Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
Take Me Home
Nothing has changed, Mum’s voice chastised Aoife. You still have a target on your back. You still need to find a way home.
And yet, so much had changed.
The seduction ritual had been raw. Intense. Aoife had never allowed herself to go with the unexpected, to follow her instincts in the bedroom. The thought of doing so had always seemed illogical. Silly.
Shadach’s reactions to her touch had been anything but silly.
The intimacy, the intensity, when he’d shared his family history. She didn’t quite understand why his mother being the head of the Halcin council was secret-worthy, but Aoife couldn’t help feeling they were barrelling towards something beautiful.
Maybe even something meant to be.
Aoife traversed the well-trodden paths of the temple grounds, meandering aimlessly. Her soft, leather sandals padded gently against the earth, her off-white, temple guest robe warm, the air cool as the Shadows clawed across the sky like demons searching for hell’s mouth.
Meant to be? came Mum’s voice in Aoife’s head. Don’t be stupid. That man is a death sentence, you need to go home.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to go home anymore. She wanted more passion. More art. More him. Aoife felt a tightness pulling inside her. Had she really thought those things? Those things were blasphemy. Maybe Mum was right. She was getting carried away, indulging in her deepest desires.
But it felt so good to get carried away.
Aoife’s feet slowed as she came across a pond that wasn’t a pond. Or, perhaps, a mirror that wasn’t a mirror. It sat within a circle of trees with pink blossoms, the flowers traipsing down to the not-a-pond at their leisure.
Aoife knelt. It wasn’t a pond because it was solid, reflecting the sky.
It wasn’t a mirror because it didn’t look quite like glass.
As Aoife reached out, she realised it wasn’t actually solid.
Or at least, not entirely solid. It was pliable.
She reached in, the soft gel giving way to her finger without letting her break through its surface.
And then, a wonder happened. A beauty. Colour burst from the place she had touched, rippling in all directions.
Pinks and blues and sunset yellows. Aoife sat back on her heels.
Marvelling. When the colours faded, she touched the surface again, like a child reaching desperately for one more sweet.
The colours, new colours, oranges and purples and greys burst forth, swirling and dancing. Aoife laughed. Giddy.
She went in with both hands, tracing lines, making shapes, the colours exploding and bringing her designs to life. Maybe she would make a line here. No, soft curves. She wanted soft curves. And maybe a dash of colour here. A spark of inspiration there. What was she making? She didn’t know.
Something lovely.
Aoife let her body sway to the rhythm of her art until a scene of vibrant colour was dancing across every edge of the not-a-pond. Aoife looked at it. Looked at what she had made. She was breathing heavy, her heart fluttering.
“The dream pond is quite the favourite.”
Aoife jumped at the voice, followed by an overwhelming urge to destroy what she had made. To hide the evidence. But there was no need. The colour settled of its own accord, turning back into the smooth gel surface it had been before.
“Endless creation,” Tafana knelt beside Aoife, her knees creaking with age, “but nothing can last. What a wonderful way to savour the beauty of a single moment.”
Aoife swallowed hard, trying to breathe. Trying to calm the screaming in her ears that she’d been caught. Found out. That she was in trouble. You’re a grown woman, you’re not in trouble, she reminded herself. But it helped little.
“Indeed,” Aoife said weakly.
“I hope you don’t mind,” the old priestess said in a voice that exuded age-old wisdom and yet the lightness of youth, “but I’ve arranged a sort of lesson for you.”
Aoife’s mouth went dry. “Lesson?”
“A ‘priestess lesson,’ shall we say.” The old woman smiled at Aoife as if they were conspiring to take over the world.
“With things as they are, it might be necessary to disguise you as a priestess. It would be helpful if you knew some of the mantras, how a priestess might behave, what she might say. To make you convincing.”
“Oh.” Aoife relaxed. “That’s a very good idea, thank you.”
Tafana nodded. “Good. That’s settled. Now.” The High Priestess smoothed out her crimson robes around her thighs. “Did you have a question for me?”
“A question for you?” Aoife mentally ran through their past conversations. Was there something she was supposed to ask about?
“I’ve had the feeling you have questions,” Tafana said. She leaned in with a gentle smile. “I’ve gotten nosy in my old age.”
Aoife’s back straightened. Surprised. The Gates. Going home. Of course. Who better to ask than a woman with deep knowledge of a god? But did Aoife really want to go home? Wasn’t she having doubts?
Of course. But that didn’t mean she should be stupid. Putting all her eggs in one basket was stupid.
“Have you ever heard of …” Aoife lowered her voice to a whisper. The name sounded ridiculous. “The Gates of Desire?”
Tafana glanced to the darkened sky, lips twisted in thought. “I can’t say I have. Are they a god?”
“I don’t know. They’re magic of some kind.”
“Perhaps another kingdom’s faith has them in their history, but they’re not in our canon of knowledge.”
“Nothing at all?” Aoife tried to mask her question as mere curiosity. What if she couldn’t find a way home? What if Aristen caught up to them and everything she was feeling for Shadach, for life, was simply over? The thought was cold. Painful.
“I can check the records of the old Xana mythologies from before our faith combined with that of the Halcin and the Selat,” Tafana said thoughtfully, “but I don’t expect to find much. Why the interest?”
Because I need to get home. In case this all goes to hell. It’s the smart plan. The logical plan. “I want to … summon them. Maybe. Possibly. I’m not sure.”
“I see.” Tafana said. As if this were a perfectly rational thing to want to do. “How do you know they can be summoned?”
Aoife hesitated, then said, “I did it once before.”
Tafana’s mask of calm turned to curiosity. “Fascinating. Then you knew the incantation once, but no longer?”
“More or less.”
“What are they like?” Tafana said.
“Like?”
“The Gates. I am a priestess, after all. You can’t dangle a spiritual marvel in front of me and not expect me to ask more,” she laughed.
Aoife studied the gel pond in front of her, resisting the urge to touch it once again. “They’re … beautiful. And terrifying. And sort of an asshole.” They had promised her love and then nearly gotten her killed more than once, after all.
Tafana laughed. “Well. They certainly sound like a god, don’t they?”
Aoife smiled despite herself. “I guess they might be.”
The Head Priestess gathered up her robes and stood. “I will see if we have any knowledge of these Gates, but do you want my advice?”
“Of course.”
“If you called these Gates once before but cannot now,” Tafana looked down at Aoife, wisdom and foreboding in her eyes, “then, perhaps, they do not want to be summoned.”
~*~
Priestess lessons. Aoife was having priestess lessons.
She walked down the dirt path to one of the smaller buildings on the grounds where she was to meet a priestess named Tara, her teacher for all intents and purposes.
It was a strange thing, being raised to unapologetically mock religion by a science-first family and then to be here, now, surrounded by so much belief in the unseen.
Not only being surrounded by it, but participating in it.
Even if she was coming up a bit short on the actual belief portion herself.
Aoife pressed her hands to the rustic wooden door of the small building, finding it unlocked.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Aoife melted at the sound of Shadach’s deep voice. So close. So beautiful. She turned to see him behind her on the footpath, a cheeky smile on his face, a coal-coloured tunic clinging to his chest. It was impossible not to undress him with her eyes.
“Priestess lessons.” Aoife jerked her gaze away from his chest and to his eyes. It didn’t really help. Those seductive orbs of shadow and ice only made the heat in her worse.
“Are you joining the priestess-hood?” Shadach laughed, stepping closer.
“Tafana thought it would be a good idea to know more about them, in case I needed to be disguised.” She stepped back, thinking a bit of space might calm the heat in her blood. She stumbled through the door and into the building.
“Smart.” Shadach stood in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, his hair tousled from the wind. Aoife imagined herself digging her fingers into his hair and kissing him silly.
It occurred to her that she could make her fantasy real.
“Are you coming in or just going to stand there?” Aoife heard herself saying.
Her breath caught at his devilish smile.
He stepped inside and pulled her to him, his firm chest pressing against her.
She kissed him. His tongue stroked hers and she gasped at the feeling, at the way one flick of his tongue could send shivers through her.
It was profound. Poetic. Hot as hell. He tore at her robes as she went weak in his arms, drowning happily in his kisses.
Her shoulder met the cool air, her robe falling down her arms, first one then the other.
Her breasts slipped free of the fabric and Shadach massaged them until Aoife nearly begged him to stop so she could breathe. But she wasn’t that stupid.
Not stupid enough to demand this end.