Year 415 since Upheaval (the second month - Ameth)

My mother and father sit at my sides. I rest my hands on the table so they do not shake as the old priestess places the purple geode in my sweaty cupped palms. All the children are tested at eleven, twelve, and thirteen. The first one said I had no sign of the gift, to the great relief of my parents. She takes a sample of my saliva with a shiny wooden stick and puts it on the crystal.

The reaction is immediate and the living light inside pulsates like a heart.

Mom's face is unreadable, and my father turns pale. ''This means nothing,'' he says. ''The test is wrong...no, your test is wrong.''

The old woman throws a fleeting but compassionate look at him. Her gaze mostly doesn't leave the geode. ''Master Bolormaa your daughter is blessed by the Goddess.''

He stands up and speaks with a voice that is barely composed and close to a whisper, ''You can take my daughter after you kill me. Go back to your temple, bring some soldiers with you for all I care, you can't take her.'' Father never thinks much before speaking. I wonder, is it his pride or the love of me that drives him now. Possibly a mixture.

Before the priestess can reply Mother is calm and dignified. She stands up and takes my father's hand. As befitting a crystalcrafter, his hands were always stone steady when they needed to be; only making slight delicate movements, and always under his complete control. Now they are anything but. His profession enabled our family a good life on top of a southern moss: one of the colossal rock formations littering the city and the canyon floor beyond; with often flat tops that mostly feature a sprawl of flush-roofed homes, temples, public gardens, and other buildings of white and gray stone.

''John we should rejoice, there is no greater honor than serving the city and the Goddess.'' My mother sounds less than enthusiastic. She always dominated her emotions but her eyes show glimpses of fear as her breathing speeds up. Olive skin graced with barely a few lines, pale brown eyes outlined with kohl and resembling those of a fierce yet gorgeous huntress from one of the manuscripts I've read, coal black hair, and rosebud-shaped lips, which are just like mine, reasonably make me think my mom is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She wears a simple white sleeveless tunic made of linen with bright yellow borders. Under her bust, cord belt reins in the garment. 

My mother suffered through two miscarriages before having me and the fact she keeps her composure at this moment is quite admirable. Sadly, these last few moments seem to have aged her somehow.

''How can you say this Lana, we are to lose our only child and you talk about honor.''

''She will see you once a month, Master Bolormaa. Your family will be privileged and venerated.'' Priestess Aleera almost chides him. She has more than a few lines on her face but her brown eyes are pleasingly clear for a woman of her age. Her hair is all gray but long and well-kept; it spills across the top of her brown robes. Like the rest of her holy sisters and brothers, she honors the Goddess by wearing it long. Male priests often grow a beard instead. On many of our statues, the Goddess is portrayed as an imperious woman with lengthy luscious free-falling tresses. Great look for the statues but a nightmare for sculptors. Her iron triquetra necklace is probably hidden under the spotless brown cloth.