Once Was: Book One of the Asylum Trilogy (15 page)

I could smell the balefire before the rain stopped. Burning leaves gave off their sweet smoke, bearing with it the scent of hardwoods and something else I did not recognize. It was cloying and bordered on unpleasant. My nostrils widened, and my brow furrowed in response; it smelled like death.

The repulsive haze grew with each step until my lungs ached with each breath. Ten stones became just three more, two, then one. With one last hop I would be upon the western edge of Sheelin. I would be on my other home, a home I longed to have Cade witness.

Pure white sand shone in the now crescent moon of silver lighting my way. The golden full moon of Madani had given way to the curving, silver-dipped claw of Bas in the same space the rain stopped. Drumming, as loud and pounding as a smith at the forge, summoned me through the forest. I could almost hear the chanting around the fire if I listened with my heart. Smoke billowed above the tree canopy, obscuring my view of the temple.

The last stone sank slightly beneath my weight as I stood upon it, readying myself for whatever lay in wait ahead. It was not time for rituals, no holy day for honoring, and had there been a passing or status rite to be held, Asha would have told me in the vision. No, something grave was occurring for the fires to be lit tonight. Had Liand made a move against Sheelin? How could any save Bas’ and Aya’s priests have made it through the magic mists surrounding the isle?

Climbing through the undergrowth on my way to find answers, I fought my way past familiar bushes I had hidden in as a child when shirking my cleaning duties. Here I saw an old friend in the bark of an oak, there I saw the pain-bringing willow with its wands the high priest had switched me with for slipping fresh nettles into another initiate’s bedclothes. She had deserved it, and the welts left by the whipping were a cheap price for those she had all over her skin.

She has arrived. She comes.

The island trembled as I touched the first of the white birch trees leading to the Grove. “Yes, Sheelin; your priestess has come home.” Sending out the softest tendril of energy I could muster, I gave a silent thank you to Sheelin for welcoming me to her sacred ground.

The drumming changed as I walked, and the chants of the priestess grew louder, more defined. Things were not right on Sheelin; I heard no male voices within the chant. If the Hallows’ rite had been moved to coincide with my return, there still should have been chanting priests singing the death lament of the old God and giving comfort to the Goddess.

Hesitation stilled my steps; wariness filled my heart. Memories of my first aisling chilled me to the core. No longer did I hasten down the overgrown path. I crept tree to tree, crawling through cold mud, snagging my hair on branches, dirtying my clothing until I looked more nature spirit than woman. Perhaps this is what the first priestess looked like when she arrived on Sheelin, I mused. My hand dropped to my stomach, thinking of the gift granted to Sheelin by the first priestess.

The clearing’s light loomed ahead of me, thick oaks blocking a direct view. Still creeping, I parted the leaves of a weeping willow and peered through to the other side, needing to get even closer for a better look. The vision was relived in each of my breaths. I came to a stop beneath the willow’s branches and let the horrific sight sink in.

The High Priest’s absence in the song was now obvious.

As in the dream, three men were chained to the Grove’s oldest and tallest trees. An ancient oak had seen the birth of the second priestess upon the isle and bore the natal strings of all those born here. It now held the body of our High Priest, cloaked in furs to shield him from the rain.

I cannot begin to describe the horror he and the other priests possessed. Bale fire reflected upon their hideous bodies. Blood dripped from their mouths and down their legs, red rivers of their pain. The furs they wore were matted with blood and had been for days; the stench was growing. My first vision . . . My scarred arms ached in remembered pain of the mirror’s shards as I tried to escape this very image now set before me.

The High Priestess danced around the fire, naked save a cloak of black feathers. On her hands, she wore iron claws that tipped each of her fingers. She had gone to war.

The old speech she chanted spoke of desecration and forsaken ways. A part of me rejoiced I had come too late to take part in this painful ritual. In the dirt below the trees, I could just make out the fabric sash of Liand’s priests. He had converted our priests—my brethren.

The priestess danced by me, feet falling in time with the drummers who sat in the shadows near the stairs. She did not see me, so deep was she in the magic’s trance; the High Priestess was beyond this plane. As she turned to circle the fire again, I noticed the blood running down her arms. In her hands and at her feet I saw tongues and other bits of flesh.

Fear that had immobilized me before, now gave speed to my feet as I shot across the tree line to the roughhewn stone steps leading to the temple. I would not sing and dance with her. I knew where that path would take me, and I refused to walk it. The drummers paid me no heed, lost to the beat of their instruments as they channeled divine magic through each resounding connection between hand and goat skin.

Crumbling pebbles dug into my palms and feet as I scrambled up the stairs. I needed to get to the temple and ask the Oracle and other Grandmothers what was happening. This was not Sheelin. We were peaceful and just. No blood was shed outside of that decreed by the Gods; even then it was given freely by the priest or priestess, not taken by force. By the painful set of their faces, I knew the men had not gone of their free will.

The moon drifted behind a cloud, leaving me to find my way up the stairs in darkness. With the trees blocking the Grotto and its balefire’s glow behind me, and the temple with its braziers still far ahead of me, I was left to the dim starlight and my horror as my only companions on this journey.

Reaching the gardens, I tried to climb to my feet but kept catching on briars. My mind raced, panic filling me. Briars never grew here before; this had been a land of soft passage and gentle plants. Unfastening the clasp upon my cloak, I threw the familiar and worn gray-green wool behind me, letting it land amid the thorns. It could no longer safeguard my spirit, much like my hair and tattoos, nor could it guard my body; its usefulness had been expended.

Fumbling to find the stairs across the garden, I could feel blood welling up in burning scratches as my fingers landed on the polished marble. My hide boots would protect my legs from the sharp vines, and the rest of my skin would heal quickly enough to be forgotten soon after the injury was given. Tentative steps became a race as the warm glow of the fire light in the guarding braziers softened the darkness. Running, climbing, taking two steps at a time where I could, my body throbbed with the urgency of the call. The want for me was increasing.

My foot caught on the top of the stairs, sending me sprawling across the pink marble. Something had tripped me. Struggling forward, I felt something—no someone—ahead of me. Reaching to my belt pouch, I struck one of the remaining matches.

I wish I hadn’t.

The face of the Divine Consort, the priests of Aya’s equivalent of our Oracle, stared blankly back at me. He had been—I cannot say what had happened to him—only that the men in the grotto must have been better off. A look of horror and pain had been etched onto his death mask in permanent marking of what injustice had been perpetrated against him. In his hands, he clung to the small hammer he wore about his neck. The cord was snapped. I grabbed the pendant and tucked it into my pouch, not wanting it to be lost.

Whispering a prayer that Aya Wayland welcomed His son into the eternal forge, I left Stevanis behind. There was nothing I could do for him now. Coated in the Consort’s blood from landing upon his still-cooling corpse, I reached the gates of the temple.

Chapter Thirteen

So much pain. The balance has been ruptured. The Holy Ones’ brother has spread his disease to our sacred lands. Bas and Aya, save us! Do not turn a blind eye upon Your children! This we solemnly pray.

Grimoire of the Goddess, Forty-Seventh Oracle of Bas

W
here
gold
and bronze gates once stood as a decorative barrier to the opulent marble floors beyond, blackened flakes over iron smoldered from fires set beneath them and stared back at me from crooked hinges. Glass baubles nestled among the embers glowed like miniature, melted suns. My chest squeezed tight as memories of the first time I had seen the gate played behind my tear-coated eyelids.

*

“This, little dreamer, is Bas’ great temple of Sheelin. Here is where you will study and worship. If Kira was right about you, you will also live here in the small dormitory for others of your abilities. Most live in the dormitory beside the Abbey. That’s up to the Oneira, though. She chooses whom she will train. Best be on your better behavior. None of that screeching like you set loose on Malleuk and Stevanis for saying you were too young.” Both boys were barely into their teens yet looked down on me because I was the age of their little sisters.

Recina’s warning was forgotten as I touched the magical gate. It was a beautiful work of fancy and imagination. Winged creatures bloomed in the curving metal and danced across ivy and climbing rose vines that glinted in an unnatural gold. Here and there, a flower bloomed into an iridescent glass ball the size of my fist.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Long, ebony curls shone as she bent down to my level. “These are the gates to Bas’ palace, as made by the first priest of the Wayland Smith to set foot upon Sheelin.” As I reached out to run one finger along a sea-foam shaded, clear orb, Recina slapped my hand away. “Touch the metal all ye want, girl, but do not leave prints upon the glass. If you smudge the glass, you’ll spend hours cleaning every gate in the temple. If you break one, you’ll spend weeks as an apprentice in the smithy as penance for the High Priest replacing the glass bubble.”

*

I broke only one of those damned bubbles in all my years there, and that was intentional. The Oracle had given me a task—one I disagreed with at first—and in a fit of temper, I had slammed through the gates. The gates’ recoil against the marble wall shattered one of the large glass pieces. Even now, the remembered sound of the tinkling glass lessened my fear of what has occurred.

I never was one to take my fate lying down. Now, I am certain, would not be the time to begin such a tradition. Nay, I would learn, and after, I would fight. Bas’ priestesses will pick up the sword once more and fight for our freedom. Liand’s armies would fall if it took the last breath within my body to bring such a goal to fruition.

The metal’s heat threatened to scorch my skin, and the one spot where I was forced to brush against the gate to slip through, charred gold-plating flaked off as it burned me. Pain was a small price to pay for the lives that had been lost. Regardless of what ill-will Liand may have planted here in the fallen priests’ hearts, they were still my brethren.

Liand would pay.

Yes, Priestess. Come. Feel. Learn.
The island’s voice was an echo in my heart and mind.
After you learn, you must go forth and teach. I cannot hold back the tides much longer. Hurry!
It was not the first time I had heard Sheelin’s secret voice, but never before had she spoken in such an urgent manner.

The white and pink fountain rose up unblemished by the bloodshed outside. Backlit by three sconces, it was a lighthouse of sanity amid chaos. Years of training instilled a sense of calm within me as I stepped to the water’s edge.

My boots fell away beneath my fingers as I unlaced them with no care. Even in fear, the temple rules must be followed; my Goddess would strike me dead for defiling Her temple, no matter my reason. Blood swirled away from me in the slowly cycling water. My hands, face, then feet were cleaned on the surface, though I could feel the stain of death seeping through my pores. I would never wash the priest’s blood from my soul.

As clean as I could make myself, I presented myself to the statue of Bas in the main hall. The creamy gray stone rose up over my head, humbling me as I knelt and pressed my forehead to the space between Her paws. “Great Lady,” I whispered. Rising and pressing a kiss to the polished pink sapphire inset into Her nose, I reached without looking for the incense sticks a novice would have left on the table. Finding one, I centered myself, shutting out the world for a moment.

There—a flame inside me, fueled by the fire of my temper.
Come
, I beckoned. Heat singed my fingers where I touched the rose-scented stick, willing it to catch flame so that the smoke would rise up to Bas and call Her divine sight to the children who need Her guidance.

With a soft hiss of pain, I shook out my fingers after placing the incense within the holder. “Goddess, Lady of Light and the Shadows Within, guide my steps so that I might walk in Your service.” Cleansing smoke stilled my mind, focusing me on the task set before me. I must answer the calling.

Cold marble chilled my feet with each step behind the statue. Polished flooring was smooth as glass from countless priestesses wearing a path from the common room to the class room, private quarters for the Oracle and Her handmaidens, and to the smaller temple room.

Here, the sconces were extinguished, leaving my memories to guide my steps. On my fifth turn, I avoided the crack from the tree roots pushing up the ground. As I passed the first of the elder’s private rooms, I turned down the half-hidden hallway to those of the training dream-walkers. The oak boards forming each egress were identical; it was the energetical signatures and wards that proclaimed the owner. Experience told one which entries would burn you for so much as touching them or those that would open to a friend’s presence without a knock. Mine, however, was overlaid with so many spells that I doubted even Cade, whom the Gods saw as my bonded mate, could bypass the ward without being fatally burned.