Chapter Twelve Hanan #2
Mother Joca crooks a finger, beckoning me to the front of the group. Mother Lin goes first, stirring the mixture and letting it slop off her spoon.
‘Consistency is not bad, although it could have done with a little longer to infuse.’
Mother Lin takes a tentative spoonful and makes a sound I can’t decipher. Mother Joca follows suit but does not share her opinions with the class.
It is excruciating, waiting for them to sample everyone’s remedies. The fire in the main hall needs to be stoked and I am numb from the cold by the time all the Sisters have been assessed.
‘Go and ready yourselves for supper. We must discuss.’
Malostra doesn’t speak to me when we’re back in our room and flounces out after freshening herself at the washbasin. I take a damp cloth and try to scrub the dirt from my gown, but it requires hours of scouring I don’t have. I clean up as best I can and change into my spare clean dress.
I hurry down the narrow circular staircase from the top floor, where the oldest Sisters reside, nearly tripping over myself.
The smell from the refectory is somewhat enticing today and my stomach growls, but I ignore it and turn into the main hall.
I’m almost the last there. I suppose everyone is eager to receive their assessment.
We stand by the benches, waiting for the Temple Mothers to take their place at the top end.
‘Mother Lin and I would like to commend several Sisters on their efforts. Nev, your tonic was well conceived but a little thin for the requirement.’
Nev looks crestfallen and several of her neighbours pat her on the shoulder.
‘Dany, similarly, a solid attempt at a salve.’
Then they look at me. ‘Although a little unconventional, Hanan’s remedy was one of the more notable ones.’
Rows of faces turn towards me, and their jealousy burns my skin.
‘I dare say you’ve earned your supper tonight. You may join the lower Sisters in the refectory now.’
We file out, the other girls chattering in excitement and frustration. The voices bounce off the vaulted ceilings as we cross the corridor to the refectory.
‘She didn’t even have a burner,’ Nusi whispers to Malostra, incredulous. ‘How did she do it?’ Malostra shrugs, looking disgusted.
‘Well, that was a waste of an afternoon,’ Nusi complains loudly, but not so loud the Temple Mothers can hear. ‘They’re probably not even going to do anything with them, don’t you think?’
Malostra sighs. ‘I hope they don’t make us dump them in the sea after dinner. Someone could use them to help with their moon’s blood, surely?’
They still think this is child’s play. An Aistra exercise.
The Temple Mothers wouldn’t waste our time and resources on something abstract.
Not at this stage. The remedy is for abdominal pain.
I imagine the queen, alone in her bedchamber, no husband, only a child in her belly who writhes and won’t quiet.
The king is dead, and the queen is desperate.
My attention is diverted as we enter the refectory.
The room is divided by long benches and tables, with a raised platform for the Temple Mothers.
They sit in order of age, with the oldest girls closest to the Temple Mothers’ table to represent the near-completion of their training.
But tonight, my peers spread themselves out so there’s not enough room for me.
Once the younger classes see this, they also ignore me when I ask to join their benches.
Eventually Sister Hoss moves down, and I sit with the youngest Sisters, who barely take up the bench on their table.
I try to hunch and keep my arms close after I almost send a pitcher of water flying.
We often eat stews or soups to stave off the cold, and it is easy to feed a group from one large cauldron.
It also makes the preparation straightforward, with every class assigned a meal to dish up.
Once, when I was younger, we ate a creamy fish soup with the freshest bread.
That was the first time I remember a priestess being appointed – such fine things were only given on celebration days like that.
Today we’re served a sour red soup made of beetroot and cabbage and little else. I slop half of it down my dress in my rush to eat and curse myself at staining the freshly cleaned fabric.
The Mothers clap their hands, and we quickly fall to silence.
‘We are now at liberty to share some grave news with you all,’ Mother Joca intones. ‘The king has passed, and his spirit was laid to rest by myself and Mother Lin in the Tree of Life.’
‘Blessed be his rest,’ we all murmur.
‘Her Royal Highness will appoint her next priestess in due course,’ Mother Joca announces, the unspoken connection understood by all.
Murmurings break out among the Sisters but are quickly silenced by Mother Lin rapping on the table with her knuckles.
I try to remember the last time a girl was selected.
It first happened during my second year at Aistra, and I didn’t fully understand.
I thought she was being sent to her death.
How I wailed, until the Temple Mothers explained.
The next time was during my first blood.
The last one had been Freya, not five years ago.
She had slept in the room next to me and Malostra, and had been replaced by a young girl who wet herself and cried for home.
‘We have been watching your efforts closely.’ Mother Lin adds, ‘And will continue to do so. Consider this a time for each Sister to conduct herself with absolute perfection.’
I’d studied the archives in the library, learned the names and dates of priestesses past, hoping to join their historical ranks.
I am almost complete in my training and ready for the next step in my path.
A fourth priestess in such short succession was a rare opportunity and I would take it.
I would do better than the others. I would not fail to please her.