The oratory was smothered in smoke thick as a burial shroud. The pit fire gnawed at thick logs casting flickering hieroglyphs of light across the inscribed walls - an omen. In front of the arching pillars were candles and jars of incense - releasing a woody and spicy scent that filled the small room with grey whips of vapour. Ayla knelt opposite Amara - her golden incandescent eyes ablaze - as her fingers trailed a thick gleaming thread.
Amara's hands carefully circled the thread, her fingers steady beneath its glow. Ayla watched Amara's movements carefully inspecting and cataloging them. Her fingers moved without hesitation, carefully thrumming the strand which vibrated against her fingers, gently kissing them with more attention than any other - as if they whispered to her.
Ayla looked from Amara's wrist to her mother's wrists, void of the glittering strings that snaked around their wrists tying them to their fated encounters and telling of the ending.
No Their relationships and endings were a mystery.
She looked down at her own bare wrists that ached with the absence of unseen bonds. Her hands flexed slightly as she looked back to Mrs Hale's reddened and puffy face.
What does it feel like to be in her shoes?
Did she even have a right to feel this way?
Ayla frowned, her brows setting together as her eyes tried to locate the correct strand among a knots.
Her mother's long delicate fingers gently stroked the string in a rhythm that matched Amara's - showing Amara the way to measure the reactions and unravel a pathway of riddles. Her soft features were set into a line, masked by automatic movements and routines.
Her mother gently took Ayla's shaky hand placing it underneath the glowing line.
The thread pulsed with a slow rhythm, like silky wisps of air between her fingers and a gentle warmth that kissed where her hand contact. The thread waved gently with life, a symbol of a strong, healthy and happy life but it was tainted by another thread that joined at the centre of the thread. This thread was not fully formed, weak and fading at the end, the blackened end growing and fading quickly. Ayla's eyes flickered down to Mrs Hale's swollen belly. She let the thread fall.
Touching the strand allowed Ayla to separate it from the others, to isolate it from the sea of gold floating around her head. Ayla swallowed hard, her eyes falling to the floor. She was unsure what to say, how she would even begin to tell the newly expectant mother. Her face glowing with health, dusted cheeks and a splotchy nose, her eyes brimming with tears of hopefulness and knowing.
Burnt myrrh coated the room, weaving in between the sweat-salt from Ayla's forehead.
It was her mother that broke the tense silence. "Mrs Hale... I thank you for coming to meet us today. Your presence has been invaluable." She paused their mother's resplendent eyes held no emotion and her voice was monotonous but gentle with the calming hum of her voice. She bowed her head, her long hair forming a curtain around her heart shaped face.
Ayla and Amara followed their mother, bowing their heads low, tucking their tiny faces and closing their eyes. It was her sister that continued, her little voice carrying over the whistling wind that rattled the painted glass windows of the Oratory. "We thank Vytheris for bringing new life and Vrâkthar for bringing peace to the end of this gift. May we meet again in this life or the next."
Ayla bit her lip trying to keep back the tears that threatened to spill, but a small tear trailed her plump cheeks and her hands trembled as they rested on her lap.
Amara had told Ayla about the fading string attached to Mrs Hale's thread before their mother had told her. It was a sign that her sight was strengthening - the ability to separate a thread without touch was not only an honour but a sign of mastery. She was now ready to begin her training to lead ceremonies and to protect the village from dangers. At her young age it made Amara one of the youngest to achieve such an honour.
YOU ARE READING
Court Of Tethers and Ruin *A dark fae fantasy- romance*
Fantasy"My mother warned me the fae are closer to gods than men. She never warned me what happens when gods wake up." The night the moon shattered it rained glittering shards upon the world. Fragments of divine power, each capable of increasing one's power...
