Part 7
The fires on the hearth were slowly dying. As the warmth it provided to the temple receded, Sister Ramah Maringuin felt the chill twilight air through her thin grey robes. The days were lengthening and growing warmer now with the coming of Spring. Her day had been spent cultivating the temple garden, planting seeds and sprouts in the newly thawed soil. The morning glories were blossoming early this year, and she now had a basket of harvested flowers which she would dry and boil down into a tea. The entheogenic properties of the flower would allow her to open her mind in prayer and contact the spirit world. Receiving and interpreting the divine messages of dreams was her duty as Inguma of the temple.
She spread the gathered blue petals over the stones of the hearth and reached for a nearby brass poker to stir the flames and give them new life. It was a effortless action, without the requirement of deep study in Red Way, to simply add chaos to the system. As the chemical reaction of combustion consumed the entropic energy locked in the chemical bonds of organic compounds in the wood, light and heat were released, leaving behind inert ashes. But as she stirred the coals, mixing in fresh oxygen and fuel into the system, the flames rekindled and grew, flicking their orange tongues into the increasing dark.
She, of course, could not be completely aware of this process. She had no knowledge of the Red Way, but she had studied the Brown Way, and knew intimately the energies of life contained even in wood considered dead. Her soul harmonized with the spirits of the wood, internally she bowed in reverence to their sacrifice they willingly gave to warm her body, cook her food, provide light and life, their ashes would fertilize her gardens and be born again. Life itself was combustion, death the chain which kept the reaction going. This much she knew.
The harvested blossoms were now drying on the hearth when Ramah heard a familiar sound emanating from the resurrection chapel. Grabbing a nearby torch she rushed through past Dakkru's shrine and altar, into the adjoining antechamber where those returning from the Death Realm appeared. There she was surprised to find two figures, not unusual, but far less common than the singular traveler. They were garbed in the grey robes of her order, one held the other cradled in their arms. "Welcome back to the land of the living," she said, the common greeting for such occasions.
"Quick, Sister Ramah, she needs attention." She recognized the voice as the Kali of this temple, Brother Jamnin. In the flickering firelight of her torch, Ramah could barely make out the figure in Brother Jamnin's arms. A lithe girl, comparative to herself in age, yet, the very image of death. Her hair was a tangled nest of matted dust and snarls, her robes threadbare tatters, her skin was a pallor grey, stretched tightly over bones, as if all flesh and muscle had faded away. Even in the brief moments that Jamnis stood there holding her, Ramah watched in astonished terror as she aged rapidly before her very eyes. Dakkru was extracting her toll.
"By the Gods... how long was she down there?" she asked as she stepped forward to help Jamnis with the burden of carrying her.
"I can't say for sure... She says her name is Unamorel, which, if I recall was the name of the girl Kali Ahmad was sent for when Dakkru called him home."
"But... that was over three cycles ago! How'd you ever find her?"
"Interestingly enough, " he explained as they carried her down the hall to a dormitory room, "I cam upon her as I was tracking down Tatewari, the witch had her in her sights... I nearly had her this time Ramah... I nearly did."
They placed the gaunt girl on the bed, although, by this time she bore the marks of a woman approaching her middle ages. "I've only heard of this effect before... never seen it in action," she mused.
"It's the price we pay... any length of time spent in the Death Realm drains you of your life..."
Ramah looked upon her High Priest as he tended over Unamorel. He himself seemed drained; she knew it was the effects of traversing the Death Realm. She never spent much time in the Death Realm, her role was to serve the the Lady in the Dark in the Realm of the Living, providing guidance and clairvoyance to those suffering. But, she knew the Kali had spent much of his time with his research in Dakkru's Realm, his latest subject of study was the ancient witch Tatewari, who had made her home there, kidnapping young souls lost in its depths and performing arcane rites upon them. He had been tasked with her capture and removal.
She wondered how his time devoted to his study had aged him. Even this latest foray had lasted twenty turns of the crystal. It was then Ramah realized she had actually counted the days since his departure. She felt an affection for him, as any must admire those who perform well in their duties, something she had not yet learned to subdue. He was visually older than her by more than several cycles; she was Nolthrir and aged at a slower rate than Ylians, but now she had to wonder at his true age.
Ramah's eyes were on Jamnin, but his were on Unamorel. "She's going to need to eat when she recovers. Go see what food there is in the kitchen, Sister, something light, easy to stomach. Bring us a pitcher of water as well," he said without lifting his eyes from the waif. Ramah bowed her head and submitted to his order, quitting the dormitory and making her way to the mess hall. On her way she passed the hearth and remembered what she was doing before the Kali's arrival. Rushing over, she found the blossoms, the fruit of her labor, charred from the heat of the stone. It was a loss she would have to accept.
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Ramah studied her face in the looking glass. It was as if her own reflection were looking back at her, judging her. She ran slender fingers along the lines and creases that were now forming around her eyes, age was beginning to show from beneath her Nolthrir grace. Was it the cycles spent away from her natural aquatic environment which had produced these stress marks?
Gods, it has been ages since I've even thought of home.She splashed her face with cool water, again and again to hydrate her skin. The weather had been particularly mild during the spring months, without the seasonal rains which typically came to the Barn. The dry spell continued through the sweltering months of Summer, a full on drought had settled in, which meant long days tending to her garden in the dry heat.
After dabbing her face dry with a handcloth, Ramah straightened and looked at herself again in the mirror, giving her reflected image a reassuring nod, reminding herself that it was struggle and hardship which dignified a person. She took the bucket of water out of the washroom to the garden, the summer squashes and melons, the late summer herbs, she thought, could use a cool drink amidst this heat wave.
On her way out she passed through the dormitory and the room in which rested Unamorel. The Ylian had slipped into a comatose state upon her arrival and had remained that way up until only a few days ago. She now was suffering a condition of delirium, awake, but aware of something other than her actual surroundings.
The door was ajar, and Ramah slowed her step to peek a look within, not surprised to find Jamnin at her bedside. The Kali had taken a personal interest in her recovery, overseeing every step of her care. Ramah had never seen him so devoted to such a single purpose; he even went so far as to neglect his search for the elusive Tatewari. The whole situation left Ramah with an uneasy feeling, a tightening in her chest, for many conflicting if not mutually exclusive reasons.
Just as she turned to continue down the hall, he called to her, "Sister Ramah? Is that you? Please come in, I want you to hear this."
Her heart simultaneously jumped into her throat and sank into her stomach, and she was left ephemerally paralyzed. Standing motionless, awkwardly holding the bucket of water, a million plus one thoughts coursed through her mind before she was able to choke out, "Yes... Kali... it is I." She set the bucket down outside the door and entered, head bowed, eyes lowered.
Ramah expected to find Unamorel in her typical unhinged state, babbling incoherently, but instead she was sitting upright, calm, lucid, if only slightly unnerved. Her eyes were set wide in her still dark and sunken sockets; they flickered rapidly back and forth as they looked upwards at her. Ramah could feel her tracing the lines on her face and in a subconscious response she touched her fingers lightly to her face, following the ridge of her cheekbone.
"You must be Ramah... Jamnin was just speaking about you..."
Ramah turned quickly to Jamnin in forced denial of Unamorel's full presence. "She's awake?" she asked the obvious, still unable to accept it as reality.
Jamnin looked up at her from where he sat, an inquisitive yet amused smirk worn on his face, "Yes Sister... as you can see, she is awake, alert. Please... just introduce yourself."
Ramah blushed, a flush of blue overcoming her cheeks, her hand now covering half her face as she looked back fully upon Unamorel, "Oh, yes... I am Ramah... Unamorel, I already know... well, you know... I'm glad to see you're awake."
Unamorel met her with a blank, wide-eyed stare, no pleasant smile, nothing to indicate she even heard. Synchronously they both turned towards Jamnin, trying to gauge the appropriate response, which left him chuckling nervously at the sudden palpable awkwardness left suspended in the room.
Jamnin coughed into his fist and cleared his throat, "Uhumm..hmm.. Unamorel, would you excuse us please..." He stood and motioned back towards the door. Ramah gave him a questioning look but stepped back out into the hall and he followed.
"Brother I don't understand, I..."
He cut her off, "Unamorel has just told me something, something she remembers of her time in the Death Realm, her encounter with Tatewari... maybe it will take some time for her to trust you now... I want you to take her as your disciple, teach her everything you know of our ways, our rituals and prayers. I'm counting on you Ramah, to be her guide now while I'm gone."
Her chest tightened as Ramah realised where this little speech was headed. "Gone? but..."
Again he interjected, his poise confident and unfaltering unlike hers, "It's important that I go now, and act on theis information. It could mean the very success of my mission and Ramah..." he stopped to give her a smile which weakened her knees, "then I will be back, for good. Until then, the temple is in your hands."
"You don't mean..."
"Yes, I want you to do the honors."
He took her by the hand and led her down the hall, through the antechamber and into the altar. There, on a garnished silver platter, he took up the ceremonial dagger, cast in black bronze with delicate filigree and placed it in her trembling hands.
Her emotions conflicted with her sense of duty as Jamnin knelt before the altar, lifting his chin to expose his neck to her. Her heart wrenched as it always did when he announced his trips into the Death Realm, but never had he allowed anyone to send him there. Ramah swallowed her tears and gathered herself straight, hardening her heart in a cold sense of devotion. She placed the dagger to his throat and whispered, "May Dakkru take your soul."
When she entered back into Unamorel's room, her hands were still stained red with his blood. Her new acolyte was standing in front of a bodylength mirror, running her gracile hands over the smooth fabric of a new gown Jamnin had laid out for her. The silver haired Ylian turned to face the Nolthrir, not reacting to the sight of blood but meeting her eyes and smiling, "Now... where do we begin?"
