Eleven years of training passed, but the memory of that day remains in the mind of the young princess Narala; she found herself wondering about that man whenever she had a spare moment to think. Eleven years of Temple monks and nuns have been coming into the palace to prepare her for the Spirit Bound ceremony: a long ceremony in which the child who comes of age enters the Spirit Temple to find their Spirit Bound. Though her excitement for the day grows steadily as it draws nearer, the training has slowly begun to eat away at that anticipation; the training for entering the Temple and becoming Spirit Bound, includes: meditation to prepare the mind and soul to receive another being, physical endurance to handle the bonding process of the two souls, emotional endurance to understand the new being’s consciousness within the receiver’s mind, and the most difficult and dangerous part of the training, learning about Acceptance. The Acceptance often differs from person-to-person, many people have had their bonding to be a painful experience, which can lead to death or can be effortless and immediate.
“Princess Narala, are you paying attention,” a rasping voice of an old woman pierced through Narala’s daydreaming. Dragging her eyes away from her hands she had placed in her lap for meditation, Narala looks up into the face of a very displeased nun. “Princess Narala, please pay attention to the lesson. Your ceremony is only two days away; you cannot be slacking off this near to the finish.” Her voice was like iron nails scratching a porcelain dish.
Her eyes on the crone, Narala just stared at the woman’s features; her weather-worn skin looked like dried leather left in the summer heat, and her wispy gray hair was neatly tied into a modest scarf that was traditionally worn by the nun of the Temple, yet her eyes were a rich emerald green that didn’t seem to have faded with her age. When she was young, this crone must have been a beautiful young lady with an equally beautiful Spirit Bound. Narala reminded herself that this was the only nun she’s met that was not Spirit Bound, a story that this nun told her when she first arrived at the palace; “no two spirits have the same Spirit Bound mortal at one time”, meaning if there are two mortals bound to the same spirit the Spirit Bound, all three in the situation are nullified, and none receive Spirit Bound for that lifetime. One of the saddest cases of the ceremony is when the children who enter the Temple, leave without a Spirit.
“PRINCESS NARALA!” the crone’s voice shrieked at the princess.
“Yes, nun Munia,” Narala chirped, an attempt to show that she was paying attention to the scolding the nun was giving her.
The nun only sighed, “Dear Princess, I understand how you must be feeling at this moment,” the crone sat on the floor in front of Narala, her pink and red robes rustling against the marble floors of the Grand Hall of the palace where they often had their meditation.
“Oh,” was the only thing the princess could think of saying, I doubt she really knows, I suppose I should see what it is nonetheless.
“Even if you aren’t Spirit Bound to the Spirit of your ancestors, the people will still stand behind you,” the nun’s words held some truth to them. Though Narala’s thoughts were still on that day all those years ago, the lingering thought of the expectations of the people, no, of the entire kingdom, her father, and the rulers before him cherish and protect.
Relaxing from her meditation position, Narala put her hands behind her back and leaned backward, tilting her head up to the ceiling of the Grand Hall, “I’m not so sure nun Munia.” She whispered, and then glanced down her nose to see the nun giving her a small tilt of her head, inclining the princess to continue. Narala sat up as she continued, “you once said, that the Spirits can look into a person’s soul and that’s how they know who their Spirit Bound is.” The nun nodded. “Well, what if they look into my soul and see…that I’m not worthy to rule?” her voice caught slightly, the underlying fear of her title was coming out.
“Princess…” the nun started.
“I’m serious, Munia,” Munia was the only nun who allowed the princess to speak casually towards her, “You have always been like a mother to me, ever since you started teaching me. I’m afraid that…this training….will be for nothing…” the young princess began to weep.
The old nun’s hands touched the princess’s face as she cooed to the girl. The princess collapsed into the nun’s lap and wept fears that were more terrifying than when she was lost. “My darling girl,” the nun cooed, “even if you become bound to a mealworm, or if you become like me, the people will not turn away from you. They didn’t turn away when your mother or brothers didn’t receive the mark of the peacock, they embraced them,” she lifts the girl’s head up, wiping a tear from her cheek, “and they’ll embrace you too.” Sniffling, Narala nodded and sat up. The two women continued their lesson as the day slowly drew to an end.
That night, Narala stood in front of the gown she’d be wearing at the temple; a simple white silk gown that flowed and would sit comfortably on her body, the top of the straps that would sit on her shoulders had golden threads woven around the fabric, and the same gold weaving under the bust of the gown and just above the skirt. Beside it, instead of her golden tiara that her father insisted she’d wear, despite nun Munia’s insistence that it would only cause unwanted attention from the Spirits, so a compromise; a small circlet of gold, that held a small emerald in the center, that would sit elegantly on her forehead. And next to that, a small band of gold, sculpted to appear as branches of a tree, holding the smallest of crystal in the center; her mother’s ring, the one she wore on her visit to the Spirit Temple.
A shiver crept up Narala’s spine and she quickly turns towards her draped window, she slowly walks towards it, her own nightgown of lace and sheer calamanco swayed as she moved. She drew back one of the cascading drapes of a soft ember shading and stared out of the huge window of her room. On the southern side of the town where the palace is, a towering pagoda glistened in the moonlight, the Spirit Temple; an elegantly designed five-story building that holds the realm between realms.
In two days, young men and women who come of age will enter that building in hopes that they will receive a great Spirit Bound, or at the very least make it out alive. Narala once heard her brothers recounting their experiences, and how the monks carried out many children who had perished during Acceptance or were driven to madness by it; horrible stories that still haunted her.
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