Mercury pools in her hand, deceptively heavy and cold to touch. The surface glistens, a perfect mirror flickering with the fractures of the divine. If Helena focuses, the edges smooth and an awareness peers back at her. There are dreams there, caught on jagged edges. A power that whispers it could be hers.
She averts her eyes, away from the cruel, impossible reminder.
She will never be one to walk the Fractures and slip between mirrors. That is not her role. No, she is here to stand as the Priest continues his chant and the City Guard pound their spears in a steady beat.
She is here to step forward and bear the pain of her lame leg and pour a mirror into her sister's mouth.
The sand is soft between her toes as she enters the ceremonial ring. Their Guardians kneel, eyes squeezed shut, as the sun caresses their face and ignites the brooks of silver cutting through their skin. No breath will pass over their lips before the ceremony finally comes to an end.
"Irena," Helena whispers. The tip of her finger presses down on her sister's lips with the weight of a feather. Dutifully, Irena opens her mouth. Light flashes off her silver tongue and obsidian teeth.
Helena pours.
The gong rings. The three Guardians open their eyes and rise. As her sister's gaze sweeps over her, she shivers. These moments are the worst. There's no recognition in her gaze.
The other attendees step backwards, first task finished, and pull out damascened knives with holy images inlaid in gold. Helena pulls out her sewing needle and shifts more weight to her good leg.
Two months ago, when the Heathens attempted their last raid, she stumbled, her right leg no longer bearing her weight. If it happens again, this task she bears for her family will be thrust on her brother.
Gritting her teeth, she hobbles to the edge of the sand circle and waits. The Priest brings the chalice to the other two attendants first. Each cuts their palm and squeezes a drop of blood into the liquor before passing it to their respective Guardians.
Helena pricks her finger and passes the chalice to her sister. Family blood ties them to the mortal realm so after the battle they will return home. Slowly, Irena tips the cup and drinks. The silver rivulets, running across her skin like fractured glass, pulse.
The cold metal of the chalice presses against Helena's lips. She closes her eyes, unable to bear the lack of recognition in her sister's eyes. The alcohol burns going down her throat, and she has barely a breath to brace herself before fatigue slams down upon her.
"Helena," her sister whispers. Cold arms wrap around her, steadying her.
It's not proper for a Guardian to clasp a family member. Her sister has never been good at following rules.
There's one last step to complete. For the other Guardians, their extended families are large. They spend months collecting and pooling resources so that the chosen attendant can fashion a gift magnificent enough to thank the Emperor of Shattered Light for lending his aid to their city in this time of crisis.
With the Heathen's frequent raids, such gifts are now a burden to procure. A Guardian's generous stipend is not enough to reclaim such an expense.
So Helena pulls out a fresh handkerchief and threads her blood stained, trusty needle with a golden thread. Her sister, oblivious to the High Priest's withering glare, assists her in finding a comfortable spot on the floor.
Prayer circles require a steady hand and a tight stitch. They are common enough, a customary practice exercise for young girls. What sets Helena's work apart has always been her precision and speed.
A childhood obsession with magic has led to perfect circles and seamless stitches. She moved from simple patterns etched on wooden boards to copying the mystifying prayers in the Cathedral's stained windows. In the winter, it became her job to refresh the frayed circles on the priests' ceremonial garb; the pay is a pittance.
Now, it is the only skill she can offer the Emperor. It is the only gift that her family can afford.
Irena accepts the offering, her face blank as her finger traces the design. Her awareness is fading again. The battle is calling to her.
On an unheard signal, she joins her fellow Guardians and they march out of the sand ring in unison. The gifts fall through the mirror to the cheering of the City Guard.
The gong rings again, deafening everybody. Somber expressions settle over their faces. It is time for their main forces to depart.
Watching them turn away always fills Helena with wonder and deep bitterness.
In another life, she would be standing beside them, lifting her broadsword to protect all that was dear. In another life, she wouldn't be relegated to observing from the sidelines. In another life, she wouldn't be the reason their parents died.
If only she hadn't lost their god's favor. Everything would be better then.
One of the small polished bronze plates catches her frown, and Helena winces. They say the Emperor is always watching, knows every one of their reflections.
On such a precarious day as this one where her sister has to fight, she will not give their Emperor a reason for displeasure. His gift protects them from the endless raids. If he is pleased, the damage will be minimal. If not—
A city fell, three years ago: the day her sister stepped through the Mirror.
Rumor has it that the city shunned their Emperor. That they burned for their heresy.
As her sister raised her spear, shattered veins of mercury ripple across her skin, playing with sunlight. The enchanting display brings a genuine smile to Helena's lips. They are loyal, faithful. The Emperor is watching, guiding her, protecting their city.
With three Guardians on their side, victory is assured.
----------------------------------------
Afterwards, the Priest fetches his broom and sweeps the sand into a pile to collect for storage. Her fellow attendants watch him wearily as they wait to regain enough energy to shuffle their way home and collapse in a dead sleep. Tying Guardians in battle trance to the mortal realm is no easy task.
Helena rises last and limps to the still fountain. Her cane rests against the marble edge, and her fingers curl over the carved wood eagerly. With it, she finally feels complete again.
"Your brother did good work there," the Priest interrupts. He's the one who told her and her parents of her gift and what it meant. He's the one who told her she was shunned by the gods, ineligible for the Mirror Trial, after her parents' funeral.
Yet he is the one who directed clients her way and paid for her younger sister's medicine last winter.
Knowing he always has more to say, she sits on the rim of the fountain and turns the cane over in her hand. "I do not want to ask where he saw a wolf to detail one so well."
"You didn't show him one?"
She bites her lower lip. He's always been apt at seeing through misdirections.
"You spoil your siblings. The Emperor's gift should not be used for such frivolity. If it were to be known, it would spur jealousy in the hearts of faithful citizens."
If only it's that easy. She is beginning to liken her gift to a curse.
Crossing his arms, the Priest observes her. "You should accept the marriage proposal from Lord Brier. As you are unfit to seek the Emperor of Shattered Light, your role must be to guide your children in conquering the Mirror Trial. The bride price will keep your family afloat for a year."
"I can't leave them."
"You can't stay like this either. Every time you complete the ritual, you take longer to recover. Families are supposed to cycle through attendants. Your brother is perfectly capable."
"He works enough already." He can't take the one task from her that she can actually do. It's what she must do. If she spends a day or two sick in bed, her family loses nothing. If her brother were to, they wouldn't be able to afford dinner.
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"The High Priest wanted you barred from the ceremonies for years. With the toll it is taking on you, I cannot in good faith continue to defend your participation."
"What does it matter?" Helena says bitterly.
"Your health. Your health matters." He rubs his forehead. "Is there anything wrong with Lord Brier? Or do you have someone else in mind?"
No. "A messenger delivered his proposal to my brother. What he wants is a Guardian in his family. I am merely an easy excuse."
"Would that be so bad? He has the wealth to ensure your sister receives appropriate sacrifices instead of a simple embroidery."
Helena bristles and, leaning on her cane, rises. "Has the Emperor rejected the gift? Hasn't Irena brought our city a swift victory time and time again? No? Then, it hardly matters whether us mortals see a prayer circle as insufficient."
"The High Priest is suspicious," he warns. His shoulders sag. "Helena, I was there at your baptism. And at your parents' funeral. I do not wish for you to suffer needlessly. Those are not any prayer circles I recognize."
Ice floods her veins, and she meets his eyes with confidence that she does not feel. "They're copied from the back cathedral windows."
"That is not what the merchant from Sibsat says."
Of course the old trader couldn't keep his mouth shut. He was the one who wanted to purchase them, who offered her a half silver tassel each Autumn. Does he think he can pressure her to lower her prices even further by threatening to oust her secret?
Or is the merchant being investigated and lacks the incentive to keep his mouth shut?
"It wouldn't be a crime as Lord Brier's wife," he says, sweeping the last of the sand into his leather bag.
She collapses the moment he vanishes around the corner. Her cane slips and rolls across the slate flagstones with a dull clatter. The war drums thunder in the distant background. Her hands won't stop trembling.
If she is arrested—
No. She would be fine. Her sister is a Guardian, and Irena will not allow her family to be fractured so easily. The community respected her for her invaluable defense. They couldn't afford to anger her over something as mundane as an experimental prayer circle.
They don't have proof either. As long as she does not sell any this August—
Raids have impacted the nearby mines, meaning their steady tax of one silver tassel is now worth twice the amount of bronze coins.
If they fail to pay the tax, then they will have half a year before their assets are liquidated and their service is pressed into the Church's employ.
And maybe that is what the High Priest wants. It has been decades since a Guardian has been under the Church's direct command.
There's nothing she can do right now. Maybe the harvest will be excellent and there is nothing to worry about. Maybe the exchange rate between silver and bronze will be kinder on their purse by the end of the year.
She takes a deep breath. What she must do is inform her brother and sister after the battle. They will formulate a plan together to protect their three youngest.
Grasping the fountain's edge, she pulls herself upright and sighs at how far her cane rolled. She's jittery, her balance compromised. She has no interest in mending another tear in her skirt because she took a tumble.
She sits with a glower, as if that could summon her cane back to her side.
The still water behind her ripples. She's too tired to muster the courage to avert her gaze. There, she spies her family. Her youngest sister clambers over the embattlements to deliver fresh quivers to the archers. Her chin juts out resolutely although her eyes are wide with fear. Only a year ago, Helena had to coax her out from beneath a pile of straw.
Her two younger brothers load the cannons, precariously tottering on the edge of the wall as they lug forth each iron ball. When the signal comes, they throw themselves against the ground, shielding their head and covering their ears.
The Heathens seethe outside their gates, their shadows stretching out to the horizon. The lower fields are thankfully untouched, one Guardian valiantly standing guard. Her brother is by her sister's side, replacing shattered spears and chipped swords. His back bows under the weight of excess equipment, but he does not falter in his duty.
The yowling of cats breaks her concentration, and her heart hastens at the strange eerie silence that has descended upon the City Center. The sun has begun its descent, and she feels the hours she lost keenly. Worse, the shadows have taken on an ominous edge.
No matter how hard she strains her ears, she cannot hear the distant war drums. The cathedral is at her back; she should've heard the church bells. Even if an attachment of the enemy forces breached the city walls, they would not have managed to force their way through the barred cathedral doors.
The fault must lie with her. It's not the first occasion where she lost time to the deceptive reflections. She should know better by now to not peer into a mirror's depth.
Yet, why is it so silent?
Gentle footsteps break the tension, and the shadows no longer seem so dire. The old apothecarist acknowledges her gruffly and picks up her cane.
"Yours?"
"Thank you."
She should go. His knuckles are gnarled and scabbed. His breath stinks of rotten eggs, yet his eyes are sharp as a hawk. Worst of all, the man shuns the Emperor within his own home. The apothecary is deprived of all reflective surfaces and every shadow is chased out by warm candlelight glow.
If it weren't for his unmatched skill in easing aches and saving babes, the city folk would've driven him out years ago.
"You should've been the one out there," he says.
She smiles bitterly. "A lame girl like myself would never have been chosen for such an honor."
His gaze shifts to the pool, his eyes widen, his lips part. He shouldn't be able to see anything. She hasn't willed it. "The Emperor chose you, though. Your sister stole your place."
Had the priests told him? They often call on him for the High Priest's gout.
"It was for the best," Helena whispers. With their parents dead and her being unable to work, their sister's sacrifice injected much needed coin at the time. "I would never have gained the Emperor's gift. We send the strongest and prettiest to show our loyalty. With my leg, he would've been displeased."
"There was a time when they said the same about women. Your sister's comrade there—"
Helena whips around to stare at the pool, once again focused on her glorious sister. The city's oldest Guardian is fighting by her side. He can see.
He huffs. "Well, she proved them wrong. One man and one woman returned, and the priests said it was a sign. So the next summer, they sent three women and three men."
"And three returned. But the Emperor has never sent back a cripple, now has he?"
He frowns. "No. He has not."
"Irene's status as a guardian supports us. It gives us a home. I have nothing to offer."
"I doubt that very much. After the accident, your elder brother fell into his cups and your sister—"
She smacks him across the shin with her cane. "She's a Guardian. Do not besmirch her name."
"Yet the Mirror still chooses you." He nods at the fountain which now shows herself as a Guardian. Streams of silvers run down her face, hiding hundreds of possibilities in their depth. Her skin glows with the strength of the moon. In her hand is not a cane but an oversized glaive.
As her eyes narrow in displeasure at such a farce, the image fades to her sister slicing her way through raiders. If she were to touch the surface, she would be there right beside her with blood splashing her face.
"Don't," the apothecarist warns. "The Emperor's power is always strong on the days leading up to the ritual."
"What does it mean?" she asks. "Why does it torture me so?"
"The Emperor has chosen you so it tempts you. It shows you wonders and horrors. Dreams come to life on every reflection. Nightmares wait in your drink. With every year, the desire grows more until you finally slip through one perfect mirror."
She snatches her hand back as if she brushed against stinging nettle. "You were…"
"Yes." He laughs darkly. "Your parents knew for many years, but the Priest is a soft sort. He allows none under the age of sixteen, despite the High Priest's protests, and so you were supposed to go three summers ago. You still can go this year."
The Priest was also the one to first insist that it would offend the Emperor if she were to go after the accident.
"Like they would let me. I am an insult. This is some mistake."
"They cannot stop you. If you do not, it will drive you mad."
Her heart pounds in her chest. There in the pool, her sister raises her sword in victory as a Heathen jumps her from behind. His sword breaks across her shoulder, and she turns with bared teeth.
"Six through the Mirror, summer demands its terror, three home by winter." He sings the familiar refrain with a strange melancholy.
As always, the words settle uneasily over her heart like chains. The rest of the verse spills from her lips unprompted, "Enter with your lies and sword, fight for the Emperor's Shard."
"But those who return are never quite the same, are they?"
Her sister is so painfully different. At times, a stranger lives in their house. That is better than when she laughs and everything feels like it once was. As if she never left.
"You never attempted the Mirror Trials," Helena says. He should've.
He laughs. "Do you think I'm not mad? I flee my own reflection."
"But it's not reacting to you now." The reflections only respond to her desires, even if he sees them with no effort on her part.
"I reckon His Majesty is bored with me now. He likes his sacrifices in the prime of their youth."
"Why didn't you go? It is an honor, and the chance to be Anointed or to be a Guardian…"
"I was in love." Suddenly grim, he looks away. "I was in love with a beautiful daughter on the way. The mirror showed me that. I had packed my bag, ready to depart and prove my worth to become an Anointed, perhaps even a Guardian, and shower my beloved in wealth. And then I asked myself: What would happen if I wasn't one of the three to come back?"
"So you stayed," she surmises. A coward in the end who ran away from their god because he feared death more than he loved Him.
"After my daughter was born, I thought I would go. And then a friend of mine, a trader, told me of the ritual in one of our sister cities. They wait until there are three chosen among the six sacrifices and then begin the ritual. Those chosen never come back. The three who return always include a Guardian."
"What?" she asks. "That can't be. They told me it was a sign. That I was destined to be a Guardian. That—"
"They told you to tell no one so the truth would never be realized." He cracks his back before walking away, calling over his shoulder, "The Emperor chose you. Why would he ever let you go?"