This is the history of Ralaheed to the present day. So says Eloei. In the Time Before Time, the mahjeen ruled the wastes and devoured anyone who crossed into the borderlands. It was a period of great darkness and misery. Eloei beheld the wastes and said, “The time of the mahjeen is no more.” He smote the mahjeen from above, killing them with holy fire and driving the others into the deep wilds beyond. Then Eloei made water to fall on the wastes and caused them to be verdant. He made the land fruitful and invited man to enter into the land. For a time, there was peace. But the Deceiver sowed division among the people of the land; one tribe became many, and bounty became scarcity. Eventually the tribes worshiped their ancestors and other pagan gods and forgot the name of Eloei. Thus when the tribal elders joined together to build a great city in the land, they named it Ralaheed (City of the Gods.)
-The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 3, Verses 1-12
Temple of Eloei, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda
Lanor sat in the Throne of the Prophet, the second highest point in the Temple of Eloei. The highest was the limestone plinth behind the throne. On the plinth was a box made of thick tempered glass that contained the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen penned by the First Prophet himself. The pages were tattered and browned, their edges curled, but the wisdom they contained had endured all these centuries. She could feel the presence of all the hierophants who had gone before her.
Paladins stood at the door in their gold-plated armor, their traditional gold-plated spears standing upright at their sides. Lanor’s royal vizier, her uncle Ghamal, folded his hands in the doorway. “Are you ready, Hierophant Lanor?”
“How many are there today?”
“Thirty even, by my last count,” he answered with a tired, dutiful smile.
Lanor’s shoulders slackened just a bit. There were only thirty supplicants waiting outside the doors of the temple. That was the lowest number since she’d started accepting supplicants nine days prior. There was a distinct possibility that she’d be able to hear all their concerns in one day, assuming the line didn’t grow much. It would be the first time since assuming the throne that she wouldn’t have to turn away a single soul in need.
“Remember the signs,” said Lanor. “Beard for yes, earlobe for no. Right?”
“Of course.”
“Send the first one in, please.”
Ghamal bowed with the grace of a vizier and opened the towering, gold-plated doors of the temple. The first of the supplicants entered the holy place.
“Mercy of Eloei,” said the white-haired old man, “exalted Prophetess.” He hobbled in using a wooden cane and the vizier closed the door behind him.
“Mercy of Eloei,” said Lanor. The man’s knees shook as he struggled to prostrate himself, but she pardoned him with a wave of her hand. “Stand, my brother. What brings you here today?”
“Your supplicant is but a lowly farmer from the southeast, Your Holiness. The death of the Hierophant, Eloei grace him, has brought much trouble across the land, yes. When word spread of his untimely demise, a band of thieves...” He furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. “A... Yes, a band of thieves raided my, my grain silos. I’ve lost over half my stores. I worry they won’t stop there. What if they come for my house? For my wife and daughters? What then? And how will I pay my debts?”
Lanor held up a hand to interject. “I understand. I am sorry to hear this, brother.” She turned to her uncle, who stroked his salt and pepper beard. She relied on her vizier to determine the best course of action. His sign told her whether or not to grant a supplicant’s request based on their need and the royal coffers. “The palace will replace what you have lost in the next quarter moon.” Ghamal made a discreet motion as it to urge her to continue. “And we will send a soldier...” He scratched his beard with four fingers. “...four soldiers to guard your silos for the next month.” Her uncle bowed his head.
The old man smiled a three-toothed smile. His legs shook again and he fell to his knees in earnest this time, his cane clattering to the floor. “Eloei bless you and keep you, exalted Prophetess.”
“Rise and return home, faithful one,” she said, wincing. “Eloei guide your footsteps.”
Ghamal helped the old man to his feet and handed him the cane. He escorted the man to the door and opened it for him, and the elderly supplicant hobbled out of the temple. The vizier sent in the next petitioner.
The second supplicant was a young woman with much nicer clothes than her predecessor, cleaner, with exquisite braids in her hair not unlike the ones Lanor had worn to the Circle of Kings, and she twirled the end of one of them between her finger when she entered. She was likely a fellow resident of the capital city. When the supplicant appeared to remember where she was, she jerked her fingers away from her hair and folded her hands in front of her respectfully. She bowed her head.
“Hierophant Lanor Sanzeen,” she said in a lovely rasping lilt, “I am here today to make one humble request. During the chaos after the previous Hierophant’s death, Eloei grace him, looters broke into my house in the night and stole our prized copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, a rare fifth edition passed down through my family for generations. It was a priceless family heirloom. It would bring peace to my ailing grandmother if you could help us get it back. I want her to know that it’s safe and sound before she passes into the Hereafter.”
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“I see,” said Lanor. The power and respect that her position commanded was only beginning to dawn on her. “Does it have any identifying marks on it?”
“It bears my family crest, a Qardish owleye within a rose. The edition of the Testament dates back to the time when families still had crests back before the reunification of Qarda.”
“I understand.” Lanor pondered a moment. Her uncle shrugged and gave a gesture as if to defer to her own judgment. “I have made my decision. I will send one veracidin to investigate the theft and see if he can track it down in the local markets.” The supplicant opened her mouth slightly as if to say something else. “If he cannot track down your family heirloom, I promise you he will do the next best thing and deliver a fourth edition of the Testament from the Hierophant’s personal library. It will bear the royal seal of the name Sanzeen and I will have it stamped with your family crest as well.”
The young woman clasped her hands together and bowed. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Hierophant! Your kindness knows no bounds!” She grinned on her way out of the chamber and the next supplicant took her place.
He was a man who politely asked when Hierophant-led worship ceremonies would return to the temple. Apparently, his son was growing unruly and haughty with a lack of spiritual guidance. Lanor promised him that regular worship would resume once urgent matters of state had been addressed and a sense of normalcy returned to their great nation.
The boy after him was a little child who shook like a jungle leaf in a heavy rain. He asked for a replacement stuffed animal collection because his precious stuffed monkeys were destroyed in one of the riot’s fires. Ghamal almost kicked the boy out but Lanor promised the little one that her royal seamstresses would make him a brand new set.
A middle-aged woman asked for a loan to keep her coffee stand in the market open because business had been slow for the past month. A teenager came on his family's behalf to ask for help with a hornet’s nest just outside their home, an infestation which had been plaguing them even before Hierophant Drakhman’s death. Three young sisters came because they were scared sleepless by tales of the monsters in the deep wild, so Lanor knelt with them and led them in prayer to Eloei. It felt good to be praying again—she could feel her faith returning. The sisters sprang to their feet full of bravery and hope and skipped out of the temple hand in hand.
“How many was that?” Lanor asked her uncle when she lost count.
“Nine, counting the three sisters,” said Ghamal.
“And the line?”
“Still only twenty-one, Your Holiness.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Today is the day, Uncle. Send the next one in.”
***
Day rolled into night by the time Lanor saw her thirtieth supplicant. It was Eloei’s will that no one else joined the line that day. Stars pinpricked through the black velvet of night just outside the stained glass windows. Servants lit torches in golden sconces and stoked the fire of the altar, and Lanor spoke to her final supplicant in the light of flickering orange flames.
“I have heard your concerns and considered them carefully,” said Lanor. “With that said, I truly believe it is nothing more than an ordinary pimple.” She stifled a yawn. “But I will include you in my final prayers to Eloei before I lay my head down tonight. I suggest applying a hot towel.”
The man poked at the red bump on his forehead. “Oh, that is wise. I didn’t think of that. Truly, the wisdom of Eloei flows through you, Prophetess. Thank you!” He bowed and saw himself out.
“Mercy of Eloei,” she called after him before allowing herself her first full-throated, stretching, groaning yawn of the day. It had been a long time coming.
“Well, you did it,” said her royal vizier. “Your long day bears fruit. There are no more supplicants waiting outside the temple.”
“Can you please have Sashani draw me a bath? Not too deep, or I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep and drown in it.” She rose and stretched again, relishing the blood flowing and filling certain parts of her legs, back, and hind end again as they hadn’t in hours. But her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door open again.
“Hierophant Lanor,” said a soldier, barging into the room. “Blessings of Eloei upon you.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Ghamal asked.
“I am very sorry to you, sir, but I will not be taking any more supplicants today,” Lanor sighed, unable to mask her own delirious exhaustion any longer. “Please visit first thing in the morning.”
“I’m afraid this is an emergency, Your Holiness.” The soldier stepped forward and bowed his head, glancing back and forth between the Hierophant and her vizier like a man eager to be relieved of his burden.
“Let’s hear it, then,” said Ghamal.
The soldier removed his helmet and held it in front of him, his dark locks tumbling forward to cover his downcast face. “A veracidin has brought word from across the sea. The nation of Grackenwell has reinstituted their abominable practice of slavery.” Lanor looked behind the soldier to her vizier, who met her gaze and gasped, wide-eyed and blindsided, yet at the same time unsurprised. “Rumors circulate that Grackenwell also plans to take advantage of our crisis and attack the Grand Archipelago, followed by Zan Vayonado and perhaps even Dridon. But these rumors have no confirmation as of this moment.”
Ghamal set about pacing around the room, exuding a desperate need to punch something and finding nothing suitable in the holy chamber. “Vile opportunists,” he spat. Lanor remembered what her father had told her. The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. Do you understand? “After your father welcomed them with open arms into Castle Muadazim. After he fed them! Grackenwell is a Land of Accord no longer.” He glared at the only scapegoat he could find—the bearer of bad news. “Well, what are you waiting for? Return to your post! Double your men’s patrols tonight! I will not suffer another riot in this holy city because of the provocations of madmen across the sea!”
“At once, sir,” said the soldier, and he spun around in his armor, red cloak twirling with his movement.
Lanor had been leaden-eyed and bored not a few moments ago. Now, her heart raced and her blood ran cold. Just when she thought she had the Hierophany all figured out. “What does this mean, Uncle?”
He sighed and massaged his eyes with his knuckles. “It means we have our work cut out for us now, Lanor. Now more than ever. And it means you must do exactly as I advise for the safety and security of the known world. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Good. We begin tonight.”