Selescia
As the first tokens exchanged between nations for this Binding Ceremony to arrive, Fia and I flanking Cerya in place of Aelinore draws looks of curiosity.
Watchers clear paths for us, granting every onlooker a clear view as we descend beneath the grove through hollowed out root passages that deposit us into a chamber lined with mirrors.
It takes a few moments to grasp just how much space is hollowed out beneath the grove. At the room’s center, the trunk of another tree spire serves as a pillar supporting the space’s existence.
My attention lingers on what is depicted where the trunk splits off into roots that run throughout the chamber. Jagged ashen lines stretch along the bulk of the trunk, extending down into the roots.
It isn’t until I spot the symbol of Vylia that I realize I am looking at a map. A bird crushing a blade under claw very pointedly marks the spot where trunk gives way to massive roots. Orienting myself around this, I start to understand the lines as territories and other designs as seats of power.
The territory most intricately detailed is off to the left of Vylia. West, if I remember my compass directions correctly. The lunar and tree symbolism doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Upon further inspection, I realize that ten of the most pronounced Lunarian symbols identifying each grove has a corresponding mirror with the same design.
Taking a step back to regard the map as a whole, I am struck by just how much Vylia and Lunaria cut deep into the heart of all their neighbors. Something uncomfortable settles into the pit of my stomach as I realize this alliance has very pointedly claimed stretches of territory that reach towards the heart of every other territory where the largest symbols denote what I now suspect to be seats of power.
And then there is a root system beneath Vylia and Lunaria that depicts a number of southern nations each being torn apart.
“How accurate is that map?” I ask, noticing that many more Lunarians than just Cerya respond to my question with looks of interest..
Cerya turns away from a Lunarian who has pressed several written messages into her hands. The moment she notices the object of my attention, her eyebrows form depictions of mountainous peaks that rival the map’s own craft. “Painstakingly accurate.”
I almost fear asking for clarification. “Even the roots?”
“Especially the roots.” Cerya confirms.
It is at this point Fia chimes in. “How can that be?”
The pale violet skinned seer gestures to the tourmaline worked into the chamber flooring all throughout the root system and trunk. “Mel’Viora’s Reach is an expression long honed into something intended to leave a mark. Our Grove Tender’s work is intended only to bind the world into a new shape, but I wouldn’t put it past her or most Elder Seers to push their spellcraft to the point of reshaping the world by force. But only they think it necessary, of course.” Her intonation at the end suggests a direct quote of some kind.
I give the map one last look with that context in mind. “Terrifying.”
An unfamiliar voice from the nearest mirror answers me in a booming voice. “Come now, Cerya. You can’t give us all the credit!”
Our attention is drawn to a mirror identified by a symbol depicting a waning moon crowning a gnarled and leafless tree. An old and wizened Lunarian lifts a silver chalice lined with pink gemstones in our direction. “Such fertile seeds harvested by Vylia’s Castellan are forces to be reckoned with in their own right.” A smile spreads across his lips as he eyes whatever is within his chalice with a look of measured anticipation. “Given time to develop and ample resources that a proper patron would bring, your Fourteenth Prince could become a living weapon in and of themselves!”
His words seem to have the desired effect on Fia, who has recounted to me in detail the timeline of Aelinore’s changes since feeding upon a drake.
Wasting no further time on the likes of us dolls, this Seer turns his curiously gemstone eyes on Cerya. “Young Waning-Moon, it fills my heart with pride to see you developing an appreciation for this alliance’s joined conquests enough to impress upon your lessers.”
Nothing like being given attention for the purposes of self aggrandizement before immediately being referred to as someone else’s lessers. Sprinkle in an assassination attempt, maybe a few duels to the death, and I’d feel right at home as if this were the Castellan’s own court.
Keeping myself on task, I make a mental note that flattery and curiosity are likely viable avenues for engaging with at least one of the Elder Seers.
Cerya bids the rest of us follow her in paying him our respects with a series of motions that took us very little practice to reproduce to Theriya’s satisfaction. “Primeval Seer Fel’Daen, allow me to present my soon to be bound’s most treasured blood dolls. Fia and Selescia. You stand now before the First of the Waning Moons. I and every Seer who take his name owe much to our patron Seer.”
Fel’Daen strokes a floor length braid of white hair with a hand cast in a similarly violet flesh tone in thought. It is hard not to see the resemblance, even if his eyes are gemstones for some reason. “While others are impatient to gaze upon the main article, I find myself quite transfixed upon what I've heard about one of you leveraging a Lunarian bolt thrower in assistance of slaying a blighted drake.”
Fia steps forward. “Oh! I’d never handled a crossbow before. Nevermind something heavier! But a few Watchers were kind enough to offer me very efficient and pointed advice on how to brace it. An evening’s practice was more than enough to hit a big target!”
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Something strikes me as off about Fel’Daen’s smile. Is it possible for such an expression to not meet artificial eyes? “I’m sure the Thorns were enthused to have a replacement eager to bolster their dwindling numbers.” It isn’t until I hear a hint of derision in his words that I feel confident in my assessment.
Cerya tenses. “Did they not reclaim the Nineteenth Thorn?”
The elder Seer merely shakes his head. “Neither he, nor the Third Thorn reported for this afternoon’s muster. I’ve put out feelers, but yet to glean a full picture. Do keep me apprised, would you? Assisting your Prince in felling a drake makes them at least worth consideration for tomorrow’s bargaining.”
“Of course, Primeval Seer Fel’Daen.” Cerya and the rest of us are waved away in favor of Lunarians bringing Fel’Daen written correspondence to read.
Now that we are no longer the center of attention, I am afforded time to grapple with just how many people are in attendance. Nearly all the grove could likely fit down here.
Most of them are Lunarians divided quite distinctly between those who are enjoying the function’s wide assortment of food, an opportunity for currying favor with an elder Seer, and those who are carrying out tasks in service to the whole gathering.
Flanking each mirror, Lunarians shuffle things into and out of view atop pedestals to ensure a variety of reading material is on hand for a scryer's perusal. It is hard to not feel a pang of sympathy for how many Lunarian servants dart through the crowd to carry correspondence, block out time for meetings, and inform scryers of new arrivals.
Nothing has changed. The three of us are still expected to be little more than ceremonial trophies.
Theriya’s words were later joined by final reassurances by a very weary Aelinore, fresh from a nap.
Treat this as any other Vylian courtly function. Be on your guard, but remember that this ceremony is a celebration as far as we are concerned..
But what of the Vylians who are supposed to be present?
I don’t see a single armored Executioner in the crowd. But that would be too obvious, wouldn’t it?
Instead I search for any signs of the Vylian standard. Or failing that, anyone dressed in crimson or black.
A sharp eared Watcher is the first I spot. Dressed in a uniform that is curiously in Vylia’s colors, they make their way to a crowd of five more in matching uniforms flanked by a sight that would make my skin crawl if I could afford to display such weakness.
Two pale skinned figures dressed in lace lay on the ground beneath a pair of crossed legs in knee high leather boots. The Nineteenth Princess shows her fangs as she meets my gaze. Something glimmers in the shifting of her fingers that beckon the attention of one of the Watchers who appear to be waiting on her.
I note that all of her Watchers seem on the younger end in years. Their uniforms depict a floral design I don’t recognize. But it is hard not to pity them. The most prominent gossip at court regarding the Nineteenth Princess always amounted to the same end result. No doll entrusted to her care had a tendency to last longer than a ten moon or two.
Having earned her attention, her Watchers work to part the crowd and earn her a better view of us. Only when their work is done do I realize someone has risen from her table to approach us.
A pale skinned figure in black robes and cold blue lipstick nearly sends Fia into a panic. But this girl is too short, young, and lacks the crushing weight of presence that accompanies her gaze.
I give Fia’s hand a reassuring squeeze anyway. Nineteen’s attention and reputation alone should afford us that much.
It isn’t until the robed girl speaks that her cadence marks her as someone far older than her body might suggest. “Be at ease, striking Fia and oh so keen Selescia. I bring a mere invitation at the behest of another.”
“From the Nineteenth Princess?” Cerya asks, her expression becoming an emotionless mask.
“Negation, oh all seeing one. And no need to bow to me, oh venerated Seer. You have a celebration to enjoy! All I ask on behalf of two brides to the Ninth Prince is a moment of time from your exquisitely dressed dolls.”
Sparing me a look, Cerya defers to me. “If you do not mind, I think it best to defer to my Vylian advisors on this matter.”
Unsure who this woman is, I risk pressing her for details. “Did these brides of the Ninth Prince mention any particular purpose or request for us to accommodate in our meeting?”
I find myself someone taken aback by how much delight this woman takes in my question. For all the attention her cackle draws, the words she rattles off leave me with very little to chew on. “Dearie no! They wish only to better acquaint themselves with dolls they think of as peers!”
It is only now that she has closed the distance between us that I catch the scent of her breath. Floral arrangements do little to stem the cloying chemicals or decay of a half-prepared corpse.
Fia makes up for my hesitation by drawing her attention with a winning smile. “This one would be delighted to make their acquaintance!”
The wizened woman with a young face turns from Fia to me, clear interest in whatever I have to say.
“Lead the way.” I keep my words and tone clipped.
“Of course. Of course! It would be a great pleasure to guide the Fourteenth’s favored on their way.” Pale and bony hands shoot out from her robe, gesturing for us to follow her off to the side. “If you’ll excuse us, Seed Seer of the Waning Moon. The Ninth and his brides have adjourned to an adjacent chamber to oversee matters of... Honor.”
Cerya flinches.
It takes her a moment to turn to us. “Fia, Selescia, you need but request the assistance of any otherwise unoccupied Watcher if you need help finding my afterwards.”
We both express our understanding before following the black robed women into the crowd.
After a few moments, I chance another question. “Might this doll have the pleasure of making your acquaintance?”
Her cold blue lips part in faux shock. “Why… Has Astraea never mentioned her godmother in all this time? Ever since the Shattering, I have served Vylia’s courts as the loathsome Lady of Rags. But you my dears, may address me as any Vylian academy student might. Headmistress Freide, at your service. If you have any questions about the anatomy of dollkind, feel free to bend my ear!”
She ends her introduction with far too enticing a line of inquiry. I signal as such to Fia with a curtsy that draws the eye while making a gesture with my fingers.
No one here wants to overhear details about the limitations or weakened anatomy of dolls.
Instead I lean into the descriptor bestowed upon me as the observant one and ask a question that I hope will stroke the egos of anyone who overhears. “We are as delighted to make your acquaintance as we are to take the Ninth Prince’s brides up on their offer. In the meantime, what is this Shattering you mentioned? Does it have some relation to the map depicted on the trunk of the tree?”
Looking just over Headmistress Friede’s shoulders, two more Lunarians scrying through their mirrors adopt smug and amused expressions.
I make an effort to reserve my smile for where it is appropriate in Friede’s explanation.
The moment of satisfaction where I can express that I am playing my part well never arrives.
Headmistress Friede speaks with such pride that there is no mistaking her words as a second hand recounting. Fia and I are quickly led away from Cerya by someone who is all too delighted to recount personally recommending ten powerful mages that might be willing to assist the Castellan in bringing a world order of old to its knees.
Ten mages.
Ten mirrors.
Ten Primeval Seers.
We are treated not just to the story of a continent’s shattering, but of Lunaria’s founding and the death of two Goddesses. One of the Moon, and the other of Life itself.