Eloei gave us the Four Precepts that we might know the proper treatment of men and the world He ordained for us. You have heard it said: Man shall preserve the word by book; Man shall not enslave man; Man shall not kill unjustly; All gods but Eloei are deceivers. These are right and true. But now Eloei delivers to us wisdom beyond Precepts, that truth which encompasses all others: Reason is the greatest gift of man. From reason flows the word, wisdom, truth, and every good thing. Reason separates man from the mahjeen. Therefore temper your reason as steel and let not your passions sully it. As each thing has many facets, so the most esteemed facet of reason is its longevity; the myths of our fathers fall away with the years and are replaced with new ones, but reason stands the test of time. Convene a council of tribal elders in Ralaheed to test my wisdom. Weigh my words and see that they are sound.
-The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 58, Verses 66-84
Dome of the Synod, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda
The Palace of the Hierophant stood proudly facing Mount Tulaylal, the holy mountain Kahlo Hadrizeen climbed to commune with Eloei. The Temple was an adjoining edifice part of the same royal complex. At the opposite side of the holy city Rayyaq Raleed stood the Dome of the Synod. It was a monument almost equally splendorous, a gilded sixteen-sided dome atop a stone foundation and encircled by a pristine marble colonnade.
It was no coincidence that the Dome of the Synod stood in direct geographical opposition to the Palace of the Hierophant. From the foundation of the city, when Ralaheed became Rayyaq Raleed, the Synod was created to balance the otherwise unchecked powers of the Hierophant. If the Hierophant was the source of religious truth, the Synod was the crucible where that truth was tested.
The Synod chamber was an enormous amphitheater with ascending rows of lecterns made of tigerwood. At these lecterns stood each member of the Synod, all two hundred and fifty-two of them assembled from the farthest reaches of Qarda. The four Synod elders sat behind broad mahogany desks at ground level in the front row.
Gold-plated paladins stood encircling the room with their ceremonial spears held upright. Tucked away in a corner was a pair of long oak tables where scribes sat and recorded the proceedings. Their quills were somehow always fluttering, even in times of silence.
At the center of the cavernous room was a raised dais made of marble, on which sat an elevated podium made of polished sandalwood and engraved with interlocking rhomboids. This was where each speaker stated his case when given his time to speak. Over a hundred members of the Synod had stood at the podium over the more than twenty days since the congregation began.
There was no end in sight.
“Glory to Eloei, Maker of the Morning and the New Dawn,” said Hierophant Lanor. She led the kohfar in the Dome of the Synod as she’d done each morning since the start of the congregation, standing on the marble dais before the men who would judge her fate. The Synod cleric and even the elders always bowed their heads in reverence during the daily prayers. “Guide my footsteps that I might not stumble. Guard my heart from the wiles of the Hateful One.” She wondered how long they would continue to afford her this religious respect. “Intercede for me, O Word Among Men, the First Prophet Kahlo Hadrizeen, and I will keep your Tome all my days. In the name of Eloei the Merciful, if it please Him, so be it.”
“So be it,” echoed hundreds of men. And then her time to speak was over until the midday prayer.
“As Eloei wills it,” announced the archelder Rhadiz Tal. “So shall it be.” For a man of his advanced age, his voice boomed as loud and strong as a man thirty years his junior—the mark of a natural born leader. “This is the Ninth Congregation of the Eloheed Umraiah. The Synod deliberates.”
Nine. A dreadfully unlucky number.
“And so we begin again,” said Ghamal. He took a crystal carafe full of cold, bitter tea and poured her a glass. He poured a small portion for himself as well. “We will likely not move from these thrones until the zahuahr at midday. Another day of the same men arguing the same minutiae... even when the correct choice is so obvious.” He sighed deeply into his tea, fogging the glass, and then set it down on the table without taking a sip. “I advise you make yourself comfortable, Lanor.”
Lanor sipped her tea. It was bitter as ever, chilled with ice mined from the snowcapped peak of Mount Tulaylal. The traditional Qardish beverage was meant to refresh and reinvigorate her. She blinked away her lingering sleep from the night before—or rather, lack thereof. It was impossible to sleep soundly these days. “I might never be comfortable again,” she replied quietly. “Not while the Synod still congregates.”
Each cleric in the Synod, all two hundred fifty-two of them, and all four elders—all of them were required to present an individual argument before the congregation, either for or against the issue they were deliberating. In turn, all other members of the Synod were to be given a chance to debate the individual at the podium, citing their own evidence from the Testament or the commentaries written in its wake. A Synod congregation was a long and laborious process. It was no wonder that it ordinarily took several moons to complete.
But Lanor sat upright in her throne. Sipped her stimulating tea. Watched the proceedings intently with honor and dignity, even though these were adult concepts that still felt beyond her young years.
In her heart of hearts, she was only afraid.
“We have heard it said many times in this congregation, but it bears repeating,” said cleric Tafoub, who hailed from Khaad. “There is no verse in the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen that deals with a woman holding authority over a man. The First Prophet, Eloei grace him, never spoke for or against it. He never prescribed it, nor did he proscribe it. However...” The beady-eyed man raised a didactic finger behind the podium. “...there is one verse that describes the place of women in society, in the city of Ralaheed.
“Chapter 61, the verses on advocacy halfway through the chapter. I invite you to turn to read with me if you cannot recall by heart.” Several clerics throughout the Dome of the Synod opened their copies of the Testament at their lecterns and turned to the right chapter. “The First Prophet, Eloei grace him, said: ‘Women are not permitted to be witnesses in court, nor are they permitted to hold office in the city of Ralaheed.’” He grinned, pleased with himself. “The First Prophet sets no precedent for a woman holding any office whatsoever. Does this extend to the hierophany? We must consider this as a possibility. I submit my words to be weighed.”
The speaker at the podium was given free rein to state his case and take as much time as he thought necessary. Arguments from the general Synod, however, were on a time limit. There was a ritual stick of incense that was burned at one end and passed around the congregation of clerics. Anyone who wished to present an argument would have to take the incense and light his etafir, a ritual candle used only in Synod congregations which marked the passage of time. Throughout the whole congregation, he could only speak as much as his candle allowed, and when the wick finished burning, he was not permitted to speak again during the proceedings.
What troubled Lanor was that even the most melted candles she could see in the audience still stood too tall for her liking.
The first cleric to argue this day was a man with a scruffy beard that grew in patches. His name was Zumhir. “The very next verse says otherwise,” he said. “Allow me to read the full section for the Synod. ‘You who are of the city and have lived in the city, you know the place of women. Women are not permitted to be witnesses in court, nor are they permitted to hold office in the city of Ralaheed. It is customary for a man to intercede in court for his wife, a brother for his sister, a son for his mother, a father for his daughter. This is because a woman is not permitted to speak for herself. I say it is imperative that a man intercedes not only for the blood of his lineage or the blood of his union, but also for the woman not of his blood. This is because all men and women, all children and elders, even all the Eloheed and all the unbelievers are of one blood, now and hence, the blood of one kind. For a man to intercede on a woman’s behalf is to bring greater balance to the city of Ralaheed in pursuit of the world Eloei has envisioned.’” He looked up from the tome on his lectern. “I argue the context of the verse proves the opposite point. That is all I have for cleric Tafoub.” He extinguished the flame of his etafir and was silent.
Lanor took another sip of her tea. In the Dome of the Synod, neither she nor Ghamal were permitted to utter a word outside the daily prayers, but she wanted to express her gratitude to the clerics who argued and cited verses from the Testament in her defense. She felt a great tide turning against her in the city and in the nation at large. It was held back for now by a dam of loyalty—but how long would that hold?
“Cleric Tafoub says that the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, never spoke for or against the idea of a woman holding authority over men,” said another cleric. He was a bony, crooked-nosed man named Ahdazi. “This is correct. Cleric Zumhir argues that we are taking out of context the only verses in the Testament dealing with a woman’s place in general society. Perhaps he is right. But the message does not change. Did the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, advocate for women to take roles of leadership or to do away with the intercession of men? No, he did not! We are all of one blood as the creation of Eloei, but we all have our places, just as a child is not fit to rule over his parents—that would be ludicrous, wouldn’t it?” He gesticulated with his hands and even smiled at the audience, speaking casually, more like a man telling jokes than anything else. A few younger Synod members chuckled.
“But let us not forget that the Testament is not an incomplete document,” Ahdazi went on, more solemnly now. “It is the complete word of Eloei as spoken to the most righteous man who ever lived. In the ninety-ninth chapter, the penultimate chapter, the third chapter of the Sanguine Verses... what does the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, say? ‘If I knew another truth you ought to honor, I would have told you. Therefore let not others deceive you in my name.’ If he had wanted the natural order of men and women to change...” Ahdazi smiled, gesturing one last time with open hands as if showing off his own argument. “...he would have told us. Would he not?” Then he put out the flame of his candle.
And so it went. Lanor watched the pendulum of theology swing in and out of her favor, back and forth without end. In the early days of the congregation, she watched from the edge of her throne, hands gripping the clawed armrests tightly, but things were different today. She was so exhausted from her lack of sleep that she could have taken a nap right there in her throne under other circumstances.
She sipped more of her bitter tea—drained the glass. She poured herself some more.
“In Chapter 71, the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, ensured that an elderly widow inherited the house and the land owned by her late husband,” said Cleric Hasjal, a kind-eyed young man with a strong chin and a single modest beard lacer made of ivory. “And what was the custom of Ralaheed at the time? A widow was to be married off again to a surviving male relative of the dead man, and the property would go to him. Not so in this case!” He twisted his ivory beard lacer idly. “In his own words: ‘Eloei the magnificent; Eloei the merciful; Eloei the beneficent; Eloei the most just. The Lord Above Lords is called many names, but He named not Himself; rather, men of the earth bestowed titles upon Him for His deeds. Eloei prepared the way for us in the days of the mahjeen. He made the land to be a home to us. Would you take away the home of this woman who is now unwed and has lost her partner? If you would do this thing, then let her have my home and I will wander the streets in her stead.’ Even in the last days of Ralaheed, the First Prophet, Eloei grace him—he was arguing on behalf of a woman! The customs of a widow’s inheritance in Qarda changed forever on that day!” Hasjal banged his hand on his lectern passionately as he spoke.
Even still, Lanor could barely keep her eyes open.
“Lanor,” Ghamal muttered to her discreetly. “Far be it from me to question the reigning Hierophant... but are you falling asleep in the Synod?”
Her eyelids opened with a start, but they were so heavy that it took real effort to keep them pried apart. “I’m sorry,” she replied.
“You need not apologize to me. I have no authority over you.” He shook his head. “All I can say is that it reflects very poorly on you, given the precarious state of your leadership. Over five hundred eyes are watching you. Have you been drinking your tea?”
“I’ve already had a full glass.” She took the carafe and held it over her uncle’s glass. “Wouldn’t you like some more? You’ve barely touched yours.”
He declined with a wave of his hand. “You need it more than I do.”
She drank more, taking a cold droplet of condensation from the glass and letting it drip down the back of her neck, trying to shock herself awake. When would the tea’s stimulating effects finally take hold? The more she drank, the deeper sleep called to her. Another cleric was presenting a counter to a counter to a counterargument when she lost the battle and sank into the velvet cushions of her throne.
She awoke with a start—the door of the Synod chamber slammed open.
“I would direct you to the previous chapter—what is the meaning of this?” a cleric gasped at the interruption. “Guards!”
The paladins marched to intercept an intruder in the Synod chamber. He was a soldier—no, a commander, judging by the black color of his golden helmet’s plumage. He limped into the room carrying another helmet under his arm, this one unplumed, and Lanor saw that it was cracked and stained with blood.
He threw it against the floor of the chamber where it hit with a loud clang.
“Commander Shadahfet!” Ghamal shouted. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Hierophant,” said the captain of the paladins in the chamber. “What would you like done?”
“Let him speak,” Lanor croaked groggily. She cleared her throat.
The paladins formed up around the commander, blocking his advance, but they did as they were told and held their position.
“Twenty years,” the man growled. “My brother Safikh walked this earth for only twenty years. Now he’s dead—like the others! Six hundred men lost... And for what? Not even half of us managed to escape and retreat!”
“Commander,” said Lanor, sitting up straight, “I’m, I’m very sorry—”
“Sorry won’t raise my brother from the dead!” Shadahfet shot back. “Sorry won’t win Holcort! A thousand Eloheed you sent? Two hundred thousand live in Holcort! Walls and cannons! Slave soldiers! You sent us to die! And you!” He jabbed a finger toward Ghamal. “I would expect this bumbling from a girl in charge. Where were you, the vizier, when she ordered this suicide mission?”
“For what it’s worth, I opposed this invasion of Grackenwell,” said Ghamal, standing from his throne. “But if I were you, I would mind your tongue in the presence of the reigning hierophant.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Her?” Shadahfet scoffed. “She is no hierophant!” The paladins jumped to arrest him. “I said it! She is no hierophant! Why else would Eloei let us die in droves? She has no Sanction! The Sanzeen line is no more!”
Half the Synod gasped in outrage, while the others bit their tongues, exchanging glances and muttering to one another.
“That is enough,” said Ghamal. “Paladins, escort him to the dungeon. At once!”
The paladins obeyed, dragging the commander out of the chamber. Shadahfet kept yelling his heresies all the way out. Even when the heavy door thudded shut, his voice was still audible, echoing through the streets.
“We must take a recess,” said the elder Mufair. “The Synod cannot operate in this condition!”
“On the contrary,” said Rhadiz Tal. “The Synod must continue to operate. You see the division already sown in this nation. That was a commander of the fighting Eloheed. What will become of this city—of the distant corners of our land? The longer we deliberate, the more Qarda will devour itself!”
As the elders debated this development, Lanor grabbed the hem of Ghamal’s sleeve. “Uncle,” she whispered. “The invasion—it failed? When were you going to tell me?”
“The time wasn’t right, Lanor,” he answered her quietly. “The Synod congregation is the most pressing matter right now. I couldn’t let you be distracted—and I couldn’t let the others learn of our defeat until the time was right, either.”
“You told me to send them! Why did they fail? You said... You said a thousand would be enough. This was all—”
“Stop,” Ghamal cut her off. He glared at her with deadly serious eyes. “Stop speaking of that. This instant.” The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She’d never heard him speak quite like this before, at least not since his outburst against her the day after Hur Adhajah. She recoiled slightly from him and he instantly softened. “I’m sorry, Lanor. We’re close now. Eloei has prepared the way for us. We just—”
“Vizier Ghamal Sanzeen,” said Rhadiz Tal. He smiled a displeased smile. “What is it you’re discussing with Hierophant Lanor? With all due respect to your stations, the Synod is still in congregation.”
“It’s nothing, archelder,” he answered with a humble nod. “Our apologies. Please continue with our blessing.”
“Need I remind you that all words spoken under this dome are to be entered into the official record of this congregation?”
The vizier shook his head. “Not at all.”
The archelder squinted as he grinned a too-cheery grin. “Excellent. Let us all return, then, with our eyes open and alert, to the matter at hand! Shall we?”
Several clerics covered their mouths in shock. Others simply let their jaws hang open in disbelief. Lanor felt the sting of Rhadiz Tal’s scathing words that were anything but subtle. The fact that he felt so emboldened, so comfortable to say such a thing in full view of the Synod, worried her deeply.
She lamented how she fell asleep in full view of the same governing body that would decide her fate. How foolish, how childish—how arrogant she must have seemed to them. A teenage girl so bored with the holy proceedings that she took a nap without a shred of shame.
How had it even come to this? Her exhaustion was bone deep, and it seemed to come out of nowhere. She was tired when the day began. This, however... This was something else.
Visions of the battlefield in Holcort played through her mind as she stared straight ahead at the Synod. Safikh—she’d sent him to die. Safikh and some six hundred other men had died in a land of horrors she could scarcely imagine, a land she would never see with her own eyes.
It was all her fault. It happened by her word alone. She had no one to blame but herself, and any attempt to shirk the blame was more childishness on her part. What was she thinking, playing at war like she was her father? She lacked his years of experience and wisdom.
And she had all the more blood on her hands because of it.
Had her father agonized the same over every decision he made for Qarda? Did it come naturally to him, or was it a skill he honed over many years? She wished she could ask him. She wished he was still around to relieve her of this burden.
She didn’t want his throne. She never had.
What have I done? Lanor asked Eloei in her mind. If You’re even listening... If You even care.
Just then, she felt something brush the back of her hand. Her uncle Ghamal held out a slip of paper discreetly, in such a way that it looked inconspicuous, his arm resting on his throne while extending the note under his palm. She took it and tried to unfurl it with as much discretion.
‘Sadly, the omen of your victory in Holcort did not come to pass,’ the note read. She scanned it with her eyes while keeping her face leveled at the amphitheater, so no one could tell from a distance. ‘I have prepared the way for you. There are four carafes of water in the Temple of Eloei. Take a leave of absence and meditate on the Testament for four days. Your presence is not needed here, and a show of faith will go a long way for these clerics. You will remind them that you are the cleric above all other clerics. You will atone for your slothfulness and prove to them how seriously you take the throne. Say nothing, stand up, and leave now. I will explain your decision to the Synod. When you are alone, destroy this note.’
Lanor’s heartbeat quickened. Her gaze swept over the room. Over two hundred men in the ascending rows around her, dozens of paladins and guards—and all these were just a small fraction of the several million people across Qarda who depended on her. She couldn’t bear to disappoint them again.
She trusted her uncle one final time. She stood from her throne and walked out of the Synod chamber without another word.
She was gone.
***
The Temple of Eloei was ghostly quiet when she entered. No one had come to worship that day. What did that say of the faith she inspired in the people of Rayyaq Raleed? Still, it was all the same to her—she preferred the solitude. It was a welcome change of pace.
Lanor didn’t sit in her throne. Instead, she sat on the cool tiled floor of the temple, her back resting against a pillar. She read and reread the note from her uncle Ghamal, unfolding and folding it between her fingers, stuffing it into the paper-thin crack between two tiles, and as she busied her idle hands this way, she found her eyes drawn to the original copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen.
The first Eloheed revered the tome so much that they’d built protective case after protective case to store it, each one stronger and sealed tighter than the last. But why? She had a hard time grasping what was so special about it.
The Testament had been meticulously reproduced more than a hundred times even while Kahlo Hadrizeen still walked the earth. After his passing, production of the text had exploded all across Qarda, and in the centuries since, thousands and thousands more copies had been produced in other languages and in other lands. What was so special about the first?
It must have been its connection to Kahlo himself. It was his hands that dragged the ink across each page of parchment. It was his very blood that formed the ink of the final four chapters, the so-called Sanguine Verses. Perhaps that was worth preserving. Perhaps, since he’d written those words on Mount Tulaylal in the direct presence of Eloei, the original copy of the tome carried some trace of holiness that could last for future generations.
Lanor closed her eyes. For the first time since her father's death, she had a gentle cry. The gut-wrenching weeping was a thing of the past. Her eyes filled up with wet warmth that spilled down her face, but she didn’t so much as sniffle, and this she counted as progress.
Her father. She had a hard time picturing his face anymore, which gave her a sudden fright, like the recurring nightmares she had of walking barefoot down a steep staircase and tripping headfirst. She reached for the memory and lost her balance. Another bead crawled down the wet track on her left cheek.
What would the great Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen do in a situation like this? He always seemed so certain of himself, and so often with good reason. Lanor didn't have that; she doubted her choice of royal gown on any given day, what fruits to request at breakfast. The political encumbrances now laid on her young shoulders were orders and orders above the daily minutiae that gave her pause.
Though his face and the sound of his voice eluded her, she tried to remember his demeanor, the way he addressed those below him, the way he conducted his daily duties. Much of it involved rebuking his older brother. She smirked at these memories. But any recollection of her father was like the softest fruit in the thickest jungle, so prone to browning over, spoiling, without a moment’s notice. One more tear to warm the cool trail of its predecessors.
Drakhman lived on in her memory, yes, but her memory had become a windowless house, disorganized and labyrinthine. She spent a good long while searching and skimming for something very important—the last words he’d ever said to her. What were they?
Because you are my daughter. And your mother and I are very proud of you... Praise be to Eloei.
“Praise be to Eloei,” she said, and the volume of her own voice was startling in the dead calm. “But why? Are You even there to hear my praise? What is it to You? I’ve done the best I could with the life You gave me, and now I’m just an orphan. An orphan who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I don’t want to be separated from You, but how do I find You? Must I pray extra prayers? Meditate harder? Why won’t You tell me?” She wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve. “I’ve done everything You said, and You said I’d be ready when the time came! I can’t feel You by my side anymore, and I don’t know what to do. And You promised You would never leave me—You lied! How am I supposed to do this without you? Why? Why would you leave me like this? I don’t know what to do and I’m so afraid. And you’re not here.”
Cursing a god had become something smaller, something more personal. The gut-wrenching weeping came back in full force. It didn’t seem fair—none of it did. Lanor collapsed at the foot of the throne, rested her head against it. She wept.
She wept and wept.
Sleep crept out again from somewhere behind her eyelids, pulled them shut. What was in that tea? It was no stimulant. Had her uncle made a mistake? She surrendered again to the pull of her exhaustion, right there on the floor of the temple.
***
“Lanor? Lanor, can you hear me?”
She sat up in bed. The world glowed blue, blue for twilight. The world was a liminal color between the passing of the night and the coming of the day. It was ghostly quiet.
“Father?” she tried to say, but all that passed her lips was a whisper. “I thought you were gone.”
“Not while you live.”
“What?” She didn’t understand him. She tried to sit up in bed, but he held out a hand to excuse her.
“No need to get up. I just came here to talk to you.”
“I don’t think I can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Be Hierophant.”
He smiled. “But you already are.” She saw the blue light playing off the dampness in his eyes. The light never grew, and the sun never rose, the world caught forever in that hazy interstice. “Do you know how old I was when I ascended the throne after my father died?” She shook her head. “I was twenty-five years old. And do you think I was ready?”
“Of course. You were always good at it.”
He chuckled softly. “I was terrified, Lanor. Ghamal was the firstborn. When we were growing up, we always thought it would be him on the throne. He married, then married again, again, and again, taking all four wives permitted by law. Only then did it come to be known that it was him who was at fault when he couldn’t sire a child. It was the fault of the seed, not the soil!” At this, he let out one of his famous roaring belly laughs.
“Father, that’s disgusting!” Lanor said with a grimace. “Don’t say such things!”
“So, the Synod decided that since Ghamal could sire no offspring, I was to be the next Hierophant. He was furious with me. A lot of Qardish citizens weren’t happy, either, some of them very powerful and influential people. I was scared to the bone. I thought about running away to Myrenthos and never coming back. I had half my bag packed before I changed my mind.”
“You told me that once, didn’t you? I guess I forgot. Or maybe I wasn’t listening.” She felt dizzy. “What kept you here?”
He smiled warmly. “Your mother was pregnant. She told me that very day. And when I knew you were on the way, I knew I would set a bad example by running from my problems. So I stayed. I held my head high. And I ruled. I ruled the whole world, by the grace of Eloei.” He shook his head. “But you know what? You were still my greatest achievement.”
Her stomach twisted again in grief. Then she looked at him with skepticism, with something like accusation. “You’re not really saying that,” she replied. “You’re not even real. You’re just made of my memories—you’re gone!”
“If I were alive, do you think I would say any less of you?”
“No.”
“Then what difference does it make if I’m alive to say it? What we did in life carries on even after we die. As long as someone we love is still alive, then even our love lives on after us.”
“And what if they die?”
“Then we hope they passed on their love to someone else. In that way, a piece of our love lives on even generations after. Even millennia. We carry love in us from humans who lived before there was a Ralaheed. Before there was a Qarda. We carry love in us even from the Time Before Time. It’s one of the beautiful things about being human.”
Still she shook her head. “Pretty words, but you’re not my father. Not my real father. You’re only my memory of him. You only exist in my mind!”
“That’s where I existed when I was alive, too. We all exist in the minds of others. For every thousand people we encounter, we’re a thousand different people, a different one in each of their minds.”
“I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
“We don’t see others as they are. We see them as we are.” He reached out and held her face with both hands like she was a much smaller child. “And I can tell that you must have seen me full of love, just like the love I had for you. And now I can go in peace.”
She leaped out of her bed in that moment. Her legs wobbled, unsteady beneath her. “Wait! Where are you going?”
“Back to your memory. Back to your blood and your name. Back to your wisdom and your strength, your love. Back to the annals of history. I will always be there when you need me. So will Eloei.”
“Wait!” she pleaded. “Wait!” She was screaming now, as if she could tether him here if she wanted it badly enough.
But the sun rose red in the sky. The veil was drawn between them again.
He was gone.
***
Her four days of meditation were almost complete. Lanor was a changed girl. Wrung out and emptied, she filled herself with the Testament and communed with Eloei, a newfound power and authority coursing through her. It felt like the dynamism of a true Prophetess.
“Since my father Drakhman’s untimely murder, I’ve struggled with the stumbling blocks of grief, fear, and self-doubt.”
She practiced a short speech she’d written in her mind the day before; she knew the placing of every pause, where exactly she’d look when she said certain lines, but she was still fine-tuning the inflections and emphases she would use. She wondered how many times her father went through the same thing or if he always spoke only from the heart. Probably the latter.
But she was learning. She gave herself credit where it was due.
“I relied too heavily on the counsel of my vizier, my uncle Ghamal. He is a shrewd man who has Qarda’s best interests at heart, but he is not the Hierophant. I am. I am the conduit through which Eloei connects to the world, and I must hold myself in the same high regard that He holds me. I pledge that I will work night and day to restore Qarda to the glory Eloei has ordained for it. I will serve as the Living Hand of Eloei for—"
Suddenly, a loud crash. The door of the temple burst open. Her uncle Ghamal stormed in, flanked by paladins on either side. “There she is,” he sighed. “Hiding. Just as I thought.”
“Uncle?” she said sheepishly. She must have misheard him.
“It has come to this.” Ghamal bowed his head. “Find her a cell in the dungeon for now. I leave her fate in the hands of the Synod.”
“What?” Lanor was more confused than ever, so much so that she wondered if she was still dreaming. It all became frighteningly real when the paladins put her wrists in irons. “What’s happening? Let go of me! Uncle, do something!”
“This way, Lanor Sanzeen,” said one of the paladins. “You are wanted for crimes against Qarda.”
“Crimes? What crimes?”
“Abdication of the hierophany,” Ghamal answered solemnly. “And what do we call a cleric who abdicates their duties? An apostate! Which makes you the greatest apostate Qarda has seen in ages.”
“Apostate? Uncle, I only came here because you told me! You said to—”
“Enough! I will not let you bear false witness in the house of Eloei!” He bared his teeth, narrowed his glare. His eyes betrayed a dark impulse to reach out and strangle her where she stood. “I have led the daily prayers in the Synod in your absence. I have stepped up to be the prophet you could never be. With decades of experience and the wisdom of the Testament in my right hand, I will not let Qarda falter from its pedestal at the top of the world.” He no longer had the eyes of her uncle, nor the eyes of her vizier. He had the eyes of an enemy. “Take her away.”
“At once, Hierophant Ghamal,” said one of the paladins, and Lanor’s heart sank.
She walked as the paladins commanded her. The elite, gold-plated warriors who had guarded her so ardently even just a few days ago—now they paraded her through the teeming streets of the holy city like a common criminal. The midday sun was blinding. She had no presence of mind to cry out in protest, or to cry at all. All she could do was suck in shaking breaths to feed her jackrabbit heart.
“Father,” she whispered to the blameless blue sky above her. Either would do. “What now?”