Chapter 4
Priestess Macki closed the tome and rubbed at her tired eyes. How long had it been? She looked about and found herself alone. But for her the pale glow of the lamp in the center of the reading desk, the library was dark. She had done it again; with a sigh, she collected the tomes and parchments into a tidy stack.
She was not done. In fact, she had gotten less than half of her day's goal. She penned a quick note to the librarian. She would be back soon enough and did not want to waste valuable time gathering the collected volumes again.
That done, she climbed to her feet using the desk and chair back to aid her treacherous legs. Her too scrawny limbs always hurt, but recently they seem to fight against her will with every painful step. She was more than thirty years of age, but some days her legs made her feel like a toddler. Vanity had nothing to do with her refusal to use crutches or a cane at the very least; simply put, she was stubborn.
She tapped the bronze knob at the base of the lamp and the shadows leaped away to reveal the exit off to the left of where she thought it should have been. “Come on legs, a short walk then you can have a rest. What do you say to that?”
She took her first few step arms stretched out to the side ready to catch herself. When she was a little more confident, she quickened her pace and soon found herself pulling open one of the wooden doors. Once in the corridor, she retrieved her map. "Two lefts, a right should lead to the stairs and the upper floors. I wonder if I can talk the cook into a late meal?" She turned the lamp back down and started on her way.
It was a little less than half of an hour and what she thought was two lefts and a right. But, instead of the brightness of the upper floors and fresh air; Macki stood at the top of a stairwell leading into a blackness that wreaked of damp and rotting things.
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She was more than a little confused. She wrinkled her nose and checked her map. “Mmm, library, left, left, right.” After turning the map this way and that, she decided the best course was to retrace her steps.
Then after a full turn of the glass, Macki came to the conclusion that the map was rubbish. She was standing at the top of those damn stairs. She crumpled it in frustration and stuffed it into a pocket. She was completely lost.
She kneaded her hips and legs pressing the heels of her palms into the muscles with all her strength. There would be some bruising but momentary relief was worth the discoloration that no one but she would ever see.
As a priestess of the Weaver, she understood that her god was not one to change the pattern to favor her worshipers. While the goddess weaved the threads of man, her children held great sway over the pattern. But there was no malice in their doing, or so she thought. The goddess's words intoned by her teacher came to mind. Wheat from the fields needs to ground before one can make bread.
Macki slowed her breathing and worked to quiet her thoughts. It was a simple exercise, one that all novices were taught upon joining the temple. The gripping pain of her legs, the weariness of her body, and her gnawing hunger were all recognized. This exercise was not intended to dismiss the body's weaknesses, but to quiet momentary distress and focus on stronger areas to support the weaker.
What she found in the quiet surprised her. She could feel her goddess's touch on the strands. She would never be foolish enough to presume favor, but on occasion, she could feel their attention. She closed her eyes, reveling in the knowledge that her goddess had use of her.
Long ago, she was spared when the sickness had killed or crippled so many children in her village. The sight of her younger sister's gaunt body being put to the touch with so many others.
Was this her purpose? She wondered and held her lamp aloft causing long shadows to dance a little further into the depths. She steeled herself and prayed that her legs would not buckle and climbed down.