Arise to the New and What Shall Become
The cheers of the crowd filtered through the stone halls to the high priestess Vantaiga’s chamber. They chanted her name with a throbbing rhythm that threatened to lull her into a trance, and for a moment, she let it. She let her mind slip away to a simpler time, a time without rituals and ceremonies, a time without courts and projects, a time without being a slave to duties and responsibilities.
She sighed and examined her face in the silver mirror before her. Its wide, ornate frame of entwined flowers and leaves was set with glowing magical stones that illuminated her face. It was an extravagant display. She didn’t like extravagant displays, but she was the head of her religion and some extravagance was expected of her.
The mirror was a gift from her followers, and she was expected to use it—more expectations, always expectations. She wondered if all she ever did now was meet other people’s expectations, expectations to keep her realm vibrant, expectations to keep her following devoted, expectations to keep her people’s trust. A pang of guilt hit her. She gave her head a quick shake. She didn’t like that thought. She cast it aside and returned to examining herself in the mirror.
Her face was thin and youthful, her hair vibrant and flowing. The mirror reflected the perfect image of elegance and youth, except for her eyes. They betrayed the youthfulness as a mirage and revealed a much greater age. They always told the truth. And now they told her that, despite her immense power, she was old and tired.
She could not even remember what her age was. It was such a great number it no longer held any meaning for her. That was something for her priests and scholars to mind. Recently, she’d overheard some priestesses wanting to do something special for her third-century birthday in a few years. She sighed again to herself. As if living three centuries was any more special than living two.
She just wanted to rest. No matter her age, she deserved to rest. But there was still too much to do. Despite the size of her realm and the strength of her people, they were still small in a world where those that disapproved could wish them away. Rest would have to wait.
Reflected in the mirror, a figure emerged silently from the shadows behind her and wrapped his arms about her.
“They’re beautiful, you know.”
The man’s broad shoulders seemed to engulf the high priestess’s slender frame. He pressed his face against her and joined Vantaiga’s musing reflection. He appeared similar in age to the woman he held. And similarly to her own, his eyes revealed a great, unnatural age. The grey in his red hair and beard tarnished the honour of his given name, Syffox.
She broke her thoughts and leaned into him affectionately. His touch always soothed her. “What is beautiful, my love?”
“Your eyes—you were brooding about your eyes again.”
She grinned. He always knew what she was thinking. “What’s the point in concealing our ages if our eyes just give us away?”
He chuckled at her quip. “We’re more than concealing our ages, my love. I think you look much more beautiful like this than as a pile of dust. The only thing your eyes give away is that you’re timeless.” He gave her a squeeze. “And soon to be eternal.” He rocked her gently while gazing at her reflection.
Vantaiga’s smile quivered as a black void loomed up in her mind.
Syffox squeezed her more tightly. “Don’t be nervous. I’m very proud of you and very happy about what we’re doing.”
His words did not reassure her. The void in her mind only loomed larger, darker, colder, and ever more lonesome. It took hold of her thoughts and threatened her resolve with what was before her.
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She reached into herself to gather her magic. There she found it, stored deep within her being, vibrant and eagerly awaiting command. She pulled at a small amount with a shaky, whispered chant and spread it throughout her body. The magic enthusiastically yielded to her. Pushing past a spell already feeding youthfulness to her archaic flesh, the magic formed into a spell of tranquillity that quieted her mind and gave her courage. A wash of cool comfort crept along her skin with the spell.
She drew in a long, soothing breath of relief. “We’ll see.” She stood and hugged her intruder. “I love you. Let’s get this over with.”
He looked into her eyes. “I know you still have your doubts, but I want this very much. I want to give you the strength the forest needs to flourish and the peace and happiness you deserve. I want to be with you forever.”
Her eyes began to water as the void of her doubts reawakened, but she managed to reassure him with an “I know.” She gave him a gentle push forward. “We should go now. The faithful are waiting.”
The two left Vantaiga’s bedchamber and walked into a bright stone corridor where several attendants and an even louder chanting of her name awaited them. As the attendants were born to the forest’s bounty and cool shadows, they stood head and shoulders above the couple. Their shining hair and unblemished skin naturally radiated the vitality that took the two elders study and magic to mimic. The mixed green and brown robes of the attendants added to the contrast of the couple, who were dressed in robes of bright white.
The corridor they walked was carved into the solid rock of Vantaiga’s mountain keep. Just within a cliff face, the hallway was warm with the heat outside and sunlight coming in through numerous portals cut through the stone. Pots and boxes of clay and wood held numerous plants, flowers, and hanging vines along the walls and ledges. The harsh rock of the tunnel was veiled behind curtains of living colour, with any remaining dark corners illuminated by magical lanterns.
Passing through flitting hummingbirds and fluttering butterflies, the group made their way to a tall, naturally lit antechamber. Open arches to the outside allowed the light to pour in along with the deafening cheers of the throng beyond. Here, trees were added to the potted plants and vines, giving the room a serene, peaceful look despite the unsettling ruckus from outside.
Vantaiga summoned more magic to soothe her rattled nerves. It frustrated her that she repeatedly needed magic to stay calm. How much magic would she consume to make it through this day? Her errant thought was chased away by an ironic scoff as she looked at those gathered in the antechamber. The answer was unimaginable.
With a wave of a shaking hand, she gave a trembling murmur in the cryptic language of magic. The clamour from the crowd outside faded down to that of a far distant chorus. The quiet brought a noticeable sigh of relief from all those in the room.
In the chamber, there were ten others: mostly young men and women, also dressed in white robes, already assembled with their own attendants. They all turned to face the pair and gave a low and respectful, if not awkward bow. The high priest and priestess smiled and gave them a short bow back. Their disciples were not used to formalities; however, this day, they felt the need for exceptional courtesy.
The group of the ten disciples fidgeted while anxiously trying to return the couple’s smile. The high priestess looked over the excited youths struggling to contain their composure and anticipation. Vantaiga felt envious of them. She could claim their health and vitality, but she could not claim their excitement—not for this day, not for what she was going to do.
She dismissed the negativity and observed the disciples fondly. Having been raised in the keep, they were as much her children as any. For this day, they deserved her affection the most. Her face softened and her eyes glistened as she addressed them. “I am very proud of you. Are all of you ready?”
Several of them nodded or even giggled a nervous “yes,” but one young woman stepped forward with a strong, determined voice. “We are all ready and well prepared, Your Grace.”
Vantaiga beamed at the woman and her strident confidence. “Of course you are.”
A heavyset senior priest, dark-haired and tall, even for a forester, briskly entered through the centre arch. Dressed in deep greys and greens, he appeared to melt into the vines and walls of the room. His breath was panting as he heartily looked over the assembled group. Outside, the crowd could see something was happening, and the rhythm of the muted chanting increased.
Their host’s name was Mackyntal. He was the third highest in the Order and had known the high priest and priestess all his life. Ultimately responsible for the day’s events and the fate of their religion, his nervousness was palpable to everyone in the chamber.
He clapped his hands together and spoke with a slight shake to his voice. “The crowd is more than ready. Everyone set?” Vantaiga replied with a rigid nod.
Syffox turned in front of her and clasped her hands. He gazed into her eyes with a broad, reassuring smile. “Yes, we are.”
Looking into his eyes, Vantaiga was struck by a wave of guilt and struggled to return the smile. Mackyntal led the two out while the attendants followed along, and the ten disciples dressed in white fell in behind them.