As she stepped outside into the pre-dawn light, Meredith was immediately overwhelmed, as she was every year, at the sheer number of noble men and women crowding the lawn of the Godskeep with their lavish gowns of Ruithan silk, trailing behind them and taking up far more space than was necessary. They stood apart from the rest of the crowd, which was growing rapidly with peasants and lower class merchants from the Golden Village and the surrounding farms. The Sunrise Ceremony was, undoubtedly, the least popular of the Midsummer Festival’s many gatherings, as it meant waking quite early, yet the Godskeep’s inner bailey was still more than half full of worshipers.
Meredith tried to spot Gran and Daela, who attended the ceremony every year, but the crowd was growing thick and Meredith soon had trouble seeing over the heads of those in front of her. She sighed and shifted her weight, uncomfortable. She wished she could find them so she didn’t have to stand by herself. Besides, she hadn’t seen her family since she had visited with Dienna, and she wanted to make sure Gran was feeling well. The woman’s strength had faded considerably in the past few years.
It grew noisy. The chatting of the idle worshipers resonated off the walls of the Godskeep, causing a cacophony that split Meredith’s already troubled head. Truth be told, Meredith hadn’t felt like herself the past few months. She was always worrying about Dienna. Ever since she had stepped into her brother’s role as the Keeper-to-be, Meredith had been on edge. She had faith in her friend, but she couldn’t quite name what made her wish Sonder had never abdicated—a feeling that perhaps Dienna was taking it all a bit too seriously. And now Dienna thought she had felt the touch of the gods? Meredith could only shake her head. She attributed the burning sensations Dienna had felt to lack of sleep and an overly zealous mind, not to divine intervention. It certainly had nothing to do with the wizardess, Artima. Meredith quietly went through everything she knew about the woman in her head, to distract herself from the swaying, swelling crowd that grew all about her.
She knew Lady Artima of the Plains was, as her name implied, from the Wastes of Iador to the south—ogre country. She also knew that Artima was a rogue sorceress, a user of magic who had broken ties from the Repository, the governing body of magic. Meredith could still remember the posters they had displayed in the village square, posters distributed by the odd wandering wizards, that read: “WANTED FOR HIGH TREASON TO THE REPOSITY AND THE BODY OF MAGIC: ARTIMA OF THE PLAINS OF IADOR, ROGUE WIZARD, THIRD CLASS.” Under this text had been a straightforward ink impression of a young woman in her twenties, with dark hair and almond shaped eyes that stared fiercely out of the page. At the time, Meredith, a child recently moved to the Golden Village from the Port Cities, had marveled at how each poster was an exact copy of the other, and had wondered how the wizards had done it.
Meredith did not hear of Lady Artima again until she was an older child. The Repository and the rogue sorceress had formed a pact, a truce of some sort, after a series of raids on her hideout ended badly for the Repository mages. Supposedly, Lady Artima now lived with a troupe of ogres in the ruins of Sivarr's Keep far away in the southeastern province of Astquary, doing who knew what with her magical abilities.
“Probably something the Repository wouldn't approve of,” Meredith said absentmindedly.
She realized she was talking aloud and blushed, though a quick, panicked glance at those standing near her assured Meredith that no one had noticed. They were all busy talking to friends, scolding children, or, in the case of the nobles, pointedly ignoring the rabble.
Meredith wondered if Artima were still a wanted woman. After all, it had been nearly two decades since whatever incident had caused her to break ties with the wizards, and the fact that she was alive and well at Sivarr's Keep was public knowledge. Now that Meredith thought about it, she wondered why Artima continued to be such a public figure, why she still occasionally heard rumors about her in the dining hall, why her name was still whispered as if people were afraid they would summon her presence if they said her name too loud. She vaguely remembered something about her taking control of the elven lands to the east of her Keep, but Meredith was woefully unfamiliar with any politics outside of the Way.
A hush fell over the crowd. Meredith looked toward the Hall of Ceremony to see the Keeper had just appeared on the balcony, soon followed by the three Prominents dressed in the most ornate, bejeweled robes that they owned, flanking a smaller figure dressed in the saffron and crimson robes of a priest of Dartos—Dienna. As far away as she was, Meredith could not make out much detail, but she thought she could detect rigidness in the way her friend stood before them.
The Three Prominents: Lord Varent Leedon, High Priest of Seltos, Lady Amelie Lemusa, High Priest of Lantos, and Lord Tevinan Gael, High Priest of Dartos, stood proudly to one side of the balcony. Lord Mayrim, the Keeper of the Gods and former High Priest of Dartos, stood to the other side, hands folded gracefully in his robes of shimmering white, punctuated with black. Dienna stood in the middle of the balcony, overlooking the large crowd with a touch of fear. It was quite a sight, all the priests dressed in their ceremonial robes, inlaid with pearls, jewels, golden thread, dainty silk—all standing on the balcony of the Hall of Ceremony’s west facing side, the side devoted to Lantos, God of the Moon. The mosaic moon of pearl and amethyst shone with a quiet, luminescent beauty in the soft morning light.
After a few moments, Dienna started to speak.
“Gods save us,” she called out, her voice loud and clear. “Save us from the Darkness. Save us from Indolence. Save us from the life we led before you showed us the Way—before you gave us Light!”
“Save us, gods of the Way!” the crowd cried said in response.
“Save us, gods of the Way,” Meredith mumbled.
“Today we thank you, Dartos, you most of all for giving this world the First Gift,” Dienna continued, raising her arms to the sky, palms facing upward. “O most generous Dartos, you gave us the gift of Light!”
“You gave us Light to lead us from Darkness!” the crowd responded.
Meredith tried to speak up a bit more this time, but still could not match the enthusiasm of her neighbors.
Dienna’s own response was even more enthusiastic, “Dartos, so long ago you sacrificed your own Eye, your Third Eye, from which shone your Strength, and made of it the Sun.”
“A Sun to banish the Darkness,” the crowd said.
“And today that Sun shall shine longer than any other day,” Dienna continued. She had dropped her arms to her side. Now she held them slightly raised in front of her body, as if to embrace the crowd below her. “Today we give you thanks for this most glorious Gift. For saving us from the Darkness, and showing us the Way.”
As she said these words, the crowd gave a collective gasp, just as they did every year, for the priests had timed this speech to coincide with the rising of the sun. As Dienna’s last words were still ringing and echoing off the walls of the Godskeep, the sun, glorious and resplendent, broke its light above the Hall of Ceremony with a flash. Dienna and the other priests were thrown in dark silhouette as the huge globe rose ever so slowly behind them, eventually encompassing the whole Godskeep in a fiery crescent.
It was truly an impressive sight, but, unfortunately for Meredith, she had seen it every year since the age of six, and it had lost some of its potency for her. She looked to her neighbors. One, a middle aged woman, had tears streaming down her upturned face, a smile of rapture parting her lips. She held her child in her arms, who looked more sleepy than awestruck, and was tugging on the sleeves of his mom’s dress in annoyance. On Meredith’s other side was a peasant man dressed in what were probably the best clothes he owned, watching with a grim smile and wide eyes as the sun rose higher and higher, shielding his gaze with a wrinkled hand.
There was not much left of the Sunrise Ceremony. Dienna shared a short sermon about being generous that Meredith listened to with withering patience, then, at last, the priests gave a final blessing and Lord Varent began to sing a closing song of thanks to Dartos. Most waited until the song ended to leave, but many were already beginning to file out via the main gate. They were heading for the large, brightly colored tents and pavilions set up just outside of the Godskeep, at the base of the Holy Hill, where the day’s festivities were to take place. Many of the peasants had brought simple breakfasts with them, and were planning on picnicking together with friends and family to await the Zenith Ceremony. The nobles, by contrast, were filing sleepily back to their luxurious suites, probably, Meredith thought, to take a nap before they were summoned again for the ceremony at noontide.
She followed the common folk out of the bailey and down the Holy Road, searching for her family. She knew that Dienna would be busy until after the final ceremony, when the whole congregation would settle down for the evening, but she hoped Gran and Daela would be with the picnickers. She wandered past groups of devotees, settling down under the immense, sparkling tents. They were red and orange silken things, hand embroidered with golden suns, bronze stars, and silver moons—gifts given long ago from the King to Goralt, the Keeper of the Gods at the beginning of the last century, for his support of the Crown against the Riverland Rebellion. Meredith wondered if any of those gathered underneath their shelter knew how many rebels the Way had betrayed to earn those garish tents. Very few if any, she thought.
“Mer! Hey Meredith!”
She turned to see her cousin Daela running in her direction, her braids bouncing behind her with every stride.
“Daela!” Meredith called, walking to meet her. They embraced when they met, “You’re more awake than I expected this morning,” she continued.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the teenager responded indignantly. “I wake up at dawn all the time.”
“I bet Gran would tell me otherwise,” Meredith chuckled. She then frowned in confusion, “Where is she?”
Daela pointed to a group of picnickers sitting on the lawn under one of the tents. Meredith saw her grandmother sitting on the grass, surrounded by some of her friends from the Village and a fancily dressed man with brown skin who looked distinctly familiar…
“Cormin?” Meredith gasped. Daela nodded, and the two hurried over.
“Look who I found,” Daela announced as they came to the group.
Gran looked up from the bread she was sharing with the other picnickers and smiled her four-toothed smile, “Meredith darling. We didn’t see you at the ceremony!”
“I was there, Gran,” she said as she bent to kiss her cheek. She then stood and smiled at the man behind her, “It’s been many years, Cormin, but I see that you still haven't done a thing different with your hair.”
The man named Cormin laughed heartily, “Yes, but then, neither have you, Mer.”
“But mine doesn't look so ridiculous,” she returned easily.
The hair in question actually did suit him quite well now that he was a grown man, but as a child, it hadn't in the slightest. Cormin's head was shaved entirely clean, leaving only a bun of spirally black coils at the top. The boy had once seen the style on a Dezhartan merchant selling spices at the market and had begged Gran to help him replicate it. Now, the somewhat effeminate styling was offset by his strong jaw and broad shoulders. He certainly had grown much since the last time Meredith had seen him, when he had been fourteen and she a girl of fifteen. Although she had always called Cormin her cousin, he was, in truth, no blood relation to her. He was an orphan that Gran had decided to take in.
“He just reminded me so much of your daddy at that age,” Meredith recalled Gran saying in her childhood. “Big brown eyes like a puppy. Fuzzy little head of hair. I couldn’t let him carry on in the streets. I asked him to come inside and have a sweet roll. I couldn’t get rid of him after that.” And from that day on, Cormin was considered part of their family. Many were the days that the three cousins had run amok through the Golden Village, many the nights they had stayed awake and played pranks on each other, giggling until they were sore in the gut. Even after Meredith had gone off to the Godskeep to begin her studies, she had seen Cormin and Daela on days of rest, and in the winter months when the priests took their recess. It had not been until they were older that they had begun to drift apart—Cormin was always working then, always consciously saving his gold with plans to leave the valley behind. His departure almost eight years ago had not been a shock, but she had missed her adoptive cousin all the same.
“You do look lovely today, Meredith,” Cormin said, raising her hand to his soft, dark lips for a brief kiss. His smile was winning, “Gran tells me you have been doing quite well as an acolyte. She says you’re soon to become a priestess proper.”
Meredith blushed. She wasn’t sure if it was from the kiss or the question. In truth, she was nowhere near ready to be ordained into the priesthood.
“I have done much studying, but I haven’t done much in the way of priestliness,” Meredith responded, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible. “Reading the Way’s oldest texts is what truly fascinates me. Not that the priesthood isn’t fascinating either,” she added hastily after a stern look from Gran. She sat down next to Daela, and Cormin joined her. Eager to change the subject, she turned to Cormin and asked, “So what have you been doing with yourself all these years?”
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