1
THE AGING PRIESTESS stepped from one novice to the next, kissing each forehead as was the custom in the final class before a graduation ceremony. These twelve youths had been in her care for more than a year, and now the time had come for them to go out into the world and seek apprenticeship. She felt a pang of sadness each time her lips sealed into their hearts the blessing of the Goddess, but she also knew that it was important to let go when the time arrived. The time had come for them, so she performed the rites. She nodded in approval at the eleven bowed heads kneeling before her in the chamber.
The twelfth child was doing his best to make eye contact with his master, for he had a fiery temper to match the frown created of doubt and frustration painted on his face; he also knew that his glares were irritating. The priestess held on to her inner calm and acknowledged him in the same way she had her other students. It troubled her that he flinched when the blessing had been laid upon him, but she knew this the soul of this young man well. He would forever be haunted with his own demons; perhaps he should not have been raised to priest after all.
This time the student almost got the best of his master, for the mere thought of self-doubt was now penetrating her shell of calm. That would never do. The child could not learn if he was to be scorned by those around him. Becoming acquainted with the world outside Forrenwake could be just what was needed.
She leaned in to whisper into his ear. “If you wouldn’t mind staying behind after the others leave, I should like to have a word with you, Ondicar.”
He nodded, his eyebrows raised. Likely, he feared a final round of verbal retribution before being cast aside forever. If only he understood how his master cared for him—how she cared for all of them—perhaps he would be more receptive to her words. Alas, expecting Ondicar to respond well to kind advice was akin to squeezing juice from a turnip! If somehow he could control the resulting fits of anger that followed such kind suggestions from his elders, the child’s stubbornness could become a valuable asset; there was nothing foul about one being set in his or her ways, as long as those ways were born of careful consideration and awareness of the surrounding world.
Stepping back from her students, the priestess spoke the words that signified the end of class. The twelve younglings stood and slowly departed the alabaster room with the plain walls and marble pillars that had seemed almost a second home to them. After a few kind words and farewell handshakes, Ondicar was the only novice remaining. His angry glare had been replaced with a distant stare, seeming to go beyond the classroom in search of answers that would never come.
Perhaps if he stopped searching for them, he would realize that they were all around. What he sought could be gleaned in the tall green grass rising against the warm spring showers or hidden in the birdsongs heard in the forests beyond. Eventually Ondicar would come around, but for now, his emotions must be placated in the same way that a newborn babe suckles its mother for sustenance.
“I have an appointment and I wish for you to accompany me.”
Ondicar blinked, surprised. “Why me, Mother? Why not one of the other novices?”
“Because I ask you. Is this not reason enough, or would you deny Sheantris of Mirea the honor of your presence? I could demand it of you.”
“Then demand it,” Ondicar said. “I have never felt as though my choices ever mattered to anyone here. Why should I now?”
Sheantris reached out and smoothed Ondicar’s mouse-colored robes. It was a gesture she should have avoided, but ignoring someone in clear need of comfort sometimes proved to be difficult.
“I will do no such thing,” she said, almost whispering. “I shall meet with the child who requested my presence. You are free to follow along. Or not. You are released from my authority; the choice is yours to make.”
