Chapter Twelve Kian
I wake with a large, warm, perfect ass pressed against me. The pink and golden glow of sunrise shines in through the single window of her room, illuminating her thoroughly disheveled and curved form. Spinner’s tits. I’ve slept here the whole night.
Who knows what Aunt Ujvala will do after another night of camping in the valley forests. Probably follow the path back out of the valley and home. Her philanthropy toward the endeavors of her favorite, and most obnoxious, nephew only extends so far.
I hop up out of the bed, shaking myself to divert blood flow back to my brain.
I hurry to straighten my clothes and rub the sleep out of my eyes, grabbing my phoenix skull as I rush down the stairs as quickly and quietly as I can.
The day is cold but beautiful, with fluffy white clouds in the still-vibrant sunrise sky.
I don’t return to my rooms. One of the advantages of robes is that they look the same one day to the next, so no one will know that I slept in them—except perhaps for the wrinkles.
I head immediately to the forest to find my family.
But I stumble across Sister Roberta in the village square.
I curse silently under my breath for forgetting we were supposed to meet here by the fountain for morning prayers, and to begin our work accessing the magic of our creature skulls.
Her eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. “Unlike you, Kian, to be the first to arrive.”
“Just eager to find out what this thing can do,” I reply, tapping on the beak of the phoenix. While I do want to connect with Aunt Ujvala, it’s not an exaggeration. I’m eager to learn what magic I might be able to exploit in my quest to disrupt the order.
“So say we all,” she replies earnestly.
When the others arrive, we make a semicircle as instructed, and I brace myself for yet another absurd ceremony or song or prayer to perform. Can’t take a step forward to full priesthood without performing some ludicrously complex ritual.
Sister Roberta begins, “You are fated to pair with whatever skull has chosen you. The power you are able to yield is directly proportional to how highly the Huntress values you.”
Right.
Fate is not something I believe in on the best of days, and blessings even less.
Why would the triune goddess give a single fuck about whether I wear a common jackalope or a rare extinct phoenix when there are people in this world dying from hunger or disease?
Surely she has other things to take up her time and attention.
But if she does give a shit—or even exists—I hope her attention is on those being taken advantage of by the orders and she’ll find my quest worthy enough to bless. Or at least not thwart.
Sister Roberta continues, gesturing to the hard ground. “The bulk of your training and practice will happen back in the temple, but here, where the magic originates, is where we begin. Kneel, pressing the foreheads of your skulls to the ground.”
I groan as I drop to my knees and lean forward.
Beside me, Ulric hisses in pain and shifts his robes so they aren’t so tight across his back.
I roll my shoulders. I’m a little stiff, but there’s no sensation of skin about to rip away from scabs like there ought to be.
Just yesterday I woke with pus dried to my sheets.
“Say your thanksgiving to the great goddess and to the valley and the creatures who serve her through you.”
It’s odd to hear a priestess talk about the great goddess. Usually they are all about just the individual goddess they serve, especially those who serve the Huntress. But I suppose here in the valley, at this moment, the scope is wider.
With my head pressed to the cold ground and the smell of half-thawing grasses in my nose, I find myself drifting through the visions I’ve seen and the feelings the phoenix has sent my way.
I thought being matched would be awful. I dreaded it, but there are moments I’ve actually found it rather comforting.
There’s a strange sense of camaraderie that I haven’t felt since I decided to join the order and live with my feet in two different worlds, never allowing either to fully know me.
I whisper my gratitude to the earth beneath me and to the creature whose skull I wear, surprised at my own sincerity. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Sister Roberta leads us through the typical prayers. Then we’re each instructed in where to go and who to meet with. Except me.
“What do I do?” I ask.
“Ah, yes, Kian. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to help you access your magic. I thought High Priestess Sarai was planning to work with you personally, but perhaps she’s changed her mind or been delayed, now that we have the additional complication of the matcher.”
She bites her lip, watching the others go in their various directions.
Her hands twitch. If she directs me wrong, Sarai will be angry.
An ass-kisser like Sister Roberta can’t stand the thought of her precious high priestess being cross with her.
“I suppose we should have you work with the others. Experiment. See what sparks. You may begin wherever you’d like. ”
Perfect. I’ll briefly see what the others do and if I can mimic them, ending with Ulric, who is out in the fields, closest to the forest. Once I’ve found at least a sense of my own magic, I’ll hurry off to finally meet my family.
Surely it won’t take long for the phoenix to reveal its power.
Before the day is over, I’ll know exactly what my next steps are.
Deciding to go in order of most unpleasant to least, I make my way to the chapel where the bodies of the dead are being prayed over for the requisite three days.
The chapel is small and old, built with field stones and crumbling mortar.
Like many of the smaller places of worship, it consists of six sides with large, leaded windows on each to let in the light.
Inside is a marble altar where the bodies lie.
On well-worn aspen benches sit keepers in their bright woolen clothing, continuing the death rites for their former matcher and Thad. I suppose they must ensure their rituals are completed, in case two-thirds of the gytrash can’t access their death magic.
Molvi, Ylysia, and Linden are hovering over the bodies. One of the keeper elders, Niclas, explains the differences between the magic of the living gytrash and the abilities wearers can access. He pauses when they see me.
“Why are you here?” Linden asks, chest practically puffing up. He steps between me and his partners. “Trying to steal my place?”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “Sister Roberta sent me.” While Ylysia and Molvi are perfectly fine humans compared to many order members, there is no world in which I want any part of Linden’s life.
I’m not certain I even believe in an after, and I have no desire to pretend I’m able to hurry souls there.
Niclas walks forward with the aid of a cane as gnarled as his liver-spotted hands. “Welcome, novitiate Kian,” he says. “Join us and we’ll see what that phoenix can do, hmm?”
At least he understands.
My stomach rolls as I step closer. Herbs and incense line the space, but it is not enough to cover the scent of rot and char.
“Now,” Niclas instructs. “I want you to close your eyes and access your higher self. You ought to be able to sense the souls of the dead.”
“I can feel them!” Molvi reaches a hand forward, hovering over the ragged edge of flesh where Thad’s right shoulder should be. “It’s almost like a little heartbeat, but… opposite?”
“Excellent,” Niclas encourages, his white beard bobbing as he nods. He turns to Ylysia. “What do you feel?”
Ylysia opens her eyes and just blinks at the keeper, her attention flicking to Linden.
He glowers at us all. “This is ridiculous! We should be making that matcher go back to the hut and finish what she started. What good are we like this?” He gestures to his partners with their gytrash skulls and then at himself, barefaced.
I roll my eyes at his little outburst. A small, petty part of me hopes Linden doesn’t receive the match that he’s so certain he’s entitled to.
“In time, young Linden,” Niclas replies and turns his attention again to Ylysia.
“Focus on you, novitiate Ylysia. On the deepest, hidden parts of you. Where you keep your secret hopes and fears. What does that part of yourself tell you about the souls of the beings in front of you?”
Ylysia shifts on her feet, as if she wants to run.
Her eyes well with tears. “I–I don’t know!
I don’t have secret parts. And I don’t want to do this without Linden.
” She doesn’t look at the bodies before her.
“I’ve never even done the normal death rites.
No one I’ve known has died. Why would the Huntress curse me with a gytrash?
I should have matched with a pegasus and been responsible for growing flowers or something. ”
“The Huntress does not choose your matches,” Niclas corrects. “And neither the skulls nor the great goddess make mistakes.”
“Just close your eyes, Lys,” Molvi replies a little tersely.
I’ve never heard the three of them argue, and a twisted part of me sort of hopes they will.
But instead she reaches out a hand and takes her partner’s.
Her voice softens. “You won’t know unless you try.
But I’m sure you’ll be able to. You’re great at everything. ”
The frown eases from Ylysia’s face at the encouragement. I close my eyes along with her, seeing if I, too, can feel the souls of the dead men, but all I get is their stench.
Ew. Enough of that.
Grateful that I have no affinity for the dead, I make a hasty retreat, on to my next attempt.