Carliene Stark

II Chapter 37

Carliene

I ran across the yard, holding the hood of my cloak out of my face as I could feel it soaking up the rain. Maybe Desmera had been right about this not being the right weather to explore the castle, thus refusing to accompany me. But I had stubbornly insisted that I was a northerner and that a bit of bad weather wouldn't do me any harm. By the time I reached the entrance to the sept my cloak hung heavily from my shoulders and I could feel the cold seep through to my skin. But the inside of the rounded building was surprisingly warm, which I attributed to the many candles being light within it. I took off the cloak and hung it over my left arm as I carefully stepped further into the silent hall. The only sound was the rain drumming on the roof above, which I noticed had a few colourful windows in the form of the seven pointed star. The marble floor had a large star in it as well, bordered by gold and silver. The ends of each of its spikes posted towards large alcoves in the rounded walls where statues of the seven gods stood. The narrow steps leading up to the statues were filled with candles, bathing the large hall in a warm glow, making it feel almost comfortable in comparison to the dreary weather outside. 

I turned to my right and began

 to walk along the wall, studying each of the gods and seeing if I recognised them. The task was easy enough as the statues did not leave much to the imagination and Septa Mordanne had us pray to the gods at least once a day when I was growing up. I noticed that most of them were decorated with the white and orange flowers, like the rest of the castle. But just like in the rest of the castle they now looked like they were beginning to wilt. Father, mother, warrior, smith, maiden and crone. But the one that always held my interested was the stranger. It seemed that everyone depicted him a little differently and he remained a figure of mystery as was his function. 

This stranger was the typical hooded figure, leaving it up to the devotees imagination whatever face resided beneath it. Only outcasts pray to the stranger, Mordanne had told me once when I composed a prayer to him just to edge her on and to impress my younger sisters. I wondered what she thought about it now, wherever she was. I doubted strongly that she ever made it to her seven heavens, not because she had been a bad person, but because I felt almost certain that there was no so such thing as a god with seven faces to be worshipped as statues. 

What does Bran think of gods, I found myself wondering. If the old gods live in the weirwood trees then what does it mean that his powers are connected to it?

I looked down at the steps before the statue. There were only two candles for the stranger, only one of which was light. A hidden door opened somewhere in the sept and I turned in alert, no longer being the only one in the large sept. 

The septon was dressed in a brilliant white robe, which almost seemed to give up a light of its own in the dim lighting. Around his waist was a belt of many colours. 

"Seven blessings dear" he greeted with a pleased smile beneath his small eyes. I judged him older than Lord Garth but younger than Maester Lomys. 

"Seven blessings" I repeated back to him respectfully. 

He then looked at the statue of the stranger. "Not the face I would advice a young Lady to pray to, but I suppose in these strange times..." he trailed off with another smile, clearly pleased with his play on words. "I imagine this must be difficult" he studied me his brows furrowing. "To have your faith tested by witnessing such atrocities happening to the greatest house of worship on this earth" 

I should not be surprised that he would address that topic. "Is that how you see it then? A test?" 

"What else could it be?" he retorted.