Dienna lay awake for what seemed like half the night, though in reality she knew it could have only been a few hours at most. Obsessively, she went over every part of the ceremonies she would need to perform tomorrow. All of her speeches, all of the blessings, all of the songs, all of the motions that went along with them. She could remember everything, yet still she was afraid. The feeling of dread in her stomach would not go away. Even when she did fall asleep, her dreams were stressful sequences that made little sense. She had messed up the words, forgotten a line, or had to run back to her room to get her notes in the middle of everything. All the while, she felt the hot blaze of the midsummer sun burning her skin, making her sweat profusely as she stood before a crowd of millions, who looked at her with hatred in their eyes. Blinding hot hands grabbed at her arms and legs, and pulled her in all different directions, tearing her apart—
She awoke. When she sat up, Dienna could still feel faint heat and the grip of phantom hands at her limbs. Dienna peered out her window and noticed that dawn was less than an hour away, and she needed to prepare for the first ceremony. She rose from her bed, slipped on a chamber robe, and began to untie and untangle the rags from her hair.
It had not taken long to smooth out her now voluminous, curling tresses, but Dienna was annoyed at the time she had lost all the same. There was much she still needed to do before dawn. Her first stop was to find Meredith, who would likely be breaking her fast in the Godskeep’s dining hall. Priests, acolytes, and novices of all orders sat along long benches, side by side with one another, helping themselves to soft boiled eggs, bread, butter, and juice. Dienna spotted Meredith’s mass of dark brown coils, and went to join her.
“Nice hair,” Meredith said at her approach.
Dienna blushed and sat down, “My mother's work. Why I should have to go through the trouble is beyond me.”
“Well it looks nice either way,” the other girl replied. She dipped some toast into her egg yolk and took a bite, then stopped. “Aren’t you going to eat something?”
Dienna frowned at the food set before her.
“Not now,” she said. She stood up and grabbed Meredith’s arm, “Come with me. There is something I need to tell you.”
Meredith gave her a quizzical look, but followed her out of the dining hall and into the corridor beyond. Dienna led them to a secluded alcove at the end of the hall, and promptly started pacing back and forth within the tiny space. Meredith stood against the wall, arms crossed, frowning in concern.
“I think I may have been chosen for…something,” Dienna said at last. “By the gods. By Dartos himself.”
Dienna had expected excitement, awe, maybe even jealousy from her friend, but Meredith only looked more concerned.
“Chosen how?” She asked, still frowning.
Dienna told her about the dreams last night, about how real the pain had felt, how it had first happened during prayer. She even loosened the neckline of her crimson and saffron robes to show Meredith the burn on her shoulder, but the other girl still seemed unconvinced.
“I’ve read of encounters with the gods,” she said slowly, her brow pursed in thought, “and I've also read that dreams, normal, everyday dreams, can cause the kind of pain you've described, even lingering pain after waking.”
“But the scar,” Dienna countered, frustrated, “normal dreams wouldn’t actually burn my skin. And I wasn’t even sleeping when it happened the first time.”
Meredith shook her head and looked away, “I don’t know. You might be right, but I…”
“What?”
The acolyte was silent a moment, still looking away, “Never mind,” she said. “I would talk to your father about this. He's the Keeper of the Gods. He'll know what to make of these…dreams. I’m sure of it.” She smiled weakly.
Dienna was not so sure herself, but nodded her head in agreement anyway. “As long as it has nothing to do with that witch,” she muttered.
“Witch?”
Dienna had forgotten she had yet to discuss Lady Artima's presence at the Godskeep with Meredith, and quickly filled her in on their brief but tense encounter.
“I'm even more sure that Lady Artima has nothing to do with your dreams Dienna,” Meredith said. “It's not magic that you're feeling, it wouldn't even be possible.”
“What do you know about magic?” Dienna snapped. “How would you know what is and isn't possible for a sorceress to do?”
“I don't. But have some sense, Dee. What would she accomplish by sending you these strange sensations? If she wanted to cause you harm, I'm sure she could manage something more painful than mildly annoying burns on your back.” Her tone was biting, cynical, yet Dienna heard the truth in it.
“You're right, Mer,” she said, then shook her head. “It's just so coincidental.”
“It is,” Meredith agreed, “but we can't lose our heads over it.”
Dienna nodded, pacified for the moment, “I suppose I'll see my father about it, then. And I can ask him why on earth he's seeing that wizardess too, while I'm at it.” Her stomach then made a loud groan, and she blushed in embarrassment. “Perhaps I should eat something first,” she murmured.
Meredith nodded sagely, “A very good idea Dee,” she walked out of the alcove and took a few steps down the hall. “Come on, before all the eggs are gone—” The acolyte caught her breath in surprise as she lumbered into Sonder, who had been walking briskly down the hall in the opposite direction.
“Oof watch it,” he said, rubbing the shoulder Meredith had bumped into. He then grinned, “I’m sorry to say, I already ate all the eggs in the dining hall in preparation for this most holy of days, you’ll find none of them left for you and for my beloved sister.”
Meredith looked bemused, but Dienna scowled.
“On this most holy of days, you should try to act like a reasonable human being,” she snapped, “not the misbehaved child you are.”
Sonder rolled his eyes and gave a long whistle, “Oooh, and a Happy Midsummer to you too, dear sister. Mer,” he turned to the acolyte teasingly, “you had better keep an eye on this one, not even her new hair can contain that ego. I’m afraid it’ll escape out of her ears and force all of us to eat fewer eggs and say more prayers.”
Meredith was about to respond, when Dienna harrumphed and stormed past the two of them, heading silently back down the hallway. She hurried into the dining hall and grabbed a couple of slices of toast. As soon as she was done chewing, she was back on her feet and out the door, heading back to her family's rooms.
Dienna’s thoughts were abuzz. She did not have an ego. She was a servant of Dartos, of the gods themselves! If she had an ego, it came from them. She had a duty to perform, a higher purpose. Besides her upcoming role as Keeper of the Gods, she had been chosen by them for some reason, for some task. She hoped her father would know what that task would be. Sonder had no right to tease her so, not when she was expected to pick up his slack as Father’s successor.
Even though it was still pre-dawn, the day had already grown quite warm. As she climbed the stairs to the Keeper’s chambers, she could feel beads of sweat building on her brow. It was only a few flights up, but she was breathless and panting in the stifling, humid air when she reached their suites.
She was about to call out to her father when his chamber door opened. Dienna took a step back as, once again, Lady Artima of the Plains emerged from within, still wearing her ragged robes of black.
“You would be wise to heed these warnings Lord Mayrim—,” Artima stopped short when she noticed Dienna standing there. The woman, though shorter than Dienna and slighter of build, gave the young priest a withering stare that made Dienna want to shrink back into the shadows.
Thankfully, her father had appeared in the doorway as well, “I have heard all that you have had to say, I do appreciate your concern, and I wish you a very happy Midsummer, good lady.” He sounded like he had been trying to be rid of her presence for some time. Try as he might to sound polite, Dienna could hear the exasperation in his voice. Dienna was startled. Her father was generally a more than patient man. What could this woman, this strange, sordid sorceress, have said to tax him so?
Apparently Artima heard through his attempt at politeness as well, for she sneered a bit as she said, “And a Happy Midsummer to you too, Lord Keeper,” and took her leave with ill grace.
Her father watched the woman go with narrowed eyes, and he sighed heavily. He turned to Dienna. “And what would you ask of me this fine Midsummer Day my child?” he said, Dienna thought, with a touch of fatigue.
“What was she doing here again?” Dienna demanded in hushed tones, lest the woman was lingering. “What did she mean—to heed her warning?”
Her father gave her a look of nonchalance, “Nothing that need concern you today my dear. I am surprised to see you. I would have thought you’d be preparing for the ceremonies.”
“I would be, Father, but I must speak with you,” Dienna replied. She felt absurdly fearful all of a sudden. “There are things I need to know.”
Her father nodded in consent and ushered her in to his suite. His rooms were conjoined with her mother’s rooms, where Dienna had lived all of her days. The stone floor was always clean, always polished and brightly shining. Her father was a spartan decorator, with the odd ornate object here or there—his clock of solid gold, a looking glass taller than he was, inlaid with rubies, a rug of the hide of a pure white bear from the far, far south. She had played on that rug as a child. Now she could only think how ghastly the creature’s head looked, still attached to its pelt, mouth gaping open at her in a silent, pathetic plea as she sat down across her father, the Keeper of the Gods, the most holy man in the world.
Seeing the sorceress again had distracted and unnerved Dienna. She wanted to tell her father about her dreams, but could not help but ask more about the strange woman.
“How long has Lady Artima been at the Godskeep? What is she doing here?” Dienna asked with a tremble.
“She has been here about a week,” her father replied calmly. “She claims to harbor a strong faith in Dartos, and wished to be present for his most honored festival.”
“But she is a user of magic,” Dienna protested. “A renegade, a woman wanted by the Repository for crimes of faithlessness against them.”
“And who are we to deny her access?” Lord Mayrim said. “The Godskeep is, above all else, a refuge for followers of the Way.”
“But why was she seeking a private audience with you?”
Here her father’s voice grew a bit strained. His hand lingered protectively over the pockets of his robes, “The Lady Artima had some…concerns about the Way. I believe she only has our best interest in mind, although I do have some doubts about those concerns. She speaks of ill omens—”
“Ill omens?” Dienna asked. “What sort of omens?”
Lord Mayrim frowned; his voice was thoughtful, “The nearness of the gods, growing ever closer, pressing in on their followers to show us…something may be coming.”
“What if it's like Lord Varent was saying in the council?” Dienna asked, her heart beating faster. Her fear was growing. “He said that our Lady Seltos has been more demanding of late.”
“I do recall that remark, yes,” her father sighed, “but I do not make anything of that except that Lord Varent was not pleased by how few songs he would get to sing at our ceremonies.”
“I'm not so sure,” Dienna said, avoiding her father’s gaze. This was it. She had to tell him. The Prominents knew something was wrong and apparently so did this sorceress. She must tell him.
And she did. She told him how she had been praying when she felt the burning, impossibly painful touch of the gods on her shoulder. How she had been elated, how she had thought she had been chosen for some task, how Artima’s words had turned that fear into dread....How the same had happened in her dreams last night.
“She told you to heed the warnings,” Dienna said quietly, “what if what happened to me was one of those warnings? What if the gods are trying to warn us of something?”
Her father had been silent and attentive during her explanation, but did not respond to her immediately. He stood and motioned for Dienna to stand as well.
“My dear, if our Lord Dartos were warning you of something, you would know it in your heart. He is wise, and, while the gods do reveal themselves to us in strange ways, I am not sure that causing you, or anyone, pain such as you described would be one of them.” He explained himself calmly, looking down at Dienna with his kind, powerful eyes. He placed his hands upon her shoulders and continued, “Lady Artima came to tell me that Dartos is dissatisfied with the Godskeep, and with me as a Keeper, and that there will be a major change happening very soon. Now,” he said firmly, as Dienna was about to open her mouth in response, “I do not believe what she says is true, and I certainly do not believe it has anything to do with these dreams you have experienced. She is an outcast—as you said, and she has no connection to the Way. Dartos would not reveal his thoughts to her. I am the Keeper of the Gods, my child. I keep their Way, I hear their words, and I do whatever I can to please them. If something were amiss, I would know.”
Looking in to her father’s reassuring eyes, Dienna wanted to believe him, but the fear that gripped her stomach would not let go. Its touch held on to the very core of her being. Dread. Despair. He did not understand. She knew the touch of the gods. And now she understood, it was an angry touch.
“Come, it is nearly dawn,” Lord Mayrim said, his tone lighter. “It is time for the first ceremony.”
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