Children of the Citadel

chapter 2

Just like that, it was over. The other acolytes began quietly murmuring amongst

themselves, clambering to their feet.

Blood and ichor continued to leak from my palm. I let it drip into the basin,

watching absentmindedly as the thick droplets dissipated into the increasingly cloudy, darkened water.

My sister stood as I set the blade down gently on the stone floor nearby, the massive form of her soaking robes making the water in the basin undulate. It lapped at my waist, dampening even more of my robe. I looked up at her, but she had turned away immediately to speak with our father, who had come to stand on the edge of the basin in anticipation for the conversation they would doubtlessly have about what the words of The Messiah meant.

"Here," a quiet, soft voice said from behind me.

I whipped around to see Sapphira looking down at me, her eyes ever-sympathetic and incredibly blue, the reason I was able to tell that she was the one who had handed me my ceremonial blade. She reached towards her face with one hand and pulled her facial veil away. I followed the other arm down to see that she was holding the other hand out to me.

"Come."

My brain seemingly on auto-pilot, I didn't even realize that I had followed her instructions until I stood once more on dry ground. The rest of the acolytes had cleared out; they were aware that this rite taxed us emotionally as well as physically, no matter how many times we repeated it, and always opted to file out immediately afterwards. It was a gesture that I appreciated.

Sapphira took my uninjured hand and led me through the doors of the hall, left open by the others. There was a simple wooden bench right outside the door, and the two of us sat down. I could hear the hushed, distant voices of my father and sister that barely escaped the Hall of Veneration.

"Give me your hand," Sapphira instructed.

I obliged, cringing when I saw how much blood had escaped the cut since I had stepped out of the basin and was now beginning to run down my forearm.

Sapphira took the hand in her own, seemingly ambivalent that some of it had rubbed off onto her fingers, the deep color a stark contrast to her porcelain skin.

With the opposite hand, she reached into the deep pocket of her violet robe and pulled out a small roll of medical linen wrapping.

I realized I hadn't spoken a word to her yet. "Hi," I offered a pathetic and extremely delayed greeting.

She glanced up from where she had begun to clean and wrap my palm, and smiled, cornflower-colored eyes twinkling even in the dim light of the entryway.

Sapphira was beautiful by every definition of the word. She had wavy, golden blond hair. Her skin was flawless, seemingly untouched by the elements. Her nose was thin, and her teeth were straight. I suspected many young men of only attending daily worship in order to have a chance to speak with her. Officially, she was my tutor and mentor, though she was only three years older than myself. Unofficially, she was my friend.

"Thank you," I murmured as she tore off the excess gauze and tapped the back of my hand to signal that she was done.

"I wonder what that was about," she replied, obviously referring to what the raven - what The Messiah had said to my sister.

I glanced up from where I had been admiring Sapphira's handiwork and looked at her.

"You will become mine." I repeated mindlessly.