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An unimaginable grip clasped Therra’s mind and yanked it from her body with the sensation of falling. Her mind accelerated with an incredible rush into the mind of Vantaiga. Reflexively, she tried resisting, but it was futile. The power of the gem dissolved Therra’s will and body into a brilliant stream of white raw magic pouring into Vantaiga, carrying the forest child’s mind along with it.
The magic power generated from Therra by the gemstone was more than just the magic contained within and wielded by Therra. It was all the magical power that had gone into creating Therra, from the love of her conception, the joy of her birth, the plants and animals that nourished her, from all the lives she ever touched. The power she offered to Vantaiga was far more than the sum of her flesh: it was the magic of her life and the value of her existence.
The torrent of magic blasted through Vantaiga’s forehead and overwhelmed her senses. She tried to push against the surge but with no more effect than as if she tried to push back a mountain slide. She gasped as the magic crashed into her, inundating her faster than was tolerable, suffocating her.
Vantaiga’s body began to radiate heat as the magic overflowed her ability to contain it and the energy poured into her flesh, her skin smouldering and her senses brushed aside till she was only aware of excruciating heat. The more she resisted the rush of magic, the more the heat built up in her body. She had to let the magic wash through her lest she succumb to it in a burst of flames.
She pushed her panic aside to grasp the mind of Therra. Vantaiga could sense her desperately reaching out for her in the deluge of power. Confused and terrified at the feeling of losing her body, Therra clutched out to Vantaiga like a drowning child desperate for its mother. Vantaiga beheld the hapless woman, and the two minds clung to their faith in each other as Vantaiga let herself go to the overwhelming cascade of power.
Vantaiga’s body erupted into a brilliant roaring ball of white flames. Stepping back with his arms wide, Syffox contained the deafening magic and sent it skyward as a blazing geyser of raw power. Mackyntal tried to assist but could do little more than to protect himself and the others from the incredible power and heat released before him. The remaining nine on the stage instinctively ducked or jumped back from the eruption.
The flames twisted into a blinding vortex. The crowd blocked their ears and looked away, not knowing if they should flee. Then, in an instant, the geyser was gone, leaving behind only a low, rolling echo across the mountainside.
Therra was gone as well, and Vantaiga lay on the stage gasping and struggling to bring herself onto her knees, tendrils of smoke rising up from her skin and charred robes. Syffox rushed over to support her; she was burning to the touch.
Her mind and vision refused to focus as she sputtered and coughed. “Too hot… too hot… too much magic… can’t think.”
Vantaiga stammered as she tried to lift her head. The two minds inside of her struggled to make sense of things, but pain and disorientation kept either from being able to take action. With a magical gesture, Syffox drew the heat from Vantaiga’s body and repaired her braised skin. The sudden lack of pain made her feel light and exhilarated as a cool euphoria washed over her.
In the bliss of relief, the two minds inside the high priestess began to relax and regard their new situation. They contemplated each other and could feel the other’s contemplation, trying to figure out what to do next. They were both na?ve in this situation. Neither of them knew what to do to become one.
Giddiness came over Therra and Vantaiga. They were both thinking the same thing… at the same time. They were already of one mind. They merely had to accept the fact to join.
With a sigh, the being that was now both Therra and Vantaiga slumped to her knees, and the world came into focus. Syffox cast a spell to produce water from his hand. She hastily drank, allowing the water to splash over her face.
Finally drawing in a deep breath, she looked him in the eyes. “That was…strange.” She took in a few more breaths to steady herself. “And it hurt. A lot.”
She was having difficulty sorting out the memories and sensations of the ordeal. Vantaiga’s excruciating burning as she accepted Therra was mixed with the terrifying thrill of Therra giving herself to Vantaiga.
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Other memories mixed together: leading the procession out on stage with Syffox and following the high priest and priestess out on stage, anxiously waiting in the antechamber and brooding in her room before the ceremony. A flood of recollection spilled over her as a lifetime of training to join the founder of the forest mixed with the lifetime of a founder struggling to build the forest.
She looked up at Syffox as a peculiar confusion struck her. “I don’t know who I am.”
Syffox was taken aback and cautiously replied, “Who should you be?”
She almost laughed at the answer. “I would like to be…” The name stuck in her throat. All her life, Therra had thought of nothing more than becoming Vantaiga, and Vantaiga, quite frankly, only wished to be someone else if she could. Doubt and hesitation crept into her mind. She looked about at her fellow disciples lining the stage and over her followers gathered across the clearing. This was not the time for self-doubt and loathing. She stood up before Syffox with a strong, determined voice. “I should be Vantaiga.”
Syffox studied her with concern. “Would you like to rest for a moment?”
Vantaiga looked over the remaining nine disciples tenderly. “No, I would like for the rest to join me.” She turned to Syffox and clasped his hand affectionately. She wanted to look him in the eyes and speak further when the full burden of what she was about to do to him crashed down on her. She instead silenced herself and rubbed his hands.
“As you wish, my love.” Syffox lifted her hand and presented her to the crowd. The mass around them exploded into a deafening roar. Many burst into tears or fell to their knees with the release of anticipation. Vantaiga gave a flourished bow to show that she not only survived but felt stronger than ever. With Therra’s added confidence, she knew she could complete what she came to the stage to do.
Syffox gave her hand a squeeze. “The next should be a little easier. I can tell your capacity for magic has increased.”
Vantaiga could feel it was true. Her body felt like a fabric that was stretched, more supple.
Syffox walked over to the remaining nine disciples. “Next to join our high priestess is Lindle Morrin, chosen for his courage and dedication to the forest.” Syffox took the hand of the tall, young man at the head of the line.
He looked noticeably disturbed as Syffox brought him forward. Vantaiga could overhear his awkward question. “Does it hurt to be offered?”
Vantaiga knew the answer wouldn’t actually matter. She was confident he would follow through with the ceremony regardless. He just hadn’t expected it to be so violent; nobody had.
Syffox answered Lindle with a kind smile. “You can ask Therra herself, if you wish.” He brought the man to Vantaiga, who took his hands.
Still trying to process what had happened, Lindle looked down at Vantaiga. “Is Therra all right?”
Vantaiga smiled broadly. “I am all right.” A confused look crossed the young man’s face but Vantaiga reassured him. “I am Therra. I am also Vantaiga. And soon, I will be Lindle.” She stroked his arm. “Come, let me show you. You will understand in a moment, and it feels fantastic.”
The young man struggled to give her a last smile, closed his eyes, and leaned down.
With each of those to offer themselves to become the Goddess of the Forest, more and more of their magic became contained within Vantaiga’s form and the white geysers became smaller. Vantaiga’s skin and flesh became less tangible as it saturated with power. Each scorching ordeal was followed by a feeling of listless elation. The polarity of the sensations made Vantaiga’s world blend into a cycle of blissful torment and agonising pleasure. Eventually, the onrush of magic diluted and washed away the very existence of her physical body.
She found herself a being of pure magic, only contained by the will of the newly amalgamated minds. As a vaguely feminine form of ethereal blue light glimmering with streaks of raw white magic, she could feel more than just the stone beneath her or the air around her; she could also feel the trees of her forest and the hearts and thoughts of her worshippers surrounding her.
Syffox spoke words of concern, but she could not understand them. She tried to tell him to continue the ritual, but she wasn’t sure if she was making sense or even speaking words at all. She could only focus on the wonderfulness of the immense new power and omnipotent awareness she was gaining. The sensation of the rushing magic from the offerings seemed an abstract affair that was no longer happening to her. The ritual and its ordeal were diminished down to only some small spectacle occurring somewhere within her great forest.
With her awareness spread out across the forest, Vantaiga could feel the trees’ desire to grow and expand, to push out into the desert that surrounded her, to turn fertile the harsh rocky plains the other gods presided over. She lifted her awareness to the sky above her, and there she saw them: the other gods. They were sitting around the edge of the world, looking down on her, judging her, making her attempt to become one of them seem pointless, as if she was a small girl pretending to be grown-up.
She contemplated her forest among the vast world of desert sand and rocks that surrounded her. It may seem small, but it was her domain, and it was not pointless to her or her followers. She gave a respectful nod to the onlooking gods and returned her mind to the ceremony.
Vantaiga’s sense of awareness came back to the stage. Her eyes focused on Syffox. She grew the forest with him at her side; she could defy the gods with him at her side. There was only one thing left to do for that to happen.
