After the last stragglers trickled away, Raphi and Ferda stepped out of the murk and approached the Sanctuary. A shiver made its way down Ferda’s spine as they trudged up the steps, but they shook it off. They weren’t nearly as good at hiding their emotions as Serai was, but they’d have to give it their best shot tonight.

Though Woromorians and Shenaise ostensibly worshiped the same gods, the way they did it couldn’t be more different. Unlike the city’s temple compound—protected by high walls, designed specifically in an octagonal shape for worship of the eight major gods, and so long standing that it was as much a part of the landscape as the mountains that surrounded it—this sanctuary had started life as a textile storehouse. The building had been abandoned when Veradis and the elders had found it, claimed squatter’s rights, then fixed it up. Woromirans were a mobile culture and could worship wherever there was space to throw up alters. This particular sight had been a Sanctuary long enough to have gained an aspect of permeance within the Woromiran community, though the important bits of the Woromiran religion were always ready to move.

Even Ferda, unwelcome as they were, had spent many childhood afternoons playing in the warehouse yard with other children from their neighborhood. They’d had some fun times before Ferda had gotten banned at thirteen for stealing a cast of holy mead.

Ferda passed several alters in the antechamber leading up to the sermon hall. And what alters they were: wild collages of every recorded depiction of each deity arranged in artful spirals around a stand of glowing candles. The Woromirans knew their gods to be shape shifters, so why should one form be privileged over another? Oatle, the sun’s flame; Phiias, the healing river; all-knowing Uraura; Gunas, turner of wheels; Thaiona, the muse eternal; Onaha, master of war; Xaias, the final and first; all celebrated in the entirety of their glory.

 Ferda nodded at each to show the modicum of respect expected even from those not stopping to offer devotions. They lingered by the Lady of Bounty’s alter, considering the two main faces of Leigaba as they contrasted with each other. Looming over the image of the woman that Serai probably prayed to most in her temple was the version of the goddess from the oldest stories. Curvy and tall, the first depiction of Leigaba wore her divinity in her golden skin, her four onyx eyes, the insect wings sprouting from her back, the horn curling up from her forehead. She wore the same gentle expression as her Shenaise counterpart, and her four hands were extended with similar gifts, but nothing about this figure could be mistaken for human. Ferda liked this version of the goddess better than the plain one.

When Ferda had given Serai a portrait of her patron in this form, the confusion and mild horror on the princess’ face had broken Ferda’s heart even as it made them laugh. They’d found that portrait hanging in a hidden corner of Serai’s loft, well maintained but left where no one would ever see it. Sometimes, Ferda felt a bit like that portrait: Serai’s dirty little secret. But, they also understood why it wouldn’t look great for a Shenaise princess to display a Woromiran idol. Raphi called Ferda onwards and the thief gratefully moved on from that thought and the alter, not wanting to look at either any further.

Raphi went to open the doors to the sermon chamber, but Ferda stopped him, put a finger to their lips, and grinned. Nodding, Raphi returned their smirk and slipped through the door on his own. A moment later, Ferda heard him call out to Veridis, drawing xyr attention away from the entrance. Ferda tapped the sides of their neck to wake up their modifications for silence and grace. Magic buzzed across the feline muscles of their legs and along their spine, changing Ferda’s gait and redistributing their bodyweight for optimal balance. Once the sparks faded, the thief slipped through the heavy door without a sound.

Thanks to its prior use as a storage facility, the sermon hall was expansive. Standing room at the back graduated into rows of eclectic seats gathered from wherever people could find them, all facing north-east toward both the sermon podium and the holy sight of The Ecaliquira, in the forests near the Woromiran Central cluster.

Standing atop the podium was Veradis, chatting with Raphi as they contained Otale’s sacred brazier for the night and cleaned the bowl of water that represented Phiias’ divine river. Though the sun god’s fire was meant to be left to burn free, but the Sanctuary was a tinder box, so practicality had to take precedent over tradition. Pale and lanky, Veradis wasn’t immediately intimidating. Their only visible modification was the raptor-like roundness of their pupils that helped them see into the back of their congregation. Then again, Ferda didn’t look like much of a threat either.

 Crouching behind a nearby pew, Ferda watched as the priest slid a holy scroll into a leather case. Xe frowned at some minute imperfection in the leather and began polishing the thing with the edge of xyr robe. Using Veradis’ distraction to their advantage, Ferda slithered out from their cover and underneath the stage. They curled up in a ready ball, grinning to themself as they imagined reaching out to grab Veradis’ ankles as xe went down the steps.

A few minutes later, the cleric stopped futzing around with their xyr and the soft thuds of footsteps moved toward the edge of the stage. Ferda grinned and wiggled their fingers in anticipation. As Veradis reached the top step, xe paused a moment. A foot slammed down just above Ferda’s head. They jumped, banging their head on the floorboards. “Giso,” Veridis’ resonant baritone was clipped. “I’ve told you time and again that I don’t like surprises. Now, get out here this instant.”

Ferda scowled and rubbed their aching scull. Had they made some kind of noise that had tipped Veradis off? It was unlikely, but not impossible. In any case, the jig was up, so they slid out from beneath the stage. “Why do you always got to be a stick in the mud?” The thief grumbled. “It was just a joke.” They shot Raphi a put-upon look, to which he shrugged.

“Jokes are humorous—light hearted.” Veradis ran a hand through the white-blonde bristles growing across xyr scull. Usually, the cleric kept their head rigorously shaved, so something must have kept them quite distracted. Then, Ferda squinted and recognized that Veradis’ ‘hair’ was actually a sea of bug antennae. This new modification probably had something to do with how the cleric detected Ferda, which made them feel a bit better.  “What you just did was a possible attack on a prominent religious figure of your community. Hardly worth a chuckle.” Now that Ferda was closer, they noticed that Veridis was wearing floral earrings, which the cleric only did when leaning feminine.

“Would’ve made me laugh.” Ferda countered as they shook off the litany and relaxed their body into their normal posture. “You wanna talk about unfunny? My magic flow is so shit after that last modification you did that I can’t even charge a fucking appliance without blowback.” They pointed an accusatory finger at Veradis. “I asked you about crap like that happening before you put in the last mod, and you said I’d be fine. The hell’s up with that?”

“Perhaps the branches of one enchantment have tangled with another.” Veradis shrugged, unconcerned. “Such things rarely occur with my work, since I take great pains to differentiate the different strands, but it’s not impossible. Unless,” she arched an eyebrow, “You’ve been getting biological enchantments from other people that you haven’t told me about.”

“Don’t try to guilt me, like I’m one of your flock.” Ferda scoffed. “You know you’re the only cleric with the know-how that’ll do any work on someone like me.”

“True enough.” The Cleric acknowledged, a hint of mischief in the set of xyr brows. “Still, that can’t be all that’s wrong, if you’re willing to confront me here.” She nodded toward the holy chamber at large. “Your troubles must be quite important to risk being chased out as a heretic.”

Ferda’s teeth clacked shut. There was, of course, a reason why Ferda had waited until everyone else had left the Sanctuary before entering. It was the reason why Abba and Papa had fled with their child across the dead zone when Ferda was six. And, it was the reason that Ferda had to go above and beyond with their community service to stay in the good graces of their own people.

When he was still the rising star of Central’s top university, Abba had gotten it into his head that, since no one had seen a deity in the flesh for thousands of years, they were likely mere concepts to aspire to rather than physical beings that could listen at an alter or directly intervene in one’s life. On whole, Ferda agreed with their father; myths were a hell of a lot more believable than hidden shapeshifters of indescribable power. Unlike Abba, Ferda was smart enough to keep their mouth shut.

The theocrats that ruled Woromir’s Central cluster had called Abba’s theory blasphemy and banished the entire Giso family for the crime of him uttering it. No relation of Kurtas Giso’s would be welcome in any Woromiran cluster large enough to bother with. They’d been forced to wander for two years before finding a home in Shenait. Even fourteen years later, when Ferda had tried to visit their birthplace, they were still chased out.

Ferda gritted their teeth. “Yeah, there is something other than the mods I need to talk to you about. I’d rather do it in confessional.”

A storm gathered in Veridis’ blue eyes as her thin lips stretched into a tight smile. “Of course. Raphi, make sure we’re not bothered.”