forty-one #3
Sulim took the lead on the way there, and wondered what it would be like to live in this place of stone walls, treated glass windows, and the ever-present scent of sweat and dirt.
The more she looked around, the more she saw people clad in black, some of them the recruits who had yet to put their names in the sacred book that defined them as mercenaries, and many of them the types to risk their lives for someone else’s gain.
Mira heard a hundred terrible tales. This was a place of abuse, trauma, and longing—even the most benevolent dictator of a chief had to rule with an iron fist to keep the people from revolting against her.
It was in the very nature of “barbarians” to want power for themselves.
They descended to the deepest parts of the fortress, where sunlight did not reach, and the air conditioners did not work as hard to keep people cool.
The sanctuary was both a place of worship for those downtrodden enough to need it, and where everyone retreated should they come under attack or suffer a mighty natural disaster.
It had been centuries since this place was used for that latter purpose, but memories imprinted upon the DNA of every mercenary to come after, even those who were not born and raised in the humid walls of Second Tribe.
A host of people, almost all of them dressed in black, stood around the sanctuary when Sulim entered with everyone else behind her.
Near the altar, where another statue of the High Priestess stood, Olma and her entourage waited.
Mira recognized the Cachayans Giselle and Barnabas, the former of which had parlayed for her Old Ways services.
Anyone with a sliver of authority of Second Tribe was there.
“Damn,” Sonall hissed beside Mira. “They sent representatives from the other Tribes.”
Sulim stopped in front of two women who wore the slightly unique uniform of Third Tribe, who lurked deep in the jungle and prided themselves on assassinations and espionage.
Based on the familiarity she espoused with both women, Mira was inclined to figure out who they were.
But there was no time. She had to face Olma, who had already begun her spiel.
“This is the one I have told you about,” she bellowed, her authoritative voice echoing in the cavernous sanctuary. “The one who slew my predecessor, Chief Ayna Aiya, and the rightful heir to this throne by right of regicide.”
All eyes were on Mira, who certainly felt out of place in her Temple whites in that sea of black.
Even seeing Kema standing up by the altar, where she had been conferring with Olma before the grand entrance, set her on edge.
Everyone sees me for who I am. Mira was the spitting image of the woman whose statue graced the front of the sanctuary.
Although the space also boasted idols from other religions in the universe, nobody could deny the presence of the High Priestess, whose lifelike statue proudly stood, surrounded by stone butterflies.
Ma… please tell me you’re here…
“It is therefore my duty to step aside as Chief of Second Tribe,” Olma continued, her voice not wavering a bit, “and to allow the rightful chief to ascend to her rightful position. Here to witness this transference of power are the leaders of our tribe,
as well as representatives of First and Third Tribes. Let it be known that I hereby relinquish any rights I previously had to the title of Chief of Second Tribe and Overseer of Shield Town.”
She looked right at Mira, who resolutely stood only a few feet in front of her.
“From henceforth, your rightful chief is Mira Dunsman, Priestess of the Void, and the scion of House Dunsman.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, for a few recognized Mira’s real name and what that made her.
The daughter of Nerilis Dunsman and his lauded wife.
More than a few pointed to the statue on the altar.
Even those who didn’t speak Basic to one another were easily understood.
“It’s her. Perhaps it’s the High Priestess come to lead us!”
Mira stepped forward. Ramaron was right behind her. Sulim and Sonall splintered off and turned to face her in front of the altar. Hannu was the only one to keep her distance. Eventually, she fell to her knees and prayed before the statue.
“All she has to do,” Olma said, “is accept it.”
Mira had rehearsed this in her head plenty of times over the past few days. Unfortunately, now that she faced her uncertain future, she realized that she was quite emotionally ill-equipped for the path before her.
I just wanted to be a priestess. Even if she didn’t follow her parents’ footsteps in the Temple, she yearned to carve out her own space in the julah sphere of influence.
Then I met Sulim here, and… The path was clear.
Get her off this planet, out of this hellish life, and give her the sacred safety of Mira’s sorceric protection.
Wasn’t that her goal in the other world, too? To take Sulim off her adopted planet and give her the life of julah luxury? I was not fast or powerful enough to protect her. Mira stared at her now, recalling that awful scene—blood, blue skin, and empty, lifeless eyes.
She remembered seeing Sulim’s soul for one last time, bidding her adieu, and preparing her vengeance tour since it was the least she could do for her fleeting soulmate.
What was stopping her from grabbing Sulim right now and teleporting with her somewhere far away?
Mira collapsed onto her knees next to Hannu, tears overwhelming her as she gazed up at her mother. Why not me? Why do you not come to me? Why had Joiya sent her ancient messenger? The beleaguered sorceress from the First Epoch who thought Mira an interesting footnote in the timeline of history?
“Ma!” Mira called out in Julah, as the humans around her reacted in confusion and even disgust.
“If this is what you want from me, your only child, then give me a fucking sign!”
Behind her, Ramaron approached, extending his hand to her shoulder, but she shrugged him off with such force that he dramatically stumbled backward without his cane to aid him.
“Do you wish me to give up my natural life for this? Is this the right thing to do?”
Silence befell the sanctuary. A few whispers sounded, but it was mostly the concerned eyes of Sulim and the frustrated countenance of Olma that startled Mira back to her senses.
“Tell me!” Tears stained her vision as Mira lowered her head and sniffed up her cowardice. “Ma, you have already put me through so much. Unlike you, I am only mortal…”
“To be mortal is all I’ve wanted for you.”
Mira slowly lifted her head. The people standing in front of the altar parted. Mira didn’t know what they heard, but something had stunned both human julah witnesses into reverent thought as they beheld the statue before them.
That familiar voice, the one the other Mira knew so well, echoed. Yet it was the Mira prostrating herself on the floor who pushed herself up and said, “Why do you not tell me yourself what you want from me? Why does everyone hear you, but not me?”
“You hear me now, my heart. Rise, and be the leader they need you to be.”
“Ma…”
A scream of fright alerted everyone that something had happened to the statue. No… Something was happening to the statue.