands at the center of this land.
Not apart—bound. Balanced. Their vow holds us in harmony.”
The bindings tighten around us, affirming her declaration. When the Lady next speaks, it is softer now, but I feel with certainty it carries to every witness at the shrine.
“This night, we recommit this vow in their honor. Each element is represented among you. The Trinity for a new age. Vonetta Sage, the representative of the Land.” Her voice warms,
“Wren Ashyr, of Sky.” The bindings solidify. “Chiron Grey Daciana, of the Sea.”
