I looked and saw a great thunderstorm bearing down from the west. I looked into the storm and beheld a great creature whose form was like bronze, and whose face was like brass, and which moved without rest. The air around it was like that from a blacksmith’s forge. I beheld the creature and I knew it also beheld me. A great and terrible fear possessed me in that moment, but I did not turn and hide my face. I knew that if I hid from the creature, it would give chase and I would surely die.
The creature spoke to me in a strange voice like the ringing of bells and said to me, “I am an angel of Eloei. He commands you to throw yourself down from the mountain. If your faith is strong, He will lift you up on wings. If your faith is weak, you will perish on the rocks below.”
I said unto the creature, “Depart from me, you who would mock the wisdom of the One True God. For He has never appeared to me in a form such as this, nor has He sent another to speak on His behalf. It is the business of lesser creatures to test that which cannot be seen, but Eloei knows all that which is both seen and unseen, including the hearts of men.”
The creature’s face became like that of a madman and like that of a tiger. It turned and hid its face from me in the storm. When the storm passed, Eloei came to me again in a dream and said, “He who weighs the sight of his eyes and the sound of his ears, with him I am most pleased.”
-The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 22, Verses 1-16
Palace of the Hierophant, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda
Lanor rose from her four-pillared bed in the Hierophant’s chamber of the palace. She had resisted adopting the trappings of her new role for as long as she could. Still, she felt like an impostor in this place, all alone in the commodious room that felt half as big as the Temple of Eloei itself. No amount of redecorating or ritual cleansing could erase her father’s shadow from the palace. Not even the most enthusiastic cantor in all the land could sing a nasbilha loud enough to drown out the sound of her father’s absence.
Without his gregarious laughter booming through the halls, the palace still felt empty all these moons later.
Lanor wet her two fingers in the golden bowl of consecrated water at her bedside. “Man shall preserve the word by book,” she said, touching the water to her lips. Then her forehead. Then her throat. Then her chest. “Man shall not enslave man. Man shall not kill unjustly.” The last Precept was hardest to say. “All gods but Eloei are deceivers.”
Lanor opened the wooden latticework shutters carved with interlacing diamond patterns and let in the cool morning air. The snowy summit of Mount Tulaylal poked through the lingering fog to the north. She went through the motions. Touched her forehead once against the resplendent tile floor. She began the kohfahr, the Dawn Prayer. “Glory to Eloei, Maker of the Morning and the New Dawn,” she recited. “Guide my...” She sighed. The words came flowing like normal, but there was even less feeling to them now. “Guide my footsteps that I might not stumble. Guard my heart from the wiles of the Hateful One. Intercede for me, O Word Among Men...”
Lanor lifted her head from the floor. Clouds had rolled in to obscure Mount Tulaylal in the distance. Now that she was done wallowing in her grief, and now that overdue matters of the hierophany were handled for the time being, she had more time to reflect on her faith. Questions begot nothing but more questions.
“Eloei the Merciful,” she muttered with mockery in her heart. “But not to my father.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. There was a time when she would have been afraid even to think such a thought, let alone speak it into the world. It was heresy.
Then again, was it truly heresy if there was no one to cast judgment on her? She was the highest seat of authority in Qarda—in all the world, some would argue. Even still, she bit her lower lip, scolding herself internally. Perhaps some doubts were better left unspoken.
There was a knock at her chamber door. “My Prophetess?” said Sashani.
“Come in,” Lanor answered.
A pause. “I will in a moment, Your Holiness. You have a visitor.”
“Hierophant Lanor.” It was the voice of her uncle Ghamal. “I am sorry to interrupt you so early in the morning. It cannot wait.”
Lanor’s heart skipped a beat. It was early for her uncle Ghamal to visit—this either boded well or extremely poorly. She held out hope for the former, that he came bearing good news. “Enter.”
The golden claw doorknob turned and Ghamal stepped through the doorway. He wore bags under his eyes, his beard unkempt and whitening by the day. Sashani folded her hands and bowed demurely in the background as the vizier closed the door behind him.
“You look tired, Uncle,” said Lanor. “What troubles you?” He rubbed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose between them. “Please, sit.”
The middle-aged man collapsed into the velvet chair in the nearest corner of the chamber. “I have been up all night speaking with the veracidins. They have learned much in their travels and from the birds.”
“Any news?” She didn’t need to specify anymore. It was the first thing she asked about each day, and she never tired of asking.
“I’m afraid not,” Ghamal replied, and Lanor’s shoulders slumped in her white-and-gold sleep gown. “There are leads. I have reports from Dhasherah, Jal Hakhan, and even as far north as Umreh. But nothing is certain.”
He never had news for her. She resisted the urge to attack the messenger—she knew it wasn’t his fault that her father’s killer was able to evade capture. She longed for the day when the killer was finally brought before her to face justice. She hoped it would come soon.
“What else?” Lanor asked. She sat in another opulent gold-framed chair opposite his. “I’m sure you didn’t come at kohfahr to tell me there was no update.”
Ghamal heaved a deep sigh. “I have bad news and worse news. Which would you like first, my niece?”
Lanor closed her eyes, felt them rolling up into her skull as if to hide. “Give me the bad news, I suppose. I don’t know if I’m ready for the worse news this early.”
“Cushion the blow—good thinking.” Ghamal cleared his throat. “You recall the day last moon when you took supplicants well into the night and finally saw the last of them, yes?”
“Of course.” Lanor’s duties tending to the needy citizens of Qarda had become manageably few and far between since then.
“Well, first, there is the matter of the young woman who claimed her copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen had been stolen.”
“We sent her the fourth edition copy, right? The veracidins couldn’t find her family’s copy in the markets.”
“We did send it.” Her uncle nodded disappointedly. “The veracidin who investigated further said he found no evidence of that woman’s family ever owning such a rare copy of the Testament. To add to that, upon receiving her rare fourth edition copy before that veracidin could report back his findings, the young woman sold it the very next day to the highest bidder in an eastern port market.”
Lanor ground her teeth. “So, she lied to my face to make a sack of akkahs off my sympathy. And where is she now? Awaiting trial, or has the veracidin yet to arrest her?”
Ghamal shook his head. “Likely bought passage to Xheng Yu Xi that very day. She’s long gone now, and not worth the coins she stole to chase across the sea.”
Lanor adjusted the sleep covering that bound her coarse black hair. “Well, that’s unfortunate. What is the worse—”
“I’m not finished,” Ghamal interrupted. “The young boy whose toy collection you replaced? It was all a ruse. He was sent here by a different group of swindling merchants from Khaad. A set of royally-sewn stuffed monkeys straight from the Palace likely paid for their retirement.”
“Well, we can’t very well arrest the boy. But those men—”
“I’m not finished. The woman with the coffee stand? She sold it a year ago to pay off her gambling debts, which, I can only assume, is what brought her here to ask for more money. I wouldn’t count on seeing a repayment of the loan you gave her in this lifetime.” Ghamal paused.
“Let me guess,” Lanor sighed. “You’re not finished.”
“The pregnant widow who feared for her unborn child due to the stress of the assassination was actually just holding a melon under her nusin. A passing paladin outside her home saw her remove it and start cutting it up to feed her family—a family which contained a husband who was very much alive. The aspiring but impoverished scholar from the south who asked you for a loan to fund his studies spent the lump sum of it on Myrenthian prostitutes.
“Let’s see, what else? Oh, the old man with the raided grain silos. A veracidin determined that your very first supplicant was actually just senile. He misremembered a theft that had occurred shortly after the death of your great-grandfather. Now his already-full silos are overflowing.”
Lanor groaned into the palms of her hands. “Surely they couldn’t all have been dishonest?”
“The goatherd whose flock was slaughtered in the middle of the night? He was actually just a shepherd. All you did by ‘replacing’ his goats was diversify his business. But...” Ghamal raised a finger. “...the rest of them were legitimate. Especially the boy with the firehornet’s nest in his house. That was a very serious issue that your paladins have solved for his family.”
The young hierophant frowned at her personal copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, which sat on a bedside plinth of limestone. The tome’s pages were edged in gold, the ink inscriptions on the cover were gold—even the ribbon that marked her place was pressed with gold leaf. All that for a book that sat beside her bed. All the resources that went into supporting her rule—and what had she done? Squandered them.
“I’ve sullied my father’s throne with my own stupidity,” Lanor muttered.
“My niece!” Ghamal exclaimed. “These thieves can all be dealt with in their proper time. You should not be so harsh with yourself.”
“Why not?”
Her vizier looked at her with solemn eyes—the most deadly serious she’d seen him in a long, long time. Maybe since that night in Dhasherah. “Lanor, listen to me very carefully. You are exactly where Eloei needs you to be. You are doing exactly what Eloei has willed. We both are. Your reign is still young—all of this will become clear to you soon. I promise.”
She shook her head but acquiesced. “I hope, for all our sakes, that you’re right.” She had no choice but to believe him for now—just like Eloei. She swallowed her rising anxiety. “All right. Let’s hear the worse news then.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Ghamal folded his hands, sitting up straight in his velvet chair. It was like he was preparing to tell her some great tragedy. “The Synod has called for a congregation. Here. In one moon’s time.”
All at once, it felt like the floor had fallen out beneath her. It was a good thing she was sitting. She was sure she must have misheard him. “What did you say?”
“The Synod will convene here in Qarda exactly twenty-seven days from today. Elders, clerics, and scribes are on their way as we speak from all over the land. This will be their first congregation in over a century.”
A chill shot up her spine; her heart was pounding in her throat. She knew the gravity of a Synod congregation from the many religious leadership lessons of her childhood, how the Synod only gathered to examine and ratify strict religious doctrine for the Eloheed. It was the Synod who determined the order of succession for the hierophany almost two thousand years ago. It was the Synod’s decision which reunited Qarda after the Sixty Years’ Schism. They had only ever declared an official congregation a handful of times in the nearly two millennia since Kahlo Hadrizeen took power.
“Why?” she asked. “Why are they doing this?”
“You must prepare yourself, Lanor. I won’t lie to you. This is a very serious development—but it is one that we can weather. I promise.” Ghamal rose, his hands folded behind his back, and he strode to the open window that bared the city of Rayyaq Raleed. “There is growing sentiment here in Qarda that your claim to the throne is not legitimate.”
“But how?” Lanor rose as well, her brow furrowed. “I am my father’s daughter—I am obviously the child of my mother, his only wife!”
“You are his only child, yes. But you are also a girl.”
These words hit Lanor like a punch to the gut. She was so deep now in the hierophany, so used to being called Hierophant Lanor, Prophetess, Your Holiness, and so forth, that she had somehow forgotten the harsh truth her father and uncle had tried delicately to prepare her for over the years.
“I see,” she said gravely.
Ghamal raised a rhetorical finger. “A congregation is no guarantee of a consensus. It’s merely an indication that the legitimacy of your reign is something the Synod takes very seriously. The more elderly members are... how shall I put this... more stuck in their ways. A third of this nation questions you as the hierophant because you are female. Another third is devoted to you because you are the child of your father—one of the most popular hierophants who has reigned in centuries.” Ghamal rolled his eyes at that, as if playfully annoyed with his younger brother. “The last third is undecided. It is their hearts you must win.”
“But how? I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do.”
“They will believe you are the true heir when you show them a sign from Eloei they cannot deny. You must achieve some great victory.”
Lanor paced around the royal chamber. Out of the corner of her vision, she eyed the Testament, which seemed to gaze back at her from its pedestal. She reflected on how her father had paced these same tiles only a few moons ago, weighing the same sorts of decisions that she now weighed, shaping the future of the same nation she was now responsible for leading.
It was eerie. He felt farther now than ever. He felt as distant, as sterilely historical, as the First Prophet himself.
She turned to face Ghamal, and in this moment, he was her vizier rather than her uncle, and she addressed him as such. “How would you suggest I achieve victory?”
“I suggest you follow in your father’s footsteps.” Ghamal gesticulated again as he talked. “As you well remember, Grackenwell has broken its accord with us. They have taken slaves again for the first time in several years—in direct defiance of the Second Precept. You remember our discussions with the generals. Qarda has long feared to engage those iron men in direct battle, and so your father made Grackenwell a Land of Accord after nearly a century of military stalemates. They have broken the deal that was offered to them. They give you no choice.”
“You think we should invade,” she concluded.
Ghamal shrugged. “These are your words. Not mine. But what would your father do? And look at how the people loved him dearly.” He winced with his following words. “I, on the other hand, have a less desirable task ahead of me. I have always been a staunch critic of your father’s way of doing things. I will go on record as being firmly, but respectfully opposed to your decision.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because when you are victorious, the people will see you made the right choice for Qarda—that you were wise even beyond my advice to you.”
“But they will ridicule you for opposing me.” Lanor arched an eyebrow. “You would do all this for me, Uncle?”
His gentle smile faded. “Everything I do, I do for the glory of Eloei. As should you. This is what Qarda needs now that your father is gone. We all have our roles to play, Lanor.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
Ghamal bowed and made his way to the door, pausing with his hand hovering over the golden knob. He turned back to say one last thing. “Prepare for the day. Wear the ceremonial colors of war. We should make the announcement before zahuahr today. I will send you the details in a note shortly.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” she said, and he was gone. The midday prayer, she thought. So soon... She looked out her window apprehensively at the capital city, deciding instead to close her shutters. She was not yet ready to face the world that expected her today.
But she would have to be.
***
“How’s that?” Sashani asked. She handed Lanor the polished bronze mirror.
Lanor saw her handmaiden’s handiwork. Draped across her forehead was a silver diadem bejeweled with obsidian and amethyst, heraldic colors of war in Qarda. Her hair was braided neatly over her shoulder and bound with thick silver rings. Dark eye makeup encircled her eyes with skillfully painted red eye shadow—all traditional markings of female royalty in wartime.
She was the least traditional hierophant Qarda had ever seen, so she favored tradition in every other regard.
“It’s perfect,” Lanor said with a smile. “Thank you.”
All that was left to do was slip the Crown of Hierophany onto her head. She kept things light with Sashani, but deep down, the pressure of what she was about to do weighed heavily on her shoulders. Just when it seemed Qarda was ready to resume a sense of normalcy, war was on the horizon. Hundreds would die. Maybe thousands.
And what if she did nothing? Scores of slaves would work themselves to death across the sea, hoping and praying for a Qardish savior to break their chains, maybe even praying to Eloei Himself. And she would deny them. She would stay seated in her comfortable, cushioned throne, play it safe, let Qarda’s enemy get away with violating human dignity, and she’d lose even more favor with her citizens until one day, there would be no one who felt compelled to protect her from the usurpers.
And then the Sanzeen bloodline would die with her.
A knock at her chamber door. “Eloei’s blessings, Hierophant Lanor,” said the muffled voice of a paladin.
“And also to you,” she answered.
“The royal vizier Ghamal Sanzeen wishes to inform you that he is ready and waiting in the Blessed Hall. With respect, he awaits your arrival at the time of your choosing.”
“I understand. Thank you.” The way people went out of their way, tripping over themselves to submit to her authority—it had made her uncomfortable from the very day she assumed the throne. But now she was beginning to fear the day when they stopped showing her this level of respect. “It’s time,” she told Sashani, and her mouth dried out.
“Eloei guide your footsteps,” she replied with a cheerful smile.
Lanor missed the old days. The days when she and Sashani could share trivial gossip, braid each other’s hair for fun instead of in preparation for some important event, spend the day reading classical Qardish poetry in the palace gardens, or even the way Sashani used to squeal and jump when Lanor showed off her pet scorpions. Those days were all behind them now. Forever.
The young hierophant made her way to the Blessed Hall, paladins in gold-plated armor flanking her on either side. The palace’s hall hosted a huge crowd for the midday meal, people of every class and profession. There were merchants, booksellers, and farmers. There were butchers, local clerics and those visiting from neighboring cities, and poor beggars who lived on the streets of Rayyaq Raleed. There were paladins, veracidins, guards, soldiers, scribes, as well as nine Synod members, distinguished by their bronze-rimmed eyeglasses that they wore around their necks when not in use.
Nine—a dreadfully unlucky number.
“Why are they here?” Lanor asked her uncle discreetly. The din of surrounding conversation masked her words.
“I invited all guests in the city who wished to attend, and accepted the first two hundred,” Ghamal answered, cupping a hand over his mouth in secrecy. “I couldn’t very well turn them away at the door. But this is good—they will be here to see your leadership. ‘Eloei makes even our stumbling blocks into boons.’”
That verse from the Testament did little to comfort her now. “Will you make the announcement, Uncle?”
“With all due respect to the reigning hierophant... I would if I could, but this is your decision, Lanor. It would be improper of me.”
“It was worth a try.” Lanor stood from her velvet chair at the head of the Blessed Hall’s royal table. She held up her right hand, thumb bent to her palm and four fingers pointed to the sky, the traditional Eloheed benediction. The room soon fell silent. “Eloei’s blessings to you all.”
“And also to you, Your Holiness,” came the booming reply of her hundreds of guests speaking in unison.
“Thank you for joining me today for this feast on such short notice. Before the zahuahr, I have an important announcement to make.” Her heart raced, her face going hot, as she painstakingly recalled all the important details from her uncle’s note. “As you all may have heard, in the wake of my father’s brutal... cowardly... evil assassination, the Stonish nation of Grackenwell has reinstituted slavery.” Assorted murmurs rose up from the crowd. “What’s more, they have conquered the righteous Tomeless of the Grand Archipelago. Put them to the sword. Taken the rest as slaves.” She had her audience’s undivided attention now. “It is easy to identify them as a prime suspect for my father’s murder.
“Even if this were not the case, slavery alone is evil enough in the eyes of Eloei that Qarda went to war against Grackenwell almost one hundred years ago. It was my great-great-grandfather, Iban Sanzeen, who first set sail to correct this awful, awful sin. A hundred years of stalemates and redrawn treaties did nothing to save the innocent Grackenwelsh slaves from their torment.
“My father made Grackenwell a Land of Accord to settle the war once and for all. He let them govern themselves with minimal supervision. He burned none of their books. He agreed not to tax them a single coin. He made generous trade agreements with them. And now that he is dead...” The words caught in her throat. Her eyes glazed over with a layer of tears, but she pressed on. “...they waited not even a year to chain their slaves and start conquering their side of the world. Zan Vayonado may be next. Dridon after that. And then what? I will not let the evil men who rule Grackenwell escape my judgment.”
Hesitant but impassioned words of assent rose up from the crowd. Several men threw themselves down from their seats and bowed to her with religious fervor. She felt a surge of pride in that moment. Her speech got easier with every word.
“As of this day,” Lanor went on, “I renew Qarda’s declaration of war against Grackenwell and any who abide its treachery. At dawn tomorrow, a thousand fighting Eloheed set sail for the Stone Continent. I will remind Grackenwell of the promises they broke and the consequences of their shameless sin by finishing what the Sanzeen lineage started. No innocent man, woman, or child will ever wear chains or be kept as property ever again, in Grackenwell or anywhere else in the whole wide world that belongs to Eloei. Let the world see the might of the Eloheed. Let them learn why Qarda is the most prosperous nation the world has ever known—because Eloei wills it!”
At this, the crowd cheered outright. The poor and the merchants leaped up from their chairs to jump, holler, and whistle their approval. The throng of guests bowed to her in waves, some bowing two or more times. The religious leaders applauded quietly but applauded nonetheless—even those of the Synod.
“Now,” she said with a relieved smile, “before I lead today’s zahuahr, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome representatives of the Synod to today’s feast. Your presence was unexpected... but you are always welcome here. I hope you enjoy your stay in the Palace in the coming days.”
The oldest-looking of the Synod members stood to address her. In fact, he was the archelder, the most distinguished of the Synod’s four elders and effectively its leader. She remembered from her father’s political dealings that his name was Rhadiz Tal. “Eloei grace you, Your Holiness,” said Rhadiz politely, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. “In the spirit of taking opportunities, allow me to thank you for this generous feast. And, if you would, allow me also to speak on behalf of the Synod.” A hush fell over the crowd once more. “What I say now is not a challenge, nor a threat to your rule, Eloei’s blessings upon you. I would like to state for the record that I do support your decision to wage holy war against Grackenwell. However...” He bowed his head as he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “...neither this timely announcement, nor any attempts to curry favor with the people of Qarda, will have any bearing on the Synod’s decision. The congregation is in twenty-seven days. The word of Eloei alone will prevail.”
Lanor exchanged a look with Ghamal, who shook his head grimly. “Of course,” she finally replied. “As Eloei wills it...”
“...so shall it be,” Rhadiz Tal finished for her. He raised his goblet of wine. “Blessings of Eloei to the current hierophant, as ever.”
She couldn’t help but dwell on his emphasis of the word current. So much meaning hinged on less than a single word, but rather the inflection placed upon it. It didn’t matter if the archelder meant it as a threat—she took it as one.
The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. All throughout the zahuahr and even throughout the feast, she ruminated on her late father’s words. Do you see weakness in me, Rhadiz Tal?
How will you strike?