Rune and Ruin

3 - Temple of Arthe

391 B.C. - City of Caere, Coast of the Tasurian Peninsula, Spring, Month of Maius

Thania

I stand still as Velia and another Selen priestess, Oliv, wrap me in beautiful midnight blue robes. It will be the last time that I wear the dark colors of the moon goddess. Gods. I can't stop trembling.

It had taken nearly two hours to carefully remove the dark color from my hair, and another twenty minutes of washing and perfuming to take the scent of the treatment away. Every so often, I catch a glimpse of my red hair in the copper mirror resting on the vanity. It startles me every time.

During the process of primping and readying, I told Velia and Oliv the story of my brief time with Falx on the road to Veii. I kept many things back, but in my nervousness, more stories spilled from my lips the closer it came to nightfall.

The three of us had spoken softly, ever mindful of the Tasuri belators standing guard just outside the curtained room. I felt as though I could smell them, and the scent of blood and smoke. The memories they invoke just make more stories pour from my mouth.

Velia, I know, is hurt that I had kept so much from her. "The Warlord himself," she had whispered at one time, her eyes haunted by her own fears and imagination.

I'm ready and we fall silent. Dully, I stare into the copper mirror, wondering at the rosy appearance of my skin, and the stark red of my hair. Red, an unlucky color. "Terrible woe befalls the red-haired girl," my grandmother used to croak until her tongue was taken from her by a wasting disease.

I tear my gaze away from the mirror to look around the cella of the Temple of Selen. The cella has been hastily prepared for the ceremony to come, with dried incense sprinkled on the floor, and the carvings draped in the same midnight-blue cloth I'm wearing.

The tiny windowless room is twice as tall as it is deep, creating a dizzying sense of disorientation and making me feel as though the walls may come tumbling down onto us. The wooden ceiling is painted a dark blue, the only opening a small oculus at the very center that aligns with the moon only on the Winter Solstice.

Tonight the sky is ink black. Velia and Oliv blow out their lanterns until only one small candle is left burning. Then my friends kiss my cheeks and leave me to my thoughts.

Usually, I feel awed by the space, but today the silence is overwhelming. I can never hear the gods when I stand inside the temples, making me always wonder if it's just a fever dream. Maybe the same illness that took my grandmother in her old age is coming for me?

Bowing my head, I close my eyes and concentrate on taking deep breaths. Whispering softly, I try my best to reach the goddess, praying, "Goddess help me, Sylen guide me, please, please."

My inner turmoil doesn't calm at all, and the goddess is mute. A hysterical bubble of laughter escapes me when I realize that my prayers will soon be directed to a new goddess. A goddess that Falx Fyrrin has commanded I worship.

My brief sense of insanity is broken when the door creaks open, revealing the faint sound of clinking armor from the movement of the belators outside. They haven't been too far away all evening.

Nahma, the Hatrencu, slides inside the room in her golden robes, worn only for initiation ceremonies, sighing regretfully when she sees. "It's time, Thania." Walking over she takes my hands in hers. "Bravery," she murmurs to me as she pulls a flask from her robes. "Drink this, that's it, the whole thing. It will help calm your nerves."

I swallow the bitter liquid and recognize the taste of the herbs mixed into the tincture. Nahma uses it sparingly, warning us that it is highly addictive, but it works swiftly to calm my nerves. "To the House, then, Thania. Come." She places a gentle hand on my back and steers me to the doors.