“Enari? Where are you?”
The penetrating voice of the Abdesa reached her even in the highest boughs of the old mahogany where she sat, the summons echoing through the otherwise still dawn. A few startled birds exploded into flight, winging away to safer roosts beyond the wall.
Heaving a quiet sigh, she glanced down. She could see the black clad figure far below and contemplated ignoring her. While it was unwise to disobey the head of the Cyrilan Temple, Enari felt the need for solitude this morning.
The dream had come to her again last night, as it had nearly every night for as long as she could remember. It was always the same; a presence pulling her up from swaddling, comfortable darkness into colors that pulsed softly in time with her own heartbeat. There were words, beautiful, melodic, but foreign words spoken by a hauntingly familiar voice. Words she couldn’t remember uttered by a presence she couldn’t see. They, like the rest of the dream, faded into the mist upon waking, no matter how hard she strained to recall them.
But something about last night had been…different somehow, though she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what that meant. So she’d come to her special place to think. She did her best thinking alone.
“Novice Namelum!”
When the call was repeated, and her surname used, Enari reluctantly pulled her gaze from the cloudy horizon and began her descent, dropping from branch to branch until she’d reached the last. She hesitated in the ancient tree, wishing she could remain in her leafy seclusion, then decided against it and leapt the last ten feet to the ground. Her landing was silent in the short grass, the dew chilly under her bare feet.
* * *
“Goddess where is that girl? She’s harder to keep track of than the temple cats!” the Abdesa muttered, squinting against the glare. This particular courtyard was not large, but it was full of shadows this early in the day and its many trees offered hiding places aplenty. She looked up as she walked, aware of the girl’s penchant for climbing.
A touch on her sleeve drew her head down sharply, but she managed to stifle the urge to flinch. After so many years, she should be used to the soundless movements of her ward, but she was still frequently surprised. She knew the novice’s intent wasn’t to startle, it was just her peculiar way.
“The kvinnas may be right when they whisper of her being fairy-born. Her mother certainly resembled depictions of the Vintyri well enough.” To the girl, she spoke firmly but kindly, “Enari, we’ve talked about this. You are to attend meditations and break your fast with the kvinnas and other novices before coming out to play. You’re eighteen now, no longer a child to run about as you please.”
The girl fished in a tunic pocket and brought forth a half eaten apple and held it up for inspection, as if to show she had fulfilled at least half of the previously given and oft-repeated command.
The older woman folded her arms.
Enari reached into a second pocket and brought out a small chunk of dark bread, a few nibble marks marring one corner. She presented it with a lopsided little smirk.
The Abdesa found it difficult to suppress the smile now threatening her carefully cultivated façade of severity.
“That is half a breakfast. I’ve seen a baby sugar glider eat more than that and I know you missed meditations again this morning, but I will give you some credit for the attempt.”
Enari lowered her gold-flecked amber eyes and looked away without speaking, a touch of pink rising in her cheeks. The Abdesa studied the novice before her as she fidgeted.
Enari Namelum was a little thing, considering she was almost half through her eighteenth summer. Her year-mates had outstripped her long ago and she could easily pass as one of the much younger novices. The Abdesa guessed the girl weighed no more than seven stone, even fully dressed and sopping wet, and that estimate was a generous one, especially of late. As a woman grown, the Abdesa herself was barely of average height and the top of the novice’s fiery head came just to her chin.
Diminutive stature notwithstanding, Enari was no child, and despite her best attempts to conceal it, she was quite lovely. And that hair of hers certainly set her apart.
Kvinna Vasi de’Curande, Enari’s Sura and Master Apothecary of the Temple, had once remarked that the girl’s hair couldn’t simply be described as ‘red’. She said it reminded her of a spice box she’d seen once at the Great Market in Rowan; paprika and vibrant curry, with hints of cinnamon and rich cayenne. Enari’s tresses were silky and long, almost to her hips now and the sun brought out streaks of gold amidst the red waves. She had adamantly refused to allow the kvinnas to cut it, becoming so agitated when they tried that the Abdesa finally ordered them to leave her be. While Vasi had accepted the order to keep Enari's hair uncut, she did require the girl to bind it back when she was working in the Apothecarium. Now, however, it tumbled free down her back and around her heart-shaped face, a bright contrast against her ivory skin.
The Abdesa had never seen her equal…save the long departed Tanith.
Enari resembled her mother in every feature, from her wide, almond-shaped eyes to her little upturned nose and expressive mouth. She even had her mother’s delicate, slightly pointed ears. That feature alone contributed greatly to the whispers of Vintyri blood.
She reached down and, without thought, brushed a small bit of leaf from Enari’s sleeve. The girl tensed almost imperceptibly before forcing herself to relax, and the Abdesa quickly drew back her hand. It was a typical reaction, and one she’d seen a thousand times or more, but it still seemed unnatural somehow. The girl jumped as if the lightest touch stung like a slap and she rarely allowed another’s touch to linger, not even Vasi’s.
“The tales say it is thus with the Vintyri as well.” Shaking her head free of the stray thought, she addressed the restless novice, “Kvinna Vasi has been looking for you, Enari.”
The girl bowed slightly in a gesture of assent and the Abdesa shooed her away, neither looking for nor expecting a verbal response.
That was another of the novice’s peculiarities. Many of the kvinnas mused that Enari lacked the ability to speak, possibly due to an injury suffered coming into the world as she had. One or two of the more shrewd sisters, Vasi and Torina Anya among them, thought she merely chose not to. The Abdesa could confirm neither assertion, for even as an infant, the girl never cried and she had endured normal childhood cuts and scrapes in silence. When she’d fallen out of a tree and broken her wrist at five, she had remained utterly soundless, even while the bones were set.
Enari Namelum was certainly a puzzle to them all. In that way, too, she was very much like her mother.
* * *
Enari entered the Apothecarium in search of Vasi, having already checked the woman’s rooms and the library without success. She found her Sura with her back to the door, folding garments and stowing them neatly in the open satchel on the table before her. A beam of sunlight filtered through the leaves of the benjamina just outside the window, catching in the honey-gold of Vasi’s braid. Enari had always admired her Sura’s hair, thinking it one of the more beautiful things she’d ever seen, even if the kvinna herself considered it a nuisance.
Vasi looked up and smiled as her apprentice entered, knowing the novice was there despite her silent entrance. The girl had obviously been exactly where she’d suspected; up in the old courtyard mahogany if the bits of leaves and twigs in her hair and stuck to her clothes were anything to judge by. It seemed she would never grow out of her love for heights and distant views.
“I’d bet my eyeteeth she missed breakfast and meditations, too. Again.”
“Good, the Abdesa found you,” Vasi stated matter-of-factly, choosing not to voice her suspicion. “She has more important things to do than chase wool-gathering novices. You came when she called you, yes?”
Enari nodded, but her eyes slid away from Vasi's hazel gaze for just an instant. It was a small tell, one that only the very observant would have found significant.
Vasi wasn’t fooled. She’d raised this one since infancy and knew when her apprentice was being less-than-honest with her. Thankfully, it wasn’t a frequent occurrence and never had there been an outright lie.
“The first time?” One pale eyebrow rose with the question.
The telltale, and expected, shift from one foot to the other and Vasi nodded. She turned back to the white smock she was folding, talking as she worked.
“Nevermind that for now. I received a message from Torina Anya this morning. It seems she’s concerned about the tora’s condition and impending lying in this Dicem. She’s asked me to attend her through the rest of the pregnancy.”
Enari’s thoughts brightened at the mention of Anya, for she liked the plump torina immensely. The woman was intelligent, sweet, and jovial, quick to laugh and possessed of an endless capacity for kindness. Best of all, she treated Enari like a real person with ideas and feelings, rather than an object to be whispered about or regarded with suspicion. It had been she who taught Enari to read, despite warnings that it would be difficult at best and, at worst, speculations that it might not be possible. She was only four at the time and had fond memories of endless hours spent together in the library, with Anya reading book after book aloud, pointing to each word as she went. The Temple hadn’t been the same in her recent absence and Enari found she missed her a great deal.
Anya had been the closest thing Enari had ever had to a real friend.
Vasi continued, “The Abdesa has granted leave and as my apprentice, you are to accompany me. One of the other kvinnas is packing for you and I need you to get some things for me from the storage cabinets. Do you remember what we need?” She glanced over her shoulder, tucking in the last item and closing the leather saddlebag.
Enari nodded. This was a small test, but a test nonetheless, and she recognized it for what it was. She crossed to and then unlocked a door in the far wall, hooking a stool to her with one foot and dragging it into the adjoining room after her.
Climbing up, she began digging through a large wall cabinet, gently moving aside vials, baskets, and sealed ceramic pots. Within moments, she reappeared, bringing an armful of packets and bottles to Vasi for her approval. Vasi sifted through them before nodding with satisfaction.
“Very good. Your memory is better than mine.” She picked up a brown paper packet and studied it closely. “But why this one?”
Her apprentice shrugged. She wasn’t really sure why she’d picked it up, but it had seemed to call to her when she’d touched it, so she added it to her other supplies.
“Well, no matter. We’ll be leaving shortly, but if you’d like to say farewell to anyone, there’s still time.”
Enari shook her head and her expression went a little flat.
“I hadn’t thought so, but..." Vasi sighed, feeling the usual unease at her apprentice’s lack of close friends. Enari’s silence and exceptionally quick mind put off many of the other girls and the rumor of her being Vintyri grew like a weed; no matter how hard the more practical sisters tried to stamp it out, it stubbornly persisted. It never seemed to bother the girl, though. She generally appeared content to work and study alone, and at times it was as if she was completely unaware of the existence of those around her. Vasi had often seen her apprentice look right through people like they weren’t even there.
The feeling passed as quickly as it had come and Vasi dismissed the novice with a wave. She detected excitement in the hasty bow Enari gave her before spinning on her heel and almost skipping from the room. Vasi chuckled softly. Ah, to be that young again.
* * *
The Hall of the Dead was secluded and silent, as such places should be.
Enari slipped through the heavy bronze door and let it swing shut behind her on oiled hinges. The soft click of the latch always sounded so final to her and the sound stirred the hair on the nape of her neck into prickling awareness. She halted on the threshold and drew up her hood, a sign of deference to the departed.
The stone building, half as large as the main sanctuary, stood in the southwest corner of the temple grounds. Flanked on two sides by the outer walls and overshadowed by trees and climbing vines, it was dim and still cool from the previous night. Small windows near the ceiling provided only token illumination, as the sun had not yet risen far enough for its radiance to chase the shadows into their corners. The only other light in the twilit gloom came from two candles floating in separate crystalline bowls of water on the altar. Night and day they burned to keep the Hall from ever falling into complete darkness. It was the final gesture of respect for those within.
As she gazed around the hushed chamber, the familiar ache of long buried sadness gripped her heart and she fought the urge to weep. She had succumbed to her tears here, many times, but that had been before. The pain she felt was a child’s pain and she was no longer a child.
Small recesses covered the walls and columns, each holding a single urn that bore a plaque engraved with the occupant’s name and date of passing. Enari knew there were fourteen pairs of columns marching from the entrance to the altar of the pantheon at the opposite end. She had been coming to the Hall for as long as she could remember and had counted them on each occasion. This place held the ashes of kvinnas who had departed the world of life for Andehai, stretching back to the founding of the Temple itself.
And her mother was here.
Moving on silent feet, she proceeded further into the chamber, taking a path so well-traveled she sometimes fancied her steps had worn impressions into the floor. The shadows whispered just at the edge of her hearing, but the soft susurrations were more comforting than frightening. This place was for the dead, but no spirits lingered this side of the Eternal Gates.
Tanith was where she had always been.
Enari knelt so that the urn holding her mother’s remains was at eye level. She could feel the cool stone biting into her knees even through her trousers, but ignored the slight discomfort. Reaching out, she ran her fingertips over the gleaming metal, tracing words as familiar to her as her own name.
Tanith Namelum
14 Janua 789
Fháil Cosán Gi Andehai
‘Fháil Cosán Gi Andehai’ was a traditional Egali death-blessing, and it meant ‘May You Find Your Path to Andehai’. They were the only words she knew in Old Egali. It was nearly a dead language now, spoken by the conquering tribe that formed the first Egalion from warring factions nearly two thousand years ago. They adorned all the urns, as it was generally thought that anyone who gave up the life they could have had to come and serve the Goddess would go to Andehai to be with Her upon their deaths.
It was said that all judged by the guardian and consort, Dusan, to have lived worthy lives went to Andehai to be with the Goddess for all of eternity. The rest went to Diu and she refused to think of that. Her mother hadn’t gone there, even if she hadn’t taken vows and only carried half a proper name. There were others here who bore the Namelum, or “Unknown” for their surname; it was the common title given to those whose family names had not been known at the time of their deaths, though in polite company it was more of a slur. Enari hoped that one day she could learn her mother’s true name and have the plaque corrected.
She knelt before the urn for a long time, head bowed and eyes fixed on the locket she withdrew from the neck of her tunic. It was the only thing she had of her mother beyond her name and it had always carried an odd aura that made her skin tingle. She pressed the tiny catch on one side and opened it to reveal a few beautiful circular patterns. Writing of some kind, she supposed, though she couldn’t read it.
“It’s part of the dreams.”
She is standing on something soft, but when she looks down there is nothing but darkness. It surrounds her on all sides and for a moment, she is alarmed. But the feeling quickly passes as a familiar presence takes her hand and draws her up. It doesn’t hurt and there are no fleeting fragments of sensation like she usually experiences when someone touches her skin.
As she rises, the empty dark begins to fade, replaced by blank whiteness. Then the colors appear; softly pulsing blues and greens, muted violets, indigos, deepest crimson, petal pink. They swirl around and somehow through her, yet do nothing to illuminate the face of her guide. Though it remains obscure she is not bothered. Some part of her knows this being, a hazy presence from half-memories of a time she cannot recall.
“Ah, Fi Ele, fi dra’jena. Fi alym lida lle mintin, amin fia— My love, my dearest one. My heart sings to see you, beloved mine.”
The greeting is always the same, Sometimes the speaker holds her hands, sometimes touches her cheek, or brushes back her hair. Always she feels love. Always the voice is gentle, like cool water in the heat of summer. She is drawn through an enticing doorway to secret ways and secret wisdom, the words slipping into her mind like smoke, like distantly tolling bells.
“Listen well. You will want the knowledge I give.”
But upon waking, she can never remember the words or events beyond that first greeting. No matter how hard she strained for them, they were always just out of reach, burning away even as she wakes, like fog under the sun.
Enari opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. The room was brighter now, the sun casting little pools of light against the western wall and she knew Vasi would be looking for her again soon. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to the urn, then rose to her feet and turned towards the head of the room. Even though her time was short, she refused to leave this place without visiting the altar.
It was a simple thing carved of stone, five man-sized figures standing in a ring around the sixth, but its effortless beauty captivated her.
As it always did, the rhyme came unbidden into her mind when she circled the plinth. It was something all children learned almost before they could speak and it started with the austere but attractive women standing back to back in the center:
All-Mother stands two faced, two-fold
Surrounded by her consorts’ ring
Black Goddess, Death, lacks will to sing
White Mistress, Life, does chalice hold
The Goddess amidst her Gods, five told
Grand Plamen holds fire at his command
Dark-eyed, jealous, flame-haired and jawed
First consort is Warrior, the Conqueror God
Armies guided by his hand
Spill blood and flames across the land
Consort Earth does blessings bring
Xochi is pleased by food and wines
To delight him tend your fields and vines
Fertile life blooms with the spring
The Horned God is the festival king
Wise Suman rules the sky and air
Proud Hendai ride beneath his sign
Speech and song are his design
Sylph messengers tend to his affairs
They that travel need not despair
Patron to those that ply the sea
Youngest consort rules the waves
And oft inclined to misbehave
Cleansing, love, the wish to See
Ea plays among the waters free
Whilst Dusan, Spirit, is grave and pale
Sentry from our world to the last
He guards Her children as they pass
All seeing eyes judge and prevail
He leaves no souls behind to fail
The last Consort always made her shiver. There was something about the figure of Dusan that drew her. He stood a little apart from the rest, a single small step removed from the circle of his brothers and he was the only consort in the pantheon to be facing outwards, his back to the Goddess. It was so in every depiction she had ever seen, whether it be in statuary, books, or paintings. Enari trailed a hand across the hem of his cloak, feeling the stone ripple beneath her fingers.
Vasi’s voice floated across the Temple grounds, finding her ears even within the Hall of the Dead.
It was time.