Phoenix Unbound
Page 55
“What magic is this?” demanded one of the priestesses.
Gilene shrugged. “It’s illusion. The draga that frightened off the Saiga raiders was the magic of deception, not fire.” She didn’t mention Azarion’s odd and unexplained ability to see right through illusion conjuring.
Another agacin scowled at her. “This isn’t Agna’s blessing.”
“No, it isn’t.” The ata-agacin’s measuring gaze raked Gilene a second time. Where before her regard had been one of faint dismissiveness, it was now that of cautious respect. “No agacin has ever controlled illusion before.”
“Maybe she isn’t truly Agna-blessed.”
The priestess reared back when the ata-agacin turned on her. “No one controls fire without the goddess’s blessing,” she snapped. “You speak blasphemy.”
The other woman paled and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Forgive me, Ata.” The other priestesses drew away from her as if they feared whatever retribution the goddess might visit on their sister would somehow spill onto them.
Gilene watched it all and wished herself anywhere but here, before these rigid judges who would determine her worthiness and, in turn, Azarion’s ability to claim the chieftainship of Clan Kestrel.
The ata-agacin returned her focus to Gilene. “Illusion isn’t a blessing of Agna’s.” Her brow creased as her gaze turned inward. “But there are old tales, some spoken, others carved on the barrow steles. The ancient dragas used illusion to walk among us. It was once believed that draga blood spilled on sacred ground sometimes imparted its magic to those who lived on or near it.” That piercing gaze snapped back to Gilene. “Where were you born?”
Gilene cast back in her memory for any mention by her parents or the village elders regarding something unique in Beroe’s location but found nothing. She shrugged. “A village of no importance except for its dye exports.”
Part of her wanted to howl with laughter at the idea she and the Beroe witches before her had somehow inherited magic from long-dead creatures that, until recently, she hardly believed ever existed. Yet another part of her wondered. No one could ever explain why a witch, with the ability to control fire and cast illusion, was born every generation to Beroe, in different families. What if her small, insignificant village was more than it seemed? And what if it explained Azarion’s own unique talent for seeing through illusion? The ata-agacin’s question of where Gilene was born made her pause as she recalled what he had told her when they sat together before his family’s barrow.
I was born in front of this barrow. My mother insisted on it.
What lay in the soil under that barrow?
“Do you know something of the draga illusions, Gilene?”
Gilene’s expression must have prompted the ata-agacin’s question. Gilene wasn’t willing to share her knowledge of Azarion’s peculiar talent.
“No, Ata,” she replied. “I know nothing of dragas or their powers.” In that she spoke the truth and didn’t look away from the ata-agacin’s hard stare while the other woman delved deep for a lie.
After a tense moment, the priestess nodded. “How do we know these aren’t simply candle flames with illusion cast over them?”
Gilene gestured to the items whose flames still burned due to her magic. “If you run your hands over those flames, you’ll see their heat speaks true. And it’s easy enough to prove. The raiders didn’t discover my trickery because they didn’t stay long enough to question it. Had they lingered, they might have figured out the fire they ran from was only a small one.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I still don’t understand why Agna would bless you. Do Kraelians even worship her?”
A shiver of apprehension cooled the perspiration gathered in the shallow valley of Gilene’s back. There was real danger in this question. The ata-agacin didn’t strike her as a zealot despite her chastisement of her fellow handmaiden. Still, the fervor of belief didn’t always accept that some might not embrace it with the same enthusiasm. “I don’t understand it either, Ata,” she admitted. “I worship no god, Kraelian or otherwise, and unlike you, I pay a price for summoning fire.”
The air in the qara grew noticeably heavier as the priestesses hunched toward her like crows over a carcass.
“What do you mean, ‘a price’?” The ata-agacin moved closer to where Gilene stood, her watchful gaze curious and wary.
Gilene shoved back a sleeve of her tunic to reveal a burn scar under her forearm. A tug at the tunic’s neckline showed another. “There are more,” she said. “My back and legs. My ribs. One on my stomach. They appear after every summoning. Burns that heal quickly but scar when they do. The greater the summoning, the worse the injury and the scar.” Her revelation garnered her a frown, but one more of confusion than disapproval.
“And yet you’re blessed and walked through the Veil unharmed.” The ata-agacin tilted her head, studying Gilene in a new way, as if she were an animal she’d never seen before. “Are your burns payment or punishment, I wonder.”
Punishment? It was Gilene’s turn to frown. Punishment denoted wrongdoing. What had she or the fire witches before her done to deserve such punitive consequences for wielding fire? “I don’t understand.”
The ata-agacin gestured toward the other priestesses. “Neither do we, though I have my suspicions.”
Gilene hoped the ata-agacin intended to share them and not leave her puzzling over why she suffered injury when she was supposedly blessed by the Savatar fire goddess.
“Agna’s blessing is given only to a few. It’s an ungentle beast, tamed by belief and faith in the mother that created it. Those of us who receive the blessing are Agna’s handmaidens. We’re supplicants in her service. We believe.” The ata-agacin paused, an unspoken message in her enigmatic gaze.
Gilene stiffened. She didn’t recognize Agna, didn’t worship her, and was most certainly not a supplicant. Was this why she was wounded after each summoning? Because she didn’t believe? Didn’t worship? Wasn’t beholden? A blessing was a sanction, not a gift, and it was hard to be grateful to someone when you didn’t even believe in them.
“Maybe the goddess doesn’t see you if you don’t see her.”
“I can’t worship something I have no faith in,” Gilene protested. She’d gone too many years rejecting deities to suddenly embrace one wholeheartedly.
The ata-agacin shook her head. “No, you can’t. So for now, you pay a price for the blessing.” She gestured toward the qara entrance. “Wait outside. When we’ve made our decision, one of us will call for you.”
Her abrupt dismissal didn’t bode well, but Gilene didn’t stay to argue. Outside, the sun shone bright in a clear sky, and while the curious crowd had grown impatient and diminished, Tamura and Azarion still waited.
Tamura bent for a quick peek into the qara before straightening to question Gilene. “Well?”
Gilene’s eyes met Azarion’s and stayed. “They’re making their decision now. I passed their tests. The rest is out of my hands.”
Tamura tapped her brother on the arm. “What will happen if they choose not to recognize her as one of theirs?”
Azarion shrugged. “Then I remain as I am. The returned son of the once-ataman Iruadis. Nothing more.”
Gilene shrugged. “It’s illusion. The draga that frightened off the Saiga raiders was the magic of deception, not fire.” She didn’t mention Azarion’s odd and unexplained ability to see right through illusion conjuring.
Another agacin scowled at her. “This isn’t Agna’s blessing.”
“No, it isn’t.” The ata-agacin’s measuring gaze raked Gilene a second time. Where before her regard had been one of faint dismissiveness, it was now that of cautious respect. “No agacin has ever controlled illusion before.”
“Maybe she isn’t truly Agna-blessed.”
The priestess reared back when the ata-agacin turned on her. “No one controls fire without the goddess’s blessing,” she snapped. “You speak blasphemy.”
The other woman paled and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Forgive me, Ata.” The other priestesses drew away from her as if they feared whatever retribution the goddess might visit on their sister would somehow spill onto them.
Gilene watched it all and wished herself anywhere but here, before these rigid judges who would determine her worthiness and, in turn, Azarion’s ability to claim the chieftainship of Clan Kestrel.
The ata-agacin returned her focus to Gilene. “Illusion isn’t a blessing of Agna’s.” Her brow creased as her gaze turned inward. “But there are old tales, some spoken, others carved on the barrow steles. The ancient dragas used illusion to walk among us. It was once believed that draga blood spilled on sacred ground sometimes imparted its magic to those who lived on or near it.” That piercing gaze snapped back to Gilene. “Where were you born?”
Gilene cast back in her memory for any mention by her parents or the village elders regarding something unique in Beroe’s location but found nothing. She shrugged. “A village of no importance except for its dye exports.”
Part of her wanted to howl with laughter at the idea she and the Beroe witches before her had somehow inherited magic from long-dead creatures that, until recently, she hardly believed ever existed. Yet another part of her wondered. No one could ever explain why a witch, with the ability to control fire and cast illusion, was born every generation to Beroe, in different families. What if her small, insignificant village was more than it seemed? And what if it explained Azarion’s own unique talent for seeing through illusion? The ata-agacin’s question of where Gilene was born made her pause as she recalled what he had told her when they sat together before his family’s barrow.
I was born in front of this barrow. My mother insisted on it.
What lay in the soil under that barrow?
“Do you know something of the draga illusions, Gilene?”
Gilene’s expression must have prompted the ata-agacin’s question. Gilene wasn’t willing to share her knowledge of Azarion’s peculiar talent.
“No, Ata,” she replied. “I know nothing of dragas or their powers.” In that she spoke the truth and didn’t look away from the ata-agacin’s hard stare while the other woman delved deep for a lie.
After a tense moment, the priestess nodded. “How do we know these aren’t simply candle flames with illusion cast over them?”
Gilene gestured to the items whose flames still burned due to her magic. “If you run your hands over those flames, you’ll see their heat speaks true. And it’s easy enough to prove. The raiders didn’t discover my trickery because they didn’t stay long enough to question it. Had they lingered, they might have figured out the fire they ran from was only a small one.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I still don’t understand why Agna would bless you. Do Kraelians even worship her?”
A shiver of apprehension cooled the perspiration gathered in the shallow valley of Gilene’s back. There was real danger in this question. The ata-agacin didn’t strike her as a zealot despite her chastisement of her fellow handmaiden. Still, the fervor of belief didn’t always accept that some might not embrace it with the same enthusiasm. “I don’t understand it either, Ata,” she admitted. “I worship no god, Kraelian or otherwise, and unlike you, I pay a price for summoning fire.”
The air in the qara grew noticeably heavier as the priestesses hunched toward her like crows over a carcass.
“What do you mean, ‘a price’?” The ata-agacin moved closer to where Gilene stood, her watchful gaze curious and wary.
Gilene shoved back a sleeve of her tunic to reveal a burn scar under her forearm. A tug at the tunic’s neckline showed another. “There are more,” she said. “My back and legs. My ribs. One on my stomach. They appear after every summoning. Burns that heal quickly but scar when they do. The greater the summoning, the worse the injury and the scar.” Her revelation garnered her a frown, but one more of confusion than disapproval.
“And yet you’re blessed and walked through the Veil unharmed.” The ata-agacin tilted her head, studying Gilene in a new way, as if she were an animal she’d never seen before. “Are your burns payment or punishment, I wonder.”
Punishment? It was Gilene’s turn to frown. Punishment denoted wrongdoing. What had she or the fire witches before her done to deserve such punitive consequences for wielding fire? “I don’t understand.”
The ata-agacin gestured toward the other priestesses. “Neither do we, though I have my suspicions.”
Gilene hoped the ata-agacin intended to share them and not leave her puzzling over why she suffered injury when she was supposedly blessed by the Savatar fire goddess.
“Agna’s blessing is given only to a few. It’s an ungentle beast, tamed by belief and faith in the mother that created it. Those of us who receive the blessing are Agna’s handmaidens. We’re supplicants in her service. We believe.” The ata-agacin paused, an unspoken message in her enigmatic gaze.
Gilene stiffened. She didn’t recognize Agna, didn’t worship her, and was most certainly not a supplicant. Was this why she was wounded after each summoning? Because she didn’t believe? Didn’t worship? Wasn’t beholden? A blessing was a sanction, not a gift, and it was hard to be grateful to someone when you didn’t even believe in them.
“Maybe the goddess doesn’t see you if you don’t see her.”
“I can’t worship something I have no faith in,” Gilene protested. She’d gone too many years rejecting deities to suddenly embrace one wholeheartedly.
The ata-agacin shook her head. “No, you can’t. So for now, you pay a price for the blessing.” She gestured toward the qara entrance. “Wait outside. When we’ve made our decision, one of us will call for you.”
Her abrupt dismissal didn’t bode well, but Gilene didn’t stay to argue. Outside, the sun shone bright in a clear sky, and while the curious crowd had grown impatient and diminished, Tamura and Azarion still waited.
Tamura bent for a quick peek into the qara before straightening to question Gilene. “Well?”
Gilene’s eyes met Azarion’s and stayed. “They’re making their decision now. I passed their tests. The rest is out of my hands.”
Tamura tapped her brother on the arm. “What will happen if they choose not to recognize her as one of theirs?”
Azarion shrugged. “Then I remain as I am. The returned son of the once-ataman Iruadis. Nothing more.”
