part 9
Unamorel paused for a moment as she looked after her departing mentor, then took flight down the opposite corridor. The confused visions of her dream continued to play out against the deep shadows of the night, dominating the pattern of her thoughts. Again, a chime rang out from the heart of the temple and broke her from under their spell. The momentum of the present caught up to her. She must prepare to receive the recently returned.
Torchlight danced off the polished stone walls at the distant end of the corridor. There, at the entrance to the altar chamber, where the re-arisen emerge from Dakkru's embrace, her acolytes appeared with the new arrival in arms. Unamorel waited as the light of the torches approached with echoed bare footsteps, not stopping to contemplate the mystery of her devotion, the reason the Mistress of the Veil chooses to return people to the Realm of the Living, but to let her mind slip back to the potency of her dream. She did not allow herself much time to muse, however, and quickly lead the acolytes down an adjoining corridor towards the dormitory. She threw upon the door to an unoccupied dorm room and commanded a summons, "Light!". The small room suddenly flooded with the pure light emanating from an enchanted crystal placed upon a desktop. With the spell cast, the acolytes snuffed their torches, and Unamorel directed the priest carrying the arrived to place her upon the bed.
It was then she first caught sight of the arrived. A young fenki child clutched tightly to the robes of the priest as he lay her down. Her eyes were held shut, turned away in sensitivity to the crystal light, her breathing was heavy, audible, yet slow and controlled. The child was scared, but calm about it. Unamorel therefore spoke in encouragement, "It is alright, child, it is alright." At this the young akkaio turned her head and opened her eyes, the color of the crystal lit sky, and peered upwards. The priestess stepped forward towards the bedside, pulled back her hood, and whispered, "Hello young one. Welcome back to the land of the living."
It was her eyes, the way that they glowed with a hidden fire, that sent Unamorel reeling backwards through her dream. Suddenly the chaos and confusion of her vision began to align, fragmentary pieces of a puzzle fell into place to exhibit a larger picture, past, present, and future coalesced into a single revelatory moment. The priestess stepped back, alarmed, and turned to the nearest acolyte, "Fetch Sister Ramah. She's in her study."
Unamorel returned her attention to the young fenki, "Do you remember your name child? What do you recall?"
The akkaio lass stared back, wide eyed and timid, and softly answered, "I am... Aramara."
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The two priestesses of Dakkru's Enlightened and Devout conferred in hushed whispers behind the closed and locked doors of the study. Their voices were stern, controlled. Shared excitement turned quickly towards anger as they argued over the correct course of action.
"She is a child Unamorel! We cannot hold her here against her will. Under jurisdiction of the law, we must notify her parents and turn custody over to them. Our arms are bound by the Octarchy."
"Gods damn the Octarchy! We answer to a higher order! The Kali of this temple has been charged by Dakkru Herself to eliminate Tatewari from Her Realm, and now the Goddess delivers us this child, the child I saw in my dream, who not only made contact with the witch but has been conferred her power. Sister, Our Goddess has shown us the way! We must send word to Brother Jamnin. She can lead him back to her. He can finish his quest and then... Sister... it will be over. He will return to us... to you... for good."
Unamorel's words struck deep, precisely where she had meant them to. Ramah flinched, weakened under the idea of Jamnin's return. Her feelings for him where her detriment, of this she was now acutely aware. She struggled. This attachment to another, a mere living being, mortal, temporal, fleeting. In order to purely serve Dakkru, which was her life's devotion, she must let go of Jamnin, and so she must let go of this girl. There could only be room for Dakkru in the limits of her heart.
She answered Unamorel with a quiet shake of her head, "No Sister... I... In his absence I am in charge of this temple. The decision is mine to make. Our hands are tied, the child is innocent, we must let her go."
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On the morning of her departure, Aramara stood amongst the herbs of Sister Ramah's garden. Of all the temple compound, this place was the most comforting to her. It reminded her of home, her mother. It was because of her mother's practice that most of the plants held a familiarity for her, and she felt she was somehow amongst friends. The rest of the compound she found to be cold, harsh, undoubtedly due to its function and purpose if not its architecture. She had been raised in a Xiosian household, where every life was treated as a precious gift, but here, the gift was claimed to be of Dakkru's benevolence. She failed to stomach the idea, and thus removed herself from the daily goings on about the temple, spending her time patiently amongst the plants, with an eye on the temple gates, waiting for her parents.
She was examining a particularly fragrant flower previously unknown to her, when she became aware of a presence entering the garden from the temple interior. Aramara turned to recognize the hooded figure of one of the devotees. It was a strange sight; in her time there, Aramara had yet to see any one of them leave the dark hallways of the interior during daylight hours. In fact, she had only seen Sister Ramah step outdoors at all, and only at night to tend her garden. The priestess had shown Aramara how the leaves and fruit of certain plants actually swelled and ripened at night. One particular variety of plants, the Nocturnes, actually only flowered and blossomed at night. These were the favorite of Sister Ramah, and she had said they contained magickal properties in their essence.
Aramara had found the priestess to be the most open of all she had met at the temple, but it was not Ramah who stepped into the garden now. In stead, Aramara recognized the silver-white hair of the priestess who had first received her drifting from the depths of the grey robes of Dakkru's order. This priestess and Ramah had interrogated her thoroughly throughout that night. Five times Aramara retold her story, of how she stumbled across the nest of Trepor eggs and the subsequent attack of their mother, her first acquaintance with death and The Realm, her encounter with Tatewari, and to her best recollection, the rebirth she experienced under the influence of the witch's medicine. Aramara found this priestess to be passionate, impatient, frustrated, and due to the manner of their discourse, Aramara could guess her relation to Ramah to be one of a subordinate.
The priestess stepped forward, and Aramara felt herself take an instinctive step back, only to feel her heel against the low stone wall of the flower bed. She felt no other choice but to sit upon the impediment and await the approaching priestess. As she advanced, the priestess lowered her hood and held out her palms in an effort to quell Aramara's worries. With her face exposed as such to the light of the crystal, Aramara noticed the milky paleness of her skin, lined with wrinkles that obscured her true age. It was her appearance's contrast to her confident and assertive bearing that caused Aramara discomfort, regardless of the peaceful gesture.
"Aramara, I regret we haven't had the chance to speak. It isn't customary for me to approach you like this, but I feel it is necessary."
She knelt before the akkaio and held a hand out towards her. Aramara took it tentatively, keeping her eyes on those of the priestess. "I am Sister Unamorel," she continued with a slight smile, "I suppose you may remember me from the night you arrived? I would like to speak to you some more about the Death Realm, if you don't mind."
"I've already told you everything. I don't..." Aramara began to object, but the priestess cut her off.
"No child, I've already heard what you have to say. Now it is time for you to listen." She stopped and locked eyes with the fenki child, making sure of her full attention. Satisfied, Unamorel continued, her previous display of warmth now exchanged for a more severe disposition, "What happened to you... it may take some time for you to fully realize... but you've been changed. You are no longer who you once were. For whatever purpose, I am unsure, but you've been given a gift... a power. You're different now. Some might say, even... special."
This last word was conjoined with a quickly subdued smile. The priestess paused again to judge how the young fenki was following. Aramara offered no response, but her attention was rapt.
"It is my wish, child, to help you... to teach you... to train you, but I have some... obstructions to overcome. Soon your family will be here, and then you will leave. It is very likely that we will never see each other again. But I want you to know this... what happened to you... it makes you very special to me... to us. There may come a time when you meet someone who can help you, and in that case, you should wear this mark."
Unamorel reached into the grey folds of her robe and removed a small pouch, into which she dipped two fingers. When she withdrew them, they were covered in a thick red paste, with which she drew a line beginning from the top of Aramara's crown down to the tip of her nose. With this done, Aramara felt a satisfaction, a sense of completion deep inside of her. Cognitively, she was confused, but she accepted it thankfully nonetheless. Somehow she felt the priestess was right in doing so. With a dip of her head, she recalled words familiar to her, words of power uttered at the end of the Xiosian prayers customarily spoken by her mother, "So mote it be."