The Stone by the Stream (Part 6)

“What Initiation?” Cynthia asked, untying the blindfold and lowering it with some trepidation.

A single torch cast dim light on the slight rectangular room. The walls glistened with condensation, and in the faint chill Cynthia could see the cloud of her breath with every exhale. A bas-relief loomed on the short wall nearest her, depicting the Huntress performing an unknown rite, encircled by thirteen virgin devotees. Standing in a forest clearing, the Goddess stood before a sacrificial stone, her bow slung behind her back and a serpentine dagger in her left hand.

Of the Huntress’s followers, some knelt in solemn contemplation. Some held overflowing cups and danced in ecstasy. One stood before the Goddess and administered the Rite in preparation for the sacrifice.

Cynthia knew no words to describe the expression the Huntress wore on her face. The inhuman delight of the gods? Resignation to her own bleak necessity? Or a pitch of such passionate enjoyment that only a shade separated it from Omnipotence?

The sacrificial victim could not be seen.

“What Initiation? Why, your own Initiation, Cynthia. I know how curious you are about the Goddess. We can help you learn everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”

The priestess was a narrow-faced woman with bright sapphire eyes and braided locks of graying but still radiantly yellow hair. Her pale skin glowed in the dim torchlight. Had her nose been only slightly shorter, she would have been a perfect beauty. Cynthia could hardly bring herself to meet her gaze, but nor could she avoid the eyes.

Such radiant eyes, gleaming with saintly goodwill.

And something else.

“But I’m not old enough to be an Initiate.”

The priestess smiled. “Yes, well the Temple can always make little exceptions to the official rules when we find a potential oracle. And besides, at least one of the priestesses here received her Initiation when she was even younger than you.”

The priestess smiled with eyes and mouth at this last part.

“I’m sorry,” Cynthia said. “It’s just that this is all so sudden. I don’t know what to think.”

“Not exactly what you expected when you were invited in for this audience.”

Cynthia felt a wave of relief. This woman understood her. She seemed so kind, so understanding, so genuinely upset at the way the acolyte had acted just a few minutes ago. Maybe the armed men with Agatha and the rough treatment at the hands of the acolyte had all been a misunderstanding after all?

But then again, maybe not.

Cynthia nodded, struggling to pick her words carefully: “Not quite what I expected. Especially after — well, I heard what happened to Silas.”

The priestess blinked. “And what happened to Silas?”

Cynthia’s heart skipped. “I heard he drowned in the stream.”

“Yes, it was an unfortunate accident. But they found him in a particularly deep part of the stream, along with a half-dozen bottles of mead. I’m sure once news gets out there will be all sorts of wild rumors about what happened. I am a little curious where you heard about the accident.”

“One of the acolytes told me, I don’t know her name,” Cynthia said. She didn’t mention what the acolyte said about Silas being found in only six inches of water — nor the distinct lack of mead in the story as she’d heard it.

“Which of the acolytes?”

“She’s always out in front of the entranceway, sweeping the floors.”

The priestess smiled broadly — although Cynthia could swear she’d momentarily furrowed her brows in bewilderment. “I’ll have to look into the source of these stories and have a little talk with the acolyte. Thank you so much for letting us know, by the way. I’m sure you can understand how important it is that the Temple is able to get the truth out and prevent any vicious rumors from spreading.”

Cynthia remained silent.

The priestess clapped her hands together. “But why are we wasting time talking about all these silly clerical matters? We have your Initiation to attend to!”

“I’m… not sure I want to become an Initiate.”

“Well, you do have a choice, of course,” the priestess said with a sweet smile that revealed her lovely canines. “In a manner of speaking, that is.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“The Goddess knows her own. The ones who are called to her service. Call it a matter of birth, a certain predisposition, or even a matter of… family. The point is that the ones she’s chosen always already know it. A devotee carries her calling from the moment of conception — carved into her bones, coloring her blood… written into her spirit.”

Cynthia yearned to throw herself at the woman’s feet, pledge her devotion, and beg the priestess to Initiate her then and there. It was all true. Everything the priestess said. And Cynthia felt the longing well up from her breast like a Destiny, a dissolving need to give herself to the Goddess wholly, to become one with her, to become a channel for her…

And yet.

These things take time.

Cynthia felt the yearning and let it pass, reminding herself she had more than sufficient reason to mistrust the priestess.

At last she said, “And you think I’m called to serve the Huntress.”

“I know it, my dear Cynthia. And I even dare to hope that — with guidance and training, of course — you may even be able to become our oracle someday.”

“Oracle…?” Cynthia sighed breathlessly. It was more than she’d ever dared to hope. Straight from the mouth of a priestess of the Temple itself.

“We know more about you than you may realize. And while it’s impossible to make promises about this kind of thing, I’m sure you’ll understand… we have not seen such a promising candidate for many years.”

“Candidate?”

“I’m sure you already know the Temple has been without an oracle for almost two decades. We’ve been looking for potential seers the whole time. And the only candidate we found to match your potential… well. She failed to become an oracle.”

“What happened to her?”

The priestess coughed. “That’s a talk for another day, Cynthia. For now there’s just one thing we need from you: are you ready to be Initiated?”